"Dunne, ya were supposed to be here an hour ago! The DA's waiting," said Dara, pushing a borderline panting Graham into her office.

Two sets of eyes immediately focussed on the stumbling officer, studying him from top to bottom, from his panicked eyes to his wrinkled and un-tucked t-shirt, to his dust-stained black shoes. From the look of the oldest of the pair--a pepper-haired old man with piercing eyes--his first impression was not a pleasant one. The mousy girl next to him, however, couldn't help but giggle at Graham with a shy and rather flirty tone. Both were standing in front of Dara's desk, eating donut holes from a brown bag.

He tried his best to straighten up his act, to no avail. His mind still raced back to a few hours ago.

The woman's eyes as the bullet traveled through her skull. The smell of her flesh as she soiled herself. Blood and bones mixing together in a wet cacophony as her body was ground into mulch and tossed in the bay for seagulls to eat.

It was too much. He couldn't speak. Thankfully, Dara often took command of such situations, and this one was no exception.

"This is Detective Graham Dunne, in charge of the investigation. He's sorry for bein' late, ain't 'cha, Dunne?"

Say something! yelled a voice inside Graham's mind, but "Yes," was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

The old man gave him another scanning look before stepping forward to meet him with a handshake. A firm, slightly-too-strong handshake.

"Chief Assistant DA, Franco Giudice. Pleased to meet you, Detective."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Detective Graham Dunne."

"Yes. We know," replied Franco, giving Dara a troubled look.

Dara waved it off, motioning the pair to take a seat in front of the desk. In the brief moment when both guests had their backs to them, Dara grabbed Graham from the side, digging her manicured and highly sharp nails into his side. The look on her face, contracting every inch of muscle she could muster into a sharp and wicked grin making her semblance look like a war mask, reminded Graham that the real danger was in front of him. The only one that could make his life a living hell if she just desired was Dara, not the DA.

The whole thing lasted less than a second, enough to remind Graham of his place. It was a simple message, received loud and clear: Don't fuck it up.

Dara took her usual seat behind the desk, letting Graham use a stool to sit at the side of the table. He noted that her seat was not raised as usual, but was slightly lower than the chair the Assistant DA's were using. Covering her ass, Graham thought.

"Sorry, 'fraid I didn't catch your name," said Dara to the girl, who was making herself as small as possible as she nibbled at a donut hole.

The girl quickly wiped her hand on her black blazer, smudging it white with sugar. "Crap--dammit, I'm sorry. My name is Gabriela, Reyes. I'm an Assistant. An Assistant DA. That's District Attorn-"

"She's one of our new attorneys," interrupted Franco, "straight out of law school, with the best of recommendation. She'll be the one handling the case."

"Oh," said Dara, leaning in a little closer, barely containing a grin, "is this your first case, sweetie?"

"Yes, ma'am. But I have Franco--I mean, Assistant DA Giudice, to assist me. Help me. Chief Assistant DA. Soon-to-be-DA. Yes." The whole time she talked, she plucked a few strands of hair from the tip of her bangs. Her whole body was restless and fidgety. She wore thick-rimmed glasses that made her look smaller than she was.

"She might be young, but I assure you, she's more than capable of handling this. I'm just here to make sure her first ride is a smooth one, and to make the proper introductions. Speaking of introductions, I must say I am thoroughly impressed with Detective Dunne's work. Dara was just briefing us about the case, reviewing some evidence, and presenting us all your reports. I must admit, it is a beauty. I wish all detectives were as detailed and focused as you are."

Graham took a deep breath, squeezing his hands under the table for comfort. "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without Captain Lynch's direction. She is a very demanding, but fair boss."

"Oh, stop it, ya silly," said Dara blushing.

"We can exchange pleasantries later. We have other matters to attend to, so let's make it quick," said Franco, grabbing a pile of documents from the desk. "This is the bulk of the evidence gathered by you, correct?"

Graham eyed the pile, watching some familiar folders pop out. "Yes, it seems in order."

"Let's see if I got this right," said Gabriela, adjusting her thick glasses. "William Wolfe tried to assassinate Henry White because of..." she trailed off, flipping through her notes, "personal reasons, such as workplace abuse and general demeaning behavior towards him, which seems to be a very compelling argument, as shown by your notes and testimonies."

Graham gave her the warmest smile he could muster. "I thank yo-"

"However," she interrupted, "I do have some issues I wanna go over, if that's okay with you."

Her eyes were no longer meek, but staring at him with a surprisingly cold and calculating stare. Unflinching. Even Dara got taken aback for a second.

"Sure. Go ahead," said Graham, straightening on his seat.

"Right. Let's start with one of the most important pieces of evidence that you have: the pliers."

"What about 'em?" asked Dara, leaning on her elbows on top of her desk.

"You said you got an anonymous tip that led you to them. Can I have more info on that, Detective Dunne?"

"I'm afraid the one who told me about the tip was Captain Lynch, so maybe she can answer that?"

All eyes focused on Dara, in the middle of eating a donut hole from the bag. "Sure," she said with her mouth full.

"Good. Can you please tell me when you received this tip?"

"January 4th."

"How, exactly?"

"An anonymous phone call."

"By whom?"

"I said it was anonymous, sweetie," said Dara, biting hard on a donut hole while making eye contact with Gabriela.

"Sorry. I meant to say: who picked up the phone?"

"Me," answered Dara.

"Odd. Why was a Police Captain manning the tip-line?"

"Nobody was 'round to pick it up. We were running with a skeleton crew. Lots of accrued vacation time that couldn't be carried over had to be granted at the last minute."

"A bit reckless isn't it? It's one of the busiest times of the year, after all," said Gabriela, taking a donut hole from the bag.

"My men are good, with families to attend to. They deserve their time off."

"We are getting off track," interrupted Franco. "Is there a point to this, Reyes?"

"Sorry sir, Chief Assistant DA, sir. There is a point, I swear."

"Then get to it."

"Yes, sorry, sir. As I was saying, the incident occurred on December 30th and the investigation began on January 3rd, and you received the tip on January 4th. Usually, anonymous tips like this appear in the first few days after the event, but here, you were tipped a full week after the fact. And on a day that only a skeleton crew was supposed to be on the precinct. I suppose that in order to give your extensive vacation you must have properly informed the community that you wouldn't be fully operational, correct?"

"Correct," said Dara, taking another donut hole.

"So, that would mean that no info on this case or reward for information was released to the public, as only you and Detective Dunne knew about this, correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"So, the planets aligned so that a closed precinct, with only a handful of people on it, on a case that people had no official knowledge of, received an anonymous tip on the day that the lead detective happened to receive the best and most forthcoming pieces of evidence in the case in the form of a video and a plethora of affidavits that point to William Wolfe? Your visit to the Park Plaza Hotel was on January 4th wasn't in, Detective?"

"Yes, that is right," answered Graham, shifting more into his seat.

"What are you trying to say, Reyes?" asked Franco.

"I'm trying to say that this is a set-up...sir."

The room went silent. Only the rustling of the paper bag could be heard as Gabriela took out a donut hole and placed it silently in her mouth.

"Tha's ridiculous, sweetie. I know ya trying to make yer big break an' all, but a conspiracy? Yer outta yer league. The tip line was off until that day. For all we know, whoever was callin' could've tried for days before me picking up. I'll admit it's a little weird, but sometimes, the easiest answer is the correct one."

"Oh, I'm not saying it was your fault or anything, ma'am, I'm not attacking you. I'm just trying to make sense of a piece of forged piece of evidence."

"Forged?" said Graham, finally butting in, "What do you mean, forged?"

"Well, the pliers seem to be fabricated evidence."

Silence, yet again.

"Can you please elaborate, sweetie?" said Dara, taking a donut hole from the bag. Only three more remaining.

"Sure, ma'am. It's the fingerprints. They are all wrong."

Graham scratched his head in confusion, using the same momentum to rub the tired out of his eyes. "What about them? Too few? Partial?"

"No, they are just on top of the brake fluid stains. Look," Gabriela said, taking a bag out of the evidence pile. "See how the handles are all covered in dried brake fluid? The prints are only on top of the fluid. That's a bit illogical. If one were to leave prints on, one would grab them, and then cut, drenching them, and it would most likely wash away the prints. Even if, say, the suspect had grabbed the pliers again after the brake fluid had stained them, it would have made a partial print, given the chemical nature of the fluid."

"You kinda lost me there," said Graham.

"What she is trying to say," interrupted Franco, "Is that the fingerprints shouldn't be there. They were planted there. Or at least it seems like it."

"Gentlemen, we're drownin' in a glass of water," said Dara, grabbing one of the three remaining donut holes. "The perp simply grabbed the thing a day or two before getting caught. Big deal."

"There is always a way to check it," said Gabriela, taking out a folder from the evidence pile. "This is the transcript from the interrogation Detective Dunne performed on Mr. Wolfe, correct?"

"Yes," said Graham.

"In it, it says that Mr. Wolfe found the pliers in his satchel."

"Don't tell me ya gonna believe a suspect?" asked Dara, smirking.

"Why wouldn't we? It's the only logical conclusion. If we go by the footage, Mr. Wolfe is wearing rather skinny jeans. It would have been dumb, impractical and borderline useless to hide the plier in his pants if you have a bag where you can conceal 5h3m better."

"I suppose," commented Graham, much to Dara's fury.

"Then let's check the satchel," said Gabriela, taking the second-to-last donut hole. One remaining.

"Excuse me, why would we even do that?" asked Graham.

"Lemme show you," said Gabriela, taking a hold of the last donut hole just as Dara tried to reach for it. With the other hand, she grabbed the empty bag. "Do you have something like a pen or...?"

Graham patted himself down, producing a cheap, plastic pen from his pocket. Gabriela grabbed the pen and unceremoniously dipped it into a half-drunk coffee cup on the desk--one of the many Captain Lynch had drunk through the day.

After shaking it a few times, Gabriela dumped it into the paper bag. After a few seconds, the bottom of the bag began to darken.

"You see, liquids tend to stain. And as you can see from the pliers, brake fluid stains are especially annoying and difficult to remove. If he cut the brakes and placed the pliers immediately in his bag, then there should be some stains on it. Could you please fetch the bag so we can check?"

Dara remained silent, grinning from ear to ear. Picking up the phone, she dialed three numbers, tapping her nails on the desk. "Hey there, Sokolov. I need ya to get William Wolfe's belongings an' brin' 'em up. Especially the satchel... no, I don't give a hoot about what that junkie General wants, that ain't our jurisdiction. Just wait for him to sober up and toss 'im out. Hurry up, you geriatric water balloon."

And with that, the four of them sat in silence. Staring at each other. Sniffing. Checking the time. Anything to avoid the ever-growing awkwardness between them.

Three consecutive soft thuds brought the attention of the room to the door. Everyone held still, expecting the door to open.

They waited a moment more, but no other sound came from the door.

"Hello?" asked Graham, standing an inch from his seat.

"May I come in?" said Marvin in his usual drawl, muffled by the cheap door.

"Sokolov, get the fuck in. Jesus," cried Dara, getting up and opening the door for him to enter.

"It is rude to come into a room uninvited," said Marvin, shuffling slowly into the office.

"Yer a frickin' old-timey vampire that needs an invitation?"

"I knocked, and nobody answered," he commented as a matter-of-fact.

Graham tried to make eye contact with him, to figure out how or what Marvin was thinking, but to no avail. Marvin avoided his gaze. It made Graham blush with shame. He had warned him, and now he had to pay the price.

Marvin placed the satchel on the desk, and stood there, waiting for his next instructions. Dara took her seat again, grabbing a hold of the satchel, before realizing Marvin was still in the room.

"Still here? Go!" she yelled, batting him away.

"You know," Marvin commented as he shuffled away, "I wish I was a vampire. I could just read your mind and know what you want before you yell."

"Nobody cares, Sokolov."

"I wouldn't drink your blood, though," he said as he opened the door. "Too bitter."

"What?! Ya motherfu-"

The rest of the insult were lost on him, as the door blocked any other sound from coming out.

"I like him," said Gabriela.

"Enough," said Franco, standing up, a gesture repeated by Gabriela and Graham. "Please turn over the satchel."

Everyone huddled over the table, or more precisely, over Dara, as she flipped the satchel upside-down.

Aside from some lint and dust, it was clean and free of stains.

Gabriela clapped her hands twice, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Well, that does it. Unless you can provide some better evidence in twenty-four hours, that kid has to go by the law. I would recommend pursuing another suspect. How about the husband?"

"What about him?" asked Graham.

"In the Murray Prendergast interview, he said their relationship was, in his words, shitty. That they were getting a divorce, even. I wanna see more of that and how we can pursue that, okay?"

"But-"

"Neat. I'll leave my info at the front desk so you can call me whenever, okay? See ya later, Detective. Ma'am."

And with that, she stormed out.

"I'm very sorry about her. She can be rather weird. But she is effective. Top of her class at Yale. Her father was the DA of New York for a decade. She's got pedigree. See you later, Detective. Keep up the good work, Dara."

Only Graham and Dara remained in the room. Only then Graham noticed that since they searched the satchel, Dara hadn't moved an inch. Her hands were clasped together, fingers crossed over her mouth, trying to thinly suppress her sadistic smile. But her eyes. Wide. Unfocused. Dilated. Bloodshot. The eyes of a madwoman at the brink of insanity.

"Captain? Are you-"

He couldn't end the sentence. Dara jumped on him like a feral animal. Lucky for him, the desk was between them, and Graham managed to slip out before any damage was done to him.

Everyone that day could hear the Captain thrash her office in frustration.