Katherine Walker

The coffee pot nearly slips from his fingers as Gordon fumbles with his cast. He manages to pour maybe half a cup. The Lieutenant stares at a pair of beat cops by one of the more battered tables. They leave. On his first week in, after being transferred from Chicago, he had taken down his corrupt partner, beating him so badly that the man had to take early retirement. And while he didn't look particularly threatening today, that memory was still used to scare newer cops.

He beckons Katherine to sit down, and then Walker gets a good look at the older man. He looks...tired. He's only in his late forties, but his hair's almost completely gray. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his trenchcoat doesn't look to have been cleaned in a while. His wife had died six months ago from an illness, and he had to raise his teenaged daughter. A man can only take so much.

He speaks in a quiet, rasping voice. The bruises on his neck are enough explanation.

"We have to try, Walker. Because that's why we became cops. Why some of us became cops, anyway. And in this city, sometimes that means you hope for a miracle."

Katherine realizes seconds after she asked her question that Gordon obviously had enough evidence. The man was too honest to do something(or try to) halfway. If he tried to arrest a mob boss, he had enough to convict the figure.

"You know why you got reassigned to Pawn and I'm still in Vice? It's for PR; people want to know why we aren't doing enough, they get to hold me up and say, look. Here's our guy. I know that. But I keep trying. Because one day the paperwork will stick, and one day the evidence won't get misfiled, and one day...one day I'll be able to look my daughter in the face and tell her 'we got him.'"