Sting

Who Killed Marnie Thomas? - Chapter 2

Two days before the shooting...

The Autumn breeze sent a flurry of amber leaves spiraling around the Manhattan 22nd precinct, dancing and fluttering in the gentle wind. Baldaire arrived in the late hours of the morning, a steaming coffee in hand, and purposefully strode into the Hive. The Hive was the nickname bestowed upon the WASP's squad room. It was first christened so as an ironic joke, but the name just stuck.

The room was modern; a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the New York skyline, a marble-top kitchenette complete with an espresso machine and small microwave, and standard black carpeting. Within the room were five desks, one of which was empty. The room would be a cheerful one, were it not for the wall of case display boards full of macabre crime scene photos and the countless theories and timelines that were haphazardly scrawled on Post-Its.

She slumped into her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, prognosticating that the day would be a long one.

"Ay, long night?" Said Brewster as he entered the Hive, a pink box in hand.

Before she could reply, Malina had jumped up from the adjacent desk and relieved him of the box.

"Oh my God! Doughnuts!" She squealed, grabbing a bear claw. "This is why Khalil's my favorite."

"Take it easy Phil." He chuckled.

Phil. Her nickname. 'The philosopher'. Not only because her surname was Nietzsche, but also because she was the most intelligent person on the squad, if not the entire precinct. She was a true New Yorker in every respect.

She scooped her elbow-length golden-brown ringlets into a messy bun with the donut between her teeth.

"Detective's gut." Baldaire finally replied. "Something's gonna happen today. I can feel it."

Brewster chuckled as he got settled. Only moments later, a short, albeit stocky, Latino man with a grey goatee came marching into the Hive.

"Hey, Parrilla--"

Brewster's greeting was ignored as he stormed into the captain's office, slamming the door behind him, and picking up his retro push button phone.

"Told you. Detectives gut." Baldaire muttered, closing her eyes for a few more moments of peace before the inevitable occurred.

After around a half-hour, he emerged, calm, but downtrodden. "We need to talk."

"Ah. The four most terrifying words in the English language. You ain't breaking up with us are you Cap?" Malina joked.

He just shot her a look that read 'I'm not in the mood for jokes.', which was not as menacing as he'd hoped, as his cinnamon-brown eyes always looked so kind.

"I just had a meeting with 1PP." He sighed. "The commissioner has reduced our budget by 18%."

"What!" The three exclaimed almost in unison.

"How are we supposed to work on that budget?" Baldaire questioned.

The WASP squad, i.e., the Wanted And Serial Predators squad, was established the previous winter as units that typically dealt with serial crimes were becoming overwhelmed. They were the NYPD's emergency lifeline. The squad took delegated cases from other units and set up sting operations. It required undercover work, surveillance, informants, none of which is cheap, and none of which was possible on their new budget.

"I just got off the phone with Mikey Bullinger." He said, almost ashamed.

"You didn't..." Brewster exhaled.