ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: More writing. :) Let me preface this by saying that everything I know about law and police work comes from watching countless hours of crime shows and Law & Order. So everything in this, especially the "sealed records" part, could be totally, totally off. To be honest I just needed a reason for Kristeva to meet with the skeevy prosecutor character, and this was the best I could think of.
It was rather late in the day by now, so the courthouse was emptying out. Kristeva had been there only once or twice before, and found himself wandering a little bit, uncertain who to ask about old criminal records; that had never been part of his job. He paused before one of numerous doorways, pondering just heading back to his car and trying a different approach, when a voice called from somewhere ahead of him.
"Det. Kristeva? Small world!"
Kristeva blinked and glanced in the direction of the voice. Then fought not to make too unpleasant of a face.
He hated press conferences. Even though the previous one had been his first, still, he hated them, and hoped to not have to do too many more. The only useful part of the entire thing had been when he'd managed to steal a few seconds to show off the missing children flyer* he'd brought along, and he knew the higher-ups* hadn't been too happy about that, not that he cared. He figured if he was going to be wasting his time talking in front of a bunch of cameras, he might as well make a moment of that time count.
Even more bothersome than the cameras and the questions (none of which he'd stayed to answer) were the attempts at schmoozing that came afterward. He honestly hadn't expected such a thing--what about a missing persons press conference invited smalltalk?--but it had happened. A young man he didn't recognize came up and shook his hand and introduced himself as a new prosecutor at the city court. He'd chatted for a few moments, about what, Kristeva really couldn't recall (he was good at tuning people out while pretending to hang on every word they said); and the brief one-sided conversation had ended with him wishing the best of luck with the new Missing Persons Unit, and Kristeva had wished him luck in return with whatever he was doing, and then just as he'd turned to step away the prosecutor spoke up one last time.
"Oh--Detective? I know you're going to be quite busy and all...but I wondered if you'd be interested in drinks sometime? Or maybe coffee?"
That had halted him right in his tracks, and for a second or so he'd stared off into space, figuring there was no way he could have heard that right. He'd slowly turned back and looked the prosecutor in the face. The smile he got in return made it clear that he hadn't misheard.
After another moment of silence he'd asked, dumbfounded, "Are you...hitting on me?"
He'd expected some kind of stammered denial, maybe indignation, whatever. He could handle that. So when the prosecutor just smiled even wider and said, "I suppose you could say that," it wasn't at all what he'd been mentally preparing for.
This also wasn't nearly what he'd had in mind for after-press conference chatter. He wasn't used to being unable to think of anything to say. So the words he finally chose sounded rather forced and fell rather flat.
"Sorry...not interested."
"Ah." The prosecutor's smile turned a little foolish, though he sensed it was merely an act and he felt no embarrassment at all. "Sorry about that, then. Sometimes my radar is a little off..."
"No, that's not it," Kristeva said, turning away again. "I'm just not interested."
The prosecutor had given a small laugh. "Ouch...well, no harm, no foul, right...?"
He'd gone home after the conference, writing the experience off as yet another random strange person he had to deal with, and he'd dealt with plenty in this line of work. The thing was, most such experiences were one time only, and he would never have to deal with those people again. So to see this person now walking toward him in the courthouse, smiling that same fake smile (did he ever take it off?), both irked him and gave him a sensation vaguely akin to his skin crawling, except it was his brain.
He made himself wait for the other man to reach him anyway, since it was a little too late to duck into the office or head the other way. The day was almost over, maybe whatever weird conversation this guy wanted to have would be blissfully short.
The prosecutor stopped before him and held out his hand; Kristeva shook it without much feeling. "Don't suppose you remember my name, huh."
"Sorry...I'm better with faces than with names."
"Shane Buchanan. I should be offended! I remembered your name. You seem kind of lost, was there anything in particular you were looking for?"
Kristeva felt a little bit grateful that he'd gotten straight to the point rather than continue the mindless banter, though he still would have preferred not talking to him at all. "Actually...I'm looking into a cold case from my department. Some of the info seems to be misplaced, so I wondered if it might be here."
"Missing person?"
"Yeah. A missing cop."
"Any reason you think the information might be here?"
"I'm not sure, just straws I'm grasping at. He was working on an undercover case when he disappeared, and might have known somebody involved. That case is closed, so I thought there might be some court records related to the thing, maybe those would help me figure out what happened to him afterward."
"Well...it's a stretch...but I guess it's possible. Just how cold a case are we talking?"
"198*."
Buchanan made a face. "Yikes...I don't think I've even looked at any files that old. But I can do a quick search of the database while you're here. We have everything up to date, unlike you guys. You can spare a minute?"
Kristeva didn't really want to, but followed him anyway when he headed back up the hall and entered an office. He peered around surreptitiously at the ridiculously ornate decor, the sets of law books that were probably strictly for show and had never even been opened once, the immaculate desk that was the exact opposite of his own, and the shining new computer that promptly whirred and purred to life when Buchanan booted it up. The prosecutor sat down behind the desk and logged in, glancing up at him over the monitor.
"Missing guy's name?"
"Wesley Todd Singer. Detective with the Minot Police Department."
Buchanan returned his attention to the computer and started typing. He clicked and browsed and typed some more for a moment or two, scanning through screens far faster than Kristeva ever could, before finally seeming to come across something that made him slow to a halt.
"Found him. Apparently he was involved in investigating some sort of criminal group in the late Seventies and early Eighties, but as for the identity of the group...no real details given here. Outcome of the case...no real details on that, either. Hm." He frowned a little and clicked. "Oh. Well, that explains why you couldn't find anything."
"What does?"
"Looks like when the case was closed, the records were sealed. If anybody was arrested or charged, it's hush-hush for some reason. Looks like whoever was in charge wanted the whole thing to just die down quietly."
Bowen would've been in charge, Kristeva thought, but said nothing. "Is that sort of action normal?" he asked, instead.
"Frankly, no. I mean, I've heard lots of instances of records being sealed when you have, say, a person who was a juvenile when they committed a criminal act, but an entire case? Definitely unusual."
"What would lead somebody to request an action like that, do you think?"
"Well...if I had to guess, I'd think maybe there was some sort of threat to anybody involved. Maybe like a hit put out by whoever worked for this criminal group, or maybe there were some identities they didn't wish to be revealed, for the safety of any victims."
"Like kids?"
"Yeah, that would fit. If there were kids involved I'd understand the secrecy."
"Can that sort of action be undone?"
Buchanan peered up at him, raising an eyebrow. "You mean, like unsealing the records...?"
"Yeah, I mean like unsealing the records. Could that be done? Without the consent of the person who wanted them sealed in the first place?"
Now both eyebrows went up. "Wow...living on the edge, huh. You'd require a court order by a judge if you wanted that to happen."
Kristeva let out a flustered noise halfway between a snort and a sigh, and glanced over his shoulder toward a clock above the door. "Well...how exactly do I do that, then? Request a court order. Preferably without my chief finding out just yet."
"I really don't think they'd take you seriously, considering that you have no sway here, and you only just started at your current post."
"I'll deal with that if I have to."
"No, I don't mean it's going to be a pain in the ass, I mean they probably won't even bother listening to you." Buchanan pushed his chair back from the desk, and stretched his arms out in front of himself, knuckles cracking. "Now...a prosecutor, on the other hand, might be taken more seriously..."
The creepy-crawly feeling started up in Kristeva's brain again, and he slowly turned back to the desk, fighting to keep his face neutral. "You would be able to convince a judge to write up an order...?"
"I couldn't promise it, but I'm pretty confident I could be convincing...I have my ways." His mouth twitched. "I'm wondering, though, what would be in it for me...?"
For a moment or so they just stared at each other, a silent showdown. "What would be in it for you?" Kristeva finally said, unable to keep the slightest trace of a bite out of his voice. So much for being straightforward.
Buchanan stared at him a few seconds more, then smiled that fakey smile. He dropped his hands to the desktop and pushed himself up. "Let's just see if I can convince a judge to unseal the records, first. No need jumping the gun. We're getting ready to close for the day but I think I can squeak it in before everybody heads home. Who knows, maybe that'll be incentive for him to write it up more quickly."
"You need me to wait here?"
"No, you can head on home or wherever it is you were going. I'll call and let you know if I get any results." He held up one hand and gestured. "Fingers crossed."
Kristeva sensed he was meant to mimic the gesture, but turned away instead. "Have a good evening, Detective," Buchanan called after him as he headed out the door; part of him thought it might be wisest to offer his own farewell, just to keep things on decent terms as long as necessary, but at the moment his heart wasn't really in it. The sooner he left that place, the sooner the creepy-crawly feeling might go away. He just hoped it was worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment