Detectives Bonheur and Wilton Offer their Aid

I let Marty drag me across the station to the elevators, then to the Homicide division’s meeting room. I see a board, just a glimpse though as they hide it when they notice our approach. Because they know about my habits of poaching cases when I get bored. The head of this particular task force, a gentleman in his late forties who kind of hates me. Well, hate is the wrong word, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy my presence.

“Marty,” Detective Stephen Stone says, “What brings Major Crimes down here. And why is he here with you?”

“Sorry, but I think you two need to talk,” Marty says, pushing me forwards.

Detective Stone nods, understanding Marty’s meaning somehow, and he nods for the other detectives and beat cops on the task force to leave. “So this is about that document that was mysteriously copied two days ago?” he adds, staring smugly at me. “Do you have some kind of theory?”

I shoot Marty a look of betrayal, because the only way they knew about that was he told them, but with a sigh, I admit defeat. This was always a possibility today. I pull the edited files up on my tablet, complete with circles and notes. I work through my words, making sure everything remains in the present, “So, I noticed a couple things. There was no physical evidence, and more importantly, no effort went into cleanup, so whoever is doing this knows they’re not leaving anything behind. So they’re probably wearing full and at least partially sealed suit. The strikes are precise, so they’ve likely done this before. But, you don’t have it on your radar, so it’s spaced out. No one reported anything out of place. Combine those things, what do you get?” I ask, then wait the couple seconds it takes for it to click in Detective Stone’s head before I answer myself, “Probably a trash burner.” Then, with a shrug, I add, “Only other thing I noted was they’re using the laptops Pee Em.”

Stephen nods. “We noted that, too,” he says, “Didn’t think of the trash yet, but it makes sense for the pattern. What’s your theory about the laptop?”

“Well,” I begin, smirking at my partner, “I was thinking…”

Marty shoves me slightly. “His current working theory is it’s for targeting, though he wants it to be something more sinister,” he explains, exasperated.

“You may have gotten your wish,” Detective Stone says quietly.

“Ooh,” I reply with a wide grin, “Juicy. What’s up?”

“The task force has been working on a theory,” the middle-aged man says stonefaced, “And we wanted to confirm we didn’t miss anything.”

“What’s the theory? Did you find the past murders? Or was there another one?” I press. It’s what I would do.

“No, and no. You’re lucky we’re not having you disciplined for stealing the file in the first place,” detective Stone sighs out.

I shake my head, waving him off. “You forget, I know you Stephen. As long as I share credit for the arrest and don’t work against your task forces, you’d never risk your career to report me.”

He stares me dead in the eyes, and says completely seriously, “I hate you, Detective Bonheur.”

“I know,” I reply with a smile, “Do tell me if you want any more of your case files mysteriously copied then solved for you.”

Detective Stone gestures for his people to return, then waves me and Marty out. Walking me back to the elevator, Marty sighs and shakes his head. “I do really wish sometimes you weren’t so intent on being an asshole,” he says.

I shrug. “No you don’t,” I reply. “So, that was all? Just a confirmation chat?”

Detective Martin Wilton waits for us to enter the elevator, which has not had a functioning camera since I was a beat cop, before saying. “No. He caught me and demanded, sure, but I got a glimpse of the board because he doesn’t hate me as much as you. There was another murder, but something must have gone wrong because one of the things up there was some kind of emergency call.”

“Think you can finagle me the new file?” I ask.

Marty sighs, shaking his head. “I was hoping you’d not be an asshole, and we’d get it the legit way.” Then letting that hang as I stare at him with curiosity in my eyes, he sighs. “Maybe. But should I?”

The elevator doors open. “Come on,” I say as I walk through, “What’s the harm?”

Marty follows me through. “To you? Almost none. Some of us have retirements to worry about.”

“Of us?” I joke, “Neither of us are ever going to retire.”

Marty groans as we sit down at our desks. Whoever that carbon copy of the Sergeant was from earlier she’s not in Sergeant McMichaels’s office anymore. The sergeant spots us and Marty quickly opens up some files on his computer to look busy. She walks over, visibly upset. “Detective Bonheur,” she says, her voice the usual mix of irritation and disappointment.

“Hey, I got all the paperwork in,” I insist.

She nods. “And then you took a full day off,” she counters. “A full day in which I had to deal with the fallout of your shitstorm.”

“Sorry, impeccable paperwork is stressful,” I reply with a smile, “And it was impeccable. So I needed to relax, get drunk, and lose some money. Only fair.”

Her glare heightens its intensity. “For both our sakes, it better be,” she mutters, before gesturing towards the bike, “And how many times have I told you to park in the garage.”

I grin. “I’m sure this time it’ll stick,” I joke. When this joke doesn’t cheer her up, I share some news that does. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I heard a rumor that the heat might cool down.”

“Anything more specific than ‘might cool down’?” she replies.

I wave the question off. “You know how the rumors I hear are,” I say. She does, though she would never want to admit it.

“Their quality depends entirely on how sober you are when you hear them?” she replies coyly, a hint of a smirk on her face.

I lean over to look at Marty. “Got a smile.”

Marty looks back at me. “Her making a joke at your expense isn’t you making her laugh,” he counters.

“Potato, tomato,” I shoot back.

This, of course, only serves to redirect her attention to my partner. “And you, Detective Wilton,” she begins.

“I’ve tried to keep him in line, but you know how he gets when he’s doing paperwork.”

“Hey!” I say, feigning offence.

“Right,” he acknowledges me, “Sorry. Paperwork that isn’t about shooting people or messing with the department therapist’s head.”

She shakes her head. “If you both don’t get it together, I’ll be making you volunteer as instructors for our officer training courses. I’m sure there’s at least a couple that you’re qualified to teach.”

I lean in. “Would that mean we’d get to meet that winner of the Sergeant McMichaels look alike contest that was in your office earlier?” I ask with a sinister grin.

She responds with a glare. “What are you insinuating?” she asks, her voice sounding less disappointed than normal, though somehow more irritated.

Marty very unhelpfully chooses to chime in. “I believe he’s implying that he wishes to flirt with and horrendously fail to seduce your daughter, only to witness his roommate successfully do so.”

“I hate you,” I shoot over at Marty. Then, shaking my head, I add, “Besides, you have nothing to worry about, boss. Davina would never sleep with a cop.”

That trio of statements, at least, elicits the hint of a smile on the Sergeants face, before it returns to stone. “That’s not funny,” she says, much more seriously, “Vic already feels like she’s being set up. If you do end up meeting her, don’t be an ass, okay?”

I shrug. “Not sure that’s entirely possible, but I can certainly try.”

She looks over at Marty, because that is Marty’s role in our partnership. “Yeah, I’ll keep him reined in. As much as possible,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m right here,” I say.

Sergeant McMichaels nods. Marty adds, “We know, Chance. We’d tell you to earmuff, but you wouldn’t listen to us if we did.”

I shake my head. “So, anything fun for me to do?” I ask.

The sergeant shakes her head, heading back to her office. Marty sighs. “Heist went down, but its victim is one of the corps so we’re explicitly not on that. Other than that, nothing major. Want to poach from the little ‘uns?”

I shake my head. “That’s never worth it,” I say, “Not to worry, there’s always something going down in this City. Just give it a few minutes.”

He shakes his head. “So, how was your day off?”

“Fine,” I reply, “No, better than fine. I forgot how relaxing losing money could be.”

He laughs. “You know, I’ve never found losing money that relaxing myself, but good for you, I guess.”

“You’re clearly doing it wrong,” I joke. Then, slightly more seriously, I add, “And please stop telling everyone about my roommate.”

Marty shakes his head. “But it’s such a fun fact. She doesn’t sleep with unis?”

“So she’s claimed for as long as I’ve known her. Only reason she tolerates me is our history.”

“And you’re substance abuse issues,” Marty counters, jokingly.

“No ab, just use,” I say with a smirk. Immediately bored, I add, “So what are the little ‘uns doing that we might be able to poach.”

“One of the petty break ins. Nothing reported missing, but it’s an office of someone we technically must say is allegedly a fence and so allegedly might have something missing that is unreported.”

I sigh. Might piss off whichever fence it is if we announce that to the kiddos of the local precinct. “Tell you what, just tell me which one, I’ll wander near during lunch and see if there’s anything for us to look into.”

“Someone named Mae Nevin. Need me to find her address?” Marty asks.

Shit. Mae. She won’t appreciate our help if she doesn’t reach out directly. I shake my head. “Not worth it,” I say, “Not yet, at least. If they turn up some evidence that something was taken, maybe we step in, but this might just be some kind of intimidation.”

Marty nods, fully not caring. That’s one of the many reasons I appreciate my partner. He is genuinely as happy just chilling at his computer doing paperwork as he is out on an investigation. “Anything else?” I ask.

“Well, let’s see,” he says, typing some things in.

Before he can answer, I hear an echoing shout. “Wilton, Bonheur, with me,” Sergeant McMichaels says as she walks briskly past us.

Quickly and dutifully, we fall in with her. “What is it?” I ask.

“Chief requested the help on a kidnapping. And you’re available. Unless you think you’re too busy trolling the servers for cases to steal?”

“No, ma’am,” Marty says. “What are the details?”

“Wouldn’t say over the phone. We’re headed to the secure floor for the briefing,” she informs us.

Wouldn’t say over the phones means they’re worried of one of two things: Organized crime involvement, or gossip significance. Unless someone new is showing up, most of the proper organized crime in the City know better than risk my involvement by doing a kidnapping. Unless it’s really important. Hopefully that’s not it, and it’s just some politician or executive being involved. That would mean I don’t need to worry as much about something actually important going down. Or a new player in town. The Sergeant presses the button for the secure floor, I sigh. Because I’m guessing that I’m not so lucky. She notices the sigh. “My thoughts, too. Someone new is probably in town.”

Marty looks at me then at the boss. “I don’t think that’s what he’s worried about. But, hey, maybe it’s just the mayor’s son again. He’s the sort to get himself taken,” he offers to try to calm us down. It doesn’t work. The elevator doors open into the secure floor, and its fancy offices for cybercrime and administration. Time to meet with the Chief, see what sort of kidnapping he’s so worried about he’d bring us in and not the feds or the mallcops.