Chris got the name Galen Briggs but could not tell his supervisor who gave him that name. Officially, there was no crime, so how could they have a suspect or even a person of interest to interview? Freya was determined to speak to him anyway, but it would have to be outside of work hours -- no gun and no badge. That was fine with her. She never liked using her gun and she didn’t need her badge to get people to talk to her. 

After their shift was over Freya was back in Lions, this time in a different neighborhood, one where the privileged rarely tread; they preferred to think places like this did not exist. Freya wore no clothes signifying her as law enforcement. Her long black robe was tied across her waist, and its hood slipped over her waves so that one could only see the dark features of her face if they were facing her. That was how she always traveled at night, for without a badge, the darkness of her skin made her suspicious to the wealthy and paranoid. 

Chris was not there to accompany her as tonight he had his date. He had implored Freya not to go alone, but Freya believed his presence might create an obstacle to getting the information they sought. She wanted to make sure that Briggs did not feel threatened or ganged up on. 

A streetlight flickered overhead as she walked past small houses with windows covered by boards that were marked by spray paint. The graffiti held age-old messages that the majority of people outside of the neighborhood had no interest in hearing. 

A foot-high "No Trespassing" sign stood in Briggs’ front yard with a red X splayed over the "No". Through the crack in the front window she could hear a television blaring. She saw a shadow move inside and then the house went dark and silent. He’d seen her.

"Mister Briggs," she said as she rapped on the door. "I need to talk to you about the theft at the Sapien Museum this morning. I’m not here to hurt you or arrest you, but I need to know what you found."

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door, approaching cautiously. "Why should I trust you?" he said. 

"I’m here alone. I’m unarmed. I have no means to hurt you, even if I wanted to. I just want to talk." 

"Who are you?" 

"My name is Freya Elison. I work for the police, but I am here on my own," she said. "I know you were at the museum this morning, and I know you found something that scares you."

There was a loud slam on the other side of the door. "Those goddamn kids can’t keep their damn mouths shut." 

The burst of temper didn’t deter her, didn’t make her flinch. She knew the reaction was coming, along with the resignation that followed. The door opened, just a crack, just enough so that Briggs could lower his voice to a whisper. 

"I gave everything back that I took," he said, "except the binder. That’s how I can stop them going after the boys."

"Because they’d rather let theft go unpunished than have you release what’s in that binder," Freya said. "But if it’s that important to them, they will come for you. Do you believe you’ll be showed mercy?" The response was silence. Hesitation. "I’m not interested in sending a couple of kids to jail for petty theft, Mister Briggs. They’ll be safe. And we can protect you."

"The police don’t give a damn about us," he said. His voice cracked. He was breaking. 

"I do," she said. She calculated her next words, and decided on a plea to his conscience. "You saw something in that binder that scared you. People hurt, right? Killed?" Again, silence. "Whatever they are doing, we can stop it. We can stop anyone else from getting hurt."

After a moment, the door swung open for her, revealing Galen Briggs in shorts and a dirty white t-shirt, with an unkempt beard and brown-gray hair. "The binder is a ledger," he said. "A record of the deals they made to procure some of the items they have on display. And their biggest supplier? Let’s just say I’ve had dealings with them." 

"Dealings?" Freya knew what he was getting at, but she needed him to be clear in his words.

"It’s a black market, Officer. Fisher Ride. He’s the leader. No one really knows how deep his gang goes. I’ve only ever dealt with copies."

Copy was an underground term for a decoy, someone who took the (false) name of the gang leader to broker deals with a buyer so that the actual kingpin’s identity remained a secret. "How often?"

"A few times, up until a couple years back," he said. "A deal went wrong and two of my associates were tortured and killed. I don’t do that, Officer. Never killed anyone, never had anyone killed. I got my nephew to look after since my damned brother ain’t worth shit."

Freya knew that he was being as honest as he’d ever been with law enforcement. "So you saw Fisher Ride in the ledger and that got you spooked?" she asked.

The man shook his head. His hand still firmly grasped the doorknob. "No, it wasn’t that. The binder, the ledger -- it named a place called Julio’s Ridge. I know it. One of the Sapien settlements up north. Fisher procured something there for the museum. I don’t know what it was so don’t ask me. But I know Julio’s Ridge. Have guys up there. They tell me Fisher’s copy came to town a few months ago -- around the same time the ledger’s dated -- and soon some of the elders of the settlement began to disappear. Just vanish. No one’s seen ’em."

"Why’d you take the binder, Galen?" Freya asked. The question was both investigative and almost parental in sentiment, like a soft admonishment. 

Briggs let out a breath and dipped his head. "It was stupid. I thought I’d trade the binder for them to drop charges against the boys. I didn’t think it through." 

"You already had the information," she said.

"But no proof!" He said this to her in an ecstatic whisper, leaning forward to bring the two of them closer. "You’d never be able to move forward on an investigation based solely on my word." 

He was right. She needed the binder for her bosses to approve of any official investigation by the police. She couldn’t go on his word alone, especially when she had no permission from her department to be here in the first place. But she could feel his fear, and she knew that he believed they’d kill him if he handed it over to her. 

"You need to be careful," she said. "You’re treading on dangerous ground here." 

"I can protect myself." The confidence with which he spoke hid a deeper layer of panic. She’d need to make sure that people at the museum knew that she now considered Galen Briggs under her protection -- Chris was good at sending strong messages to that end. 

"Thank you for your help, Mister Briggs," she said, stepping back. "Be safe." 

She walked off and grabbed her communicator. It was time to interrupt her partner’s date.