2008-01-18: Good Cop Bad Cop


Abigail_icon.gif Benjamin_icon2.gif Jane_icon.gif

Summary: Peter and Elle have been bad, and one friend is paying the price. Just a little.

Date It Happened: January 18th, 2008

Log Title Good Cop, Bad Cop

High Rise Apartments, then Common Grounds

With his current partner in the hospital and work to be done, Benjamin's assigned to work with someone else. With Abigail alongside him, he approaches Jane's apartment. There's a grim set to his expression, not entirely comfortable with this aspect of the job.. but people are getting hurt and killed. It's time to do what has to be done to see it end. He glances at Abigail before raising his hand, knocking at Jane's door.

Benjamin looks different from the last time Jane might have seen him. He's almost unrecognizable. The straightened hair, dyed a dark color, slightly long and at odds with the suit he wears. He also has on a pair of dark sunglasses to further add to things.

"The sunglasses are a nice touch," Abigail murmurs as she stands alongside Benjamin, her hands tucked demurely into the pockets of her long, black coat. She, too, is wearing a suit beneath her coat, her blonde hair pulled back into a knot and hidden beneath a fashionable felt hat. "They're very convincing." And oh, she sounds convinced. Especially since no such sunglasses sit upon her own face.

The sound of feet moving at a walking pace can be heard on the other side of that door marked 108, on the first floor just down the hall from Benjamin's own apartment. Within half a minute of his knock, the door opens. Standing there is a twenty-something brunette of five feet and six inches stature, casually dressed. "Yes?" she asks, her eyes moving from one to the other.

Benjamin can't tell if Abigail is being sarcastic or not. "They help," he mutters back at her neutrally. The more he can disguise his appearance the better.. not that it really helps doing this in his own apartment building. When the door opens, he clears his throat some, "Jane Forrest? We need a few moments of your time." Of course he knows that it's not Jane.. and it's not really a request to have some of her time.

The woman who answered the door looks at the two of them again carefully, and her demeanor changes. Jane told her she'd had some recent trouble with a stalker, so she'd agreed to check in on the apartment from time to time, let maid service types in to keep it clean and suchlike. "Doctor Forrest isn't in at the moment," she replies, her tone now that of an attorney. "Is there a message I can give to her, sir, Miss?"

When the door is opened, Abigail stands up a little straighter and greets the younger woman with a brief, somewhat insincere smile. From her pocket, she procures a small black object like a wallet, flipping it open to display to Jane. It's an FBI badge, and for all intents and purposes, it looks very real. That's certainly Abigail's picture on the page. "I'm Agent Coghlin, this is Agent Sloan," she says, her voice bearing a lilting, east coast accent, as she slips the badge back into the pocket of her jacket. "May we come in?"

The woman who answered the door looks at the two of them again carefully, and her demeanor changes. Jane told her she'd had some recent trouble with a stalker, so she'd agreed to check in on the apartment from time to time, let maid service types in to keep it clean and suchlike. "Doctor Forrest isn't in at the moment," she replies, her tone now that of an attorney. Her first thought is to ask if there's a message they care to leave, but there are badges on display. She studies them very carefully before speaking again, and stands aside to let the two enter. "What business does the FBI have with my client, Agents?" she asks.

Benjamin was already prepared with a badge of his own. His looks just as authentic as his partner's. Yay Company resources. When Abigail flashes her badge, he flashes his as well. "It's an urgent situation that requires us questioning her. So if you would just tell us where we can find her." Or they resort to other means to finding Jane. As to further detail as to why they need her, Abigail's the one with more background in legal speak.

"Your client?" Arching a brow as she steps into the apartment, Abby casts a sideways glance to the woman who let them in, her expression unreadable. Once inside, she unbuttons her coat but does not remove it, simply leaving it open. "Our business with Doctor Forrest is classified. I'm sure you understand. As my partner said, we simply have some questions for her. Are you in the habit of housesitting for clients, Miss— I'm sorry, I didn't get your name." She tips her head, looking back to the woman expectantly.

She closes the door after the faux FBI agents enter, and stands observing them calmly, her back straight and features professional. Jane is so going to owe her for this. "I'm Doctor Roberta Foster," she answers, pulling out her own credentials. A New York state driver's licence verifying that as her name and a card from the New York State Bar Association, certifying her as a member of that body. Her other hand pulls the phone off of her left hip and taps in a set of numbers. "I'll call her and let her know she's needed. Is this in regard to the attempt on her life just after Christmas?" For all she knows, that could've graduated into a Federal matter.

Benjamin steps in on Abigail's heels. Taking advantage of his height, he looks around the room, slowly, doing his best to make his appearance imposing. "As Agent Coghlin stated, it's a classified manner. Either she needs to come here ASAP, or we need to know where to find her." He doesn't seem put off any by the woman's credentials.

Turning away from the woman, Abigail commits the name to memory; Roberta Foster, NYSBA. Simple enough to remember, particularly for someone practiced in this line of work. She allows Benjamin to respond to the new inquiry, smiling faintly when he reiterates that their purpose here is classified. "Do you mind if we look around while we wait?" After all, innocent people have nothing to hide. While she voices the question, Abigail has already taken a few more steps into the apartment, appraising the room with a critical eye.

The apartment looks like the occupant hasn't been here regularly for a few weeks. The temperature is lower than the thermostat indicates, suggesting Dr. Foster turned it up when she got here and hasn't been present long. Dust is present here and there, at least a few days worth of it, which matches someone not around who has friends and agents looking in on things occasionally. The corridor leading to bedrooms and bathroom has all three doors closed, and the kitchen doesn't show any signs of recent use.

The attorney presses the button to make that call, keeping her eyes on them as she does so. "Doctor Forrest," she begins when the other end picks up, "there are two agents from the FBI here to see you. Coghlin, a blonde woman of about thirty, and Sloan, a guy. The guy doesn't look like you told me the stalker would, though."

"Berta," Jane replies on her end, somewhere in New York City, "did they say it was regarding the stalker case?"

"They insist it's classified, and demand to see you, Dr. Forrest."

"I see. It's weird they won't talk to you, as my attorney. But I'll bite. Tell them Common Grounds, in thirty minutes. I'll be okay meeting them alone, it's in public." And she hangs up.

Her phone is put away, and she informs the pair "Doctor Forrest will meet you at Common Grounds in half an hour."

And if Roberta does mind. Too bad. Benjamin doesn't shuffle out the door in a meek manner. He too walks further into the apartment, showing no intention of leaving as he continues looking around the room. When Roberta makes the call, and the announcement of public meeting, he glances alongside to Abigail. He can work with public if she can, although, "I suppose she didn't understand the part about this being classified. Public place and top secret don't tend to mesh. Agent Coghlin?"

With her back turned to both of them, Abigail rolls her eyes slightly. "Goodness, she's a little flighty, isn't she?" She finishes her tour of the apartment, evidently satisfied with whatever she found - or didn't find, which is more likely. As she returns to the door, she looks back to Roberta. Fastening the buttons on her coat again, Abigail winds her scarf tighter around her neck. "I suppose it'll have to do. Thank you, Doctor Foster."

The attorney seems undisturbed. "Good evening, Agents," she offers politely. The door is opened for them so they can exit.

Benjamin wants to say 'You have no idea,' but keeps that comment to himself. He gives Roberta a curt nod, preparing to exit with Abigail. Once outside the apartment and away from earshot, he mutters to himself. He could have sworn Jane would be home. Then again, he's been so busy as of late, it's amazing he makes it home most nights. "C'mon. If she doesn't show, we'll have to use other methods to locate her." Which will make things a little more unpleasant.

Tucking her hands back into her pockets, Abigail steps through the door with a polite nod to Roberta. Only when she's down the hall and in the elevator does she respond to Benjamin, and she maintains her east coast accent even after they're no longer in Roberta's presence. "She hasn't been there in days," she remarks, rolling her shoulders in a shrug. "She must not trust very many people if she has her lawyer housesitting for her." Following behind Benjamin on the way back to the car, Abigail shakes her head. "I hate it when they're paranoid."

"Dunno what's going on to make her paranoid. Unless she knows something we don't." Benjamin utters, fidgeting some on the ride down. "I haven't interacted much with her as of late. It's a bit weird though for her lawyer to do the apartment-sitting." He can't recall the last time he saw Jane outside with her guitar either. Has it been that long? Has he been that busy? "Depending on where she's coming from, we'll beat her to Common Grounds."

Is it paranoid when people really are out to get you? What a year it's been for Jane. Memories edited twice, the second time with an attempted cover of a drug addiction problem and the very clear memories of going cold turkey after waking up south of AC. Bag and tag marks on her neck. A Company Agent roommate, the boss of that Company's daughter, who turned out to be a stand-in for the real Elle. People who make the winds blow being stopped from fulfilling precog art. Peter going to the future, people trying to bug the bookstore and the recent attempt on her life… It's made Jane cagey.

Time will pass, when and if they arrive at Common Grounds, she's already there, sitting in full view of anyone present. Her guitar case is propped up against her table, the backpack is by her feet, and a cup of vanilla mocha cappucino is before her, along with a copy of a music magazine. She's calmly waiting for these two agents of the FBI to arrive. One might conclude she chose the place because it was close enough for her to get here before they could. Or maybe she was here the whole time.

As she steps up to the door of the cafe, Abigail shakes off what's left of her mild irritation with the woman they're here to interrogate. "Hopefully this isn't a wild goose chase," she muses, reaching for the door. "After you, Agent Sloan." A hint of a smirk appears on her face as Abigail pulls the handle, holding the door open and motioning Benjamin inside with a sweep of her arm.

Benjamin is really on a losing streak tonight with his words. He should just quit while he's ahead. So Jane beat them to Common Grounds. He's looking just as irritated as Abigail is. He's hot on her heels towards the building. The smirk she flashes is eyed briefly before he's in the door and glancing around. Spotting their target, he leads the way in her direction.

There are two people heading toward her now. Jane spots them on looking up from her magazine about the local music scene, and sets it aside. That's her guitar case propped against the table, recognizable to Benjamin. Her backpack too. And it's the woman herself, clad in jeans and boots with a two inch heel, a blue hooded sweatshirt with the word Yale in white across the front, and a heavy winter coat next to her. Brown eyes watch them calmly enough, and she sips from the cup at hand.

Ready with a smile when Jane spots them, Abigail moves to unfasten the buttons on her coat again now that they're inside. "Hello, Doctor Forrest," she chirps brightly, still using her Maine accent. "I'm Agent Coghlin. Call me Suzanne." One hand extends for the lawyer to shake. "This is my partner." She gestures to Benjamin, though she allows him to introduce himself rather than taking the liberty herself.

Benjamin is relieved, yet not so much at recognizing Jane. No wonder Noah warned him against having a personal life. This does indeed suck. He inclines his head in a nod towards Jane after Abigail introduces herself. "Agent Sloan." No you may not call him anything else. He'll just look scowly as he too offers a hand to shake. "As we explained to Roberta, we have a few things to discuss with you. This public setting makes the.. delicate subject matter a little difficult to talk about."

Her head tilts. An FBI agent wanting to be addressed informally. That sounds… unusual. Jane's eyes show her to be thinking, considering things. These two could be what they claim. They could be Company agents who got wind people in the general public know about her abilities. Or that she knows they were tied to the virus which made several people she knows come close to dying. Or that she knows Elle was NotElle. Or all of the above. They could also, of course, be associates of Danny Ferrera and his friend come to finish the murder job where Danny Boy failed. But she's curious, so…

Her own right hand is offered to the female agent first. Her skin is warm and smooth, soft, like someone not accustomed to hard work, but with calluses at the fingertips which are probably caused by playing guitar. Her grip is stronger than many women tend to have, as well. "Jane will do, Suzanne," she offers. After shaking once, she intends to accept Sloan's gesture too. "Agent Sloan."

As if reading the woman's thoughts, Abigail offers her a bright smile as she settles into her seat. "We're not all hardasses who need an attitude adjustment," she quips - and though she doesn't gesture towards him, one might think she's perhaps referring to her surly partner. "Some of us would rather hear our first names." Astute, isn't she? Lacing her fingers together as she rests her hands atop the table, Abigail glances between Benjamin and Jane. "Jane, we have some questions for you about two associates of yours. We'd appreciate your full cooperation and honesty."

Hey. Informal is comfortable, right? Maybe? Maybe not. Benjamin just wants this over with, really. Oh goody, he's totally being the hardass here. How refreshing. He harrumphs audibly in response to Abigail's chirpy statements. "I'm sure you understand if there's cooperation, this unpleasantness is over faster." He crowds in at the table, not yet taking a seat, and folds his hands behind his back. The occasional glance is cast about the room, as if looking for eavesdroppers.

That causes an eyebrow to raise for a moment, her eyes settling on the female agent for the most part. "Interesting, Suzanne," Jane replies, her fingers lifting the cup again. "Ask away." It meets her mouth and is sipped from.

Allowing Benjamin to worry about potential eavesdroppers, Abigail pulls two photographs from the pocket of her coat, sliding them across the table to Jane. Sure, this isn't the ideal place to be doing this - but it's here or not at all, and they haven't said anything incriminating. "When was the last time you saw either of these people?" She doesn't mention them by name, but she doesn't have to; the first photograph is of Peter Petrelli, the second is of Elle Bishop.

Benjamin glances back at Jane when Abigail slides the pictures across the table. Waiting for her reaction. He's hoping this situation stays under control and extreme measures aren't necessary. Keeping his mouth shut, he lets Abigail do the talking for the moment.

Her eyes rest on the photos for a moment, they're of quick recognition to her. But regarding one of them, the truth is difficult. She doesn't, in fact, know if she ever met Elle Bishop. For all she knows it may have been the impostor all along. But… she isn't supposed to know there was an impostor. NotElle's belongings are still in the room she used, minus what Peter said was his, half of the rent is still being supplied, under the ruse of Elle still being on assignment. "I last saw the man early in November," she answers, "and the woman was last at home in mid-July. She's been out of town since."

"Out of town?" Well, isn't that noncommittal. Abigail takes the photographs back and slips them into her pocket, but that doesn't mean her questions are over. "That's a long time to be gone." As she leans back in her chair, Abby flicks a glance to Benjamin, slowly letting her attention drift back to Jane. "Have either of them tried to contact you? Called you, sent an e-mail, texted?"

Benjamin glances at Abigail as he listens to Jane's answers, then at the guitarist. "M'am. We're going to need a more honest answer than that." Turn up the pressure, that's what they're supposed to do to get answers. He sets his own hands flat on the table's surface, leaning in. "If you could be more forthcoming, we'd appreciate that."

"The woman works for a company that sent her on assignment in the spring," Jane replies. "She came home from that assignment for one day, then was sent out on another and hasn't been back since. I've not heard a word from her in all that time, which is very long, you're right. But she doesn't talk about her work, and I don't ask. Her half of the rent is paid, so I presume she still has the job. As to the man, I tried to contact him just after Christmas, and he sent word to me he was tied up in something. Told me he had to stay away."

Tipping her head to one side at Jane's response, Abigail arches a brow. "That's a little strange," she says absently, as if she were thinking aloud. She procures a small white card and slides it towards Jane; the card is white and minimalist, with only her name - Suzanne Coghlin - and a phone number written beneath. "Jane, I need you to call me if either of them tries to get in touch with you. I don't mean to alarm you, but your life could be at risk if you don't." Drawing her hands back, she sits up straight in her chair. "Did he say what he was tied up with?"

"That seems to be in line with their activities as of late," Benjamin says in a musing tone as he straightens back up. "Still… Dr. Forrest here could be hiding something. I saw we take her back to the office and question her more in depth." He says this, directing his words at Abigail. Even as she plays 'good cop'. "Or with the recent activities, she could be targeted. I think she might benefit from protective custody."

Her eyes move from one to the other, her back straight and head up, as it has been from the start. "He didn't say, Suzanne. I was trying to contact him because someone came at me, and that was his response. If I'm targeted, it's by a psycho named Danny Ferrera. But if you're FBI, you've probably looked into me already and read the police reports from that day, about the gun assault. That's why I'm not at home, and why my attorney, a Yale classmate, looks in on the place from time to time. I'm not without resources, and I decline protective custody."

"I think she's telling the truth." Abigail tips her chin down, regarding Jane with a kind gaze and faint smile. "I noticed that you hadn't been at home for some time," she replies, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that you feel targeted, Jane. I'm not trying to be sensationalist, but Danny Ferrera is the least of your worries, if these two walk back into your life. I can't say much more than that. Whatever you think you know about them?" This is where her countenace takes on a sad overtone, and she's almost apologetic. "Think again." She slides her chair out from the table, pushing up to her feet. "You can call that number at any time of day." Glancing back to Benjamin, she asks, "Anything else, Agent Sloan?"

"Aw, here that, she declines. Well shucks," 'Agent Sloan' says as he raps his knuckles once against the table before standing up straight. Even as the name Danny Ferrera rings bells. He's only been digging at information on him and someone else in the past few days. "Ferrera is known to us, yes. But compared to these other two, he's mostly harmless." Straightening out his suit jacket, he looks to Abigail and shakes his head in the negative, "I think we're done here."

"I'm curious, Suzanne," Jane starts, her eyes on the card and fingers taking it, "what are my absentee roommate and her ex-boyfriend up to? Why is the FBI interested in them? It's also intriguing to me that at the same time he tells me he has to stay away, I've also failed to make contact with his brother, US Senator Nathan Petrelli."

Shaking her head once more, Abigail closes her coat back up in preparation of leaving. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about Senator Petrelli's situation," she replies, pulling on a pair of gloves from her pocket. "But he's a busy man. It's entirely possible his people are simply disallowing unsolicited calls." She shrugs, her expression apologetic. "I can't tell you any more than I have, Jane. Just keep your eyes open. If you see them, hear from them, anything, please call. It's a matter of life and death, and I don't only mean yours." With one final smile, this one lacking for the same brightness from before, she starts to turn away. "Have a good day, Doctor Forrest."

"Just call that number if you see either of them.. and try not to panic about the Ferrera matter. It's in good hands." His own to be precise about it. To add to Abigail's words about Petrelli, "That happens. It's what the politician's handlers are for." He nods to Jane and adds, "Have a nice day," then he's off for the door.

She sits there, returning to her music magazine, as they depart. Jane also finishes her cup's contents. "Good day Suzanne, Agent Sloan."

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