Chapter Text
you are the hole in my head
you are the space in my bed
you are the silence in between what I thought
and what I said
you are the night time fear
you are the morning when it's clear
when it's over you'll start
you're my head
you're my heart
Florence + the Machine - No Light, No Light
Sarah
It’s 3:42 in the morning when her phone rings. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway, she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, waiting for the dawn to break. She’d given up on a good night’s sleep a long time ago. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep, or didn’t care to sleep, but after years of seeing what she’s seen.. some nights, it’s just better not to close your eyes.
There is only a handful of people that would call her in the middle of the night. She slowly puts her cigarette down on the ashtray and reaches across the table for it. She flips the phone open and checks the caller-ID, Holder, before she presses the green TALK button, “Linden.”
“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Linden,” he drawls, “but we got a case.”
She’s already reaching for her jacket while he rolls off the details. She grabs her keys and runs out into the rain. She leaves the kitchen light on and the cigarette burning in the ashtray, “don’t touch anything until I get there,” she says as she slams the car door.
“When you gonna learn you ain’t my boss?” he’s mocking her of course, “I thought we were partners,” he laughs.
“You heard me,” she can’t help but smile at his laugh, “don’t touch anything until I get there.” She snaps the phone shut and tucks it into her pocket. She whips the car out of the driveway and speeds towards the city.
The address he gave her is in a middle class residential neighborhood. It’s easy to spot the house when she sees the lights and the crowd. People who never spoke to each other stand, huddled in a mass, hoping for a glimpse of what gruesome horror laid inside the house.
It’s a little after 4:30 when she pulls up. He’s waiting for her. Standing in front of all the police cruisers holding an umbrella. There’s a cigarette hanging out of the right side of his mouth. She pulls up beside him and he opens her door, “took you long enough,” he holds the umbrella over the door as she gets out.
“What have we got?” She reaches into her pocket for a pair of plastic gloves.
“I’ve told you all I know,” he shrugs, “I waited.”
Stephen
The first thing he notices when they step into the house is the smell. You can get used to the sight, you can separate it. You can compartmentalize the memories. But the smell... He swallows a gag and follows Linden into the master bedroom.
It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. The woman still looks... human. More or less. She’s tied down to the mattress and there’s blood everywhere. It’s on the walls, the dresser, the floor. It’s on the mattress, the windows. She looks like she had been pretty, really pretty, before someone took a meat tenderizer to the side of her head.
Linden’s walking around the room. She’s got that look on her face, the one she gets when she’s working a case. She has a sixth sense when it comes to their job and it’s obvious from the way she’s tilted her head and the way she’s looking around that something isn’t right.
She picks up a picture frame, and puts it back down. She runs her finger along the blinds, pulling them down and peering out at the flashing lights. She crouches by the bed and starts to examine the woman.
“Just going to stand there?” she doesn’t look up as she turns the woman’s hand over to look at it.
He steps into the room and picks up a wedding picture, “husband?” he asks as he puts it back down.
“Maybe,” she’s moved onto the other hand, “wedding ring’s here.”
He opens the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out a jewelry box, it’s not full but it’s not empty either. He dumps the box out on top of the dresser, “there’s some nice bling in here,” he holds up a pair of earrings so she can see them.
“Detective?” someone calls from the living room, “Detective, the husband is here.”
He glances at his partner. She stands up and they both snap off their gloves. He lets her lead the way. The husband is standing, leaning casually against the fireplace. He barely glances at them when they step into the room.
“He doesn’t look so broken up,” he hisses quietly so only she can hear.
“Sir, can we ask you a few questions about your wife?” it always amazes him how she holds her ground. The husband has at least a foot and a half and a good hundred pounds on her but she doesn’t waiver, “sir?”
“My wife,” the husband declares, “was a whore.”
“Where were you tonight?” she asks.
“What’s it to you?” the man reaches out to push her back.
Before he’s even really touched her Holder has him by the lapels. He might be thin, but he’s strong and he’s strong enough to shove the man against the wall, “you touch her, I’ll kill you myself,” he seethes. He stares straight into the man’s eyes , daring him to try that move again.
The man shakes his head and Holder lets go, “answer the question,” he says.
“I wasn’t here,” he says, defiantly.
“Keep it up,” Holder threatens, “we can do this downtown.”
The man shrugs, “I answered your question. I wasn’t here.”
Linden gestures to a uniformed officer beside her, “is that blood on his hands?” the officer grabs the man roughly and starts to cuff him. “C’mon,” she says, “we need to finish upstairs so the corner can take her.” She heads back down the hallway. He waits though, and watches the officer drag the husband out of the house.
Sarah
It’s late in the afternoon before they finish with the scene. Holder follows her out to her car, “can I catch a ride?” he asks. She hadn’t noticed his car wasn’t there when she pulled up. In all the commotion she hadn’t noticed much. When she arrived the street had been full of commotion, all the people and the cruisers. Now, almost twelve hours later, it’s like a ghost town.
He slides into the passenger seat and lights a cigarette before she can answer. “I’m hungry,” he says as she climbs in, “stop at Taco Bell.”
She hadn’t felt hungry but she had to admit she felt better after eating. It’s almost dinnertime when they finally pull into the precinct and head inside. “You should talk to him first,” she says, as they stare into the interrogation room.
“No one’s talking to anyone,” a voice says from behind them. It’s a short, plump man with glasses and an awkward toupee, “Miles Myers,” he reaches out to shake their hands, “I request a meeting with my client before you interrogate him.”
She’s not impressed. Lawyers have never impressed her. More than anything, they irritate her. They’re in the way. She gives the man a once over before turning on her heel and heading towards her office.
She can hear Holder as she walks away, “here’s my cell number,” he’s saying, “call us when you are done.”
She’s sitting in her chair, tense and impatient, when he walks in, “he says we can’t talk to his client until tomorrow.”
“Since when do lawyers get to call the shots?”
Holder shrugs, “they’re waiting for another lawyer or something. We can’t do anything until his other lawyer’s here.”
“Fuck,” she pulls out a cigarette and starts playing with it.
“It’s gonna be at least a few hours before the evidence is processed and the pictures are ready,” he grabs a ball off her desk and tosses it back and forth in his hands.
“What’s your point?” she snaps.
He puts the ball down and smiles lightly, “let’s get out of here. We can’t do anything until tomorrow. So let’s go.”
She looks at him like he has two heads, “go where?”
“Look, Linden. I know you don’t like to walk away in the middle of somethin’ but I’m tellin’ you there’s nothing we can do here tonight. Let’s go rent a movie or something. We can chill at my crib. We’ll be close when they call.”
“A movie?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows, “you do realize we just started an investigation?”
“I’m tellin’ you, there’s nothing we can do right now. They’ll call when the evidence is ready for us. We don’t even know his name. It’s all going to take time,” he’s smiling at her like someone would smile at a small child, like he’s trying to placate her or calm her down.
“A movie?” she says again, “and they’ll call? What about the conversation with his lawyer? We should be listening.”
“No dice. They had that room locked. Confidentially or some shit,” he walks over to the door, “c’mon, it’s not going to hurt, I promise.”