2019-10-09 - Proof of Life

Her feet pounds in a steady pace along the winding, cobblestoned pathways that fringed Addington Park, dotted as it was with the unmistakable signs of a beautiful Autumn. The last season's heat has given way to a brisk chill, promising a particularly harsh winter with its breath. But it was easy to forget all of that, or ignore it, when surrounded by so much color; reds and golds have dominated the branches of the park's many trees, the grass having retained its rich emerald color. While here, she can barely smell the sea, though traces of it are easily detectable, the hint of brine tickling her nose.

Isabella Reede works her way gradually across the watercolor painting expanse, clad in attire meant for a run; yoga pants, a runner's hoodie, a tanktop and a sports bra, the piece of jewelry she is never without securely tucked within those form-fitting confines, dressing in layers as appropriate for the weather. Her hair is pulled in a messy twist, stray wisps of dark brown hair sticking to the humidity left on her cheeks and the side of her throat, the back of her neck. Earbuds are visible, though the music is low enough that she is able to maintain the necessary focus on her surroundings - after all, it wouldn't do to be accidentally run over, or collide with another person.

Green eyes shot with gold remain forward, focused and alert, determination there as she mentally clocks how many miles it has been. But her body is still recovering from an illness, and her physical limitations are real, defying her impatience to just get back to normal, slowing to a stop by a bench and breathing raggedly, her hands lowering to brace against her knees. Beads of sweat trickle from her forehead and temples, with the lowered state of her head, drops catching the red-gold glare of the sunset as they stain the pavement underneath her.

A hand reaches for her runner's belt, to fumble for her water bottle. It slips from her grasp, and rolls down the hill.

She groans.

Sometimes, Gabriel thinks better working outside. Today is one of those days. Despite the crisp Autumn air, he's positioned himself outside at a picnic table with one of his murder books, looking it over and frowning at the pages in front of him. He taps lightly with his pen, as if trying to figure out what he should be doing. That causes him to look up and see Isabella and then see her water bottle and then to hop up and make a bolt for it to grab it and walk over towards the marine conservationist that he knows.

"Ms. Reede?" he says, despite her earbuds, giving her a small grin. He wears a blue dress shirt, his slacks, and an unzipped leather jacket over all of it, to keep away the chill. "Think this is yours."

She's saved, in the end, from chasing after it when a taller, broader shadow intercepts her water bottle and straightens. Recognition flits over her immediately, Isabella's sharp eyes catching the familiar, friendly visage of Detective Quintanilla. For a while, she says nothing, does nothing but watch the man's affable nature simply radiate from the rest of him - and the fact that he is alive and unhurt. A very specific, frantic conversation slips through her memories; she attempts to push it aside, but the relief she feels is downright palpable and it is visible upon a face that is oftentimes too expressive for her own good.

"Detective," Isabella greets, syllables leaving her in a breathless rush, wiping her face with the back of her hand before retrieving her lost water bottle with the other, uncapping it. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What are you-- " Sight of the books capture her attention, because of course they do. She's unable to help a smile. "Hard at work? What are you studying?"

"Just a case I was asked to take a look at. A body in the water," remarks the Detective as he looks back at the papers out on the picnic table. "The underwater unit had been handling it, but we haven't closed it just yet, so I was asked to look over and see if I had any thoughts." Gabe then hands over the bottle to her, dipping his head.

"But it's good to run into you nonetheless, even if it is sooner than we thought. Turns out you're friends with Erin Addington, I think? She mentioned that you two texted about me." A flit of a smile. But the relief she shows has him a little confused. "Didn't have the energy to run after the bottle?" he asks. After all, he doesn't know why she is so relieved.

"A body in the water? It's not the Raymond Marker case, is it? The one by the docks?" Gabriel knows where she lives, if not just for the fact that he had visited her residence along with Charlie Morgan just a day or so ago. He had been found around there, with the modus operandi mirroring much of the established pattern of the active serial killer that has terrorized the city over the summer. Isabella turns curious eyes towards him, though she makes no move to touch any of the materials on the picnic table. Mention of the underwater search unit earns him a small smile.

"Hope they're keeping up with their diving certifications," is what she says. "And water can do strange and disturbing things to the body, inside and out." She takes a swig from her water bottle in emphasis. "Still need it to live, though, so I suppose we'll just have to take in the good with the bad."

Mention of Erin has her laughing, suddenly, inclining her head at him, her grin broad enough to chase out the normally hidden dimple on her left cheek. "Ugh, outed immediately," she exclaims. "She texted me the other day and said that she had met you, and I told her that I had just spoken with you that morning. Mexican food and the works, right? How did that go? Please tell me your date ended in a death-defying car chase against an escaping suspect, because that'd be my version of an ideal nightcap."

His last question has her pausing, and then she groans, leaning her hip against the picnic table, sliding her unoccupied hand in her pocket. "I'm on the road to recovery from the super-flu that's been going around," she tells him. "It was awful. Honestly even running this much feels great, I don't like being laid out."

"Yeah. That's the one," confirms Gabriel when Isabella names the case. "I'm just reading up on the background to see where I can lend a hand. I don't want to bigfoot the detectives already on it, but if I can offer a new perspective." He shrugs his shoulders, as if to say that it is the least he can do.

When the question about Erin arrives, he blushes furiously. "Ah, it hasn't happened yet! It'll be in a few days. But if we end up chasing a suspect, I promise, I will let you know. She seems like a real nice woman, though. I'm looking forward to it. Anything I should know?" He tries to pump the friend for info.

A wince when Isabella mentions the flu. "Yeah. I've been hearing about that. Avoided it so far! But sorry you got sick."

"I know a little bit about it, but largely because Detective Johnson - Andrea...Andi. She asked me about it because I lived around the area, and..." Isabella's expression darkens, and for the briefest moment, he would find it within her, that terrifying, fiery intensity, the sudden escalation of white-hot rage that remains unaddressed and compounded by the fragment of a murderous spirit that is haunting her.

But she is a creature of will and determination and she manages to fight it down after a long moment of silence in which she shuts her eyes and tilts her face back, to let the chilly air stroke her cheeks, and remind her of water.

"...my mother was the fifth victim of the same guy who supposedly killed Marker. But I don't believe it. Something didn't parse. Did anyone from the underwater unit check his residence?" Her eyes find Gabriel's dark ones again. "I didn't hear back from Andi about anything." Because of course she would update her, as the closest relative around of the deceased. That was the only reason. Right?

The last of that intensity fades when the man actually blushes, surprise coloring her features. It's easy to assume that homicide detectives are stoics, like from what she's seen of his partner, and Captain de la Vega. The man's unabashed expressiveness softens her demeanor. "Erin lived a life of privilege, but she was always determined to be her own woman," is what she tells the man, shifting until she crosses her arms over her chest, expression taking a turn for the contemplative. "And living in that house can't be easy. So don't let all the designer stuff fool you, or her party girl reputation in high school. She's kind, and loyal, and perpetually driven to do the right thing, no matter how much it hurts her."

Gabe is, in many ways, stoic. But at the same time, he can stammer and be embarrassed about an honest-to-god date. It has, after all, been a while for him. "Well, that's good intel. Thank you, Ms. Reede. I appreciate it." Something to file away for the first-date talk over margaritas.

When Isabella says that he mother died by the same hand, he just is quiet, the visual expression of him being sorry for her loss that he has shown many times. "I am not sure there is anything to report, Ms. Reede. But if we crack the case, I will make sure you know."

"Don't stress about it too much, just have fun. It's a date, not a wedding. Not that I'm a huge expert on the entire...you know." Isabella waves a hand idly. "Until recently, I've never been serious about anyone enough that I gave a damn about making a good impression. Though I guess that's always worked for me?" There's a slight furrowing of her brows, though whatever consternation is there eases away.

But the look of her takes a turn for the strange, when he tells her about cracking the case. There's a glance to the far-away trees and their vibrant colors. "I'm sure it'll get resolved one way or another," she murmurs, taking another swig of her water. "Erin's parents were victims, too. But between you and me, I don't think you should bring it up."

Watching him for a moment, brows lift in an inquiring fashion. "Speaking of mutual acquaintances, I ran into Clarissa Robbins earlier today. She's not a big fan of yours."

"She is not," confirms Gabe with a nod of his head. "When her husband committed suicide, I caught the case. Cleared her, of course. But she was not enamored with the process." He clucks his tongue, not sure what he can add to that. "Well, can't please all of the people all of the time, I suppose. I heard that she was looking into whether the Sea View Motel could be preserved as a landmark, in fact. Where did you bump into her? Did she say anything about that?"

If Isabella listens carefully, she might hear a little shift in Gabe's voice, from genial chatter to more Inquiring Detective.

"Wait, you cleared her, but she hates you?" There has to be more to the story, and Isabella watches him with those sharp, incisive eyes - liable to sever arteries, saw through bone to get at the marrow underneath. She doesn't look like much - she's slim, gaunt, still, from her illness, but that aura remains - of something living inside her, simply too large and too volatile for such a fragile vessel to contain. In the half-light of the coming twilight, her green-and-gold eyes gleam like a cat's.

But amusement slips through when Gabriel shifts into his more professional mode, taking another swallow of her water. "She said she found nothing," she tells him. "When she looked into the permits and some possibility that the motel or the land surrounding it could be officially declared as a historic landmark. No dice, though from what she tells me, she intends to talk to Joseph Pursley, the plaintiff, and the Mayor. I don't know how much the latter is going to help - the Mayor approved the proposal, and all the permits are in order, but..."

She falls silent, a contemplative expression slipping over her features, winding back to the conversation. Fingers tap quietly against her elbow.

"Although?" asks Gabriel, letting her fill in that silence rather than rush into it himself. It is a standard cop trick. People often don't like silence, so if you give it to them, they will often say more. He just lets it hang there, his head tilted at Isabella, all ears.

"There was a cybersecurity guy conversing with us about it," Isabella supplies after a long, thoughtful silence. "And he pointed out that there are federal laws against states taxing any revenues coming out of reservations, and Joshua Foster has a history of promoting and turning tribal casinos into successes...." Her thoughts turn back to the land the motel is on. There might be nothing that would qualify it as a historical landmark, but maybe...

"I have to think on it for a little bit," she tells Gabriel, flashing him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, my mouth runs faster than this, sometimes." She taps her finger on her temple. "Speaking of the Casino, sounds like the ADA let the cat out of the bag. I caught her press conference before I left on a run."

"No. I hear you. For sure. If you think of anything more, let me know. I'd appreciate it." Gabe dips his head to Isabella, dropping out of Cop Mode.

Then the conversation turns to Cassidy. "Yes, she's very engaged with these murders." A carefully neutral statement. "We're excited to have a trail to follow."

"I'm not," Isabella grumbles under her breath. "I thought I was just helping out on a civil lawsuit, not...whatever this is." She tilts her head back for a moment and exhales a breath, seizing the reins of what little calm she has left within her.

The carefully neutral statement is noted, and her eyes find his face again, inquiring brows shooting upwards. "Well, cops and lawyers get on like water and oil," she observes mildly. "What's she like? The ADA?"

"The ADA? She's tenacious. She wants results. She wants people to lock up. Unfortunately, she's stuck with us losers to bring her suspects and arrests. And she wants more of these murders closed than have been lately." It is an unfortunate side effect of magical killings; the clearance rate really takes a hit Gabe smiles.

"But everyone wants every case solved. Has been from the beginning of time. So we soldier on, best we can."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Isabella wonders; she clearly treats pressure differently than most others, the kind who doesn't just thrive on challenges, but thirsts for them. It has been that way since she was a child. "If she's driven and tenacious that way, that means she's hungry for justice and in a crime-riddled town like this one, it's probably a blessing." The green-eyed archaeologist falls quiet after that, but only for a moment. "We could use more of that, in the end. Soldiers. People who can fight." And win, though she doesn't bother saying the last - it's implied in her tone. "That does mean you all should probably keep an eye on her, that kind of fire tends to attract and get into all sorts of trouble."

All said with a hint of a grin.

"I'm not arguing with you," says Gabe with a wave of his hand. "Especially in this town." Were doubtlessly some cops -- and maybe even some in the District Attorney's office -- are on the take. "But you can't yell at people to crack cases and expect that to do it. You need an environment that lets them solve them and back them up when the brass is breathing down their necks." Of course Gabe would say it that way. He's one of the foot soldiers!

"Still. I'm sorry you've been enlisted as a junior detective on all of this. But it's all been very helpful, I promise."

A beat.

"We're going to be sending a unit by your place every now and again, by the way, just make sure you're doing all right. So if you see someone parked outside or driving by more often, that's us."

"Is that what she's doing?" So many questions, but Isabella's interest is genuine, that sharp, attentive focus fixed on the man's hard, but comely profile as she listens to the push-and-pull that happens between two disparate organizations that, by all rights, ought to be working towards a common goal. Thoughtful fingertips drum lightly on her water bottle as she listens, as she asks. "She looks like such a little thing, don't tell me she gets on a desk just to yell you down." And honestly? The visual is hilarious.

His apology earns him a laugh, though, leaning hard into the emotion, with nothing of herself left behind, the sound of it free and untethered to anything prim and proper. It renders those eyes downright luminous. "Bullshit," she says, pointing at him in emphasis. "Sorry my ass, you're probably glad for the help." That expulsion of mirth tapers off eventually, but her grin remains. "It's nothing," she says, waving a hand. "I'm already involved anyway, there's no reason not to help. At this point, I don't know how Pursley's going to fare stopping the casino from being built, unless you, your partner and your ADA have something clever up your sleeves. I think that entire outcome is going to hinge on how fast you all work, so..." She winks. "No pressure."

There's a pause, however, when he mentions a unit lingering around her place now and then. "...really? I'm not even..." She furrows her brows. "I'm only a potential witness, detective. And I already explained the reasons why I don't think I'll be called to the stand, so there's really no reason to....it-- " But then she remembers the conversation from the other day, and how Gabriel is reminding her, at the moment, that he is still standing and alive. The lack of protection afforded to her was precisely the reason why it all...

She sighs, closes her eyes and forces herself to withstand the wounds dealt to her (ridiculous) pride, that determined, willful independence. "...I appreciate it, detective." She does mean it. "Honestly, though, I'm not accustomed to being looked after." Her smile quirks back upwards, however faint. "You're a good guy. Now I'm really hoping you hit it off with Erin."

No pressure. "Yeah. I know. And we're not going to have someone on you twenty-four/seven or put you in Witness Protection or something. That's just for the movies. But if the Krugers were going to be witnesses and they were killed, Cassidy thought -- and I can't say she's wrong -- that it would be worth having a little closer eye on you. It will be unobtrusive. I promise." Gabe flashes a small smile at her.

"Anyway. I hope she thinks I'm a nice guy. But that 'nice guy' thing is a double-edged sword. I think my last girlfriend told me I was a 'nice guy' right before she dumped me." The smile turns self-depricating. "I ought to get back to it." He jerks his thumb back at the police department. "But good running into you, Ms. Reede."

"I hope so. Because I won't be able to help messing with them if they were obtrusive," Isabella banters back, and by her face, there's equal odds that she's either joking or serious there. It's been weeks since she's acted out, her more mischievous self tabled and locked away in an effort to engage in the very serious business of helping put certain supernatural phenomenon to rest, and hoping that all of her acquaintances manage to live through the disasters it wrought.

One thing at a time.

That last personal tidbit earns him another look of surprise, before that pulls a laugh out of her again. "You're one up on me, detective," she tells him simply, stowing her water bottle back on her belt. "I wouldn't know how to even...so I'm just making it up as I go. And like I said, don't worry about it so much." She lifts a finger at him again. "Just have fun, and tons of it. She needs it desperately, and honestly, with the kind of beat you walk? So do you."

She turns at that, and starts jogging up the hill. "Later, detective," she calls over her shoulder. "I'm sure we'll talk again, soon."