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ᴡɪʟʟ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ; ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ p̶r̶o̶f̶i̶l̶e̶r̶ (
2017-02-28 03:16 am (UTC)
It's the way Crash's shoulders slacken and then bend inward instead of posturing up. It's the way his gaze releases its pressure and his pupils track away and don't widen in alarm. That's not the nervous next-step-planning of a guy who knows he's about to be caught in an elaborate lie.
Will finds, as he's waiting for that name and badge number, that he's starting to really believe this is going to be genuine.
" Is the only squinting commentary Will gets to have on that ridiculous name, though, before a receptionist picks up.
"Houston Police Department. This call is monitored for your service. What can we do for you?" Will's already sat through a brief directory, and he's not really looking to beat around the bush with this.
"This is Detective Will Graham, with the New Orleans Police Department." Will usually stares into space when on the phone, but right now he's concentrated on one Crash - sorry,
- and the way his posture changes. It stretches that leather biker jacket in unfamiliar patterns, creaks the material all wrong, and Will imagines that that's not a pose Cohle's struck for quite some time.
And possibly never while wearing that fucking gang jacket.
"Is Amelia Hill in? I need to speak with her."
"Sorry, sir, she's busy, but I can take a message--"
Phones have always been a weak point for Will's rudeness. He interrupts without a twitch, the other man's voice fading compliantly out of the way. And, as it turns out, Will goes all-in on this story he's being told. That posture tic is damn convincing. "I've got one of her undercover agents in my holding cell right now. Rustin Cohle, one-five-five-seven-four."
There's a long pause. "I'm transferring you right now, sir."
"I appreciate it."
Without covering the speaker - there's only elevator music filtering through for a moment anyway, no one to keep from overhearing - Will keeps his gaze pinned tight on Cohle's face. "Congratulations on not actually getting arrested." Through the haze of surprise - this isn't unlike stumbling across a fairy tale, arresting an undercover officer from out of state - there is the barest thread of self-aware amusement, of a rough sandpaper humor that maybe Will is only reading off of the room's other occupant.
"And on just giving me a good week's worth of papers to file about this, I'm sure." Not that there's any point, when it's surely going to end up redacted anyway.
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