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[oom] Fighting The Rot
After pouring through the files Gene had brought home with him, Alex found she couldn't sleep. She was still operating on a sleep deficit from the previous week's case, so she did pass out in front on the couch with the files stacked around her, but only for a few hours. When she woke up, it was early Sunday morning.
And she thought, what better time to go diving for dirt in the Fenchurch East records room than now?
She wore old jeans, a grey knit blouse (mouse colours for mouse work), boots, and swept her hair up off the back of her neck. She made herself a thermos of tea and stuff a packet of biscuits in her handbag. The walk to the office took her five minutes, and when she got there, she had to let herself in. It was eerily quiet without the hum of the fluorescents, and her footsteps rung in the hallways.
She did have to turn on one light in the records room.
"Please, let today be a good day," she prayed quietly to herself, squeezing down the narrow aisle. "No roses. No white clown. No defibrillator. Just good -- honest police work."
For some reason, this kind of research felt the absolute opposite of boring. She knew there was something here they could use to bring SuperMac down. And before he managed to transfer Gene to Plymouth. That was really the key, wasn't it?
"Her name is Molly," she murmurs, pulling down a box of files and settling on the floor. "Today is her twelfth birthday."
The mantra doesn't even hold much anger anymore. Just a quiet resolve.
And she thought, what better time to go diving for dirt in the Fenchurch East records room than now?
She wore old jeans, a grey knit blouse (mouse colours for mouse work), boots, and swept her hair up off the back of her neck. She made herself a thermos of tea and stuff a packet of biscuits in her handbag. The walk to the office took her five minutes, and when she got there, she had to let herself in. It was eerily quiet without the hum of the fluorescents, and her footsteps rung in the hallways.
She did have to turn on one light in the records room.
"Please, let today be a good day," she prayed quietly to herself, squeezing down the narrow aisle. "No roses. No white clown. No defibrillator. Just good -- honest police work."
For some reason, this kind of research felt the absolute opposite of boring. She knew there was something here they could use to bring SuperMac down. And before he managed to transfer Gene to Plymouth. That was really the key, wasn't it?
"Her name is Molly," she murmurs, pulling down a box of files and settling on the floor. "Today is her twelfth birthday."
The mantra doesn't even hold much anger anymore. Just a quiet resolve.
no subject
A golden needle this perpetual haystack, more like.
"We'll have to put in an inquiry with regards to another case. I can have Shaz do that, easily enough. No one ever need know which phone number we're looking for. A separate inquiry to determine which rooms he was staying in, and we should have something to go on."
She tips her head back, staring at the ceiling, echoing his thoughts back to him.
"It's a long shot, but it's something."
no subject
He knows what they need more than anything; bank statements. Bank statements will prove a lot. Unfortunately, they're difficult to get hold of and while he does know a way...he's not sharing it with Alex. She will disapprove, even when it's for something as serious as this. And it's also highly against the rules, what he's going to get someone to do for him; the less anyone knows, the better.
'...come on. We've only got abou' another thousand files to get through by tonight.'
Lunch is, apparantly, over. Even though he hasn't eaten his yet.