The People v. Eleanor Warwick

“The warehouse belonged to a Colby Beck.”

Henderson hangs a photo of the late smuggler on a dry-erase board. He and a few of his colleagues arrange various pieces of information into an organized pattern. Their private meeting room in the CPD station house lacks any touches of comfort, but it serves their needs well enough.

“The fire department did their best, but the building was out of code and was filled with old, flammable insulation. It was doomed as soon as the fire started.”

Evelyn Grey stands, arms crossed, staring at the board. “Tell me about Mr. Beck.”

“He’s a known acquirer of arcane objects. He also owns a pawn shop a few blocks away from there. We sent some uniforms over. The place was trashed. Some bodies were recovered from the fire. None ID’d yet, but I think it’s safe to assume Beck will be one of them.”

Turning away from the board, he faces his superior. Grey stares past him. He’s hardly surprised. “Warwick’s not wasting any time,” she says. “That’s good. What are the odds Colby Beck smuggled the Stone?”

“Pretty good. All our intel points to him being the go-to guy for those kinds of services in the city.”

Agent Grey leans against her temporary desk. “If he did, then Warwick must be close to tracking it down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I think we need to make certain that she does what she’s supposed to when she finds it.”

“How?” one of the other agents asks.

“We’ll take an associate of hers into custody.”

Henderson nods. “I suggest Morneau.”

“No.”

Absorbing the stern rejection with little more than an irritated grimace, Henderson turns back to the board. As usual, his opinions are obviously not required.

“Warwick’s too close to her. Her reaction might be too extreme.” Grey scans the board carefully and points to one of the snapshots. “Him.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get some uniforms.”

“Forget the locals, Henderson. We’ll handle this ourselves. Move out.”

At her command, the agents gather their coats and side arms, and file to the door. Before she can follow, Grey’s cell phone chimes. Quickly slipping it out of her pocket, she checks the I.D. and grumbles. Turning away from the door, she answers.

“I told you I’m in the middle of a case, Kenneth.” It’s her lawyer, an older gentleman with a sense of humor that relies heavily on sarcasm. It’s charming if you like that kind of thing. She doesn’t. “This had better be important.”

“Is your husband changing his mind about custody important enough?”

“What?” Her sudden outburst draws the attention of her subordinates. Quickly quieting herself, she continues. “We agreed on joint custody.”

“Yeah. Hence the mind-changing part.”

“I’ll call you back, Kenneth.” Ending the call, she grabs her coat. Grey pulls the garment over one arm before slowly coming to a halt. She tries hard to swallow her anger. Losing her cool in front of her subordinates is unacceptable.

Henderson returns to the doorway. “Ma’am?”

Staring at her cell, Grey barely hears him. “Go without me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I said go without me.”

With a small nod, Henderson vanishes back through the exit. After a moment, Grey tosses her coat aside and steps just outside the door. A uniform walks past until she points at him.

“You!” The officer comes to an immediate stop. Her sharp order causes Henderson to look back at her. “Stand right here. If anyone even touches this doorknob, you’ll be a crossing guard by the end of the week. Understand?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Moving back inside the meeting room, Grey slams the door. Agent Henderson narrows his eyes. He’s seen the woman stare into the faces of wizards, vampires, zombies, and gargoyles without batting an eye. Something she heard over the phone caused an extremely rare crack in her facade.

Maybe it makes him a bad person, but he takes pleasure seeing the ice queen melt, if only just a little. With a slight smirk, he heads out to make his arrest.

Grey runs a hand through her hair, something she only does when she’s upset, as the phone rings and rings. Finally, someone answers. However, the voice is not that of her soon-to-be-ex-husband. It’s much worse: the annoying squeak of his lover.

“Hello?”

“I need to talk to Marcus,” she says, struggling to maintain her composure. “Now.”

“Oh.” All the friendly chirp in her voice vanishes upon realizing who’s calling. “It’s for you.”

The gruff but educated voice of her husband follows. “Yeah? Marcus.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh. Hey, Ev.”

“‘Hey, Ev’? Is that all you have to say to me? We agreed on joint custody!”

“Yeah, I know. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s better for the kids, Ev.”

“Better how? I’m their mother!”

“Yeah. You are. But you’re always gone, Ev. One minute you’re in Washington, then you’re in California, then you’re in Kansas, Florida, Maine, all over the damn place. How could you possibly care for children with that kind of schedule?”

“You let me worry about that!”

“I don’t think so!” Marcus replies, his voice matching her’s. “I will not send them away to sit around some hotel room, unsupervised, while you run around doing whatever the hell it is you do!”

“I will not apologize for my career!”

“I’m not asking you to, but you’ve always put your job ahead of your responsibility to these two kids their whole lives!”

“My job is important, Marcus! I wouldn’t expect you to understand what that’s like!”

After a slight chuckle, his voice calms. “Yeah. I’m just a pitiful car salesman.”

Grey rubs her sinuses. That last comment was unfair and she knows it. “I- I didn’t mean it like- .”

“I can’t hope to compete with the big, bad government agent. But you know what? This car salesman has never missed a football game, a choir performance, or a school play. When was the last time you saw the kids on their birthdays?”

“I get it, Marcus.”

“Troy’s sixth, right?”

“I said I get it!”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” She knows she’s shouting into the phone, but she doesn’t care. “But I am their mother! And I will drop dead before I let you and that bimbo of yours take them away from me!”

“Oh! A shot at Sabrina! Real classy, Ev! I’ll have you know the kids love her! She’s been more of a mother to them in a year than you have their whole lives!”

Grey opens her mouth to retort, but a stunned silence is all she can manage. Her eyes want to water, but she won’t let them. The line falls quiet. She can hear the heavy pounding of her heart.

“Jesus, Ev. I...I am so sorry. That was completely out of line.”

“It’s all right,” she weakly replies.

“No. No, it’s not. I know you’re their mom, and I want you in their lives. You’ll have full visitation rights.”

“I don’t want visitation, Marcus. I want equal custody.”

“I’m sorry, but my lawyer says I have an excellent chance. These things usually favor the mother, but with your unpredictable travel and long hours, it should be open and shut.”

So much of what Marcus says makes sense. Too much sense. If she has allowed herself to become such an unfit parent that he can take custody so easily, then perhaps he should have it. It’s an unsettling realization. One she wants to chase away quickly. “How are they doing?”

“Good. Troy got an interception last week. Bianca going on a date, and I hate it.”

She smiles slightly. “You’re supposed to.”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to doing my scary dad act, though.”

“I know you’ve been looking forward to that. You be sure to tell her if she wants to talk about it, she can call me.”

Marcus hesitates. When he speaks, it’s as if the words hurt him to say as much as they’re going to hurt her to hear. “She did, Ev. Last Thursday. You told her you were busy.”

Closing her eyes tight, Grey placed her head in her hand. “I remember. I said I’d call her back. I didn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Marcus, I can fix this. I can be more available to them. Let’s just work out joint custody.”

Marcus sighs. “I’m sorry, Ev. You’re emotional right now, but as soon as you hang up and get back to work, it’s going to take over your life again. I still think sole custody is the best thing for the kids.”

Grey paces around the room. He’s probably right. She never made any apologies about her dedication to her work, but there’s no denying it becomes her sole purpose in life at times. Not the best mindset for a mother of two.

Suddenly, a solution pops into her head. It sounds ridiculous at first, but if she’s going to maintain her custody, she will have to make sacrifices.

“I’ll quit.”

The line goes quiet for a moment. “Quit what?”

“My job. I’ll quit my job. I’ll resign.”

“Again, Ev; you’re emotional right now but- .”

“I am deadly serious, Marcus.” Indeed, the emotion disappears from her voice. The icy tone that served her so well returns. “I will finish this case and then I will be on the first plane home. But you have to agree to joint custody.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll work for the local PD Something. What matters is I will rearrange my priorities. Troy and Bianca will be at the top of the list. Joint custody: Yes or no?”

Marcus gives the matter some thought. “Well, I wasn’t lying, Ev. I want you around. The kids want you around.”

“So, yes?”

“Yeah. Joint, it is.”

With a sigh of relief, Grey takes a seat at her desk. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“Forget it. Finish up that case, Ev. We’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

Hanging up, she sits her phone down on the desktop. Taking several deep breaths, she closes her eyes and composes herself. When her brown orbs open again, they are dry and intensely focused. Rising from her chair, Agent Grey calmly walks over to the radio she uses to communicate with her team. She picks up the mic and clears her throat.

“This is Agent Grey. I want a status report from all units ASAP. I’m increasing the frequency of future reports to one every 25 minutes. I want to know every little detail of our primary’s activities. That is all.”

She turns her attention to the board. Eleanor Warwick was already in deep trouble, but now, she’s the only thing standing between her and a new life with her children. She almost feels sorry for her.

Almost.

The dryer stops earlier than it should have.

The young woman smacks the machine in frustration. She dropped three quarters into the slot. It should have been enough for more than 10 minutes of drying, not less than one. She marches to the counter at the entrance of the laundromat. “Hey, Couch! What’s the deal with these fuckin’ machines?”

Nelson Couch lowers the Carmadie Daily Observer and raises an eyebrow. “I’ll give you one chance to ask that again, young lady.”

The girl calms herself. “Sorry. Can you do something about that machine, please?”

“Much better.” Setting his paper aside, the slender Black man comes off his stool with a grunt. The elderly proprietor adjusts his suspenders as he walks through the back and into the main room. The young woman is waiting for him. “You need to be kinder to us old folks. What would your mama say?”

“Probably ‘Hey. You got some crack’,” she answers bitterly.

Couch offers a nod and a supportive pat on the shoulder. It’s a familiar tale for the youngsters in his neighborhood. “Still, she’s your mama. Don’t forget that.”

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, the young woman crosses her arms. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Couch approaches the machine with the slow pace of a man in his 70s.

The girl cocks her head to the side. “Don’t you need tools or somethin’?”

He gives her a sly smile. “Not when you got the magic touch.”

Balling up a fist, he strikes the dryer as hard as he dares. When he comes in contact with the hard surface, arcane forces ripple through the machine, causing it to spring to life.

“There you go,” he says, dusting of his hands.

“How’d you do that?”

The elderly wizard shrugs. “You just gotta know how to handle these things.”

“Nelson Couch?”

The old man and the young woman turn to face four strangers in suits that enter the laundromat. Couch’s experiences tell him such individuals always bring trouble. “Yes?”

The leader of the group retrieves identification and holds it up for inspection. “Agent Henderson: FBI. I need you to come with me, sir.”