all the news that's fit to print
Title: All The News That’s Fit To Print
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Not mine, as always.
Spoilers: Set pre-series, but spoilers for 2x03 (Red Badge).
Summary: The papers never tell the whole story. Teresa Lisbon learns this the hard way.
Author’s Notes: This was originally just going to be my entry to the Awesome Ladies Ficathon, Part II. Of course, life happened and I blew that deadline by more than a month (better late than never right?). I really wanted to focus on Lisbon as a character, without Jane or the rest of the team, so I decided to delve deeper into what I consider a pivotal event in Lisbon’s past. Thanks, as always, to yaba324 for the beta read.
And in case you’re wondering, yes I did borrow the title from the New York Times.
this is fact, not fiction
for the first time in years
--Death Cab For Cutie
xxx
i.
The papers never tell the whole story. She learns this her very first week on the job.
There’s a drug bust going down in Hunter’s Point, and she’s sitting at her desk, running the obligatory background checks and manning the phones as instructed. She turns her head as Bosco calls her name.
“Lisbon,” he says, motioning with his hand. “C’mon. You’re coming too.”
He’s the only one who calls her by her name. To everyone else, she’s “rookie” or “little girl” -- or worse. He nods like he believes in her. She’s eager for the opportunity to prove herself, so she rises from her desk and follows him.
Lisbon may be young, but she’s not naive; the scene doesn’t take her by surprise. A house in disrepair without any responsible adults; an infant’s cries can be heard through the thin walls of the bedroom while the dealer sells to teenagers in the backyard.
She falls to the back when they move in to make the bust. Her job is to guard the exit, so she’s the first person to notice when things start to go wrong. The dealer breaks away from the arresting officers and takes someone’s service weapon in the process. His eyes are wild and desperate, and he points the gun at Bosco.
She calls out, but it’s too late. The Academy doesn’t have a contingency plan for something quite like this, and she’s the only one who has a chance to stop it.
She takes aim. Not to kill, but to disarm. She hesitates before pulling the trigger.
It’s less than a moment’s indecision, but it’s just enough time for the dealer to dodge the bullet. Instead, the stray shot finds another victim.
A young teenager, no more than fourteen years old. The dealer’s younger brother, whose only real crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bullet hits him in the back.
He dies almost instantly.
xxx
She manages to hold herself together while they regain control of the scene, until they return to the station, then she locks herself in the last stall in the women’s restroom. It doesn’t take Bosco long to find her.
“Lisbon,” he says. “You can come out now. Ten minutes is more than enough time.”
She inhales sharply; she had thought she was alone. She is startled, but she slowly opens the stall door and composes herself.
Nearly a minute passes in silence, until Bosco finally speaks up, his voice echoing against the tile walls. “It was a good shot,” he offers gently. “You’re going to be alright. It never gets easy, but the first time is always the hardest. I promise.”
“I killed that boy,” she counters. She has not been crying, but her voice still breaks slightly.
“No,” Bosco shakes his head. “You saved my life. Now c’mon, everyone is going out to O’Leary’s. First round of tequila is on me.”
He pauses when he sees her hesitating.
“You have to come; it’s tradition.”
The knot in her chest still makes it difficult to breathe, but his coaxing smile is difficult to resist so she follows him out the door. The heavy weight on her shoulders is just a little bit lighter.
The next morning all the papers run the same headline: ROOKIE COP SAVES THE DAY. There’s a small picture of her next to the byline, the one they took for her ID at the Academy. Her long hair frames her face, and she eyes the photo warily. It’s all too impractical for her tastes.
That weekend, on impulse, she gets her hair cut in disgust.
ii.
That first shooting stays with her, but she perseveres.
She finds her niche on Bosco’s team. It takes a long time, but she eventually manages to shake the terms “rookie” and “little girl” and instead proves her worth to even the most skeptical of her colleagues.
Some cases are harder than others. Alcoholism, abuse, broken homes; she knows all the signs, knows them all too well. She works every case with the same consummate professionalism, the same drive and determination, but those cases get under her skin -- and they linger a little longer.
There are no immediate red flags when a call comes in one morning in April. It’s only later on that she recognizes it as one of the most important cases she will ever work.
An eight year old girl was abducted from her school playground at recess. Beaten, bruised, and brutally raped, she was left for dead in an alleyway later that same evening.
The team spends days searching tirelessly for the man responsible, only to arrive at dead ends wherever they turn. With neither any DNA nor a description to go by, the trail runs cold quickly, and everyone else is ready to admit defeat.
Everyone, that is, except for her.
xxx
She stays late when the rest of the team has gone home. Still searching for the one detail that seems to elude her.
Something about this case has found its way under her skin. Where her colleagues are disillusioned, she still believes in justice, and she will do everything in her power to ensure that justice is served.
“What are you still doing here?”
She looks up, startled; she thought she was alone.
“Bosco,” she sighs and blinks back fatigue as her supervising agent pulls a chair alongside her. “I feel like I’m missing something on this case. I wanted to take another look before I went home.”
“You’re going to work yourself into the ground, Teresa.” Bosco places one hand gingerly against her shoulder. “You can look at it again in the morning. C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”
She doesn’t want to go, but she’s too tired to argue. Instead, she comes in that much earlier the next morning; by the time the rest of the team begins to file in, she has her answer.
“Danielle Richardson wasn’t the only one,” she announces in greeting as Bosco arrives.
He furrows his brow in response. “What do you mean?”
“There are five other girls in the last eighteen months that fit the same pattern, all unsolved. Each girl was abducted and raped by a man wearing a ski mask,” she answers, and she drops the file open on his desk. “I think it’s the same guy.”
Bosco remains silent, but he gives her a nod of encouragement. He has always listened to what she has to say.
“He’s been careful so far. He never hits the same part of the city, and he never grabs the girls from the same locations: the beach, the county fair, an arcade, and now from a school. That’s why no one else has caught it yet; the connection isn’t obvious.”
“But you think this is all the same guy?”
She nods. “I do. They’re all similar body types, between the ages of six and nine, and the MO fits. At first it was every couple of months, but there were less than five weeks between the last two attacks. I can’t prove anything yet, but --”
“No, I think you’re right. Good catch, Lisbon.”
Bosco fingers the files carefully, a silent gesture of approval, studying each one carefully. “Have you called the other offices to get information on the other victims?”
“Already done. They should be faxing records over within the hour.”
Bosco chuckles. “And that’s why one day, you’re going to outrank me.”
“Not true,” she protests.
“Yes, it is,” he turns in his chair, looking her straight in the eye. “And that day is coming sooner than you think.”
xxx
William McTeer’s DMV photograph is deceiving. To anyone else, he would appear to be just an ordinary citizen.
She knows better.
She knows who he really is, knows what he did, but it’s not enough. She can’t prove anything yet.
In disgust, she flips off the computer. She can place him in the same vicinity of four crime scenes, but her evidence is circumstantial at best. There is no question in her mind that if she arrests McTeer on what she has now, he’ll walk, and she can’t allow that to happen. She won’t.
But she has nothing more to go on. No proof.
She and Bosco have gone through every option at their disposal, but they always end up with the same conclusions. Until they can get substantial evidence, they can’t make the arrest; all they could do is hold him for 24 hours. In doing so, they would forfeit their only advantage and tip off McTeer to the fact that he is being watched.
So they wait. Lisbon doesn’t like it, but she tells herself it’s the only solution they have.
That only makes it worse when he slips past her surveillance and strikes again.
xxx
This time, they have evidence. It’s not damning, but it’s not circumstantial either; it’s enough.
When the arrest warrant is signed, McTeer is at the mall, by the arcade. He sees them coming and ducks into the crowd of unsuspecting bystanders, assuming he can disappear into the masses.
He doesn’t count on Lisbon tailing him all the way to the parking lot.
McTeer has a head start, but she is faster, more agile. She takes him by surprise as he rounds the corner by a long row of cars, and she does not miss the look of panic and trepidation in his eyes as she barrels into him full force, knocking him to the ground.
It was a trick she’d taught herself at the academy after one too many classmates underestimated her on the basis of stature. She found it particularly useful in apprehending suspects as they attempted to flee on foot; no one ever expected her to outrun them.
By the time the rest of the team arrives, she already has McTeer in handcuffs, jerking him roughly towards the awaiting squad cars.
Her adrenaline high begins to fade when the car pulls away with McTeer in the backseat, replaced by a sense of guilt and melancholy. He’d attacked seven girls, the last one on her watch.
If only someone had made the connection sooner.
If only there had been more evidence.
If only she had just arrested him before he attacked Katie Whelan.
If only.
If only.
xxx
Back at the station, everyone calls her Saint Teresa; she brushes them off. She doesn’t feel much like a saint, and she certainly doesn’t feel like a hero.
The San Francisco Chronicle stops by looking for an interview, but Bosco intervenes.
“Go home, Teresa,” he urges gently. “I’ll talk to the reporters. You’ve earned a break.”
Self-consciously, she tucks her hair behind her ear and acquiesces, grateful for the excuse to abandon the busy police station. At home, she pulls out a bottle of tequila from her liquor cabinet. She starts to tip the bottle over an empty lowball glass before opting to forego tradition, instead selecting a frozen dinner and retreating to bed.
In the morning, the sky outside her bedroom windows is dull and gray, matching her mood. Her back aches when she awakens, a souvenir from taking down McTeer the previous afternoon.
She sets out on her morning run, her trainers pounding in time against the pavement. When she returns to her apartment, she notices the newspaper on her doorstep. She folds the front page over without glancing at the headlines.
The papers never tell the whole story, anyway.
xxx
end
xxxxx
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Not mine, as always.
Spoilers: Set pre-series, but spoilers for 2x03 (Red Badge).
Summary: The papers never tell the whole story. Teresa Lisbon learns this the hard way.
Author’s Notes: This was originally just going to be my entry to the Awesome Ladies Ficathon, Part II. Of course, life happened and I blew that deadline by more than a month (better late than never right?). I really wanted to focus on Lisbon as a character, without Jane or the rest of the team, so I decided to delve deeper into what I consider a pivotal event in Lisbon’s past. Thanks, as always, to yaba324 for the beta read.
And in case you’re wondering, yes I did borrow the title from the New York Times.
this is fact, not fiction
for the first time in years
--Death Cab For Cutie
xxx
i.
The papers never tell the whole story. She learns this her very first week on the job.
There’s a drug bust going down in Hunter’s Point, and she’s sitting at her desk, running the obligatory background checks and manning the phones as instructed. She turns her head as Bosco calls her name.
“Lisbon,” he says, motioning with his hand. “C’mon. You’re coming too.”
He’s the only one who calls her by her name. To everyone else, she’s “rookie” or “little girl” -- or worse. He nods like he believes in her. She’s eager for the opportunity to prove herself, so she rises from her desk and follows him.
Lisbon may be young, but she’s not naive; the scene doesn’t take her by surprise. A house in disrepair without any responsible adults; an infant’s cries can be heard through the thin walls of the bedroom while the dealer sells to teenagers in the backyard.
She falls to the back when they move in to make the bust. Her job is to guard the exit, so she’s the first person to notice when things start to go wrong. The dealer breaks away from the arresting officers and takes someone’s service weapon in the process. His eyes are wild and desperate, and he points the gun at Bosco.
She calls out, but it’s too late. The Academy doesn’t have a contingency plan for something quite like this, and she’s the only one who has a chance to stop it.
She takes aim. Not to kill, but to disarm. She hesitates before pulling the trigger.
It’s less than a moment’s indecision, but it’s just enough time for the dealer to dodge the bullet. Instead, the stray shot finds another victim.
A young teenager, no more than fourteen years old. The dealer’s younger brother, whose only real crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bullet hits him in the back.
He dies almost instantly.
xxx
She manages to hold herself together while they regain control of the scene, until they return to the station, then she locks herself in the last stall in the women’s restroom. It doesn’t take Bosco long to find her.
“Lisbon,” he says. “You can come out now. Ten minutes is more than enough time.”
She inhales sharply; she had thought she was alone. She is startled, but she slowly opens the stall door and composes herself.
Nearly a minute passes in silence, until Bosco finally speaks up, his voice echoing against the tile walls. “It was a good shot,” he offers gently. “You’re going to be alright. It never gets easy, but the first time is always the hardest. I promise.”
“I killed that boy,” she counters. She has not been crying, but her voice still breaks slightly.
“No,” Bosco shakes his head. “You saved my life. Now c’mon, everyone is going out to O’Leary’s. First round of tequila is on me.”
He pauses when he sees her hesitating.
“You have to come; it’s tradition.”
The knot in her chest still makes it difficult to breathe, but his coaxing smile is difficult to resist so she follows him out the door. The heavy weight on her shoulders is just a little bit lighter.
The next morning all the papers run the same headline: ROOKIE COP SAVES THE DAY. There’s a small picture of her next to the byline, the one they took for her ID at the Academy. Her long hair frames her face, and she eyes the photo warily. It’s all too impractical for her tastes.
That weekend, on impulse, she gets her hair cut in disgust.
ii.
That first shooting stays with her, but she perseveres.
She finds her niche on Bosco’s team. It takes a long time, but she eventually manages to shake the terms “rookie” and “little girl” and instead proves her worth to even the most skeptical of her colleagues.
Some cases are harder than others. Alcoholism, abuse, broken homes; she knows all the signs, knows them all too well. She works every case with the same consummate professionalism, the same drive and determination, but those cases get under her skin -- and they linger a little longer.
There are no immediate red flags when a call comes in one morning in April. It’s only later on that she recognizes it as one of the most important cases she will ever work.
An eight year old girl was abducted from her school playground at recess. Beaten, bruised, and brutally raped, she was left for dead in an alleyway later that same evening.
The team spends days searching tirelessly for the man responsible, only to arrive at dead ends wherever they turn. With neither any DNA nor a description to go by, the trail runs cold quickly, and everyone else is ready to admit defeat.
Everyone, that is, except for her.
xxx
She stays late when the rest of the team has gone home. Still searching for the one detail that seems to elude her.
Something about this case has found its way under her skin. Where her colleagues are disillusioned, she still believes in justice, and she will do everything in her power to ensure that justice is served.
“What are you still doing here?”
She looks up, startled; she thought she was alone.
“Bosco,” she sighs and blinks back fatigue as her supervising agent pulls a chair alongside her. “I feel like I’m missing something on this case. I wanted to take another look before I went home.”
“You’re going to work yourself into the ground, Teresa.” Bosco places one hand gingerly against her shoulder. “You can look at it again in the morning. C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”
She doesn’t want to go, but she’s too tired to argue. Instead, she comes in that much earlier the next morning; by the time the rest of the team begins to file in, she has her answer.
“Danielle Richardson wasn’t the only one,” she announces in greeting as Bosco arrives.
He furrows his brow in response. “What do you mean?”
“There are five other girls in the last eighteen months that fit the same pattern, all unsolved. Each girl was abducted and raped by a man wearing a ski mask,” she answers, and she drops the file open on his desk. “I think it’s the same guy.”
Bosco remains silent, but he gives her a nod of encouragement. He has always listened to what she has to say.
“He’s been careful so far. He never hits the same part of the city, and he never grabs the girls from the same locations: the beach, the county fair, an arcade, and now from a school. That’s why no one else has caught it yet; the connection isn’t obvious.”
“But you think this is all the same guy?”
She nods. “I do. They’re all similar body types, between the ages of six and nine, and the MO fits. At first it was every couple of months, but there were less than five weeks between the last two attacks. I can’t prove anything yet, but --”
“No, I think you’re right. Good catch, Lisbon.”
Bosco fingers the files carefully, a silent gesture of approval, studying each one carefully. “Have you called the other offices to get information on the other victims?”
“Already done. They should be faxing records over within the hour.”
Bosco chuckles. “And that’s why one day, you’re going to outrank me.”
“Not true,” she protests.
“Yes, it is,” he turns in his chair, looking her straight in the eye. “And that day is coming sooner than you think.”
xxx
William McTeer’s DMV photograph is deceiving. To anyone else, he would appear to be just an ordinary citizen.
She knows better.
She knows who he really is, knows what he did, but it’s not enough. She can’t prove anything yet.
In disgust, she flips off the computer. She can place him in the same vicinity of four crime scenes, but her evidence is circumstantial at best. There is no question in her mind that if she arrests McTeer on what she has now, he’ll walk, and she can’t allow that to happen. She won’t.
But she has nothing more to go on. No proof.
She and Bosco have gone through every option at their disposal, but they always end up with the same conclusions. Until they can get substantial evidence, they can’t make the arrest; all they could do is hold him for 24 hours. In doing so, they would forfeit their only advantage and tip off McTeer to the fact that he is being watched.
So they wait. Lisbon doesn’t like it, but she tells herself it’s the only solution they have.
That only makes it worse when he slips past her surveillance and strikes again.
xxx
This time, they have evidence. It’s not damning, but it’s not circumstantial either; it’s enough.
When the arrest warrant is signed, McTeer is at the mall, by the arcade. He sees them coming and ducks into the crowd of unsuspecting bystanders, assuming he can disappear into the masses.
He doesn’t count on Lisbon tailing him all the way to the parking lot.
McTeer has a head start, but she is faster, more agile. She takes him by surprise as he rounds the corner by a long row of cars, and she does not miss the look of panic and trepidation in his eyes as she barrels into him full force, knocking him to the ground.
It was a trick she’d taught herself at the academy after one too many classmates underestimated her on the basis of stature. She found it particularly useful in apprehending suspects as they attempted to flee on foot; no one ever expected her to outrun them.
By the time the rest of the team arrives, she already has McTeer in handcuffs, jerking him roughly towards the awaiting squad cars.
Her adrenaline high begins to fade when the car pulls away with McTeer in the backseat, replaced by a sense of guilt and melancholy. He’d attacked seven girls, the last one on her watch.
If only someone had made the connection sooner.
If only there had been more evidence.
If only she had just arrested him before he attacked Katie Whelan.
If only.
If only.
xxx
Back at the station, everyone calls her Saint Teresa; she brushes them off. She doesn’t feel much like a saint, and she certainly doesn’t feel like a hero.
The San Francisco Chronicle stops by looking for an interview, but Bosco intervenes.
“Go home, Teresa,” he urges gently. “I’ll talk to the reporters. You’ve earned a break.”
Self-consciously, she tucks her hair behind her ear and acquiesces, grateful for the excuse to abandon the busy police station. At home, she pulls out a bottle of tequila from her liquor cabinet. She starts to tip the bottle over an empty lowball glass before opting to forego tradition, instead selecting a frozen dinner and retreating to bed.
In the morning, the sky outside her bedroom windows is dull and gray, matching her mood. Her back aches when she awakens, a souvenir from taking down McTeer the previous afternoon.
She sets out on her morning run, her trainers pounding in time against the pavement. When she returns to her apartment, she notices the newspaper on her doorstep. She folds the front page over without glancing at the headlines.
The papers never tell the whole story, anyway.
xxx
end
xxxxx