05-26-2014, 07:23 PM
For Thalia and Dane, the next few hours were full of hustle and bustle. They were scanned and cleared of infection at the station long before being passed onto the police, but in light of everything that had happened that day, processing them turned out to be a slow process.
Every person on the train was screened and questioned, but in the end only a handful were held for further interrogation. Eventually even those were slimmed down to just a handful. They moved from the station to a nearby police station on close watch; less out of suspicion and more out of concern. The witnesses had had a trying day; trapped on the train, the reports of the attack on the central control station, and watching a woman die was not something most people would simply shake off.
But it was the death of that one woman that had caused most of the concern. Reports of an altercation between Dane and the American were simple enough to set aside; it had been a stressful environment they had been trapped in, after all. And as for the reports of Dane being thrown across the train car, well...the train had come to a sudden stop. Perhaps the witnesses had simply gotten the order of events confused in their minds.
Eventually, Thalia and Dane and a few others found themselves seated in individual rooms of a CDPS station. The rooms were openly and discreetly monitored, and came with a table bolted to the floor, and two chairs on either side. Seated on the tables were plastic decanters of water and dixie cups, but little else to entertain those waiting within.
Drayson was tired, but the pain in his arm was more then enough to keep him awake. He had been given pain killers of course, and they sat tucked away in his coat pocket, which hung on a coat hanger in the station Chief's office at the moment. He refused to take them; while drugs did wonders to numb the pain, they would also numb his mind. Perhaps if he had had time for a good night's sleep, rather then the endless paperwork and interesting conversation with Alric, but as it stood at the moment, the cup of coffee in his good hand would simply have to do.
He wore the same suit as he had the day before, all grays of various depths, and it showed a few wrinkles for it, but he was freshly showered and cleaned up. Breakfast had been...he couldn't recall at the moment, actually. Something. A bagel, perhaps, some hours ago, and a coffee of course. A good night's sleep would simply have to wait.
He had perused the reports on the incident on the train already. Warning flags had leapt to the fore as soon as he saw the many eye-witness accounts of Dane being thrown. The American seemed the most likely culprit in that regard, but he had been cleared by someone even higher then Drayson, so that was to be left addressed for the moment. Of course, it also rose some suspicions about the death of a certain lawyer some months back.
But again, that was for another day.
His left arm was held close to his torso in a simple grey sling, likely something he would not wear for long even with the stern instructions of the nurse that had set his arm there. He had follow up appointments and even physiotherapy treatment to assure the shoulder healed properly and he strengthened the muscles such to prevent future injury. Follow ups and appointments he wasn't likely to attend.
He walked up to the interrogation rooms, carefully balancing a collection of files, reports, and forms under his good arm and his cup of coffee in the same hand, making sure not to spill any onto the paperwork. These people had been forced to wait on him for hours, and had lives they most assuredly wished to return to, and he had no intentions of keeping them longer then needed.
A quick perusal of the files had shown that there was still some lab reports they were waiting on. Apparently, Mr Dane Gregory had been found with locks of human hair in his pocket, belonging to two different people. He had his suspicions on to whom that hair belonged, and had ordered the lab work to be seen to with priority. The answers he expected would arrive within the hour.
That, and proper manners, saw him to the room which housed Miss Thalia Milton. It was curious that both were of such auspicious origins; Mr Gregory seemed to come of a well off family, attended a prestigious religious school. British, of French education. And Miss Milton, a well off family, and apparently a known artist.
He paused at the junction of halls that led to the interrogation rooms, and quietly chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. He moved to the nearest break room, and with some help of an officer there, set his cup of coffee atop a cheap plastic plate of vatrushkas and Tula gingerbread. Not the best meal for someone that likely hadn't eaten in many long hours, but it was certainly better then nothing.
The door to Thalia's interrogation room opened after a simple three-count knock, giving her a moment to compose herself. She'd been in there most ignored for over an hour already; there simply were not enough officers to tend to them more regularly.
"Good morning, Miss Milton. I am Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough."
He crossed to the table, offering her a comforting smile before carefully setting the plate with cup of coffee and pastries down; he was too tall, and with the papers under his arm, he was forced to squat and lean precariously forwards to deliver it intact, "I am sorry to have had to keep you so long. Hopefully, we can have this all sorted out and you will be free to go soon."
His tone was apologetic; he honestly would have preferred the two had been processed and released hours ago; after his conversation with Alric, he had been informed of the incident on the train and that there were people of interest awaiting his assessment, and so had done all he could to get away from the hospital. The staff hadn't much cared about what responsibilities he had, especially if they conflicted with those of the hospital staff.
The cup of black coffee remained with the plate; he wouldn't fault her if she chose to take it for herself; it was offered with the plate after all. A warm drink would likely do the woman some good.
Every person on the train was screened and questioned, but in the end only a handful were held for further interrogation. Eventually even those were slimmed down to just a handful. They moved from the station to a nearby police station on close watch; less out of suspicion and more out of concern. The witnesses had had a trying day; trapped on the train, the reports of the attack on the central control station, and watching a woman die was not something most people would simply shake off.
But it was the death of that one woman that had caused most of the concern. Reports of an altercation between Dane and the American were simple enough to set aside; it had been a stressful environment they had been trapped in, after all. And as for the reports of Dane being thrown across the train car, well...the train had come to a sudden stop. Perhaps the witnesses had simply gotten the order of events confused in their minds.
Eventually, Thalia and Dane and a few others found themselves seated in individual rooms of a CDPS station. The rooms were openly and discreetly monitored, and came with a table bolted to the floor, and two chairs on either side. Seated on the tables were plastic decanters of water and dixie cups, but little else to entertain those waiting within.
Drayson was tired, but the pain in his arm was more then enough to keep him awake. He had been given pain killers of course, and they sat tucked away in his coat pocket, which hung on a coat hanger in the station Chief's office at the moment. He refused to take them; while drugs did wonders to numb the pain, they would also numb his mind. Perhaps if he had had time for a good night's sleep, rather then the endless paperwork and interesting conversation with Alric, but as it stood at the moment, the cup of coffee in his good hand would simply have to do.
He wore the same suit as he had the day before, all grays of various depths, and it showed a few wrinkles for it, but he was freshly showered and cleaned up. Breakfast had been...he couldn't recall at the moment, actually. Something. A bagel, perhaps, some hours ago, and a coffee of course. A good night's sleep would simply have to wait.
He had perused the reports on the incident on the train already. Warning flags had leapt to the fore as soon as he saw the many eye-witness accounts of Dane being thrown. The American seemed the most likely culprit in that regard, but he had been cleared by someone even higher then Drayson, so that was to be left addressed for the moment. Of course, it also rose some suspicions about the death of a certain lawyer some months back.
But again, that was for another day.
His left arm was held close to his torso in a simple grey sling, likely something he would not wear for long even with the stern instructions of the nurse that had set his arm there. He had follow up appointments and even physiotherapy treatment to assure the shoulder healed properly and he strengthened the muscles such to prevent future injury. Follow ups and appointments he wasn't likely to attend.
He walked up to the interrogation rooms, carefully balancing a collection of files, reports, and forms under his good arm and his cup of coffee in the same hand, making sure not to spill any onto the paperwork. These people had been forced to wait on him for hours, and had lives they most assuredly wished to return to, and he had no intentions of keeping them longer then needed.
A quick perusal of the files had shown that there was still some lab reports they were waiting on. Apparently, Mr Dane Gregory had been found with locks of human hair in his pocket, belonging to two different people. He had his suspicions on to whom that hair belonged, and had ordered the lab work to be seen to with priority. The answers he expected would arrive within the hour.
That, and proper manners, saw him to the room which housed Miss Thalia Milton. It was curious that both were of such auspicious origins; Mr Gregory seemed to come of a well off family, attended a prestigious religious school. British, of French education. And Miss Milton, a well off family, and apparently a known artist.
He paused at the junction of halls that led to the interrogation rooms, and quietly chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. He moved to the nearest break room, and with some help of an officer there, set his cup of coffee atop a cheap plastic plate of vatrushkas and Tula gingerbread. Not the best meal for someone that likely hadn't eaten in many long hours, but it was certainly better then nothing.
The door to Thalia's interrogation room opened after a simple three-count knock, giving her a moment to compose herself. She'd been in there most ignored for over an hour already; there simply were not enough officers to tend to them more regularly.
"Good morning, Miss Milton. I am Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough."
He crossed to the table, offering her a comforting smile before carefully setting the plate with cup of coffee and pastries down; he was too tall, and with the papers under his arm, he was forced to squat and lean precariously forwards to deliver it intact, "I am sorry to have had to keep you so long. Hopefully, we can have this all sorted out and you will be free to go soon."
His tone was apologetic; he honestly would have preferred the two had been processed and released hours ago; after his conversation with Alric, he had been informed of the incident on the train and that there were people of interest awaiting his assessment, and so had done all he could to get away from the hospital. The staff hadn't much cared about what responsibilities he had, especially if they conflicted with those of the hospital staff.
The cup of black coffee remained with the plate; he wouldn't fault her if she chose to take it for herself; it was offered with the plate after all. A warm drink would likely do the woman some good.