The next day somebody came in with an actual missing person case, so Kristeva had to postpone any further digging he wanted to do and work on his actual job. He could tell almost from the start that it was pretty cut and dried and nothing to waste too much time over--a man had gotten into an argument with his girlfriend, and hadn't seen her in a few days--but he dutifully took the report and then went to the address that was listed as belonging to the "missing" woman's parents. Sure enough, there she was. He quickly ascertained that no sort of domestic violence had occurred, let the woman know her boyfriend was worried about her (her eyes teared up when he said this), and then returned to the station. A phone call to the man let him know his girlfriend was alive and well and might come around to visit him soon--"Maybe, I don't know, the two of you can go out someplace nice or something"--and he hung up in the midst of the babbling gratitude he got in return, then sat and rubbed at his aching eyes. Sure, it had been quick and easy and painless...but he was starting to realize that quick and easy and painless wasn't particularly the sort of case he enjoyed working on that much.
He'd pulled down the photos he'd printed out the day before, and had erased the boards and cleared the search history on the computer, feeling that his snooping around wouldn't be appreciated by the people in charge. At the moment he pulled out the photograph of Officer Jenner and stared at it. He'd had thoughts of going to the prison and trying to speak with him in person, though he wasn't certain if such permission would be granted; not without agreement from Chief Bowen or Lt. Kincaid, at least. And asking either one of them didn't seem like the smartest move.
"Why are you looking at that?"
Kristeva blinked, then glanced up. A uniformed officer stood just to his side, apparently having halted while in the act of walking back to his desk with a mug of coffee in each hand. He was looking down at Jenner's picture and making an unpleasant face. Kristeva looked at his nametag--HAWTHORNE. The guy had been there since before he'd arrived, and he'd noticed in the records of the July Lockett case that he'd been the one to find the body. He'd also been the one to arrest Officer Jenner.
Kristeva paused, trying to think of a decent excuse, but for some reason none came to mind; he suddenly realized just how furtive this case was making him feel. "Catching up on what I've missed," he said at last; when this just earned an even more disgusted expression, he added, "I figure if I'm going to be here for a while, I should get to know the good, the bad, and the ugly."
Officer Hawthorne snorted a little and started to turn away. "Yeah, well...bad and ugly is right."
"You were part of that case, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was there. We don't talk about that much around here, in case you were looking to bond or anything."
"So I take it he's persona non grata in these parts."
"Pretty much."
That pretty much was pretty noncommittal, compared to a simple Yes, he is. "'Pretty much'...?" Kristeva echoed, hoping his hunch was right. Hawthorne slowed in his step again and turned halfway to look at him from the corner of his eye. He seemed to be trying to gauge the detective's intentions; after a moment he must have either found them harmless, or else gave up, as he turned all the way around, glancing around the office before replying.
"What I mean is nobody here cares for him anymore--I'd say probably everyone hates him--just that some might hate him less than others."
Kristeva frowned. "I can't imagine why anyone would hate him less, considering..."
These must have been the magic words. Hawthorne drew close again, lowering his head as well as his voice. "That's what the rest of us think! But who knows why people do what they do."
"'People'...?"
The officer bit his lip. "Lt. Kincaid," he finally said. "A few times he went to speak with Off--with just plain Jenner in prison. Chief Bowen didn't like it one bit, but what could he do. I don't think he's been to see him in a while, but he did go at least three or four times. Who knows what the hell they found to talk about."
"Kincaid went to see Jenner." Hawthorne nodded. "He never gave any sort of explanation why?"
"Well, all any of us could guess was he was looking for more information on the case, but really, what was left? That asshole tried to kill him and some lady. And there was that other poor lady, Jenner was behind that too, even if he didn't pull the trigger. He admitted to all of it. They found that Barnes kid guilty. So there wasn't really anything left to look into. But, who knows, Kinnie's always been strange that way."
"Nobody has any theory on why Kincaid thought there might be more to things?"
"Well..." Hawthorne fell silent, looking back toward Kincaid's closed blinds. He did this for so long that Kristeva started to think maybe he'd forgotten they were talking. The other officer finally turned back, scanned the office a second time, and stepped right up to the side of Kristeva's desk, so close that Kristeva actually leaned back in his chair, a little startled to almost be touched. His frown grew when Hawthorne punched a few keys on his computer, paused, then hit ENTER. A familiar image popped up--the mutilated goat that had been found behind the Falcon's Nest, with the misspelled threat around its neck.
"I already know about this," Kristeva said, perplexed.
"Well, good," Hawthorne replied; "I won't need to explain it, then." He turned away and headed back to his desk, handing one of the mugs across to his partner before sitting down.
Kristeva had opened his mouth to say that yes, he did need to explain it, but it was a bit late to ask that now, and judging by the way Hawthorne started talking with his partner, he suspected the other officer wouldn't be interested in chatting with him again any time soon. He glanced at the mutilated goat picture instead. He'd had the idea that "You're next, pig" must refer to a police officer, though wasn't sure which one. Kincaid was looking to be as good a candidate as any.
The ringtone on his cell phone suddenly went off, making him flinch. He nearly dropped the device as he hurried to pick it up and flip it open, earning glances from Hawthorne and his partner. "Kristeva," he said as he pressed it to his ear.
"Good news! I got your records for you."
"Records?" Kristeva echoed, stupidly.
"Yyyeah...records," the voice said again; then, "You do remember requesting that I get them unsealed, right?"
Shane Buchanan. "Right," Kristeva said, making a face. "The judge said yes?"
"The judge signed his name and bam, there they were. I argued a good case on your behalf. Since it sounded pretty important, and all."
"Have you looked at them yet?"
"No, I figured I'd leave that for you, since it's your case and all. Who knows, it might not even be anything I should get into."
"Do I come down to the courthouse and sign them out, or...?"
"Actually, I've signed them out for you. And I'm at my apartment at the moment. Doing some work from home. You're free to stop on by and have a look at them."
Kristeva's unpleasant looked turned into a fullblown grimace. He felt like snapping that he would've liked to sign the records out himself, but he knew the action had been intentional, and quibbling over it now might put the prosecutor in an unsharing mood. "Just let me know the address and I'll stop by after work and get them," he said, forcing his voice to remain neutral.
Buchanan rattled off the address and apartment number--"Look forward to seeing you," he said cheerfully, just as Kristeva cut the call short and clapped the phone shut.
"Not likewise," he muttered, shoving the phone in his jacket pocket.
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