Participants:
| Scene Title | Unlike Paris Hilton |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | … Peyton Whitney does not carry around a chihuahua in her purse and apparently has something upstairs — even if she's not telling what she knows to one Detective Cooper. |
| Date | March 7, 2010 |
The New York Police Department Head Quarters is an old stone building, rennovated many times over the years. The plaster walls are not as cracked and in need of repair as the various Precinct buildings around the city. The fluorescent lights give the room a rather sterile glow. Old posters, civic reminders, duty rosters and newspaper clippings are tacked up on the walls, rustling every time one of the doors opens. A high, wooden desk sits on the north wall, manned by two clerks, who records all visitors and arrests.
The way out to the street lies to the south, while doors to the offices of the Head Quarters lie to the northwest.
Sundays are rather quiet — well as quiet as a precinct can be — especially the detective room. Very few detective will work the weekend unless they have some sort of important cases, or in the case of Detective Thomas Cooper, no life to speak of outside of it his job.
When he had talk to Wendy's family, they had mentioned one person in particular — Peyton Whitney. Another rich socialite.
Joy.
Cooper's experiences with rich socialites is limited but the ones he had dealt with were much like Paris Hilton. Not good, that's for sure. So in general the detective is not looking forward to dealing with another New York upper class girl.
When Peyton arrives at the station she's escorted by a uniformed officer to a small interrogation room standard procedure. It's the stereotypical room, just like you see in shows and movies. The single metal table bolted to the ground, two heavy metal chairs on each side. The room is lit by a single frosted window with a grid of bars and the typical two way mirror poised on the wall.
The socialite is not left waiting too long, Cooper didn't want to have that kind of complaint against him. On the other side of the door, Cooper tugs at his jacket, glancing down long enough to brush some sugar off his tie. He murmurs words of encouragement to himself, ignoring a glance from a woman entering the tiny room on the other side of the glass. "Okay Cooper… remember.. don't get the department in trouble. Keep your foot out of your mouth."
Leaning over to pluck his coffee cup and a file with a notebook from a desk near the door, he takes a deep breath and opens the door. He flashes the woman a smile that seems to tug up on one side more then the other. "Miss Peyton Whitney. Thank you for coming down. I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience."
The items in his hands are dropped to the table, so he can offer her a hand. "I'm Detective Thomas Cooper, I'll be the one dealing with your friends case."
The rich socialite in question certainly doesn't like the location of this meeting. It feels like she's the one to be interrogated, single light bulb in an uncovered fixture and all. She's removed her herringbone trench coat, now hung on the back of the very uncomfortable chair — don't criminal suspects deserve some comfort? And she's not a criminal! Well, she is, technically, for some of her actions, but that's not why she's here! — but her purse is still on her lap, arms wrapped around it in a defensive sort of posture. The rest of her is certainly not dressed in Paris-Hilton type of clothing — she opted for casual and wears jeans and a sweater, her feet in warm fuzz-lined boots. She looks like any typical 21-year-old, even if the clothes are designer.
Peyton looks up when the detective when he enters the room, standing slightly, to offer her hand and introduce herself. "Good morning, Detective. I'm Peyton," she says, her low voice soft as she puts her smaller hand in his. Her eyes look just a touch swollen and blood-shot, some darkish circles beneath them. It hasn't been an easy week.
"I'll try not to keep you too long." He offers with a small nod, his hand squeezing hers briefly. Cooper can't help but to give her a once over since she's nothing like he expected. He even glances at her purse for that tell-tale yappy dog that seem more like a fashion accessory then a beloved pet.
"Huh.." Is said at the missing quaking mass of fur and teeth peek fro a purse, without thinking. He glances up at her quickly, realizing and gives her a smile. "Well…" His hand slides form hers and he settles himself into the chair across from hers, "I apologizes for bringing you in here, but they like to get things like this on tape." He gives her a small smile. "So relax.. you look guilty." He jokes, before opening a file and drawing his notepad close.
"So. Miss Whitney, standard question. What was your relationship with Miss Hunter?" Pen poised on the yellow legal pad, Cooper settles into his role.
His glance at her purse makes her glance down at her purse — it's a Balenciaga, certainly large enough to hold a yappy dog, but nope, no yappy dog here. Her eyebrows rise in curiosity but she smiles at his attempted jokes. "It's just a little… intimidating," she says softly, gesturing to the fake mirror that she knows is an observation window. "And the last time I was in a police station, well. Not good memories." But then it's on to business.
Reaching up to push a strand of hair out of her eyes and then dropping it back to her bag, Peyton's eyes drop as well. Apparently there's no relaxing in the plans for today. "We were friends. We met back in … July? Or early August. We had a lot in common, and she was there for me when I … when my power manifested and I got brought to the hospital. We've been through a lot. The kidnapping, I'm sure you know about." She can't tell him she helped rescue Wendy from the second kidnapping. How could someone like her do something like that?
"Okay." The word is drawn out as he concentrates on scrawling across the page, his handwriting barely legible. Flipping up a few pages on the file, he scans over something. "Clairvoyant? Random visions." He asks of her, looking somewhat impressed. Obviously, someone who doesn't have a problem with evolved, there is no malice, disgust or anything in his expression, meerly curiosity. "And yes.. I heard all about the kidnappings. So a close friend."
"And when was the last time you saw her, talked to her on the phone and what not?" Cooper asks, eyes lifting from the paper, but not his head. "More specifically, was there anything really unusual.. anything stand out? Crazies look googly eyes or suspicious phone calls?" A brow lifts slight as he asks.
"We … I saw her Tuesday. And no — she was doing really, really well. She was sort of on Refrain before. I… don't tell her family I told you that; I don't know if they'd want anyone to know, but it could be important, right? So she'd been holed up in her apartment. She didn't tell me about seeing anyone strange, but then Wendy doesn't have your and my idea of strange." There's a faint smile at that. "No phone calls, nothing like that. It was sudden. But it's not like… I mean, people with powers, they can do so much without being seen or noticed. She probably never saw whoever did it." Tears well up but she bites her lip to keep them from falling.
Writing pases long enough so he can nudge a flat box of Kleenex her away, look it even has aloe, so no cracks and rubbed raw noses. Cooper adds a few more notes, "I won't let them know you told me," He promises softly, with a small nod. "But I do appreciate you telling me about the addiction. Do… you happen to know her dealer? Or any idea where she got it?"
"Mostly, so I can make sure it's not something resulting from a bad deal." Not because he wants to bust anyone for dealing, that isn't his gig anymore, unless brass asks him to go on a case like the Refrain Raid. "Cause your right. People with abilities come in a wide variety of flavors, and I need to know everyone she's usually in contact with so I can check them out. Make sure it isn't some bad drug deal… or a lovers spat." A hand gives a bit of a flipping gesture as he lists of those scenarios.
Peyton shakes her head. "I don't know — I saw her on … I know she went to Staten a couple of times, so it might have been there," she says, mentally kicking herself for the false start on that sentence. She shouldn't be admitting she was on Staten! But then, it's what all the rich brats do, right? Head over there for a night of drinking and debauchery to show how cool they are? "The only guy I know she was seeing lately was John Logan, but … I don't think it was him. They weren't really exclusive and I don't think he'd have done anything like that." Like what? She's not supposed to know how it happened.
Head coming up slowly at the mention of John Logan, Coopers brows lift high on his head. "John Logan? Really?" A note is quickly made, oh yes, Cooper knows that man. The detective had put a gun in the Burlesques owner's face on a raid. "I'll be the judge on that, Miss Whitney." He offers a comforting smile, "I know Mr Logan." Something in his smile and tone says it's not in a good way.
And he didn't miss what she said either, "So…" The pen is set down on the legal pad, while he settles back in his chair, picking up his coffee mug. "… Miss Whitney, there may be a media black out on this case, but it's obvious you know something about how your friend die." He gives her a level look over the top of his cup. "Mind telling me the word on the street?"
That brow arches again and he takes a sip of his coffee, his pale green eyes watching her like a hawk.
"Do I look like I know what they say on the street?" Peyton asks, giving him an incredulous look. She has a Balenciaga bag! "I … just know that it wasn't a little lover's spat. It wasn't someone throwing her down the stairs in anger and her bumping her head. It's obvious that it's worse than that, and it's connected to the Jane Doe case, somehow, so it probably means it was a serial killer," she says, slowly, as if she's thinking of all the parts of the equation. "And while John Logan is hardly a sweet guy, I don't think he's a serial killer. That's all."
"You'd be surprised who knows what in this day and age." Cooper sounds more amused then anything at the question. "Twitter, FaceBook, texting. Word gets around." The man should know, his daughter does it all and he hates that. His smile tugs up on one side into a smirk. "Never know what you might of heard from. That whole, heard from a guy who heard it from that girl, who heard from a cousin who's slumming with some guy from some shit hole in Brooklyn."
"Okay.. so anyone else that knew her? Or she mentioned to you?" He asks, the pen getting plucked up again. "Or anything else you can think of in general?"
"She knows a lot of people, Detective. Except for the telekinetic part, I would think Humanis First, but that doesn't fit anymore, does it? Unless they have an Evo on a leash like they were planning to do to her. It still doesn't fit. Her power would be more use to them with her alive than dead, so as much as I'd love to point my finger at them, I can't," she says flatly. "My guess is it's the same Evo who killed the Jane Doe woman, and whatever power allows someone to kill these two women the way this person did, I'd start there."
There is a slight narrowing of his eyes, a smile on his lips that does not reach his eyes. "Word does get out. No worries, we're looking at all angles of this case." He says with a slow single nod, not denying or confirming what she just said. One thing he does know about is the Sylar case. So the hint doesn't go straight over his head for the moment, and that same reasoning is why both cases are on his desk currently.
"Alright, Miss Whitney." He flips the file shut, pushing things into a neat pile and stands. "I think that's about all for now." He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, flipping it open so he can get to the billfold. Extracting a card from it, he leans over to set it in front of her. "There are chances I may need you to come in for further questions." He flashes her a pleasant smile. "If you need anything or you find out anything you think I need to know in regard to this case. Please… don't hesitate to call."
Her fingers leave her purse to reach for the card, sliding it back across the table. Peyton rises, and slips it into the pocket of her jeans. "Thank you, Detective," she says, smiling politely. "I appreciate your help and effort in this. She's … She was a remarkable woman and this shouldn't have happened to her. Please do all you can to find the murderer." How do you find or detain or kill someone with the abilities that Sylar has, she wonders to herself. They thought he was dead in Antarctica — but he's returned. The clairvoyant gives a little dip of her head in goodbye, and turns to head for the door, out of this uncomfortable and forbidding room.
"Trust me, this is my priority case." The detective reassures the woman, high society cases tend to get a lot of attention from people with a lot of pull. So it'll be his only case for sometime. Moving to open the door for her, with the hand not juggling his stuff, at least he's polite in someway. Holding it, he levels a serious look at her. "Just watch yourself, Miss Whitney. I don't know what this person deal is, but just use caution until we find this person."
"And again… if you find out anything else, or need help. You have my number."