Affidavit
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Noelle on 04-10-2010, 11:22:18</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>04-10-2010, 11:22:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Marion von Stade had explained her name more times than she thought necessary for a person to endure in eighteen short years of life. Classes were painful, roll call torturous, and the questions spawned by curious and irreverent little bastard minds were inevitable. Born to a couple of parents on more than a couple too many drugs, she made her debut in the world as Wren Elliot Octavia Lennon-von Stade, a child with an unfortunate name unfit for the 80’s she was born into. Disco was dead, hippies were dead, the era of naming your child “Moonlight” and “Starchild” – also very much dead. But her mother, “Gemma” Gemini Marigold Lennon-von Stade (nee Maureen Parks, but later changed her name twofold; once to get closer to her so-called ‘astral self’ and the other later on in mourning over John Lennon’s unfortunate death that left her inconsolable and incurable by even the strongest tinctures for at least three months.) had married a stoner activist guitarist in a band called Republicrat and the Democrans that once had a jam session with Jimi Hendrix who very insultingly remarked that he had a painfully typical name, one Mr. Gerald von Stade.<br><br>Wren Elliot Octavia Lennon-von Stade endured; by thirteen, she was finding roach clips in her Sgt. Peppers lunchbox, by sixteen driving her parents to and from weed runs and roadies, and by her glorious and liberating eighteenth, had spent four consecutive summers doing arts and crafts at specially-designated summer camps to learn useful trades such as lampworking and glassblowing, which allowed her to make goddess beads for her mother’s macramé jewelry and blow intricate pipes and bongs.<br><br>Rebellion often comes in the form of admiring one’s parents for so long…and then doing the diametrically opposed. Indeed, 18 was a sweet time, and before buying cigarettes or pornography as some chose (she’d already taken up smoking and her mother, also a feminist, had bought her very first vibrator at 17 as a way to ‘liberate her sexuality’), Wren Elliot instead chose to file papers to legally change her name. Her maternal grandmother had proven to be the sanest of that branch of the family, providing constant support and sympathy whenever her crackpot daughter brought her dreadlocked child to stay on weekends. Mary Anne was her name, and barring anything that sounded that old-fashioned, she reduced it to a stylish Marion and thus she became.<br><br>But it was one thing to simply change one’s name…<br><br>“Detective von Stade.”<br><br>A degree in criminal justice was the ultimate turn on her acid-warped out-of-date parents. It started as late-blooming rebellion and blossomed magnificently into a deep love for sociology and criminal justice. At last, a detective was born.<br><br>“Forensics called. Seems they wanted to talk to you about the Preston case. Might wanna head down…”<br><br>Marion bit back the urge to make a biting comment. She didn’t want to think about it, at least not yet. Everyone knew what ‘forensics called’ meant to her – annoyance, headaches, screaming matches…<br><br>“For fuck’s sake, it’s 10 in the morning, what the hell could they have possibly done already today? None of those dickbags get here ‘til 9:30 at the latest. Jesus H. W. Christ.”<br><br>The young woman rose from her desk, adjusting the trendy, thick-rimmed glasses on her face, and turned for the forensics lab, though she realized she was unconsciously adjusting her low-slung ponytail, combing her fingers through her long, side-swept bangs. Her natural color was a light, almost fawn-colored brown, but it was now dyed black from the still-unnatural red-brown it had been a month prior. The department was generous in its dress code, allowing the woman anything from a relatively tame platinum blonde to bright fishbowl blue. She’d settled down some in her few years on the job, and black would take a long time to grow out, and besides, she’d earned her place with the other officers and moved up to detective, she was gunning further still to cement her paycheck and finally have a little seniority over the infuriating branches that did not seem to know their heads from their asses.<br><br>Still, despite her avoidance of excessive and stereotypical vanity, she preferred the way it made her all-American pale blue eyes stand out from behind her glasses -- typically she was a contacts kind of girl, but being maced by a confused, paranoid, and definitively non-English-speaking Asian woman while trying to track her down to question her to see if she'd witnessed anything about the Preston murders, two of which were committed in her neighborhood, was not conducive to anything being in, about, or around her eye. But she got her woman and now she had to deal with the infuriating man on the opposite side of the door she now authoritatively opened which suddenly seemed infinitely worse than getting a shot of pepper spray to the face.<br><br>“Well, I’m here.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>04-10-2010, 22:58:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Detective."&nbsp; He knew better than to call her by her first name, it wasn't something that she ever responded kindly to.&nbsp; He made that mistake every day for a week straight when they first met, all the while expecting her to warm up to him, but she never did.&nbsp; Things only got worse when he started finding mistakes in the assumptions she made.&nbsp; Most of the officers on the force were amazed by her ability to formulate a storyline from the littlest of details, and even he had to admit that she was creative.&nbsp; Her predictions seemed clairvoyant to the superstitious brains of her coworkers, but he knew better, "Good to see you again.&nbsp; We need to talk -- I suggest you shut the door."<br><br>She did so reluctantly and stared at him with a familiar look of scorn, "Good, now... As you know, we've had some heated discussions lately about some of the tests you wanted me to run..."&nbsp; Marion always came to him with demands, knowing exactly what it was that she wanted him to discover, never allowing the scientific method to actually run its course so that he could act without bias.&nbsp; Any trace of impartiality or true investigation was absent from her heavy-handed style of inquiry, even if her behavior did make her a model TV cop.&nbsp; "I did as you asked with the Preston case and ran all of the tests you stipulated... The DNA swabs, checked the partial prints, and <em>nada</em>.&nbsp; Every last angle you had me check came up inconclusive, it was all a complete waste of time just like I told you it was going to be."<br><br>Before she could object he raised his finger quickly, and his typically jovial expression became sharper than she'd ever seen.&nbsp; His patience was beginning to wear thin, being a lab geek wasn't anything like Miami Vice led him to believe at the tender young age of fifteen, "<strong>Stop.</strong>&nbsp; <strong>You're</strong> going to listen to <strong>me</strong> <em>for once.</em>&nbsp; I have something to tell you that you'll definitely want to hear."&nbsp; For once Eric had the upper hand, a rare turnabout given how the officers usually treated him and his fellow technicians, "And I have a feeling you'll be glad that you shut the door."<br><br>"This..."&nbsp; He grasped a pile of papers from the desktop and held them out to her so that she could glance them, "Are expense reports I had commissioned on some cases over the past couple of years -- your cases, to be exact.&nbsp; I was getting tired of running tests that were a waste based on wild hunches until finally I found the needle in the haystack and got to watch as you took all the credit for cracking the case.&nbsp; I was wondering:&nbsp; how much money was spent running these tests which turned up negative?&nbsp; As you're aware, the department's been looking for ways to trim the fat.&nbsp; Last year they cut Forensics in half, thinking that letting some people go would curb costs.&nbsp; It didn't."<br><br>"You've run up quite a tab, fortunately for you, the Captain hasn't made the connection between overzealous investigation and skyrocketing lab costs.&nbsp; The results were more amazing than even I imagined:&nbsp; sixty thousand dollars in lab kits, DNA tests, slides, maintaining equipment, and well... That just covers the tests you had us run that were completely useless.&nbsp; I could very easily forward a digital copy of that to our supervisor, thereby showing him a creative, simplistic solution to balancing the department's budget.&nbsp; That could put a slight dent in your career plans.&nbsp; Or..."<br><br>"You could get on your knees and do exactly as I say."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 07:55:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"So you think," she began, her face already glowing red in the warmth of anger, the hand that violently snatched the papers from his hand clutching them hard until they bent slightly. "You think the lieutenant is going to say, <em>Oh, that's fucking great, thank you so much Eric, let's fire slash demote slash play negative politics on one of our best cops in this sea of incompetency in the midst of a serial killer crisis in the city and see what that does to the citizens' confidence in their local law enforcement! Thanks for bringing this to our attention, buddy, thanks for fucking my career like this!</em> and then be done with me? I think not. I think someone's been spending way too much time inhaling chemicals in their batcave laboratory."<br><br>She glowered for a moment, then moved her gaze down to the papers she held, eyes moving spastically from one side of the page to the other, from the top to the bottom. She shuffled them with a quick jerk of her hand until she slammed it back down on the table, palm flat, but it seemed to do the trick. Her face went sullen, her eyes moving away from his face, from any part of him until she was glancing towards a glowing computer screen saver.<br><br>"Fine. <em>Fine.</em> But you know what? Shit looks different when you're on the scene trying to put two and two together for the fucking lieutenant who has to go make some kind of reassuring speech to the public that their innocent little Ashley or Danielle or whatever fuckin' suburban trendy bullshit people are naming their kids these days isn't gonna be the next headless, cum-stained corpse in the park."<br><br>Her excuse seemed to sound more grasping than she intended when it came out of her mouth; it sounded forceful in her head, much more so than it emerged. Now she just seemed sad. But she wasn't about to go down swinging.<br><br>"On my knees? That's real cute, usually they just say 'suck my dick', don't they? Very gentlemanly of you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 08:13:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I'm not surprised that you're so vain that you think this is about that."&nbsp; It was a good comeback, but even he knew that wasn't true.&nbsp; Marion wasn't shallow at all.&nbsp; Unlike her female coworkers she didn't seem to have the same girly-girl obsession with makeup and wearing nice things in order to get promotions from their perverted captain.&nbsp; Everyone seemed to respect her for it, to the point that she was treated like <em>one of the guys.</em>&nbsp; "I'm not going to rape you.&nbsp; Blackmailing you for sex is the last thing I want to do.&nbsp; This is about dignity and revenge, I've put up with enough from you.&nbsp; I'm through tolerating you pulling that cop fraternity stuff on me."<br><br>Eric was a lab geek and he looked it, from his choice of dress to the thin-framed glasses that he wore, it was no surprise that the other cops treated him like <em>the other</em>.&nbsp; It wasn't that he was outwardly nerdy -- that stereotypical role belonged to the station's asian blood-splatter analyst -- he just wasn't like them.&nbsp; Where they preferred beer and pizza at the bar after a hard days work, Eric was the sort of man who enjoyed a thought-provoking film and Chinese.&nbsp; It was the education gap.<br><br>"Do you want everyone to see this report and learn about the real reason why you're such a successful detective:&nbsp; you're relentless and insane.&nbsp; It has nothing to do with any finely tuned sleuthing skills that you pride yourself on having.&nbsp; I've seen blind men who are bettering at spotting suspicion than you.&nbsp; I don't think they'll be inviting you out for drinks after work they learn you're basically the sole reason Mary and Donald got 'trimmed' in last year's budget proposal -- much less anymore promotions.&nbsp; You cost them their jobs all on their own.&nbsp; Your waste footprint is four times larger than the average detective's, did you know that?"<br><br>"So, are you going to get on your knees, or can I click the send button?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 08:25:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Marion wasn't typically the type to bully the nerds -- by all means, she <em>was</em> that kid at school, but there was an unspoken friction between the guns and the pocket protectors. It would've made more sense for her to get along with those that supported her, but just because the lead actress had a behind-the-scenes crew didn't necessarily mean they also had the balls to put their neck on the line the way she did. And that's what Marion von Stade was for the department; when everyone else fell silent, when nobody could make head nor tails of the situation, she latched on, rearranged the tiles, and made something -- <em>anything</em> of it. In their trade, silence was infinitely worse, what else could she do?<br><br>Finally her eyes met his again, her face obviously unamused. <em>What's he gonna do? Make me beg like a child not to send it? This is ri-goddamned-diculous. If I told the captain about this, I wonder if he'd find sexual harassment against his finest cop more of a sin than going over budget to make some arrests. Fuck it.</em><br><br>"Fine. I'll do it, but if I see so much as a <em>hint</em> of your cock, swear to god I'm gonna snap the fucking thing off and you're gonna have a harder time explaining to 'em what you're doing bleeding from the dick than what those numbers are."<br><br>She rolled her eyes and tugged at her uniform pants as she sank to one knee then the next, lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. <em>Oh prease, missa Elic, you not senda those fires! I rove-a you roong time!</em> A slight smirk lifted the corner of her mouth in spite of herself, her eyes dropping as if in silent laughter.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 08:32:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Initially he'd thought it would be enough to make her get on her knees.&nbsp; It wasn't quite clear what was so attractive about the idea, but it turned out every bit as empowering as expected.&nbsp; Unfortunately, it <em>wasn't</em> enough.&nbsp; She looked so smug in spite of the situation, like nothing he could do had any chance of denting her bulletproof pride.&nbsp; The anger welled up inside of him, though it wasn't fair to blame her for everything the gun-carriers did, she'd become the focus of his rage.&nbsp; Their ham-handed police work led to so many cases that he practically bled for being dismissed in court, and that wasn't the least of it.<br><br>Before he knew it, he swung.&nbsp; A sound like a snapping twig run out as the flat palm of his hand collided with her face.&nbsp; She recoiled and he felt an immense surge of pleasure in spite of how complicated the situation had become.&nbsp; It was impossible to say how she would react, there was a chance that he'd lose his job that very day, yet he couldn't bring himself to care.&nbsp; He'd found the revenge he was looking for; this was his way of paying her back for all the Friday nights he'd spent working because of her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 08:38:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"<strong>What the fuck.</strong>"<br><br>Each word was incredulous, practically staged, but perfectly delivered. Her jaw dropped, her hand coming up to press against the now-burning cheek, and she scrambled to her feet. Her expression burned, practically let off steam from the rolling boil her blood had come to beneath the surface. She'd handled standoffs, hostage situations, suicide jumpers, rabid dogs, all with a demeanor as cool and collected as if she were actually in a 45-minute crime drama on television, smoothly assured that each situation would pan out in its due, occasionally commercial-punctuated time. But this...<em>this</em> was beyond surreal.<br><br>They stood in silence for a moment as she seethed, but no words came. She wanted to scream, but instead she scowled, pointing at the computer screen. "Fucking delete it now. You've had your fun, I hope you feel <em>real</em> empowered now that you've slapped a woman across the face -- such a tough guy, aren't you? Now fucking take it off your computer."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 08:45:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Get out."&nbsp; The surge of adrenaline left him feeling invincible despite the fact that she could easily go to their boss.&nbsp; It just didn't seem to fit with her personality.&nbsp; Marion was not the sort of person that went running off to her superiors to solve her problems, she was far too independent, "Get out of my lab and think about that the next time you decide to dump a boatload of paperwork on me the day before a weekend or a holiday.&nbsp; Think about that the next time you're asking me to run five tests at once that are all completely improbable.&nbsp; Try using a little basic reasoning to narrow down my workload to something reasonable instead."<br><br>"You're not stupid, so don't act like it."&nbsp; There would either by a fiery conclusion to their episode or deafening silence.&nbsp; Eric was still willing to bet on the latter, "I could delete the report, yes, but that doesn't mean the data will go away.&nbsp; I have access to records up to and including your rookie year.&nbsp; If I wanted, I could dig back a little further than 3 years, to the very beginning of your career, and see how much you've cost the department in total.&nbsp; So, you don't get to tell me what to do.&nbsp; Get out, that's the last time I'm telling you to."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 09:00:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"You think you're the only intelligent person here. Ever think maybe you're not the only one who's ever seen it? Maybe they've seen it. Maybe they value me more than they value you and your friends and more than they value those spineless porkswords I fucking work with. Know the difference between me and them? I speak up, I stay on their asses, I get results. Remove me, maybe your workload goes down, but then, so do the solved cases in this shithole and you're right back at square one, genius."<br><br>She held her chin with a slight tilt, as if to keep the last bit of dignity in tact, though the red handprint that likely now branded the side of her face wasn't something easily hidden when she returned to her desk. That much only spurred her irritation further.<br><br>"Yeah, yeah. I'll get the fuck out. I would be happy to oblige."<br><br>She turned before he could launch a response and slammed the door behind her, stalking out of the lab at a breakneck pace for her office. Though in her mind this situation was different, nothing like the screaming matches they'd gotten into countless times before, everyone around her saw it as just another typical 'Marion versus the nerds" episode that usually ended in such a tumultuous bang. Nobody looked looked up until they heard her office door crash shut behind her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 09:26:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>I'm going to lose my job.</em>&nbsp; The thought was freeing in a way he hadn't expected, but forensics wasn't what Eric had originally intended to do with his life after all.&nbsp; He'd taken the position after running out of money to continue the pursuit of a doctorate in Criminal Science, promising himself that it would only be a momentary diversion until his student loans were paid off enough that the bank would extend enough capital to finish.&nbsp; One year at the Ninth Street Precinct turned to two, then three, and most recently four.&nbsp; Eventually thoughts of ever going back to school vanished as he settled into his job.<br><br>As much as he hated dealing with some of his coworkers, it wasn't so bad.&nbsp; The higher ups liked him, especially Captain Green, and he was always Lead Forensics Investigator whenever a big case broke.&nbsp; Most of the officers even listened to his theories and explanations during field work, with Marion von Stade being one of the few notable exceptions.<br><br><em>This wasn't the way I expected things to go when I woke up this morning, but sometimes it takes dramatic action in order to get your life on track.</em>&nbsp; Despite the fact that he blackmailed a coworker, an obviously immoral action, guilt was noticeably missing from the equation.&nbsp; He usually wasn't a dishonest, violent, or malevolent person, his behavior was completely out of the norm.&nbsp; <em>She brought it out of me... That's a good excuse, but it doesn't feel right -- doing it sure did though.</em><br><br>Filled with dread and excitement he waited quietly, not bothering to work on anything given how pointless it would be in light of his inevitable termination.&nbsp; He waited with one hand tucked beneath his chin for support, allowing his eyelids to flicker open and closed as he faced his computer screen and half-dozed.<br><br>***<br><br>An hour later Captain Green finally opened the door and strolled in to the lab.&nbsp; To Eric's surprise he had a jovial expression on his wrinkled face and civilians attire.&nbsp; Before Eric could even begin to think of an excuse for the signs of sleep on his face his boss began to speak, "My wife's pregnant."<br><br>"O... oh...?&nbsp; Excellent news!"&nbsp; <em>So... He's not here to fire me?</em><br><br>"I'm taking a year off starting tomorrow.&nbsp; I know it's sudden, but I figure you all can manage without me.&nbsp; I want to be around to take care of my wife and experience the birth of my son.&nbsp; I need to appoint a deputy captain to take over things for awhile.&nbsp; This means we're going to need to shake up the chain of command a bit.&nbsp; Some officers will be promoted permanently, so I came to ask your opinion on a few officers from Forensics' point of view."<br><br><em>Great, a new boss is gonna take over while the department is in the middle of tracking a serial killer.&nbsp; Real professional, Green.</em>&nbsp; "I'm averse to dispensing opinions... but, I could submit a report on each of the candidate's track record?&nbsp; Facts, a little basic analysis to give you an idea of what I think they say.&nbsp; You know I prefer concrete justifications and evidence to personal subjectivity."<br><br>"Spoken like a true lab tech.&nbsp; Of course, I have no problems with the way you run things... I'll have the names on your desk by the end of the day."<br><br>As Green turned to leave Eric raised his voice in a question to stop him, "Sir?&nbsp; Is von Stade among them...?"<br><br>"Yeah?&nbsp; Will that be a problem?&nbsp; I know you two don't get along, but I trust you'll be professional."<br><br>"No, sir.&nbsp; That's why I prefer to use data and sound judgment instead of giving out opinions and making it personal.&nbsp; I'll be fair."<br><br>"Good -- oh, and, we found a dead stripper in an alley.&nbsp; You'll be accompanying von Stade and Lunden to the site in fifteen.&nbsp; Get your kits ready, it looks like the Preston M.O."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>07-10-2010, 10:13:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Have we run a positive ID on this one yet?"<br><br>Her eyes flickered over the fallen body a common prostitute; <em>gun shot, small caliber, close-range.</em> The woman was scantily-clad, and the way she lay on the ground, cold and stiff, she glanced over to see a fellow officer's eyes move from her legs up to the gratuitous panty shot they were all given; a neon-pink thong. <em>Classy.</em> An eye roll ensued, but she said nothing.<br><br>"There's no actual identification on this one, her purse was stripped. Mugged, maybe. Reports say it might be a twenty-one year old girl named Elise Cohen. Jew name. Cracked down on a strip joint she was a part of once before and did a sting operation -- she was takin' fifties for some dick-to-mouth resuscitation, if you know what I'm saying. She did some talking and we dropped charges."<br><br>"Thank you for that," she remarked sarcastically, then knelt down over the body, giving it the once-over, her fingers gently probing open her coat, examining the woman's outfit choice, then glanced at her fallen purse. "Anything else missing out of her stuff?"<br><br>"We recovered a few wads of twenties and some typical stuff...makeup, a few cigarettes, and a set of house keys -- we'll visit Elise Cohen's residence later to confirm a match."<br><br>"So they shot her but didn't take her money. She's got no ID on her...Woman's a stripper and a prostitute, she must've been working..." Marion began to mumble, one hand over her mouth in contemplation as she knelt close to the woman's head, examining the entrance and exit wounds individually, eyes squinted slightly. <em>It's common for jilted men who are already a few screws loose to stalk strippers and the like...</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>07-10-2010, 23:37:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				By the time Eric arrived at the scene of the crime his coworkers were already at the end of the alley peering at the victim's corpse without the slightest concern for the possibility of contaminating evidence.&nbsp; He'd taken a taxi from the station after being left behind, which was most likely exactly as Marion intended -- it wasn't unusual at all for her to behave that way, even when she had no reason to, and he'd most definitely given her every reason for resentment.&nbsp; Guilt didn't lessen his indignation at having to pay cab fare for a trek halfway across the city, but now wasn't the time to argue about it.&nbsp; They had work to do.<br><br>While their heart seemed to be in the right place, Marion and her coworkers sometimes did a better job of covering up for the criminals they were pursuing than the guilty party themselves.&nbsp; Despite her overzealous attitude she was the least of his concerns, her fellow detective Officer Gonzales had a habit of voiding fingerprints with smudges from his own hands, dropping cigarette butts on the scene which were inevitably admitted into evidence for pointless tests, and moving bodies from their original position without laying down a chalk line.&nbsp; As far as Eric was concerned, his talents would've been better utilized in the basement at headquarters keeping the dust from piling up.<br><br>And <em>of course</em>, Gonzales had to be there right besides Marion, "Sorry I'm late, I guess I got left behind."<br><br>"Mar toldja we was leavin'.&nbsp; We waited five minutes, we don't have time to dick around, ya know."&nbsp; Officer Gonzales was the embodiment of the stereotypical middle-aged Mexican cop, complete with a thick, disgusting mustache that seemed to leak motor oil periodically.&nbsp; He was at least two-hundred pounds, pushing two-fifty, but not quite disturbingly fat yet -- Eric gave him a few years for that at least.&nbsp; Living exclusively on a diet of doughnuts and candy-coffee, Gonzales adopted a New York accent to complete the ensemble.<br><br>"Right, sorry."&nbsp; <em>Figures...</em>&nbsp; "The captain was telling me he's taking a leave for a year, you two hear about that...?"<br><br>"Yeah, heard 'bout that, also heard a rumor some people was gettin' promoted."<br><br>"Yeah -- we can talk about that later; this doesn't look like a Preston case."<br><br>"How yous figure?"<br><br>"It doesn't fit the M.O. at all -- dirty location, too public, gunshot wound... up close, I'm not a spatter analyst, but that's what I get from it.&nbsp; Looks more intimate.&nbsp; Not Preston style at all.&nbsp; What do you think Marion?&nbsp; I know one thing's for sure, I'm so glad they didn't call the Queens Precinct nearby to come check this out, would've been <em>a real slap to the face</em>."&nbsp; Eric couldn't help but grind despite himself.&nbsp; He wasn't usually one to gloat or show any signs of overconfidence, but today was a day of unusual circumstances.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>07-10-2010, 23:51:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yeah, you know, those guys from Queens are <em>incredibly unprofessional</em>, almost to the point that I'd like to <em>get them all fired.</em> It'd be a real <em>kick to the balls.</em>" she quipped back with little hesitation, obviously too distracted by the scene at hand to give him much more than sarcasm. "What do I think? I think we've got a typical dead hooker; Preston case is a little more intricate than a point-blank shot to the head in an alley, he's more prone to playing with his prey before he executes them. This-- this is just kid stuff. Doesn't take a man of any real genius to target a woman."<br><br>The last of her surmise was an unintended quip, but it cause the side of her mouth to tilt slightly anyway when she realized its relevance. <em>But then again, we haven't exactly established that it's necessarily a man.</em><br><br>"Could be a woman who killed her, too, of course, can't rule anyone out. A jealous lover on the rampage or maybe a fellow stripper...I can't imagine a titty bar being much of a sorority setting, everyone's gotta hustle...some a little more than others, if her history is any indication. Angry women do all sorts of horrible things to those who have wronged them. The psychotic bitch cliche and all."<br><br>She stood fully again, walking a half-circle around the body to the other side, still seeming to search and search, but there wasn't a clear story rising up out of this one. There was no indication of an advanced motive or serial killer-like tendencies. <em>Still has cash, but wasn't carrying ID. Guess we'll see after the apartment walk-through if she left it at home or if there's more here than what meets the eye...</em><br><br>"I don't know if we even have much here on the scene. Dead hookers are like parade candy, getting thrown from vehicles by the handful, you know? We mostly find that men are the perpetrators, usually sexual deviants and-or sociopaths, violent criminals who sometimes accidentally get too rough, but this...this has to be intentional, unless there's a new demand for weird, kinky gunplay out there. Intentional and somewhat unplanned."<br><br>Marion suddenly turned and punched Gonzalez in the arm, "And don't think I didn't see you looking up her skirt. You're a fuckin' dog, you know that? We're talking about a corpse here."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 00:13:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her insults didn't bother him in the least, if anything they were amusing.&nbsp; Was it her way of reminding himm of the dangerous ground he was walking on now in an attempt to stave off future transgressions?&nbsp; He couldn't really bring himself to be too concerned about it, if she hadn't reported him already, what could possibly change that aside from further drastic action?&nbsp; Her silence made perfect sense, Marion von Stade was far too prideful to admit that she'd been the victim of sexual harassment.&nbsp; She would keep her humiliation private as long as she possibly could in order to protect the image she'd worked so hard to build:&nbsp; Marion was female, but she wasn't a woman.<br><br>"I can't say I'm surprised.&nbsp; From the looks of things she's been dead for about... Twelve hours?&nbsp; That's well within Gonzales' <em>window of opportunity</em>."&nbsp; <em>Way to work a forensics assessment into insulting an officer -- this is why the men and women of the Ninth Street Precinct love you.</em>&nbsp; "Doesn't look like there's anything here for me to analyze right away.&nbsp; No apparent DNA, no signs of struggle -- I glanced at her fingernails, and they're quite fake.&nbsp; If she clawed anyone, they would've snapped.&nbsp; This seems almost... Execution style?&nbsp; She obviously didn't know what was coming when the bullet said 'hello' to her face."<br><br>"Our perp is someone she wouldn't feel threatened by -- someone who was able to get close without arousing suspicion, then pulled out the weapon and shot her.&nbsp; Otherwise, someone would've heard the sounds of struggle.&nbsp; There's a major street not even fifty feet that way."&nbsp; Eric tried to recreate the scene in his mind, picturing any details they could be missing.&nbsp; "I don't think this is a case Forensics is going to be particularly involved in at the moment -- sounds like this is on you guys.&nbsp; Need anything before I go?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 00:37:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Sound of struggle doesn't mean anything. If it happened late enough at night, who would be around to hear it? Nobody reported the gunshots, just the body this morning. It doesn't seem like someone would go to the effort of putting a silencer on a gun that fires a small-caliber round just to kill a hooker, either. This was hardly an assassination."<br><br>Her eyes searched and searched, but her mind kept roaming back to the purse. "I want to check fingerprints on anything left in her purse. If her ID can't be found in her apartment, then there's a good chance it was stolen and the murderer had to rummage through her things to get it. I want a visual check on any viable surfaces -- makeup compacts, lipstick tubes, you name it. We'll run ballistics on the bullet, obviously."<br><br>With a semblance of dignity returning to her, she glanced to the small crowd that had gathered around the body, taking notes, talking, cameras flashing. "There doesn't seem to be signs of struggle, no obvious marks, but body analysis will be checking for minor abrasions and hidden injuries -- strangulation and the like. Otherwise, you're useless."<br><br>The woman's body seemed to be only sleeping, despite the clean bullet wound in her forehead. She still had the fake-tan glow, her hair styled, albeit slightly mussed from the way she dropped. Everything seemed concurrent: the various scrapes from where she hit the pavement, the direction of her fall consistent with the blow of the weapon. The only thing that seemed out of place was her purse...Something about it still didn't add up. <em>Who would murder a stripper for her ID? Why wasn't the money taken?</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 00:47:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Alright, sounds good."&nbsp; Eric was beginning to remember why Marion von Stade was so popular:&nbsp; in a sea of idiotic, unimaginative officers she was one of the few of them that wasn't dumb.&nbsp; She picked up on details he hadn't thought of, though she misunderstood his initial comment, what was important was the outcome, "Nice catch detective.&nbsp; I'll get the results of those tests on your desk by... Tomorrow night, probably.&nbsp; I have some Preston work left to finish, so I'm gonna go ahead and take off now.&nbsp; I'll let the lifters get the evidence sealed and checked in, got a cabbie waiting on me now."<br><br>Eric waved and took off for the mouth of the alley feeling a little apprehensive.&nbsp; He couldn't help but respect ingenuity and intellect.&nbsp; Marion wasn't <em>that</em> bad, he'd most likely been in the wrong.&nbsp; There'd been some chance that they would set aside their differences before he acted, but now it seemed impossible.&nbsp; She would never forget getting down on her knees in front of him and being slapped across the face no matter what he did to smooth things over.<br><br>He slipped back into the cab feeling genuinely conflicted between guilt and the enjoyment the experience brought him.&nbsp; It wasn't sexual harassment, was it?&nbsp; Physical assault was the cut and dry description, but it felt like something more.&nbsp; Something --<br><br>"Sihr, whare to?"<br><br><em>Yay for Islamic cab drivers.</em>&nbsp; "Back to the department; return to sender."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 01:26:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Promotions within the department...</em><br><br>Nobody had told her, she was busy fuming in her office, shuffling through pictures of corpses left from each Preston murder, bodies sliced by piano wire, others strangulated by cassette tape film, each of them being imagined to have Eric's head attached to -- or sometimes beside the body. Anger was not a productive thing when it came to detective work; she'd agonized over the patterns, looking for the tie that would bind them all together. One girl found at the original site, Preston High School, stuffed into the air duct and lashed with piano wire, eventually strangulated, her throat cut by the thin, durable line. She'd been reported missing for two weeks before the school year started when the janitor found her. An awful stench was permeating the school -- when he opened up the hatch to the ventilation system, her body dropped out, suspended by a noose, each limb severed but reattached by more wire. She looked like a real-life, twisted marionette.<br><br><em>Wonder if that means I'm up for it. Should probably ask around, see what the deal is. Love my boys, but the awful glass ceiling of feminism is telling me I'm getting jewed out of some serious cash doing what I do.</em><br><br>"We need a statement from you, Detective."<br><br>"A statement--" Her mind had wandered, and now everyone was waiting for her, asking questions, cameras flashing. She blinked, disoriented, and glanced towards Gonzales, who was, unsurprisingly, of very little help to her.<br><br>"About the murder? You think this is related to the recent string of Preston murders?"<br><br>She opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut again. She felt overwhelmed all the sudden, taking a step back from the recorders shoved in her face. <em>Time to put on your game face. If I'm gonna be moving up, time to take some fuckin' initiative.</em><br><br>"The murder does not seem to be related," she stated stiffly, but suddenly lost her confidence completely. If there was one area of police work she was unprepared for, it was public speaking. The captain often made the diplomatic appearances with Marion close behind as if to say <em>See? We've got our best hunting dogs sniffing 'em out.</em> She had become a poster child for the police actually doing something, and for the most part, she believed they were, even if Eric was so apt to say otherwise. She loved her job and gave it her all.<br><br>"I...I don't think we...This is not related, so we will not be...we will not be pursuing this...No, I mean, we will pursue it, but...the citizens of New York City need not feel fear. It seems like...a standard case...No serial killer involvement. Rest easy."<br><br>She pulled away from the microphone, her face already crimson when she heard a voice to her side shout, "Detective -- and the mark on your face?"<br><br>Her spine stiffened and for a moment, she wanted to turn and punch the innocently inquisitive man in the face, but replied coldly, "...It's nothing."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 01:57:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Two sets of fingerprints were all over the purse.&nbsp; The first pair outnumbered the second and was easily identified by the whorl they contained to belong to the victim.&nbsp; The second was identified by a loop, instantly confirming them as distinctly different and belonging to a person of interest."&nbsp; Eric expected that Marion and the others would instantly assume that the owner of those fingerprints was their suspect, but he was not so quick to come to conclusions.&nbsp; The prints could, in theory, belong to a coworker who'd gone through her purse while she was 'performing,' a boyfriend, or any number of people.&nbsp; It was also possible that someone else came to the site and rooted through her things before they ever arrived.&nbsp; "On their own, the prints are useless.&nbsp; We ran them through the database:&nbsp; no matches."<br><br>Eric returned to his seat in the corner while Captain Green again took center-stage.&nbsp; Everyone delegated to the case sat around in chairs, some turned backward to facilitate a more individualistic style of seating, and listened to each speaker as if they were imparting vital life knowledge like a Tibetan Sage or the Dali Llama himself.&nbsp; Not much was known, and that made damn near everyone in the room terribly uncomfortable.&nbsp; Cops tended to identify too strongly with the victims, it was one of their major faults:&nbsp; the introduction of emotion to the case almost always led to contamination and false conclusions.<br><br>"We'll be speaking to her coworkers and everyone who was there the night before she died, that we can, find in order to look for anything that seemed off.&nbsp; If you interview someone who acts suspiciously, try and get their fingerprints cleanly on a cup so that we can check them against what Forensics picked up.&nbsp; That's the best lead we have right now, and one other thing..."&nbsp; Captain Green glanced at Marion out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "No one talks to the press.&nbsp; We already... had a little incident, where the public was less than impressed by information released at the scene of the crime.&nbsp; Remember:&nbsp; any official comments must be made through official channels.&nbsp; Unless it is your job to do so or you are of sufficient rank, don't overstep your boundaries."<br><br>"As you all know, today's my last day.&nbsp; Some of you will be moving up in the ranks.&nbsp; In particular, I'd like everyone to congratulate <strong>Sargent Gonzales</strong> and Lieutenant Michaels."<br><br><em>You have got to be kidding me.&nbsp; How was he selected.&nbsp; Who's idea was it to take the worst that the force has to offer and promote him?&nbsp; It doesn't even make sense to act on seniority alone.. there are plenty others who are more suited to the task.&nbsp; This is absolutely...</em><br><br>"Deputy Captain Kerry will be taking over all of my official duties, and there will be a few other promotions in the coming days -- they're out of my hands however, just wait and see.&nbsp; Anyone who gets passed over, don't worry, this is a sudden thing and not necessarily reflective of your career, but filling departmental needs in my absence."<br><br><em>Not necessary reflective of your career?&nbsp; What sense does that make?</em><br><br>"That's all then, dismissed."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 02:30:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Like a slap to the face.</em> The words stung worse than the blow, only this time it was coming from their very own captain. She almost preferred the physical strike, it seemed to sting less than the news that she was passed up by a man with a penchant for visually molesting dead hookers. She shuddered, but said nothing, her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. Internally, she couldn't say she was all that surprised. She was always prepared for yet another big announcement that only served to remind her that her work was essentially thankless, professionally-speaking. She got the laurels, she was awarded praise for her captures, but was ultimately as good as a pin-up girl for their PR department. <em>NYPD's finest bullshit.</em><br><br>In fact, her poker face in the departmental meetings was so great, that she was even able to give Gonzalez a good-natured punch to the shoulder and a stiff smile as they all shuffled from the meeting room though inside she was more inclined to punch him in the face, a direct-shot to the porn-'stache he cultivated year-round. "Guess you're the <em>jefe</em> now. Congrats, man."<br><br>The rounded mass of man placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her seriously. "Von Stade. I'm giving you a promotion."<br><br>"Oh boy, can't wait to hear what this is."<br><br>"You'll be my assistant sargent -- I'll even let you share my big office..."<br><br>"So generous of you. And what does this job entail?"<br><br>"Well, I have some big uniform changes planned..."<br><br>Her eyes rolled. "I really need to start keeping a list of people to bring charges against in this place..."<br><br>"Come on, I'll even let you pin a detective badge to your bra..."<br><br>Another punch to the arm followed by a rueful "Oww, hey!" and Marion stepped quicker to break away from the single-file shuffle, heading instead for the break room, seeking caffeine to fuel herself to find the ambition to continue to work the rest of the day under such depressing news. She'd stopped smoking before she got through college, was never much of a drinker. She jogged three miles to start every morning, avoided too many sugary foods, flossed regularly, and now she found herself filling the void of bad habits with a tame vice for coffee.<br><br>Her eyes glazed over at the styrofoam cup of cheap, black liquid clutched between her hands and slid down into a folding chair, resting her elbows on the standard fake wood tabletop. Her mind wandered to thoughts of fingerprints -- some part of her hunch about the purse had been right, that much was for certain. The apartment run-through yielded no driver's license or social security card, merely unpaid bills with the name of Elise Cohen. There were no evident signs of anyone else living with her. <em>Wonder if there's an ex-boyfriend out there, a friend, someone we can talk to. I'll have to interview some of the other strippers, see if I can find fellow prostitutes...</em> The thought of interviews brought her back to the earlier statement she'd botched and she reflexively blushed again, sighing deeply at her own folly. <em>And now apparently I've got blackmail to deal with, as well. A public and private fuck-up all within the same 24 hours. It's as if even God is saying, "Should've stuck to glassblowing, kid. Wren Elliot Octavia would've been too stoned to give a shit about going anywhere with her life. Never set expectations and you're never disappointed!</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 03:36:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Eric stood outside of the break room for a moment and curiously watched the expression on Marion's face.&nbsp; It slowly became more and more severe, likely as she let her guard down because she thought she was alone.&nbsp; He surmised that she was even more unhappy than he was about Gonzales' promotion.&nbsp; The man didn't deserve to be bumped up to a higher paygrade, if anything demotion should've been the reward for the quality of work he'd done lately.&nbsp; Most everyone knew she deserved what he got, that was probably why she sat alone.&nbsp; The others were smart to give her wide berth.<br><br>Throwing caution to the wind Eric entered the break room and sat across the table from Marion quietly.&nbsp; He picked at his black polo shirt for a moment in silence, adjusting the seams so that they took the proper perpendicularity, then finally spoke, "That's not the end of this round of promotions.&nbsp; Like the boss said, they're looking for a few more sargents.&nbsp; I happen to have the list of candidates that are up for promotion... He wants a review of their cooperation with Forensics.&nbsp; Gonzales is on the list, but I was every bit as surprised as you were today, I figured that he wouldn't be selected..."<br><br>"Looks like the boss jumped the gun just so he could get outta here sooner and leave less crap for his successor to deal with.&nbsp; You're on the list -- I've been thinking about what to say.&nbsp; I told him I'd put in a factual report, but we both know you can make numbers say anything you want.&nbsp; The numbers, unaltered, don't exactly say much positive about your relations with Forensics though."&nbsp; <em>Do I admit I feel a little guilty?&nbsp; No, no, any sign of weakness and she pounces on it.</em>&nbsp; "I want to give you a good review but you don't make it very easy for me to.&nbsp; And I kind of doubt you're going to change the way you do business."<br><br>"So... Guess we're at an impasse.&nbsp; You want a promotion, and I want a coworker who is less of a bitch."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 04:02:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Alone time was good. It gave her a chance to settle, to mull things through, and mostly to let her temper smolder in the privacy of her own thoughts. Of course, such a luxury was not afforded with a man like Eric in the building, and thus she found her sense of quietude rudely interrupted. Where most other officers gave her space, unwilling to deal with her explosive, irrational temper, it was no surprise that the lab geeks would instead march right up and incite the bear right in her cave.<br><br>"Okay, really?" she grumbled, leaning back in her seat with her arms folded tightly across her chest in a blatantly standoffish way. "Isn't one instance of blackmail in the last twenty-four hours enough for you? I thought I kept my so-called crazy and improbable hunches to the side quite well today, and already you're back to antagonize me some more."<br><br>She sighed, shaking her head. "But this just fuckin' figures. I work my ass off and it comes down to <em>you</em> getting to decide." She gave a harsh, bitter laugh to punctuate the irony of the whole situation. "Well, great. Guess you get to fuck with my job as well as my pride, that's really fantastic, man I love how this place operates. You certainly seem quite chipper to be in the position you're in, as well."<br><br>Pushing her chair back slightly, she tilted her chin up, looking at him with a scrupulous gaze. "You know, I'm just not so sure this is worth all the times I get fucked in this place. At this point it's not a matter of if, it's merely a matter of when."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 04:13:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I didn't come here to antagonize you or blackmail you as you so eloquently put it."&nbsp; In an instant she managed to destroy whatever good will he had for her minutes before.&nbsp; Eric had always found Marion impossibly difficult to sympathize with when she was being herself.&nbsp; The bursts of anger, profanity, and general lack of tact was painfully off-putting to his civilized, college educated perspective.&nbsp; "But I'm starting to change my mind, and wondering why I came in to talk to you at all.&nbsp; Just when I start to feel bad about how I treated you earlier you give me every reason to feel the opposite way."&nbsp; <em>I can't believe I was ever tempted to apologize to her.</em><br><br>"I'll leave you be.&nbsp; If you want to have a serious discussion about your pending Forensics review, then you know where you can find me.&nbsp; Otherwise I'll just send off the actual numbers, that is the truth of your irresponsibility, as has been requested of me by my boss.&nbsp; I'm having a really hard time seeing any reason why I should do you a favor that could get me into trouble, earlier certainly is enough guilt to propel me in that direction.&nbsp; You can complain about what I did all you like, but we both know that was next to nothing.&nbsp; A small handprint on your face and a brief spike of pain doesn't even come close to amounting to anything of real concern."<br><br>Eric stood and made for the door, tuning out whatever else she had to say.&nbsp; It was fairly easy to predict what the response would be anyway:&nbsp; some curse-laid, aggressive complaining.&nbsp; He decided to keep walking no matter what came out of her mouth, because her temper tantrums were never relevant.&nbsp; Marion's first response was always anger, it wasn't until she got past that layer of seething emotion that she would actually commit real thought to the situation.&nbsp; Instinct came before rationality; it was a fundamental part of both her investigative work and personality.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 04:34:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Without thinking, she stood up so fast, her chair tipping over with a crash, and violently grabbed the back of the man's shirt, pulling backwards and away from the door. The color in her face rose with anger again, but the volume of her voice remained low as she slammed the door back behind them. Her head jerked towards the blinds on the window and she jerked them down violently, the sound of them clattering against the doorframe the prelude to the next.<br><br>"No. <em>No, no, no.</em> You can't act like my irritation with you is so out of line. Any sane person would treat you the same way -- you slap a person and they're probably not going to want to be Susie goddamn Sunshine in your presence. You feel the same way about me, it's no different."<br><br>"And let's look at what kind of bullshit you're giving me -- First it's, 'Do this and I won't show the boss your numbers', and then it's "If you do this, I <em>will</em> show the boss your numbers.' Excuse me if I'm not beaming with excitement at the fucking predicament you've put me in -- and if you're unwilling to call it blackmail, I'm not real sure what else I'd label that as because it fits the description pretty damn well -- and then&nbsp; holding your own supposed guilt over my head as some kind of trump card I should fall to my knees and be grateful for isn't the most welcoming thing, either. I'm not the only one here with a shitty attitude. You can still be a dick without raising your voice. At least I'm honest about it."<br><br>She yanked her chair up from the ground and unfolded it again, sitting down with a solid 'thump', her arms crossed again, forming a kind of barrier around herself. "So now that that's out of the way, how about you sit down and we can strike a deal about this and move on with our lives."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Jude</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 05:12:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Okay," he responded calmly in spite of her aggressions.&nbsp; Eric found it easy to be the calmer person at all times, he'd never had much of a temper, "I'll be blunt:&nbsp; I want to help you.&nbsp; There are things I don't like about your work but you're better than Gonzales.&nbsp; Him being promoted to Sargent is a travesty -- we both know it -- and I'm sure you wish there was something you could do about.&nbsp; There isn't anything we can do about him, aside from limit how often we have to deal with him, and I have a plan to minimize just that."<br><br>"If you get promoted to Sargent, then the two of you will never have to work together in t&nbsp; he field again.&nbsp; You will be responsible for other detectives and rookies, you will see him in briefings, but you won't have to be his underling.&nbsp; And, if you get promoted to Sargent and take lead on a Forensics heavy case -- say the Preston murders -- I won't have to put up with him either.&nbsp; Justice wins too, since we both know he has to rub all two of his braincells together in order to pretend to be a cop, and he has no more resources to devote to actually doing it.&nbsp; If he gets the Preston murders, they will never, ever be solved."<br><br>"I'll submit a glowing report on your cooperation with Forensics along with a recommendation that you are promoted to Sargent, then I'll let them know just how incompetent Gonzales is.&nbsp; I also have a piece of evidence to offer you..."&nbsp; Eric's mind began to wander off mid-statement, choosing to follow a path he'd never intended.&nbsp; His eyes traced her cheek, looking for any hint of the handprint he'd left the day before.&nbsp; It was gone.&nbsp; He should have been relieved that the evidence of his crime was expunged from the record, but that was not at all how he felt.&nbsp; "I found something exciting about the Preston murders.&nbsp; The information yours to take, but I could give it to you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Affidavit</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Noelle</strong> on <strong>08-10-2010, 05:27:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As he spoke, her eyes narrowed, dropping, staring at the floor just past his silhouette as she reverted back to her thoughts. It all seemed very much desirable, but she sat in await of the 'but' that was surely to follow. He was right on several fronts; working under Gonzales was the worst possible scenario. She'd always been the better detective, certainly the more devoted, but he worked his advantages as he should've. Where Marion fell under the wagon at saying all the right things and working the political factor, Gonzales seemed to pull himself together when it came down to the bottom line. <em>He's a scumbag, a total boil on the ass of police department, but he knows how to play the field.</em><br><br>It was no surprise that immediately after Eric laid his intentions out on the table, she was immediately prone to being suspect. She folded her hands over the table, a pose reminiscent of those caught on tape of her sitting across an interrogation table from a murder suspect, grilling them relentlessly for the truth. "You want to help me, you want to give me information...at what cost? This certainly isn't just about who you'd prefer to work with, as we so learned yesterday. So on with it, your demands?"
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>