The fury of Sacharissa Cripslock comes with no warning. She has a way of bursting into rooms, brimming with righteous anger, that hasn't come in handy in a long, long time; right now, it seems like just the right thing.
It's the day after the start of the year - a day and a half since the party, give or take - but Sacharissa can still remember the look on Annie's face and how valiantly she tried not to look upset. She'd failed, though, thoroughly enough that here Sacharissa was now, throwing herself into the office with what might have been called a flounce in any lesser circumstances. Her brow knit and her expression tight, she glares at Sam Tyler as she descends upon him and, without a word, serves him a good, sharp crack across the cheek with that very modern hand of hers.
"You horrible little man," she says, and there's an implication in her tone that there's nothing worse she could possibly call him. What comes next is silence, however, as she realizes that it's difficult to negotiate what follows without incriminating Annie
( ... )
Sam stares in shock at Sacharissa and wonders just what he's done to deserve the slap. Never does it cross his mind that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't deserve it. He's got too much of a blank on his memory for that to happen and he closes his eyes, pressing his tongue to his lower lip to slowly let that feeling sink in. "Sacharissa," he greets evenly. "This is going to sound very, very bad, but just what is it I did?"
Sacharissa bristles, her arms folding slowly in an attempt to keep herself from slapping him a second time. "You're right," she says, her voice as cold as it gets, "it does sound very, very, very bad." She's usually able to keep her temper under control, but he's brought this open himself, really.
"I suppose it isn't surprising. You had a bit of fun, I expect, and it's all conveniently gone away, has it?" Sam Tyler's had more experience with this side of Sacharissa Cripslock than most of the island's residents combined, really. She supposes she ought to be grateful so few people have given her cause.
Sam gives Sacharissa a completely bamboozled and lost look, arching an eyebrow and shaking his head. "All I remember was drinking something laced, then my heart started racing and I was speeding." Best not to tell a reporter that he think he's in a coma and someone's messed up his meds. Which is the truth, but she'd just think he's insane.
Moreso than he actually is.
"I have no idea what happened all night, except that I woke up passed out and with drugs in my system," he strains.
Calvin flopped into the chair next to Sam's desk, the way only teenage boys with absurdly long limbs can. He watched him amid the paperwork for a moment then absently reached over to straighten one of the piles.
Sam glances up at Calvin and does his best to offer a polite smile, rolling his eyes when Ivanhoe hisses at Calvin. "Ivanhoe," Sam says sternly, giving him a Look, which is returned with a Cat-Look in turn. All this is just ridiculous really. "Calvin, hey," Sam greets casually, straightening things out vaguely as they were before. "Do you need something?"
He looked back steadily back at the cat, but then he shrugged and let Ivanhoe win the day. After your house is ruled by a dog the size of a bear, you get used to that sort of thing.
Sam gives him a curious look. "Don't have to apologize." Because if Sam's right about what he's been doing, that's definitely his job soon enough. He just needs to figure out who to. "Listen, were you at the party? The thing?" he asks, hesitantly.
She's almost like something out of an old-time movie when she walks into the IPD office, wearing a carefully chosen black dress with her high heels and a strand of pearls; nothing over the top, but just enough to figure out what their in might be. The role may be a couple of weeks old, but this is the fun part, as close as they're going to get to an actual con.
"Are you Detective Inspector Tyler?" Stacie asks once she's reached the desk, not yet taking a seat. She knows he is, of course, Danny's showed her, but it's the introduction that's important here. It's her job to ease suspicion, after all, it always has been.
Sam glances up when he sees the woman in the doorway and exhales deeply. He's not used to beautiful women standing in the doorway and specifically asking for him. "I'm DI Tyler, yes," he agrees, blinking away the shock.
Stacie smiles warmly at that, sitting slowly in the chair across from him, legs crossed at the knees. "Sarah Reford," she says, and extends one hand over the desk. "I believe you've met my husband, J.R.?" It's not much of a question, and it isn't intended as such, but the lilting up in her tone is intentional, to come across less accusatory so he'll be more comfortable.
Sam arches a brow, almost surprised that this woman exists. He'd been so sure that if Redford wasn't Crane, then he must be making something up. "You're Mrs. Redford?" Sam asks, giving her a dubious look.
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It's the day after the start of the year - a day and a half since the party, give or take - but Sacharissa can still remember the look on Annie's face and how valiantly she tried not to look upset. She'd failed, though, thoroughly enough that here Sacharissa was now, throwing herself into the office with what might have been called a flounce in any lesser circumstances. Her brow knit and her expression tight, she glares at Sam Tyler as she descends upon him and, without a word, serves him a good, sharp crack across the cheek with that very modern hand of hers.
"You horrible little man," she says, and there's an implication in her tone that there's nothing worse she could possibly call him. What comes next is silence, however, as she realizes that it's difficult to negotiate what follows without incriminating Annie ( ... )
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"I suppose it isn't surprising. You had a bit of fun, I expect, and it's all conveniently gone away, has it?" Sam Tyler's had more experience with this side of Sacharissa Cripslock than most of the island's residents combined, really. She supposes she ought to be grateful so few people have given her cause.
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Moreso than he actually is.
"I have no idea what happened all night, except that I woke up passed out and with drugs in my system," he strains.
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"Hi."
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"No, I'm just..." Calvin shrugged vaguely. "Around. Sorry."
He felt like he'd been apologizing for a lot, lately.
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"Are you Detective Inspector Tyler?" Stacie asks once she's reached the desk, not yet taking a seat. She knows he is, of course, Danny's showed her, but it's the introduction that's important here. It's her job to ease suspicion, after all, it always has been.
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"Hi," he manages. "Sam, I'm Sam, rather."
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