Hard Sell - Chapter 7; T
Title: Hard Sell, Chapter 7
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; girl!Flack (Dawn Flack), Stella, Mac
General info: Genderbender; Not mine; T
Notes: A huge thank you to eternal_sadist, significantowl, avidbeader, and the wonderful ladies at postonthursday who helped make this fic happen.
Summary: Pre-series. Dawn Flack (not a junior, though everyone wants to add that on) is finally getting her first solo case, without her training partner to tag along. But when one death becomes three with little evidence, she's needs all the help Mac and Stella can give her to find this guy.
Spotlight was a bar that Dawn had been to a few times, but not many, and it took her an extra trip around the block to not only find it but a place to park. The spot she found was at the other end of the block, so she wove her way through tourists, A-frame signs (restaurant specials and hotels welcoming conventioneers), and a rather frazzled-looking dog walker to get there. It was late enough in the afternoon that inside the bartender was beginning to prepare for the evening rush when she stepped inside, nodding at her.
"What can I get you?"
"How about some answers?" she asked, holding up her shield.
He glanced to the door behind her, then shrugged and motioned for her to pull up a seat. "I'm always happy to help one of New York's finest," he said, stressing "finest" as he looked her over. "What do you need?"
Dawn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She offered a picture of Marcie Erikson to him. "Do you remember her?"
"Thursday night," he said, nodding as he handed it back. "Came in with some friends, but they both left before she did."
"Do you remember who she left with?"
He shook his head. "Sorry. It was a busy night. I just remember her because she ordered a Pimm's cup. It's not a popular drink. You always remember those odd requests. There was a guy chatting her up, he seemed like the business type. Bought her a drink or two."
"Did you get his name?"
"Nah. And he paid cash. Sorry."
"The camera by the door, can I get copies of the footage from Thursday?"
"You could if it worked." He leaned on the bar, closer to her. "Just between me and you, it's all for show. The boss doesn't want to pay for a real system, but he wants the illusion of security. People see it when they're coming in and they think they're safe, or that maybe it isn't a good idea to do something stupid."
"He might want to start rethinking that idea," she said, "or else all it might take is just one lawsuit from a victim's family to change it for him."
"So something did happen to her? You wouldn't be here if it hadn't."
"She was murdered," Dawn said as she stood. "Probably by the person she left here with. That surveillance footage would have been very useful in identifying him. Did you get a good look at her admirer?"
"Not good enough. Average height, average build, dark hair, and wearing a suit. He looked like half the other men who come in here. There wasn't anything about him that stood out." He shrugged. "And I have no idea if they left together or not. I didn't see either of them go. We were packed; I couldn't see two feet past the bar."
She nodded, knowing what those kinds of nights were like from talking to Sam. She slipped her card across the bar to him. "If you see anything suspicious, give me a call, okay?"
"Anything to get to see you again," he said, grinning at her as he pocketed it.
This time she did roll her eyes.
::
Stella was in her office when Dawn arrived at the lab. She knocked on the glass door, sipping at her coffee as Stella waved her in.
"Get anything else yesterday?" the other detective asked as Dawn took a seat.
Dawn shook her head. She had gotten more, but not anything that helped them catch this guy. "Tracked down the information on the contractor, Mike Bailey. He never met Anne Hoffman, his alibi checks out, and he confirmed that his relationship with Erikson had been more about trading DIY tips than finding their one true love. I'm heading out to Jersey City after this to meet with Micah Leblanc. Rhonda Moss didn't have much--she didn't stay out long after they arrived at Spotlight--but Leblanc was still there when she left."
"That was the club with the fake security cameras?"
"Yeah. Please tell me you got something from the footage I got at Temple."
"Good news and bad news. We were able to find footage of Anne Hoffman entering and leaving the club." Stella tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear as she located a file folder on her desk. Finding it, she pulled out several stills from the footage and handed them to Dawn. "She arrived with a group of friends like Dolores said, but she stayed later than any of them. We have a still of her leaving the club, but it isn't a good shot of the man she left with. He's about the same height, dark hair, suit, and briefcase. No shot of his face."
"Matches what the bartender said about him at Spotlight. Either this is the most forgettable man in the world," Dawn said as she looked over the pictures, tipping her head to the side as she examined the frame of the couple leaving, "or he knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them."
"I'll go with the latter," Stella said, grinning slightly. "If he was that forgettable, I don't see these women taking him home. There had to be something that attracted them."
"It fits with how careful he's being," Dawn pointed out. "He's bagging his own trash and taking it with him. Of course he's going to know where the cameras are. He's a boy scout: Be Prepared."
"Which he continued at the last scene. There was no DNA or prints present other than Anne's. The blood was all hers, the knife found by the body was the murder weapon-"
"And likely belonged to her."
"Right. And he bleached the shower again."
"Cleaning it out after using it to clean himself up." She thought for a moment, then looked up at Stella. "You know, a guy could probably fit a change of clothes in a briefcase, or at least the important stuff. Depending on where everything ended up when it they were undressing-"
"Anne Hoffman's dress was in the hallway," Stella added. "If clothes were coming off as they made their way to her bedroom, his suit could have been in the hallway, as well."
"Say he went in with that in mind. He could have easily set a pace that resulted in them getting naked in the hallway. Considering that, he may have only needed to make sure that he had a spare shirt and underwear. Easy to fit in a briefcase."
"But why bring a spare set of clothes and use her knife?" Stella asked. "For someone whose motto seems to be 'be prepared', he is leaving that to chance."
"I don't know?" Dawn shook her head as she considered the question, then started thinking out loud. "A briefcase can only hold so much. It was unlikely that she'd have a spare set of men's clothes for him, but nearly everyone has at least one kitchen knife on hand. Even people who don't cook much will at least have something sharper than a butter knife for the occasions they, say, get fresh fruit like a cantaloupe to go with their microwave dinners. It is more likely that a single woman living alone would have a knife on hand than a change of clothes for him."
"That would make sense," Stella said. "And it fits in the realm of what someone would likely have in their briefcase. A guy is more likely to have a spare shirt than a kitchen knife. If it came open accidentally-"
"Or if the woman he went home with opened it on purpose."
"-it wouldn't raise any questions."
"So," Dawn said, looking at her notebook, "we're looking for a tall white male with dark hair wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. That's only half the city."
"Good luck finding him."
"Oh, I'm beginning to think I'm going to need it." She looked around the lab as she finished her coffee. "Where's Mac?"
"Meeting with the Chief of Detectives."
"Oh. Maybe he's the one who needs the good luck." She didn't say anything else, though she had an idea what, and whom, the meeting was about. Nobody had said anything to her about the case yet, and if anyone did suggest that she turn it over to someone "more experienced" she was going to fight tooth and nail to keep it. Two deaths didn't make a serial killer. Yet. Tossing the cup in the trash, she stood. "I'm off to Jersey City to meet with Marcie's other friend; who knows what time I'll get back to the city."
"It's not that far."
"You kidding? It's practically in another state!"
"Dawn, it is in another state."
"My point exactly."
::
He watched her leave, fighting to keep his fury from showing on his face. How dare she!
He turned back to the bar, signaling to the bartender for a refill. He tried to give her a pleasant smile, her sympathetic look grating on his nerves. For a second he wished she was a brunette instead of a redhead. Her eyes were the right color. And it'd serve her right. He didn't need sympathy.
No. He needed to find what he'd come here for. He forced himself to calm down, giving her a nonchalant smile as he stepped away from the bar. No need for her to have any reason to remember him.
Not that anyone ever did. Sometimes it paid to just be average.
He found a table in a dark corner and seated himself so he could watch the door. No need to look on the dance floor; he'd already checked. There was no one there who would suit his purposes. He'd see her when she came in.
It took longer than he wanted. He was about to give up and move on--the only reason he'd chosen this place was because of his meeting next door--but then the door opened and in came a group of women.
There she was.
She made a beeline for the bar, ordering a set of shots that she and her friends all drank, then ordering another as many of them drifted away to the dance floor. Her heartache was written all over her face. She was here to forget.
He could help with that.
Smiling, he returned to the bar, his briefcase heavy in his hand. A reminder. He needed to to catch her attention quickly. He didn't have much time, not if he wanted to be ready for his meetings in the morning. He didn't know where she lived, how far out. And it was later than he'd planned.
The bartender glanced at him as he paid for her next shot, handing him another beer as she glanced back at her. Of course. She remembered what happened earlier.
But that was no matter. He'd found her. He had a plan.
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Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; girl!Flack (Dawn Flack), Stella, Mac
General info: Genderbender; Not mine; T
Notes: A huge thank you to eternal_sadist, significantowl, avidbeader, and the wonderful ladies at postonthursday who helped make this fic happen.
Summary: Pre-series. Dawn Flack (not a junior, though everyone wants to add that on) is finally getting her first solo case, without her training partner to tag along. But when one death becomes three with little evidence, she's needs all the help Mac and Stella can give her to find this guy.
Spotlight was a bar that Dawn had been to a few times, but not many, and it took her an extra trip around the block to not only find it but a place to park. The spot she found was at the other end of the block, so she wove her way through tourists, A-frame signs (restaurant specials and hotels welcoming conventioneers), and a rather frazzled-looking dog walker to get there. It was late enough in the afternoon that inside the bartender was beginning to prepare for the evening rush when she stepped inside, nodding at her.
"What can I get you?"
"How about some answers?" she asked, holding up her shield.
He glanced to the door behind her, then shrugged and motioned for her to pull up a seat. "I'm always happy to help one of New York's finest," he said, stressing "finest" as he looked her over. "What do you need?"
Dawn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She offered a picture of Marcie Erikson to him. "Do you remember her?"
"Thursday night," he said, nodding as he handed it back. "Came in with some friends, but they both left before she did."
"Do you remember who she left with?"
He shook his head. "Sorry. It was a busy night. I just remember her because she ordered a Pimm's cup. It's not a popular drink. You always remember those odd requests. There was a guy chatting her up, he seemed like the business type. Bought her a drink or two."
"Did you get his name?"
"Nah. And he paid cash. Sorry."
"The camera by the door, can I get copies of the footage from Thursday?"
"You could if it worked." He leaned on the bar, closer to her. "Just between me and you, it's all for show. The boss doesn't want to pay for a real system, but he wants the illusion of security. People see it when they're coming in and they think they're safe, or that maybe it isn't a good idea to do something stupid."
"He might want to start rethinking that idea," she said, "or else all it might take is just one lawsuit from a victim's family to change it for him."
"So something did happen to her? You wouldn't be here if it hadn't."
"She was murdered," Dawn said as she stood. "Probably by the person she left here with. That surveillance footage would have been very useful in identifying him. Did you get a good look at her admirer?"
"Not good enough. Average height, average build, dark hair, and wearing a suit. He looked like half the other men who come in here. There wasn't anything about him that stood out." He shrugged. "And I have no idea if they left together or not. I didn't see either of them go. We were packed; I couldn't see two feet past the bar."
She nodded, knowing what those kinds of nights were like from talking to Sam. She slipped her card across the bar to him. "If you see anything suspicious, give me a call, okay?"
"Anything to get to see you again," he said, grinning at her as he pocketed it.
This time she did roll her eyes.
::
Stella was in her office when Dawn arrived at the lab. She knocked on the glass door, sipping at her coffee as Stella waved her in.
"Get anything else yesterday?" the other detective asked as Dawn took a seat.
Dawn shook her head. She had gotten more, but not anything that helped them catch this guy. "Tracked down the information on the contractor, Mike Bailey. He never met Anne Hoffman, his alibi checks out, and he confirmed that his relationship with Erikson had been more about trading DIY tips than finding their one true love. I'm heading out to Jersey City after this to meet with Micah Leblanc. Rhonda Moss didn't have much--she didn't stay out long after they arrived at Spotlight--but Leblanc was still there when she left."
"That was the club with the fake security cameras?"
"Yeah. Please tell me you got something from the footage I got at Temple."
"Good news and bad news. We were able to find footage of Anne Hoffman entering and leaving the club." Stella tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear as she located a file folder on her desk. Finding it, she pulled out several stills from the footage and handed them to Dawn. "She arrived with a group of friends like Dolores said, but she stayed later than any of them. We have a still of her leaving the club, but it isn't a good shot of the man she left with. He's about the same height, dark hair, suit, and briefcase. No shot of his face."
"Matches what the bartender said about him at Spotlight. Either this is the most forgettable man in the world," Dawn said as she looked over the pictures, tipping her head to the side as she examined the frame of the couple leaving, "or he knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them."
"I'll go with the latter," Stella said, grinning slightly. "If he was that forgettable, I don't see these women taking him home. There had to be something that attracted them."
"It fits with how careful he's being," Dawn pointed out. "He's bagging his own trash and taking it with him. Of course he's going to know where the cameras are. He's a boy scout: Be Prepared."
"Which he continued at the last scene. There was no DNA or prints present other than Anne's. The blood was all hers, the knife found by the body was the murder weapon-"
"And likely belonged to her."
"Right. And he bleached the shower again."
"Cleaning it out after using it to clean himself up." She thought for a moment, then looked up at Stella. "You know, a guy could probably fit a change of clothes in a briefcase, or at least the important stuff. Depending on where everything ended up when it they were undressing-"
"Anne Hoffman's dress was in the hallway," Stella added. "If clothes were coming off as they made their way to her bedroom, his suit could have been in the hallway, as well."
"Say he went in with that in mind. He could have easily set a pace that resulted in them getting naked in the hallway. Considering that, he may have only needed to make sure that he had a spare shirt and underwear. Easy to fit in a briefcase."
"But why bring a spare set of clothes and use her knife?" Stella asked. "For someone whose motto seems to be 'be prepared', he is leaving that to chance."
"I don't know?" Dawn shook her head as she considered the question, then started thinking out loud. "A briefcase can only hold so much. It was unlikely that she'd have a spare set of men's clothes for him, but nearly everyone has at least one kitchen knife on hand. Even people who don't cook much will at least have something sharper than a butter knife for the occasions they, say, get fresh fruit like a cantaloupe to go with their microwave dinners. It is more likely that a single woman living alone would have a knife on hand than a change of clothes for him."
"That would make sense," Stella said. "And it fits in the realm of what someone would likely have in their briefcase. A guy is more likely to have a spare shirt than a kitchen knife. If it came open accidentally-"
"Or if the woman he went home with opened it on purpose."
"-it wouldn't raise any questions."
"So," Dawn said, looking at her notebook, "we're looking for a tall white male with dark hair wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. That's only half the city."
"Good luck finding him."
"Oh, I'm beginning to think I'm going to need it." She looked around the lab as she finished her coffee. "Where's Mac?"
"Meeting with the Chief of Detectives."
"Oh. Maybe he's the one who needs the good luck." She didn't say anything else, though she had an idea what, and whom, the meeting was about. Nobody had said anything to her about the case yet, and if anyone did suggest that she turn it over to someone "more experienced" she was going to fight tooth and nail to keep it. Two deaths didn't make a serial killer. Yet. Tossing the cup in the trash, she stood. "I'm off to Jersey City to meet with Marcie's other friend; who knows what time I'll get back to the city."
"It's not that far."
"You kidding? It's practically in another state!"
"Dawn, it is in another state."
"My point exactly."
::
He watched her leave, fighting to keep his fury from showing on his face. How dare she!
He turned back to the bar, signaling to the bartender for a refill. He tried to give her a pleasant smile, her sympathetic look grating on his nerves. For a second he wished she was a brunette instead of a redhead. Her eyes were the right color. And it'd serve her right. He didn't need sympathy.
No. He needed to find what he'd come here for. He forced himself to calm down, giving her a nonchalant smile as he stepped away from the bar. No need for her to have any reason to remember him.
Not that anyone ever did. Sometimes it paid to just be average.
He found a table in a dark corner and seated himself so he could watch the door. No need to look on the dance floor; he'd already checked. There was no one there who would suit his purposes. He'd see her when she came in.
It took longer than he wanted. He was about to give up and move on--the only reason he'd chosen this place was because of his meeting next door--but then the door opened and in came a group of women.
There she was.
She made a beeline for the bar, ordering a set of shots that she and her friends all drank, then ordering another as many of them drifted away to the dance floor. Her heartache was written all over her face. She was here to forget.
He could help with that.
Smiling, he returned to the bar, his briefcase heavy in his hand. A reminder. He needed to to catch her attention quickly. He didn't have much time, not if he wanted to be ready for his meetings in the morning. He didn't know where she lived, how far out. And it was later than he'd planned.
The bartender glanced at him as he paid for her next shot, handing him another beer as she glanced back at her. Of course. She remembered what happened earlier.
But that was no matter. He'd found her. He had a plan.
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