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Strahm very quickly works out the lay of the land.
Erickson, in charge but an idiot. Rigg, traumatised and struggling with it. Kerry, flayed like a cut of beef. Hoffman, hiding something and pretending that she’s not.
Hoffman’s big titty bimbo look might work on the other members of her department, but Strahm’s not an idiot. She’s dealt with women like Hoffman all her life, giggling behind manicured nails and blowjob lips before they stab you in the back.
Strahm knows that Hoffman is smarter than she looks. She wouldn’t be able to work her way up to Detective without brains in that big head of hers, no matter what she pretends, and how many fax machines she breaks. Strahm finds herself staring at Hoffman during meetings, noting everything she does, each mindless doodle of a flower on a notepad, every joke she bares her teeth at in a laugh.
The woman knows something about the Jigsaw case that she’s not telling the others, Strahm is sure of it. She tries telling her theory to Agent Perez, who looks at Strahm like she’s completely lost her mind, and tells her to take the afternoon off.
Strahm goes home and re-reads all the case files instead. It leaves her with a sick twisting feeling in her stomach, and a thought to interrogate all hardware stores in the local area. Kramer and his cronies aren’t conjuring up chains and saw blades from thin air, they must be sourcing them from somewhere .
(Unfortunately, Erickson won’t permit Strahm to drag every manager of Home Depot in for questioning. She decides to tail Hoffman instead.)
She’s on her second week of following Hoffman wherever she goes when Hoffman confronts her. They’re both in the bathroom on the ground floor of the precinct, Hoffman pissing in the cubicle, and Strahm standing outside, pretending to wash her hands. When Hoffman kicks open the cubicle door, she has murder in her eyes, and Strahm thinks, yes finally.
“Do you have to follow me everywhere, you fucking creep?” Hoffman asks. “We get it, you think I’m a shitty police officer. I don’t need a minder.”
“What were you even doing in there?” Strahm demands. “Texting John Kramer? Telling him the colour of your underwear?”
“Ha ha.” Hoffman deadpans, shoving her hands underneath the sink to wash them. “I was changing my tampon actually. I hadn’t realised I needed to make an appointment with you first.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” Strahm says.
“You want to check?” Hoffman shakes her hands dry, splattering Strahm’s shirt with water. “Have a look at my period app? Today Marcella, you will experience bloating, nausea, and being terrorised by New York’s worst fucking cop-“
Strahm shoves her so hard against the sinks that the back of Hoffman’s head connects with the mirror with a smack. Hoffman snarls in pain, her lipstick smeared across her teeth. Strahm has a horrible thought about licking it off, and focuses herself by shoving her arm across Hoffman’s neck.
“You might have fooled everyone else,” Strahm hisses. “But you don’t fool me.”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” Hoffman says, her eyes glittering. “You’re just crazy.”
Strahm slams her against the mirror again. It forces a grunt from Hoffman’s mouth, and she knees Strahm hard in the crotch. No matter what the media tries to say, it still fucking hurts, and Strahm backs away like a cornered animal.
“You and Amanda Young should start a fucking club,” Hoffman says, gingerly touching the back of her head. Her fingers come away tinged with blood, and Strahm hopes it clumps her stupid hair. “Insane women obsessed with John Kramer. You could bake biscuits.”
“You know far more than you’re letting on about the Jigsaw cases, and I’m not going to stop until I find out what,” Strahm says, ignoring Hoffman’s comment and poking her finger at her instead.
“You know more than me, Miss FBI Agent.” Hoffman snaps. “You’ve got access to files that I could only dream about. You think you’re so special, swanning into the office in your pantsuits, pretending that you’re one of the boys. You’re never going to be one of them, so just Drop It.”
“You’re a fucking cunt.” Strahm says. “I know you, and I know you’re John Kramer’s little bitch on the side.”
“Gonna back that up with a source Agent Strahm?” Hoffman asks, and there’s a bite to her voice that wasn’t there before. “Or are you gonna run along to your boss and make false accusations? They’re just waiting for the chance to get rid of you, no matter how many cases you solve.”
Strahm leans in close and presses their foreheads together. Hoffman is wearing foundation, and her grease paint smears against Strahm’s skin. Up close, Hoffman smells of vanilla body lotion trying to cover up the scent of something deadly.
“I’m a better cop than you,” Strahm says, and Hoffman rolls her eyes so hard it must hurt.
“I don’t fucking care .” She says. “The only person who ever gave a shit about my career is dead. Why would I give a damn what you think?”
“Because I’m in charge now.”
“And you’re doing such a great job.” Hoffman drawls. “Have you even looked at the list of suspects I gave you? Or did you use it to wipe your ass?”
Strahm punches her in the stomach. Hoffman makes a noise like a cow, doubling over, hands clutched protectively below her ample chest.
“I’m on my period you bitch.” She spits. “I think you just forced out a fucking clot.”
“You are the most disgusting woman I’ve ever met.”
“Oh bite me.” Hoffman snaps.
She manages to pull herself into a standing position, and straightens down her blazer, huffing. Strahm screws up her fists and tries not to drag her into a cubicle for an intenser form of interrogation, with a lot more teeth and fists. Hoffman turns to look at herself in the mirror, tucking her shirt into her skirt, rubbing slightly over her stomach where Strahm’s fist connected.
Strahm stares at the back of her neck, hating her. It’s not fair that Hoffman is being so blase about this - that she let Strahm punch her. Strahm wants to get hit, she realises. She wants them to fight on the floor of this bathroom, wants Hoffman to dig her teeth into her cheek like she’s in fear of her life.
“I’m going back to the office,” Hoffman says to Strahm’s reflection. “Unless you want to attack me again..”
Strahm grinds her teeth together, because she wants to pull Hoffman down to the ground and beat her black and blue with her bare hands. “You might think you’ve gotten away with it, but you haven’t,” She warns. “I’ve got my eye on you.”
“Goody,” Hoffman says. “Enjoy looking at my fucking ass.”
She turns suddenly, staring Strahm down. Her lips are pursed, and Strahm wonders if she’s ever had fillers.
“They’re not even going to care if you find the other apprentice,” Hoffman says bluntly. “The boys will just take the credit. You know that right?”
“Fuck you,” Strahm says.
“I’m serious,” Hoffman says, and if she was anyone else, Strahm would think she was pleading. “This is a corrupt city. You’re not going to be the hero you want to be.”
“I don’t want to be a hero,” Strahm says, but the words sting.
Hoffman looks at her for a long moment before shrugging her impressive shoulders. Strahm despises her so much that she might just be sick with it. Hit me, she thinks, let’s wrestle like the boys do.
“You’re an idiot.” Hoffman says, “But if you want to be an idiot, then I won’t stop you.”
She stomps out of the bathroom, leaving the smell of her syrupy sweet perfume behind, and Strahm’s ears ringing. She drags her fingers down her face, groaning under her breath. She’s losing control like a goddamn man, becoming the person she was always afraid to be.
When she looks in the mirror, Hoffman’s foundation is still smeared across her forehead. Strahm punches her reflection into a thousand pieces.