5 Years Later: Chapter One

Twenty-four year-old Gretchen Berg stands in line at Starbucks, staring at the floor. Her hands are stuffed deep into the pockets of the long, brown trench-coat she is wearing. A television in the corner is playing the morning news, but she isn't paying attention.

The person in line ahead of her receives their coffee and spins around, bumping into her and spilling a few drops of foam on her coat. She looks up. The man smiles apologetically and shrugs, but races past her anyway. He is wearing a suit, and has a crooked smile.

"Sorry!" he shouts, already halfway out the door.

"Yeah ... thanks," mutters Gretchen, smiling up at the cashier with a sigh.

Gretchen grabs a couple of napkins and blots at her coat.

"May I help you?" says the cheerful cashier.

"God, I hope so," Gretchen replies, still smiling in self-deprecation. "Can I get a tall mocha?"

"Sure. That'll be 5.55."

Gretchen reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a wallet. As she opens it to look for the bills, she hears the reporter on television say, "For the first time in her career, famed bank robber Claire Bennet caused a civilian fatality today when she robbed a bank in downtown Manhattan."

Gretchen drops the wallet absentmindedly. Keeping her eyes on the television, she bends to pick it up.

"A bank customer was shot during the robbery and has been pronounced dead," the reporter continues. "No word on whether Bennet was the one to fire the shots or not. Witnesses are still in the process of being questioned by police."

Gretchen slowly rises, eyes glued to the screen as Claire's image is shown. It is a blurry image captured by a bank camera.

"Bennet has been evading police for four long years, and how she gets in and out of such crowded banks without being seen remains a mystery. She has been caught on camera several times, but witnesses never remember seeing her arrive or depart. If you have any information on Claire Bennet ..."

"Ma'am?" comes another voice, pulling her back to reality. "Ma'am? Do you still want the mocha?"

Gretchen blinks at the cashier, as if seeing her for the first time. The cashier blinks back.

"Oh!" declares Gretchen, looking back into her wallet.

She fishes out a five and a one and hands them to the cashier, blushing.

"Sorry," Gretchen says with a flustered smile, shaking her head.

The cashier makes the change, but Gretchen waves it off, gesturing for her to keep it. The cashier shrugs and pockets the change.

Gretchen steps aside and waits for her mocha, deep in thought.

*******************

Upon arriving at work, Gretchen removes her coat and hangs it up before shutting the door to her office. A black jacket hangs next to it. Though the big, bright letters on the back of the jacket are wrinkled, they clearly read: NYPD.

Gretchen sits down at her desk and immediately turns on her computer. She enters Claire's name into a database and waits. A message reading "processing request" appears on the computer screen.

While she is waiting, a knock comes at her door, followed by someone's sudden entrance. She instantly turns off the computer.

"Well, hello," says detective Dick Adams, giving her a peculiar smile. "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Gretchen gives him a weak smile in return. "Something like that," she says.

Trying much too hard to appear slick, as usual, Detective Adams saunters over and takes a seat on the edge of her desk. He raises one eyebrow and leans forward.

"Guess what case we just both got handed?" he says, as if he is a part of some wonderfully kept secret.

Gretchen sighs, disappointed to be paired with Adams at all, regardless of the case.

"What case, Detective Adams?" she asks, pretending to show some interest, but not pretending very well.

"I told you, Gretch," he says, giving her an imaginary elbow nudge. "Call me Dick. Please."

"Whatever," she replies flatly. "What case ... Dick?"

Detective Adams grins and sits up straighter, chin tilted with pride. "The murder that happened today at Manhattan Mutual? During the Bennet robbery? I've been assigned lead homicide, and you've been assigned to lead the forensics team."

"What?" she replies, eyes wide with surprise.

"I thought you'd be pleased," he says, standing again. "Up until now, all you've been given is missing person cases."

"That's because I'm only a year out of the academy!"

"Who cares about the academy?" he asks with a nonchalant shrug. "You were recruited because of your brains, not your policing skills. The academy was just a formality."

She stands as well, coming around the desk to face him. "Yeah, but ... I've never led a team before, Dick! Especially on a murder case!"

"What are you worried about? You graduated first in your class! And, you've been waiting for this for over a year now! You finally have the chance to really prove yourself!"

Gretchen heaves a heavy sigh, dropping her chin to her chest. "I don't know. I mean, I wasn't even first to the scene. How am I going to led an investigation when I wasn't even first at the scene?"

"Whoa! Don't get ahead of yourself there, kid," laughs Detective Adams, "I'm the one leading the investigation. You will be answering to me."

"Well," she says, looking up at him, "were you first at the scene?"

He nods. "I was."

"What happened?"

"Don't know for sure. The camera caught Claire Bennet, as usual, and some pieces of the action, but witnesses don't remember a thing."

"What do you mean they don't remember a thing?" Gretchen asks, looking uneasy.

"Apparently, witnesses never remember seeing Claire Bennet ... or a robbery, for that matter."

"I thought they didn't remember seeing her enter or leave, not that they didn't remember anything at all."

"Well, you have to admit, Gretch," he says, looking a little uneasy himself. "It is a pretty strange. It would be one thing if it happened at one robbery. Then, you could say, 'maybe she paid everyone off', or ... maybe 'there was just something in the water that day'. But, for it to happen at every robbery ... well, obviously we wouldn't want the press to get wind of that. They'd have a field day speculating. So, we've downplayed the truth ... a little bit."

Gretchen leans against her desk, putting a hand to her head to keep it from spinning.

"You said the tape showed some pieces of the action? Do you have it?"

He smiles, patting his vest pocket. "Right here."

Gretchen nods towards the computer and sighs, "let's see it, then."

Detective Adams walks around her desk and takes a seat in her chair, sliding the disk from his pocket into the computer. Gretchen comes around too, and stands behind him. As she waits, she absentmindedly chews on a fingernail.

In a moment, an image of the bank's lobby appears on the computer screen and Claire pops into view, seemingly out of nowhere. She is wearing all black, but isn't bothering to cover her face. She isn't even wearing a wig. Her trademark blond locks stand in stark comparison to her dark clothing, as if she is daring the world to identify and locate her.

On her way to the teller's station, she even looks up at the camera and smiles.

There is no sound to the tape recording, but Gretchen clearly recognizes the sight of Claire screaming something as she draws a gun. In the background, behind Claire, Gretchen sees another gun pointed at the tellers. But the arm goes nowhere, out of the range of the camera's viewfinder.

After the teller returns and fills Claire's bag, Claire turns to leave, but is shot square in the chest by an unseen assailant. The shot sends her reeling, out of camera shot. The teller screams and ducks under the table. Then, the picture becomes nothing but static.

Detective Adams ejects the disk and puts it back in his pocket.

"There was another person there with Claire ... er, Bennet," Gretchen points out. "An accomplice."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Detective Adams replies, staring at the blank computer screen. "Standing behind Bennet, like they had her back. I have a feeling that's the person who actually killed our civilian. Everything here suggests that Bennet was shot first, so it's highly unlikely that she was able to get back up and fire."

Gretchen nods slowly. "Right. Highly unlikely."

"But, as for who shot Bennet in the first place, or whom her associate may be, we're still drawing blanks. Our dead civilian was just in the way. We didn't find a weapon on him, only a PTA card from his kid's school."

"Well, what do we have? Besides the tape?" she asks.

He shrugs with an embarrassed laugh. "Nothing," he replies. "But, get your stuff together and I'll take you over to the crime scene. Maybe a new set of eyes will help."

"Sure," she tells him, trying to look cool and collected. "Just ... give me a minute."

He gives her a nod and starts to leave, then pauses at the door and turns back around.

"There's just one more thing that I cannot seem to wrap my head around ..." he tells her.

"What's that, Dick?"

"Well, when our first responders took a look at the amount of blood that Bennet had lost they almost fainted. They said they'd never seen someone lose that much blood and manage to survive ... let alone walk away and vanish into thin air."

"Yeah," Gretchen replies, swallowing hard. "Weird."

"Well, anyway ... I'll meet you in the car."

"I'll be right down."

Detective Adams exits, closing the door behind him.

The minute the door closes, Gretchen lets out a deep breath and looks out the window. The sun is rising high above the New York skyline, and people are teeming up and down the streets. From where she is standing, they look like ants. And, as she watches them, she cannot help but wonder ... are any of them Claire?

*to be continued...*