PHD #323: A Delicate Inquiry
A Delicate Inquiry
Summary: Stavrian brings Kincaid information about Rene-Marie, the civilian firebrand.
Date: 16 Jan 2041 AE
Related Logs: Omar Comin'
Kincaid Stavrian 
Marine Offices — Deck 6 — Battlestar Cerberus
This offices consists of desks for those under the CO, along with his desk toward the back of the room. The S1 and S2 have desks here and the place is neat as a pin, with everything in its place. At the front of the room, a Marine sits at a desk to meet people as they come in through the hatch.
Post-Holocaust Day: #323

Stavrian may not technically be a Marine, but having been to so many trainings and away missions, he's a familiar enough face to many. In his olive-and-reds with the top collar button undone to ward off any duty questions, he stops at the front desk to ask after someone in particular. 'Kincaid', that's the name that gets floated back. His arms fold loosely as he waits.

"Hey, Doc." Kincaid comes forward from the back of the office, where he was doing some filing or something. He holds out his hand, offering it to shake. "What can I do for you?" Not the usual MP, perhaps.

"Lance, how are you." Stavrian's slow to accept the handshake, shifting his arms before letting them open up. One shake, firm, retreat. "Just an issue you might know more about than me, is all." His Sagittarian accent is still quite heavy, not an attempt in the world made to make it sound more neutral. "There somewhere we could sit for a minute? Quiet?"

"Yeah. Absolutely. Come on back to my office." Of course, the line police don't get offices. Instead, it's a desk crammed in the back of the Marine Offices with two chairs in front of it. He drops into one, pushing another out for the medic. Kincaid reaches into his breast pocket for his reporter's notebook and ballpoint pen, glancing over at Stavrian. "What's on your mind?"

"Nicer office than mine," Stavrian mutters, distractedly. "Cheap bastards." He settles into the seat, blue eyes briefly sweeping the short angle next to him. Then back to Kincaid. His chin lifts slightly, indicating the notebook, and as he makes eye contact again he gently shakes his head.

The pen and notebook disappear once more into the pocket. Kincaid holds his hands up. Nothing in the hands. "What's on your mind?" he repeats.

Stavrian is silent for a moment more, shifting forward slightly in his chair so that he can keep his voice relatively soft. "I've got…" He trails off and sucks gently on a right tooth. "I've got something looks like it might've been a foul play death. But I don't have quite enough to go there, if you understand."

"Yeah?" Kincaid nods once, trying to keep his expression schooled into a vague look of interest. "What have you got?"

Stavrian also nods once, a very restrained motion. "You remember couple months ago when the Cylons hit that stairwell? Night CMO Diego died?"

Kincaid nods once, frowning a little bit. "Yeah, sure. Of course. I was in Basic then." He is silent then, though he makes a vague motion for Stavrian to 'go on.'

"There was a PO2 died that night. Marissa Langer." Stavrian clears his throat softly. "Official C-O-D blunt force trauma to the head. Fell and hit a bulkhead. I was tipped…that it wasn't right. Gave it a look, and…" He makes an uneasy tip of his head. "It's got merit."

"Langer. All right. I guess that's how you got my name, then." Kincaid nods slowly. "All right. When you say it's got merit. How much merit? What evidence have you got?"

"Visual," Stavrian replies quietly. "Strongly suggests that the injury marked as her COD was postmortem. And that there was another injury to the back of her head, undocumented. Likely the real cause. It could still be accidental…I don't have enough to make a case that it definitely wasn't. I wouldn't be up here with it except that my tip believes it's linked to someone you already know." He doesn't sound wholly convinced of this, but relays it anyway. "Name of 'Piers'."

"Piers." Kincaid echoes back the name. "Well. All right. Piers and Langer were lovers. But what gave your tipster the idea that Piers was connected with Langer's death?" He attempts to keep his questions neutral, like this is just a pleasant little chat.

"Says Piers and this PO fought like cats, and saw them go into that stairwell together. That's as strong as it gets," Stavrian replies, as if he were just telling Kincaid what his favorite color was. "Sounds shaky to me too." He gently scratches his nose. "Look, here's the issue. I've got a death that looks bad. That evidence I have wasn't gotten in the most…" He purses his lips, not entirely happy with this. "…'official' manner. So I can't come out swinging with it. Only way this goes anywhere is if the high hand of law enforcement finds something that gives me a reason to go backhunting. Make a tidier report. So that's why I'm here. If you got the inclination to take a look at your files based on this, I'm in your debt. If not, we both go back to our filing cabinets and that's that."

"Piers …" Kincaid trails off. " … Piers is an interest of mine. He's got a past that is pretty sketchy as well. So this …" He gestures over at Stavarian. "… I mean, as much as I hate to say it, this isn't necessarily something that surprises me. But the problem is Piers is a political issue. With his leadership in the civilian Fleet — well, we can't just haul him in to question him or slap him in cuffs. We need to be careful as to how we handle him. So, if you go ahead and take an official look into this for me, can you agree to not publicize that you're doing it?"

"I'm not publicizing a thing," Stavrian's voice stays mild. "I'll be eating enough shit when it comes time to claim a doctor botched an autopsy. Quieter the better." He pinches his fingers down the end of his nose. "Take a look, if a case gets opened I'll clean up what I have, try to minimize the blowback. If you need to talk to that source I'll see what I can do…but I don't want him landing in shit for doing the right thing."

"All right. Thanks, Doc." Kincaid gets to his feet and pats Stavarian on the shoulder. "Let's make some informal inquiries, see what turns up. If we need to make this official, we'll see about crossing our t's and dotting our i's then, huh?"

Stavrian tenses when his shoulder's touched. Reflex. He gives Kincaid a rigid nod, pushing his chair back from the desk before standing. "I'll keep looking at what I got. If I find anything useful next couple days, I'll slide it under the table. Thanks, Lance."

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