((Ah, that's fine))
"I don't know, Douglass." With a heavy sigh, Davis rubbed at the bridge of his nose and let the weariness into his voice. "I don't know. All I know is that we're stuck, and she might be the only person with all of the answers. I don't like it in the slightest bit, but she's all we got." He fell silent and stared at a random spot on Douglass' desk, thinking through everything they had on her. "Are we certain that she works for multiple families? Because if she does, then we might be able to pay her to help—if that's her usual MO. Other than that, I'm not entirely sure. We don't even know her age. She could be 60 and heading up into retirement for all we know."
"I don't know. We barely know anything on this girl." Douglass went quiet for several long seconds, mulling over it all. "Alright. Alright. Let's just go with it. But we're the ones in charge, and we have to make that clear. She doesn't call the shots. We do." By we, he collectively referred to the police force and the authorities. As far as he could tell, working with this woman was about as safe as playing with a stick of lit dynamite in a basement full of gunpowder, but Davis was right. They were running out of options. Actually, they weren't running out. They were out.
((okay i'm sorry i've been stalking this since it started–circe is a good friend of mine–and i also happen to know tess very very well and i need you all to know that i snorted at the idea that anyone but her would be in charge for long))
((Don't tell Douglass that. He won't like it.))
((shhh, let's just keep that a secret for now ghfj))
Thank the Lord. Davis nodded in agreement with Douglass, grateful and relieved that he agreed to go along with this insane plan. He offered a small smile of thanks, then stood off to the side. "Finish whatever paperwork you have to finish, then go home, Douglass. I'll do the easy part of tracking her down and bringing her in. That leaves the hard part to you." The smile morphed into a sympathetic grimace. "Let's all hope that your negotiation skills are up to the challenge. But I know that you'll stand your ground, so at least we have that going for us." With a pat to the detective's shoulder, the chief ended with a "Good luck," talking to both himself and Douglass. They'd both need luck in order to do their respective jobs. Guess I'll have to be on the lookout for specific crimes.
((That is for the best.))
"I don't believe in luck," Douglass murmured dully. He offered Davis a farewell nod and a "Goodnight," before finishing up what little paperwork he had left. He was nearly done as it was, though he likely would've finished quicker if the weight of his thoughts hadn't been multiplied by three trillion. This was crazy. Were they really so desperate as to turn to a criminal for help?
And it would be, that even after Douglass finished up his aggravating paperwork and made his way home for the night, he could think of nothing else. Nothing but this plan— this horrible plan that could in no way succeed. He tried to get his mind off of it, but even as he poured himself a bowl of late-night cereal (for it was much more convenient than cooking a meal at this hour) and finished it off a little angrier than he should've, he continued to weigh the risks.
And there were far too many of those for his liking.
Eventually, he went to bed— but sleep was far from him. In the pitch-blackness of his bedroom, his eyes adjusted, after awhile, enough so that he could glare at an ugly crack in the ceiling while he mulled over the turn of events— and the fact that, soon, he would be dealing with this low-life face to face.
And the entire case depended on her.
(Sorry if this is bad; I was trying to be quick but concise.)
((It is far from bad, my good sir, no need to apologize. On another note, I'm going to go ahead and do a small skip to the day my girl shows up to save time and avoid uneventful filler scenes))
Today was the day.
Davis had done it.
Tracking the Huntress down hadn't taken as long as he had originally thought, and for that, he remained grateful. Even if the process of bringing her in had been… less than pleasant. The woman taunted him as he attempted to negotiate with her at the scene of her most recent crime, the burning bodies far too gone for any form of identification—another crime devoid of evidence to be put in this woman's pile of cases. Through her taunting, he managed to work a deal to bring her in: if she came along quietly, no fuss, then he'd make sure that none of his detectives or officers would recognize her, and that she'd be assigned to one detective, who would then work with her to hash out a deal.
Her silence taunted him even more, reminding him it was her in charge of the moment, she was the one that held the fate of this case in her hands. He hated it; he cursed her in his mind while staring her down as she likely did the same. Finally, finally, she agreed, curiosity getting the better of her. Again, he wondered just who this woman was.
Now, she sat patiently in the interrogation room, a hood over her head to hide her identity, per her request. He waited for Douglass in the observation room, having called him over a few minutes ago. A part of him felt bad for calling the detective before working hours, but this was their chance, and he didn't want to miss it. Now all that remained was her cooperation.
Douglass couldn't decide whether he felt relieved or unnerved by the fact that they had finally managed to gain her help. Part of him realized it was necessary, and that working with her would be the key to solving this thing— but another part of him had hoped that, maybe, they would never find her, therefore they would never ask her for help, and that somehow they would solve this case without her help.
But Douglass had never been one to chase unrealistic fantasies, which is why he knew how stupid it was to think they'd actually figure this out without her help. But asking criminals for aid? That was a new low.
Even so, Douglass arrived much quicker than one could've expected him to after being called. He had his fair share of flaws, but he was dependable, if nothing else. He paused momentarily in front of the observation room, drawing in a deep breath, and then stepped in.
"Chief." Douglass's tone was as alert and wide-awake as ever. Only his bloodshot eyes betrayed his recent lack of sleep. "I'm here." He glanced into the interrogation room, at the woman he'd soon be conversing with. It was strange, actually, to see her there like that. Especially knowing that they really couldn't arrest her, even with her sitting in the middle of their interrogation room. Something about it made him nauseated. "What all do I need to know before I talk to this woman?"
Davis glanced over at Douglass the moment he heard the door open. His gaze landed on those bloodshot eyes and he smiled sympathetically, then turned towards the one-way mirror and sighed, staring at the masked woman sitting in there, hands chained to the table to prevent any harm to his detective. When he had cuffed her and explained this precaution, she had scoffed but remained silent. He had felt her eyes on him through the black hood, though he knew it was more nerves than logic. It's impossible to see through the cloth of those things.
"She's so kindly removed her signature mask for you, so her true face is beneath that hood. I haven't seen her, so I can't tell you what to expect. I have her chained to the table, so hopefully you'll at least have time to get away from her if she makes the mistake of attacking." The chief rubbed the back of his neck and shifted, the only hint of his unease. "I've agreed to keep this a secret between the two of us. I've promised only one detective be assigned to this case—you—so you and I are on our own. Beyond that, it's up to you to get her to help us. She hasn't asked for anything just yet, but I have a feeling she'll start making demands the moment you remove that hood."
