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Chris might have grown used to filing long ago, but that didn't mean he'd ever managed to find it any more interesting over the years. If anything, it only seemed more boring now. Something he'd never have believed possible when he'd had his first filing job pushed on him. It didn't seem fair that out of everything that had changed over the
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"Ta," he muttered, gratefully, dropping the butt of his cigarette as he took the tea from her. Even the first sip left him feeling more awake than he had since he came down here, so he followed that with a larger swallow.
He couldn't help but frown at her next words, though, looking almost hurt, despite the scorn not being aimed at him. "It's not useless," he protested, lowering the mug. "The Gu-- Other Guv says filing's an integral part of any productive workplace and efficiency must be maintained at all times." He said it with a sense of stubborn pride, emphasising the entire sentence as though reciting from a text book. Which was close enough to the truth, really.
They weren't the words he'd have chosen for filing himself, nor would he have been likely to say that to many other members of the team. Certainly the Guv. His real Guv, that was. He differentiated between the two, even in his own head. But Sally was different. And he didn't much like being told he felt like a useless twat, even if he'd been feeling like that for as long as he'd been stuck down here.
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"Right, well, whatever you say", she shrugged off noncommittally, moving towards one of the cabinets to file the cases tucked under her arm away. The cabinet was neatly labeled with '1982, M-Z', and opening it, she sorted the first file in it's correct place under 'Robbery, Bank'.
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"Thought you liked filing, anyway," he muttered, still feeling put out. Her remaining scepticism didn't exactly help much. "You come down here often enough. Don't even get asked, half the time."
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"Can you pass me over all the homicides?" She asked gently, nodding at the stack he'd been straightening.
"And it's not that I like filing, it's just, well, no one else is going to do it, and it keeps me busy while you all are out on cases." Or down at the pub, or otherwise doing copper stuff that didn't involve her.
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It wasn't really so much that they never had time, though. Sometimes they didn't, but the fact was that none of them really liked to be bothered with it. There were more important things than filing, even when there wasn't a case to crack. Why bother when they had someone else around they could rely on to do it for them?
Stack complete, Chris turned to hand the homicide files over to her. "Seemed a bit daft to sort them first," he told her sheepishly, in case she was wondering why they weren't separate to begin with. Not that he really saw the point in it, but he suspected she probably did.
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She looked over her shoulder where Chris had begun to sort the files like she's asked. So maybe he mixed a few Manslaughter cases in there...sometimes effort really did count for everything. She took the stack from him, stepping up on a stool to file them away in the upper cabinets.
She really didn't mind this kind of work, tedious as it was, it kept her occupied and her mind off the whirlwind of troubling possibilities as to the nature of her future that was everpresent on the forefront of her thoughts these days. Didn't mind it...but that didn't mean that she couldn't see that her slightly obsessive compulsive habits were taken advantage off. To get certain members of CID out of boring tasks, and to keep her out of the way.
"It's all about patterns, really", she attempted to explain the method to her madness in a way that would make sense. "Criminals are creatures of habit, no matter what they learn or change, to some degree they always come back to what they know, that first comfort zone. That's why bank robbers still try and rob banks, even if they've already down time for it. People follow patterns, patterns of actions. Organizing them by action then, helps us see the patterns."
Dear god, she sounded like Alex.
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Over the years, Chris had learned how to listen to everything he was told without ever really taking anything on board as was probably intended. He nodded as Sally spoke, wondering how much of that she'd picked up from Drake. Most of it, probably. It sounded like something she'd say, in any case. He just nodded carefully at the right points, waiting until she'd finished before he chipped in.
"Like ritual killings," he said helpfully, waving the drugs raid file in his hand. "Like they do the same things. In a ritual." Not quite sure what else to add to that, he dropped the file on the stack not put aside for robberies.
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His initial silence at her little tirade seemed to suggest that he was either not paying attention or that she'd used too many big words. In honesty, she'd just recycled some Drake-isms and the first module of a college criminology course she'd taken to cover up the fact that she just liked things to have some order. So much of life, her life especially, seemed to be chaos, out of her control. She never got to choose where these strange twists of fate always seemed to bring her, whether it was to a house known as Wester Drumlins or the year 1982.
But she could alphabetize, she could take all these decades of sweat and toil and loss transcribed on paper and turn them into easily accessible data.
"Sorry?" She asked, head snapping back out of her reverie as Chris commented further, most unexpectedly.
"Something like that", she agreed, "Someone's M.O is defined by their history, or whatever driving force pushes them to commit their crimes. Often, it's somewhat ritualized, especially with serial killers. They're 'serial' specifically because they repeat themselves, and that's how they get caught."
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The last part was more directed at himself than her. Of course it wasn't important. Why would it be? Frowning slightly, he went back to flipping through the file he'd just sorted.
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Well, anyone could have seen that, Chris wore his emotions on his sleeve, even now after all they'd all been through in the past year.And if he was trying to hide his troubled interest, he wasn't doing it very well.
It couldn't be a recent file then, or, at least not one that had come across CID's desk in the sixteen months Sally had worked there. She would have definitely have heard about any ritual murders going on in that time.
...
God, when had it gotten to be over a year?
"Alright", Sally shrugged, giving him his space, even as she watched his expression with careful interest out of the corner of her vision.
"Look, I can finish up here if you'd like, everyone else has already gone down to Luigi's."
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Pulling it out again, he shook his head. Too obvious. Even if she wasn't looking in his direction.
"Nah," he said instead, trying for a tone of casual he couldn't quite pull off. "Might as well stay down here. Help you out a bit." The last part was added almost as an afterthought. She'd appreciate help, he thought. So maybe then she wouldn't wonder quite as much what he was still doing down there.
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Finished with that stack, she shut the file drawer without a word, hopping off the stool and facing him.
"You know, there's no shame in actually being interested in your job", she pointed out, a tiny smile creeping at the edges of her mouth.
"Don't worry, I won't tell the Neanderthals that you can actually read."
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He didn't much like the look on Sally's face, if he was honest. He'd only had a thought and once he looked into it, he suspected he'd find he was completely off the mark. And really, he was no more keen to look like a div to Sally than he was any of the others. Even if she wasn't really a copper.
His grip on the file tightened slightly and he glanced down at it uncertainly. He wasn't sure he wanted to share it with her just yet, any more than he wanted to share it with the others. But he was starting to think he might not have much choice. Reluctantly, he put the file down, sliding it away from himself to give her the chance to look if she wanted to.
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"That wasn't an interrogation", she explained, "It's none of my business, but you don't need to try and hide it, your secrets will stay yours, honest." Heaven knows he'd kept enough of hers in the beginning, and she owed him the respect of privacy now. Now more than ever she felt the need for an ally, even from the most unlikely of suspects.
She turned away from him, and shut the open file drawer, preparing to leave, "But if you ever need any help finding things down here...feel free to ask, it's not like I've much else to do."
There may have been a touch of bitterness in her final words, but not at him.
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He knew if he did continue it, she'd probably jump at the chance to get involved with some proper police work. But for now he wanted to keep his ideas to himself and he was grateful she was letting him. "Cheers, Sals," he told her, tone giving away just how thankful he was for letting him decide for himself.
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She was curious, that was no doubt, as to what had piqued the interest of someone who...quite frankly didn't much seem interested in the non smoking non drinking aspects of his job on most days.
Well, as much as she wanted to leave his business his business...she had no doubt that she'd crack open the file herself if he left it behind. Professional curiosity, of course.
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