Missing Time (Alchemist / Thalia Trimble One-shot)

Thalia arrives at the San Espero Bar and Grill first. Theo greets her with a big wave and lets her know that her usual booth for doing business is available in the back. It is a quiet corner away from the restrooms and the kitchen. One of the last sections that gets filled up when the place is busy so there is no risk of being overheard, but it still feels public enough that her clients feel comfortable talking.

She pushes the menu that she knows by heart to the side and places a pad of paper on the table. A short scribble confirms that her pen is in good working order. Nothing left to do but wait.

She looks around the restaurant at the other patrons. There is a elderly couple who appear to be treating their grandson to ice cream. A few tables down is a pair of teenagers awkwardly making small talk on what appears to be a first date. Thalia knows the basic details of what Mr. Thomason wants to discuss. With any luck he’ll be focused on the discussion and won't notice these patrons that could be unwelcome reminders of what he has recently lost.

---

Alicia pulls the car into the parking lot and turns off the engine. She looks over at her good friend and co-worker, Langford Thomason. She is glad that he is taking this first step into looking into the tragic death of his family. She cannot imagine how hard it has been for him to deal with that loss on top of that overbearing suspicion of foul play. They both need to know the truth and she insisted that she be here by his side to offer moral support.

"Are you ready? I did a lot of research and got some testimonials. Everyone says she’s the best. I know it’s going to be tough talking about this with a stranger, but I really think she can help. Are you ready to go inside? I could go first if you need a minute to collect yourself."

Lang sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the front door of the restaurant. He's always been a meticulous person. From his lab work to his clothing to the exacting, accurate way he approaches a problem, he's always been reliable and dependable. Those days, it seems, are fading. He's in bad need of a haircut, and his faded San Espero University hoodie has also seen better days. For a long while, it seems like he hasn't heard a single word Alicia has said, also something that's come to be a new normal.

He doesn't look sad or angry or any of the other emotions that could be slipped over his worn-out face. He just looks lost. Unmoored.

"Lang? Are you ready?" repeats Alicia, and that simple reminder nudges him out of his deep reverie.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," he says, turning to Alicia to offer a brief smile that hides timidly around the corner from his eyes. "If I've forgotten to say it, thanks."

Drawing a deep breath, he sets his shoulders and exhales it slowly. "Let's go talk to the best."

He and Alicia walk into the restaurant, Alicia running observational point for her unobservant friend. She's been told where to expect Thalia to be seated, so it's not a particularly difficult task to find the table in question. Alicia gives Lang a gentle nudge with her elbow. "Over there."

The two of them approach, Lang studying their host with silent, expressionless curiosity. Realizing that Lang's not going to introduce himself right away, Alicia goes first. "Ms. Trimble? Thanks for your time. I'm Alicia Morrison, it's a pleasure to meet you..." She trails off faintly, looking toward Lang with an implied 'go ahead'. Lang, about a half-step behind the beat, adds, "Lang Thomason. Nice to meet you."

He extends a hand toward Thalia to shake.

A lot of Thalia's clients come to her in a fraught or fragile emotional state. Sometimes they're agitated or angry; sometimes they're weepy or depressed. And sometimes, they're link Mr. Thomason - just drifting like a snowflake in a blizzard.

She shakes his hand with a gentle but firm grip, enough to tell him she's there, to ground him in the moment. "Mr. Thomason, good to meet you. I'm so sorry for your loss." She shakes Alicia's hand with a nod and gestures to both of them to sit down in the booth.

"Would you like some coffee? Or a piece of pie? Theo makes a terrific banana cream."

Lang stares back at Thalia for a moment. Banana cream pie. It's such a... prosaic thing. The mere idea that a terrific banana cream pie could still be a thing wouldn't usually be awe-inspiring, but these are hardly usual days.

The simple joy of pie makes his throat catch, and he finds himself having to blink back sudden tears. He tries to hide it by rubbing at his forehead with the back of one hand and just sort of swipe at his eye as he lowers his hand. Of course, this woman is supposedly the best investigator around, so it's a useless gesture as far as deception goes. Maybe a little more effective at trying to maintain some dignity.

He smiles back, and this even reaches the rest of his face. "Coffee and pie would be fantastic. Thank you. And please, call me Lang," he says as he slides into the booth, taking the spot against the wall. Alicia, who knows him too well, recognizes his response right away and seems encouraged by his sudden engagement in the moment. She sits down next to him.

Encouraged by her prospective client's shift to emotional engagement, Thalia returns his smile. "Call me Thalia, Lang." She pronounces the name "tuh-LEE-uh," which is not what anyone thinks when they read it.

She waves a hand to Theo, who has been watching for a signal, and he sends Darla to their table. She's a meaty blonde in her mid-forties who's been working for Theo since long before her divorce, and most importantly, she knows how to walk the line between professional and compassionate. "Well, does everyone know what they'd like now?"

Thalia orders coffee and pie for all of them, assuming Alicia hasn't already expressed a different preference. Darla quickly brings coffee cups and a hot carafe of dark brown brew, pouring each to within half an inch of the brim and setting down a small utilitarian pitcher of cold cream for any who want it. Thalia adds a couple of packets of sugar to hers and leaves it otherwise black.

She waits until the pie slices have been delivered, figuring that it would be best to begin what would likely be an emotionally wrenching conversation for her client after all the server interactions were out of the way. Darla knows to leave them alone until Thalia signals her again.

She takes a bite of the banana cream pie and doesn't close her eyes to savor it, though she'd really like to. She does love banana cream pie so much. But this is a business meeting, not a platform for personal indulgence. She lets Lang have a chance to enjoy his first taste of the pie, too, before broaching the business at hand.

"So Lang, I've read the basic details on the accident. If I'm understanding things correctly, you have some suspicions that you'd like for me to look into for you?"

Lang latches on to the pie like it's a lifeline. Maybe he hasn't been eating much.

As Thalia starts in on the questions, he starts to answer before he's completely swallowed. He chokes a little, gives his chest a thump with one fist, and starts in weakly. "Right," he squeaks, then takes a drink of coffee to settle his throat. "Right. Alicia and I have been working together on a project for Lloyd Laboratories for several years now. Determining chemical signals in the brain that control growth and development, with the intent of developing treatments for some very nasty and incurable diseases. We've had some successes lately, some drug candidates that could be headed for clinical trials. But a few months ago, some of our funding was diverted. Which is strange, you know, because usually when you start showing that kind of progress, your project gets pushed to the front."

He pours a bit more cream into his coffee, and stirs it absently. "So I started looking into some things. We started, I mean," he says, indicating Alicia. "We followed the trail and learned that they'd transferred a chunk of our work to a military contractor associated with Lloyd Labs. Which didn't sit well with either of us, at all. So I started raising a fuss."

Lang doesn't seem like the sort to raise much fuss, at least not in this incarnation of himself: something like a formless blob poured into a mold of a human and never quite finished off. "It didn't go very well," he mumbles, looking down into his coffee swirling around inside the mug.

Thalia is taking notes in her little notebook - nothing extensive, just a word or two here and there, so she is able to keep an eye on Lang's face and body language. When he stops talking, she waits a beat or two before prompting.

"When you say you raised a fuss, who did you start with? Your immediate supervisor? And what form did this fuss take, exactly? Questions, rants, sternly worded memos up the corporate hierarchy?" She's being gently sarcastic to lighten the mood and nudge him to provide specifics without, she hopes, getting too bogged down in the emotions that are no doubt swirling in him like the cream in his coffee mug. "It's all right to tell me names and specifics. As long as I don't hear anything that constitutes a criminal confession, I will keep everything you say confidential whether you hire me or not."

Alicia sits quietly as she watches Lang discuss the series of events that led up the tragedy. She keeps a stoic demeanor but inside, she is delighted to see him like this. Acting almost like his old self. It is a good step in the right direction, at the very least. It gives her hope that Lang will be able to heal and rise above this in time.

"James..." Alicia absentmindedly answers Thalia’s question. She looks up from the cup of coffee she holds between both hands, surprised at her own sudden entry into the conversation. She has vowed to pipe in as little as possible and let Lang tell his story. But that isn’t easy for her and she soon finds herself elaborating.

"James Benson was our immediate supervisor and the one Lang first went to about the issue. He, uh" Alicia forms air quotes with her hands, "requested a transfer before we ever heard any official word back from him on the matter. Less than a month later he just up and quit. Moved across the country. There were rumors making their way through the company of inappropriate behavior or giving preferential treatment to contractors he was friends with." She shakes her head, making it clear that she does not think these rumors were true. "James was a stand up guy and a great chemist. I called him a few times since then but he never called me back." She turns to Lang. "How was he when you brought the issue to him?"

Lang runs a hand through his floppy hair, which responds as floppy hair often does: mostly unpredictable.

"James was great, actually. He seemed shocked when I showed him some of the evidence we gathered."

He looks up and to the side, off into the middle distance as he replays the meeting in his head. "It really seemed sincere to me, his reaction. It was a little while ago now, and..." He swallows visibly. "A lot's happened since then, obviously, so my memory may not be very clear, but I trusted him. I think I still do."

As Lang looks back to the women he shares the table with, he says, "It would explain why his reputation took such a hit, and they sent him away. I haven't heard from him either, though I haven't tried to get in touch."

Conscious that Lang's mental presence may be fragile as they discuss the events leading up to his tragic loss, Thalia tries to maintain a light touch with the interview. "All right, so you showed James the evidence that the company had abruptly funneled a chunk of your work to a military contractor. James was appalled, and I assume that he escalated? And did you or Alicia do anything else?"

Alicia breathes out a deep and frustrated sigh. "The couple of weeks after James was transferred were chaotic. There wasn't a lot of time to think about it what to do next. I was just trying to surv... to keep my job. They had consultants brought in talk to all of us about what they were working on. Everyone in the department was sat down and given this big presentation about being a team player. People got paranoid that our area was going to be shut down. Co-workers, people you considered friends for years, were suddenly watching your every movement because we were encouraged to report abuses of company time or possible misconduct." She shifts into a stuffy corporate big wig impression that comes off as more Richard Nixon, "Lloyd Laboratories cares about each and every one of you. Now we need you to care just as much about Lloyd Laboratories. When one of us acts like James did, it reflects poorly on all of us. See something, say something." She mockingly salutes and rolls her eyes.

"The whole time we had Martha Bradford constantly hanging around and calling people down for surprise meetings. She's some useless corporate executive. No mind for science and yet she thinks she can tell us how to do our jobs. Give me a break. It was a huge relief when she finally brought in Paige Marshall. I mean, Paige is no fun at all to be around, but at least I didn't have to look over my shoulder once she was in charge. Paige is just one of those no nonsense, focus on your work and nothing else kind of people. She didn't want anything to do with company politics and certainly didn't want to rock the boat in any way. The perfect stooge. Did you even bother bringing up the issue with her, Lang?"

"My grandmother's name was Martha. I adored that woman. Not sure I'll ever forgive Martha Bradford for sharing a name with her," Lang says with distaste, more as an aside. "I met with Paige a couple of times. She asked me if I'd been close to James. I mentioned that I enjoyed working with him, and he always enjoyed his job and the city. Hard to believe that he'd have requested a transfer."

He turns to Alicia, chewing on his lower lip. "I might have suggested that there was something fishy going on. Not come right out and say it, but..."

Lang covers his eyes with one hand. "Oh my god, do you think James took the fall for us? And I gave it all away talking to Paige?" Elbows on the table, he sinks his head into his hands, deflating before your eyes.

Seeing that her (potential) client is about to lose emotional cohesion, Thalia tries to strike the right balance between compassion and efficiency, hoping to pull him away from abyss' edge.

"Dr. Thomason, it sounds to me as if you behaved in a reasonable manner, doing and saying the same things most people in your position would do and say. How others chose to respond is entirely their own responsibility. Now," and she refers again to her notes, not out of necessity but to emphasize the "business meeting" nature of this encounter and to drive his mind back toward providing her with an overview of the case, "James left, Martha Bradford seemed to be taking over, then Paige Marshall came in. What happened after that?"

Lang gathers himself, looking up again. He's clearly forcing himself to hold it together. The cracks are all too evident, but he's not falling apart just yet. "Somebody started following me, back and forth on my way to work. I didn't notice it at first, of course, but I am trained to see patterns in data, so when I started seeing the same grey sedan every day, it got me paying attention. It wasn't always in the same place, and it wasn't always the same time of day. Wasn't even always the same license plate, actually, but I swear it was the same car. Sometimes it'd show up at night, while I was on my way to the grocery store."

"That must have been unnerving. The car never did more than follow you, though? No cutting you off in traffic, trying to intimidate you on the road, that sort of thing?"

Once he answers this question, she'll continue, asking, "How long did this go on before things escalated?"

"Nothing like that," says Lang. "I always got the feeling that they were just tracking me, whoever it was. Like... figuring out which way I drove to work. What grocery store I shopped at, what gas station I usually used."

Lang pokes at his now-empty pie plate with the flat of his fork, absently squishing bits of crust between the tines and putting them in his mouth. "It went on for a couple of weeks, and then I didn't see it at all for a couple days before the crash."

He taps the fork lightly against the table, then sets it down on the plate. "She was driving my car. Hers was in the shop that day, and I had to finish some reports for work, so she took Jack to the library in my car instead. I'm sure it was me they were targeting, Ms. Trimble. It just so happened that it wasn't actually me in the car."

He says this clinically, as you might expect a scientist to speak, giving the details of the latest chemical synthesis to a room full of suits.

Thalia really wants to express her condolences here, wants to reach out and touch his hand to show him that she feels for his loss. She does none of that, because that's not why he'd come to her, and it would be counter-productive. She needs to keep him in the right headspace to give her information she'll need if she's going to investigate this accident.

"Regarding the accident, what did the cops say? Were there witnesses, evidence? And do you have a copy of the police report?"

"I do, for all the good it will do you," replies Lang darkly.

He goes on to describe the indisputable facts in a rote, clinical manner. Saturday, around 1:30 in the afternoon, the car carrying Liesl and Jack Thomason, traveling southbound, ran a red light on a busy downtown intersection. The car was hit by a westbound semi truck, striking the driver's side and sending it spinning into the center of the intersection, where it was hit again by eastbound traffic. Paramedics arrived on the scene soon after, but both occupants of the vehicle were pronounced dead at the scene. No other fatalities were reported, though two other drivers were treated at the hospital and released soon after.

"What the police report doesn't cover could fill an entire lab notebook," he goes on. "How fast was the car traveling? Did it try to stop before entering the intersection? Was the traffic light working properly? My wife was an incredibly safe driver, Ms. Trimble. I used to tease her about driving five miles an hour under the speed limit, even though she was German and ought to drive like she's on the Autobahn."

He throws his hands in the air. "In the police report, it's just her fault for running the red light. Case closed."

Alicia, anticipating Thalia's next question, slides a manilla folder toward her, a copy of the police report contained within. Thalia reads through it quickly, not that even a careful reading would take very long; Lang's right, there's precious little detail or evidence of investigation.

She pretends to read for a little longer than she actually needs to so she can properly formulate what to say next. Lang's emotional stability is clearly precarious, and she doesn't want to add to his burden by carelessly triggering a meltdown.

Replacing the report and closing the folder, Thalia looks up at Lang. "I agree that it appears that the investigation of the accident was cursory, and that's being generous. On its own, that doesn't necessarily mean anything except the SEPD dropped the ball and
possibly assigned the blame for the accident to the victim incorrectly." She pauses just a moment; long enough to let it sink in, but not long enough for him to start preparing a defensive rebuttal.

"I understand why you're convinced that being followed by the same car for two weeks is related, and that someone trying to target you inadvertently targeted your family instead. And I'm not saying you're wrong. I will tell you upfront that there is very little here to justify the expense of a private investigation. There are no witness statements here, no conflicting stories about who was at fault, and most significantly, no mention of the car that you saw tailing you in the weeks prior to the accident.

"What that means is, any investigation I would make would be starting from scratch. I'll have to track down the paramedics who came to the scene, try to cobble together a list of possible witnesses from any random security camera footage near the accident scene and track those people down. That's assuming I can find them, they're willing to talk to me, and they actually remember enough to be helpful. And that's not even touching how difficult it's going to be to prove that you were even being followed in the first place."

Alicia is gearing up to respond, but Thalia holds up a hand just slightly to indicate there's more to come. "All of that said, I'm willing to take on this case, if you want to move forward. I just wanted all the cards on the table about how much is stacked against us, and how expensive it's likely to be, unless we just happen to get really lucky with all those steps I've mentioned. And in the end... I may not even find anything that will tie your stalker car to the accident in any concrete way."

She puts both hands on the table, lacing her fingers. "But I'm willing to try. I do have a network of contacts and some resources that might give me a leg up on this case. I just want you to be very clear on the fact that I can't guarantee I'll find what you're looking for. And of course, if your theory is actually correct, we could be kicking a hornet's nest."

Lang turns to look at Alicia, then back to Thalia. "Ms. Trimble. Thalia. I... don't have a whole lot else. Alicia has been helping me keep it together, and she's been great, but it's not fair to her to ask her to continue running my life. Maybe you don't find anything else, and it really was just an accident. Or so well covered up that it might as well have been. That would at least give me some closure," he says, his eyes tightening.

"But if you do find something, and it's a hornet's nest we end up kicking... I'd rather know. I'd rather be able to do something than this... this... sense that I'm spending my days sitting in slowly hardening concrete. If you're willing to do it, I'll pay whatever it takes."