“Law & Order: Dead Victims Unit || Herry
perry-flynn:
The thing with being a detective was that you got very good at analysing people without ever looking like you were. Perry had done a few unde cover operations in his time, you learned to keep a very neutral expression. Better than letting any disgust or anger at the things you were witnessing shine through, of course. Perry knew a suspect when he saw one- most of the time- and this guy didn’t give him that vibe. Uncertain and anxious, certainly, but there were cases Perry had followed without having immediate access to every piece of information. It wasn’t easy to share your entire life with a stranger.
His eyebrows quirked up when Ernesto got to the meat of the situation. Murder. Something Perry had seen plenty of while on the force obviously, but not really the sort of case that came across his desk as a private detective. He was no fool, he knew that their judicial system had flaws and so did the people working to uphold the law. Sometimes they made mistakes, things got overlooked, or they were too single minded in their accusations. He didn’t have any contacts in Mexico himself, but he had buddies still on the force back home that he could ask to to try and dig up official case files for him.
Without a court case there would be no official public record, save for whatever might have been in the papers at the time. Perry could find that much for himself. He nodded and scribbled down the details of the situation, writing research ideas in the margin before looking back up at Ernesto. “Your friend, what was his name? Do you remember if there was anything in the paper at the time about the incident? Did they have anyone- friends, colleagues, family members- that you recall finding suspicious, or hearing them talk about?”
So many questions in such a short space of time; Héctor's head spun a little, and he squinted, trying to remember each one of them so he could answer them accordingly. His English was pretty good (he had learned young, knowing that all the pop stars and rock stars made their fame in America, where only English would do), so that wasn't the issue, it was just...
He had spent pretty much his entire time, since it had happened, actively not thinking about his death. He had done his best to forget, put it as far out of his memory as he possibly could despite it being, y'know, the most significant thing to happen to him thus far, because it was painful. Surprise surprise, your own death was kind of a bummer to think about. It was less about the death part, though, and more about the rest; the life he was never going to get to lead. Things had finally been looking up, too. He was going to sign a record deal, he was going to be a star, he had Imelda, they were going to be happy together, a life and a career all at once, and then, all of a sudden. Gone.
Not thinking about it meant that he could pretend. He could act like it was all still going to happen, like it was just a bump in the road, and he'd get back on track. But he couldn't do that forever, and he knew it, too. So he took a deep breath, and tried to answer as many questions as he could.
"His name is— was Héctor Rivera." He answered. That one was easy, at least, he knew his own name. But it was kind of weird to talk about himself in the first person... Never mind. Moving on. "There was an article in the paper, I think, but... I'm not sure which one. It was in a, uh, a bad part of town, so things like that weren't exactly front page, but it got an article. I— he was a musician from out of town, so it was a little more exciting than the usual, I guess." He raised a hand to scratch his head, more of a distraction than anything else. "But, no— No one suspicious. He got into trouble a bit, but nothing awful, y'know?"
