The Offices of Thalia Trimble, Private Eye - vol 1

Greeley gives Richard an odd look, forcing you to turn toward the intern. He has a big goofy smile, sweat dripping down his face, and he awkwardly gives the officer an enthusiastic thumbs up. "All set, sir!" You really hope this kid is up the simple tasks you laid out for him.

When you get back downstairs, representatives from the UN Task Force are on the scene. They are looking over the sonic weapons and taking measurements of the damage inflicted. Uniformed officers are busy loading your documents into a police van. Greeley leads you to his squad car and opens the passenger door for you.

On the way he has you go over the details of the incident again. You get the feeling he is looking to see if your story changes at all, but you have no problem reciting everything.

At the police station you are taken to a private office instead of the expected interrogation room. For the next 15 minutes, officers are coming in and out with the boxes of documents which they neatly stack near the far wall. You can see an officer has been posted outside the door as a guard and Greeley let you know he’ll be back once everything is cleared up. In the meantime you were free to look through the documents. He requests that you ask the officer guarding you if you need to leave the room for any reason.

The boxes weren't being brought in with any sense of organization so it is hard to tell where you should begin. Finally able to see all the boxes up close, you can tell that it is going to take a whole lot of man hours to get through all this.

One of the documents you look through is a detailed record of all the versions of Lawson’s ‘Sticky Grippers.’ All 216 of them. It tracks the prototype number, changes that were made, notes on issues that needed to be addressed, and the ultimate fate of the individual prototypes. Sometimes Andrew continued tweaking the same prototype and considered each new iteration a separate version. Other times he started from scratch. When a prototype was retired he notes what was recycled for future use and what components were not able to be salvaged.

The main issue encountered across all versions was getting the mucus membrane to properly send and receive electrical impulses from its host in order to allow them to manipulate the appendage. He encountered problems including: long lasting rashes, minor burns, connection interruptions with the host, nausea, dizziness, distorted vision, inverted controls of the grippers, involuntary loss of bladder control, skin discoloration, and many more similar issues.

At the time of his arrest, Andrew had 3 working prototypes. Version 180 was loaned out to Reuben Philips for his monster movie 10 months ago. Version 11 was gifted to his sister Kate over five years ago. Version 216 was found in Andrew’s lab.

A note appears at the very bottom of the record indicating that all prototypes would be taken into custody by the Task Force for safe keeping. A second note amends this and states that Lloyd Laboratories would be taking custody of the prototypes. Neither note makes mention of version 180 directly and whether or not it's location is known. It just says "all prototypes." It is unclear whether the unnamed author of the note overlooked version 180 being loaned out or purposely did not mention it.

Before you can dig into any additional documents, there is a knock at the door. Officer Greeley lets himself in and is followed by two men in suits. "I may not have made myself clear earlier, Ms. Trimble, but you are not under arrest. We’re only looking into what happened and trying to confirm everything is kosher. Nevertheless, I’ll leave you alone so you can speak with both of your lawyers."

The lawyers stare each other down as Greeley leaves and closes the door behind him. They take their seats across from you at the table and introduce themselves.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trimble. My name is Dylan Saunders. I went to law school with Emilia. She filled me in on the situation but did not inform me that you already had representation."

The other, much more stuck up looking lawyer, clears his throat and introduces himself. Sort of. "I see that you have at least kept the documents mostly secure. My employer will be happy to hear that. Have you done an inventory to ensure that nothing is missing?"

Dylan raises his hands to his side as if to say ‘what is the deal with this guy?’

Smiling warmly at the lawyer who failed to introduce himself, Thalia says, "I'm so glad that you came to check up on things. Please do tell your employer that I've done a thorough inventory and everything seems to be in order. The police tell me that the files will have to be kept here for a while, after which I'll be free to claim them if they are deemed unneeded as evidence in the attack at my apartment."

She has him by the elbow now, subtly steering him toward the door. This seems to have caught him off-guard, because he doesn't immediately object. "In fact, please tell your employer how grateful I am that she's keeping such close tabs on what happens to me." She laughs lightly, making a joke: "In fact, maybe her operatives watching out for me could intervene a little sooner next time someone sends goons to rough me up."

She opens the door and says to the officer posted outside, "Hi - this gentlemen is here on behalf of my client. We've sorted out what we needed to discuss, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to my attorney, Mr. Saunders, alone now."

Kate Lawson’s lawyer tries to object but the door is shut before he can say anything. You briefly hear him talking with the guard outside before he relents and it sounds like he agrees to leave. Dylan Saunders is leaning back in his chair with his leg crossed over his knee and is enjoying the show. As you walk back to your seat, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a packet of gum.

"Would you like a stick?" He holds it out to you as he folds another stick of gum over into his mouth. "That was impressive, I must say. I’ve seen that guy at the courthouse a few times. Name escapes me, but damn that guy is a shark. You made him look like a guppy. Kind of makes me wonder why I’m needed here at all.

"The way Emilia laid everything out, it sounded like you were either facing some kind of wrongful imprisonment, were concerned about your rightful property behind being confiscated, or needed someone to support you for all the damages caused during what I am sure was an epic battle. So tell me; how exactly can I be of service, Ms. Trimble?"

Sliding onto a seat with a grin, Thalia gratefully accepts the stick of gum. "Thanks. I get a lot of mileage out of being underestimated. People generally take one look at me and think I'll be easy to push around."Thalia gives a delicate snort and hooks a thumb at the door. "If that guy's employer has her way, it could end up all of the above. But the short version is this: I was hired by a convicted murderer to find evidence that he was wrongly convicted. He was represented by your friend Emilia. Guy's sis has money, so I was curious why she hadn't set him up with a something other than a public defender - not throwing shade, Emilia seems great, just way overloaded with cases.

"So I go to see said sister and get a fat retainer practically without asking. It comes with a stipulation that I bring everything I turn up to sis as soon as I find it, and that if anything ends up in the press, my life, career, reputation, and unborn future children will be as a burnt cinder."

She pauses to let him take that in. "Right after that very pleasant chat, I find that I'm being followed. I lose the tail, but the next day - that's today - I'm in my office waiting for Emilia's office to deliver the case files and discover that a bunch of guys posing as representing Acumen Investigations - that's me, by the way - have tricked the intern and are loading the files into their van. Hijinks ensue, by which I mean the imposters turn out to be thugs armed with sci-fi guns that they turn on me and the intern. In the course of the altercation, windows up and down the block are shattered, the ground's festooned with unconscious goons, and part of the engine block of the imposter van winds up embedded in my apartment complex wall."

She leans back, in her chair, chewing the gum (cinnamon, unusual choice, but nice) and wraps it up. "So I'm really not sure what sort of representation I'm going to need. I don't know if the cops will release these files to me for sure, but if they won't, that's going to be a problem. I don't know how long I will be able to keep this out of the papers, and if I can't, Big Sis is gonna try her damnedest to flush my life down the toilet. Maybe all I'm really looking for is someone who can document the real story to send to the cops in the event of my untimely sonic boomage. At the very least, I might need help with not being held liable by my landlord for the unplanned engine block art installation."

Dylan’s face gets serious as you tell your story. He nods along and stops for a long minute to ponder once you finish. Without saying a word, he gets up and knocks on the door. When the officer opens it he asks, "Can I get a notebook and a pen?" and then turns to you, holding one finger in the air asking ‘give him one minute.’

The officer returns with what was asked for and Dylan closes the door before retaking his seat. With no sign of joking around he asks you to repeat everything you just said from the beginning. He takes amble notes throughout and asks for clarification at a few key moments.

Once you are second finished with the second telling, Dylan again leans far back in his chair. He taps the pen over and over again on the table as he thinks.

"Whoever is responsible for this is obviously very rich and very powerful. If you’re my client now, then my number one responsibility is to make sure you are not assassinated. It sounds like making all of this as hush hush as possible is where I need to start. A big ask considering it looks like the second Great War* broke out in the middle of the city.

"I’m going to talk to the officer in charge of the investigation and then I’m going to reach out to some contacts in the major news outlets. I am pretty sure I can get them to hold off on releasing any information regarding who was involved in this incident. Frankly, I don’t think they know who attacked you yet, but keeping your name out of the paper is my priority. I’m going to get to work on that right away. Anything else I should know or that you want me to look into?"

He starts to pack up his things. Dylan’s face is very determined. He seems like the type that loves tackling an impossible challenge.

When Dylan requests a second pass at the story and takes notes, Thalia knows that he's decided to take her on as a client and that what she says to him now is privileged. Therefore, her second version includes the names Andrew and Kate Lawson and Lloyd Laboratories, a detailed description of the sonic whatsises and their effects, and the fact that she has stashed a depleted one with Stan of Stan's Stereos. She also gives him more detail about her own actions during the fight, although she leaves out shooting down the news camera. Not because she doesn't trust him, but because it's probably better for him if he isn't knowingly lying if he pushes back against someone trying to blame her for that.

When he asks if there's anything else she needs him to take care of, she says, "Yeah, actually. When I met with Kate Lawson last night, I had a friend taking pictures of the people coming and going at the bar where we were supposed to meet. I walked into the bar and Kate's bodyguard took me back outside for a rolling meeting in her car instead, but my friend says half the bar patrons left when I did. I'll have her send copies of those photos to your office. It might be useful to compare them to any photos we can get of the crime scene or the booking photos from today's festivities. I'd really like to see if there are any faces in both sets of photos."

Looking at the boxes of files, she sighs heavily. "Also, if you know anyone who'd like a temp gig helping me go through these files, feel free to have them call my office. I'm a one-woman show, and this is definitely going to be more work than I can do on my own."

She thanks Dylan again for his help, pockets his card, and returns her attention to the files when he leaves. If there were only three working prototypes when that family had been murdered, then the murder weapon had to be version 11, version 180, or version 216. She looks for and finds the detailed descriptions of the documented issues with each of these prototypes. Whomever had used one of the prototypes to kill the family would presumably have sustained some symptoms or effects - the rashes, burns, skin discoloration, etc.

After writing down the symptoms and side effects list for each of the three prototypes, she finds the file detailing Andrew's condition upon arrest, perusing the text descriptions and studying all photos that had been taken. If his conviction was predicated on the idea that Andrew had used his invention to kill the family, then his body should have borne evidence of having used one of the prototypes. Absence of that won't be enough to overturn his conviction, but it sure does make convincing supporting evidence.

Dylan takes down Cynthia's information and lets you know that he’ll get back to you. "I fully expect you to be out of here in no more than another hour or two. They don’t have any real reason to hold you and from what I’ve overheard it is crystal clear that you were not the aggressor. I'll talk to you soon."

Left in the room by yourself once again, you start to dig through some more of Andrew's notes.

V.11 - This version required the user to insert their arm into the device. It was like a glove that goes all the way up to your shoulder. It essentially replaced your arms with octopus tentacles. Being partially encased in the unit required less mucus to create a good connection. However, Andrew notes that the user’s body temperatures rose considerably when using this version. The excessive sweat leads to mucus being washed away. The mucus at this stage needed to be applied by the user prior to putting the device on and the tight fit of the gripper made it impossible to reapply while in use. As the sweat washed mucus away, the device would stop responding and eventually shut down. There is also one notation of a minor incident involving electrical shock. Nothing serious.

V.180 - Like all models version 12 and up, this one did not require the user to insert their arm into the gripper. It could be attached anywhere on the user’s body and was capable of secreting its own mucus. In an attempt to stop the rashes and skin discoloration of earlier versions, this model changed up the formula for the mucus membrane. It did remove the side effects from wearing the device but also drastically reduced the quality of the connection between the user and the device. Frequently the gripper would not respond to any attempts to get it to move.

V.216 - The latest model appears to have fixed most of the issues regarding side effects of wearing the device. Rashes, discoloration, and blurriness to full blacked out vision did occasionally occur but only when wearing the device for extended amounts of time (6+ hours with a break in connection). This was accomplished with a more mild formula for the mucus, but one that was secreted at considerably higher levels. The main downside to this was that the gripper was constantly dripping mucus everywhere the user went.

At the time of arrest, Andrew did not show any signs of the skin irritation. This is not entirely surprising, if he was working with V.216 which did not list these as the defect which needed work. It seems like he was always trying to balance functionality with side effects.

When he was arrested he had the device attached to his chest. Both Andrew and most of his apartment was covered in the sticky mucus which had dripped over everything he owned. Andrew was cooperative but highly disoriented and confused.

In his mug shot you can just make out where the gripper was attached by a red outline. It did not look like the issues described for other versions in his notes. It was more similar to marks left after the alternative medicine practice of cupping therapy. The marks were already clearly starting to fade.

Andrew described his whereabouts the night of murder as being at home in his lab working on the gripper. He was testing whether the increased mucus secretion had any effect at limiting how well the grippers could grip. He spent most of the night easily lifting heavy objects and carrying them around the lab without any issues. He admitted that he was wearing the gripper at the documented time of death, but swears he was in his lab testing their functionality at the time.

The detectives on the scene noted that the murder scene resembled Andrew's home, in the sense that vast portions of it were covered in the mucus membrane substance. They didn't think to check the streets to see if a path of mucus lead from one house to the other until the next day, and by then they were unable to find anything. But judging by how much mucus they found at both scenes, they came to the conclusion that Andrew must have taken the gripper off at home, put it in some kind of container, gone across the street and put it back before he killed the family. They were unable to locate a container in Lawson's possession that would fit this narrative.

Sighing, Thalia groans, "Of course it's not going to be that easy." Whoever had actually committed the murders had either somehow used Andrew's latest prototype or had the foresight to plant a bunch of mucus at the scene to sell the idea that prototype 216 was the murder weapon.

She digs back into the boxes, this time looking for photos of the crime scene and from the medical examiner. She studies those with a clinical detachment, paying special attention to the details of the marks left on the bodies.

Then she searches for anything in Andrew's extensive notes that describes or shows the suckers on the prototypes, particularly photos or descriptions that deal with the amount of force the gripper applies, whether there are deviations in force between one sucker and another - anything that could provide a clue as to which prototype was actually used in the murders.

You manage to locate the police report on the murder which includes far more crime scene photos than anyone should really look at in one sitting. The teenage girl was the first to be murdered. She was in bed and died of asphyxiation caused by strangulation and choking on the mucus membrane from the grippers. Photos of her show marks left by two rows of circular suction cup markers going around the full diameter of her neck. There is also a smaller trail letting up to and around her mouth. The detective assumed that the murderer covered her mouth with the gripper to keep her quiet.

The mother and father died in their bedroom down the hall. It happened later than the daughter; somewhere between five minutes to an hour. Both parents died within minutes of each other. There was more of a struggle.

Officially, both murders are listed as death of asphyxiation caused by strangulation. There are no signs of mucus or suction cup marks around or inside either of their mouths. The marks on the father look identical to those found on the daughter. The pictures of the mother are a bit different.

The bruising on her neck is more widespread and irregular. The suction cup markings are also much less prominent. The medical examiner noted ‘strangled by hand? Tentacle used after death?’ She shows the most obvious signs of having fought back. Multiple finger nails are broken. Under some of the unbroken nails they found an organic material of unknown origin. It was not human flesh and was theorized to be from the gripper as she tried to tear it off. The gripper was turned over to Lloyd Laboratories before a sample test of the material was done to compare with what was found under her nails.

Unfortunately, it appears that the overall design of the tentacles and their suction cups are fairly constant from the original to the latest prototype. Based upon the Giant Pacific Octopus, the suction cups were aligned in two rows and varied in diameter from a few millimeters to several inches.

Mechanically, the suction cups are grouped into 5 distinct sectors along the tentacle. The user can vary the grip levels of each individual sector, giving them a wide range of control over the gripper.

Looking back at the daughter’s photos you notice the suction cup markings are very uniform. Equal pressure applied across all sectors. The father’s show much more variety. You can distinguish different amounts of pressure applied by different sectors. In contrast to the daughter, it looks like the murderer might have completely lost grip at some point. There are suction cup markings that overlap other markings, indicating that it lost grip and then reapplied in a slightly different position. The markings on the mother are back to being uniform in pressure, but as previously stated, are much less pronounced.

There is a knock on the door and a moment later Officer Greeley enters. "Alright, you’re free to go. We’re not sure who those guys are that attacked you, but it is clear that you didn’t start this fight. You have some very highly funded enemies, Ms. Trimble. Try to take care of yourself and let me know if you have any information that you think would help us zero in on who these guys are. I called you a car and I’ll have my men load up your files. Anything you want to discuss before you go?"

Thalia, steeped in the gruesome images of death by strangulation, is grateful for the interruption, which is probably why she responds with a grin and a cheeky, "Thanks, Greeley. You're a peach." Before he can think of a way to respond to that, she adds, "Hey, did you happen to work the Andrew Lawson investigation?"

"Lawson? Afraid not, Ms. Trimble." He ponders the name for a moment longer. "That was the mad scientist who murdered that family, right? I, uh, never quite had the stomach for homicide. From what I heard, it was a pretty open and shut case, even if no motive was ever produced." He shakes his head in sorrow. "World gets crazier everyday."

He gets ready to lead you out, but suddenly stops and blocks the path. "Is this case somehow related to your incident today?" His face is back to serious detective mode as he mentally tries to connect the dots.

Thalia laughs. "That would be a trip, wouldn't it? Talk about your crazy connections! No, I ran into a friend a couple of weeks ago who was talking about that case. He kept insisting that there were a lot of inconsistencies in the evidence, thinks that just didn't add up. I told him he was crazy, of course. I dunno - I guess being here at the station just brought that conversation back to mind."

She thanks him for having the files sent back to her office, then stops and looks seriously at him for a moment. "Hey, Greeley, in case I haven't said so already - and frankly, it's hard to remember what I might have said when I couldn't actually hear my own voice before - thanks for listening to me and making sure I got a fair shake. I appreciate it."

Greeley gives you a look that says ‘what kind of idiot do you take me for?’ but ultimately decides to let it go. You get a good overall feeling from this guy. He seems dedicated to the job and wants to make a difference. Letting it slide may be his way of acknowledging that you are in a better position then him to solve this crime.

"Sure thing, Ms. Trimble. You take care of yourself, ok?. And if you remember anything else that might be of help to us here, just give me a call." He leaves it at that and walks you out. A police van is waiting and within minutes uniformed officers have filled it with your files. They drive you back to your place.

Back at your apartment you find caution tape is still blocking off the entire street and cones are preventing anyone from getting close to the damaged part of the building. Luckily the damage isn't bad enough to require everyone be out of the building while repairs take place. The officers on sight ID you and let you into the scene after confirming you live there. You direct the officers to move the documents into your office.

While holding the door open for a cop carrying four boxes at once, your heart almost skips a beat after hearing voices across the hall inside your apartment. From this distance the voices are faint, but you hear at least two people conversing. A man and a woman. The longer you listen the more you pick up on a jovial tone and... laughter? Cyn’s laughter! You shake your head for not recognizing it was her earlier.

Opening the door you find Cynthia sitting with her legs folded under her on the couch. Dylan Saunders is sitting on the arm of the couch next to her. They appear to have gotten into your store of wine while you were held up by the police. Cyn’s pictures from the day before are spread out on the coffee table before them.

They both look up as you open the front door. "Thalia! We, uh, didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Not that I’m not glad to see you or anything!" Cynthia’s face is a little flush and she decides to put her glass down on the table rather than finishing it. She gets up off the couch and hurries across the room to give you a hug.

Thalia stands in the open doorway staring at the two of them. Granted, Cyn has a key and a standing invitation to show up whenever she likes and let herself in if Thalia's not home, but... showing Thalia's lawyer official case photographs over wine?

Can lines be crossed if you haven't drawn them yet? Thalia thinks maybe it's time to break out the ol' boundaries pencil.

Still, she returns Cynthia's hug with sincerity. "Everything okay? I was worried they might have come after you. Did you get your car back?"

She'd intended to ask Cyn for a ride to pick up hers, assuming it hasn't been towed yet, but the flushness of her friend's face suggests that would be a bad idea.

She finishes supervising the loading of the files into her office, thanks the cops, and locks up. Back in her apartment, she figures she'd better grab a glass of wine while there still is some. Glass in hand, she plops down between Dylan and Cyn just to be a pain in the ass and says, "So, whadda we got here?" She leans forward to look at the photos Cyn took at the Zimbabwe.

Over the next half an hour or so you slowly get all the details of what went down while you were at the police station. Dylan had his people get in touch with Cynthia to request the photos from the other day be delivered to the office. He then got to work on keeping you out of the papers. This actually went pretty well. Both the police and the major local news outlets agreed that releasing your name could put you in further danger. It was decided this information would be withheld until all parties could agree that the danger was contained. By then, Dylan felt like it was unlikely any additions to the story would be newsworthy anymore.

Dylan also arranged for some local college students to stop by tomorrow to assist with going through the notes. He signed up one chemistry, one biology, and one criminology student who will all be receiving course credits, and have already signed non-disclosure agreements regarding what they read and who they are working for.

Cynthia called his office just as he was about to head out to try and meet with your landlord. Cyn was worried about you and the lack of details she received regarding what was going on. She also explained the situation about both of your cars and how it would be difficult for her to get over to his office to drop the photos off. Dylan decided to assist and after a few trips, the two of them were able to get both of your cars back. They are parked around the block.

Cynthia waited inside your apartment, hoping you might show up, while Dylan met with your landlord. He made it clear that you were not responsible for the damages and pointed out legal precedents against landlords who took retaliatory actions against tenants who were the victims of assault. Dylan then voluntarily reviewed the landlord’s insurance policy and made sure to point out the exact language he should use in his claim to ensure everything was covered.

After accomplishing all of this in only a few hours, Dylan was a bit wiped out and accepted Cynthia’s invitation to take a break before heading home.

At separate times through hearing these stories, both individuals apologized in private. Dylan taking advantage of Cynthia’s bathroom break to tell you he understood this was a bit unprofessional and it wouldn’t happen again. Cynthia dragged you into the kitchen to 'help' get some snacks and took the chance to say how she knows this wasn’t exactly cool, but she hoped you would understand under the unique circumstances of this strange couple of days.

Throughout all this discussion, you all have ample time to look through Cynthia’s photographs. You compare the photos to your memories of the people you fought earlier today but can’t match anyone to being at both scenes. But something about this doesn’t sit right. You wish you had the mug shots of the men arrested so you could be extra sure. You feel like you have seen at least one of these men before. In particular, the one that was signing the intern’s clipboard in the attempt to steal the documents. You can’t quite seem to place where you saw him though.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 4
I need one success to have your memory jogged.

Thalia listens to Dylan's account of all the work he's been doing in just a few short hours with a sense of astonishment. It makes her tired just hearing about it, until she realizes that she herself has fought several men hand-to-hand, been thrown across the street through a shop window, temporarily deafened, and stuck looking through files in while detained by police today. Maybe she's just actually tired.

She accepts the apologies with warmth and good grace and, in Cyn's case, another hug, telling each that she's just glad to have their help and support. "And a little wine is a small price to pay for that," she adds.

Looking at the photographs isn't helping. You know you've seen one of the men from the attack before but they aren't in those photos. You sit back on the couch as Cynthia and Dylan talk and try to remember why his face was so familiar. It takes a few minutes but it suddenly dawns on you. The mall. The guys that were following you after the meeting with Kate Lawson. The man with the clipboard was the same one that you briefly locked eyes with inside the mall. You're fairly certain that one of the men loading boxes was the other dark suited man that tailed you to the mall.

Looking over Cynthia's photographs you know that Kate Lawson's men were high grade professionals. If they hadn't given up the chase and walked out as a group, or if Cynthia hadn't actively been looking for them, it is likely no one would have noticed they were there in the first place. The men that tailed you to the mall and attacked you yesterday were not the same quality of hired help. Whoever put this tail on you has access to high tech weaponry but apparently doesn't have the espionage resources or tact of Kate Lawson.

Thalia rubs her forehead and explains to Dylan and Cyn when she finally remembers where she's seen the man with the clipboard.

"I thought things were complicated when I was assuming that Kate Lawson was the one interfering in the investigation, but now..." She shakes her head. "So I've got a rich, powerful control freak underwriting the investigation and trying to keep all the information under wraps, and then an unknown rich and powerful person trying to steal that same information. Presumably, that person's interests are directly in conflict with Kate Lawson's. And I'm caught in between them, trying to find the truth."

She sighs and adds, "I have a feeling the danger is just going to escalate from here. We all need to start being a lot more careful."

The night goes on and everyone tries to relax a little despite the grim warning of escalating danger. Dylan eventually calls a cab and wishes you both a good night. Cyn opts to sleep on your couch. You find her there snoring the next morning.

The student workers show up bright and early to get to work on Andew Lawson’s documents. You take them into your offices and show them boxes upon boxes of files. Surprisingly, they don’t seem all that deterred. You only have them for the day, so you’ll have to prioritize exactly what you want each one looking for. It would be nice to have every individual written word analyzed, but it is neither practical or necessary. From your scanning over the documents yesterday, at least seven of those notebooks are devoted to Andrew’s reviews of popular TV shows. The guy needed to document every thought that came into his head, it seems. Best not to torture this poor college kids working for college credit and minimum wage.

Once they are put to work, it is time to develop a game plan for the day. Your body still aches terribly from the battle yesterday, but you also feel motivated to get to the bottom of this whole mess before things get even more ugly. You're a little surprised that Eddie Ramirez hasn't checked in with you yet but it doesn't necessarily mean something bad had happened to him or Reuben. He's a pro and you don't know his ability to stay safe while doing the job. You could check in with Kate Lawson as well. Although that is sure to be even more unpleasant then last time.

Thalia carts over a folding card table and three mismatched folding chairs from her apartment to provide workspace in her office in addition to the desk and battered oblong folding table already in there.

She works quickly, having made extensive notes and prioritized lists during yesterday's fishing expedition. Instructing the students on which files to look for in each box, the four of them use the desk and card table surfaces to organize specialized piles. The oblong table is where the students will do their work.

"All right, there are three areas I want to get a deeper dive into. Victor, this pile here contains all the notes and documents pertaining to the development of the mucous and its chemical composition. I'd like to have a linear timeline of the evolution of the mucous, particularly as related to the three working prototypes. Document all the changes that were made to it from the first of these prototypes to as of the date of the murders.

"David, this pile contains a bunch of photos of the three relevant prototypes, as well as relevant notes about their functionality and some carefully selected crime scene photos focusing on the sucker markings on the victims. I'm sorry about that, I did limit the number of those. I want you to focus on how each prototype was designed to work, comparing it to your knowledge of how an actual octopus tentacle works, and to see if those marks on the victims match up to how the various prototype tentacles were designed to work."

She turns to Danielle, the criminology student. "These are the notes that I took yesterday, examining the logic of the conclusions drawn by the police and the arguments made by the prosecution, in view of the evidence in these boxes. I want you to analyze these crime scene reports, photographs, and selections of the trial transcripts with these questions in mind. Look for anything the cops took for granted or seemed to handwave instead of asking the obvious or logical questions. Look for leads that were left unfollowed. Make me a list of everything that even seems to smell slightly funny."

The students thus given their marching orders, Thalia returns to her apartment. Cyn is up now, making coffee and rifling through the cabinets. "Don't you have any bread?"

"Fridge," Thalia says simply. "Hey, if you can manage it, could you stick around here for a while just to kind of keep an eye on those kids in my office? You know, in case they need anything?" Of course, the main reason she's asking is so that she can leave the building without worrying that whomever is after Thalia will find Cynthia a convenient target at her own apartment, but Cyn doesn't need to know that.

Before leaving her apartment, Thalia places a call to Eddie Ramirez. Predictably, she gets his answering machine, but she knows he checks it frequently. She leaves a message giving her home number and asks Cyn to make sure she answers any calls.

She then calls Jamal. "Hey, I have something I'd like your opinion on. Okay if I come by in a bit?"

"In the middle of the night?" Jamal demands groggily.

"It's almost ten a.m., you slacker. Get up and dressed. You're gonna want to see this."

Finally, she opens her entryway closet, digging around until she finds what she's looking for: a tennis racket in a zippered Spaulding cover. She removes the racket, setting it against the wall, and leaves the apartment with the empty cover.

She crosses the street to Stan's Stereos, where the front window has been carefully boarded up. A sign proclaiming, YES, We're OPEN is taped to the plywood.

"Hey, Stan," she says, pushing ahead before he can start to say whatever's about to come out of his mouth - which, judging from the look on his face, was not going to be charitable. "I know, I'm not your favorite person today, but I came over to apologize for all this--" She waves a hand to generally indicate the window. "--and to say that I'm currently in the market for a stereo system. Put me together something under, say, five hundred dollars, okay? I'll pick it up later today. Also..."

She leans over the counter and says, more quietly, "Do you still have that item I asked you to put on hold yesterday?"

Stan nods slowly. He looks less upset with her now that she's pledged to become a paying customer, but his expression regarding the sonic whatsis is disapproving.

She flops the empty tennis racket onto the counter. "Could you wrap it up for me, please?"

Once she has the sonic whatsis Spauldingized, she walks around the corner to her car, gets in, and heads to Jamal's.