A Thin Blue Line

[Reltzik]

Thad places the call for reinforcements, and heads that way himself. The Probationary office in question is in Brookvale, attached to the 23rd precinct; Dispatch gives directions.

En route, and possibly in blatant violation of state cel-phone laws, Thad receives a call from the coroner. Nothing urgent, he's just calling to say that he's emailing you pictures of the victim's tattoos. They're about to dig in for the full autopsy, but before that they did an analysis of the blood on the victim's hands. It seems to be entirely the victim's. However, they found heavy powder residue gummed into the blood on the victim's right hand, which they believe indicates the victim fired a gun several times after being wounded. There was no useful DNA evidence under the fingernails, but they did find deposits of some black substance that they've yet to identify. Best guess is that it's something like charcoal. Finally, they've gotten the victim's fingerprints and ran them through various databases, and have emailed you the results.

The call (plus any questions that Thad might have) finishes long before he reaches Brookvale. It's about a 20 minute drive. He finds a couple of squad cars outside the comercial complex, lights going. One of the cops comes out to greet him.

"Nothing here," the cop reports. "No signs of a struggle. Property manager let us into his suite. It's a mess, but it looks like a normal mess. He left in a hurry, left his TV on. Couple of people from the neighboring suites say he took out of here like a bat out of hell about twenty, thirty minutes ago, pale as a ghost. No sign of anyone tailing him."

[Kislath]

Hmmm... is this good news or bad?
Probably bad. Probably very bad.
*sigh*

Since he split, I don't suppose he'll mind if I have a look at Herman's file. I wonder if he left it here, or took it with him? I'll go inside and have a look.

Black powder under Herman's nails, eh? Somebody's been making bombs. After searching this office for Herman's file, and making a copy for myself, I'll head back to the barn to pick up that warrant for his home.

[Reltzik]

It turns out that McKennet has a good security system. A VERY good security system.

Every single file he has is out in the open.

In piles.

Huge piles. Man-sized piles.

Most of these have pizza boxes or Chinese takeout cartons on top of them. One sports the Leaning Tower of Pabst.

Many of the folders stick out of the piles awkwardly, as if McKennet was in the habit of sliding them back into the middle of the pile rather than just putting them on top.

There's no apparent indexing system at all.

Thad peruses a few of the files near the tops of the piles and doesn't find Herman Rodrick's. He can't be sure that it wasn't taken, but he does realize that a thorough search would take at least a day, and that he has no way of determining if it was taken short of a thorough search.

Returning to the 8th Precinct house, Thad is immediately summoned to the Lieutenant's office.

"I've got your warrant," Lieu-Lou tells him. "And I've got something else as well. I've got a phone call from a Captain Adamson over at the 23rd pretty much demanding that I turn your case over to them. Including all notes and the body. No reason, no authorization, no nothing, so I said no. The body was found on the 8th's turf, and unless someone can prove he was killed elsewhere the 23rd has no claim to it. So now he's coming over here to talk in person. Should be here any minute. You want to sit in while I tell him to go to hell, or do you want to steer clear of it?"

You can detect a hint of a growl in her voice. That's very, very bad. It takes a hell of a lot to get her angry, and she basically has only three "angry" gears. Calm and in control, that tiny hint of a bear growl, and full-on bear mauling. Obviously, this captain managed to push some of her buttons.

[Kislath]

"Oh, I definitely want to sit in on this one. I've been meaning to have a chat with him anyway, seeings how he's my prime suspect.
Oh, yeah.
Our victim caught him in some sexual harrassment stuff. They got into a huge fight over it, and-- waitaminute..they both got fired over it!
You say this guy is a Captain?
Well, maybe he is, and maybe he isn't. We should call over to the 23rd and check. Either the name is pure coincidence, they're kin, he got rehired and promoted, or he's trying to pull a fast one, hoping we don't check."

[Reltzik]

"Probably kin," the Lieutenant answers. "The Adamsons... the entire extended family... have a tradition of service in the Department." Thad recalls that the Deputy Commissioner is named Adamson, even if such data about the rarefied ranks of the Department normally comes stamped as "trivial fact, forgettable, 1 (one)". "THIS one is a long-time... acquaintance of mine. But I do know who he is and I know that this Adamson wasn't broken from the force. If you haven't figured it out yet, you will soon, so I'll admit that we aren't friends. But that's neither here nor now and you should NOT let any friction between myself and him influence your own reactions to him, Detective. I mean that. You will treat him as a captain from another precinct with an interest in your case, and possibly a relative of a suspect if that's where your investigation is taking you, and nothing else. That's an order."

Someone catches Lieu-Lou's eye with a hand gesture, and she nods back, says "he's here", and leads the way to a meeting room. It's already occupied by a graying captain in a perfectly ironed and starched uniform, who gives a similarly starched and stiff nod and a murmer of "Lieutenant Paige" as Lieu-Lou enters. She responds with a formal and grudging "Captain Adamson", and sits before he does, which isn't TECHNICALLY against protocol given that he's a guest at this precinct house, but is cutting it fine.

Also present is a youngish, redheaded man in a cheap suit, who appears caught between two forces: Nerves, and the alcohol which Thad's nose tells him has been used to fortify those nerves. On the bright side, the fortification seems to have worked, or maybe the nerves have subsided for another reason.

Captain Anderson turns his attention to Thad. "Detective Tanner, I presume. I'm Captain Adamson, commanding the 23rd Precinct's gangs unit. This is Martin McKennet, who I understand you've met over the phone." Where Lieu-Lou isn't concerned, he projects a mix of professional friendliness and command charisma.

[Kislath]

"Ah. Nice to meet you. Both of you.
Well, Martin, you gave us quite a scare. For a minute there I thought my killer had found you, too. Nice filing system you got, by the way.

So, the mere mention of Herman Rodrick sends you into a fleeing panic, and later you turn up, drunk, with a Captain who is probably related to the very Sergeant, make that former Sergeant, who, no offense to the Captain, might have had a motive, and now he wants to take over the whole investigation.

Can you see where the whole thing might not sit well with me?

Still, I'm glad you came by. Maybe you'd like to fill me in on some stuff to help ease my troubled mind?"

[Reltzik]

"No offense taken," Captain Adamson says. "And yes, I am related to Bradshaw. Unfortunately. Second cousin. Self-entitled ass who kept thinking he had the right and duty to control everything just because he had a badge and a family name. He should have washed out years ago. Should never have been a cop in the first place. But that's the family tradition and he figured he would be be the best one ever just because he's him. When Rodrick hit him, I was pissed, sure, but that was... hell, I'm getting ahead of your briefing.

"Okay. The first thing you have to do is ignore what it says in the official database. Rodrick was never dismissed from the force. He was working undercover."

[Kislath]

"Really?
Wow. Okay.

How deep undercover was he? Why would he be making bombs?"

[Reltzik]

Captain Adamson looks surprised. "Bombs? I don't know. He was almost-qualified for the bomb squad on the electronics side of things, and he liked to keep his hand in, but I didn't know he was doing anything with actual explosives. But...

"He wasn't that deep undercover. The Wolfpack isn't like normal gangs. Its structure is closer to organized crime networks, or maybe Hamas. It works a bit like an onion. You have to peel its layers away. Its outer layer seems to be mostly busy work, vetting its members for competence and getting as many people into the ranks as it can. All things that are technically legal, at least for now. We think that's a security measure, keeping their illegal activities hidden from their newbies. That layer is mostly intelligence-gathering or charity work, they put a high premium on being popular on their own turf. We've put other people undercover before, and they've all ended up shunted into that outer layer. No one ever got in deeper. Even when they ID'd our people, they just got put us to work where there wasn't anything for us to use against them. As far as the Wolfpack's concerned, an undercover cop that they've ID'd is free labor at a manageable risk. Kind of pissed us off, really, the way that our efforts just kept playing into their hand.

"Rodrick was different. He managed to establish a personal relationship with the leader of the Wolfpack, alias 'La Lupa'. Even though he was in the outer layer, he was able to get us a lot of intel through that avenue, things that we never suspected.

"And then last week... that would have been Thursday, right Martin?" Martin nods. "Thursday, Rodrick passes to us through Martin that he was about to brought inside, because the Wolfpack seemed to be prepping for a major operation, and that he might be out of touch for a bit. That was the last we heard from him.

"So if he was making bombs, my best guess is that's what they brought him onto the inside to do. But we don't know, because he never contacted us after that."

Adamson leans forward. "Now, tell us what type of bombs he was making. If that's part of the big operation the Wolfpack is building up to, we need to know about it."

[Kislath]

"Well, I don't know yet. I'm not even absolutely sure that's what he was doing. His truck was full of paraphenalia and there was blackpowder under his fingernails, so I made an assumption.
I'm about to go search his place to see what I can find. I suppose I can keep you in the loop if you're worried what the Wolfpack is up to in your neighborhood.

I'm glad you came by. It's always nice to get another suspect out of the blue. This La Lupa guy just shot straight to the top of the list, even over your cousin.

I'm keeping the case. It sounds like there might be another one brewing, though. If you want that action you're welcome to it. I could use the help anyway."

Oh, by the way, Rodrick had a big orange number one painted on him by the killers. Any ideas what that might mean? Is that a wolfpack kind of thing? If not, then the killers might be just be getting started.
Hmm.... it just occurred to me that a big #1 is also a symbol for explosives. Rooms storing them have the big "one" on them to warn firefighters in case of a fire. I suppose it's a bit of a long stretch, but you never know when someone is trying to be funny."

[Reltzik]

((To clarify, the number 1 wasn't painted on the victim, it was painted on the trunk of the tree the victim was hanging from.))

"No idea," Adamson answers. "Beyond your own guess that we're looking at a serial killer. It's definitely not a Wolfpack thing. They're subtle. They outsource, kill by proxy, keep their own hands clean. We've had a damned hard time tying them to their handiwork. What you're describing is more flagrant than normal for them. Perhaps this big operation of theirs is about moving more into the open, or maybe they brought in a ringer that's more of a loose canon than they thought.

"In any event, I do acknowledge your right to investigate a body found on your turf, even if the victim was one of our own and even if we are far more familiar with the principle actors and environment. I would propose a joint investigation, except I know your Lieutenant would decline." Adamson transfers a look at Lieu-Lou which isn't... quite... a glare, and she returns it in equal measure. "That being the case, the 23rd will launch its own investigation. I hope that the two can cooperate and that we won't step on each others' toes too much.

"Oh, and the paraphernalia in Rodrick's car was normal for him. He had to carry it around when he was officially with the force, because he was on the list of officers to call in to a bomb threat, and he wasn't the sort to get rid of a kit like that just because he was no longer officially on the list of people who might need it."

[Kislath]

"Hmmm... okay, I guess that explains some of it. Maybe the lab will tell me the black powder wasn't blackpowder. A look around his place might tell me something I can use. I'll let you know if I find anything interesting."

With that, if there's nothing else, I head over to Herman Rodrick's residence.

[Reltzik]

Martin apologizes to Thad on his way out, explaining that the shock of learning that Rodrick was dead coupled with the possibility that Thad had been lying over the phone about who he was and why he was calling had made him lose his composure. He seems embarrassed.

Thad gets a call from the M.E. while en-route. Autopsy's mostly finished, they're closing up Herman right now. Cause of death was blood loss due to a point-blank gunshot wound to the abdomen. There were also some tearing in the wound, most likely caused by the victim straining or convulsing for several minutes prior to death. Also, carpet fibers, periwinkle blue, really new carpet. The weapon was low caliber, low throw, most likely a very small handgun. The bullet lodged in the spine, pinching the spinal cord, and would most likely have caused extreme agony and effective paralysis from the mid-abdomen down. You're not going to get ballistics off of the bullet. Someone dug it out of the body.

Herman lived in a studio in Upper Brookvale. The building manager lets you in. No one else home, save for a hamster in a cage who's running low on food. No sign anyone else lived here. It's ship-shape, lived-in but tidy. No signs of a struggle or forced entry. He's got a weight set, a chin-up bar, art supplies, an indexed collection of Superman comics, a few other anthologies (Alan Moore seems to have been a favorite), reference books on bombs and electronics. A few books on the Catholic Church, plus an official Catholic Bible and the Catechisms. Almost everything is put in its place, but there's piles of printout on his small desk -- the sort of old printer-feed paper that's just one long thing and you have to tear it off into individual pieces once the job's printed. It looks a lot like what Thad was crossing cars off of a couple of hours ago, actually. No printer here that it could have come from, nor any computer. There's a wifi modem, though. There's also a large sketch pad and what looks like a box of art supplies. He's also got a pile of three library books, plus one kinda-bound report that also has a library bar-code on it.

[Kislath]

Hmmm...

What color is the carpet?

I look around for food to feed the hamster, and give him some water, too. I'll also rummage around in the cage litter for anything that might be hidden in it. You never know. Cute little guy. I wonder who would like to adopt him.

Library books and some reference materials? I'll peruse them. What were you studying, Herman?

Computer is gone, probably stolen by the killers. Maybe even the motive. Hmmmm.. everything is tidy... make that probably the motive.
Odd they didn't take the printouts, too, though.

Ah, the printouts. I take a look. What was he printing, I wonder?

Art stuff, eh? I take a closer look. Are his art supplies really art supplies, or other things cleverly disguised as art supplies? Also, I take a charcoal pencil or piece of pastel chalk, whatever's handy, and lightly rub it on the top sheets of any exposed papers, such as notepads, post-it note pads, and the sketch pad(s). Maybe I can get an impression of the last things he wrote or drew.
Could I get so lucky as to find where he had made an appointment with his killer?

Where is his Phone? THAT'S what I really need to find.

[Reltzik]

The floor is dark wood and old. There's a cheap knit throw rug in a cream-and-red Navajo-esque pattern covering most of the floor.

Thad refills the food and water and finds nothing in the litter save a few droppings. The hamster promptly stuffs half of the food into its cheeks.

Thad finds what looks like a closet door with a skull-and-crossbones sketch taped to it, captioned with the warning "abandon all hope ye who open me". Opening it nearly crushes Thad under a fold-out closet bed which is a bit too eager to deploy. No periwinkle blue bedsheets.

The printouts seem to be some sort of roster or database printout. There's no labels for the columns. Thad can figure out that some of the entries are names and some are dates, but he can't figure out what those dates represent. There's also some long sequences of numbers that are the wrong length for social security numbers or phone numbers, but could be credit card numbers, case file numbers, or probably a thousand other things. It's ordered by that column. Another column could be social security numbers or badge numbers. "Adamson" appears a few times in one of the "name" columns. Someone's been through the printouts making notes, crossing out some entries, circling others, and adding comments in the margins. The notes are just as abstract as the rest of it, mostly more names, nothing to give a hint about what they mean.

One library book seems to be about rape in the military, judging from the title. Another is a biography of Che Guevara, and a third is a history of the Rodney King case. The kinda-published report turns out to be a master's thesis by someone named Guadalupe Almeida, titled "On The Annexations of Michaelsburg", published by the local University's PoliSci department and checked out from their library. The other three are from a local branch library.

The art supplies look like real art supplies. You find a post-it pad and shade it with a charcoal stick to reveal the imprint of a scrawled address, in 8th precinct's territory, near both the University and High Park. Actually, right where Herman's SUV was towed from.

Thad's just about to start flipping through the sketch pad when he hears voices in the hall (the common area of the apartment building) and a key rattling in the lock.

[Kislath]

I grab the printout sheets and stuff them in my jacket. Then I reach down and flip away the retaining strap on my holster, and my hand rests on the pistol's grip. My other hand pulls aside my coat to reveal my badge.

[Reltzik]

The door opens, revealing three young people of Hispanic descent. Actually opening the door is a tall woman around thirty, with her hair in a braid down her back over a ragged backpack that appears to really be a knit sack. She's got a knit cap, worn jeans, worn t-shirt, worn tennis shoes glasses, sharp chin, kinda pretty except her face is blank, devoid of expression. Behind her is an overweight woman, probably in her late twenties, saying something to her in Spanish. That woman looks and sounds a bit frustrated with the one in front. She's wearing a cheap-but-respectable pantsuit and has black vinyl or leather courier bag slung over her shoulder. Finally, there's a mountain of a man (mid twenties) with tats all over his face in jeans and a wifebeater, pure bulk muscle and something like 6'6". He looks DANGEROUS.

Mountain notices Thad almost the moment the door opens. He shouts "Pistola!", grabs Knitcap, picks her up under her arms, spins around so as to interpose his body between the two of you, and literally hurls her back into the hall and out of Thad's sight line. He then tackles Pantsuit back into the hall, taking her out of Thad's sight line. He's not only big and strong, he's scary-fast. The entire process took him less than two seconds.

There's a series of thumps and crashes out in the hall, and then Pantsuit starts complaining. Still in Spanish. Mountain shouts an order at her which Thad recognizes (Callate! aka Shut up!) and glances around the corner in a manner pretty much identical to the way police are trained to do the same thing when facing a gunman. Thad can't see anything more than a tiny hint of his head and eye for a split second, but based on the posture it's quite likely that Mountain has a gun drawn.

There's a pause, and then Mountain declares, a bit disgusted, "No es nada, no es mas que un sanguinario." And then he's taken off guard when Knitcap brazenly strolls in through the doorway, not giving a damn about whatever danger Thad might pose. "Who are you," she demands in English. Something about her tone and face is utterly dead. She's either got an excellent poker face or something like autism. "What are you doing here?"

Behind her comes Pantsuit, holding up a cel phone as if recording. Behind them comes Mountain, hands visible and empty, looking upset at both of them. (More specifically, looking like he wants to drag them bodily from the room.) But he focuses most of his ire on Thad in the form of a tremendous glower.

((OOC: I can't figure out how to do the accents and upside-down exclamation marks. ))

[Kislath]

"Hola.
Mi amo es Thad Tanner. Policia.

I'm glad you speak English, 'cause that's about all the Spanish I got.

I'm here tying to figure out who killed Herman Rodrick, and why. It's my job.

Now, who are you, and why do you have a key to this place?"

[Reltzik]

Knithead reacts slightly when Thad mentions that he's investigating Herman Rodrick's killing. Very slightly. A hint of a flinch or slight sway. It's enough to tell Thad that hearing it has put her on edge. Or maybe it was a full out emotional blow and she's just that inexpressive.

She doesn't answer immediately. She looks carefully at Thad's badge, and then back at him. "8th precinct. Not 23rd. Thad Tanner." She repeats it as if trying to commit it to memory. She seems lost in thought for a moment... a sort of shrewd, calculating thought... but gets roused when the refrigerator chooses to hum to life. She starts a bit. Definitely jumpy.

Knithead glances back at Thad, then pulls out a cheap spiral notebook and a cel phone. She looks something up on the cel phone, and then copies a phone number into the notebook, tears off the paper, and hands it to Thad. "We don't talk to cops," she tells him. "Call me at that number when you're done here and we can return. And leave a receipt for anything you take. So his next-of-kin find it when they come here." Technically Thad is supposed to make sure that the next-of-kin get a receipt, but cops usually play fast and loose with that requirement, and no one ever fusses. No law says he has to leave the receipt in the apartment specifically, so long as the receipt gets to whomever's supposed to get it.

She looks at the others, says, "Vamanos", and turns to leave.

[Kislath]

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. ALTO! Stop!

If you aren't his next of kin, then you have some explaining to do. Who are you, and why are you here? Why do you have keys?
Don't think that I'm not a cop just because I'm from another precinct. If you'd prefer, though, the local boys from the 23rd are chomping at the bit to take over this case, so if you'd like me to have them haul you in for 72 hours of questioning without bail, on suspicion of murder, that's an easy thing to arrange. I'm sure I can have all kinds of fun around here while you're in lockup. In fact, I can arrest you right now just for failing to identify yourself. I'd rather not have to go to all that hassle, though, would you? I'd have to spend awhile running you through the system to check your immigration status, too. That's SUCH a pain.

By the way, where is his computer?"

Okay, I'm kinda pissed.

[Reltzik]

Mountain just crosses his arms and gives Thad a level look, implying that attempting to physically drag him off would be a bit like an immovable object being beset by a quite resistible force. Pantsuit just keeps holding up her phone. She's definitely recording this. Knithat turns to look at Thad for a moment, considering. Calculating.

Finally she speaks again. "You don't have any legitimate authority here, Thad. Not in Brookvale. And it would be far more inconvenient for you to arrest us than for us to be arrested. But, fine. You can call me Guadalupe. Nando asked me to look after Lara," she gestures at the hamster cage, "and I'm here to check her food and water. These are friends of mine tagging along while I run an errand. You'll have to ask anything you want of them yourself. If you want my services as a translator, I charge two hundred dollars per minute. Special price for un poli sanguinario. And I have no idea where his laptop is. Now, are we free to go, Thad? Since it would seem that we're supposed to be intimidated by the pretense that an octogenarian suburbanite who is apparently lacking a Tazer and won't outright shoot us on streaming video simply for not being sufficiently overawed and moved to worship by his miniscule tin shield could actually prevent us from leaving."

"Guadalupe" is still as unreadable as ever, but the slight smirk of amusement on Mountain's face and slight look of worry on Pantsuit's suggest they understood every English word of that.

[Kislath]

"Fine. I guess I'll take my leave, then,and I won't have to call you later. Have a nice day." I flash her my smile. My special one.

I get outside, and then call in backup. She wants to do it the hard way, we'll DO it the hard way. She's now my top suspect, at least as far as she's concerned, and she'll be treated that way.

I didn't say "laptop." I said computer. If Herman was killed for whatever was on it, and she knows about it, well, what else can I think but that she's the killer, right?
A first name is not proper identification, either. I can bust her just for that. Thank you, Supreme Court.

..........................
On the other hand, if they try to leave, I still call it in and request backup in the pursuit and capture of persons of interest in the murder of a local 23rd precinct cop. That should garner interesting results.

[Reltzik]

Backup arrives in about three minutes. Pair of squad cars from the 23rd, arriving with no lights or sirens and coming around from an angle that can't be seen from Herman's apartment. Response time is fast in Brookvale. Thank you, Surge. The three suspects are still in Herman's apartment when you go back in...

.... kneeling on the floor, hands on their heads before you even get the door open. Mountain has a Desert Eagle on the floor in front of him, clip removed and slide locked open. He's keeping his hands well clear of it, and is sitting between the door and "Guadalupe", again interposing his body between her and you. They knew damn well you were coming back.

There's a bag of hamster litter that someone pulled out from somewhere, and a chair's been moved, but otherwise the place is exactly as you left it.

Pantsuit speaks up. "Officers. I am required by law to inform you that your voices and images are being recorded, because the act of recording is not occurring in plain sight. Also, the contents of my satchel are protected by attorney-client privilege. It may be legally confiscated if necessary to ensure your safety, but not opened or searched."

"Whoa," one of the cops from the 23rd whispers. "Detective... you sure about this? That's La Lupa."

[Kislath]

"Really? I got that lucky on the first try? Cool.

La Lupa, you are under arrest for failure to identify yourself to a police officer, and will be taken into protective custody as a suspect in the murder of Herman Rodrick, a police officer, which is a Capital Offense. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you, would we? Cop killers tend to be accident prone out on the street. We'll just keep you nice and safe for however long it takes to ensure your safety.

Don't you feel silly now? All you had to do was tell me who "Nando" is, not have been such a smartaleck, and not let it slip that Herman's computer was a laptop, and I would have just left in peace. ( pulls out printouts ) Now instead I'm gonna study these like crazy to see why you killed him, I'm gonna search everything you own for his laptop, and oh, yes, I really am gonna run you and your two friends though the INS system to see if they need deporting when they get out of jail.

Nice Desert Eagle, big guy. Really. I don't suppose you have a permit for it? Hmmm.. actually, if you hang around with her, you probably do. HAHahaha! We'll have to run it though the lab, of course, since Herman was shot with one of these."
( Not that I know that, of course. I'm really just closely watching his expression to see if he knows that I couldn't possibly know that, being the guy who removed the bullet from Rodrick's gut, or knowing that it was a different sort of gun. Confused, defensive, panicked, or just really smug, I'll have an idea. Ballistics can check it against other crimes, anyway. An Eagle isn't a cheap throwaway, so if it was used in a crime, he might have kept it instead of tossing it. I don't really expect to get a hit on it, though. He acts like a professional bodyguard. You never know, though. )

"Attorney-client privilege, eh? The leader of the Wolfpack is a lawyer? That's pretty handy, I'll give you that. I'm sure there's a fun story behind why you brought such a satchel to a murdered cop's apartment. Could it be you were thinking of adding a few things to it you didn't want me to find, like these printouts? Maybe I'll ask you about it in a couple of days when I get around to it. Hmmm... looks about the right size to hold a laptop, I'd say.
In the meantime, you have the right to remain silent... "

They are searched as thoroughly as they can be here at the scene. They'll be searched more intently once in lockup, of course.

After they're cuffed and stuffed, I discuss my plan with the ranking officer on the scene.
I'm going to hold them for 70 hours, in isolation as much as possible, without charging them with anything, and then charge them for the failure to identify before the 72 hours are done, which will let me keep them a little longer while we finally get around to booking them. We won't be in any big hurry to do that. In the meantime, My investigation will continue. With any luck, I'll have what I need to charge her for the murder or know that she's innocent.
The whole protective custody thing is a lowdown dirty trick, but she pissed me off, and it's barely legal under these circumstances. Heck, as a suspected cop killer, maybe she really IS in danger, right? The main thing is to let her know that she's gonna be locked up until I get bored with her. I hate smart criminals. I just need to find a Judge within 72 hours who will agree that she, the infamous La Lupa, leader of the Wolfpack, probable cop killer and major league flight risk, needs to stay on ice. For her own safety, of course.

Speaking of Judges, How am I going to get a look in that satchel? If La Lupa is really a lawyer, then who is her client?

Oh, well, back to searching the apartment. They were in a hurry and probably nabbed whatever it is I'm looking for the second I left, but maybe I'll get lucky.
If I find that pantsuit girl's camera phone, or any other camera, I'll search it's video for anything useful. Hey, I have a warrant for this whole place, and any cameras I find are IN this place, right? I doubt I'd hit juicy paydirt like finding video of the murder, but maybe I can at least see what these three fine specimens were doing while I was outside.
Oh, pleaseohpleaseohplease let me catch them removing evidence.

Captain Adamson will have probably heard about the little stunt I just pulled by the time I'm done searching this place. I should probably call him, but why ruin the surprise when the uniforms haul in La Lupa and company?
Hmm.. I really should call Lieu Lou, though. She'll get a kick out of it. Besides, I need a warrant for the address I got from the pad, where Herman was possibly killed. I hope she's in a good mood... *beep-boop-beep, beep-boop BEEP beep*..

[Reltzik]

You're pretty sure that Herman WASN'T shot with that gun, actually, though seizing the gun for ballistic comparison could still be a good pretext for a fishing expedition. The coroner described the gun that killed him as low caliber, low power. The Desert Eagle is a high-caliber, high power monster. Its bullets wouldn't have lodged in Herman's spine. They would have punched right through his spine and a wall or two behind him for good measure. Law enforcement considers it worthless in a firefight because its recoil prevents anyone who isn't a muscular hulk from firing more than a single accurate shot in quick succession. No double-taps or three-round bursts. Of course, Mountain is just such a muscular hulk. He regards the lot of you with the indifference of a Saint Bernard being yapped at by a Chihuahua, which is how he reacts to the implication that his gun is the murder weapon as well.

The officers cuff the suspects and begin frisking them and searching their belongings (not counting Pantsuit's bag). Their expressions are a combination of "this can't be a good idea, can it?" coupled with "we've been looking forward to this for a very long time". From where they're looking, you get the sense that "La Lupa" is Guadalupe, not Pantsuit.

Meanwhile, you step out into the hall to call Lieu-Lou. From the sound of her voice on the phone, she's still angry at Captain Adamson. "Bring them back to the 8th's holding tank. Don't leave them alone at the 23rd Precinct for any reason. I don't want to lose your perps just because some hothead wanted to walk them around the block."

You come back into the room to find the frisks concluded, save that one officer is going through Guadalupe's knit bag. They were all carrying ID. Mountain is Jorge Escovar. He had three spare clips in his pocket and a concealed carry permit. Guadalupe's non-driver ID gives her last name as Almeida, and Pantsuit is apparently Carmine Gonzales. Both Guadalupe and Jorge have smart phones. You don't find Carmine's, so it's probably in her bag. Guadalupe's still has an ap open. It's an overhead road map, similar to something from MapQuest or Google Maps, zoomed in on this apartment building and showing seven items of interest: Two license plate numbers, and five names, ranks, and badge numbers. One of these five is "Detective Thad Tanner" along with your badge number, and a quick glance around confirms that the other four names correspond to the four officers who arrived as backup. Guadalupe also had several "burners", cheap prepaid cel phones which don't require the buyer to actually identify themselves to the phone company in order to get service.

Guadalupe suddenly decides to provide a little clarification. Her poker face, or autism, or whatever, is still at work, but you get the sense that she is less helping you out and more calling you an idiot. "The man who lived here went by a lot of names. I knew him as Nando. I know he had a laptop because I've seen him use it. Hey, don't touch that," she says to the cop who is searching her bag and pulling out some knitting needles. "Either take the entire project or don't take it at all, if you just pull out the needles you'll ruin it." The cop is clearly feeling a bit of trepidation, and so pulls out the entire project, which includes three balls of yarn, the needles, and what looks like a half-completed sweater for a child. "The needles are what hold it together. You take them away, everything comes unraveled." The officer suddenly looks wildly uncertain, as if she's just been threatened, and shoots a desperate look at you, as if asking, "You sure about this?"

Carmine speaks up once Guadalupe's done talking. "At this time, my client is invoking her right to remain silent. We are all US citizens, as the police department database will show from your many previous checks with INS, and my client did volunteer her first name. If that was insufficient identification, Detective, you could have pressed further. You didn't. Since you are from another part of town, you may be unaware that a judge has issued an injunction against further arrests of my client on grounds of mere suspicion, after the officers of the 23rd and 26th Precincts used exactly that tactic, in eighteen incidents over a span of three months, as a means of harassment. I have several copies of the injunction in my bag, and will be delighted to furbish the five of you with one each. I take note of your implication that my client is in danger from vigilante police officers, and dismiss as both ridiculous and contemptible your plan of placing her entirely at those officers' mercy as a protective measure. Other than my client's associate carrying a legally registered and permitted firearm, which is not a crime, I believe that leaves talking back while brown as the only basis for detainment. Or maybe holding a grudge while brown. You weren't clear. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with either of those categories of arrestable offense. Could you cite what section of the penal code I might find them in?"

((OOC: I'm going to hold it there to give you a chance to respond and maybe change your plans based on this info. You haven't hauled them off just yet and haven't finished searching the apartment, but you can continue on that track if you choose. EDIT: Also, none of them seemed surprised to hear that Herman Rodrick was a cop. Of course, Guadalupe's got that poker face, Jorge seems indifferent to the world in general when he's not tackling someone out of a potential line of fire, and Carmine seems to have switched into full lawyer mode and might not be bothering which such trifles. SECOND EDIT: Lieu-Lou's getting to work on the warrant.))

[Kislath]

"You knew that Nando was a cop. It's plain enough to see that. You knew he was undercover in your gang. There is chatter on the street that the Wolfpack is about to do something big. Nando has suddenly taken to building bombs, and now he's dead. You must see how the timing of that looks, hmm?
However thin that evidence, La Lupa is the prime suspect in ordering the murder. If you can clear up some of this confusion for us, we might be able to to form another theory, but it doesn't look good. Let's be adults, here, shall we? All of these cheap burner phones aren't typically carried by people who aren't major criminals. Sadly, since my arrival, well, your arrival, you have been antagonistically unhelpful. However, I'm sworn to protect and serve, so I'll protect your client. Don't worry about the irony of protective custody in the 23rd precinct holding cells. I'll take her to the 8th, well away from the vengeful cops of the 23rd.
This arrest is not for suspicion of anything, so it shouldn't violate your little injuction. What you called talking back while brown is what the Supreme Court calsl failure to identify, and mixed in with the threatening hostility posed by the big guy who made it plain enough that a request for more identification would have been fruitless, well, we both know I'll win this argument in court. Thanks for recording it, by the way, that'll be handy. You really should have just answered when you had the chance.
Besides, it looks like La Lupa was compiling a nice little hit list here on her phone. My name is on it. Looks like if I don't keep you three on ice for awhile, my life could be in danger. And after all I'm doing for y'all, too.

Speaking of which, you said there was a camera recording all of us now, here, in the jurisdiction covered by my search warrant, but not in your possesion? Nice! I can't wait to see what you three did and said while I was outside.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not completely unreasonable. If you or your client can see fit to tell me something useful which changes my mind, now would be a good time to do it. Otherwise, we're all headed to the 8th."

[Reltzik]

"We'll see exactly who gets laughed out of court, Detective," Carmine says. "But unless this crime happened in Brookvale... which it didn't, otherwise we'd be dealing with someone other than you... my client has an alibi. And they just so happen to be in the room. Detective, these are four of the eight officers who have been assigned to monitor my client's activities twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week." The four cops look like they can't decide whether they're supposed to be embarrassed by this revelation or not. "And while I wouldn't trust their word further than I could throw Jorge here, their squad car's cameras will show that my client spent last night working at a homeless shelter just three blocks from here. That should more than eliminate any rumor that my client was involved in the ki--"

"Callate," Guadalupe interrupts. It doesn't come out harsh, but it is clearly an order. She turns to look at Thad, and something's definitely leaking through her mask: Pure fury. Yet every word comes out ice cold. "Forget the law. They don't care what it says and you don't care what it says and I don't care what it says. It's nothing but pretense to you. You want to lock me up and you'll twist the law any which way lets you do exactly that. You don't care about catching Nando's killer, because you butchers murdered Nando and now you're trying to frame me for it, and we all know it, but if no one else has the guts to say it I'll say it. YOU did this. I can't prove it yet but I KNOW. And then you'll do to me whatever you're planning to do, because justice has nothing to do with what you are about. But it's what I am about. And there WILL be justice for Nando, and your fraternity of butchers will NOT survive it."

She seems to mean what she's saying, but then she's already proven that she's got good control over her expression and she could just be a very, very good actor, and you get the sense that she's still calculating. Carmine looks horrified at what's coming out of her client's mouth. Jorge just regards you with the sort of sad pity reserved for idiots who poke at hornets nests. And the four officers seem really shaken. They're taking that threat dead seriously, which if they're the ones who've been assigned to monitor La Lupa's activities should tell you something. One of them unconsciously rests his hand on his sidearm... and Jorge, who somehow despite his size is NOT the person everyone is fixated on, flits his eyes towards that officer and ever-so-slightly shifts his stance.

[Kislath]

I let there be a long pause before speaking.

"Well... now we're getting someplace.

Okay, here's what I know--
You run the Wolfpack, a gang that normally conducts business in a very carefully controlled fashion. You even drag your lawyer around with you to make sure of it.
Herman Rodrick infiltrated the Wolfpack, as have many other cops, and you knew it full well.
Unlike those other cops, Herman managed to get deep inside.
Herman, Nando.. was rumored to be personally close to you. Very close.

Suddenly he turns up dead, murdered in a fun and interesting way obviously designed to send a message, although I haven't figured out that message.

Now you say that he was killed by other cops? And you're swearing revenge?

Hmm.. okaaay.

Take five, fellas," I say to the other cops, motioning them to step outside.

[Reltzik]

The cops look even more uneasy at this, but do step outside and close the door behind them. Jorge wanders over to the door and leans against it. It creaks ominously.

((EDIT: Thought I'd add in a bit more, so you're not stuck entirely on your own, conversation-wise.))

Guadalupe regards Thad in a cold, calculating manner as Jorge relocates. Finally, she makes a decision. "You won't arrest me, Detective. You don't want to. You might not realize it, but you really, really don't want to.

"The local sanguinaros understand, but you don't know the turf. I've got what you might call a dead woman's switch. The first thing I did when I realized they wanted me gone was sort-of get a good bodyguard." She gestures to Jorge, who nods in placid acknowledgement. "The second thing I did was to make sure they were five times more scared of whoever would replace me than they were of me. And they are, now. If you take me away, my lieutenants take over. You. Do. Not. Want. That. Those sanguinarios learned the hard way. You don't have to.

"By the way, telling you this isn't a crime, because I'm not making a threat. I'm not saying what I'll do if you arrest me. I'm warning you about what I won't be able to do if you arrest me. I won't be able to keep things under control. I'm like the needles in that sweater. Pull me out... and everything comes unraveled.

"That comes at a cost, though. A balance of power always does. I can't flex my muscles too much. My dead woman's switch only works if they're LESS afraid of me than whoever might replace me. If I talk to you, that changes. If I talk to you, they'll be more afraid of me than whoever might replace me. And then everything would go to hell.

"I might be able to risk that. But only if it helps you bring the hammer down on them so hard that they never get up to threaten me and mine afterwards. And you're clearly not in a position to do that.

"And that's why you're going to take off these cuffs and let us walk out that door, and you tell them it's because of my dead woman's switch. They know about it. They'll believe you. You will do this, because bringing me in would be bad, but letting those four sanginarios out there, the ones who follow me every minute of every day, think I'm spilling my guts to you would be even worse. And they'll start thinking that any minute now."

[Kislath]

"Fair enough. I have experience with situations like that. I'm sure you have people in the department who can tell you all about me and my past. Go ahead and look into it and you'll see. Nailing dirty cops is nothing new to me. I'm not exactly popular with my fraternal brothers.

You're right, too. I AM going to let you go, but not because of what you just said. No, I'm letting you go because I believe you.

Didn't expect that, didja?
I'm sure I'll regret it somehow, but what the hell. Just do me one favor. Tell me who I should be looking out for the most. Who do you think killed him, and why? What message were they trying to send by displaying his body that way?

As for the Four Stooges out there, well, I'm pretty sure I can arrange for a fifth one to follow THEM.

Jorge, I think we both know your gun is clean for this. I suppose you can have it back. You might need it."

I'm still going to watch the footage from the hidden camera when I find it. I'm not a complete idiot.