He watched as the cop's eyes were again drawn to the ring, his brows daggering low over his eyes for a moment, until he suppressed the irritation. Possession swelled in his chest, the urge to snatch the trinket from its chain and bury it away from another's gaze. Instead, he stood, though creating the distance killed him. The medic arrived, and the opportunity to escape was thoroughly lost; Sören spared one more glance for the ring half clutched in frozen fingers before his gaze swept clean away. He folded his bloodied coat over the arm terminating in a closed fist, the power vortexing through his veins.
"I have nothing to hide,"
he said mildly, though by the stone of his expression he did not appreciate the inconvenience. His instincts did not want to turn his back on the officer, not when it left the man between Sören and the ring he coveted, but he did it anyway, forcing the stiffness in his limbs to submission. A perfect veneer of compliance, he headed from the darkness of the alley to the light of the street and the cop's car.
Ivan watched the man's expression. He was definitely put out, probably about that ring the girl had. He wanted a look at it too, but it was in the evidence chain now and he'd not get a chance for a long while. Maybe later though. He wasn't sure what the pull was, exactly. Ascendancy hadn't said anything about magic rings. Course he'd not mentioned the monsters either. His leg still throbbed from the other night. Well, that and the stupid sledding mishap. At least he'd gotten some sympathy points from Zoya. Was almost worth the injury...almost.
"I have nothing to hide."
His words were compliant but the guy's face said otherwise. He was pissed for having been interrupted. In truth, that irritated Ivan. The guy just didn't seem to get it. He almost felt like saying
'Dude, what's your problem. You can't be that stupid not to know that you are a real suspect here. At best, you are iffy. If you didn't kill the girl, you sure as hell didn't try to help her, at least not until I showed up. Instead you were more focused on that ring. So ditch the attitude.' But he didn't say anything. He sighed. His goal wasn't to make the situation worse. It was to find out what happened. Getting this guy's walls up wasn't going to help him do his job.
Instead,
"Thank you for your cooperation. If you're innocent you'll probably be outta the station in a couple hours."
They got to the car and Ivan opened the back door. Innocent or not, he was a suspect and they road in the back. Zoya's face flashed in his mind. Even the cute ones. After a look of irritation, he got in the car. Ivan then got in the front and pulled away.
"We've got some coffee at the station. Not bad stuff, really. Should warm you up."
After that little exchange the rest of the trip was silent. He hoped the EMTs had been able to save the girl. Smiley back there should hope that she lived. That'd be the quickest way to clear him and get him out of there. Ivan didn't really think he did it. It was just a hunch, but he was usually right. That's not to say the guy was good news, though. Well, it'd all be clear soon enough, he hoped.
They got the station and Ivan let him out and took him into one of the interrogation rooms. The camera in the corner was recording their little talk.
"Alright. I'll get you some coffee in a moment. This is, of course, just a friendly chat. Can you tell me your name?"
Edited by
Ivan Sarkozy, Sep 30 2014, 04:19 PM.
The man made some conciliatory attempt at politeness, but Sören was uninterested in such a veneer. The man was doing a job, one that Sören consented for him to do; he was here because he chose to be, not because he lacked other options. His fist unfurled slowly, his icy fingers aching from the pressure, the power diluting from his veins. The cop was a peripheral irritation, but compliance in the long run would do him more favours than making an issue of their egos. Still, he was glad that the ride turned out to be silent.
The ring, for now, was lost. He accepted it bitterly, but he did accept it. He stared through his own reflection in the window, the smear of city lights and snow. And thought.
Sören was equally silent as he was ushered through to an interrogation room. He laid his coat over the back of the chair before he sat, fingers laced on the table before him, and prepared to endure. He glanced up at the camera, but by the dullness of his scrutiny did not much find it worth observing. Sören had a dozen monikers he used with some frequency, but in this instance it would be foolish to avoid the truth. The officer had already tarred him with suspicion, and though perfectly innocent of the crime there was little need to be antagonistic for its own sake. "Sören Lindgren. Would you be so kind as to share your own name, or should I just call you officer?"
Smiley was clearly not happy being here- not that Ivan could blame him, really. Then again, finding a dying girl and mostly focusing on a trinket, no matter how intriguing, instead of calling for an ambulance tended to cast you in a negative light. Hopefully Smiley would learn from this and prioritize the next time he ran across a dying girl- if he wasn't the one to have stabbed her in the first place, though privately he doubted that more and more.
Ivan noticed that the man had let the power go and he relaxed just a bit. It did not exonerate him but it was another point in Smiley's favor.
And of course his name wasn't Smiley. Sören Lindgren. Sounded Swedish or something. He sighed. And the attitude continued. Would I be so kind as to share my name. This was going to be a long night.
"My name is Detective Sarkozy. Would you care for some coffee Mr. Lindgren?"
The man nodded and Ivan left to get them both a cup. He brought some sugar and cream in case the man wanted some. His was black.
"So, tell me what happened Mr. Lindgren. Can you walk me through the evening up until I arrived on the scene?"
He accepted the coffee, but only sat with his hands wrapped around the cup.The heat warmed the ice of his skin, a small blessing given the cold of Russia's winter. Blood still flecked one hand like rust, but he cut off his thoughts from wandering to the girl and the prize snatched from under his nose. He settled to the new circumstance, allowed the irritation to begin to fade. He would recalculate, but later. After this business was finished with.
"
The young woman was, I believe, soliciting at the mouth of the alley-way. She retreated with a number of men, who attacked her, then fled. I called the police before I approached. Would you like to see my phone, Detective Sarkozy?"
The why of it he had no idea, nor cared to venture a guess, but it had been the first unexpected detour to an evening that had rapidly degenerated. The girl had had nothing of value - nothing overt, anyway, for even the ring he had only considered precious to himself. Violence was unpredictable. But he had adjusted for the unexpectedness. And then the cop had arrived.
Edited by
Soren, Nov 3 2014, 08:24 AM.
Ivan listened to Smiley's explanation. It was simple and to the point. Usually the more elaborate the story the higher the likelihood that it was made up. And sadly, it was all too realistic. "As a matter of fact, I would like to look at your phone Mr. Lindgren. Thank you for offering."
He took the phone went to the call log and saw that the call had indeed been made just a minute or two before Ivan had walked up. The alley they had been in connected to another street which would explain why he didn't see any of the men who'd actually done the killing.
If he was telling the truth. He handed the phone back after forwarding the screen to his cloud-notebook. The man had motive- the ring. But did he really? He was probably telling the truth that the girl was a street prostitute. Prostitution was regulated in the CCD to make sure both the pros and the johns had protections from crap like abusive pimps, drugs, underage workers, and robbery. Plus the state got a cut.
But that didn't prevent the more sordid and terrible kinds of prostitution from occurring, usually run by violent men. Their "merchandise" as they called it were usually made up of runaways- sadly, the younger the more popular- and drug addicts. And usually those groups overlapped.
So this girl was very likely one of the latter. The hospital working on her would likely confirm that. All that being the case, she probably would have given the ring to Smiley. He looked like he had money after all. And people that strung out usually did what they could to get a fix- including part with precious items. That put motive on shaky grounds.
And means? The man had been scanned as he walked into the interrogation room and no weapons could be seen. Course Ivan knew the man could fashion a knife out of air same as he could- but that was unfortunately not admissible yet. And it seemed such a messy way to kill, especially if your goal was simply to get the ring. A blow to the head with a club of air could do the trick.
Course, this guy could be a nut who liked watching girls suffer and bleed out and who also wanted the ring. There was that sicko out there butchering young girls after all. But Smiley had called the police. Even if Ivan had not been there he still only had maybe five minutes. That really didn't seem like something you'd do if you wanted to watch her die. Certainly it wasn't enough time.
Too many questions. And if he had them, any jury would too. "Alright Mr. Lindgren. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He stepped out to talk to the sergeant on duty, Dumas. "I gotta say that I don't think this is our guy. I'll run a background on him just in case, but his story seems to check out. How's the girl?"
Dumas scratched his beard. "Haven't heard anything."
Ivan sighed. He hoped that she lived. She had lost a lot of blood, but it also had been cold. The body's demands were lessened when the temperature dropped, as did heart rate. She might make it if they had gotten her help in time.
He called the hospital and found out the that girl was still alive but critical. In a few hours they'd know. Smiley better hope that she lived. Even with all the questions, this could be a problem for him. Shoulda worried more about the girl than that damn ring! If he had tried to help her from the beginning, there would be less of a chance that she might die. "Asshole,"
he swore under his breath. He decided to let him stew for a little bit. Maybe they'd hear something soon.
Sören offered the phone without preamble, pulling it from his coat pocket and sliding it across the table. He'd made the call for a reason; for this very reason, though it was a contingency plan he'd not thought he'd been going to need. Watching Sarkozy check the tech, he wondered if the man was disappointed with discovering the truth. Though he played the friendly good guy it was not much of a front. When he looked at Sören, he clearly saw muck, so if smugness lit Sören's gaze upon the phone's return, it was well merited. He dropped the phone back in the pocket of his coat, made some vague gesture of understanding, and proceeded to wait.
And wait.
He sipped the coffee black, bitter and chalky on his tongue, and listened to the silence. They had nothing to hold him, he was confidant of that. The detective clearly thought Sören should have attempted to play the hero, but there was little he could have done even if he'd wanted to. The fact it didn't appear to lay on his conscience apparently painted him in shades of revilement, but the dismal opinion predictably made little impact either. Sarkozy had little notion of Sören's intentions, or his motivations. He saw the coldness of a piece of metal coveted over the flesh and blood preciousness of a human life, where Sören's horizon spanned far broader - and far further. Sometimes sacrifices were made in the pursuit of more worthy goals. He didn't expect that to be understood.
After a time his fingers drummed a rhythm on the table in front of him, the only mark of his impatience. He wondered if unconsciousness was the same as dreaming; certainly sleep was not the only way to reach the other place. But he was loathe to relinquish awareness of his surroundings to test the possibility, and his mind was too buzzed anyway. He was sure he would hear if the girl died. In the meantime, the tedium loosened irritation; he sighed, and glanced at the door.
Ivan went into the adjoining room to the one Smiley was in. He sat there and watched him for a bit. He was waiting on news of the girl. The man sat there looking bored. Truth was Ivan knew he didn't have much to hold him on, especially if the guy lawyered up. Of course, under CCD law he was a person of interest and could be held for 48 hours on that alone. But the case was already shaky as it was. The man wasn't cold, exactly. Just disinterested in making a good impression. Again, that could be in his defense...or he was smug at knowing they had so little. Still, though, Ivan leaned toward the former.
He put his shoes up on the desk and tried to play the scene out in his mind, using the information he had. A guy is walking down the street and sees a girl- a prostitute- in the alley with a bunch of men. Does he scare them away? He pursed his lips. Perhaps. The man had the power and a group of men wouldn't be difficult to frighten off. So let's say that happened. He goes to the girl and she is on the ground bleeding out. He calls the police on his wallet. Then what does he do? Stop the bleeding? He had blood on his hands but not in copious amounts. Smiley wasn't very bright, at least when it came to first aid, he knew that. Lifting the girl had been stupid. So let's say the guy tried to help the girl and just didn't know what he was doing. Plenty of people like that.
And as he does so he sees the ring and it...calls to him. Just like it did to Ivan. Now the guy is distracted. Ivan walks up on him and that's where it ends. All neat and tidy. Clean and simple. Believable.
Except for one thing. A man who can touch the power just happens on a girl with a ring that is somehow associated with it. That was where it broke down. It just didn't seem believable to him. Nope, not at all. There was more to it than that.
It came back to the ring. Ivan stood. He knew what angle to use now. He went back into the interrogation room. "The girl's alive though in critical condition. Hopefully she'll make it through and then be able to corroborate your story."
He sat down and looked at Smiley, thinking. Finally, "And I gotta say that your story sounds pretty believable. The times even work out. I'm almost ready to let you go now."
He paused for Smiley's reaction. "Almost....except for the thing about the ring."
He voice dropped and he became deadly serious. "The ring called to you. I know. I felt it too."
He stopped, letting that sink in. Then in voice heavy with sarcasm he said, "So it doesn't make sense that you just happened to see a woman getting killed who also just happened to have a ring that would be of little interest to anyone but people like you and me. Does that sound believable to you?"
He sat back, to watch the man's eyes. It was out there now, the fly in the ointment.
"I'm not saying you killed her. I'm inclined to believe that you didn't. As I said, most of it adds up nicely. But"
. He paused to show that it was a very big but. "I also don't believe for a moment that you just happened across her. So maybe you just tell me the rest of the story."
He didn't enjoy the waiting. Time was a precious beast, and Sören was inclined to pick its carcass clean until the bones gleamed. Watching the meat rot like this instead was excruciating, slowly eating up what remained of his patience. Sarkzoy had not left him alone with the ferocity of his conscience - he did not think of the girl, or the blood, or the wisp of her soul - but with the gaping abyss of time lost. Irretrievable. For the first time he felt his control slip, and irritation bled to a deep searing anger.
By the time the detective returned, Sören's countenance had darkened. He was displeased at having been kept waiting, visibly so. The man had fostered no good will with the negligence of his absence. Nor did his protracted method of accusation do him any favours. A gaze that had been mild sharpened now, complicity brushed liked dust from shoulders. A muscle worked in his jaw, held rigid, a frown digging at his brow.
Sören's posture echoed the gravity of the conversation. He rested his arms heavily on the table, leaning forward, one hand cupped over the other. "Men like that. Like "us." They don't exist."
Not in a legal capacity. Not in any way that would force him to speak an answer while a camera digitalised every communication for the future scrutiny of strangers. Particularly strangers who worshipped at the altar of the CCD.
He did not owe Sarkozy an explanation, nor felt compelled to offer one out of kindness. If the man were looking for proof of a conscience, of a relatable reason why Sören had acted as he did, he was not apt to find one. The accusation was not lost, but tossed aside like refuse. Sören's lips remained stamped firmly shut.
Ivan saw that Smiley was irritated at being held for this long, at his question- really at everything. A part of him understood those feelings, particularly if- as he privately believed- the man was innocent. But he wasn't making this any easier. It seemed like the man resisted him at every step of the way. He made no effort to give Ivan the reassurances that an officer in his position relied on.
The man might be innocent, but there was still something about him that bothered Ivan. And given his position on Drayson's new task force- Ivan had taken to calling it the Super Squad, at least in his head- and the types of cases they were to have jurisdiction over, Ivan had to be sure. People like him and Smiley could be very dangerous if they chose to be. That drug dealer that Drayson had offed had killed fellow officers with his power. Ivan was not going to just let Smiley go because he was innocent in connection with the girl, not until he knew what else was going on.
He noticed Smiley's brief glance at the camera. "I turned them off. This is not a conversation that needs to get recorded."
He leaned forward, arms on the table. "Men like us have been cropping up a lot lately. And the CCD wants to make sure that they aren't a danger to others."
His eyes grew hard. "Keeping people safe is my job. So again, what were you doing in that alley. I don't believe it was coincidence."