Ten Feet of Pure White Snow (Nav and Wooseog)

Dean didn't know this, but Nelson had the potential to learn as much from the young officer as Dean had to learn from the veteran agent. He had already spoken to Evelyn, so as soon as Dean came into the room, Nelson became backgrounder observer. He didn't flinch when Evelyn threw her arms around Dean, she had done the same earlier to him, but he noticed a discrepancy in the way Dean was behaving. This wasn't the swarm of bees he dealt with the night before, was it? After watching Dean and the Sister interacting for just under a minute, Nelson was convinced she was putting on some sort of act. The briefest internal struggle took place between being a religious man and being an agent, but decided quickly God would want him to do what it took to make their investigation.

Before Evelyn could play out a fainting spell from the news she would in fact see her sister, Nelson cleared his throat. "Sister, forgive me for being frank. Since then nature of this offer is unorthodox, and we are putting a small deal of trust in you for your sisters safety; you should cut the bullshit when dealing with Officer Reyez and myself. And you may also want to apologize for any past indiscretions." Nelson pursed his lips and folded his hands together, her bluff was called. She shared a look between the old man and the officer; this black haired cop obviously told him about last night, why wouldn't he? Evelyn felt a little dumb, but gave a sharp glance to the mutt who bore his teeth at her earlier, she hated animals, she hated dogs, but not quite as she hated cats.

Evelyn nodded her head and conceded, her mouth shutting as she reeled in her rosary. "I'm sorry." Evelyn said to the old man, before turning back towards Dean with a shrug and a half-smile. "I'm sorry." She repeated. "I saw a young badge and I thought I could bully you to find out what was going on to my sister, I was wrong. I thought I could trick you both, I was wrong again, and I'm sorry. I'm not that good of a person, but my sister is. I'll answer any questions you need, and bless you both for letting me see her." It almost seemed unreal she wouldn't be looking at Dahlia through a glass screen, sure they would be monitored, but she could live with that. "I won't speak of this to anybody, not even the other sisters. I'd never do anything to put my sister in danger." It was clear Evelyn was still bitter for being called out, but she was sincere as day when talking about her sister, but scared.

"Dollie... She isn't in danger is she?" Evelyn asked, worried about both the idea of anything happening to Dahlia, and how her sister would react. Dahlia was tough, but if she went to jail? That couldn't happen, she was her angel. Unlike herself, Dahlia didn't even have a criminal record! Whatever was happening, it seemed ridiculous it wasn't cleared up already. Ooh. Now she was starting to get angry again. Before she got worked up, Evelyn looked down towards her feet, grateful the flowing black garb covered her shaking fist. "I'll sign whatever papers you need me too, I'm ready to see my sister."

With that, Nelson gathered some signatures on a couple confidentiality contracts, but he didn't doubt this woman wanted anything other than to help her sister. He explained how the meeting would go, and what was allowed to be discussed (which wasn't much, really). She was bored of the paperwork, but that's just because she was anxious. After everything seemed in order, Nelson took a few minutes still to make sure everything was properly documented. "Dean, I will be in the next room over watching on camera during the meeting, if Miss Harper or her sister break any of the details in the contract, the meeting will be called off. Have you any concerns?" Nelson clarified. He had his partner get the same signatures from Dahlia, even though it all seemed superfluous.
 
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Dean had no idea what sort of can of worms he had just opened in Nelson’s mind. As men went, he was good at remaining stoic and emotionless in the fact of every type of person, just as he had been with Evelyn in that moment, but unprompted he had gone on to explain his interactions with Evelyn earlier to Nelson. This was, indeed, a very different woman than he had interacted with the night before. Doing all he could to put his initial reactions to her the night before aside, he gave a cool, half-hearted smile that was neither convincing nor sympathetic as one might hope given the current situation.

What he hadn’t been expecting, then, was everything to come to light. More importantly, the cherry on the top of the cake was the fact she was apologizing. It was nothing less than a forced apology, but it did soothe Dean’s hurt ego a bit; his instincts had been right and it pleased him. He didn’t let the pleasure eek on to his face, however, and all he could do was give her a small nod in reciprocation. “We can’t begin to understand what you’re going through,” he mentioned off-handedly. They couldn’t. He had never lost a loved one like Evelyn had, especially as he had been given a more detailed history to them from Dahlia, and as far as he knew Nelson hadn’t either. “I know you’re probably desperate, but lying and tricking will only get you farther away, I promise that. We need to believe in your truthfulness if you want to help your sister.”

A uncreditable character witness would be just about as helpful as straight up calling the defendant a liar, and he knew Dahlia better than that in the few short days they had been acquainted. Despite himself, he found a small tug in his chest towards her… a small voice that was rooting for her well-being and her innocence. Had he been asked, he would have denied it outright, but that was besides the point.

Nelson and the sister exchanged paperwork and droll conversation while Dean remained quiet. At his side, Marco remained quiet too, except for the panting and the occasional smacking of his chops. He had signed what he needed to, used to penciling out his scratchy signature hundreds of times a day. “Yes sir,” he replied to the man’s question. He turned next to Evelyn and waved her on, “This way, miss,” and so, Dean and Marco led her the short distance to the interview room prepared by that little paperboy Nelson called an officer, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

“Hello again, Dahlia,” he greeted in a formal tone, “You have a visitor,” he had hastily stepped aside to allow the woman to enter in his footsteps. “She’s been advised of what she can and cannot discuss with you, of course, but we figured you could use a small slice of home.”
 
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Dahlia was ready. Agent Demas had done his best to keep this visit a surprise, but it didn't take a long glance into the confidentiality papers to come to a realization, who else was going to come for her? Pacing the room impatiently, Dahlia swung around the moment the knob clicked, and her eyes met Dean's with unrestrained anticipation. "Hello again Dean," Dahlia repeated after him, so hastily she almost tripped over her words. Neither Harper sister paid much attention to Dean's additional bit about what they could discuss, they already knew. As their eyes locked, Dahlia's worried face turned into the widest smile there'd ever been, and she braced herself, physically.

It probably was a good thing she braced herself, within seconds, Evelyn charged her sister with more vigor than a bull, and hugged her with so much force it took them both to the ground. "Dollie!! Dollie my love what have they done to you??" Evelyn exclaimed, with emotions ranging from euphoria, fear, and of course the ever-present anger. But in this moment she just felt the joy of finally seeing her sister again. She kissed Dahlia on the face in a way that made even Dahlia a little embarrassed, but she helped them both up off the ground

"Evy, my love." Dahlia was much more concise, and composed than the trembling Evelyn. The two of them had only twenty-seven minutes in age difference, but Dahlia had always very much been the older sister all her life. "Officer Reyez, the Agents of the Bureau have been nothing but kind, and they want to do everything they can to help me. You haven't been actin' ugly towards them, have you?" Dahlia asked Evelyn, who was inspecting Dahlia's arms for any cuts, or bruises, Evelyn shrugged.

"A little, to the kennel-master over there," Evelyn said, motioning her head towards Dean, Dahlia flashed him an apologetic look for her sister's lack of tact. "We made nice though. Dollie, tell me you are going to be okay! L-lets shave our heads, I'll take your place, nobody c-..."

"Tst! Evelyn shush, don't say that. I'll beat this baby bear, everything I've been through, do you think this is what will take me down? Ha!" The confidence Dahlia was showing now was a far cry from the night before, and was mostly a way to instill good spirits in her sister. While Evelyn's plan sounded ridiculous, the two of them were almost indistinguishable apart from their outfits and hair colors. They were five feet on the dot, eyes like dinner plates, pallid as cream with no breasts. Evelyn believed the switch would work, but Dahlia would never do anything that crazy. "All you have to do is answer any questions that Dea- Officer Reyez has, baby, I'll be fine. If you want the rainbow, y'know?"

Evelyn looked between Dahlia and Dean, a sinking feeling in her heart. As cheerful as Dahlia seemed, this situation was serious, the threat of jail loomed and made Evelyn's eyes well up with tears. "Officer, anything you need that I can do, I'll do it." Evelyn said to Dean. Dahlia was giving he officer a warm smile, she was happy as a clown they chose to let her see her sister, it was almost necessary, it reminded her what she stood to lose.
 
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Before going to the police academy, Dean had gone to college for psychology and had always found it intrinsically interesting. To that day, it interested him and he snatched up any and every opportunity the force allowed to him to attend classes. Usually, there were on criminal psychology but he could recall he had taken one class in college that took a lot of studies from twins. As Dahlia and Evelyn met in a volcanic explosion of emotion in the center of the room, Dean watched them with a near casual indifference. His eyes were firm and regular, sitting handsomely against his tanned skin, though it would have been beneficial to his countenance to apply something of a soft smile instead.

He didn’t, however, smile. He didn’t frown either, even at the rather cruel nickname he had just received from the nun Evelyn; he had been called much worse things by much worse people. He did inspect their interactions with one another and they surprised him. Meeting separately, he had anticipated that Evelyn would be the big sister of the pair: the one who took on the maternal, protective role, yet when they were together, it was as if they had switched brains entirely. The cool, cruel, and caustic Evelyn had become a trembling little fawn and Dahlia a ferocious, yet comforting, lion. He had suspected neither from either woman, but personalities could do strange things when mixed together.

Dean continued to watch without concern. Conversation between the girls, as seemed to be the theme of the past few days, quickly and pointedly turned back to him and he roused. The pleading agreement of help from Evelyn, again, surprised him. “Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “We will interview you and discover what you know. Have you met this man? Roy?” he inquired. She wouldn’t be much help to him if she had never met the man and only knew of him through Dahlia. Everything Dahlia knew they were already investigating.

Truthfully, the most helpful thing she could do was be a moral support for Dahlia, who had turned to rather dark times recently. He couldn’t blame her and he knew her optimism was feigned after having talked to her just the night prior. She was scared, she ought to be, but he was glad to see some genuine relief in her face when she interacted with her sister. Perhaps it would do her some good.

“Depending on the chips fall, you may eventually be called in as a character witness as well,” he said, knowing there would be no way that Dahlia would be able to avoid the courtroom, even if Roy were apprehended. “But we’ll cross one bridge at a time, miss.”
 
Even when addressing Dean, neither Dahlia nor Evelyn disconnected with each other for a second the entire meeting. When they weren't hugging, their hands were entangled and swaying back and forth in the air between them. Neither sister was entirely convinced they would be seeing each other again after this meeting, not without the company of a prison guard and a new orange wardrobe for Dahlia. If everything went to heck, and Roy got away and Dahlia ended up having to serve ten to twenty, she'd want to remember the happiness she felt in this moment, with her sister.

Evelyn nodded her head at the mention of Roy, a hateful sneer appearing on her face. "Yeah, Dollie introduced me. Real fairy type." Evelyn said to Dean, causing Dahlia to pipe up.

"He wasn't a fairy," Dahlia interjected humbly only to be silenced by a sharp glance from Evelyn a moment later.

"Why are you defending the piece of shit?" Evelyn asked harshly. And Dahlia didn't have an answer for her, truly. She was scared of the hatred she had for him, she might have said she wanted Roy dead if that didn't include her jail time. Dahlia bit her tongue though, but Evelyn was more than happy to speak her mind, turning back towards Dean, she continued going on about Roy. "I talked to the guy twice, didn't like him either time, seemed like a little bitch, but she liked him so what could I say? So what, do you just gotta find the guy now? Well then wha..." Evelyn wanted to say more, but a sharp squeeze of the hand from Dahlia shut her up. Dahlia was grinning calmly by the time Evelyn hit her with an impatient glare.

"You came to see me, Evelyn." Dahlia thought the last thing Dean wanted was for her sister to get all worked up again, and quickly tried to bring her down from her fit. "You didn't come here to start investigating. I trust D- Officer Reyez. I trust him a lot, and the best thing you can do to help me, is to let him work." Dahlia was careful not to talk about Dean so casually around her sister, as a way not to demean him. When she was finished scolding Evelyn, the sisters hugged again, Evelyn nodding in defeat. Dahlia was smiling at Dean with an "I did good?" vibe. As much as seeing Evy filled Dahlia's heart with joy, she was more than a little anxious to start going through the papers she brought with her. A knock at the door from Agent Demas told them time was up, and they exchanged one more emotional hug.

"I know you'll be safe, Dollie," Evelyn said when their hands finally let go, she quickly turned her face away to hide how close to tears she was. On the way out the door she stopped in front of Dean, she knew he would be interviewing her later on, but before she was lead away she spoke to him one last time. "Don't let anything happen to her. Please."
 
The door fell shut and for the first time since they had stepped inside, Dean exhaled almost entirely. The powerful line of his shoulders finally relaxed and the stern, yet pensive, pursuing of his lips softened once more. Not into a smile, of course, but in to something that was only slightly more pleasant than it had been previously. Nothing about the man was ever overwhelming pleasant; he was handsome enough, but would have been made all the more so if he bothered to smile now and again, or laugh more than once a century. With Evelyn gone, however, he took on something as close to pleasant as he could get.

Though he’d never admit to anyone, as it wasn’t in his nature, he simply didn’t like Evelyn all that much. The words that came to mind when thinking on her was brutish, a bully, crude… the list rolled on, but Dean quietly put a hatch on it. There were plenty unsavory characters that came in and out of his life in his career path, though none seemed quite as bitter and get-under-his-skin type as Evelyn had been. The begging comment made by her on her way out did little else to appease him, either.

Instead, he made him almost feel a deeper pang of annoyance. Evelyn had made it plenty clear she didn’t trust him, which was perfectly fine by him, but he took those last words being exchanged as a slight on his behalf. If he hadn’t already signed the paperwork, he might have been half inclined to flip Evelyn the bird and tell her that her insatiable rudeness was impossible to work with. It took him some moments to bring himself center again and remind him that it wasn’t Evelyn he had to deal with—but Dahlia.

“Well, now that that is all over, shall we get down to actual work?” he asked, pushing himself forward in to the room and coming to sit at the table positioned in the center of the room. Yanking back the chair, he sat down and, immediately, Marco took up a comfortable residence at his bootside. With how long everything had been dragging out thus far, made even longer by Evelyn and her ways, Dean was more than ready to dig his fingers deep into work that he was familiar, and comfortable, with.

“Can you take a seat? We can begin to go into more detail here.”

Dahlia’s sister was gone and that meant it was time to work, not to sit and daydream or pursue a broken and hurting heart.
 
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Like a whisper, Evelyn was gone, but Dahlia couldn't shake the elated feeling that remained inside of her. Sure, the aggressive hug had made her hit the ground a little harder than she would have liked, and sure,it was only a few brief minutes; but seeing Evelyn made every difference in the world to Dahlia. Even after it was just her and Dean, she was still in a state of minor disbelief, and major bliss, her eyes were almost watering, but she wasn't going to cry now. She wouldn't cry now, because she noticed something else; Dean seemed a lot more at ease once Evelyn had left the two of them alone. Letting out a breathy sigh, Dahlia nodded after Dean suggested they finally get to work.

"Ah yes, I wrote down everything, and you know I can't forget. I never forget." Dahlia had never spotted how often she spoke in the superlative form of her convictions until Dean had made it obvious. It was funny to drive the point home, and it was true! With another few hundred and something pounds, Dahlia would have made an excellent elephant. She looked at the stack of papers, but still felt a small, conflicting tug at her heart, and in typical Dahlia fashion, blurted out her thoughts.

"Sorry if she was cruel to you at all. I mean, she shouldn't have called you a kennel-master." Dahlia felt it necessary to apologize on behalf of her sister, as she had been doing it since the two of them could talk. Dean seemed like one of those people who wasn't won over easily, and Evelyn was one of those people who could probably piss off the Dalai Lama with ease. "If you're not me, then Evy doesn't like you. It's not you at all Dean, she can be very difficult to love."

Dahlia loved her though, and nothing her sister could do would ever change that. Hell, if her sister had gotten her to be a drug mule, Dahlia feared she wouldn't argue in the least. "Ahh, sorry. You don't care! I know, I just... She isn't a bad person," Dahlia again felt obliged to defend her, despite the futility. Although she had told Dean some horrible things and he hadn't batted an eyelash, there was a good chance the man had already forgotten his discourse with Evelyn took place.

"Anyways. I made a few lists!" Snapping the rubber bands off of the stack of papers, Dahlia was immediately in work mode. Her small eyebrows furrowed tightly while she remembered everything she wrote the night before. "I made a list of the places he took me. I also made a list of the area's he avoided! I dunno, you said maybe he might have been married? Which is awful. I feel physically sick if that is the truth, but maybe the places he avoids are his usual haunts?" Dahlia felt like a conspiracy theorist as she went through her notes, she hadn't missed a single detail. However, none of that mattered if Dean didn't find it useful.

"You picked up receipts too, when you were at my apartment. Would it even be worth it to get those looked at? I dunno, maybe he loused up and used a credit card? I dunno Dean. It appears I didn't know what's-his-face at all, after all," Dahlia said, finding it easier to disconnect herself from that bastard than to say that damn name. There was also the always lingering knowledge that a few days ago, Dahlia had been repeating the name Roy just to remind herself how lucky she was. It was amazing how much could change in a short time.
 
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Dean was not a people person. He never had been. As a kid, growing up, he had always been the independent loner type. It wasn’t that the other kids didn’t like him, or that he was bullied, but he preferred to explore on his lonesome. The theme continued into adulthood and many people along the way told him that “perhaps police work isn’t for you, Dean, you’re not a people guy.” Thankfully, his job wasn’t about people and his interactions with them. His job was about helping them, even if he was a little brisk about doing it. He loved his dog and their rounds, he loved putting the bad guys away, and he loved helping out the good guy… it wasn’t for glory or for friends, but a sense of personal fulfillment.

“You must be an elephant,” he said sarcastically to her comment of ‘I never forget.’ Of course, he realized the implication of what he said only in retrospect and while it never made it to his face, he internally grimaced. “You know… elephants never forget or whatever,” he clarified. He had been expecting some sort of reaction from her, but not the blurted apology that spewed from her mouth. He considered the words she said, then shrugged.

“People are rude to cops all the time. People don’t really like us unless they are a victim and need help. We’re the people who give them fines and cost them tax money and give them speeding tickets.” Again, the powerful line of his shoulders lifted into a gentle shrug of indifference. “And truthfully, I don’t really care if anyone likes me or not. My dog likes me and that’s what counts.” Marco was always excited to see him, no matter how long he was gone. Whether he had gone out for a several day vacation, or for five minutes to go to the vending machine, Marco was always there with a wagging tail when he returned.

With the apology and Evelyn behind them, Dean came up to the table and leaned on his hands, getting straight into work. “He might be,” he agreed. “Men like that usually are. They may have a perfectly normal life with a wife, kids, a mortgage… and they get away with it by pretending they work for a business that requires them to travel a lot. It’s more common than you think. People like this seek out normality to combat the abnormality of their lives.”

Dean flipped through the paper lists, humming thoughtfully as he committed the places to memory. “The receipts may be worth looking at more closely. It’s possible. If he’s using a lot of different identities, he may be getting confused himself. Identities are a lot to keep track of it. It’s hard to remember who knows what about you, and who knows what identity. The first step is to figure out if he’s still in town or he’s elsewhere. We can try and ping these names in known locations he visits. Hotels, bars, restaurants… we can see if he’s been hitting them up. If possible, we can establish some kind of routine he has.”
 
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Dahlia gave a half hearted smirk, and a puff of air quickly left her nose in amusement at Dean's elephant quip. "I get it," Dahlia said as Dean explained himself. "I didn't think you were calling me fat, don't worry." She looked up from her stack of memories and (hopefully) evidence with a pleasant smile. "It's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes you don't want to remember so much." Dahlia said, remembering how her bizarre mind had made things difficult for her growing up. She was still quite young when it became obvious that Dahlia was just a bit different from her friends; even Evelyn used to be skeeved out by Dahlia's immense, and eccentric thought process. Today, she hoped her brain would come in handy. Everything paper that she had bundled up just felt like shots in the dark, that she was hoping would hit something.

"People are just rude, Dean." Dahlia interjected as Dean explained how Evelyn's words rolled off his back like water. He seemed to have the right idea though, and she glanced over at Marco when he was mentioned. A dog wouldn't leave someone high and dry, ahd she was pretty sure a dog wouldn't frame anyone for drug smuggling. "Well, he is a good boy," Dahlia glanced at Marco, "Aren't you a good boy?" She asked before turning back to Dean with a weary sigh. "If I get out of this, I'm taking Shoe and we'll move somewhere else, somewhere with no darn people around." Dahlia whinged, letting her inner introvert show, or simply showing how draining this while ordeal was.

"But anyways..." There was work to be done, and if they didn't do it, she would have plenty of time to whinge in a cell. They had barely started going through her notes but it felt like time had slowed down for them. Dahlia cringed as Dean explained again that Roy might have already have a wife, making her a mistress of sorts. "Bastard..." She said under her breath, though a part of her still felt bad for swearing. She kept listening as Dean went on to explain how they could catch him, and it began to feel a little strange.

Dahlia couldn't help but think about her childhood again as she listened with intense and unblinking eyes. It reminded her of how her father would used to tell her stories, and she'd sit for hours absorbing every bit of it, she was a sponge. But this wasn't stories and fluff from her father, it was life or death. She wondered what Mr. Harper would have said if he were still alive, knowing that his daughter was in such a situation. She had been his little princess at one point, but none of it mattered now. None of it fucking mattered. Dahlia jimmied abruptly after a particularly violent shiver, and left her reminiscing for later, if she kept getting distracted then they could be here all day!

"Okay so, just say one of these is a match. We find a pattern, go find him at wherever, and when what?" Dahlia asked Dean with furrowed brows, her thinking face was a mix between annoyance and eagerness. "I mean, there are me and the two other ladies who he tricked. We can testify... Is it gonna be enough Dean? Are we gonna need him to confess?" Dahlia tried to remain positive but the idea that Roy could wiggle free once again, well, she didn't like that at all. "He can't keep getting away with this..."
 
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“Somewhere where there aren’t any people? Hm.” Dean considered her thoughts aloud, but what those inwards thoughts were was anyone’s guess. His brain flickered between work and extraneous thought, thinking through patterns and routines, calculating probabilities and risks. Then, after a few moments of silence on his behalf, his eyes refocused and he returned to the present conversation, and question at hand.

Her question seemed to rouse him, and he shrugged in his usual, lack-luster fashion. “Let’s not even get that far ahead,” he suggested. “Let’s just see if we can find the man, first. We have lawyers on the payroll, who will be able to give us more of an idea of what might be needed for a successful case. From my limited experience in criminal cases? No, testimonies from witnesses won’t be enough on their own. If we can get probable cause and be able to warrant search known dug-outs, there may be enough proof for a conviction.” He turned his gaze to look at Marco, narrowing his eyes with focus as he continued thinking.

“A confession will always be the most successful item in a courtroom, of course. Unfortunately, people can, and have, kept getting away with it. Sometimes, justice gets served, but not in a courtroom… they cross the wrong person and…” Dean trailed off, allowing the rest to go to Dahlia’s imagination. Dean, so as not to get Dahlia’s hopes too high, or too low, spoke bluntly and honestly. At best, he sugar-coated things with a healthy dose of salt and kept a blasé expression painted across his face.

“For now, let’s just focus on figuring out all the identities we can and hitting up these different locations as stealthily as possible.” Yanking out one of the aluminum chairs, Dean plopped down and began to rustle through the papers of miscellaneous notes. Organizing them into a few different piles, he scanned over them. “We should start with…” but then he paused. He might have normally said ‘bars,’ as that was where most criminals did their hunting. After all, single individuals with alcohol in their system made a great hunting ground. But seeing as the criminal they were after was anything but ordinary—he met his latest victim in a psychiatry office, of all places—Dean felt a little stumped.

It seemed like this guy picked up chicks where ever he could find them weak and vulnerable, but that opened up worlds of possibilities: places of worship, hospitals, funerals… Turning his eyes up to Dahlia, he sat back and folded his arms.

“If Roy was hunting for a woman, where would he go first?”
 
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"Oh." Dahlia realized she probably got a little far ahead of herself when she mentioned going to trial, but that didn't stop her from looking like a scolded pet when Dean shut down that train of thought. "Well yes, I suppose that is right," Dahlia said, quickly rebounding from the pangs of upset and returning to the matter at hand. The lawyers on the payroll could deal with that, but only if she pulled herself together, and served Roy up to them. But the idea of dug-outs, and Roy on the wrong end of the law seemed so bizarre to Dahlia, but not as bizarre as Dean's next suggestion.

"You mean kill them?" Dahlia piped up. "He might cross the wrong person and get killed?" She asked, curiosity overpowering how morbid she found the question, and how morbid she found her own reaction. Dahlia hoped she had it in her to be sad if Roy were to be murdered, but at the moment it seemed to be exactly what he deserved.

"Not until he talks," Dahlia's tone changed and became much sharper as her hand tensed up, crumpling a page of notes in the process that she paid no mind. She remained that way for merely a second before her face softened and eyebrows furrowed, her innocent gaze also drifted up to meet Dean's. "I mean, not until he talks. He'll have to talk, you know if, me and the other ladies are to go free..." Her voice was barely a whisper by the end, she realized she was trying to make up for her outburst.

Then they moved on, and Dahlia had to think. Where did Roy find these women? Women like herself. She knew where they met, but maybe it was a fluke? After Dean asked the question, she vacantly looked back at him as if they were in a staring contest. She was thinking, the gears were spinning, and a million answers popped up, but only a few made sense.

"Not a psychiatrist's office," Dahlia announced. "I read somewhere once that sociopaths use therapy as a way to, I dunno, hone their skills I guess? I imagine he has to be a sociopath. I think I was the fluke. Does it say where he met the other girls? Maybe there's a pattern or maybe..." Dahlia felt like she was rambling again, but for once her words could finally be of some use. The more the better?

"I don't want to sound racist," Dahlia began, knowing full well that that sentence spelled the beginning of many uncomfortable conversations in the past. "But my mama never really liked Irish people, she thought they were up to something. Um, I'm not saying that's right, but people do have a tendency to stick with their own, right? I mean, the other girl that Roy used, Ariel Doyle right? Doyle is an Irish name. He could frequent the Irish establishments in our area, maybe their pubs?" The idea was far fetched, but it was more than they had at the start of the day. She felt the teensiest bit of pride for figuring out as much as she did, but it would mean nothing if Dean and the Agent shot it down.
 
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Dean scratched his temple, feeling the brush of bristly hair below the pads of his fingers and wondering their shade. Had they turned grey by now? If they hadn’t he was certain they might, judging by the pulsing pin-point of pain blossoming behind his eyes. A small part of his thoughts wandered to what it’d be like to be at the receiving end of an icepick lobotomy; upon further considering, he decided the pain in his head was ample comparison. Marco grunted and made a soft whine, his tail swishing across the floor and making a swishing noise that pounded in Dean’s brain like it was piped through an amplifier.

He couldn’t damn well hear his own two thoughts over the noise. Shooting Marco a look and sushing the dog, the tail stopped wagging at once. The answer to his question, he hoped, was: bar. Mostly because he needed about four stiff drinks to ease the ache in his head, and he could even right off the drinks as ‘work expenses,’ if he tried hard enough and slipped the receipts on to Ben Hardy’s desk on Friday, when the account cared less about the ‘what,’ as he was too busy with seeing how quick he could get out the door.

“Maybe,” Dean answered. “Push a tiger into a corner and what’s it going to do? It’ll bite, I’m guessing. I’ve seen plenty of guys like this go off the rails trying to avoid being caught. He’ll know he’s facing a life sentence, or close to it so… there isn’t much more left for them to gamble away when they throw the dice, you know?” Her gaze met his and his lips straightened, creasing into a straight line and putting deep dimples in his cheek. They weren’t the only two wrinkles, for two more formed in the center of his forehead where his eyebrows crinkled together to give him a squinty sort of look.

While Dahlia rambled, as she usually did, Dean’s thoughts took a turn. Repeatedly, like a mantra, he kept saying to himself: please say bar, please say bar, please say bar. She didn’t suggest bars… but she did say ‘pub,’ and the word was enough to peel bells of relief inside his head.

“We can start there,” he said, his hand dropping from his temple to rub his chin. As if he had to consider going to a pub. He at least had to pretend there was some thought going into his answer. There wasn’t. As the headache encroached in and amplified with each sound and voice, there wasn’t many thoughts left in his head aside from ‘I need booze’ and ‘god, my head is killing me.’

“Also, I find that very offensive. I’m Irish, by the way,” he stated, moving to clip on Marco’s leash. Of course, his dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes didn’t really stand out as typical Irish blood, but he cracked a smile. “Or not, but I’ll drink like one any day. We can ask around. Worst case, we get a pint.”
 
Now Roy had always been the cool, calm, collected type, for as long as Dahlia had been with him. It was a short time, and it felt shorter every time she thought about it, but it felt like he was smarter than to get himself killed. He outsmarted her pretty easily, after all, and she didn't consider herself a slouch.

"Well I guess that's karma," Dahlia said, it was almost a whisper, but loud enough to hear. It was a harsh thing to say, and perhaps if Roy had only ruined her life, it would have been too harsh, but learning she wasn't the first, she was finding it hard to have sympathy. Perhaps the lack of sympathy was a good thing for her, why should she have a headache of Roy fell on hard times? If he didn't she would. She was too busy stewing on thoughts of revenge, that she almost didn't noticed she had struck a chord with Dean, when she suggested the pub.

"Oh, y-yeah?" Dahlia's face lit up when Dean thought her idea of an Irish pub held merit. "Cool!" She said soon after, looking up at the small camera that was watching them both; she knew the old agent Van Bly was watching their conversation, her constant glances were so they knew she knew.

In the moment, Dean had almost convinced her he was an offended Irishman, but she quickly caught on, and pursed her lips at him. "Oh I'm sure you are, Dean O'Reyez, right?" She asked, noting the inconsistency pretty quickly, having her hands on her hips. Funnily enough, she found herself smiling at Dean's teasing, he didn't drop his serious (and probably work related) persona very often, but when he did, it was always enough to take her aback. "Also, I'll have a diet coke. I don't drink, remember?" Dahlia teased him right back, he already knew the beer he gave her the other night was the second drink she ever had. That single beer had also been enough to get her red in the face.

She was sure Dean would have to talk to Nelson first, okaying their trip to a pub, but it was Nelson who came to them first. There was a quick knock on the door that made her jump, but when the door was opened, it was Agent Van Bly, a look of eagerness in his face, and an open notebook in his hand.

"Ms. Harper, if you'd excuse us," Nelson said in a perfunctory manner. "Dean, I think we may have an idea." Nelson invited the man to step outside, so Dahlia couldn't hear them, but he had a hopefulness that was surprising to hear from his normally stoic voice.
 
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“O’Reyez is an old family name,” he said. His tone took on such a serious ring, and without a hint of a smile on his face, it would have been difficult not to believe him. He looked to be the type of man who’d been born in to the suit he wore; a serious man with a serious gun who rolled off a cop assembly line somewhere. His face stood with standard-issued solemnity, with ubiquitous square shoulders and a squarer chin. “I shortened it to Reyez for legalistic reasons,” he explained.

“Right, you don’t drink. You just keep getting stranger.” The little detail of her lack of alcohol in life slipped his brain until she reminded him. Dean, on the other hand, looked forward to an adult beverage of some form or another, if only to take the edge off the sudden spike of stress in his life, as of late. Perhaps some hot wings to accompany the pint, but that may have been him getting carried away, he realized. He was still on the metaphorical time clock, no matter how much his mouth watered at the thought of cool beads of condensation running down the perfectly smooth glass of something strong, alcoholic, and British.

The sharp rasp at the door turned his eyes towards it, waiting for it to be swung open. The man standing at the other side didn’t surprise him, and his eyebrows relaxed a ways until his face was about a neutral as one’s could come. “Van Bly,” Dean greeted him as he wrapped the excess of the leather leash around his hand.

Coaxed out into the hallway, Dean followed and allowed the door to shut behind them. Marco, restless and waiting for their departure, gave a whine and sunk down to the floor. His nuzzle flopped over Dean’s boot, his tongue occasionally licking at the laces as if to remind his master they were supposed to be leaving. Whenever Dean glanced down, the dog would stare up longingly and allow his tail to shake back and forth, rustling over the sterile white linoleum faux-tile.

“An idea?” Dean inquired once the door was firmly shut in place. “Go on,” he invited further conversation with some hesitancy. Dean was to a point of getting really tired with new ideas, and the moment flickered across his forehead by puckering his eyebrows closer to a furrow. The moment was fleeting, and his brow relaxed back to neutral, hiding any suggestions of emotion one way or another.
 
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The deadpan delivery of Dean's joke meant, for a split second, she could have actually believed his little origin story, that it was truly Dean O'Reyez who was redefining stoicism before her very eyes. She still smirked though, and gently shook her head. "I'll be sure to remember that," Dahlia said, the playfulness began fleeting when they discussed their next course of action. She didn't mind going to pubs, she had been in the past, and had fun nursing a diet coke while her friends slowly got sillier throughout the night. Tonight wasn't about silliness though, she reminded herself constantly "this is work, this is my freedom." While Dean seemed eager to grab a cold one (and she couldn't blame him, this case was obviously draining,) Dahlia was stressing, nervous at the thought of coming face to face with Roy. Because of her nerves, she perceived an insult in Dean's rather harmless comment about

"I'm not strange. You don't have to put me down like that." Dahlia snapped, going from contently focusing to giving him a frustrated look with furrowed brows. Oops, her anger only lasted a moment, Dean hadn't said anything too bad, had he? Between throwing literary quotes at him for every situation, and abstaining from virtually everything most women her age took part in, could she really be mad for being called strange? "I mean," Dahlia's face turned red, clearly feeling dumb for snapping. "Don't you think I'm chatty enough without getting a few drinks in me?" She asked, then there was the knock. She was grateful for that knock. Phew, safe. She smiled at Dean and Nelson before the door shut. Dahlia slumped into her chair, mumbling to herself. "Dahlia you strange idiot..."

Outside, Nelson was his regular, rigid self. While Dean had been talking to Dahlia trying to figure out a plan, Nelson had been slowly getting to know the other Harper sister, and to be frank, he was not enjoying it. Unlike her counterpart, Evelyn was crass and unfiltered, even when she did pay him the respect she had been warned to pay. But while they differed entirely in personality, Nelson couldn't argue that the twins were like mirror images.

"Your plan, to seek out Roy at a local Irish pub sounds like it could bear fruit," Nelson said, with a perfunctory pause before the "but." "But as far as Roy is to know, Dahlia is under arrest. Seeing her out and about would give him good reason to flee the city, if he hasn't." Nelson said. It was hard to tell when the agent was frowning, his face seemed fixed in such a way; that meant it was very, very easy to notice his smile. It was like watching a machine that hadn't worked for years jump into action, every muscle working hard to tug up the corners of his lips. After seemingly shutting down the idea, Nelson smiled.

"As far as Roy knows though, Sister Evelyn is free to do as she pleases." He called her "Sister" Evelyn because it seemed like the right thing to do, but it felt strange to do so, she was unlike any nun he'd ever met. "You and Dahlia should be able to step out together, but we'll have to make some adjustments." Nelson raised his eyebrows at Dean, as if he knew what he was about to say would sound ridiculous. Neither of these men were the joking type though, so Nelson was expecting some immediate, and critical feedback.

"We dye Dahlia's hair, black, give her some of her sisters clothing. It is difficult to tell them apart as is. If you can take Miss Harper out, and she can identify any of Roy's associates, or Roy himself, then that could lead us to him. All the while, we keep Sister Evelyn here. Of course, you will have to wear plain clothes too for this to work smoothly. What say you Officer Reyez? I want your full and honest thoughts on this matter." Nelson was iffy, but after years of running into dead ends, he was desperate to try anything.
 
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The snapping comment rolled of Dean’s shoulders with ease and, if he felt any of the chill in her voice, it didn’t show on his face. He merely raised his brows for a split second, then let them relax once more. The case was not to his favor any more than it was to hers, though he figured it ill-advised to bring it up. Instead, he wrapped his fingers tighter around Marco’s leash and commented nothing, stepping into the hall. The words falling from Nelson’s mouth as soon as the door slammed shut behind him certainly put a damper on his whole idea of numbing some of his misery in booze.

The other shoe dropped. Dean scratched his cheek in thought as Nelson brought up Evelyn in all of her feisty, sassy glory. He didn’t miss the other sister, admittedly. Still, his commanding officer brought up a good point and he weighed it heavily on his mind, digesting the words with care. It sounded ludicrous—Nelson’s plan. It sounded, to Dean, like something out of a bad cop TV show that didn’t contain a shred of a plausible premise or plot. Still, what else could they do? Dean could go out to pubs all day long and could stare Roy straight in the face without knowing it was him.

Pictures could be helpful, but it was easy enough to change appearance. He’d never be able to pick the man out of a line-up, let alone a crowd. He needed Dahlia’s informed eye to recognize him, and she couldn’t just go out alone in a recognizable appearance. Even still, the idea sounded crazy, at best.

Yet he didn’t have much other option, let alone any different, or better, ideas. “It sounds a little mad, admittedly,” he started when Nelson welcomed him to give his feedback. “If Roy or any of his associates figure it all out, the whole thing is game over. We won’t ever catch him. He’ll high-tail it out to God knows where, but…” Dean shrugged. “Not sure we got any other option. Sounds like a risk we might have to take.” It had been a long time since Dean had gone undercover. In his early years, he had gone out a few times to do small-time marijuana busts, but those were bygone days. Dean lived in his officer uniform like he’d been born into it; he could take it off, but shedding the officer personality would be more difficult.

“Best scenario is we get a visual on him and he doesn’t smell the rat. Worst case, we don’t see him at all, or he realizes what’s going on. Either way, it’s Dahlia you’re going to have to convince to be her sister for a few days. She’s damn lucky she has a twin.”

“She can’t even act like herself, and that’ll be a tall order for the girl.” The first thing that came to his mind was the drinking. Did Evelyn drink? Would the fact that she wasn’t drinking stand out as unusual? In an Irish pub, it would, and could be a means of identification. He pondered this a moment, before shrugging it off mentally. All of that would come with time.
 
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Mad. It did sound a bit mad, Nelson knew that, and he probably would have been surprised if Dean hadn't thought it sounded absurd. But it could work, it might work better than sending Dean out into the Chicago metropolitan area to pick a face out of nine and a half million, based off a photo. But the risk Dean talked about was very real, if they did see Roy, and he saw through her disguise then their investigation was over, and Dahlia was going to jail.

"Right, we run a risk this way. We would have to take every precaution to make sure attention isn't driven towards you, or Miss Harper." Nelson said, going through every detail in his head like a electrical scrutinizing machine. After temporarily reversing the twins identity, they'd have to narrow down a general location, Nelson was eager to look into the notes that Miss Harper had written. The "criminal returning to the scene of the crime" sounded like a cliche, but more often than not it turned out be true. While Dean and Dahlia prepped themselves to hit the town, Nelson would find a good area for them to canvas.

"That visual could be enough. If we can get eyes on him, or even an associate..." Nelson pondered the options, the idea of finally getting to Roy was a sweet, sweet thought, but he didn't want to let his optimism get the better of him. He arched an eyebrow as Dean casually mentioned Dahlia's role in the investigation, and Nelson admitted Dean had a point. The girl's emotions flipped around within seconds, and even her country accent flip-flopped from being quite pronounced to not existing at all, but Evelyn seemed to be singing a different song.

"Miss Harper is a tad eccentric," Nelson admitted in the most diplomatic way possible, but they might have had a way around that. As much as Dean and Dahlia had clashing personalities, it was pretty clear to Nelson she was trying to impress Dean (which was probably an even taller order, as Dean didn't seem easily impressed.) "I think you could get through to her, get herself to pull herself together for this, and gauge if you think she's ready." Nelson said, looking at the door to the room Dahlia was sitting, blissfully unaware they were making up quite a large role for her. He then turned around to make sure the other Harper wasn't trying to listen in, Nelson had told her to wait in the room, but he could tell she was the type to wander.

"And Sister Evelyn seems convinced that Dahlia is a talented actress, maybe hit that vein while talking to her." He was willing to leave things at that for now, Dean's job would be instilling a frightened and potentially unpredictable with the confidence to disguise herself, and seek out the man who betrayed her and served her up to the justice system. And Nelson, well, he'd get the hair dye.
 
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“Yea, cause a girl like Dahlia doesn’t scream attention,” he mentioned in a tone of dry sarcasm. He quirked his head, shooting a glance over his shoulder back towards the door that contained the young woman. Her personality spoke volumes to a wild and crazy young woman, and something like ‘making sure attention isn’t driven towards you, or Harper,’ hit Dean’s ear like an off-note trumpet. Internally, a grimace racked his body. It could work, it could not. Either way, they were grasping at straws and Dean was running out of excuses.

A sigh of acceptance gripped him. It was better than sitting around hoping and praying for a clue or hint to fall into their lap. His hands flexed into fists for a moment, before relaxing again at his sides as he listened, though his eyes never found Nelson’s face. Instead, his gaze was steady and looking down at his dog, whose rootbeer brown eyes stared back longing. “Yea,” Dean agreed. “Even if we can just see one of them, at least we’ll know they might still be in the area. At this point, we don’t know if Roy still is in the city. He may very well have moved on to new territory.” If Roy had moved on, he knew the investigation would come to a screeching halt. Dahlia would go to jail, and Dean would return to the airport.

As the conversation evolved back to Dahlia, Dean grunted his response. “I’ll try. Eccentric is certainly an interesting way to put it, that’s for sure.” His eyes returned to the door. He couldn’t see Dahlia through the thick painted metal, but he squinted like his eyes could burn straight through it and see onto the other side. His lips curled back, tightening the skin on his cheeks and turning his eyes wrinkled and squint. “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t make any promises.” Dean jiggled Marco’s leash and the dog leapt up, tail swaying, though his excitement quickly turned to sagging disappointment when Dean turned away from the exit and towards the interrogation room door.

A solid knock reverberated down the halls when Dean’s thick knuckles bashed into the metal. “Dahlia?” he called out to her before depressing the handle and stepping back inside. “We gotta talk.” The ominious statement was punctuated by the slamming of the door locking into place.

Dean stepped across the room and pulled out the chair opposite Dahlia. He took his seat, dropped the leash in his lap, and curled his fingers across the top of the table. Several seconds were spent in silence, Dean’s face a transition of thoughts and emotions as he grappled with the words he was looking for.

“So uh… how do you feel about acting? You know, dressing up, playing a role of someone who isn’t you? Appealing to you at all?”
 
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Nelson laughed, or rather expelled a small puff of air from his nostrils at Dean's remark. He raised his eyebrows in solidarity but didn't follow that thread, not wanting doubt to cloud the path before them. If they believed they had been beaten at this point, then they might as well give up now. What they had to work with was a boisterous redhead wearing a sundress, in December. At that point, Miss Harper would just be a big ginger blip on Roy's radar. Evelyn seemed to blend in a little more seamlessly than her sister, Nelson hadn't thought to second guess her when she arrived crying at his office that morning.

Besides, when it came to Evelyn and Dean, they looked like a couple of people who didn't want to be bothered. It would look like a bad date. Even if Roy did catch a glimpse of the bad date, he would probably do his best to avoid the "swarm of bees" and stalwart looking man across from her. Nelson pondered a moment longer before giving his head a sharp nod. "Try is the best we can do right now. It's not like she has many other options if she doesn't want to try." Nelson said. If him and Dean had to keep reminding Dahlia that her freedom was at stake, that's what they'd do. "Until then," Nelson said, an affirming nod before leaving.

Not even the mumbles of the two men outside could be heard by Dahlia, the room was silent, uncomfortably so, and any more quiet she might hear her heart beating. She twiddled her thumbs until that got boring, but right as she was about to begin biting her nails, the door opened again, and she quickly folded her hands on the table in front of her, looking up at Dean with a quizzical look on her face. "Hi." Dahlia replied when he said her name, but his "we gotta talk" sounded a bit more serious. "Oh," she said. "What about?"

Well, to be honest, the talk they had was not one she was expecting. When Dean asked her about acting she remained silent for a few moments as her brow climbed up her face. If it was anyone else in the world, she might have thought they were fooling with her, but Dean wasn't really the fooling type. That in mind, she broke the silence, smiling graciously.

"Well, it was my childhood dream to be an actress but I'm guessing this isn't about a role on Broadway huh?" Dahlia asked, only mildly amused by her own banter, and quickly going back to serious mode. "What do you mean though? Acting as who, like, going undercover or what?" Dahlia's interest was piqued. Acting was easy, and the way she saw it every day was an act, mostly an attempt to act friendly to the jerks of the world. But there was something in Dean's voice that caught her attention, the way he phrased it made it seem like he had a role in mind. Then it hit her, from their conversation from earlier.

"Wait a second do you mean. Do you want me to pretend to be Evy?" If she remembered correctly it had been Evelyn who suggested swapping identities. When she suggested it though, it was an attempt to take the jail time for Dahlia, and Dahlia was certain that's not what Dean was getting at. But, they were adamant about not letting her be seen, and needed someone to ID Roy. "As in, pretend to be my sister so I can go out in public. Right? Or was that a stupid guess?"
 
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Until then. Those words didn’t exactly inspire Dean to plow forward and do what he could, then again, Nelson didn’t seem like the type of man who readily spent his time inspiring others. Like the elder man, Dean snorted a puff of hot air from his nostrils and shook his head, hands resting on his waist. Once in the room, he felt even less inspired about the plan they’d hatched. It was the oldest police trick in the book, the old swaperoo, and would it really be enough to fool a heavy-weight drug dealer who spent his life evading police and capture? It seemed doubtful. Incredibly doubtful.

Dean sighed and dropped his hands to his sides, one coming up to swipe back thick locks of black curls away from his forehead. “Yea, so,” he began, his voice mumbled, scratching his chin. He looked up and watched her grapple with the entire idea he proposed. He wanted to remind her how ridiculous the plan was, maybe to put her off of it. He watched her quizzical brow arch into her forehead, forming wrinkles, though he couldn’t read the thoughts clunking away behind her eyes. His vague hints didn’t seem to entirely register with her right away.

Just as he went to open his mouth and explain what he meant, it clicked for her. “Yea,” he agreed once she inquired if she was meant to go as her sister. “Nope, that’s not a stupid guess. I think it’s…” Dean bit down, physically, on his tongue until it hurt. He couldn’t tell her he thought it was a stupid idea, though he very much wanted to. “Yes, you’re right. We’ll—dress you up as Evelyn and you and I will go on a… uh… a kind of… date, I guess, and we can ID Roy in the process, if he’s around. This isn’t going to be anything like Broadway, this isn’t even going to be a second rate film in Bollywood, but we need to find out if Roy’s still in town. More importantly, I need to see what this guy looks like, and not just in photographs.”

There was still the very real possibility the man had already skipped down. After all, his shipment of drugs had never arrived, and he was probably confident that Dahlia had been arrested. He could have easily moved elsewhere and picked out a new target. In fact, the longer they went without finding him, the more likely it would be. Men like Roy didn’t hang out in one place too long, it was too dangerous.

“You know, we’ll dye your hair and put make-up and put you in something less—“ He waved his hand over her choice of attire, trying to come up with the politest way to say what he meant. “Less you, and more Evelyn. Roy doesn’t know who I am, we have no reason to believe, so, I’ll put on street clothes and no one will know the difference.” He looked down to Marco and narrowed his eyes. Having a drug sniffing dog around may not be a bad idea, but he couldn’t just walk into a bar and restaurant with an animal and not get noticed. This caused him a moment of pause, and thoughtfulness.

“I’ll be your blind date, and this here will be my seeing eye dog.”

He looked up from Marco and gazed upon Dahlia with a pained smile. “Well?” It’d been a while since he’d gone out on a date—and not just a ‘let’s grab a drink before your place or my place?’ kind of hookup. Even this wasn’t a true date, but it was definitely the closest he’d come in a few years.
 
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