2010-06-18: Shut Out



Guest Starring:

Sergeant Gartland

Date: June 18th, 2010


Mandy Larson is a problem. So is Maggie.

"Shut Out"


The climate of the NYPD bullpen is moody, especially where several detectives and a few supporting uniforms have barricaded themselves off behind glass doors. Permanent marker on the board behind one's head declares: "Genesis 9:6" and "Ezekiel 11:6", letting everyone passing by know exactly what is being talked about, even without being able to hear Sgt. Gartland as he makes a few passionate gestures to the assembled group. Considering the situation, some of the veterans might be able to dub in his words pretty easily…

"— Press all over this, asking questions. Right now the spectacles of these crimes are taking front page, but, pretty soon, it's going to be 'why haven't the police caught this psycho yet' and then we'll be fighting the criminals and the public…"

Details of the latest case were discussed the forty or so minutes ago when this meeting first started — since then, the Sergeant's pep-talk could be considered to be almost hindering its own cause…

The climate of Detective Powers could be considered the same, and she isn't even among those listening to the pep-talk, nor is she anywhere near it; she hasn't been here, though she's certainly been working. Briskly walking through the bullpen, she hasn't been surrounded by station walls again for two minutes before she's juggling several things at once — almost literally, in fact. After a stop, barely, at her desk, she shifts a file heavy with paperwork from one of the latest cases — the one that took her to Chinatown — from one arm to the other, to rest atop papers of a different sort. Her mind is juggling more than her arms are, splitting into several directions of thought. Given her dark and distant expression, they're not happy thoughts.

And then: Ezekiel 11:6. Genesis 9:6. Maggie's attentions are distant no longer. Mandy. The undeniable lettering on the whiteboard brings the detective to a full stop — though she's aware enough to mindfully step around an officer who would have ran straight into her, otherwise — while her eyes remain fixed on the meeting going on behind the glass door. She watches for a short time, more or less inferring what's going on, before she whisks toward the meeting she should rightfully be in. She peeks in around the door as she opens it, only to step in boldly after that. Like she belongs here. "Sergeant— ?"

"— eyes and ears open on this one for anything— " Gartland — and everyone else in the room — swivel to recognize Maggie's entrance. There's a couple of meaningful glances between those more mindful officers, but the detectives up front only affect more righteous positions, seeing as how they are there, and she's… well, butting in. Albeit boldly. Washington crosses his arms warily, but he's new. "I can speak with you in a minute, Detective Powers…" Gartland informs her carefully, piecing together his words around his actual sentiment of: can't you see we're in the middle of something here?

But as he turns back to the expectant, and not just a bit antsy, faces of the waiting case team, he knows there's nothing else to say. But, "We have a sketch. We know this woman… let's root her out, boys." … and hi, Maggie.

Policemen filter out, detectives wander to pow-wow near their white boards. Gartland steps a few paces from the front position at where he stood, gesturing to the door by which Maggie entered to suggest they leave by it, as well.

A path is freed to the door as Maggie steps away from it. The colleagues who file out or wander to their boards are given a glance, in passing, but her gaze for them is neutral; it's not their fault they were in here while she was out there. As she closes in on Sergeant Gartland, her look is a little more pointed, a little more questioning. Before saying a thing, she takes a few seconds to look at the board Gartland left, study it, and look back. "I know Larson better than most of these guys," she states. She knows it's bold. "Why wasn't I called to the meeting?"

It's not as though Gartland is particular unfamiliar with this look of hers, and he weathers it with one of his own she's also likely familiar with. Since she chooses not to leave, he folds his arms and glances warily at the other assembled detectives — each who artfully pretends not to be eavesdropping in the slightest. Leaning instinctively away from their side of the room, the sergeant lowers his voice conversationally, "You know I like you, Powers, and you've always done good work…" he tries to pass lightly over the past tense but it's hard not to feel the slight emphasis, "But it came up that maybe you could… step back from this one — and I gave my vote."

A flicker or two of frustration passes by Maggie's stern features on the impression of past tense she picks up on; she does good work now — she's holding some of it as they speak! "Your vote?" She shifts weight from side to side and looks on the spread of information on the nearest board for several more aloof moments before replying to the sergeant. "I know this case." There's fire in her eyes — blue as they are — but the detective's voice, while insistent, if nothing if not rational. "I'm the only one here who's even seen Larson. I know her— "

"That's precisely it— " Sgt. Gartland's voice ends in a hiss as he, once again, checks the room for overly curious observers, and then tries to put a hand on Maggie to steer her closer to the door. "The concern has come up that things… might be becoming… personal for you. And, with all the recent events… Look— "

His fingers come to pinch the bridge of his nose, and, coming away, makes a blind grab for a coffee mug he knows is sitting nearby. It takes two tries. With the pitcher in hand, he can turn to his side, creating a barrier between him and Maggie as he pours a mug. "We have a sketch. We have part of a profile," not all; wince, "And all the work you've done so far, which is appreciate… but just. Maybe some fresh eyes would do us all good."

Maggie strolls along easily along door when guided, casting a very fleeting glance the way of the potential eavesdroppers on her way. Zero surprise registers on her face toward the sergeant; restless by the time he's pouring the coffee, she folds one arm across her body, the other tucking the file and other papers securely against her side; slightly impatient moves, waiting for him to finish the expected words. Maggie is not naive.

Pressing her lips together, the detective suppresses various responses that she is, apparently, too respectful to say. She accepts facts, but does it without a hint of resignation. Maggie turns away. "The building across from the art studio the victim was found in is under renovations," she says flatly as she starts to walk briskly toward the glass door. "You might want to check it out. She could have been using it watch from."

Door opens, door closes.

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