He'll come out during breaks, and I'll end up in conversation with the other officers. I may wander around in the small garden in the back of the building. It's the same pattern I follow any time I come into the station with Sam. I'm not good at not doing anything. Even those days when I tell myself I just want to be lazy; it doesn't work out for me. I can grow roots and be a couch potato with the best of them after a long day, but when morning hits, I need to be doing something. That's been one of the hardest parts of taking this break from the Bureau. Long days stretched out in front of me without work to fill them have driven me to bake, and I've been getting dangerously close to starting the unthinkable pastime of crafting.
So I fill the time by occasionally popping by the station or tagging along. It also ensures I'm in on the good gossip from around town. The petty crimes. The drunken fights. Apparently, the only thing I've missed is the talk of my mind slipping away into the ether. It's a trade-off.
But there isn't going to be any gossiping this morning. I don't even get a chance to flip through a magazine. Instead, the sound of shouting brings me to my feet and out to the main portion of the lobby. The station is designed to isolate the waiting room away from the rest of the station. The front desk acts as sentry in front of the door to the back. It seems like a nice way to protect the privacy of those waiting for visits or to pick up loved ones getting sprung from their time behind bars. It's a nice thought, but I know it's much more likely a safety measure. Rather than keeping those people from prying eyes, it keeps them from flying bullets and angry intruders.
Which is what sounds like is happening now. Instinct brings me to my feet, and I run toward the sound of people shouting in the lobby. When I get there, I find two officers trying to hold back a man and woman trying to force their way into the back of the station. The woman looks familiar. It only takes me a second to realize it's Payton, Michael Blair's ex-girlfriend and the mother of his child.
"You need to calm down," Dennis Long, a tall, dark-haired officer is saying, holding up a hand to push Payton back.
"Let us through," she insists.
"Back up," the other officer, a woman named Savanna, commands.
"We need to talk to Sheriff Johnson," the man I assume is Payton's boyfriend says, pressing his chest toward the officer like he's hoping it will force her out of the way.
"What's going on here?" I ask.
"You're Emma Griffin," Payton says.
I nod as I approach her.
"Yes," I say, keeping my voice calm.
In situations like this, the fastest way to deescalate a person is to keep your voice calm and steady. It's often an instinct to match the volume and intensity of the person's voice. But that would only push them further. Instead, I force their attention and give them time to breathe by speaking quietly and slowly. It seems to have some of an effect on Payton now. She turns away from the officers.
“You help Sheriff Johnson with cases sometimes,” she says.
“I helped him with a case earlier this year.” Not confirming, not denying.
“Tell them I need to talk to him. You can convince them,” she almost pleads.
“Why don't you tell me what's going on?” I ask.
“We need to talk to the sheriff about the investigation into my son's death,” she says. “Please.”
“Let me bring you to the waiting room. I'll go back and find the sheriff and have him come out to talk to you,” I offer.
She hesitates, then flashes a look over at her boyfriend. He nods. I guide them in front of me so I can keep an eye on their movements. The anger and anxiety radiate off of them. I know from experience, people tend to be routine and predictable until the moment they aren't. That moment can mean disaster. They come with me to the waiting room without incident, and I settle them into place, making sure Dennis and Savannah are posted at the doorway between the waiting room and the hallway.
Rushing back to the lobby, I ask the woman behind the desk to call Sam for me. She nods, fear etched on her face. Seconds later, he appears at the door.
“Missing me already?” he asks with a teasing smile.
“No,” I say. “But somebody is.”
The smile on his face disappears, and his eyes narrow.
“What do you mean?”
“Payton is in the waiting room,” I tell him. “She and some guy stormed in here, demanding to see you. They’re angry and say they need to talk about your investigation into Peter's death.”
He gives an understanding nod as he processes the situation.
“That would be her boyfriend, Ian. Where are they?” he asks.
“I brought them back to the waiting area.”
We immediately head down the hall and find Payton up, pacing through the rows of padded blue chairs. Ian stands close to the doorway; his arms crossed over his chest as he stares past the officers toward us. As soon as she notices Sam, Payton rushes forward.
"How could you? How could you?" she demands.
"Payton, you need to calm down and tell me what's going on," he starts.
"You know damn well what's going on," Ian cuts in, stepping forward.
"You aren't investigating Peter's death anymore," Payton says.
Sam draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. "Let's go to my office." He eyes me. "Emma, this is Payton Jennings and Ian Mills. This is Emma Griffin. Do you mind if she sits in?"
"No. Maybe she'll be able to talk some sense into you," Payton says.
Tears sparkling in her eyes make their emerald color brighter.
We go to Sam's office. He shuts the door before sitting down and leaning toward them.
"I wish I had been the one to tell you about the change," he says.
"Well, you weren't. We had to hear it from some pissant cop crawling around taking pictures at Blair's house," Ian snaps.
"That shouldn't have happened, and I apologize. I wanted to call you in and discuss it with you," Sam says.
"You shouldn't have to discuss anything with us. How could you stop the investigation?" Payton asks.
"I assure you; the case has not stopped. Unfortunately, with Everly's death, there is no case to investigate at this time."
"No case? Peter is still dead," Ian spits.
"I know. And I am still so sorry for your loss. But the case didn't revolve around whether his death occurred, but if Ms. Zara had anything to do with it. The purpose of the investigation was to determine if there were any grounds for criminal charges to be brought up against her. With her no longer alive, there is no one to charge. Therefore, this investigation can’t currently continue until we explore the connections between Peter’s and Ms. Zara’s deaths," Sam explains carefully.
"So, that's it? Just like that?" Payton asks. "My son is dead. He was three years old, and now he's gone."
"I know that."
"But it doesn't mean anything now? It mattered, but now it doesn't anymore?" Ian asks.
"It's not that it doesn't matter. Of course it matters. Peter's death is a tragedy, no matter what led to it. The point is, continuing to pursue the investigation without broader context wouldn't be a good use of time, energy, or resources. And these are resources we need to continue investigating both cases to find their connections. But, frankly, without Everly to tell us exactly what happened that night, there is little chance of knowing what happened that night. I assure you; I’m doing everything I can to try to do this investigation the right way. And that means that right now, for the current moment, there is nothing directly in Peter’s case we even have to investigate. For the time being, it might be best for everyone involved to try to move forward."