Andrei - Cold Trails

I receive a call from Ian on our way back to the station. He canvased the area around the crime scene with a few uniformed officers and found out that our victim had been at a bar last night. Perhaps someone from the bar will be able to identify him and give us a lead on this case. He sends me a photo of our victim, one he received from Emory. 

We stop in the street in front of the bar. As Sanchez climbs out of the car, she zips her black puffer jacket halfway up and places her hands in the pockets. I lead the way toward the big black door and the neon sign that says 'Cheers and Beers'. Once opened, I gesture for her to enter. 

The men in the bar stares as we approach. Not at us, but at the woman walking in front of me. The woman currently looking around the place like she might find our suspect lurking in a dark corner. Stopping her from walking past the bar, I put a hand on her back and nod for her to take a seat on one of the stools. 

"Hi," the male bartender says, eyeing my partner's chest. "What can I get you?"

"NYPD. We have a few questions about a murder that took place early this morning," I say, once again assuming an American accent. 

"Oh. What can I do to help?" he asks. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket. "Do you recognize this man?" I ask, showing him the photo. 

He stares at the photo, his brows furrowing. "Shit. That kind of looks like Laurent," he says. 

"Laurent Russo?"

He nods. "He's a regular here. Sometimes he comes in with friends, but he's mostly alone,"

She nods, pulling out a notepad from inside her jacket. "What can you tell us about Mr. Russo or his friends?" she asks, writing down his name in her notepad. 

"Uh, well, Laurent was a nice guy. He never skipped out on his tabs. He never insulted or hit on our female bartenders. He ran in a rough crowd, though," 

"Elaborate on that,"

"His friends seem...sketchy. Big, tattooed men who looked like they could kill you for looking at them sideways, you know?" he says, his eyes darting between hers and her chest. "Word is that they're a part of a gang. But then those could just be rumors,"

"Do you know which gang?" she asks, pulling her phone from her pocket. 

He shakes his head. "No, but they're not a big group, and Laurent was always here with the same five people,"

"Do you happen to remember any of their names?"

"I'm sorry, but no. I've never served them. You'd have to ask Laney over there," he says, gesturing to a woman at the end of the bar. 

"If you remember anything, give us a call," Sanchez says, pulling out her card and handing it to him. 

"No problem, detective," he says with a smirk, his eyes lingering on her chest.

She pushes out of her chair and I follow as she heads for the end of the bar. The female bartender, Laney, is serving a group of men. She smiles warmly at all of them, engaging in conversation as she makes their drinks. Sanchez moves around one of the men, saying something to the woman that I can't hear. She nods and continues with her work.

Before I can think of doing anything else, she walks toward the door. And because I am no better than a dog, I follow after her. As we approach my car, I unlock it and head for the passenger side, opening the door for her. She gets in after a beat of hesitation, a furrow in her brow. 

"You did not want to question the other bartender?" I ask her, turning over the ignition. 

She shakes her head. "I asked her to come to the station. If our victim was with a group of men who are rumoured to be in a gang, I have a suspicion on who it might be. I need to check with an old C.I," she tells me. 

"Do you need company?"

"No. Tommy doesn't like other cops. He'll only talk if I'm alone," she says, typing on her phone. "Emory says she she found something, so you can check that out while I speak to Tommy,"

I nod. She has everything figured out. 

"Right, partner,"

"We're not partners," she says dismissively. 

"Well, we kind of are,"

With a scoff, she says, "Through no choice of mine,"

Of course not. If it were up to her, she would be working this case alone. She would be working alone, period. Unfortunately, though, she is stuck with me. And Ian, of course. Hopefully, there was some truth to what Ian said and I might be able to change her mind about me. For now, though, we have a case to focus on. I cannot get distracted while we have a murderer to catch. 

We split up at the precinct when she heads for her car and I make my way inside. Emory's lab is cold, and the smell always manages to make you want to vomit. Luckily, I have gotten used to it over the years. When I find her, she is in the back of the room, looking through a stethescope. 

"Emory," I call as I approach. 

She turns in her seat, a small smile on her face. "Hey, Andi,"

"Sanchez said you found something,"

"Where is she?"

"Tracking down an old C.I," I inform her. "She said she would rather do it alone,"

"If its Tommy, then it's best to let her work alone," she tells me with a light laugh. She sorts through the papers scattered around her desk. "So, in terms of your victim...he was poisoned,"

"I thought you said you did not find any drugs in his system,"

"Not in the initial assessment, no, but I dug a little deeper. And your victim had high doses of insulin in his system,"

My brows draw together. "He was not diabetic, was he?"

"Nope. And whoever poisoned him didn't want it to be found," she tells me. "It was injected underneath his tongue, with an incredibly small needle,"

"What was the point?" I ask, more to myself. "The shots to his body was more than enough to kill him,"

"I'm guessing it was used to keep him knocked out or complacent while they tortured him," she says.

That would make sense. 

I nod. "Thank you, Emory," I say, turning to make my way out. 

"You're welcome, Andi," she says. "Hey, before you go...how's my girl doing?"

I turn back to her. "You know how hard it is to tell what she is thinking," I say, shaking my head. "She does not want to be working this case, that is obvious. It is even more obvious that she does not want to work in this unit, although I cannot figure out why,"

She offers me a small smile. "She'll come around eventually, Andrei. Just don't push her for answers,"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it,"

"Good. Let her do her job, offer your help when she allows you to, but make sure you give her the distance she wants," 

I nod, giving her a smile before walking out. Emory knows Jocelynn Sanchez better than anyone. She is her only friend, and if I will be listening to anyone's advice regarding that woman, it is Emory's. If I have any hope of becoming her friend or getting her to trust me, what she said is exactly what I will be doing.