By 10:13:15 p.m., Leslie is yawning nonstop. She has taken a break from the case because her mind is on overload. Now, she needs to sleep. She emails Siobhan with her most recent update, and then she heads to the bathroom to perform her ablutions. She is falling asleep as she brushes her teeth, so she decides to forego taking a shower—she can do it in the morning. She goes back to the bedroom, strips off her clothes, sets the alarm, and then lies down on the bed. She is out before she can even close her eyes.
Leslie is dreaming of John. He is healthy, happy, and oh, so handsome. She hugs him, kisses him, and he is hard. She slides her hand down his body, but he stops her with a gentle kiss.
“You are so beautiful, Leslie.” John presses a kiss so tender to Leslie’s lip, it takes her breath away. After breaking away, he presents a black rose to Leslie—a real, living black rose. “I need you to break into the rose. You will find me in the rose. Bear that in mind. Can you remember that after you wake up?”
“Yes, John,” Leslie whispers, pressing her cheek to John’s chest. She sheds a few tears as he closes his arms around her.
“I have to go now, baby.” John kisses Leslie on the top of her head.
“No!” Leslie is anguished as she looks up at John, tears in her eyes. “Don’t leave me again!”
“I’ll always be with you, Leslie. Always.” John hugs Leslie hard before letting her go. She watches as he evaporates into thin air. “Remember. Break into the rose. Bear that in mind.” With a start, Leslie wakes up.
“Damn.” Leslie looks at her watch. It’s 3:12:39 a.m., and Leslie is wide awake. She emails Siobhan to let her know, and then she returns to her laptop. She writes down what John had told her—something about breaking into a rose and bearing it in mind. Then, she takes a deep breath and starts researching Senator Bronson more thoroughly. Her earlier Google search had been cursory at best, but now is not time to be squeamish.
“Hello?” Michael picked up his phone without looking to see who had called him. It was seven-thirty at night, and he was still at the office. He knew he had to get home soon or his wife would bitch at him for deserting her in her time of need. Then, he would get pissed because he worked so hard during the day, didn’t he deserve a little relaxation at home? But, he would feel guilty about it because his wife was having such a difficult pregnancy and because of her miscarriages.
“God, this is boring,” Leslie mutters as she sits in the back of Judge Anthony’s courtroom. She is not paying any attention to the trial. She knows it’s some kind of manslaughter charge, but that’s it. She watches Judge Anthony, trying to discern what type of judge he might be. Folly, really, as if she could tell by sitting in his courtroom during a trial. She nods off several times as the attorneys drone on and on and on. Finally, the judge calls for a recess. Leslie wonders if she can catch the judge in his chambers. Doubtful. She’s pretty sure that she can’t. She thinks for a minute before she walks outside the courtroom, cell phone in hand. She pulls out her list and calls the judge.
“Damn it, Reynolds, tell me what the fuck is going on with the Robertson case, and tell me now.” Chief Matthews bellowed at Detective Reynolds, a twenty-year veteran who still had a thirst for justice, despite his years on the force.
After saying goodbye, Leslie hangs up the phone. She ponders what she should do next. She writes down all the private cell phone numbers of the main suspects and family (including a few she doesn’t recognize. Jill Brewster? Tommy Legato? Parker Young? Who the fuck are these people?) from John’s files and stuffs the list in her purse. She is not sure she’ll need them, but she would rather have them and not need them than vice-versa. She decides a real disguise is in order. She hails her cabbie (who offers to run a tab for her as long as she needs one), and he takes her to the nearest Target. Leslie is boycotting Target since the CEO gave money to that batshitcrazy idiot, Tom Emmer, in his bid for governor of Minnesota, but this is an emergency. She needs a wig, and she knows they have them. She picks up a blonde “Marcia Brady” wig, some oversized sunglasses, a fitted gray sweater with nine buttons that she can wear under her jacket, and taupe jeans. She buys some thermal unders so she can layer properly and stay warm. She also purchases a pair of scissors so she can change in the bathroom. It takes her fifteen minutes total, and then she is on her way to the cop shop—after convincing her cabbie that it really is her and not some blonde bimbo.
Back in the hotel room, Leslie powers up her computer and flips on the TV as well. She wants to see what the press is saying about the disappearance of Rose, if anything. On the face of it, one random disappearance doesn’t get much air play, especially if the victim isn’t a pretty young white girl. However, with Rose’s connection to Senator Robertson (however tangential), Leslie has a hunch that the local news will at least pay lip-service to the case. She is right. The news gives the bare bones of the situation and hint that the disappearance may be connected to the murder of Amy Robertson, daughter of Senator Robertson, roughly a year ago. None of them offer any evidence of such a connection, but nobody cares about facts these days. Ratings were all that mattered, and a senator’s daughter’s murder added ratings to any story.
Leslie presses her forehead to the window of the cab, feeling the tears gather in her eyes. Even when John was tough on her, he was still so full of love. He did it because he believed in her. He believed with all his might that Leslie would get better, that she would heal from her past. Every time she said she was ruined and broken, he would say she was damaged, but not broken. It was as if thought he could heal her by the sheer force of his beliefs. Leslie roots through her oversized purse for a tissue (John liked to joke that she could carry a small child in it) and blows her nose. She wonders how long it’ll take before she doesn’t cry every time she thinks of John. She has a hunch it’ll be a long time.
Leslie ponders what she’s learned from Prosecutor Erickson. If he is to be believed—and, she does believe him—he loved Amy. He is devastated by her death, and he feels guilty because he knows that he’s the kind of man who will always put his career and social standing before his personal happiness. Whatever he feels for his wife, it’s nothing compared to what he felt—what he still feels—for Amy. Leslie had been prepared to hate this man when she first talked to him, and oddly enough, she ended up feeling sorry for him instead. He is a decent man trying to do the right thing; he just can’t be the man he wants to be. Leslie pushes that aside to concentrate on the salient point of the conversation—he has no alibi for the time of Amy’s death. This means he’s still on the suspect list, though Leslie doesn’t think he killed Amy. Still, she can’t let emotion cloud her judgment, so she keeps him on the list for now. She finds herself hoping she can find information that will exonerate him.
Michael tried. He really did. He knew that he was in danger of doing something really stupid, so he began making excuses as to why he could not go to Tina’s family for dinner. He had too much work. He was too tired. He had a migraine. Tina started complaining after the third time he skipped out, but he couldn’t afford to see Amy again. So, even though it displeased Tina, he continued to make his excuses. One day, however, he and Tina got in a huge fight on the very subject.