Participants:
| Scene Title | Pissing in HomeSec's Cornflakes |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | … It'd be amusing if we were. Dunno, though! |
| Date | April 17, 2009 |
NYPD HQ SCOUT Squad Room
Murdoch has been at the computers for some time, a skill that he had slid into as it was phased in, but even in the few years he's been gone things have changed enough that it's given him trouble. Still, he doesn't seem to have asked for any help, powering through using readmes and manuals where he couldn't just infer it. His glasses are perched on his nose and his eyes scan the fruits of his labors: a black and white printout layered with text. There are quite a few pages of it.
Elisabeth's hours in the precinct have been a little odd the past week or so — she's been mostly out of the office, working on cases where she can but studying like mad for the detectives' exam that's upcoming. She's looking a little stressed about the whole thing, actually. "Hey, Murdoch," she comments as she comes into the squad room and drops a sheaf of files on her desk. Clearly it's time for paperwork. "Working on anything interesting?"
Murdoch looks a little surprised, like he didn't expect anyone to be here, maybe anyone in the whole world, besides himself. I takes a moment for him to regain himself, to figure out what she's even saying, and then what she's talking about. But when he's back, he doesn't immediately answer her question. Instead he manages a thin smile, "Elisabeth," he say, "Sorry. Engrossed. Forgive me if I was rude." He folds the papers in his hand, turning in the chair towards her and setting his findings in his lap, "Can I help you?"
There's a pfft from her. "Not unless you're going to do the last three days of my paperwork for me. I've been trying to study, so it's all behind." Elisabeth grins at him a bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your train of thought. What are you working on?" She nods toward his lap. "Anything fun?"
This elicits a frown from Murdoch, his eyes moving to the floor, though forward from his feet, not a boyish or shamed look, but one of consideration. His lips part, he looks up at Elisabeth, his lips close, he whets them, then opens then again. Then, finally, speaks. "How often do you go on hunches? I've known plenty of officers who swear by them, but I've always been very skeptical. It seems a troublingly subjective thing to base decisions of law and order on."
That makes her look thoughtful as she drops into her chair and leans back, swiveling it to look at him. Pushing out her lower lip, Elisabeth says mildly, "I've gone on a few hunches in my time…. asked my partner to trust me when I had no real logical reason for why I thought something was the way it was. Why? What's eating at you? Got a case that you can't find the evidence to back up your gut?"
Murdoch gives a wry smile, "Less even than that," he says, "A case would at least provide a framework for investigation, there would be some call for inquiry by the department. But this…" he looks Elisabeth firmly in the eyes, "I'll tell you. And if you think I'm crazy for bothering, I'll put it away and not look back once. Promise me, though, not to humor me? Shut me down if you think I'm chasing shadows?"
Elisabeth looks surprised, but she nods to him. "All right. Talk to me. Sounds like it's really eating at you."
Murdoch wrinkles his nose, "The fact that I know it /shouldn't/ is precisely why. One of those vicious cycles I always heard so much about." He takes a breath, "I went out to a bar last night, with Terry, one of the standard officers. He had a friend, by the name of Minea Dahl, formerly Minea Lancaster. Seemed like a nice girl, rough and tumble," he chuckles, "I drink tequila with them. Which isn't so crazy as /where/ we drank it. This bar was on the island," he lifts a hand preemptively, "I know it was stupid, but I didn't… well… I don't often get asked out for drink," he shrugs, "Pathetic, I know, but I didn't want to pass up on it and seem standoffish."
There's a soft chuckle as he talks, and Elisabeth looks a bit sympathetic. "Can't remember the last time I did that myself, so yeah… I hear ya." She tilts her head. "I know Terry. Collins, right?" And she listens intently.
Murdoch nods, "Terry seemed an alright chap. And Minea could hold her liquor. Sadly, I'm out of practice, so I had to go to the bathroom. Not to vomit or anything, mind you! I'm not that stupid. But I had to, well," how to put this delicately? "Urinate." Because delicacy is totally necessary when you work homicide. "When I came back, the two of them were talking about… this bet. About whether they could scare this kid, clearly underaged, out of the bar. I figured, just a stupid drunk bet, but she seemed sort of fixated on it. Turns out she knew this kid, but not so that she wanted to go up to him and talk. She knew his name, though. Simon."
Although she's laughing at him internally, Liz makes a point of merely grinning when he oh-so-nicely phrases himself. And then she nods, encouraging him to go on.
"So Terry goes up and flashes his badge 'accidentally' while paying for another drink, and the kid clearly doesn't even notice, and I'm thinking he's drunker than I thought, if he's showing his shield on the island," Murdoch continues, "And Minea laughs, saying he lost, but moments ago she was trying to get /me/ to scare him off. So… this bet? They both want the same outcome? Why?" The older cop rubs the side of his nose, "So far it's just confusing. But it gets straight out perplexing when the kid /does/ bail, but only because his sister comes and gets him. And then, soon as it happens, the night's over. Terry and Minea both have to go, and I can take a cab home, no worries."
Both eyebrows shoot to the blonde's hairline when she hears that Terry flashed his badge on Staten. "Christ, has he got a death wish??" Liz murmurs. But she listens and frowns slightly. "So…. Minea Dahl knows this kid, he's sitting in a bar. She wants Collins to go over and roust the kid?" She's not sure she has this straight, but … she has some clue about what may be going on. "She doesn't want to confront him herself?"
Murdoch shakes his head, "And as soon as she does roust the kid, both of them get up and leave, just minutes after him. And I'm clearly not invited along. Maybe they just wanted some privacy, were going off to hook up, to use the common parlance. I'd love to think that. Well… I'd be happy if that were the reasoning for getting rid of me. That I could understand and respect. But she seemed more intent on the kid than on Terry. So I come back here and run both her names," he scowls, "I know it was stupid, an invasion of her privacy. But I… I had that hunch. And this is what I found," he offers one set of papers, "Minea Lancaster. Secretary at Biomere, artist on her off time. A few routine civil violations, parking tickets, etc."
Oh dear…. Elisabeth reaches out slowly to take the papers. "And… her other?" she asks mildly. May as well find out what he's got before she fills in the blanks.
Murdoch hands Elisabeth the remaining papers, "Minea Dahl. Former military intelligence spook. Current employee of Homeland security. Spotless record," he snorts, "The only thing that really matches up is the art thing. She owns an art company called Dahl Consultations. A little more than a hobby, it looks like."
There's a slow nod, but Elisabeth doesn't look at the papers in her hands. "So…. my first thought, because I know the woman and I know she was undercover for a while, is that she ran into this kid in that guise and doesn't want him to blow the whistle on her to people she was spying on for Homeland. But…. what is it that's actually niggling at you?"
Murdoch quirks his mouth to the side, "That sounds perfectly reasonable, and this is why I don't like hunches… they make you ignore such alternatives. But… it's this feeling. The /way/ she was handling it. Not like she was trying to avoid the kid at all. We could have just gone to another bar. It was a game to her, a bet. She seemed, and I admit it's just what I was feeling, but she seemed /interested/. And… the kid was talking, and I heard he was living at a place called 'the house' or 'the bright tower'. And I'd be a poor detective if I didn't link that to the Lighthouse, that Linderman backed place with all the Evolved kids."
Blinking, Elisabeth looks stunned when he says 'interested' like that. Cuz…. no way in hell. "All right. Maybe she thinks he has information she can use?"
"The kid couldn't have even been twenty," Murdoch says, with a touch of frustration, "What does HomeSec want with a goddamn Staten Island orphan? Such that it needs an undercover ex-military spook to tail him? And if it's so important, why is it SCOUT is in the dark?" he waves a hand, "Fine, perhaps it's not our business, but it felt all wrong. And that's the hunch. Something amiss. I don't know what, but something all the legitimate justifications I can think of simply don't cover," he shrugs, "That's the whole of it."
"Well…. I can suggest two things. First…. that you maybe ask Minea Dahl yourself why she's interested in him. Or, if you'd rather, I can do it for you. I've met her a few times, we get along well enough. Second… " Elisabeth pushes out her cheeks in a blowfish look, blowing her breath out slowly. "If it is what you think it is, frankly? We're probably never going to know. Not like Homeland tells us ANYTHING."
Murdoch gives a nod, "Probably the smartest, most rational thing to do, yes," he says, "Of course I did ask her on the spot, and she evaded the question. Classic HomeSec. Given, that was before I /knew/ she was HomeSec." He leans back in the chair, "If it is something, I'm saying, then I don't want her to /know/ I'm aware it's something. Particularly before I know /what/ 'something' is. But if you tell me it's nothing… I'll believe you. Or I'll try."
Elisabeth bites her lip and considers. "I wish I could. You said the kid's name was Simon and he had a sister? Maybe we can go at it from that angle?" She grins a little bit. "I know a kid named Simon who, unless I misremember, was heading for the Lighthouse who had a sister. I'd say the odds that they're the same people, given that you mentioned the Lighthouse, are pretty good. I might be able to ask him what he's been up to lately that might have Homeland interested."
Murdoch gives a crooked smile, "Would you?" he says, "I mean, since Homeland hasn't officially asked us not to interfere, since we have no official notice at all that this is Homeland business… it doesn't seem against our professional directives to ask, does it?"
"Nope, not a bit," Elisabeth agrees with a cheerful grin. "Besides…. if it pisses Homeland off, I'm all for it," she winks.
Murdoch laughs, and leans forward, expression on of relief, "Thank you. I very much appreciate it. I hope you come back and tell me that it was just the alcohol and my medication having a bad interaction. I hope to heaven I'm just being ridiculous. But if not… I'll still want to know."
Elisabeth nods easily. "All right," she agrees. "I'll poke my head in and make contact tomorrow, and we'll see what we get out of them." If nothing else, it'll tip Simon off that Homeland's interested, if he doesn't already know. Which can't be a bad thing either, since he's working on hiding his ability still.
Murdoch gives a dry chuckle, "The best of luck to him." He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, "I think I should give myself a rest, a quick break so I can be fresh for my /actual/ work in the department," he takes off his reading glasses, folds them and slides the into his pocket, "Again, thank you. I would have torn out my already thinning hair fretting if you hadn't helped."
"Can't have that, Murdoch," Liz replies. "Get some rest." She rolls her eyes and turns her chair around so she can work on that paperwork…. bleargh!
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