The bullpen had its usual morning hum. Phones rang, typewriters clacked, and Hitchcock was loudly chewing something that definitely wasn't gum. Amy sat at her desk, hunched over evidence files, photos, and data from the memory card Ray had pulled off Carl at the docks. The pile was stacked so high that Boyle had to lean sideways just to see her face.
Her brow furrowed. More photos of Emma Watson and Emma Stone. Shots of them going in and out of buildings, cars, airports. All timestamped. It would seem that Carl had been following them for months.
Boyle leaned in with a half-eaten sandwich in hand. "Wait. Hold on. This creep wasn't obsessed with one Emma… he was obsessed with two Emmas? That's like… that's like someone choosing between pizza and pasta. It's impossible. You just have to love both."
Amy grimaced. "Boyle, please. Do not compare world-famous actresses being stalked to your carb cravings."
Boyle held up his hands. "Sorry. But you gotta admit it's weird. Two Emmas? What are the odds?"
She clicked open a file. "Not as weird as it looks. As you know, Carl was working for someone. Maybe two someones." She pulled up another document and turned the monitor so Boyle could see. A mugshot appeared of a man with greasy hair, pale skin, and a smirk that screamed "restraining order."
"Look. The guy stalking Emma Watson? I think that's Andy Lexington. He owned the apartment Watson bought. According to records, he worked at a café a few blocks away until he was arrested seven years ago. Charges were molestation and stalking. Served time. While he was inside, his wife sold the apartment and moved to France."
Boyle's eyes widened. "Okay, that's creepy already. But go on."
Amy tapped the screen. "And here's the kicker. Andy got out of prison a week after Emma Watson bought the place. Guess where he's been spotted almost every single day since then?"
He leaned in close. "Oh no. Don't say it."
She nodded. "CCTV footage shows him circling that block. Staring up at her apartment. He's practically casing it. I'd put the chances of him being our stalker at around eighty-five percent."
Boyle rubbed his chin. "Eighty-five's good, but not great. Like, if a restaurant had an eighty-five percent on a health inspection, I'd still eat there, but I'd bring my own fork."
Amy gave him a look. "Thank you for that disturbingly relatable metaphor."
He brightened. "So what's next? Do we… stake it out?"
Amy hesitated. "I was going to run this through Captain first. But…" She looked back at the CCTV photo, Andy half-hidden in the shadows. "A night stakeout could catch him in the act."
Boyle's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Yes! Night stakeout! It's been months since we had one. Remember the last time? You brought that thermos of chamomile tea, I brought beef jerky, and we saw that raccoon break into the pizzeria dumpster. Classic."
Amy gave him a pointed look. "You're forgetting that you screamed when the raccoon hissed at you."
Boyle clutched his chest, defensive. "That raccoon had dead eyes, Amy. Dead. Eyes."
Amy shook her head, hiding a smile. "Fine. We'll run it by the Captain. If he approves, we'll set up near Emma's apartment tonight."
Boyle practically bounced on his toes. "Yes! This is going to be great. Stakeouts are where partners bond. You know, share secrets, play road trip games, maybe..."
Amy cut him off. "Don't even think about it."
[Later, Captain Holt's Office]
Holt sat behind his desk, expression as unreadable as ever. Amy stood at attention, file in hand, while Boyle hovered beside her like a very excited balloon.
"Captain," Amy began, "Based on evidence recovered from Carl's car and further CCTV analysis, the likely suspect is Andy Lexington. He has a prior record and was spotted daily near Emma Watson's apartment. We'd like to conduct a night stakeout to confirm."
Holt steepled his fingers after he finished reading the report. "You believe Mr. Lexington is responsible for stalking not one, but two internationally recognized actresses?"
Boyle jumped in. "Yes, sir! The two-Emma case. Double the stars, double the danger. It's like the Avengers of stalking. And, since Emma Stone hasn't filed any complaints, we think the stalker is yet to make his or her move against her. The sooner we catch one, the sooner we'll know if we are dealing with one or two stalkers. Then we can alert the other party."
Holt's face didn't move. "Detective Boyle, please refrain from comparing celebrity endangerment to a Marvel crossover event."
Boyle straightened, chastened. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Though if I had to cast—"
Amy elbowed him sharply. "What Boyle means is, this is serious. We are running out of options at this point, and if Lexington is escalating, we need eyes on that apartment. We don't want another situation like the shootout."
Holt gave a single nod. "Very well. Permission granted. Santiago, you will lead. And since Ray is still in the hospital... Boyle, you will accompany."
"Of course, Captain," Amy said crisply.
Boyle said with far too much enthusiasm. "You can count on us, sir."
...
[Night]
The night was quiet except for the occasional honk or distant siren. Their unmarked car sat a block from Emma Watson's apartment, headlights off, heater barely humming. The dash clock blinked 3:27 AM.
Amy sat rigidly in the passenger seat, binoculars up, jotting neat notes every couple of minutes. Boyle, in the driver's seat, had a thermos and a bag of trail mix balanced on his lap.
"Stakeouts," Boyle whispered dramatically, "the true bonding ritual of detectives. Like camping, but instead of mosquitoes, we get stalkers."
Amy didn't look away from her binoculars. "Charles, please. Less camping commentary, more watching."
He held up a piece of trail mix. "Almond?"
"No."
"Cashew?"
"No."
"Raisin shaped like George Washington?"
Amy lowered her binoculars long enough to give him a sharp look. "Definitely no."
Boyle sighed, popping it into his mouth. "Your loss. Founding Father raisins are rare."
Before Amy could respond, movement caught her eye. She sat up straighter, adjusting the binoculars. "There—by the lamppost. That's him. Andy Lexington."
Boyle squinted through the windshield. "Yep. That greasy hair screams 'restraining order.'"
They watched as Andy fiddled with something in his pocket, glancing nervously up and down the street. That's when a second figure appeared beside him. A woman with messy blond curls, oversized glasses, and a leather jacket. She carried a camera bag slung across her shoulder.
Amy's eyes widened. "Oh no. That's Roxy Lane."
Boyle's jaw dropped. "The Roxy Lane? The gossip blogger? She once wrote a twelve-part exposé on Ryan Gosling's sock choices."
Amy muttered, "She's infamous. She chases celebrities for dirt. If she's teamed up with Andy…"
Boyle gasped softly. "Then this is the paparazzi–stalker crossover event Captain didn't want me to mention!"
Amy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Focus, Boyle. He's pulling out something."
Sure enough, Andy slipped a shiny spare key from his pocket. He gave Roxy a smug look, then slid it into the lock of Emma Watson's building.
Amy hissed, "We can't wait for backup. If he gets inside—"
"I'm on it!" Boyle whispered, yanking his seatbelt so hard it snapped against his chest. He scrambled out of the car with surprising stealth for a man carrying three bags of snacks.
They crept up the steps just as Andy pushed the door open. Amy shouted, pointing her gun at them, "NYPD! Freeze!"
Andy spun, eyes wide. He tried to run. Roxy shrieked, clutching her camera. Boyle lunged, his foot catching on the welcome mat, and he went sprawling straight into Andy's legs. Andy toppled with a strangled yell.
Amy rushed in, grabbing Roxy's wrist before she could bolt. The journalist shrieked again, more offended than afraid. "I'm just here for the truth! And maybe a close-up of her skincare routine!"
Amy wrestled the camera bag off her and snapped cuffs around her wrists. "You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit burglary and stalking. You have the right to remain silent and..." She did the usual textbook arrest with the words they usually say during an arrest.
Meanwhile, Boyle groaned from the floor but proudly held up Andy's wrist in a perfect cuffed grip. "Got him! Textbook tackle! …Well, maybe more like cookbook tackle. My ribs feel like soup, and my legs are like Jell-O. I should've stretched my legs a bit."
Amy rolled her eyes but allowed herself a small smile. "Nice work, partner."
Boyle beamed through the pain. "Stakeouts really do bring people closer."
Andy groaned. Roxy scowled. The squad had their suspects.
...
[30 minutes later]
A squad car took them to the precinct, then they had a talk with Emma about the situation. After wrapping up, they left. Amy still posted two officers to look after her apartment for the rest of the night, just as a safety precaution.
On the drive back, Boyle leaned forward over the steering wheel, his eyes glowing with excitement. "Can you believe it, Amy? We just saved Hermione Granger from being stalked by greasy McCreeps-a-lot. This is going in my top ten detective moments of all time. Right between 'capturing the pigeon crime ring' and 'watching Ray folding that giant guy at the mall.'"
Amy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Charles, please. It's four in the morning. Can we not rank pigeons right now?"
But Boyle was already revved up. "You know what else is in my top ten? Ray and Rosa's love story. Honestly, it's like a fairy tale. Two tough warriors, scarred but strong, finding solace in each other's arms. They're madly in love. You can practically smell the wedding cake in the air."
Amy stared out the window, her jaw tightening slightly. "They've only been together a short time. It's… fast."
Boyle drummed his fingers excitedly on the steering wheel. "Amy, do you realize what this means? We're officially one step closer to Ray and Rosa's wedding. And you know what comes before the wedding? Bachelor party. Ohhh, I already have spreadsheets. Multiple spreadsheets."
Amy gave him a tired look. "Charles, they've been together for like, what, a few months? Maybe let them… breathe before planning their nuptials."
Boyle shook his head furiously. "No, no, no. Love this intense doesn't follow normal timelines. This is epic-level, Shakespearean, Nicholas Sparks-meets-Tarantino kind of love. I can practically hear the wedding bells. And more importantly, the wedding menu."
Amy muttered under her breath, "Of course it's the menu."
Boyle ignored her skepticism and launched into his pitch like he'd been rehearsing in the mirror. "Picture this. For Rosa: roasted boar with a serrano chili glaze. Very primal. Very axe-wielding-warrior-queen. For Ray: slow-cooked venison bourguignon, because it screams 'strong silent type with a hidden tenderness.' And then the appetizers? Exotic fusion. I'm talking Icelandic puffin sliders, Peruvian alpaca tartare, and a sushi bar where the fish are sliced to the beat of 'Eye of the Tiger.'"
She grimaced. "That's… horrifying. You can't feed puffins to guests."
He gasped like she'd just suggested canceling Christmas. "Amy! Puffin is the wagyu beef of the skies. It's a delicacy."
"Pretty sure it's a felony," Amy muttered, but Boyle was on a roll.
"And don't even get me started on dessert," He continued with dreamy eyes. "A twelve-tier cake shaped like Rosa's motorcycle. Each tier a different exotic flavor. Passionfruit-lavender, durian-pistachio, maybe even yak butter cream. Bold. Dangerous. Just like them."
Amy leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes as if the glass might swallow her whole. Her voice came out flat. "Sounds… perfect, Charles."
Boyle beamed, completely missing the edge in her tone. "Right? Oh, and the bachelor party! Axe throwing, of course. But with live goats roaming around, because Rosa would love the unpredictability. And a private whiskey tasting in a bunker, because nothing says 'eternal bond' like sampling scotch underground."
'What the hell? Live goats?! Haa... Charles.' Amy forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You've thought about this way too much."
Boyle's voice softened, suddenly a little sentimental. "I just want them to have the best. They've been through so much. They deserve a celebration that's as unforgettable as their love."
Amy swallowed hard, keeping her gaze fixed on the blur of city lights outside. "Yeah. They do."
Boyle sighed happily, already picturing exotic animals and tiered cakes. Amy kept her face neutral, but deep down the thought gnawed at her. Rosa and Ray had moved fast. And she was definitely jealous and couldn't get Ray out of her mind. Previously, she told herself before that she won't get in Rosa's way, but for some reason, she just couldn't help but feel this way...
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[24 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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