Sting

Who Killed Marnie Thomas? - Chapter 5

The squad were working away at their desks, keeping their noses at the grindstone - coffee, paperwork, theorize, phone call, coffee, paperwork, theorize, phone call. The whole squad had fallen back into rhythm since Hassan was finally back to fill the empty desk, even though he'd only been back a few hours.

Nietzsche rushed in, animated with excitement, grabbing a donut on the way in. "Guess who got Weksler's laptop!" She squealed, setting it down on her desk.

"Why don't TARU have it?" Brewster questioned as he followed the other detectives to her workspace.

"Because I'm a genius and I wanted it. I just saved us all a trip to the Deli."

"What've you done now? It is legal right?" Baldaire questioned.

"Probably." She started typing away. "David didn't let on as much as he could've!  Check this out." She opened his email and started to sift through it. "Dozens of correspondences between a 'Chris Birdman', going into great... you know, detail.

"Birdman?" Baldaire asked confused.

"Chirpy, like a bird." Brewster mumbled, quoting Weksler.

"Guess his deal's off the table." Baldaire stated.

"What deal? I'm not a DA. Any deal he made with me was purely... hypothetical." Hassan grinned.

"And that's not even the best part." She types away again. "I used a sock-puppet account to get his attention. We set up a meeting at the East Harlem sting house tomorrow night. Well, him and fourteen-year-old 'Katy Dunlop'." She pulls up a fake profile and reveals to the detectives incriminating messages between 'Chirpy' and 'Katy'. "Yeah, we had a nice long chat, real charming dude. You guys, he's bringing us Chinese food, isn't he sweet?"

"I am surrounded by geniuses." Brewster chuckled, reveling in the much-needed win.

"He was a little less charming when he sent me this though..." Nietzsche said as she showed them her monitor. The detectives all expressed their incredible disgust via retching and colorful expletives, while Nietzsche continued to wolf down her maple bar. "I don't even know what kinda crime that is, but damn, Rikers is gonna be rough!" Nietzsche giggled.

Parrilla walks in at the sight of them gawking around her screen.

"Hey, Eli, Khalil. Your perp's been booked. Question time."

The two detectives shared a glance and rushed out of the room.

. . .

The man Baldaire had arrested only six hours ago, who they now knew to be named Michael Markham, had already been charged with trespassing, loitering, and assaulting a police officer, and now that he'd been handed over to their custody from Central Booking, the detectives' new objective was to pin him for the murder of Arabella Tomlinson.

Baldaire and Brewster entered, and seeing her bruised face, he started to apologize. Before he could spew any expression of regret, she had slammed a brown case file in front of him on the table, which made him jerk against his cuffs.

"Sup, Michael?" Brewster scowled.

Baldaire opened the file and started laying out its contents. A school photo of Arabella, where she smiled sweetly in her red plaid uniform, and then the crime scene photo - a snapshot of her despicably dreadful death.

"Explain, now." Baldaire snapped abruptly.

"What is this?" He was horrified by the photograph.