The manhunt ensured that the office was empty pretty much all day, with whichever police officers not out there knocking on doors being away on calls. With fewer people around to answer phones, Wyatt had been back and forth between his desk and the file room with hardly a break. At one point a call came in and a few cops rushed out the door, and Wyatt wondered if maybe the manhunt had caught a good suspect, but he was too busy to even try to eavesdrop about it. It was almost dinnertime before he had finally taken care of all the files, and was on the phone dealing with script scenario number 14 when he noticed the secretary rushing over to the Captain's room and knocking on his door.

"Have you tried telling them to quiet down, ma'am?" Wyatt asked the unsettled woman at the other end of the line.

"No, I haven't, because I'll tell you why. Every time they have a party and I make a complaint to the landlord, he says he'll talk to them." Wyatt watched as the secretary was explaining something involved, pointing towards the interrogation room. "He'll talk to them, he says, and he talks to them, but they never quiet down. The last time I tried complaining, he said that I'm the only one in the building who notices the noise, and I asked him what he was trying to say, and he said to me that he wasn't trying to say anything, just that-"

Wyatt saw as the Captain came out of to the door of his private office, and glanced around. His eyes fell upon Wyatt briefly before they continued the scan. Wyatt himself looked around and noticed that besides himself, the secretary, the dispatcher, and a janitor, nobody was around.

"-which got me to thinking that maybe because I hear so much about how we have so many police these days, that maybe I ought to call the police, because I think if a police officer were able to come down, and I could show them the place, then they could see that there really is an awful ruckus coming from that room. So I said this to the landlord, and when I said this to the landlord, he told me to go right ahead-"

Wyatt watched as the Captain looked directly at him once more, before turning to the secretary with a look of disbelief on his face. Finally, he looked at Wyatt and said, "Milter, get off the phone."

Wyatt covered it. "I'm dealing with a complaint," he said.

"Milter," the Captain said. "We've got a guy being brought in for questioning and we're understaffed. We need you in the interrogation room. Get the dispatcher on it, pronto."

"Yes sir," Wyatt said, and instantly his stomach felt light. "Excuse me, ma'am, yes," he said, trying to interrupt her. "Ma'am, yes, you were right to call in and... yes, ma'am... Ma'am, I'm going to be transfering you over to somebody who can... Ma'am?"

"Milter!" the Captain hollered.

While the woman was still talking, Wyatt quickly transferred the woman over to the dispatcher and stood up. He suddenly realized he had no idea what to do. He'd only ever seen a couple of interrogations, and he hadn't participated in either of them. He couldn't tell if his confusion was because he'd completely forgotten the protocol for it, or if they'd never bothered to teach him.

At that moment, the front door opened, and Detective Jamille, who was dressed in plain clothes, was walking in, guiding in another young black man, handcuffed behind his back, dressed in an oversized hoodie and with a cap on backwards. Wyatt snapped to attention, and went to meet them.

"You're in the way, Milter," Jamille said curtly.

"Detective Jamille," Wyatt said, holding out his hand ambiguously. "The Captain told me to assist you..."

"The Captain told you what?" Jamille said, pausing so suddenly that the suspect he was guiding in took another two steps before Jamille jerked him back. Wyatt looked him over, and felt a chill down his spine. What had this man done? He noticed there were a couple of blood stains on his baggy sweater, and when he looked up into his eyes, he saw the look of an anxious but angry man staring straight back at him. As an observer, Wyatt could categorize people who were brought in pretty quickly. Thugs were all alike -- innocent or guilty, they were always annoyed, but usually resigned to the process. Innocent suspects often looked a bit more nervous but usually also seemed like they felt what was happening was unfair. Guilty suspects were less predictable. If they were level-headed, they'd complain about their rights and such. If they weren't, they oddly enough might appear fine with everything, as if in knowing they were caught there was some relief, in that whatever stress they were feeling before about getting caught was now somehow moot. Every now and then, somebody would come in and Wyatt would learn later on that he was guilty of something shocking, and every second they were in jail or in the interrogation room, they'd be tight-lipped and stiff, with an expression in their eyes of being a caged animal.

Which was almost exactly how this guy looked. Wyatt scratched his cheek and looked quickly back at Jamille. "Yeah," he said. "The Captain wanted me to help out."

"You've got to be shitting me..." Jamille said, before looking back and forth between the suspect and Wyatt. "Christ. Alright, listen Stacey," he said, leaning into the suspect's ear. "This guy's going to bring you into interrogation room 1, and when he does, I want you to sit at the desk and don't move. If you cooperate, we'll take the handcuffs off. Until then, you know your rights... right, my brother?"

The suspect looked back at Jamille and nodded, and his cap almost fell off. Jamille walked past Wyatt over to the Captain's room, leaving the two standing there in the middle of an almost-deserted office. The suspect looked right back at him. Wyatt wasn't sure how to read the expression. It was one of strange evaluation, as though he were being checked out.

"Uh..." Wyatt said. "This way."

He nervously placed one arm behind the suspect, being careful not to contact him directly, and tentatively gestured towards the corridor where the interrogation rooms were. The suspect sucked in his teeth, and began walking, but slowly, and looking around the room as he did. Wyatt kept pace with him, and it felt awkward walking that slowly, but he was too nervous to actually say anything. When they got to the stairs, he noticed the suspect paying close attention to them, even trying to catch a glimpse upwards to see where they led to.

"This way..." Wyatt said.

"Yeah, I know," the suspect said, before giving a bit of a laugh. "You ain't done this before, have you."

Wyatt coughed, before laughing nervously. "There's a first time for everything, right?"

"I guess..." the suspect said, before stopping.

"Why are you stopping?" Wyatt asked.

The black man nodded with his head towards the door. "He said Interrogation Room 1, right?"

Wyatt looked over and saw the sign saying "Interrogation -- 1". "Oh, right," he said, reaching for his keys.

"You guys lock these rooms when nobody's in them?" the suspect asked, incredulously. Wyatt saw that he was looking down to the end of the corridor.

Wyatt paused, and realized he had no idea. He reached out for the doorknob and the door opened right up. "Oh..." he said, before guiding him inside. The suspect followed him in slowly.

Wyatt looked around the unfamiliar space. Instantly he was surprised by the one-way glass at the back of the room -- it reflected his image so well he would have never guessed a good half-dozen people could watch the interrogation from behind it. Otherwise, the room was quite sparse, and unambiguous in purpose, since apart from the four chairs, the table, and a glaring overhead light, there was nothing there.

Stacey, the suspect, walked over to the far side of the table.

"Oh give me a sec," Wyatt said, about to help him pull back the chair.

"I got it," he said, deftly using his leg to drag it back and rotate it out. He sat on the edge of the seat and looked around, before his eyes settled on Wyatt. "You gonna stand there?"

"Uh... yes," he said.

Stacey pursed his lips in an unimpressed manner, but said nothing. He looked thoughtful, glanced at Wyatt pensively, and then said, "On the way over, Detective Jamille said something about a cop and his sister getting attacked in Hyde Park."

"He did?" Wyatt asked, and went flush.

"Yeah," Stacey said, the traces of a smile appearing on his lips when he saw Wyatt's expression. "Gotta wonder what this city is coming to, when even you pigs aren't safe."

"You just wait here," Wyatt said quickly, before turning around to head back into the hall. He quickly thought back to the suspect, and after closing the door behind him, he locked it. Heading back into the hall, he saw the Captain and Jamille were talking.

"-operate the equipment?" Jamille asked.

"You set it up," the Captain said, pointing at Jamille, "and have Milter watch it. Make sure there's enough tape in there, and it'll be fine."

"Captain..." Jamille began, before sighing. "Alright, never mind. I figure if we leave him cuffed it won't be a problem. We'd dismissed this guy as a possible gang member anyway. The guy was studying studying abroad for some such."

"Whatever," the Captain said. "I didn't have anything to do with the gangs prior to that sting, and I'm not interested in having anything to do with them now. Smith and Hargrove are already on their way back, and more guys from the night shift will be coming in around 9. I'm out of here." He began walking towards the door.

"Don't you want to supervi-" Jamille started.

"I can't even begin to tell you how uninterested I am in that," the Captain said, waving his arm dismissively. "Splitting them up and bringing this guy here... that whole thing was the ADA's idea. As far as I'm concerned, we're doing exactly what she wanted."

There was a buzz at the front door, and Wyatt saw Petra's figure standing there, with a finger on the side button. The Captain stopped and gestured towards the door. "Speak of the Devil, and the Devil appears," he said, before going up and letting her in. "You guys have fun now."

"Thank you Captain," Petra said as she stepped in. "Could you-?"

"Talk to them," the Captain said in a gruff voice, before stepping out into the cold. Petra, unoffended at having been cut off, said nothing, but turned and walked towards Jamille and Wyatt at the back of the room.

"Detective Jamille, Officer Milter," Petra said, nodding as she said their names, as if things were as she expected them to be. "Where is the suspect?"

"We brought Keane here, just like you asked," Jamille said. "Although all of us involved are still wondering why-"

"I needed to isolate the others," Petra said, not breaking her pace as she walked right up to them. "It seemed easier to move one of him than five of them."

Jamille waved his hands. "Whatever, it's your show," he said. "I'll get the recording equipment set up for Milter here."

"That won't be necessary," Petra said quickly, walking past them towards the corridor. "I've done it myself plenty of times. I'll help officer Milter get ready. If you don't mind, please uncuff Mr. Keane, make sure he's seated, and place yourself by the door."

"Uncuff him?" Jamille said. "Look, I'd feel a lot better about that if the other officers were around outside."

"You can have your weapon at the ready, Detective," Petra said, turning around briefly. "I require... the suspect to be in a certain psychological state of mind when I make my entrance. If he isn't in the gang, it won't make a difference, but if he is, it's vital that he has a false sense of security, and my entrance needs to be... an event. I don't know an easier way to explain it."

"Uh huh..." Jamille said, looking at her oddly.

"If you can do as I ask, I'd appreciate it," she said, turning to go. "Also, don't talk to him about anything until I get there. If he makes a fast move, you've got my authorization to shoot him."

"Listen, Miss," Jamille began. "What you're asking for, that's not the way we like to do things-"

Petra paused mid-step, before turning around and walking slowly back to them. "Detective Jamille, with all due respect, the reason we have an out-of-control gang problem in the north of this city is because of the fact that the police have had a way they like to do things for a long time, and that way has not been working. Until we start to take a hard look at those ways we like to do things, and having the courage to identify what's wrong with those ways, and fixing them, then being the American city with the highest per capita volume of police officers won't mean anything more than the fact that we get more speeders and jaywalkers than anybody else in the country, while the real criminals laugh at us from their safe havens. Do you understand?"

Jamille's mouth was hanging open, and Wyatt realized that the Crier, for all their effusive praise in their printed descriptions of her, hadn't really done Petra justice.

"Whatever, man," Jamille said. "He's in Interrogation Room 1. I'll be in there when you're ready."

"Thank you," Petra said, turning around. "Officer Milter?"

Wyatt quickly hopped to it, and followed her down the side hallway that led to the recording rooms.

Amongst the shadowy outlines of recording equipment, Petra worked quickly and silently. Wyatt's eyes went back and forth between the her and the interrogation room, where Jamille stood by the door, his holstered gun in view, staring at the suspect but saying nothing.

"There," she said, five minutes later. "That should be fine. It's recording now. Just let it run." She knocked on the window, and Jamille waved in their direction. "Alright, Wyatt, here's how it's going to work. It's recording right now. Detective Jamille and I are going to be taking turns questioning the suspect, but at one point Jamille is going to be called away. At that point, you need to do something very important for me." Petra looked him square in the eye. "You need to turn off the recording equipment."

"Turn it off?" Wyatt said, in disbelief.

"Yes," she said, pointing at a red button. "Just press right there. This is very, very important. Can I count on you to do that?"

"Uh..." Wyatt said. "I don't know..."

"Officer, the things that will be said in there cannot be on the record. If they are on the record, then the investigation will be compromised. Nobody will have any knowledge of anything that is said between me and the suspect, except for you. Ethically, you will be bound to reveal anything you overhear, but a lot of it is going to be extremely vague, so I should be covered..." she paused for a second. "You might have heard that I give a pretty good interrogation, and that these interrogations are usually successful at getting results that officers using more conventional methods have been unable to achieve. Have you heard these things?"

After a moment's hesitation, staring out into the interrogation room at the suspect, Wyatt nodded. He felt almost bad for the guy.

"Can I trust you to do this for me?" she asked, pointedly.