Crime Scene

The third greatest shock of Maxine Angelis' life hit when she realized that the dead cop on the gurney had once saved her life.

The first greatest shock had hit several years ago, when an irate FBI agent had informed her that her one of her articles on the police corruption HR scandal had gotten a good man killed. She remembered every detail—the beagle-faced agent glaring at her, the paint on the walls of the interrogation room, the security camera blinking at her in the corner, the subsequent disgrace, the car chases, the gun fights, the near-death escape at a circus carousel late at night, even the handsome-but-dull actuary she'd been dating at the time was burned into her memory. But what still stood out to her was the moment she'd learned that she'd let her work get in the way of her humanity.

The second greatest shock hit nearly a year after that, when HR rose up again, and then suddenly was taken down by Det. Joss Carter. That wasn't the shock. The shock was who she died to bring in—Alonzo Quinn, one of Maxine's oldest and most reliable sources for years. Although Maxine had written nothing on Carter or HR, she couldn't help but feel that she'd been used—that she'd been one of Quinn's patsy's somehow. No matter how many times she told herself she couldn't have known, still she felt responsible for Carter's ultimate fate

So she'd given up on big-profile corruption cases (or been kicked out of, depending who you asked) and devoted herself to the intense late-night action scene. Suddenly going into dark corners and dodging the odd stray shots at hostage shootouts no longer seemed so terrifying. In fact, Maxine found she loved the new adrenaline much better than her old desk-camping job. She gained a real knack for locating hotspots, a quick head for navigating tough situations, and a surprisingly good rapport with cops for her all-too-frequent eulogies on dead police officers.

And it was in that capacity that Maxine had the third greatest shock of her life.

"Gunned down in the office building." Officer Jack Reagan, one of her friends in the police department, told her as he led her past the tape. Maxine ducked under and followed him toward the front of the building, red and blue lights flashing off buildings. "Multiple assailants, from what we can tell. He may have gotten a few of them—there were some other bodies we're working to identify."

"Gang war of some kind?" Maxine asked. Organized crime had taken a surprising downturn of late, but there were still gangs.

"Not sure, ma'am." Reagan bit his lip. "We don't even know what he or his partner—" here he nodded toward the portly man sitting on the ambulance tailgate, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, "—were even doing here."

All the reporter instincts in Max's head went off. As a reporter you looked for odd details, things that didn't fit. Instantly her mind went to police corruption—HR again? In a war with a rival gang?—but she pressed the thoughts down. She'd learned not to let her biases not do the thinking for her.

She'd also learned to recognize faces. "Is that... Fusco? Detective Lionel Fusco?"

"Yeah." Reagan looked a little awed. Fusco was something of a legend. He'd single-handedly taken down Simmons, the man the whole NYPD had been looking for. The whole thing had been too positively dramatic for words, all sorts of news avenues had had a field day playing up the story of the veangeful cop who got justice for his partner's murder. Max had actually met him, once, before that whole business had gone down. He'd been one of the detectives that saved her from HR. Odd, the coincidences that life sometimes threw at you.

Or perhaps, not so odd. What if Fusco was involved with the new HR? What if the arrest of Simmons had been a takeover? Simmons had died of mysterious circumstances in the hospital, after all. What if...

Max closed her eyes and gave herself a moment to get her reporter instincts under control. "Has he been debriefed? Could I speak with him?" She asked. Apart from anything else, an interview with Fusco would get this item on the front page.

"Maybe later." Reagan shook his head. "Cap's still raking his ass over the coals, trying to find out what he and Riley were doing here. IA's probably going to talk to him too."

"Riley?" Max seized on the detail. "His partner? The one who died?"

"John Riley." Reagan nodded, leading her forward. "Detective. Hasn't been on the force for long, but hell if that matters." His mouth tightened. "We're going to catch the son-of-a-bitch who did this."

"You always do." Max gave Reagan a confident grin. She meant it—the next few days were NOT going to be pleasant for New York's underworld. Especially if it was Fusco's partner—privately Max made a vow to not so much as jaywalk for the next week or so.

"Hell yes." Reagan grinned. His head snapped up as a stretcher came rolling out of the building—bearing a body bag, not a patient. "Hang on. There he is." "Hey boys!" He called, bringing the coroners to a stop. "Hold up a bit!" He turned to her. "You wanna see the body, right?"

"Please." Max smiled. She couldn't take a picture, of course, but it would give her a few things to work with.

As the two of them approached the gurney, the wail of a fresh siren made her look up, just in time to see another car pull up to the scene. Max shook her head. Cop killings tended to attract more cops than were really practical. Two woman emerged from the cruiser, a young-looking hispanic lady, and a distraught red-head. Neither were in uniform, so they must be detectives or civilians of some kind. Maxine was ready to dismiss them both from her mind when the third person rose from the car.

Zoe Morgan. Infamous political fixer and heartbreaker. She'd stolen a date away from Max once. If she was here, there was definitely something going on. Max could feel it. Still, Morgan wasn't one to work for the outright criminal. Something other than HR?

"Hey Curatola. Mason." Reagan's voice roused her from her thoughts as he nodded at the cops manning the stretcher. "Maxine wants a quick peek for the obituary."

"That's a bit out of order..." Mason started.

Curatola, the senior, cut him off. "Hey, lay off, Mason. Angie's one of the good ones." He smiled at her. "Hey Max."

"Hey Ted." Max smiled back.

"You sure you wanna see this, Max?" Curatola said, reaching for the zipper. "Mason and I can tell you... it ain't pretty."

Maxine sent him a look. "C'mon, Ted. It's me."

"Suit yourself." Curatola picked up the edge of the tarp and lifted it back.

Maxine gasped.

"He did tell you." There was just a trace of vindication in Mason's voice.

But it wasn't the bullet holes buried in the man's gut, arms, and head that made Maxine gasp. It was the chiseled face, the dark hair, the rugged chin.

"What... what did you say his name was?" She asked, her voice quavering just a little.

"John Riley." Reagan looked at her. "Hey, Max, you okay?"

No. No, that wasn't right. Not Riley, Anderson. John Anderson, the surprisingly understanding actuary who'd had the misfortune to be dating her while the whole assassination plot was going on. John, who'd saved her life on several occasions. John, who she'd said goodbye to and never thought to see again.

John, who had been so interested in Zoe Morgan that night they'd bumped into her.

Maxine slowly turned to look back at the car. The three women were all at the fringe of the scene, talking furiously with the officer on duty. The redhead seemed almost frantic, the hispanic woman was flashing a badge, and Zoe was on her phone, doubtless calling up some favor to get them inside.

Maxine looked from the woman to the body before her, and knew she had just hit on something big.

A/N: Much as I want a happy ending, Jonathon Nolan and Co have all but confirmed it's going to end with John and Harold dead (and by the looks of the Comic-Con trailer, it might be even worse. ) Maybe after it's ended I'll try to get a happy ending fix fic where everyone leaves to raise puppies or whatever, but in the meantime, here's this: What happens after the heroes are dead? Who remembers them?

Maxine Angelis was a Season 2 number, a reporter who was working on a story involving the presently-weakened HR gang, but also a separate story investigating the Man in the Suit. So John posed as her date, but he couldn't be obvious about saving her unless he wanted her secret to get out. Her episode also introduced Quinn as the head of HR, and featured Zoe posing as John's ex-girlfriend. It was an alright episode (featuring a funny moment where Finch had to hide in John's gun-closet), but not particularly notable. But I've always wanted to see more of the numbers return, so... I made a story about them.