Work Text:
“You ever visited Novi before?”
“No, I never have.”
Monica can feel Van Allen’s gaze on her back as she continues toward the car. It’s unsettling, but she resists the urge to look back over her shoulder; she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he’s unnerved her.
It’s not clear what exactly his deal is. Certainly he wouldn’t be the first small town detective with a chip on his shoulder about the FBI coming around to ask questions. Nor would he be the first man she’s encountered who thinks women don’t belong in law enforcement. But it feels like something more than that; the energy coming off him is dark and almost predatory. Monica learned long ago not to ignore those energies and impressions, even (or perhaps especially) when they are at odds with the way things appear on the outside.
When she rounds the front of the car and reaches for the driver’s side door, she lets herself look up again. Van Allen is still watching her, but to her relief, John exits the church just then, and the detective turns toward him instead.
“What’d I tell you?” he says. “Waste of time.”
John glances across the driveway at Monica before responding. “A man was murdered, Detective. Now he might not have been a Boy Scout, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can to find his killer.”
“Funny. I would’ve thought the FBI had bigger things to worry about than why some low-life nobody got himself killed. You must be real busy if you go chasing after every little thing that comes your way.”
The sneer in Van Allen’s voice gives Monica a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Victor Potts didn’t just piss somebody off in a bar fight and end up shot,” John says. “Even you have to admit the way he died was pretty unusual. I haven’t seen something like that since I was working a lot of gang cases, and I wouldn’t think you get a lot of that kinda activity out here in Novi.”
Van Allen shrugs. “A little here and there. This isn’t exactly South Central. But it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and figure out Potts probably made himself some enemies in prison. You drove here from D.C. yourself, Agent Doggett. You know the city’s not all that far away.”
It’s not lost on Monica that this is, essentially, the very same argument John made last night. She’s grateful, then, that he doesn’t simply agree with the detective now.
“Maybe so,” he says. “Maybe there’s something else goin’ on. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not close a case based solely on an assumption of the facts.”
Instead of answering, Van Allen turns his head to look right at Monica, sending another chill down her spine. “Well, it looks like your partner is waiting for you, Agent Doggett. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your important work.”
Monica breaks eye contact, not even caring in that moment if it makes her look weak; she can’t bear another second locked eye-to-eye with him. She opens the car door, sits down inside, and puts the key in the ignition, not looking up again until John gets in the car.
***
Doggett reaches for his seatbelt as Monica starts the car.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“I know you think Van Allen’s right, that Victor Potts probably just got on someone’s bad side, maybe while he was in prison. But I appreciate that you’re willing to see the case through anyway.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Since when do you need to thank me for doing my job? Now I might not understand what it is about this particular case that’s got you all tied up in knots, but I meant what I said to Lisa Holland in there, that there’s justice to be served. Regardless of whether or not he’s right, Detective Van Allen clearly hasn’t done his due diligence, and you know that sort of thing is never gonna sit well with me.”
She looks over at him, smiling, before turning her attention back to the road. “And that’s one of the reasons you’re not just a good agent, but a good man, too.”
“Well, no need to act all surprised,” he says, and she laughs.
He has to admit, though, that he’s still puzzled as to why they’re on this case at all. Lisa Holland said that Monica contacted her about it, not the other way around, as Doggett had assumed.
“Tell me something,” he says. “If Lisa Holland wasn’t the one who contacted you about this case, how did you find out about it?”
He sees her shoulders tense. “I… I read about it.”
“What, over the wire?” he asks, frowning. “Talk about a needle in a haystack. Were you looking for something in particular or what?”
“No, it’s more like… this case found me.”
He waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t say anything more. She gets like this sometimes, clearly holding something back, but he knows it’s not because she’s trying to keep the upper hand or keep him in the dark about something important.
No, when she gets like this, it’s because she’s afraid of looking foolish.
Doggett can’t honestly say he buys a lot of the stuff that she talks about, feeling “energies” and that sort of thing. But he knows Monica is a good agent. She’s smart and cares a hell of a lot more than most people. So it doesn’t matter, most of the time, if she wants to believe in auras or ghosts or whatever. More often than not, they end up on the same page by the time a case is closed, even if they don’t agree on how exactly they got there. No matter how this case ended up on her radar, it’s here now, and he’ll see it through.
Would’ve been nice if she could’ve waited until morning to bring him in on it, though. He stifles a yawn.
“Well, where do you want to go next with this? Back to the office to run backgrounds, or is there anything else in Novi you think we should check out first?”
“I think backgrounds are the logical next step, yes,” Monica says, nodding. “We need to know more about Potts’s connections, in prison and otherwise. I’ve also asked Dana to look for any cases with a similar M.O. or cause of death.”
“You think there’s a chance we’re looking for someone who’s done this before and was never caught?”
She’s quiet a moment, then says, “I think it would take a certain type of person to do something like this. Not just the cruelty of it, but the precision. This is someone who has either done this before, or they’ve been planning for a long time, maybe after they saw someone else do the same thing.”
The precision, Doggett has to admit, is the one thing that has given him pause. Sure, he’s seen skinnings before, but they’ve generally been rushed, sloppy, and more often than not, inflicted after death. Whoever killed Victor Potts was skilled, and patient, more interested in prolonging the victim’s torture than just leaving a threat to some rival gang.
“Yeah, you may be right,” he says. “Last thing we’d want is for this to be someone just getting started.”
He sees a shiver go through Monica. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” she says quietly.
***
Background checks are tedious even under the best circumstances, but by early afternoon, Monica can see that the tedium combined with the lack of sleep is really taking a toll on John. His eyes keep drifting closed, and he’s had the file on his desk open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes.
As much as she hates to admit it, they aren’t making much progress. Even sustained as she has been by caffeine, adrenaline, and nicotine gum, Monica knows that the sleepless night is starting to catch up with her, too. She wants to solve this case -- needs to solve it -- but sheer force of will is only going to get her so far.
“Okay,” she says, clicking ‘print’ on the document she’d been reading, a report about potential instances of death premonitions. “I think we’ve hit a point of diminishing returns here. I say we take some work home with us and call it a day.”
John looks up. “You go on ahead. Truth be told, I don’t think I’m in any shape to get behind the wheel of my truck right now. I’ll grab a nap here and head home a little later.”
Guilt hits her then. If he’s willing to freely admit that he’s too tired to drive safely, he must be completely exhausted. And it’s her fault. This case is important, yes, but did she really need to haul him out of bed in the middle of the night to come look at Victor Potts’s body, or could it have waited until morning? It had felt critical and urgent in the moment, but now she’s not so sure.
“You know what? I have a better idea. Come with me. My apartment is all of ten minutes away, and my couch is way more comfortable than the floor in here.”
“It’s fine, really, I just need--”
“Please, John. I owe you. Let me buy you dinner to make up for dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night. After we’ve both had some rest, I’ll get something delivered.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to argue more, then pauses. “Yeah, all right. Gotta admit, that sounds pretty good to me.”
She smiles. “Let’s go, then.”
