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The house is gaudy and extravagant in the worst way, expensive, Sharon is sure, but it's an eyesore the likes she's never before seen. She slips her sunglasses down her nose as she takes step after step after step up the stairs that lead to the front door. She tries to appear sure in her footwork, but the bricks that makeup the stairs aren't level and her stiletto pumps are not handling it very well. Tao is at her side, and after a particularly jarring wobble she's intensely grateful for the hand he places on her back.
Provenza waits at the top and Sharon has the petulant desire to have been able to see him huff and puff up the stairs, she grins just thinking about it. She turns her head down to hide her amusement. "Finally!" he says, all hot air, as she and Tao reach him.
"So sorry to have kept you waiting," Sharon says, her voice the epitome of calm, of professional politeness, she's perfected that voice her whole career.
Provenza gives her the look, one eye narrowed in suspicion. From behind her thick black sunglasses she almost gives into the urge to roll her eyes, "What do we have?" she asks instead. Her hands in her pockets as she strides through the front door and into a foyer that is even uglier than what she'd anticipated.
And there the victim is, right on the open stairs.
"Mellissa Straught," Sanchez chimes in from the upper landing, broad shoulders and barrel chest leaning over the railing as he looks down at them. As Sharon grabs the sunglasses off her face she remembers when one of her sons had thought he could jump from a very similar height and escape unharmed. Needless to say he could not. She raises her hand, sunglasses dangling from her pointer finger and thumb, "Please don't do that," she calls.
Sanchez throws her a crooked grin and straightens up, and she pretends not to hear the mocking huff of air Provenza exhales.
"Mrs. Straught's teenage son found her, ma'am" Sanchez continues, gloved clad hands flipping through a notebook.
At the prospect of more stairs Sharon wants to shuck off her designer shoes, but she diligently climbs to Buzz's side by the victim. Sharon’s green eyes slide over the bloody form of the former Mellissa Straught. The cause of death seems straightforward when Sharon is so close, the knife is still lodged in the throat.
The 'teenage son' turns out to not be a day older than thirteen. He’s thin as a rail, has a strong chin, and hair that reaches his collar. His hair is the same color as his mothers. Sharon takes one look at him, and turns on her heel, Flynn walking behind her is suddenly met with glaring green eyes as he backpedals to stop himself from walking into her.
She gestures towards the boy. "Where's his father or other legal guardian?" she asks.
Flynn shrugs. "Sent Sykes to do the notification."
When she glances over her shoulder, the child is watching her with red rimmed brown eyes. There is fear in his eyes.
"Jason!" a voice barks, so loud that Sharon visibly starts as a bear of a man comes in through the patio doors. Sykes follows after, her mouth open as it often is when she feels unsure, and her eyes following the man as he crushes the boy to him in a hug that's almost violent.
"Mr. Straught?" Sharon asks. The man turns, one arm still wrapped around the boy she now can see has his eyes. His brown eyes roam over her, from hair to toes and back up, it's unsettling and insulting, but his wife is dead so she says nothing.
The man turns his head from her and leads his boy to Flynn, holding out a hand for Flynn to shake he introduces himself. "I'm Davis Straught."
"The husband, the husband, oh and let's see, the husband," Provenza sing songs from his desk, flipping idly through a folder that Sharon is sure has no relevance to their current case.
"The front door was forcibly opened, ma'am," Sanchez says, placing on the whiteboard a picture of the victim, "there was evidence of a struggle, leading from the den to the stairs."
"The knife belongs to the set in their kitchen, Captain," Tao chimes in, "no prints, killer wore gloves," he said, wiggling his fingers in the air.
She looks down to the folder in her hands, the autopsy report. At thirty nine Mellissa had left a good looking corpse and the woman had more drugs in her system then seemed realistic. She'd been a model in her younger years, before the birth of her son. Sharon looked into the smiling hazel eyes of Melissa Straught's driving license photo and wondered if she'd been a good mother before her untimely death.
"Sharon?" Rusty's voice prompts her to turn; the smile on her face is small but genuine as Rusty steps closer to her after waving vaguely at the squad as he enters.
For a moment it feels almost like instinct to give him a hug, but she refrains and says instead, "How was school?"
He shrugs. "Fine."
She places the folder she'd been reading down on Sykes desk and places a hand on Rusty's shoulder as she leads him towards the break room. She's in dire need of something edible and she's never known a growing boy to turn down food. They make their way in silence, his shuffling feet a stark contrast to the sounds of her heels.
"How was it really?" she asks, in her no nonsense voice, her Captain voice when they reach the deserted room. She leaves his side to go rummage in the cupboards.
With a frustrated sigh he sits. "It sucked," he vehemently declares.
Her head tilts as she examines a snack box of raisins and decides she needs something a bit more filling. "Why?" she asks.
He clears his throat, shifty eyes looking at her, down to the floor, to the open door, and then finally back to her. "It just did," he finally says.
Sharon returns to the table with a bag of chips for them both and she would continue the conversation but the way Rusty looks at her. He looks at her with such a pleading look in his eyes, saying just stop, leave me alone, that she lets it be for now.
It's two in the morning when her phone rings. The sound jarring her from a peaceful slumber, at first uncomprehending she sits up and can only squint into the darkness. Her phones lightened screen beckons her from her dresser, she rises, intent on catching it before it wakes Rusty, forgetting the clothes she'd uncharacteristically left on the carpeted floor of her bedroom. She lands with a loud oomph as her knees hit the ground, but she drags herself up enough to grab the phone before she sits back down on carpet, eyes half open as she stifles a yawn as she answers with a quiet bark of, "Captain Raydor."
Flynn's voice comes through the line, unmistakable, "Jason Straught is missing, Captain."
She can't bring herself to wear heels.
As she finishes getting ready, grabbing her phone, her purse, she casts glances at the pumps in her closet. Every time she shakes her head though, her feet aching just looking at the fashionable little torture devices. She draws a pair of rarely used ballet flats from the innards of her closet, gaze appraising as she slips her feet into them. They'll have to do she decides.
As she enters the hallway she sees there is light coming from the bottom of Rusty's door, the bluish white kind that indicates his room is solely illuminated by a computer screen. Not wanting to stumble upon anything untoward, Sharon raps her knuckles softly against the thin door and waits for a sleepy "yeah" to drift her way.
Rusty is wrapped up in his blankets; his face poking out of his cocoon, a movie has been paused on his laptop screen. She recognizes the film; she'd told him it was a good watch.
"Rusty, I have to go," she says softly, "are you going to be alright getting to school?"
He nods, looking achingly childlike as he gives her a tired smile, "yeah," he says again, heavy blinking eyes already slipping back towards the screen.
Sharon enters the room with a small sound of reproach. She shimmies her body through the small opening between the door and the jam in favor of opening it wider and approaches him. She plucks the laptop off his chest and shuts it gently before leaving it on his desk. “It’s late, Rusty.”
He offers a mild sound of displeasure before his eyes close, within moments his breath evens out and he's out like a light.
With soft eyes she lays a hand on the crown of his head. "Have a good day,” she whispers.
As the first weak rays of sun streak across the LA sky Sharon finds herself with her squad back at the office. The boy had wandered only thirty minutes away from the hotel where he and his father were meant to stay, a backpack filled with food and clothes his only companion when a pair of uniforms had found him.
Tao, arms crossed, glances worriedly at the boy sitting in Provenza's chair. "We can't let him go back," he says, forceful beneath his calm façade.
Sharon sighs, palms up as she looks at the men around her. "There's no proof of mistreatment," she quietly tells them.
Flynn cuts her off, his belligerent voice no doubt carrying to the boy who'd not said a word in the last three hours, whose can of soda sat untouched by his hand. "No proof? Look what he did to his wife! You think a man like that stops there?" he dropped his finger down on top of a stack of photos of Mellissa Straught, beaten to shit in every single one. Five times she'd brought assault charges against her husband, five times she'd run to a sanctuary house, and five times she'd dropped the charges and returned to her husband.
"Even still," Sharon cut in, voice the practiced cool she'd perfected, "Jason hasn't confided in us about any abuse, there are no visible bruises or injuries, we have received no complaint, we have no legal basis to keep him from his legal guardian."
Flynn looks mad enough to spit fire, his mouth is open to no doubt unleash a tirade the likes of which the squad had never seen when the bear Davis Straught enters the room, at his back Taylor follows, a steaming paper cup of coffee in his hand. "Jason," Straught says, and Sharon's spine shakes at the threat in that voice, the violence she can see dancing in the jutting vein in the mans forehead. The man is shaking, tremors running down his arms, with wide bloodshot eyes that roam around the room in skittery movements, he's well on his way to drunk and smells like a urinal.
There is no physical evidence of abuse, but Sharon is no idiot, the way the boy flinches is more than enough to prove to everyone with a badge that Davis Straught did not stop at beating his wife. And driven by alcohol she doesn't want to think what he might do to his son.
"This is bullshit," Provenza says, voice filled with venom as he throws his side remark towards her. As if it is her fault the man is a bad father, as if it is her fault that the law allows them to do nothing.
Sharon shakes herself, long hair shaking out from behind her ears as she tugs on Julio's sleeve. He turns to her, looks down to meet her eyes, something he'd delighted in when he'd noticed she had not worn heels, and nods, "Captain," he says and she knows he at least is on her side, can see that she hates this as much as anyone.
"Please find something Mr. Straught has to sign, I need to speak to Jason."
Julio nods, the grim line of his mouth a slash of determination as he moves away from her.
She brushes past her squad, eyes intent on Jason as she hears Julio's rumbling voice behind her, drawing an every angrier Straught towards the hall.
She kneels before the boys chair; hands resting on the armrests on either side of him as she stares up into his terrified eyes. "Jason," she says, concern and care and pleading mixing in her voice. "All you have to do is tell me the truth," she says, mouth screwing up at the tragedy of it as she hears Straught beginning to raise his voice.
"I want Charlie," he murmurs, the first thing he's said all night.
He's a handsome boy, she can see the man he'll grow into even now, he takes after his mother and for that Sharon finds herself inordinately relieved. "Who is he?"
"Mom's friend, he's always nice to me."
"Jason, please-"
"Get the fuck away from my son," Straught says and Sharon doesn't need to turn to know that he's directly behind her, his looming shadow seems to engulf Jason and herself, the boy shrinks in on himself, pressing himself back against his chair.
She takes a moment to collect herself, to close her eyes and steel herself before she stands, slowly turning to face the man taller than her by a foot. He is a couple feet away still but she must crane her neck to look at him, at the brown eyes that look right through her like she is nothing. Was this the last thing Mellissa Straught had seen? The enraged eyes of her husband before he'd finally gone too far and killed her?
Her squad are gathered at Straught's back, Flynn has his hand on his holstered weapon, Taylor holds a hand out towards her, beckoning her with a short gesture to move out of the way, even though his eyes don't leave the back of Straught's head.
"I said move," the man says, voice loud and in her face as he takes a step closer to her and the cowering child attempting to look brave and failing.
The tension in the room is palpable, but she is calm, almost unfathomably so, in a moment of clarity, looking in those dark swirling pits of hate and malice that Straught calls eyes she knows she cannot let him leave this building with the child.
"Or what?" she asks, voice quiet but steady as the men behind Straught tense.
The vein pulsating in his forehead strains as his mouth contorts with fury, but he does not move. "That boy is mine, you hear me, my son, and you, you fucking cunt," he hisses, "aren't gonna keep him from me."
"I think I am actually," she volleys back, "I think," she continues, voice mocking now, "that Jason is going to go somewhere safe, away from you, I think, you'll never see him again."
She smiles, a flash of teeth that speaks of victory and superiority, and she trills out a teasing laugh. "And there's nothing," she raises her hand, pointer finger a centimeter away from his chest, "that you can do about it."
"You bitch-"
"That's right; I'm the bitch that's going to keep your son from you. I hold the cards here. Not you. You’re just a powerless little man. I’m going to keep your boy. Because I can. Because I want too. No wife, no kid, what do you even have-"
There's no time for regret. The man finally snaps, his violent nature lashing out. A thick arm lashes out in a backhand that catches the Captain on the side of her face; it almost lays her flat on Provenza's desk. Sanchez is on the move, had been since he saw the crazy erupt in Davis Shraunt's eyes, but he's still too far away to stop the bear of a man from grabbing her shirt front, ripping the material in one long segment as buttons fly and he throws her down on the desk behind her, thuds her against it twice before Sanchez and Flynn are on his back, trying to haul him away but his grip is strong and he drags her off the desk with him until finally with a snarl he lets her drop down to the floor.
Flynn body slams Straught to the ground, grinding his knee into his back. "You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer," he says, eyes flicking towards her as he cuffs the snarling mans hands.
Provenza shucks off his jacket, throwing it around Sharon's shoulders as she looks at him dazedly.
"Jesus," he breathes, shock running through his face as he pulls the lapels of his far too large jacket across her torso, hiding her ripped shirt and resulting exposed flesh from view.
"There's a 'Charlie Star' in the victims calendar, Captain," Amy says, bulging eyes staring at Sharon, looking too long at the bag of ice she holds before skittering away guiltily.
Water drips down Sharon's forearm, condensation from the bag of ice that she holds to her swelling face in hopes of minimizing the damage. It seems silly to do so, seeing as seconds after the blow had been struck the right side of her face, hair line to jaw, stretching into a solid black eye, had already began to discolor and swell. But the ice had been forced into her hands by Julio; she didn't have it in her to fight it.
"Every Tuesday, and every Friday," Tao picks up, eyes on his computer screen, "every week for the last," he clicks at his keyboard, eyes scanning his screen before looking at her, the wince on his face small enough for her to ignore, "year, Captain. Later today they have a date scheduled up, at," there's the clickclacking of keys again and she sees a small grin form on his face, "Denny's, Captain."
She feels a snicker coming up and quickly stomps it down. "Fancy," she murmurs instead, and Tao looks at her with a smile.
"And the sanctuary house where she ran? Have they returned our call, has she kept in contact since her last stay?" Sharon asks, the melting bag of ice sloshing as she rearranges herself gingerly on Flynn's chair.
Flynn, toothpick in his mouth, eyes grim as he makes no qualms about staring at her, and she can't tell what he's thinking behind those dark eyes, whether he's angry or shocked, he shakes his head. "I talked to a receptionist, said all records are private."
"But we're the police," Sharon replies, voice indignant.
Flynn throws her a small smile, it doesn't reach his eyes. "A Susan Walheim actually runs the place, a little chat might be in order."
Sharon nods slowly. "You and Sykes, please," she finally decides, looking at the enthusiasm on Sykes face as she bounces out of her chair is enough to bring an indulgent upward tilt to her lips.
"Lieutenant Provenza? Any luck in lo-"
"Hello? I'm so sorry, I think I'm in the right place?"
Sharon turns slowly, gaze taking in the very attractive woman that stands just inside the entrance to Major Crimes. The woman takes one step further in, but falters upon seeing the crime scene photos tacked up on the white board, her eyes widen in horror and one hand, weighed down by an absurd amount of diamonds, comes up to cover her mouth.
Sharon stands, ignores the bracing hand Julio offers, and shuffles as best she can towards the woman, every step agony on her bruised back. "May I help you?" Sharon says, standing between the woman and the white board.
She nods, hazel eyes drifting down to Sharon's face, curiosity growing amidst the horror in her gaze as she takes in the bag of ice. "I'm Allison James, my," she pauses, swallowing violently before she raises her eyes up back to the gruesome pictures behind Sharon's head, "my sister was murdered."
The sisters only commonality were their eyes, big beautiful hazel eyes. Mellissa's copper tresses were not mirrored in her sister, who instead had dark brown hair. Mellissa, at six foot, had had a body entirely made for sin, Allison, who of course was still absurdly good looking, had hips and breasts arms that weren't sticks, she was just a few inches taller than Sharon, she wasn't a model, of that Sharon was sure, but the extravagance of her clothes and jewelry spoke of money, lots and lots of it.
"Please have a seat," Sharon says, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk as she grabs the ripped blouse from her desktop and shoves it into a drawer. Provenza's jacket is still draped across the back of Sharon's chair, where she'd left it when she'd used the privacy of her office to change into an extra blouse.
Allison gives a small nod, the curiosity in her practically oozing out as she observes Sharon lowering herself carefully into her chair, the icepack placed on her desk.
"That's not pretty," Allison says, eyebrows raised, full lips pressed together as her eyes rake over the swollen face presented to her.
"I wouldn't think so," Sharon answers, shrug almost making its way onto her shoulders before she thinks better of it.
Allison is biting her lip, eyes downcast, before she seems to strengthen in her chair; she looks up and directly into Sharon's eyes, "That was Davis, wasn't it?"
"Your brother-in-law? Why would you think that?"
A snort escapes Allison, head shaking so thoroughly that her hair whips back and forth over her shoulders. "He's just that type of asshole, you know?"
"He abused your sister," Sharon says.
"Sure did, and the bitch wouldn't listen to me when I told her," she slams a hand down on the desk, eyes growing shiny, "I told her that he would kill her one day, I told her and look where we are."
"She didn't listen," Sharon says softly.
"No," Allison smiles without mirth, "she cut me out of her life instead, hers and Jason." Allison sniffs softly, looks away. "For years she wouldn't talk to me, but four days ago," she looks back at Sharon, arms hugging herself as she wilts into the chair, "she called and she told me how sorry she was, how much she loved me, and she said I was right and she was ready to leave…for good this time, for good."
Sharon places a box of tissues in front of Allison as the woman's tears finally escape her eyes.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Allison says as she reaches for the box.
"It's alright," Sharon soothes, "can you tell me if you met her after the call?"
"Yes, yes," Allison's face scrunches unattractively, her grief clear to Sharon, she takes a deep breath, "the day she called we had brunch, and we talked for hours and hours, we talked about everything and we cried and we laughed and she said she was done with him, done, finished."
"Did she have a plan?"
Allison smiles, "I was her plan, she was going to come and live with me and my husband and my kids, her and Jason, just until she could get a divorce. I was going to help her get a restraining order against Davis, I was going to help her find a place to live, my husband offered her a job. She was really leaving."
"She was really leaving," Sharon says, standing before the whiteboard, the eyes of her whole squad on her, no ice pack to hide her face, and there's a vibe in the air but she can't decipher it, there's anger simmering but she doesn't know why.
"Straught's alibi checks out for the time of death, ma'am," Julio calls from his desk, hands clasped over his desktop.
That stops her short, she turns her whole body towards him, head tilted in disbelief. "What?"
Provenza continues, "Mr. Straught was at work, a business meeting from ten to two, he didn't even leave to use the can."
"How convenient," Flynn says, arms crossed.
"He could have used a hired man," Sykes speaks up, smile on her face for having made the suggestion. There was a time Provenza would have given her grief, but today all he does is cast a weary sidelong glance at the young officer before sighing.
Sharon raises a gentle hand to the swollen half of her face, the action is watched so closely that she is instantly chagrined. Her hands are in her pockets moments later. "And the sanctuary home? Lieutenant Flynn, were you able to talk to, ah, what was her name, Susan?"
Flynn and Sykes wear near matching expressions of hostility, Sharon almost smirks.
"She wouldn't talk to us, Captain," Sykes said, shrug on her shoulder, "all records are private except in the event of a search warrant, which she took great joy in saying we would never get."
"I see."
"Charlie Star, Captain," Tao called, "his real name if Charles Alvares, on probation for an assault in 2009. In 2004 it looks like he worked for Straught for about three months."
"Could be how he and Mellissa met," Sharon says, turning her back to the squad as she studies all the information on the whiteboard, a frown on her face.
When she turns back, mouth open to ask another question, she is met with Provenza, having stood and walked towards her, his spine is straight and when she looks at the others they all have mirrored expressions. "What is it?" she asks, brows constricted in worry she pulls her hands out of her pockets, raised as if to touch Provenza's arms, but they hover in the air between them instead. "Are you alright?"
Provenza takes a deep breath. "You antagonized that man today," he says, and it's quiet but she can hear every word, her mouth snaps shut. "You riled him up until he hit you."
Her hands drop back into her pockets, "Lieutenant Provenza, that would be entrapment and I most certainly did not-"
"Be quiet," he says, "look," he turns to regard his squadmates, "look," he continues softer, "all I meant was, that I, that we'd appreciate it if you never did something so goddamned stupid again, alright?"
Sharon's gaze travels from Provenza to Flynn to Julio, they look at her and oh, now she understands, they, they are worried about her, angry that she was hurt, "oh," she says.
Shock must be apparent on her face because Provenza shrugs, moves away with a callous wave of his arm. "Whatever, we're just used to you now, don't go thinking it's more than that."
And that sounds about right with any other team she's ever had and the relief of that eases the tension in her shoulders, "okay," she says and Flynn looks at her, head tilted to the side and there's real gut wrenching sadness there. It throws her for a loop.
The hostess that seats them is only a few years older than Sharon, she takes one look at the bruising encompassing no less than half of Sharon's face, and shoots the nastiest, most caustic look at Lieutenant Tao. "Table for two?" she asks, her face set grimly as she grabs two menus roughly.
Tao's mouth opens indignantly, eyes frantically traveling from Sharon's face and back to the hostess, profusions of innocence are dancing on his tongue but Sharon simply raises a hand, a look enough to silence him, his mouth snapping shut.
"Yes, please," she answers the hostess, heels tacking against the restaurant floor as she follows the bleached blonde woman who turns sympathetic eyes on her as she sits them in a booth only two away from where Sykes and Sanchez have already been seated.
Surreptitiously Sharon casts a glance at where Provenza and Flynn are seated, they'd been the first to arrive, a whole half hour before the evasive Charlie Star was meant to arrive at the Denny's, next were Sykes and Sanchez, ten minutes early, and now Tao and Sharon, right on time. She slides into the booth, purse placed on the pleather beside her as she smiles up at the hostess politely.
"Your server is gonna be Jackie, she'll be around in just a moment, and honey," she leans down slightly, eyes boring in on Sharon, she is very much in Sharon's bubble but all Sharon does is smile, though it is strained and not at all happy, "if you need anything, you give a shout."
With one last withering glare at Tao the woman stalks away, head shaking as she tsks her tongue, and Sharon can hear the woman whisper softly, "fucking shame," she says, and Sharon ignores her. Tao is grabbing his menu and Sharon follows along, but her eyes scan the restaurant, eyes on the door before she feels Tao tapping her hand, when she looks all he does is raise a brow, and she can hear her own words from half an hour ago, "Don't be obvious," she'd said.
She studies the menu abashed.
The jangle of the door catches her attention just as she decides she actually is hungry. "What are you having?" Tao says and she takes the opportunity to look up, to let her eyes focus behind Tao's shoulder as she answers him.
"Just a BLT," she says, and she can't keep the smile off her face as she recognizes one Charlie Star approaching the hostess. He's a strange looking man, lanky and tall, but his smile is charming and he seems earnest enough when he asks how the hostesses day has been. Flynn stands, moves towards the register with his and Provenza's bill in his hand, Sykes stands from her booth, looks to be searching for the restroom, they're moving in.
How exactly she and Provenza ended up being the ones to chase Charlie Alvares down an ally she really can't recall, he'd flipped a table in the Denny's, taken off running, the major crimes division in hot pursuit. A few corners, pedestrians, and ally's later she's running barefoot on no doubt raw feet, her skirt hiking up with her every step as Provenza, surprisingly, keeps by her side, his face red as a tomato, panting like death is chasing him.
Charlie is not as fast as his lanky frame had led her to believe, he's woefully uncoordinated.
Every step she takes is accompanied by a white hot sear of pain radiating down her back from where Straught had slammed her into Provenza's desk, but it is distant, she feels it but it is removed. It's the adrenaline pumping through her veins, once this flight is done, she will feel it.
There's a fence coming up, with a dumpster overflowing beside it, she can see even from this distance that it is an easy climb; at least it should be, but once more the apparently inept criminal ahead of them, he who is unable to escape two officers both eligible for AARP, thwarts his own efforts when instead of jumping or climbing or doing anything at all to get over the fence, begins to claw along the bottom, tugging on the steel links as if he can rip the fence in two.
As Sharon and Provenza approach though he seems to suddenly understand that all he'd really have to do, thanks to his tall frame, is hop up to reach the top of the fence. With a burst of speed Sharon catapults herself onto his back, clawing hands grabbing fistfuls of his tshirt, pulling at him with all of her body weight until he falls off the fence he'd just begin to ascend and onto the ground. She lands next to him, a yelp of pain escapes as she strikes the concrete but she is up on hands and knees a second after, shoving the man down onto his front, his face smushed into the ground as she digs a knee into his back. He is bigger than her, weighs more, she can see lean rippling muscles playing on his back and she realizes that it would be easy for him to knock her away, she looks up to see Provenza still ten feet away.
But once more this Charlie Star surprises her, instead of escaping, and he could if he tried, he suddenly bursts into tears.
"I didn’t know you were a bunch of cops,” he says as soon as he’s seated in the interview room. “And I didn't know she wasn't eighteen.”.
Sharon is watching from electronics and she can see clearly the look that Tao and Sanchez share from their seats opposite Charlie.
"You're not here for that," Sanchez says.
Charlie raises his hands off the table. "Whatever you find in my car isn't mine, it's a friends I swear."
Sharon twitches back in her seat, incredulous look on her face as she hears Provenza mumble behind her. "What a dumbass," he says, voice filled with horrified awe.
"You're not here for that either," Tao says.
Charlie opens his mouth one more time and Sharon raises a hand over her eyes, shaking her head but she hears Sanchez cut in. "Do you know a Mellissa Straught?" he says sharply.
Sharon peeks out from behind her fingers, through the monitor she can see the surprised look on Charlie's face, he smiles, unsure, eyes confused. "Well yeah, of course," he says with a nervous laugh.
"Can you explain the nature of your relationship?" Tao asks, pen and paper in hand.
"yeeaahhh," he drawls out, eyes now suspicious, "she's my best friend," he smiles, all white teeth.
But then something clicks in his head, Sharon can see the exact moment he connects the dots. "Is she okay?" he asks, voice higher than before, panic is setting in. "Did something happen? She was supposed to meet me at Denny's!"
Tao and Sanchez share a look.
"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you that-"
"No," Charlie shakes his head, "no."
"Sir-"
"No!" he stands so violently that his chair is knocked over backwards, his arms are thrown up and he backs away from the table until he hits the wall. "I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him!" he screams, but he's crying again, big fat tears that he wipes off his face with rough hands. He heads for the door but as Tao and Sanchez stand he stops, he's not the kind of man to kill, he respects authority, it's evident in the way he looks at the Detective and Lieutenant. It's all hot air, and quite suddenly it's all deflating out of him, leaving him slumped on the floor, blinking rapidly.
"She's gone?" he asks, and the heartbreak is audible.
"Where were you yesterday between eleven and one?" Tao asks.
"I was at a birthday party," he says, and the more he speaks the quieter he becomes, "for my niece. She turned eleven."
His head snaps up. "Was it Davis? Did he-" he chokes down a sob, "what did he do?"
"At this time we can't-"
"Why would he do that? He was letting her leave though, so why…"
Sharon sits straight in her chair, Tao in the room over does as well. "Letting her leave? Mr. Alvares, could you explain what you mean by that?"
"He agreed to a divorce, didn't he? Because he's fucking someone else," Charlie says.
Sharon is in Provenza's chair, pain her constant company as she unintentionally, accidently, and wholly unprofessionally, let's her mind go blank as her squad speaks around her. She is tired and sore and they are no closer to solving the murder then they had been in the morning, actually, in fact, worse off, with two less likely suspects and whole lot more questions. She runs a tired hand over her eyes, rigid shoulders rising as she takes in a shaky breath.
"Sharon?!"
And suddenly she is awake, wide eyes watching Rusty run towards her, the shock and fear on his face is enough to propel her from her seat.
"I'm okay," she says, hands held up as if they are proof of her truthfulness.
The squad is watching, can't turn away apparently, as if this is a car crash and they can't help but crane their necks to see.
"Okay?!" Rusty cries incredulously, mouth open in disbelief as he comes closer, and the closer he gets the worse she looks. "How the fuck is this okay?" he yells, "In what world is this fucking okay, Sharon?!" His hands dance in front of him, frantic movements that actually have her taking a step back. "Who did this?"
"It was a person of interest in the case, Rusty," Sharon says, her voice low, soothing, quiet.
"Where are they?! I'm gonna kill them, Sharon," unlike Charlie Alvares, Rusty really does look ready to kill, and it scares her, and it reassures her too. "I will, who the fuck thinks they can-"
"Rusty," she takes a step closer to him, hands still up, "Rusty, hey-"
He's in his own world though, she doesn't know what memory or nightmare he's suddenly wrapped in, but when he looks at her he's not seeing her , maybe he sees his mother, the other Sharon in his life, maybe he sees himself in her black and blue face, but whatever he's thinking has his face scrunched up, rage and grief and utter hopelessness in his young eyes.
She starts with her hands grasping his upper arms. “Rusty, I’m right here with you. We’re here together in the squad room.”
He shakes his head and swipes at his eyes, he’s crying. “This isn’t okay. This isn’t fucking okay, Sharon.”
“I know, I know.”
When he looks at her, when they make eye contact, she leans forward and wraps her arms around him, envelops him whole in her embrace, soothing hum escaping her throat as she feels his arms wrap around her in return. It's absolute torture on the screaming muscles of her back, he's holding her so tight she has a hard time breathing but she holds him just as fiercely.
It's with a deep throated groan that Sharon first wakes up, her hair covering her eyes as she opens them into slits, glaring out at the first light of sunrise peeking through her blinds. She reaches dazedly for the alarm clock blaring on her side table, almost knocks it right off as she slams her palm down. Sharon is in agony, pure delirious agony, her entire back a raw nerve that jolts with every movement she makes, be it turning her head, or rolling onto her side.
She won't cry though, not even in the privacy of her bedroom, it wouldn't do to cry.
"Sharon?" three hesitant knocks sound against her closed door.
"Yes?" she answers, making no move to sit up as Rusty opens the door, he opens it fully, stands in the frame and only looks at her for a moment. The anger in his eyes is frightening. She struggles to sit up, to do it without crying out, and when finally she manages she smiles at him. "What's up?" she asks.
He's holding a folded piece of paper in his hands, crinkled and soft it looks like he's had it for a while. "There's this thing, for the chess team," he explains, holding the piece of paper between them.
She reaches, grabs the paper softly, tugging gently until his death grip loosens and she's able to bring it towards herself. Sharon motions towards her glasses and Rusty passes those to her as well.
"They said we could invite anyone we wanted so, you know if you wanna go it's tonight." After placing her glasses on her nose, Sharon unfolds the paper, printed with the emblem of his school prominently at the top. "It's not really anything important or anything, you'd just like sit around and eat crackers and watch us play a few games, so if you-"
"Rusty," she cuts him off, looks at him with a smile, and if the love she feels shines through, she can only hope it doesn't scare him off, "of course I'll come."
The smile on his face is small, but it's relieved and happy, he looks down at the floor and shrugs. "Okay, cool. Cani get you anything? Do you need medicine?”
She nods gratefully.
She couldn't cover the bruising with make up, and she had tried valiantly, the swelling at least had gone down, leaving behind dark blotches of blue and purple, with a lovely dark green sneaking out from the edges. Half her face marred, the cherry on top being the prominent and vision impairing black eye, which looked so awful she'd actually thought about going to the hospital to make sure everything was actually okay.
Amy lets out a shocked gasp as soon as Sharon enters the squad room, she bounds up from her chair, her tall and thin frame bent in worry as both hands cover her mouth as she approaches. Sharon wishes she wouldn't. "Oh, Captain," Amy says, shaking her head, and there's dismay written on her face, and even though she'd seen Sharon be attacked it looks like the aftermath is what will make her cry.
Sharon holds up a stalwart hand, she tries to think up something to say, but there really isn't much; it hurts just as much as it looks like it should. Amy has been through worse, but that seems like the wrong thing to say as well.
"Captain Raydor?" a nervous voice asks.
When Sharon turns there's a little uniformed rookie standing just in the threshold of the room, hands grasping his gun belt white knuckled, biting his lip as he looks at her face and then quickly away.
"Yes," she responds, walking towards the man, the boy really, green as can be.
"Captain Raydor," he says, and he straightens his spine, looks her in the eye, and he'll be a good cop one day, she knows it when she looks into his dark brown eyes. "My name is John Trully, I've got some information pertinent to your case, ma'am."
"And what's that, kid?" Flynn says from his desk, cup of coffee steaming in his hand as he looks over its rim at the boy.
The boy swallows, shifts on his feet and looks between Flynn and Sharon, he takes a step towards her, earnest eyes looking down at her. "I," he starts, and then he looks away, and swallows again, "I've been the responding officer for three different marital disputes in the last two years, ma'am, and-"
Provenza huffs out a breath from his own chair. "Only three? You sure you know how to count?"
The boy looks ready to bolt, to up and leave and forget whatever he'd wanted to say, Sharon reaches out and places a gentle hand on his arm, grasping his elbow softly. "Go on," she urges him.
"Not just three, ma'am, I've responded to loads you know, but what I mean to say about these three is that, well they've all," he's spoken too fast, confused himself and she smiles, and nods and he pauses to take a breath.
"Those three though, Captain, those three I remember because, because they all died, ma'am. Murdered."
The hand on the boys elbow tightens, Sharon doesn't notice. "Died," she says and it's not inflected like a question but the boy understands enough to answer.
"Mellissa Straught," he says, and everyone is suddenly listening, "I was the first responder to her house two months ago, and I sent her to the Walheim home, and that's where I sent the other two, and now they're all dead."
"Founded in nineteen eighty-eight, by Susan Walheim, the Walheim house helps victims of marital abuse escape, looks like it's a stock number that uniforms hand out," Tao says, tacking a picture of Susan Walheim up on the board, she's a stocky woman, strong, and old and tough, she can't be much older than Sharon, but there's a grimness behind her eyes that make it seem likes she's seen more than anyone should have too. There's not much kindness held in that unsmiling face.
"The women Trully told us about?"
Flynn sticks a picture of a brunette on the board, pretty with dark hair and dark eyes, "Jackie Droens, found beaten to death in two thousand twelve, no arrests." He tacks a picture of a beautiful dark skinned woman on the board, her natural hair a round halo above her smiling face. "Alysha Freeman, found stabbed to death in two thousand eleven, no arrests."
"Both of these woman Trully drove straight to Walheims door, ma'am," Sanchez chimes in.
Amy takes another photo from her desk, "I found another cold case, two thousand and eight, Wendy Pomerlou, stabbed to death, stayed in the Walheim home for a month, Captain."
"Jesus, it's a fucking serial killer," Provenza says, aggravated to the point of throwing a file down on his desk top.
"What do you mean we didn't get a warrant?"
Flynn shrugs. "I mean they wouldn't hear anything I had to say after I said Walheim home, apparently it's a jewel of the city, helps hundreds of women a year."
"We're investigating a murder," Sharon says, and she honestly can't understand why someone would block them in their pursuit.
Amy has her hand on her chin, she's looking at Sharon, the only way to describe the look on her face is calculating. "Captain, I," she clears her throat, and stands; "I think we can get in there."
"We don't have a warrant," Flynn reminds her.
"We wouldn't need one," Amy looks at Sharon, at the bruise on half her face, "we'd just need permission to do an undercover, don't need a judge's signature for that."
It's Sanchez that barges in. "The Captain's not going anywhere undercover, come on, Sykes."
Amy gestures forwards. "Look at her, it's perfect, it's a real bruise, give her a fake ID, a fake husband to run from-"
"We're not doing it," Provenza growls from his chair, he looking at Amy sternly, jaw clenched.
Sharon licks her lips, takes a gander at the board. "We are doing it, I'll do it."
"Checkmate," Rusty says, there's just a touch of gloating to his voice, because he knows he is the best and humble really doesn't suit him. He doesn't spin in his chair to look at her, not quite, but his head turns a fraction, when Sharon and his eyes meet she gives him a wide smile, the pride swelling in her heart is impossible to hide.
The man standing beside her, a father to someone or other, glances at her. "That's your boy?"
There's no hesitation. "Yes," she answers, the smile on her face never wavering.
Rusty has a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his lips, it has been hovering there for a few moments, "What are you talking about?" he asks, voice small under the anger.
Sharon licks her lips, pushes her own barely eaten plate away. "Rusty, it's only a few days, a week at the most. Lieutenant Provenza has very graciously offered you his spare room until-"
"What the fuck are you saying?" he says again, fork clattering to his plate as his face twists up, and Sharon can see the fear under the aggression, the fear that he's being left behind, again.
She reaches across the table, grips his hand tightly. "Just a few days, Rusty," she tugs on his hand until he looks at her fully, "I promise, just a few days."
He erupts from his seat, pulling his hand free of hers. "Are you like even trained for this or what?" he screeches, running both hands through his hair. "Sharon, Jesus, undercover? Are you kidding me, is this a fucking spy movie?" he spits the question, turns to glare at her.
Sharon grabs her napkin from her lap, places it beside her uneaten spaghetti as she rises slowly, gracefully as she comes before Rusty. She looks him right in the eye as she raises her hands to his shoulders. "I assure you I am fully trained for this sort of operation."
His breath is still harsh as he shakes and dislodges her hands, he glares at her, but she can see unshed tears in his eyes. "Whatever, it doesn't even matter, guess you'll have your spare room back now." He starts stomping away as her mouth opens in shock, she doesn't know what to say to reassure him. If there is anything at all to say.
The sound of a slamming door resonates in her apartment.
"Whoaa, Captain," Lieutenant Tao says. "That's great," his enthusiasm brings an indulgent smile to her lips. She'd gotten an overhaul, and during so she had wanted, more than once, to call it all off.
But it was done now, no turning back, Sharon Raydor was no more, and in her place stood Jennifer O'Doyle. Jenny wore contacts; she wore her thick hair, full of curls and waves, in a messy pony tail barely held at the back of her neck. She wore flip flops and shorts, with a zip up hoody so big it hung off one shoulder.
Jenny did not wear heels. Jenny did not wear blazers. Jenny did not have a college education. But one thing Jenny did have, was money. Her husband's money, to be exact.
All of the victims had money. Their husbands' money.
And so Jenny is running from Frank, who'd beaten her three days ago, so badly that the police had been involved, but she would wear that one hundred thousand dollar ring (borrowed from evidence really) and wear it proudly.
Provenza walks to her side, hands deep in his pockets as he glares at the world, just from his face alone Sharon can tell what a foul mood he's in. "Lieutenant?" she says.
His angry gaze moves to her, his eyes rove over her from head to toe. "This is an idiotic idea."
She takes no offence at his tone, or his words. "I'm hearing you, Lieutenant, but it's not your choice," her eyes peer up at him through unruly fringe. Jenny wears quite a bit of eye make-up, color expertly chosen to feature the best aspect of her face, her bright green eyes. "It's my choice. And I've made my decision."
"Yeah," he grumbles, ambling away from her, "don't come whining to me when it blows up in your face," he says, but there's no venom.
There is a recording device in the fake cast placed on her right forearm.
There is a black van parked a block away, at least three members of her squad will at all times be located in that van, listening over the wire, and, straight from Taylor, they have orders to retrieve her the moment the words 'help me' leave her lips.
Officer John Trully is sweating bullets in the driver's seat of the squad car; he keeps licking his lips nervously, glancing almost fearfully at Sharon, at Jenny , seated beside him. He's to deposit her just the same as he'd done for the others, he's to act the same, say the same thing he had done every time before. Among all of his, probably, numerous talents though, Sharon can quite easily see that acting is not among them.
She reaches between them, places her hand over one of his own on the steering wheel; his white knuckled grip on the wheel does not loosen. "John?" she says, and his gaze flickers from the street to her face for a moment and back again.
"I need you to help me with this," she says, "I can't do it without you, John." She thinks maybe she's laying it on a bit thick, but this boy has to do it right, or it could cost them everything.
"Yes, Ma'am," he nods frantically as he starts to signal a right turn, "I know that, I do."
She squeezes his hand before letting him loose.
They pull in front of the Walheim Home.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he says, quietly, and Sharon can't tell if he's talking to Captain Raydor, or Jenny O'Doyle. "Do you hear me? I promise."