Arrest: Victoria Romero

[Toaster]

Hartley strode through the automatic front doors of the Houston branch office with his usual quick and over-confident stride, reaching up to take off his hat as the tassels of his duster billowed around his legs. He gave the woman at the reception desk a smile. She, in turn, rolled her eyes at his appearance.

"You still look ridiculous in that getup, sir," she commented as the detective stepped up to and leaned against her desk.

He snorted in response. "Madeleine, I'm an investigator. I've gotta look the part."

The receptionist tipped and tapped away at her keyboard, bringing a list of files onto the screen set into the tabletop. A moment later, the PDA in Hartley's pocket vibrated.

"That's what we have on her," the woman said. Then, eyeing Hartley and shaking her head in exasperation, "You're too old for costumes."

Hartley chuckled gruffly and walked off, down the busy corridors of the office building, down a flight of stairs - elevators irked him -, and into the holding and processing area, where a long line of men and women awaited their turn to be scanned, frisked, and shoved into a temporary cell to await 'trial' and transfer to a proper prison. Putting his hat on again and pulling the wide brim down over his face - no point letting any of these petty lowlifes recognize him -, the detective made his way through the crowd, past the busy officers, and into a smaller section separated into makeshift interrogation rooms by simple dividers.

A young corporal met him there, directing him towards one of the cubicles.

"Want an armed guard, sir?" The officer asked as they stepped up to it. Hartley regarded him with a condescending eye.

"She came willingly. I think I'll be fine. Besides," he patted the slight bulge in his coat's chest, "I'm already armed." With that, he strode into the small room and found himself face to face with the woman he had arrested just half an hour earlier. She sat at the small table in the center of the cell, hands cuffed to its top with magnetic bonds. Hartley regarded her for a moment; then, with a sigh, removed his hat again and sat down in the empty chair across from her, dropping the hat on the desk. His eyes shot up to the small camera set into the corner of the wall.

Hartley:
[Removing a PDA from his coat pocket.] Sorry for the spartan accommodations. New leadership's restructuring the offices, y'know?