#and she works doing autopsies on the bodies of victims of homicide

[bornonthesavage]

Detective Steve x Serial Killer Eddie 

CW: Discussions of dead bodies and methods of murder 

The hot tip of the cigarette smoldered red, burning up the end as smoke swirled away into the damp afternoon sky. It had been a wet October, the air already thick with the smells of dead leaves and petrichor. Steve liked the rain, he did, but shit. Sometimes it would be nice to stand out in the sun. At least it wasn’t raining now, something his hair was grateful for. He tilted his head back and blew out a cloud of smoke, the tip of his tongue pressing into his bottom lip.

Behind him he heard movement, the steady sound of familiar footsteps, followed as always by Nancy’s no-nonsense voice. “Steve, hurry up with your smoke break. We have work to do.”

He nodded once, taking a last drag before stubbing it out on the nearby wall. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t get your holster in a twist.”

When he turned, she was already giving him a stern look. “This is no time to mess around.”

“Why not? It’s not like the body’s going anywhere.”

It was the third one in a month. Which, for a city like Indianapolis, wasn’t a ton. The problem was that they knew all the murders had been committed by the same person. They had a serial killer on their hands. It was Steve’s first, since he’d joined the force three years prior. Sure, he’d dealt with plenty of homicide cases, but a serial killer was something else entirely. It set the force on edge, as they knew they were on a time crunch before someone else ended up dead. Nancy most of all, it seemed.

“Stop joking. Henderson says he has some more info for us.”

Steve nodded. “Alright. Lead the way.”

They marched through the first level of the empty building, a construction sight that had been put on hold, until they reached the stairs. The victim had been found on the second level early that morning by the owner of the property, as he’d been doing his weekly inspection. As soon as they’d been called in, Steve knew what they’d find. It was a gruesome sight.

They stepped into the room together, the space already full with others as they moved around and collected evidence. Jonathon was crouched near the head of the victim, taking photos, while Henderson stood nearby taking notes.

“What information do you have for us?” Nancy asked at they approached.

Henderson glanced up and gave Steve a head nod. “The body is in pretty much the same state as the others. All the bones in each limb are broken, as is the jaw. We’ll need to do an autopsy, obviously, but I’m willing to bet all breaks happened premortem. As did the removal of the eyes.”

“So, they were tortured,” Steve summarized. “Just like the others.”

“Yep.” Henderson nodded. “As you can see, the body was also strung upside down using cable wire. Again, we’ll need an autopsy, but the cause of death was almost certainly blood loss from the cut throat.”

Yeah, Steve sort of gathered that. The kiddie pool filled with blood, placed just below the strung-up body, sort of made it obvious. He took a step closer and leaned down to get a better look at the gash along the throat. It was deep, done with a sure hand.

Nancy looked back at Henderson. “So, you’re absolutely positive that it’s—”

“The Upside-Down Killer? Yeah, positive.”

Steve snorted as he straightened up. “I can’t believe you’re all calling him that.”

“Them,” Nancy corrected. “We don’t know it’s a man.”

“Statistically, it’s the most likely outcome though.”

Nancy pursed her lips, unable to argue that point. “Alright, well, were you able to find anything else? Anything that might help us catch the son of a bitch?”

At that, Henderson’s face lit up. “Actually, yes. Maybe. Come over here.”

They followed behind him to the far corner of the room, Steve keeping a pace behind. Henderson crouched down and pointed to what looked like a partial boot print. It was just the back half, imprinted in some dirt that must have blown in during the last rain storm. A small smile tugged at Nancy’s lips.

“This is good. This is the first bit of evidence we’ve been able to gather on this guy.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so it is a guy now?”

“Obviously. Look at how big that boot print is. So unless the killer is a woman with oddly large feet, it’s a man.”

Steve hummed, his eyes trailing back to the print. It was extremely clear, easily picked up to add to evidence. The killer was getting sloppy. This was good for the department, evident by Nancy’s bolstered mood. She straightened up and turned to Jonathan.

“Make sure you get plenty of shots of the boot, with measurements. Then get the rest of the team in here to collect the body and get it back to the lab. If our killer already messed up with this boot print, who knows what other ways he could have slipped.”

Jonathan nodded, already making his way over. Nancy turned and marched out of the room, but Steve lingered behind. He stopped beside the body, taking in the gaunt and twisted face of the man. It never really got easier, to see bodies twisted and mutilated in this way. It was a part of the job, sure, but there was a reason Steve hadn’t gone into pathology. He would rather be on the puzzle solving side. Henderson came to stand beside him.

“We’ve got to catch this monster, Steve. He’s getting bolder. This murder happened only a week after the last. A whole week sooner than between the first and second. He’ll kill again, and soon.”

Steve let out a deep sigh and nodded. He knew that was true, of course. More people were going to die. He clapped his hand onto Henderson’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry. We always catch them eventually, especially nowadays. He’d have to be a mastermind to get away with this for long.”

Henderson gave him a smile. “There’s the cocky Steve we all know. You always get your man, huh?”

Steve tossed him a wink. “Always.”

By the time he made it outside, Nancy was finishing up her call beside the car. He caught the tail end of what she was saying as he approached.

“Yeah, will do. We’re headed back to the station now, and once we have the full autopsy we should have a better grasp on this thing. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

She hung up and turned to Steve. “Hopper says to get back to the station now so we can write up our full reports. We need to figure out if this guy has any relation to the other victims.”

Steve nodded as he climbed into the car. “He might be the missing link we’ve been looking for. I still haven’t been able to find any common thread between the other two, but maybe we’ll find something here.”

“Hopefully. We need a break in this case.”

Indianapolis had never been where Steve wanted to end up. It was never more obvious than on days like this, with the sky overcast in grey and the littered streets flitting past outside the car window. No, Steve had always wanted to move some place with more sun. Maybe California or Arizona. Someplace warm. But for now, he was needed here.

Steve had always had a thing, ever since childhood, that made him need to be useful. Perhaps it was because his parents never even looked at him unless he was doing something they deemed good, something they could show off to all their friends. Daddy issues, how original. It was the whole reason he’d gotten into this line of work to begin with. As a detective, he could help someone in a way that really mattered. In a way that was important.

His therapist would tell him it was unhealthy to get off on the idea of only holding value so long as he could provide a service. That was precisely why he didn’t have a therapist. There was no way he needed another person inside his head, picking apart all the reasons he did what he did.

When they reached the precinct, Steve lingered in the car for another second while Nancy jumped out almost as soon as it was in park. She was always like this when there was a case she deemed important. At first, some of the other guys had called her Nany Drew. Both she and Steve had shut that down pretty damn fast. Steve watched as she marched up the steps and threw open the door, not even waiting to see if Steve was following. Which was fine. He usually needed to take a moment before walking into the chaos. Steve leaned against the headrest and took a few measured breaths, then pushed open his door and climbed out.

Almost as soon as he was through the door, the new recruit, Will, approached him. “Hey, Hopper’s waiting for you in his office. I think Nancy’s already there.”

Steve gave him a brief nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”

By the time he got to Hopper’s office, Nancy was already pacing back and forth as she recounted the new information they’d learned. Steve leaned against the wall beside the door and listened.

“This means he’s getting sloppy. And that’s only what we have on a first inspection. Once forensics gets in there, who knows what else they’ll find? I think we’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Hopper leaned back in his chair. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. This guy is a sick son of a bitch and we don’t know what he’s capable of. I want you two to revisit what we have so far and this new evidence. Get an ID for this victim, see if there are any connections.”

“Already on it,” Nancy said. “I have Max looking through the missing people who’ve been reported in the last week. If this victim has anyone who cares about him, he’ll be there.”

“Good. Steve, what have you found about the previous two victims?”

Steve straightened up and pulled out his phone, where he’d made a file. “The first body we found belonged to Andy Phillips. He was a local tax broker, no history or record in our systems. As far as I can tell, he was pretty straightlaced. The second victim was Martin Brenner. He was a surgeon, one of the tops in his field in fact. There were some rumors about him being sued for malpractice, but nothing ever came of it. So far, I haven’t found a connection.”

Hopper drummed his fingers on his desk. “Alright. Get to work on adding this new evidence to the case. I want the report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir,” Nancy said, already storming out the door. Sometimes it surprised Steve, just how much of a force of nature she was.

It was hours later, when Steve was bent over his computer and writing up his report, that Nancy burst into the room with a wide smile on her face. It was a little unnerving, considering the case they were working on. She slapped a file down on his desk.

“Fred Benson.”

Steve blinked, looking at the papers. “What?”

Nancy slid a few sheets around until it revealed a picture of a bespeeched man in a white pressed shirt. “Fred Benson. That’s the name of our newest victim.”

“Jesus, how did you find that so fast?” he asked, picking up the file to flip through.

“Oh please, you know I’m just that good. Max also helped. This guy was reported missing two days ago when he didn’t come home from his job. Apparently, he worked for Indianapolis Times as a journalist.”

Steve hummed as he read the missing person report. “Any connections to the other two bodies?”

She shrugged and moved around the desk to sit in the chair opposite him. “I haven’t got that far yet. But I do think we’re starting to see a pattern in this guy’s victims.”

Steve snorted. “What, that they were all really fucking boring?”

“No,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “They’re all middle to upper class white men.”

“Eh, that’s not really an MO.”

“How can you say that? If they were all women with red hair, you’d see it.”

He tossed the file back onto the desk and leaned back, kicking his feet up. “Yeah, because that would be specific. These guys look nothing like each other. Hell, that Brenner guy was at least forty years older than the other.”

Nancy pursed her lips. “Still. It’s something that we should consider.”

“And we will. We’ll consider everything, just like we always do.”

Nancy opened her mouth to say something more, but just then the door opened and Chrissy walked in carrying two cups of what smelled like coffee.

“Hey guys!” she said with a bright smile. “I heard you were working hard on that new serial killer case and thought you might both need a pick me up.”

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver,” Nancy said, reaching out for the mug offered to her.

“It’s no problem,” she said, turning to hand the other mug to Steve. “Have you made any headway?”

Steve motioned to the file. “Yeah, actually. Nancy thinks we finally have an MO for who the killer goes after.”

Chrissy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Eh,” Steve waved a hand. “Sort of. Considering so far all we have is ��White guys’, I’d say that’s not too helpful.”

Nancy shot him a look. “Hey, it’s something! We can start building a character analysis, at least.”

Chrissy took the file from Nancy’s hand and flipped it open, her big eyes scanning through the papers. “Let me take this down to evidence so it can be documented. I’ll let you guys get back to it.”

Steve raised his mug and gave her a smile. “Thanks, Chris.”

She slipped out the door with one more wave. In her wake, Nancy got a thoughtful look. Steve knew that could only mean trouble.

“I think this guy, this serial killer, has some issues.”

Steve almost choked on his coffee. He set the mug down and dabbed at the drops that had fallen on his tie. “Gee, Nance, you don’t say? What could possible have given it away? Was it the torture? Or was it the kiddie pool filled with blood?”

“Cut the sarcasm, Harrington,” she said, pointing one manicured nail at him. “And I mean, yes, it’s all of it. But more so, it’s the painstaking details this guy goes through to make every kill the same. Usually, it’s something pretty simple, like strangulation with electrical cord or cutting off a persons head. But not this guy. He always makes sure to break all the bones in the exact same place, saving the jaw for last. Then it’s the eyes, which he takes. After that, he strings them up in the exact same manner with the same pink kiddie pool beneath them. It’s so specific. Like, there has to be something there.”

Steve turned his eyes away, back to the blinking cursor on his computer. Nancy had always been good at this, at seeing the patterns he couldn’t. It was amazing she hadn’t been promoted yet. Surely within the next five years, she’d be his boss rather than his partner. Puzzles really weren’t his thing. Which was ironic considering his job. But when everyone else gave him the pieces and showed him where they went… yeah, he could do that.

“You’re probably right. And if that’s true, there’s a good chance he sticks to other patterns in his life. And patterns mean leaving clues. Don’t worry, Nance. We’re going to catch him. It’s just a matter of time.”

By the time Steve left the precinct that night, it was pushing ten o’clock. He didn’t love working long hours, but it was better than sitting in his empty apartment, letting the worry and stress take over until he spiraled. At least if he was working, he was getting things done.

He trudged up the stairs to his second floor apartment and shoved the key into the lock with a little more force than was necessary. But his feet were killing him, and he could already feel the migraine coming on. All he wanted now was to drop into bed and close his eyes until morning.

Once inside, Steve kicked off his shoes and shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, hanging it on the rack beside the door. He left the lights off as he walked down the hall to the living room, where he dropped his carrying bag. The room was a little colder than he’d expected, which he realized a moment later was due to the window he’d left open beside the sofa. Well, there went his heating bill.

Steve began to walk toward it when a sudden pressure at his throat made him stop. His whole body froze up at the cold press of metal and the contrasting hand that wrapped around the base of his throat. A spike of adrenaline rushed through his system, making his heart pound harder and his breath catch. The feeling of a body pressing to his back stopped him from shaking too bad.

A voice spoke directly into his ear, the touch of wet lips and hot breath making him shiver. “Guess who.”

Yeah, he could take a pretty good guess based on context clues. Steve licked his lips. “What are you doing here?”

A deep laugh rolled across his neck, making Steve’s hair stand on end. “Oh, I just couldn’t stay away. I saw you today, outside the site of my latest work.”

Steve turned his head slightly, feeling the soft scrape of the blade. “You were there?”

“Mhmm. And I have to say, you looked fucking delicious. All brooding, with your long coat and cigarette. Can you really blame me for not staying away?”

The hand tightened slightly before relaxing again. Slowly, Steve turned around. The blade never left his throat, just shifted to sit along the underside of his jaw. He took in the dark eyes and wild curls of the other man, the wicked tilt of his lips as he drank in the sight of Steve. He wore a nondescript black long sleeve, with just the hint of tattoos peeking out. Steve met his eye, barely able to make out the depths of them in the shadows of the room. Then, slowly, a smile grew across Steve’s face.

“Hey baby.”

Eddie’s own smile softened. “Hey Sweetheart.”

[angelinaheartshapedbox]

morbid attraction

Ethan Landry x reader

AU where Stu Macher has an illegitimate child. During Scream 6.

summary: Y/n is a freshman at Blackmore University. They're currently pursuing a bachelor's degree in forensic science to become an autopsy technician. To further their research, and to make money, they pick up shifts as a mortuary assistant. Y/n must come to terms with the trauma of gruesome murders of their hometown, copes with the memories of their ex girlfriend Amber Freeman, and with the fact that their father was a homicidal maniac. Running doesn't get them far from their past as it chases after them into New York City. But maybe there's light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe, just maybe, the light is Ethan Landry.

!!WARNINGS!! graphic descriptions of gore and violence, PTSD, and dealing with trauma. Major content warnings will be placed before each chapter.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Voicemail (4)

Distractions

Wordcount: 1.1k

Content warnings: descriptions of embalming.

I went to work after meeting with my friends. I’ve always tried to focus on something else when things are bad. The brain can’t focus on two emergencies at the same time. My boss left to go pick up a new shipment of embalming fluid, leaving me to finish the last two bodies. One of which was a young stab victim.

I prepared her for her funeral. I use eye caps to keep her eyes closed, and I use a needle injector to close her mouth. I shave her face because it helps when applying makeup, then I moisturize her. I can now embalm her arteries. I create an incision in a vein and insert the drain tube. I found her carotid artery, and made an incision. I insert the cannula and begin embalming.

The machine is very loud. So loud in fact I didn’t hear that another person had entered the room. I stood unaware until I felt hands on my shoulders.

I gasped, “Oh, my God!”

“Sorry!” Ethan threw his hands up in defense.

“Ethan!” I turn off the machine, “You can’t be in here!”

I remove my gloves and push him out into the lobby.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to apologize for saying that stuff earlier, and Quinn said you’d be here” he replied.

“Thank you for apologizing. I have to get back to work” I say, turning to walk down the hallway.

“Should you be here all by yourself?” he asked.

I turned back around, “I can do my job.”

“No! I-I didn’t mean that. I just meant like, none of us should be alone, right?” Ethan said, painfully awkward.

I sigh and rub my temples, “Go sit at the desk and don’t touch anything.”

I made Ethan put a mask on. He sat behind the desk in the embalming room. He put his earbuds in and put something on his phone.

Now, I get back to work. It’s time to embalm her cavities. First, I need to aspirate the organs with a trocar. This removes any fluids or gasses left in the body. I do this down her body. Then, I injected cavity fluid into her torso. My job is now done.

I repeat this process for the next few bodies in the morgue. It takes about 3 hours. I finish embalming and my boss calls to say I can leave. I take my things from my locker. Ethan had fallen asleep, so I woke him up.

I tap him, “Let’s go.”

Ethan jumps awake, he looks confused. He sees my face and remembers. We walk to the parking lot and he asks for a ride. Of course, I agree. I took him to his dorm.

Before Ethan walks away, he leans down and sticks his head in the car, “Be safe.”

“Always am” I smile. He shuts my door and I leave.

When I get home, the apartment is quiet. I put my stuff by the door, and change into my pajamas in my room. I wander down the hall and I end up at Sam’s room. I stand in the doorway like a child.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” She asks.

I step into the light of her lamp, “Sam, I’m scared.”

She sighs, “I know. I know.”

I stumble farther into her room and lie down next to her in bed. I put my head on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her arm. I feel like a child with nightmares, like I have to sleep in my mother's bed.

Tara comes into the doorway, she doesn't say anything. She gets in bed on the other side of Sam. She reaches a hand over her sister to hold mine. We fall asleep like this.

I don't have any nightmares.

When I wake up, Sam and Tara are gone. I hear chatter from down the hall. I wonder what time it is as I walk down the hall into the main room. Everyone is there.

“Morning” Chad greets me.

I put my hand up to wave, furrowing my eyebrows unintentionally.

Quinn looks at me from the kitchen, “Coffee?”

I shake my head in response.

“Um, are we not talking today?” Mindy jokes at me.

I shrug and make my way to the couch. I sit in the corner of the sectional and curl myself up. I stare at the TV, squinting. Ethan is next to me, I can feel his body tense.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning” I croak back.

Chad claps, “They're alive!”

I wince at the sudden loud noise. Ethan puts a hand on my head, “Shhh.”

“Everyone's staying tonight,” Sam says, “We can't risk it.”

Ethan looks at her, “Oh, I can't. I have econ tonight.”

“Sounds like a cover up” I mumble.

Mindy puts her hands on my shoulders, “So smart.”

“I literally have a class, I can show you my schedule” Ethan defends himself.

“I’m kidding” I tell him with a side eye.

I’m still probably a quarter asleep. I watch the episodes of Friends that's playing. All the while Ethan slowly sinks further into the corner that I'm in. He puts his arm on the back of the couch, letting me set my head on his shoulder. I’m still curled up in my same position. I can feel Ethan's pulse from his neck on the top of my head.

“Your pulse is really fast,” I whisper.

He nervously laughs, “I’m anxious.”

I nod, “me too.”

A bright light flashes us followed by Chad muttering, “Shit.” He's pointing his phone at us.

“Really?” Ethan gives Chad a dirty look.

“Well, you guys looked so cozy I had to capture the moment” Chad replied.

I roll my eyes and then close them. I float in and out of consciousness for the next hour. I guess I fell asleep for a little while because I woke up to Ethan shaking me.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Sam is kneeling on the floor in front of me.

“What happened?” I look at my friends’ worried faces.

“You were sobbing,” Ethan tells me.

“Oh” I replied. I put my hand on my face, wiping the liquid from my cheeks. “I had a dream about Amber.”

Tara puts her arms around me from behind. She doesn't say anything. I pull myself away from Ethan and hold Tara back.

My friends all end up on the couch. The day passed and we watched stupid shit on TV. We gossiped a lot.

“And he literally looked at her and told her to shut up,” I said.

“No way,” Ethan replied.

“What'd she do?” Quinn asked.

“She slapped the shit out of him.”

Chad nodded, “Good for her.”

“Totally deserved,” Mindy added.

As we were chatting, Ethan stood up and started grabbing his things.

“Where are you off to?” Mindy asks.

Ethan points at the door, “Econ. Remember?”

“Oh, yes. His precious econ. He just has to go so bad he'll risk his life for it” I joke.

He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile and walked out the door.

previous next

masterlist

a/n: hiiii this chapter is so very lame i'm sorry. good things coming i swear. also i just got dumped today so i'll be pumping out chapters bc i have nothing else to do. love ya <3

[cruetrimeblog]

The Unfortunate Story of Michelle Knotek

Michelle Knotek is a convicted murderer from Raymond, Washington. She was convicted of second degree murder and first degree manslaughter in 2004. She was responsible for the torture and death of Kathy Loreno and Ronald Woodworth. Both were friends of Michelle who lived with her at different times. Her husband David was convicted of the murder of Shane Watson, their 17 year old nephew. It's also suspected that Michelle was responsible for the death of 81 year old James McClintock, from whom Michelle inherited many assets after his death. James died from a traumatic head injury while Michelle was acting as his caretaker. The Knoteks' case became widely known due to the presence of abuse and torture.

Michelle was sentenced to 22 years in prison. She served 18 years of that sentence and was released on November 8, 2022. David was sentenced to 15 years in prison. He served 13 years of that sentence and was paroled in 2016.

Kathy Loreno was working as a hairdresser in Washington when she befriended Michelle. Kathy moved in with the Knoteks in 1991 after having an argument with her family. She had no idea about the psychical abuse she would endure there. Kathy was reported missing by her family in 1994. When authorities asked the Knoteks about Kathy, they stated that she ran off with a truck driver and moved to California.

Michelle told everyone that she was staying in contact with Kathy. However, Kathy's brother hired a private investigator who concluded that Michelle had most likely killed Kathy. David later told police that Kathy died by choking on her own vomit. But due to the physical abuse that the Knoteks had ben inflicting upon Kathy, David didn't take her to a hospital or report the incident to police.

Shane Watson was born in Tacoma in 1975. He was Michelle's nephew. He moved in with the Knoteks around 1988. Shane disappeared shortly after Kathy did. The Knoteks originally claimed that Shane ran away to Alaska to work as a fisherman. David later admitted that he shot Shane in the head with a rifle.

Investigators believed that David killed Shane to keep him quiet about Kathy's death after Michelle caught Shane with pictures of Kathy's abuse. David told investigators that he burned the bodies of Kathy and Shane and scattered their ashes at the beach.

Ronald Woodworth went to live with the Knoteks around 2001. He was a victim of their psychical abuse, just like Kathy. Witnesses claimed to see Ronald doing yard work in his underwear, and jumping from the second floor window with no shoes on, causing many injuries. Michelle would then pour boiling water and bleach onto his sore feet.

Ronald went missing in 2003. David later admitted to burying him on the Knotek property after Michelle told him that Ronald committed suicide. Ronald's autopsy determined that his death was a homicide.

Michelle was originally charged with two counts of first degree murder in the deaths of Kathy and Ronald. David was charged with first degree murder for Shane's death. David was also charged with criminal assistance and the unlawful disposal of human remains.

Both Knoteks pled guilty to lesser charges in 2004. Michelle entered an Alford plea. She pled guilty to one second degree murder charge and one charge for manslaughter. She was sentenced to 22 years in prison. She tried to appeal her convictions but was denied. She served 18 years of her sentence and was then released in 2022. David served 13 of his 15 year sentenced before being paroled in 2016.

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 9

Ch 9: The Mountain King- Pt. 2

Blurb: The Appalachian case proves to be a challenge. The Victims remain unidentified. The geography is screwy. There's a new behaviour the Team hasn't seen before. The Profile is unclear and immediately, Grace is unsettled by something about this case, but she struggles to figure out exactly what her instincts are telling her.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. And how to read around it. TW: violence, crime scene depiction, This case mentions sexual assault, autopsy, kidnapping, decapitation, Necrophilia, slight body horror involving needles (mentioned in autopsy)

BAU Jet, US Airspace, Monday, July 17th 12:20PM

Over the weekend Grace had a think over what Dr Reid had said, and how the geoprofile in the last case had revealed an important aspect. So she had spent a whole day designing a template for a quick reference fact file and saved it to her tablet. Now, if she completed this for every case on the plane trip over, by the time they landed, she would have a profile of every town and enough facts to reference quickly if her team asked for specifics. If they revisited any places, she’d eventually be able to do it from memory.

The Harrisburg–Carlisle Metropolitan Statistical area encompassed the counties of Perry Cumberland and Dauphin, and right through the centre of it was the Appalachian trail and Susquehanna valley. And in the middle of that was State Game Land 170 reserve which the unsub seemed to inhabit.

The total area had a population of 603,493 according to the last census. The majority of that were under 40 and white. Violent crimes and homicides were low, property crimes and theft were common, but that was to be expected with over 20% of the population below the poverty line. Though none of that probably was probably relevant as the bodies were dumped close to isolated boroughs and townships with less than 3000 people.

The region had a lot of interesting features in its history with timber and agriculture being the main historical industries with coal mining and industrial towns in the surrounds. Grace continued to trawl through census data and crime stats and compile similar data. Grace knew there was no way she could know enough to pass as a local, but she wanted to be as prepared as she could in the 30 minutes before the plane landed. She had heard that the many Appalachian communities distrusted people from outside their region. It was her hope that knowing enough to not be ignorant would combat some of the hostility that they could receive coming into an investigation as federal agents.

‘So if you named your violin Vincenzo, is Foley an animal or an instrument?’ Luke asked halfway through the flight.

‘He’s a pet.’ She didn't look up from her tablet, viewing the walking trail routes around the towns.

'You have a pet?' Tara asked in a quizzical tone from the seat next to her.

'Yeah, why does it surprise you guys?' She glanced up to see Dr Lewis grinning back at her.

‘Grace has a pet, and she won’t tell me what it is. It’s not a dog, and she doesn’t like cats,' Luke explained to Tara.

‘Not a dog or a cat, hamster?’ Tara asked.

‘Nope.’ She smiled, continuing to work on pinpointing key features on the maps.

‘Fish?’ Luke guessed with a smile and pointed at her. ‘Tropical saltwater fish, because you miss Hawaii!’

‘I See the logic there but, no,’ she grinned. This was more fun than having them try to guess her birthday. ‘I’ll give you a hint. My dear sweet companion Foley is the reason I have to live on the Maryland side of the river.’ She looked up at them with an evil grin.

‘Wait, you live in Maryland?’ Tara frowned.

‘Yeah, Oxen Hill.’ She said with a smirk.

‘How?’ both of them said at once.

‘You said you have a car today in Penelope’s office, so you do drive, so that is like what an hour’s car ride normal and hour and half hour?’ Luke said.

‘Yeah it, but it’s been better since Covid, most people work remote, commute is not too bad these days.’ She said with a shrug. ‘What can I say? I love my little guy. He lights up my world. If that means I have to drive a little further to work, it’s worth it.’

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. One new text message. She saw the contact name and opened it immediately.

‘Oxen Hill is not too far from Indian Head and the surrounds has a bit of forest, undeveloped land. A lot of a space… Foley, or should I say Foal-ly is a horse.’ Simmons joined in and theorised.

‘Nah, she said he’s in her apartment.’ Luke shook his head.

Basement Buddy: Hey G, are you in town tonight?

Grace stared at the message, blinking three times. He’d had texted her during the day. Texted Her while he was still at work. While he knew she would be at work. She checked her watch; not his usual break time. She leant back in her chair and subtly tried to shield the screen from Tara’s view.

G.M: No sorry. On case. What’s up?

She stared enrapt as the three dots showed he was typing.

Basement Buddy: Nothing. Just wanted to hang out.

Typing the word ‘nothing’ at the start of the sentence indicated that there was, in fact, something he was hoping to deflect from. Which meant he wanted to talk to her, but knowing she was on a case he didn’t want to bother her or make her worry. Which meant something was wrong.

What happened? R U ok? -She typed, but then backspaced, opting instead for:

G.M: Whens ur shift end?

Basement Buddy: 9

G.M: Do you want me to call you?

Basement Buddy: I’m ok

No emoji in that response. That was a lie. She typed her reply:

G.M: Want me to write an essay to tell u how I know that’s not true?

G.M:Chat tonight?

He took a full two minutes to reply. The three dots disappearing and reappearing. She nervously bit her lip. Had she been too assertive?

Basement Buddy: I’ll wait by the phone. 😉

She breathed again.

Basement Buddy: Btw. Got it in 4.

She snorted and shook her head. A deflection, but a welcome one. At least he agreed to chat later. The cryptic message was about the Wordle. They must have been some of the only people that still did it every day.

G.M: Got it in 3.

G.M: I win. Sorry.

He sent the GIF of the old man holding his chest in pain.

Basement Buddy: No your not you Sadist 😝

G.M:*You’re

‘Who’s got you smiling like that Five-O?’ Luke peaked over the table.

She pulled her phone to her chest. ‘Your mom.’

‘Oooooh ho ho,’ Tara laughed.

‘Grace has a special friend?’ Luke said in a singsong tone.

‘No, I couldn’t resist a well placed your mom joke and, I have land lady who uses a lot of emojis and they are hilariously in the wrong context. I mean, look-‘ she leant over and showed him a text from her she got this morning covering the time stamp with her thumb.

Mrs Hudson: Will get 💦💦 ⬅️ 👀 by tonight

'She is saying the water leak I’ve had is being checked today, but it just looks so suggestive.’

‘Heh. That is funny. But we-' He gestured to Tara and him ‘-are on to you.’

‘I bet it’s you it’s Ashley from fraud detection, Ashley was making eyes at her the whole seminar.’ Tara smirked.

‘She was?’ Grace said. That whole seminar she thought Ashley had forgotten her glasses or needed eye drops or something.

‘Nah, it’s got to be Cody in ballistics at the Seattle office. They spoke for 45 minutes about ice bullets. Nothing to do with the case. Tangents and fun facts, that’s Five-O’s love language.’

‘It was actually meat bullets, and it was case related.’ She hid her head in her hands. ‘Rossi, when are we going to focus on our approach to the case?’ Grace called out for rescue.

Rossi chuckled, ‘Okay, behave, kids. That’s enough teasing each other. Don’t make me tell your mother.’ He got up and stood between the seats. ‘When we land, I’ll go to the local PD and set up. Simmons, Alvez, you go to the crime scene and see what you can learn. JJ and Matthews go to the M.E. See what you can find. Tara, can you try to bring in the family and friends of victim one? We need to talk to people from the new year’s party. I’ll help with interviews once we’ve set up. Hope was the first victim. She is significant. We will reconvene tonight at 7 to share what we found. We start with victimology and M.O. hopefully this case will start to take shape.’

-------

Appalachian Trail, Wertzvile, PA 1:40 PM

‘Good afternoon, I’m SSA Alvez and this is SSA Simmons. You are Detective Garner and Head Ranger DeBraun, I presume?’

The detective stuck his hand out and shook both of theirs. ‘Welcome to Wertzville agents. Sorry you aren’t visiting under better circumstances.’

‘We get that a lot, detective. Can you talk us through how the body was found? Was it similar to the previous two?’

The detective looked at them with a tilted head. ‘Well, the missing head is pretty unique. Can’t say I’ve seen this kinda thing before the first one, has to be the same guy. This isn’t the big city, homicides are rare. This though? This I’m hoping is rarer.’

‘What I meant to ask was is the presentation of the body similar or different from the others?’ Simmons asked.

Head Ranger DeBraun answered this time, ‘I was the first responder. I’ve also seen all three scenes, it’s the same reserve. I would say this scene is pretty identical. Similar story with discovery as well. The hikers found me and another ranger doing track condition survey.

'They were pretty shaken up. There’s spotty reception here, if you’re not with the right provider, you can find yourself in dead spots that are miles wide. The couple had been trying to get help for half an hour. They’re photographer’s, they started out at 5, wanted to get an early morning shot of the creek with the low cloud that sort of thing. They found me and showed me where it was. On the way to the body I radioed it in to Garner here, cause he was on the first one.’

‘Can you point out where the body was?’ Alvez said. The ranger lead them over to the creek bed.

‘Like the other sites, bodies were right on the edge, wrapped up and left there. The second one had her feet in the water, but others were just close to the edge. All sites were on slight bends of the creeks, hidden from the trail’s view, but they’re kind of scenic points. People often venture off the track to take photos here.’

The detective walked up and pointed to the area where the evidence flags showed the bodies had been laid out. ‘The only other difference is this time there were two, but everything otherwise is the same.

See, at the water’s edge, there are no footprints that trail back toward the track, no shoe prints we can identify. Judging by that and the fact that is takes about an hour to get here on foot using the trail. I don’t think this guy was carrying them all the way. One theory we’re working with is he’s got a boat. Jumps out stands in the river, throws the bodies out and goes back the way he came. We had the dogs out here. Nothing came of that except that he came from upstream, east aways.’

‘That’s toward Summerdale, Marysville, right?’ Simmons asked.

‘Sure is, and the site there had the same thing happen when we brought the dogs out. They lost the scent down steam heading further west.’ Detective Garner shook his head. ‘Our combined police forces and rangers swept that forest cleaner than a germophobe’s soap box, found nothing.’

‘So the bodies were never in the water fully submerged, just on the edge?’ Alvez asked.

‘Nope. Just toes touching for one, but otherwise laid out on the bank.’ Garner confirmed.

‘If you want my opinion agents, it's a forensic countermeasure. This is bear country. Animals come to the water’s edge regularly to feed and drink. I guess this guy was hoping they'd clean it up. And honestly, that has me worried since we've got a big gap of time between victims.’ DeBraun surmised.

Simmons nodded, ‘I agree with you both that it’s unlikely, but if this guy was to come on foot, how long would it take him to get to a site like this from town? Is the trail connected at to where the other bodies were found on?’

‘Of for sure, the trail connects eventually. It’s all the same river, same valley, same mountain range. But there are obstacles. As the crow flies, we’re pretty close, but in actuality, going around the mountains would take a day and a half at least to get to Marysville. Each site was a over a hour’s walk away from the populated area’s entry on the trails. That’s a long time and way to be carrying a body.’

‘Any secluded places nearby here or the other sites?’ Simmons asked.

Garner laughed darkly, ‘It’s the forest. If a tree falls on you in the forest, and there’s no one around, there’s no scream. And most people 5 minutes from the town centres have acreage. It would be harder to find a busy area round here. You can see why we’re worried.’

‘I more thinking abandoned places, places nomadic types would live. Whoever did this knows the area very well. They probably spend a lot of time in the wilderness. Can you think of any caves or bunkers or ranger huts?’ Alvez clarified, looking at Simmons to see if he was also getting the same idea he was.

‘Not really. I'm aware of a cave nearby that’s inhabited, but Booboo’s not your guy. He’s got a microchip and an alibi.’ DeBraun said.

‘Booboo?’ Luke asked.

‘A bear?’ Simmons guessed.

‘Yeah. Caves are rare here. I doubt there would be one uninhabited. I doubt a human would be brave enough to live in one.’ DeBraun explained.

‘You know of any hermits living in the area?’ Alvez asked.

‘I can think of a few transients that walk the trail between towns,’ Garner said. ‘I’ll get you people a list.’

-----

Central Police Station, Harrisburg, PA, 2:23 PM

‘So the police report seems to suggest that Hope walked into the forest in the middle of the night in winter? But your testimony means that Hope was taken from her car as she drove home, and the car was dumped back at your place. So you can see why we are a bit confused, Jenny, because these are two very different stories. You want to tell us which one is right?’ Rossi asked the young woman who sat in silence across from them. She didn’t look up at them. ‘See, people don’t usually just walk into the forest at night, especially young girls like yourself and Hope. And when you say to the police that you walked Hope to her car at midnight and saw her drive off, then in the morning you call the cops because her car is still out the front of your place, it doesn’t add up. It’s a bad look for you Jenny. It implies that you know why she went into that forest and you are hiding something from us?’

Jenny fidgeted in her seat, but remained silent.

‘I don’t think you did this, because you called the cops as early as you did, but I think you’re scared that you’re going to implicate yourself or someone else by telling the truth. We know you were probably drinking underage, maybe on drugs. It was New Year’s party after all, but we don’t care about that, we need to find who did this to Hope. You need to help us by telling us the truth of what happened that night because Jenny, cause this guy is still out there, he killing other girls.’ Dr Lewis said.

Jenny looked up at that news and swallowed. Tara observed the sheen of unshed tears as she shakily opened her mouth.

‘It was a stupid dare.’ She began and her hand shook, placing down the photo of Hope she had been clinging on to face down on the table. ‘We were drunk-No, I was drunk. Hope wasn’t. She was good like that. At about 11, people started to dare people to do this thing we called 7 minutes in hell, where you give someone something scary to do for seven minutes.

‘There was a stretch of track that went past the back of the houses on my street, backed onto my yard. But you could come off the trail down the end of the street and walk back in front of the houses. It was only a 10-minute walk. After the first person got dared to do it… We all did it. In the dark, with only our phone light, we had to film it to prove we did it. We all did it, but… Hope, she was scared. She chickened out.

‘We laughed at her… We locked her outside on the porch for the rest of the party as a joke. I was drunk, and I was stupid. I told her she away plays everything safe, and she never does anything fun that she was a boring person. I told her that. It wasn’t true. Our last night together, I was such a shitty friend. I was awful to her. After that she said she was leaving… I watched her from the window walk back to the car…’

‘But you didn’t see her drive away, did you?’ Dr Lewis asked.

Jenny shook her head and sobbed. ‘It was stupid. It was my fault.’

‘So she was taken from her car off the street?’ Rossi asked.

‘No…’ Jenny cried harder. ‘I-I opened the window and told her she couldn’t come back unless she had proof she walked it.’ Tears spilled down her cheek and her voice cracked. ‘When I saw her car still there when I woke up, I knew something bad had happened. I think she, got out of the car and tried to walk the trail. She’s dead because of that stupid dare! She’s dead because I told her she was boring!’

Rossi looked to his colleague and sighed, passing a tissue box across the table to her.

‘Do you think Hope probably had her phone with her, to capture proof?

‘Yeah, she would have filmed it.’ Jenny sniffed.

‘Jenny, was anyone else missing or leave early that night?’ Dr Lewis asked, reviewing the answers she had given to police.

‘No, but I passed out about 12:30, Hope was the only one who left early.’

The same answer she had given before, but she had to be thorough, if Jenny had lied the first time, then she might have lied about something else.

‘Did you see anyone hanging around the trails before or after that night?’

Jenny shook her head ‘No. But it’s a trail. People walk it all the time. Especially the bit that goes behind our property. People go jogging there.’

‘Can you remember anything strange happening at the time? Any repair men around, surveyors, salesmen, anything like that?’

‘No.’ She shook her head again, giving no knew answers. Tara nodded and was about to signal to Rossi that they had all they could get when Jenny’s expression changed. Tara cocked her head

‘What did you just think of Jenny?’ She asked.

‘It’s stupid.’

‘Nothing is stupid, it could help.’

‘It sounds crazy, but… I heard things, from the forest.’

‘Like what? Noises? Screams?’ Tara prompted.

‘No, um… in the following days… sometimes, when I was in the yard, I thought I heard someone call my name.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’ Rossi asked.

Jenny hung her head, ‘I thought it was just in my head. You don’t understand… when you live here, it’s different. There’s a saying: if you heard your name called in the woods, no you didn’t. Look people say they hear crazy things all the time, and they say there’s like skin walkers, feral people and cannibals. Strange things that happen out there in those hills. I just tried to forget it. Pretend I didn’t hear it.’

‘Do you remember exactly what the voice that called to you said, was it just your name or was there anything else?’ Tara pressed.

‘It was really weird actually, that’s why I thought it was in my head.’ She blew her nose and a look of concentration crossed her face. ‘I would hear my name. But sometimes I heard him say, “Jenny… Your friend trips inside the hill.” Over and over. She trips inside the hill. Like that’s crazy right? No one would say that? That had to be myself hearing things?’

She shared a glance with Rossi, what were they supposed to make of that? Sure it could have been Jenny’s internalised guilt manifesting in auditory hallucinations, but it could of also been the killer attempting to lure her too. And more disturbingly, the later seemed more likely.

‘Why didn’t you tell someone this Jenny?’

‘I thought I was going crazy or something. I don’t believe in the supernatural, but everyone around here is like superstitious. There are legends. You don’t have to believe them to be scared of them. I thought maybe, me hearing my name from the forest, was like my punishment. Like the forest wanted me too.’

Tara stood and opened the door, gesturing to Jenny that she could leave.

‘You’re free to go Jenny, but we’re going to need any footage you and your friends have from that night.’

‘Yeah of course, I’ll get it for you, and tell the others to do the same.’ She nodded and hurried out of the interview room.

‘If that girl would have told the truth the police investigation would have not spent a month looking at Hope’s car for evidence.’ Rossi shook his head and packed up the files.

‘It seems she’s is suffering enough,’ Tara observed. ‘She has to live with that night being the last time she saw her best friend.’

-------

Harrisburg Morgue & Coroner's office, Harrisburg, PA 1:15 PM

‘Hello all, I’m Agent Grace Matthews, I’m just here to examine you. I’ll be as quick and respectful as I can. I want to figure out what happened and who did this to you.’ She greeted the three bodies laid out on the metal slabs under white sheets. JJ shared an uncomfortable glance with the medical examiner, who Grace had unintentionally ignored on the way in.

‘I’m SSA Jareau,’ JJ shook the Medical examiner’s hand, giving her an apologetic look. ‘Dr Davis?’

‘Ah, Actually No, I’m Dr. Ganley, I’m the new coroner assigned here. Dr Davis retired last month. But I’ve gotten up to date with the case. Hope has been buried, but here is her report. We still have Jane Doe here-’ she pointed to the first one, ‘-And victims Three and Four, I’ve just finished their reports.’

‘And what have we learned, Dr Ganley?’ Grace turned to her and glanced down at the Doctor’s extended hand. ‘Oh, sorry…’ Grace extended her hand half-heartedly and avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the doctor’s hand in her own. Grace took her hand back and smiled up at the doctor, but she was met with a frown and a raised eyebrow. Dr Ganley turned back to JJ and continued talking to her.

Grace was immediately put at unease. She stared at her hand, flexing it and un-flexing it a few times. She inspected her fingers as the doctor continued to talk to JJ. It felt wrong. Grace hated physical greetings from people she didn’t know. If Covid had been good for one thing, it was reducing the number of times she had to awkwardly oblige the invasion of her personal space. But usually as a woman, and a young, timid-appearing woman, people tended to not bother. Generally, she had observed men tended to only shake hands with other men or people in charge. When women initiated handshakes, it always read as more assertive than friendly to her. Well, that was how she perceived it. But there was just something about that action Grace felt she missed. That it wasn’t just her being unreasonable.

Was it the context? It was odd that a person in the medical field would extend a physical greeting in a post pandemic world. Was it the feel of the hands? The Doctor’s hands weren’t gloved or clammy from being inside gloves recently. Fair enough, she had just been writing a report. Was it the doctor’s eagerness to shake her hand even though she gave cues she did not want to? But then again, Dr Ganley was the new coroner. Maybe she was trying to be assertive and display confidence.

‘-Cause of death was decapitation.’ Dr Ganley finished and passed a clipboard with the reports to JJ.

‘In all cases?’ Grace chimed in, looking around for a box of latex gloves.

Dr. Ganley inhaled in a shocked laugh. ‘I would say so, yes.’

‘From the photos, I noticed Hope, and Two have rough severances, indicating multiple hacks and struggle, but Three and Four have cleaner cuts.’ She spotted the gloves near the wash sink and made her way over to it and began to scrub up.

‘That is correct,’ Dr Ganley confirmed.

‘So what killed Three and Four?’ Grace prompted more directly, pulling on latex gloves.

‘I’m sorry Agent Matthews, I don’t follow?’ Dr Ganley gave her a pacifying smile with an irritated undertone as she fiddled with a gold ring worn as a pendant on a chain at her neck. Married, Grace observed. Medical professionals often worn their wedding rings as pendants so they didn’t interfere with gloves. People played with their jewellery when they were anxious. Grace felt bad. She didn’t want the doctor to feel anxious, but she couldn’t let a mistake like that go unchecked.

Grace walked with purpose over to the slab and peeled back the sheets. ‘Excuse me,’ she whispered to victims and folded down the sheets. ‘A clean cut like this indicates Three and Four were already dead or incapacitated at the time of decapitation, so what caused it?’

‘It was my assessment that the cleaner cut was due to the killer gaining experience.’ Dr Ganley huffed as she scrubbed up and put gloves on.

‘Experience doesn’t render a victim motionless while a killer hacks their head off with an axe, it just reduces the number of swings it takes. What you see between Hope and victim Two is experience, what you see here-’ Grace pointed at the distinctly different cuts between victims Two and Three. ‘-Shows an evolution in M.O.’

Dr Ganley stared at Grace incredulously.

JJ broke the tension. ‘Matthews, hey, Dr Ganley is just doing what she can. See here she has run tox screens on the new victims. If there was a sedative, we will know soon. This is still a preliminary examination, right Dr Ganley? I imagine you don’t see a lot of homicides like this in these parts?’

‘Yes, this is the first one I have encountered that is this violent,’ she sighed. ‘I am still waiting for a few reports to come back. Most importantly DNA, to check that the semen is from the same individual, we’re also waiting on toxicology, particulates from the victims’ fingernails, and fingerprints for the ID of the victims.’

JJ looked over the report, ‘So Three was killed about three days before being discovered, and Four only one day before. And then both bodies were disposed of at the same time? Are the time lines similar for Hope and Two?’

‘Hope we have the best time line for. We know she went missing on the 1st of January 2022. Her body was found January 6th 2022, at discovery she had been dead about 24 hours. Two, we don’t know how long she was held by the killer, but she had been dead for about 72 hours at the time of her body being discovered.’ Dr Ganley reported and sighed, ‘Which brings me to the sexual assau-What are you doing, Agent?’

JJ turned her head to see Grace had pulled back the sheets to the chest of victim Three and was lifting the body up, looking at their back.

‘Grace-’ JJ began in warning.

‘There’s no pooling at their back. Have you pumped them?’ She asked.

‘I would prefer for integrity of evidence that only I handle the cadaver, Agent Matthews.’

'Cadaver?’ Grace asked, somewhat incensed. She could feel herself getting worked up, but she was unsure why. She was helping. Why was the doctor irked by her questions? Grace looked to JJ’s face. JJ didn’t seem to observe any problems, so Grace had no reason to get so worked up. She took a breath. I need to be polite, trust the Dr Ganley was doing her job the best she could. ‘I apologise, doctor, if I overstepped. I just believe it’s important for our profile,’ Grace explained and gently laid Three back down. Softly apologising as she did.

‘Well, you can talk to them without touching them.’ Dr Ganley said, folding her arms across her chest.

Grace turned to stare at her. JJ eyed her with a look, as if to say, ‘Don’t.’ But it was too late.

‘I understand you might not have autopsied murder victims very often in a city like this Dr Ganely, but these women, have already been dehumanised enough, they’re not cadavers for you to practice on or poke around, they did not volunteer themselves to this. I choose to talk to the dead because that’s I how I show respect. And I know that it’s not a foreign concept to you because you’ve been taught to talk to corpses in medical school. It’s etiquette, but you obviously don’t practice it. Instead, you protect yourself by reducing these women to objects. Now, it’s okay to be nervous, it’s okay to be detached and to be clinical, but if you’re going to be disrespectful to these women or mock me for how I deal with the dead Dr Ganley, then please don’t do it around me.’

‘I didn’t mean any offense, Agent Matthews.’ Her demeanour shifted. Dr Ganley seemed to make herself smaller and her eyes watered.

‘And neither did I.’ Well, that was a lie. But looking at her face now, Grace regretted taking a tone.

JJ Stepped in between the two and smiled nervously, ‘Doctor, I’m sorry, Agent Matthews is our resident expert with mutilations and overkill. She can forget not everyone is used to the level of violence we see in our field.’ She shot Grace a chastising look. ‘Can we continue?’

The doctor smiled curtly at them both and walked between the tables, ‘To answer Agent Matthews’s earlier question. Only victim Two, has been pumped. She was embalmed after her autopsy to preserve the body. Three and Four have not been pumped yet, but Agent, the absence of discolouration from pooling is because there was no blood left to pool, which again I believe is consistent with decapitation.’

Grace bit her tongue. That was not correct. Decapitations left blood pooling in the feet and limbs, at least. For no blood pooling to occur after three days, meant complete and utter exsanguination. Perhaps the bodies had been hung upside down after decapitation.

‘Your killer also washes his victims. All of them have small scrapes and abrasions, like they were dragged over rock at some point, but getting particulates was difficult. Where there were traces of dirt and blood on the body, they have been cleaned. But that brings me to the sexual assault…’ Dr Ganley lifted the lower half of the sheet of victim Three.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

JJ Stepped to the side, averting her eyes.

‘Excuse me Mam,’ Grace said.

‘What?’ Dr Ganley turned around.

‘I was talking to her.’ Grace inspected the legs of victim Three. There were no indicators of a ligature marks or anything else that would indicate the body was hung upside down. But as Dr Ganley parted her legs. Grace grimaced. She knew what the medical examiner was going to say, and it made her feel queasy.

Dr Ganley pointed with a probe as she explained, ‘They all have traces of semen. He didn’t clean them here, so I think the cleaning wasn’t a forensic counter measure. But here’s a thing we haven’t been able to tell until now with the newer bodies, because they’ve been found relatively quickly. As you maybe able to tell from the state of victims’ genitals Agent Matthews…’

‘We’ve got a necrophile.’ Grace finished in disgust.

‘Eugh,’ JJ remarked.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grace moved over to victim Four’s table.

‘Pardon me Mam, I’m sorry I have to look.’ She lifted the sheet. She had to check the same indicators were on this victim. Dr Ganley hovered over her shoulder. As she carefully examined the young woman. It was very similar to the previous victim. Except for one thing. A tiny blemish caught her attention.

‘What is this here, just above the Mons Pubis and below the stomach?’ she asked the doctor.

‘What?’ Dr Ganely appeared beside her and lifted the sheet further up. ‘This here? It’s just a minor bruise. Perhaps something sustained in an attack or from bumping into a corner of furniture? It’s only superficial, but I did note it in the report. None of the other bodies had it.’

‘Can we turn the examination light on?’ Grace asked.

‘Sure.’ Dr Ganley said quietly and flicked the switch. ‘Do you want a hand lens?’ She asked, but Grace detected a sarcastic tone.

She ignored it. ‘Yes please, doctor, that would be helpful.’

A magnifier appeared in front of her and she examined the bruise to see what she expected in the centre of it.

‘This is a needle mark,’ Grace told her.

‘Really?’ Dr Ganley asked, seeming shocked. She snatched the lens from her hand and double checked the bruise. ‘Yeah, um… you’re right, yeah, it is. I’m sorry I can’t believe I missed that.’

‘Needle mark?’ JJ asked and came around the side of the table to look at it too. ‘That’s a weird spot for one. Could they have been drugged? Or would it be from like a local anesthetic?’

Grace fixed her glasses and squinted. ‘No, not likely. It’s an 18 gauge. It’s not usually used for administering drugs. If the average person were to buy a needle, they wouldn’t buy this type.’

‘You can’t tell the gauge just by looking at it-‘ Dr Ganely pulled out measure and peered under the hand lens ‘-Its… Three millimetres, which is… that’s impossible.’ She looked at the measure and double checked it.

Grace didn't do well to hide the satisfied smirk that twitched on her face.

‘Why?’ JJ asked.

‘A diameter of three millimetres is 18 gauge,’ Grace smiled.

‘No, why wouldn't a regular person not buy this needle?' JJ asked.

‘Oh, the smaller the number, the bigger the needle. This is the second biggest needle they make. This is for inter-muscular injection, administering blood, or large amounts of emergency medication quickly, this is like an ICU needle, JJ,’ she explained. And then it occurred to her what the needle would have been used for in that particular spot. She looked up at the doctor. ‘Can I probe this?’

Dr Ganley scoffed, ‘No. You’re not qualified to come in here probing stuff like you own the-‘

‘-Then respectfully, doctor, can you probe it? How deep does it go?’ she tried her best to remain polite.

Dr Ganley sighed and walked over to a tray of instruments, and picked up the thinnest probe available. She inserted it into the puncture. Her brow furrowed in concentration and after a while, the doctor pulled it back out.

‘3 Inches, then it’s through into the bladder,’ the doctor reported.

‘Well, can’t say we’ve dealt with something like this before.’ Grace frowned. ‘JJ, you may want to step out of the room.’

‘Why? What’s that mean?’ JJ looked at the probe and then Grace.

‘Dr Ganley, can you perform a dissection of the bladder right now? We need to check its contents.’ Grace gave JJ an apologetic look, knowing the next words were going to conjure unpleasant images in her mind. ‘I think this unsub externally filled this victim’s bladder with something.’

‘Oh, gross,’ JJ baulked.

‘I’ll stay here till this is done. You could go fill the others in at the station? I’ll see what Dr Ganley can find here and see if I can pull some stings at the lab to get the reports fast tracked, then met you guys tonight for the debrief?’ She suggested.

‘Sounds good,’ JJ nodded and before she left the room, nodded her head in the direction of Dr Ganley and mouthed the words, ‘Be nice.’

‘Me?’ Grace scoffed back at her silently.

‘Yes, you.’ JJ pointed and left.

---------

Next Chapter

Taglist: @bridgeoverstrawberryfields

Spencer will be in the next chapter, I promise this one was just getting to long to not split it I'm sorry. Hopefully you liked it.

If you love this story or even just like it, leave a comment, like, reblog, ask a question with Character Mail, whatever, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me.

if you want to be added to taglist please comment on this post.

TWs:

Sexual assault, Necrophilia : I will try not to be graphic at all in this story, this chapter just has it mentioned as part of what the unsub does, but at the morgue Grace does inspect the bodies, medical examiners office and the unsub is revealed to be a necrophiliac. this scene is not graphically described but if you don't want to read it, stop when you see the -------- and continue after the next set of dotted lines.

Autopsy: the whole section under time stap where is says Harrisberg Morgue... is a post mortem exam.

Slight body horror : I will try not to be graphic here, but in autopsy it is found that unsub fills Bladders externally with a injection. Again not going to describe that more than I have too.

violence, crime scene depiction: cannon typical throughout this story

kidnapping: Unsub is implied to kidnap victims and hold them for a few days.

decapitation: this is part of the unsubs M.O.

[eliaskahtri]

Unraveling Part 1 || Elias & Regan

TIMING: July 9th, right after the events of A Death on the Dancefloor LOCATION: Mushroom Circle PARTIES: Regan (@kadavernagh) and Elias SUMMARY: After the murder at Murshroom Circle, Elias begins to get too close to the truth of the fae while investigating the scene with Regan. CONTENT WARNINGS: Dead body

Regan’s gut plunged to her feet when she read Elias’s message. A homicide was standard faire. But one at The Mushroom Circle was a disaster. There was no cutting Elias out of things, not when it was his place of employment, and she had a gnawing feeling that the decedent in question either wasn’t human, or fell victim to someone who wasn’t. Either way, there was going to be a lot of explaining things away. It was an approach that ran counter to Regan’s preference for honesty and staunch desire to not omit anything from her reports, and every day Elias seemed closer and closer to boiling over with frustration.

She swallowed back the buzz against her skin as she pushed through the door. “Elias?” She called out, looking around at the flurry of activity. A couple of her death investigators were already at work, along with a gaggle of cops; as she walked by, she heard them talking about costumes and “nerds”. The door to a back area of the bar was wide open with investigators rushing in and out, and Regan knew that was where the secrets would lie. That was warning enough: this was going to be a difficult death to obfuscate. As forensics collected evidence and examined the scene, her investigators cordoned off the cadaver by the bar, leaving it to her and Elias. The victim – and Regan felt secure in calling them that – looked to be an ordinary woman from the waist up. But below that, goat-like legs were sprawled across the ground. The woman’s long dress had gone askew in her death and revealed all, but she was none the wiser, her face peaceful and still. Upon closer examination, her ears were long and floppy, like those of a goat. So jarring were the legs that it was almost easy to miss the deep red pool of blood she was lying on, and the clear wound in her chest it sprung from. Regan’s stomach felt full of lead. This was going to get dangerous very quickly unless – 

Elias. Oh no. She bent down and swiftly adjusted the decedent’s dress so it concealed her legs, but she knew the damage had already been done. At least the police seemed to think she was some nerd in a costume. But autopsies always revealed the truth. Regan turned to her technician and tried to stuff away the fear that was capturing her mind. The worst case scenarios. Elias knowing everything. Everyone knowing everything. Bad. This was bad, and she needed to salvage it somehow. Regan took a deep breath but failed to fully bridle the panic. Her voice was strained and stilted. “Did – did you already speak to the police about what you saw? Did you see it? The death? Are you fit to work right now?” Her eyes drifted to the decedent’s dress, and what she knew was under it. And there were still her ungainly ears peeking out from her mop of curly hair. “I want to get her out of here immediately.”

It had all happened so fast. One second there was yelling and people clearing the area from the fighting, then there was a woman laying on the ground with a blade sticking out of her chest. Elias had been but inches away, and he had heard the awful sound it made as the knife entered the woman’s flesh. He had been stunned into stillness as the assailant quickly ran from the building, pushing past him so hard that he nearly fell over. He didn’t know what to do. While people flooded over to the victim to try and stop the bleeding, to resuscitate her, but to no avail. He did the only thing he could, he reached out to the one medical examiner he knew. It felt like a lifetime and no time at all since he had reached out to Regan. 

He was still stock still as he looked down at the body. He had tried to intervene, but he hadn’t gotten there in time. He could have stopped it, he could have done something. The security guard was busy talking to the police that had arrived on scene, and he found himself in the middle of the dancefloor that now played no music, hugging his arms around himself. He blinked, and Regan was there. He watched as she pulled down the victim’s skirt, and took a deep breath. He had work to do. He couldn’t let himself act like this, not now. Shaking his head a few times, he then walked over to the doctor and pressed his lips together. “I’m in shock, but I’ll… I’ll be fine.” He insisted, nodding his head as he bit down on his lower lip. 

“No time to learn than the present.” He spoke aloud, realizing that this was the first time he would be working with her. He wasn’t on solid ground mentally at the moment, but he knew the last thing he should do would be to do nothing at all. They would just question him and then send him home after, and then what would he do? Stare at a wall in his room and try to will it away? No, he wanted to work. He had seen what had happened, he could help. He wanted to help, to at least try to assist in getting justice for the poor woman. “Let’s get to work.”

Elias was blanching, clearly in shock like he’d said, and Regan had no patience for it. Fortunately, she didn’t need to communicate that. Despite the fright Elias had just been through, witnessing what had transpired here and potentially feeling guilt over the ordeal, his work ethic was showing through and Regan felt assured in her new hire. “Yes, you will be fine. You couldn’t have done anything. What you can do now is seek justice and provide closure.” 

She moved over to give Elias adequate room and gave him a clear, calm look, hoping her composure would rub off on him. Inside, though, worry seeped through her. He was too close to too many secrets, quite literally, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle having him at the autopsy. Or how she was going to handle the autopsy at all, for that matter. “This isn’t ideal for your first case, given that you actually witnessed the death, but the silver lining is that most everything will be easier from here.” More words of encouragement than she’d probably ever given before.

She reached for her kit and opened the latches, then handed Elias a clipboard and pen. “I’m going to do a brief external examination of the body, and I’d like for you to record findings. Eventually, you will learn how to do this yourself.” Please don’t be weird, she thought, as she slowly rolled the woman’s shirt up. Its folds were thick with congealing blood, and a stab wound was plainly visible and surrounded by bubbling, blistering tissue. Iron, she knew immediately. 

Regan stared at the burn for a moment, wondering again how she was going to explain this, then collected her scalpel from the kit. The answer was not right now. “I’m making a small incision in the upper right abdomen.” She announced, assuming Elias was listening but not turning back to confirm. “Normally I would take temperature rectally, but –” The woman’s legs. She wasn’t about to let anyone get a better look at them. “We will use another, more precise method today. The most accurate way to determine body temperature is by probing the liver.” With the incision made, she inserted the thermometer and waited. “96.6 degrees.” Regan said. She hated that she was surprised it was an expected finding. “Livor mortis cools the body at the rate of about 1.5 degrees per hour after death. But we need ambient temperature, too. Can you take that?” She looked over to Elias now, wondering if he was in any state to be processing information, but this was as good a test as any for him. “There’s another thermometer in the kit. While you’re at it, I want you to grab tweezers and baggies and comb through her clothes for any fibers. ” He would like that, she thought. He needed something to do, some way to apply his silly human emotions.

His brain was buzzing as Regan spoke to him. He heard her, but he was having a hard time focusing. Focus, Elias. She was right. He was going to get this woman justice, and it couldn’t get much worse than this. At least, he certainly hoped not. Taking the clipboard and pen, clicking the pen and putting the pen to the paper. He watched as Regan began to work, and began to write. Stab wound in the abdomen, and… what almost looked like burning. He wrote that down, too. “That’s… odd.” He murmured aloud, brows knitting together as he thought of what was on that blade that could have possibly caused such a reaction. Was there some kind of poison on it? Could an allergic reaction react in such a way? There were so many unknowns that didn’t make sense in his mind.

Then, Regan was going through what she would do next. Elias was still trying to understand what the burning around the wound could mean. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t want to ask the wrong thing and make a wrong impression, so he kept all running thoughts to himself. He recorded the temperature as she announced it and the method she had used to get the temperature. He hoped he was doing this right. His racing thoughts were interrupted the moment Regan had asked him to grab something. He perked up from his furious note taking and nodded his head, putting the clipboard to the side and picking up what she had instructed from him. 

Thermometer in hand, he took the temperature of the room. “75.4 degrees.” Elias spoke, then wrote it down on his notepad. Then after putting on a pair of gloves, he took his tweezers and bag and began to meticulously look over her clothes. A lot of short hairs began to become apparent to him as he worked. The cosplay legs? He thought for a moment, remembering that the woman had a pair of very well-crafted animal legs. He frowned, thinking of how horrible it would to be to die so suddenly in the prime of his life. Dancing with friends only to be stabbed. Boom. Life cut short just like that. He blinked a few times, trying to not think in such a way. Not right now. He’d deal with it later. He had to deal with it later. He was working. 

“Animal hairs,” he muttered aloud, looking over to Regan with a raised brow. “Her legs…” Elias began to say, thinking about it. They were costume legs, surely they’d have to remove it when they got to the morgue, right? And her horns, they hadn’t been knocked off in the fight. That was curious too. “This is coming from her legs,” he finished.

Her instincts were right – the more Elias had to do, the more he seemed capable of moving past what he’d just experienced. That was good, and Regan could keep him busy. Maybe the same would apply during the autopsy, and he’d be too preoccupied with his tasks to question the bigger picture. Let him be so lost in the trees he does not see the forest. 

“Yes, her legs. I’m not surprised they shed. Just… try and collect the stray hairs you can.” Her stomach already lurched the lies she was about to tell, and she had a feeling it was only the beginning. “I’ve heard that some people use real animal hair when making these types of… props. That may be why they’re so convincing. Some farm could have supplied them.” She swallowed down the burning sensation in her gut and thought of Conor, who was worth protecting. 

When she was satisfied they’d documented and procured all they could from the decedent, she flagged down a couple of investigators and told them the cadaver was ready for transport. “Don’t jostle her around much. A quick in and out.” She watched as the body was lifted into the bag, a flash of the decedent’s legs and hooves showing as she was carefully placed within. The investigators did not comment on it, and Regan allowed herself to untense a little. She gave Elias a careful look. What was he thinking? He worked side by side with people like that faun, and hadn’t figured it out yet. One body wouldn’t tip the scales, right? But she suspected there was a lot going on in his skull right now, and it filled her with foreboding.

Regan clipped the kit shut and picked it up, but something occurred to her. They couldn’t leave just yet. They weren’t done. Elias had said this part of the bar was where all of the “cosplayers” were, and that meant it could be brimming with secrets, things that should never fall into human hands. “This place… what else is here?” What was hidden from the police? What should be hidden? “We might be missing something.” She hesitated. Normally she would insist on doing this herself, but Elias worked there anyway. He wasn’t going to suddenly understand how deep the water around him was… right? Regan looked over her shoulder at her death investigators leaving, and the remaining police conversing. “Is there anything here that you’ve always found strange? Books, jewelry, things like that. ”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Elias as he plucked off the hairs. Real animal fur? No, that couldn’t be. And if it was, that was some serious dedication to the craft. Even he didn’t want to go that far, and he’d been at the hobby for years. The closer he looked the more he began to realize it didn’t seem like they were fake. How could they look that real? And she wasn’t even going to a convention or anything, she was just existing during a night out. Something wasn’t adding up. 

He tried to squash the thoughts as he kept picking up hairs, but he was rapidly running out. Stray clothing threads, more of the hairs… why did it seem so real? Elias’s thoughts were interrupted by Regan asking him questions. “What do you mean strange?” He asked, frowning. “You mean besides the dude that lights himself up?” He asked, raising a brow. “When everything in here is designed to be strange, nothing really sticks out.” He confessed, shrugging his shoulders. 

He tried to think if anything had stuck out to him. After such a shock to the system with everyone dressing so intricately, nothing stuck out to him. He frowned, turning to Regan. “I’m sorry, but nothing comes to mind.” He admitted with a shrug. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at, why would it matter if there were strange objects in the bar? “What does that have to do with anything?” He suddenly asked, brows furrowed in confusion at her line of questioning.

“Someone who lights themselves up?” Regan’s brow wrinkled, but she decided that was probably the least strange thing that occurred behind those doors. It was remarkable that Elias was able to pass all of it off as cosplay and parlor tricks, and Regan harbored a seed of jealousy that she occasionally found was nurtured by his naivety. “That’s fine. I simply wanted to ask so we didn’t miss anything. You’re familiar with this place, which is something no one else here can say.” That thought lingered on her lips after she’d spoken it. As the decedent and MDIs disappeared through the doors, the air of death growing thinner, solitude wafted in to take its place. The buzz of activity had died down and only a couple of police lingered along with the two of them.

“I’m going to take a quick look around, if you don’t mind.”

Regan circled around the bar and wandered to one of the tables. What was it like being in here when it was full of people – of monsters? They liked the feel of each other against their skin and in their chest. To Regan, being surrounded by fae was like being followed by a cloud of biting gnats; nothing like the comforting embrace the others described. Did fae find this enjoyable? Did they find peace and kinship here? She traced one of the wooden whorls on the table top and let her eyes settle on the adjacent wall. It was full of celtic symbols, scenic paintings of forests and quaint towns, and entirely devoid of photos of people.

She scanned the floor. The other walls. There was nothing. Of course the patrons here knew how to hide their secrets. The only thing they couldn’t manage to do was keep their dead away from human hands – or maybe they were banking on later intervention. She blinked slowly at the thought. Would they find her? Would they find Elias? Regan looked over at him and sighed. This mess was only just beginning, wasn’t it? It was at least time to abandon this place… and in Regan’s case, she didn’t intend to return.

“You’re right. There is nothing there that matters.”

Regan turned away to hide the discomfort swimming across her face, a response to her stomach tying itself in a knot. That wasn’t a lie, damn it. She clenched her fist, letting her nails bite into her skin. “Are you ready?” She asked Elias, completely uncertain that she herself was prepared for what was awaiting them at the morgue.

[hanjeongrp]

Plot Drop #1: Police Report

The police report has finally been leaked as has an update to the investigation, leading to sirens and naiads facing new scrutiny. However, this has also significantly damaged the reputation of the late mayor, leading many to insist that the information has been fabricated, as said mayor despised supernatural beings.

Hanjeong Police Department Case No. 2023-005

REPORT OF INVESTIGATION

On January 3, 2023, at approximately 12:30 AM, the body of Ujin Sook, 56-year-old male of Hanjeong, was discovered in his residence at 5112 Oak Street. Police were immediately notified and arrived at the scene at 12:45 AM.

Upon arrival, police found the victim lying on the living room floor with multiple lacerations to the chest and abdomen. He lay in a puddle of water. There were also signs of a struggle in the room, with overturned furniture and broken objects. The victim's son, who had come to check on him after several failed attempts to contact him, discovered the body.

A preliminary investigation of the crime scene revealed no signs of forced entry. A window was found open. This is believed to have been the point of entry for the assailant. However, the motive for the attack is currently unknown.

An autopsy was performed on the victim's body, but the results were inconclusive. While there were no obvious signs of supernatural involvement, we cannot rule out the possibility of a supernatural creature being involved in the crime due to the nature of the wounds. 

After an interview with the late mayor’s secretary, it has been revealed that Ujin was having an affair with an unidentified siren. Police are currently searching for the individual to interrogate them. It is rumored they are currently in hiding in the ocean. Officers are working with the merfolk monarchy in hopes of them helping with the search.

This investigation has also led to the revelation of a naiad ex-partner who was stalking the individual months leading up to the homicide. The naiad in question has gone missing, possibly having been smuggled out of Hanjeong by the Black Sand Smugglers.

Police are currently still investigating.

Some ramifications due to the police report being leaked:

The late mayor’s family are insisting that this is all hearsay and that it is impossible for Ujin to have been having an affair.

Naiad and siren businesses are being vandalized.

Some are accusing the merfolk monarchy and nymph usurpers of spreading the rumors in the name of politics.

Protests are occurring outside of city hall from various parties. 

Enforcers

Time to stop these potential murderers (or witnesses) from leaving Hanjeong. Feel free to break into a few businesses. It’s not like you need a warrant.

Black Sand Smugglers

Do your best to get the naiad out of town without being caught. She keeps insisting that what they had was true love and that she didn’t kill Ujin. Of course, that’s not all that important in your line of work anyways.

The Resistance

Despite popular belief, the siren has taken refuge with you instead of the ocean. Unfortunately, she is getting a bit stir crazy in the Watering Hole and it is starting to affect the patrons. Thankfully, no one has caught on. Yet.

Profiles for these NPCs (feel free to use them in your plots for this plot drop):

Name: Kim Yeji

Species: Siren

Age: 127

Occupation: Lounge singer

Background: Yeji was a lounge singer at the bed and breakfast during special events, but also a performer at various spots around Hanjeong. She had a brief fling with Ujin, but ended things when she realized he wasn't interested in a serious relationship (though it was fun messing with his stalker). Like many sirens, she is not good at being told what to do, which does not make her the easiest person to protect.

Name: Kim Soojin

Species: Naiad

Age: 120

Occupation: None

Background: Soojin is a reserved individual and was a former partner of Ujin Sook, but the relationship ended badly. She became increasingly possessive and stalked him for months leading up to his murder. She is also currently pregnant with who she claims to be the mayor’s child.

[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 10: Plain View Doctrine

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You finally get a few minutes to catch up with your dad and tell him who you're new mentor is. You attempt to tell him about your relationship with Miles, but it goes about as well as you expected. Later, your investigation continues and the more you uncover, the less things are adding up. At the morgue, you're given the preliminary results of the autopsy, however, your first interaction with one of the medical examiners doesn't go like you imagine. You're not the only one with eyes for the chief prosecutor.

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

"Hi, Sweetheart! Your mom and I miss you! Are you doing alright?" Your father asks. It really is good to hear his voice; the soothing voice of the man who raised you, held you when you cried, and rocked you when you were sick. So much has happened since you last talked, it feels like it's been a lifetime since you heard him speak.

"I'm fine, Dad. I've just been busy. I'm really sorry, but can I call you back later? I'm still at work," you admit, saddened you have to terminate the call.

"Wow, you're still at work?" He asks, surprised.

"Homicide never sleeps, Dad; you know that," you reply.

"No, it doesn't. Alright, Sweetie. Just get home safe, okay? I'll talk to you later. I love you!" He says, sounding sad.

"Love you, too, Dad," you reply and hang up.

"You could have taken a few minutes to talk with him if you wanted," Miles said.

"I figured I owe him a nice, long chat. I'll call him back when I'm home," you reply, withholding the fact that you're still afraid to confess to your dad that you're even interning with Miles let alone also sleeping with him.

You arrive at the morgue to meet with the medical examiner. Ms. Ozcar's body lays on the exam table, the telltale, Y-shaped incision running across her chest. You approach the table and see a white coat move in your peripheral vision. You turn your eyes up to a beautiful blonde woman looking very intently at Miles. Your Miles! Not hers! What the hell? MEs are all supposed to be old geezers! She stands directly in front of him.

"Miles! Great to see you!" She greets emphatically. She smiles sweetly with pearly white teeth. Her silky blonde hair is tied back with a few flyaways and long bangs free to frame her face. Her eyes look fierce, but with totally fake eyelashes. Her lips obviously have gloss on them, but you can't tell if the underlying color is really her natural lips or makeup; it's such a lovely shade of pink. Could she really be that perfect? She hasn't even acknowledged me yet! "How are you?" She asks, still ignoring you. "You don't get down here to see me enough," she comments flirtatiously. You can smell floral perfume that was obviously just sprayed. Apparently, she's completely unaware that Miles has absolutely no affinity for perfume. 'To me, it simply smells,' he'd say.

"Terribly sorry, Dr. Anderson. I don't get much time for social calls," Miles replies, his expression neutral. Unless I'm naked on his desk. Then he's very social, you say to yourself, wishing you could repeat it out lout.

"You should make some," she retorts with a smirk. Aren't you just classy? Your eyes are about to light her on fire. "And call me Sarah! You know that!" She playfully scolds.

Miles ignores her comment and places a hand on the small of your back. He introduces you to the doctor, sharing your name and the university where you're studying. "She's at the top of her class and well on her way to one day surpassing even my skills as a prosecutor," he brags. You reach out your hand to shake hers. The exchange happens over a few seconds but you wordlessly challenge her with your grip. She responds in kind. You stare daggers into each other's eyes. You both squeeze tighter and tighter until Sarah pulls away, her expression just barely showing a wince. Ha! A lifetime of thumb wrestling with Dad, is finally paying off! You withhold the smirk.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Anderson," you greet with a soft, sweet tone.

Sarah forces herself to return your greeting, then turns immediately to Miles again. "Miles, I'm surprised at you. You hate interns; a trait you and I share," she says and flashes you a glance as she speaks the word 'interns' with venom and disdain. Listen here, Dr. Zhivago, you better back up before I... You shake your head at your rage imbued thoughts. Is this how Miles felt around Professor Fredericks?

"She's shown such an impressive aptitude for the practice of law that I just couldn't resist. Her talents would be wasted on the simple cases she would see with the other prosecutors. I figured her progress would be most significant under my mentorship," Miles explains, looking fondly at you.

"Well," Sarah begins with a longing sigh and glares at you briefly before returning her flirtatious gaze to Miles. "Just when I think you can't get any sweeter," she continues and places her hand on his arm. Your breathing holds steady on the outside, but in your mind, you shriek as if obscenely offended. "Here you are, taking on the burden of teaching a student."

Don't touch him, you cretinous hag! Your head screams. You're about ready to rip that arm of hers off her body, but Miles quickly removes the promiscuous doctor's hand from his arm and changes the subject. He looks annoyed. You relax a bit.

"Dr. Anderson, my intern and I are quite pressed for time. I'm afraid I must cut the pleasantries short and insist we obtain the preliminary results of the victim's autopsy." Miles instructs.

"Of course. All work and no play, huh Miles? It's your best and worst trait," Sarah comments. Miles ignores her. Oh, sorry, honey; he only plays with me. She lets out a sigh of defeat and grabs a clean pair of latex gloves to pull over her hands and begin her report. "The victim died at around eleven-thirty last night. The cause of death was asphyxiation by a ligature made from her clothes," Sarah explains looking solely at Miles. She points to several, small, crescent shaped marks on the victim's neck. "Take a look at the curvilinear abrasions on her neck, they're from…" Sarah is cut off by your enthusiastic interjection.

"Fingernails. She tried to pull the cloth off her neck as she was strangled," you conclude. "Her killer was likely much stronger than she was."

"Yes, that's correct," Sarah reluctantly admits. "Notice the petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes, also indicative of strangulation," she continues and gently opens the victim's eyelid to reveal dark red spots on the tissue. "There wasn't much other internal damage aside from superficial bruising, but there is pretty significant tissue damage to the external and internal genitalia. Sexual assault is very likely and it was before she died."

Miles leans his head toward yours and softly adds, "keep in mind, the defense will likely argue the encounter was 'consensual rough sex'. The important counter argument to develop is the witness testimony about the victim's typical sexual behavior. They certainly aren't pleasant questions to ask or answer, but it is necessary."

"Got it," you acknowledge.

"That actually shouldn't be too difficult. Her blood alcohol content was high. Point-zero-nine," she reveals.

"That means we can argue she was too intoxicated to consent to sex," you add. Miles nods.

"I was able to pull what I believe to be semen from the vaginal vault. DNA analysis will take a bit, though," Sarah continues. "There was a good amount of dirt and tissue under her fingernails, but again we won't know who it belongs to for a while. There's a fair chance it's her own skin from her neck." Sarah turns around to grab a printed report off of her desk and hands it to Miles. "That's all I have so far, but there are still tests to be done. I'll be in touch with the results." She pulls the gloves off and drops them in the trash.

"Thank you for your report, Dr. Anderson," Miles says, forcing politeness.

"Miles, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Sarah?" The relentless doctor asks through pouting lips.

"I prefer to maintain a sense of propriety, Dr. Anderson," Miles answers.

"You call the intern by her first name," she argues and quickly darts her eyes to you. That's so he knows what to moan when we're in bed together.

"There's a special bond between a mentor and a student. A first name basis is necessary to cultivate a therapeutic rapport. Perhaps you will understand one day should you choose to accept interns yourself. We appreciate your time, doctor." Miles places his hand on your back and leads you out of the morgue.

"What new things come to mind now that you've been given the autopsy report?" Miles asks as he drives back to the office. The sun is setting and it's obviously going to be another late night.

My ability to restrain myself from screaming at that handsy tart is pretty top notch "If I had any doubts our perpetrator was a male, they're gone now. The victim struggled, but was unable to save herself. With the adrenaline that must have been coursing through her body, the aggressor had to be very strong. Once we determine if the cells collected from the victim's body are sperm cells, well, I think I'm comfortable making that conclusion. I think if the DNA under her fingernails can be matched to the sperm cell DNA, we'll have a pretty good idea who our suspect is."

"Very good. There is one more thing to consider…" Miles hints.

"Her intoxication. Right. That probably did weaken her, but I still think it would have taken a great deal to overcome. All that aside, the consensual sex argument the defense might use is moot given her blood alcohol level."

"Precisely. Well done. Before long, every defense attorney will dread meeting you in court," Miles comments proudly. He pulls into a parking space in the lot for the office which is nearly empty at this point in the evening.

"I think that doctor already dreaded meeting me," you reply, frustration returning to your voice at the thought of her. You walk beside Miles with your arms folded firmly in front of you, bound for his office.

"Dr. Anderson is one of the…less professional medical examiners. I apologize if she offended you," Miles answers. He clearly picked up on at least some of the angry tension between you and the flirtatious doctor.

"She's the one who should apologize!" You exclaim. You both exit the vehicle to head inside. "I've never seen a physician so unprofessional in my life!"

Miles chuckles. "I am very interested to hear which behavior you deemed so offensive," he muses, unlocking his office door.

"Her hands belong on corpses not my mentor!" You fume, stepping inside. Your nails dig into your palms from the tight fists your hands are making.

Miles closes the door. "I do believe you are now able to fully empathize with me," he comments, still chuckling.

You turn to face him and let out a tense sigh. "Professor Fredericks?"

Miles nods with a smirk.

"My God! Is this what it feels like for you?" You ask. This poisonous jealousy feels awful and guilt boils up within you for putting Miles through it.

"Mhmm," he confirms.

"I am…so sorry," you express genuinely.

"It's a powerful emotion isn't it?" Miles says.

Your eyes fall to the floor. "Yes, but I know what I'm feeling isn't arrogance, as you called it. I am jealous. It's terrible. She's so beautiful and charming…and a doctor," you squirm, leaning against Miles' desk again. Your face twists back into a scowl. "She's so pushy! Does she not hear herself?! Where did she get her medical degree? The University of Impudent Audacity!?"

Miles moves to stand in front of you. "While I'm pleased to see your feelings for me run as deep as mine do for you, you shouldn't concern yourself with her or her distasteful behavior. There are far more important things for you to worry about right now."

"Is she always like that with you?" You ask, finally looking up at him.

"She is. I never respond to her comments other than redirecting her to her job. The only emotion she gets from me is indifference, although I did find her particularly annoying today. I have a good idea why," he explains.

"Do tell," you reply, you glance up at him through hooded eyes, the rest of your angry face still turned down.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and cups your face, tilting it up toward his. "I'd wager that as soon as she saw you, noticed your beauty is vastly superior to her own, and that all the attention she seeks from me is clearly given to you, her own jealousy became nearly unbearable. I will admit, the urge to confess our relationship to her was intense," Miles reveals.

"I wouldn't have told her…I'd have shown her with a graphic demonstration!" You declare through gritted teeth.

Miles leans down to kiss you lightly. "We truly do understand each other," he comments happily. You reach up and wrap your hand around his forearm, stroking his wrist with your thumb.

"If Professor Fredericks touches me again, I will call him out on it and set a very firm boundary," you vow.

"I'll do the same for Dr. Anderson," Miles replies.

"Good," you reply and pull him in for a deeper kiss. The urge springs up on you quickly and you have to fight to stop yourself from tearing Miles' clothes off. As your mind struggles for control of your hands, your tongue takes advantage of the lack of mental supervision and slips into his mouth, moaning at the delicious taste of him.

He grabs your hips and pulls you tight against his. He sucks on your tongue and moans back into your mouth.

You enjoy your sensual kiss until Miles manages to pull himself away. "We should stop, lest your bed end up empty for another night," he admits, begrudgingly.

"Yeah," you agree, sadly. It would be nice to enjoy some time together alone after the day you've had, but it's already late and you could almost collapse from exhaustion.

"And," he begins and pecks your lips once more. "You owe your father a phone call. Are you going to tell him about us?" He runs his fingers gently through your hair.

"Us or us?" You ask.

"Both," he answers.

"Us, yes. Us...I'm still working on that one." You look away, trying to hide the guilt in your eyes.

"Why not just tell him?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

"I want to; I just…I really want him to be happy for me and not be immediately disapproving. I've been trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. I love my dad. I don't want him to be upset with me, but I…won't give you up, either," you explain.

"From what you've told me, it probably doesn't matter how you tell him. He will be upset, but he is your father. He loves you. He'll come around eventually," Miles reassures you and kisses your forehead. "It's your decision, but I think the longer you wait the worse it will be."

"Yeah, I guess," you reluctantly agree.

"Let me take you home," Miles says, kisses you once more, and steps away to pack up his briefcase. You follow suit and both head for Miles' car.

You sit on your bed, pajamas on, face washed, staring at 'Dad' in your contacts list.

"It's a cell phone, hon," Nora teases, just about to head into the bathroom to shower.

"Trying to get myself to call my dad," you admit weakly.

"Are you going to tell him everything?" Nora asks, tilting her head forward, eyebrows sliding up.

"I don't know if I can. I think I'll try…" you reply.

Nora pushes the bathroom door open. "Well," she begins flatly, "good luck, whatever you decide to do. Personally, I think you should just tell him. Rip the band-aid off now." She walks in and closes the door.

I have to tell him, you coach yourself. You take a deep breath and release it, then press the 'call' button.

"Hi, Sweetie!" Your dad greets you happily. "Are you finally home? How was your day?"

"Yeah, it was great. It's really really busy, but it's great! I love it here!" You answer.

"I'm glad. You've been busy for weeks now. No time to call your mom and dad?" He asks.

"I'm sorry. It's non-stop. This summer has been…" you pause. Incredible, terrifying, amazing, overwhelming, unforgettable, hot. "Crazy. I've gotten to see a few trials now. It's fascinating," you explain. "I helped with a few guilty verdicts, too!"

"That-a-girl! I'm so proud of you, honey! So, that Mr. Payne has really been putting you to work, huh?" He replies.

"Well…" you pause, readying the first part of your updates for your dad. "I'm actually not assigned to Mr. Payne anymore." You cross and uncross your legs and fidget with your pajamas, trying to alleviate your nervousness.

"What happened?" He asks, concern weighing on his voice.

"Oh, nothing bad. It's actually good news. The chief prosecutor was really impressed with my performance, so he invited me to intern with him instead. I get to see more complex cases," you reveal.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me! Of course, my little girl is impressive! Now, I'm trying to remember the chief for that district," he pauses, searching his memory. "Oh! That's not Miles Edgeworth, is it?" He asks excitedly.

"That's him," you confirm.

"Wow! Wait til Cotter hears about this!" He gushes. Dan Cotter is your father's good friend and chief prosecutor of your hometown. You've known him since you were about five years old. "Well, that's just the best news! My baby girl is interning with the great Miles Edgeworth!"

"Yeah, it's been…it's been great. I'm learning so much!" You add. Maybe now is the time to tell him the rest!

"I hear he can be a bastard, though. Is he being nice to you?" Your dad asks. Or…maybe not.

"Yes, he is, Dad. He's a great teacher. He lets me do a lot with his cases and he makes sure to pull me aside if I'm making a mistake and explain what I need to do," you say, defending Miles.

"That's good. I guess it's not tough to believe he's nothing but professional to you," he replies.

depends on how you define 'professional'. "Yeah, Dad, he's been a perfect gentleman," you confirm. It was still true. Even though you've become intimate, Miles has never been anything but good to you.

"That's good! He better be!" He adds.

Come on! Say it! Say it! "Well, he is kind of…handsome…and he's really smart!"

"Hm, bad idea, honey," he begins. You can all but hear him shaking his head. "He may be a talented attorney, but he would be all wrong for you. Men like that, they put everything into work. They make for great prosecutors, but trust me you'd be miserable! Not to mention, your law school and his office would have a big problem with you two being together. That's not a headache you want to deal with. And it's not like you'll be in LA forever. I can't see someone like him picking up and moving back to Colorado with you. Not even close to good enough for my little angel. Best keep your relationship with him strictly professional," he rants.

You let out a silent sigh. "Got it, Dad," you reply, sadly.

"Chin up, Sweetie. You'll meet a nice man when you get back home," he says, attempting but completely failing to reassure you. "Give your mom and I some grandkids!"

You fall back onto your bed. Such a 'dad' answer. It's not that you don't want to be a mother, you'd just like to be able to pick the father.

"Sure, Dad. How's Mom doing?" You decide to quit while you're already behind and change the subject.

"She's loving retirement! She started a garden in the backyard. I tell you, she is trying to grow everything! She's got peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini…she's even got pumpkins! She's having fun with it, though. It's got me thinking about hanging up my badge, myself," Dad reveals.

"Really!? You're going to retire?" You ask, shocked. Your dad was certainly old enough to retire, but growing up you always saw your dad as a hero. He saved lives and solved crimes. It was hard to picture him not doing that anymore. He had become a legend.

"I've been thinking about it for a while. I love my job, but I get pretty tired at the end of my work days and you know they get pretty long. Hell, you're dealing with the same thing now yourself. Body's only good for so long. I'd kind of like to be able to enjoy my twilight years for a bit, maybe travel around with your mom," he elaborates.

"It'll be weird to see you retire, but…I guess I can't blame you," you reply.

"I'm still deciding, but it will happen one way or another," he says with a chuckle. Dad always had a dark sense of humor and you usually could laugh at it, too, but you have seen enough death today that you didn't find joking about your Dad getting killed in the line of duty palatable.

"Don't say that, Dad!" You exclaim, nearly tearing up. "You promised Mom and me you'd always come home!"

"I'm sorry, Honey. My point is, I think I'd like to retire sooner rather than later," he replies.

"Well, you already have your pension. I guess now is as good a time as any," you add.

"Maybe I'll have a chat with my captain next week," he ponders. You hear the faint sound of a pager going off in the background. "Uh oh, speak of the devil. Duty calls, Honey."

"Okay, Dad. I'll talk to you later," you say, already missing him.

"And, Sweetie, please call us more often. I know you're busy, but whenever you can, we really want to hear from you," he pleads.

"I will, Dad. Love you," you say. "Be safe."

"Love you, too, Sweetheart," he says. You hang up the call and sit back up in bed.

"How'd it go?" Nora asks. You didn't realize she had come back into the room. She sits on her bed applying lotion.

"Eh," you respond. "I sorta tried to tell him, but he shot it down immediately."

"So, he knows you're dating Miles?" Nora asks.

You sigh and lean over to plug your phone into the charger. "No," you groan.

"I know it's not easy to tell your dad the truth but what's going to happen down the road when you and Miles decide to move in together? Or when you decide to get engaged? I think he will be angrier if he's kept in the dark longer," Nora argues.

"I know," you groan and absentmindedly rub your neck. "I'll tell him after this case."

Nora sighs with disapproval. "Okay."

"Don't give me the disappointed mother 'okay'!" You pout.

"Okay…" Nora says, comedically leaning into her disappointed tone. You throw a pillow at her.

The next day brings a few more pieces of evidence and a list of friends of the victim. One in particular catches both your and Miles' attention.

"His name is Bradley Hogger," Gumshoe explains. Miles has turned his office phone to speaker so you both can hear the detective's report. "According to her other friends, Bradley has been a close friend of the victim's for years."

"Did they ever have a relationship?" You ask.

"Not according to any of the victim's other friends," he answers.

"Miles, I just had a thought," you begin. He turns his attention to you. "What if we're not looking for an ex-boyfriend? What if we're looking for a friend who never got to be the boyfriend?"

"You read my mind," Miles replies. He turns his attention back to the phone. "Detective, we'd like to speak with Mr. Hogger. Please ask him if he will agree to an interview."

"Yes, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges.

"Oh, and Detective," Miles begins.

"Sir?" Gumshoe replies.

"My intern and I will be conducting the interview," Miles states.

"Understood, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges and hangs up.

Miles gives you a smile, "I think you should lead the interview, should he agree. I have yet to observe your witness interviews and I think this will be a beneficial learning opportunity for you."

You nod in response; a jolt of nervousness surges through you, but you override it with your desire for answers and to impress Miles.

Mr. Hogger thankfully agrees to meet with you. You and Miles sit across from him in the interview room at the police station. He appears genuinely distressed, obviously grieving the loss of his long term friend.

You introduce yourself and Miles. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mr. Hogger," you begin, keeping your tone even and calm. Miles' words about following the facts and not getting ahead of the evidence ring in your mind and you consciously maintain an impartial attitude. You tell yourself you are not speaking to a suspect but merely a witness and he will only become a suspect when you have evidence to support that designation.

"Anything to find Suzy's killer," he replies, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Can you tell me about your relationship with Ms. Ozcar?" You ask.

"Suzy and I go way back. We met in high school, actually." His mood brightens a bit from reminiscing. "She was the cheerleader; I was the debate team guy, but she took pity on me, I guess, stood up for me when the jocks ganged up on me. We became best friends. We still are to this day!" His frown returns and he slumps in his chair. "...well we were." A tear falls from his eye.

"When was the last time you saw her?" You ask.

"Last week, I think it was. We went to a movie together," he answers.

"What can you tell me about her relationship with her boyfriend?" You continue.

"Julian? Well, he's okay, I guess. I'm not sure he's good enough for her," Bradley answers, leaning back in his chair with a huff.

"What makes you say that?" You follow up.

"He just didn't seem right for her, you know? Sometimes you can just tell. I just don't think he really loved her like she deserved. He said he wanted to marry her but who knows if he'd ever have actually done it. He seems flaky to me," Bradley explains.

His disapproval of the victim's boyfriend strikes you. You try to stay your judgment but keep the observation in your mind.

"Did you and Ms. Ozcar ever date?" You ask.

"No, never," he replies quickly, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "She was my best friend, I never thought of her that way."

"So, you never had any romantic feelings for her?" You ask.

"No!" He fires back and leans forward in his chair. "Why? Do you people think I did this?!"

Your heart quickens with Bradley's escalation. You try to hold your neutral expression. "Mr. Hogger, we are not accusing you of anything," you reply, voice trembling.

"Good! Because I didn't do it! I didn't even see her that day!" He proclaims.

"Did you speak to her at all?" You ask.

"I don't think so, no," he replies. "Look, what are you people doing talking to me when you should be out looking for Suzy's killer!?"

"Mr. Hogger, I promise you, we are doing everything we can to find the killer, but we need this kind of information to know where to look," you reply, attempting to calm him. "Can you tell me what you did that day?"

"I went to work and I went home. That's all," he answers sharply.

"Would you be willing to give us your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA?" You ask, bracing yourself for a blow-up.

"No! I wasn't around her at all that day! You don't need it! You got some nerve, kid, dragging me in here and making me feel like a murderer! Is that what they teach in the law schools now?"

An idea hits you. "Mr. Hogger, you're right, I've been rather rude. Let me make it up to you. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Maybe a glass of water?" You ask as sweetly as you can.

"That's more like it! I'll take a cup of coffee!" Bradley says and relaxes into his chair.

"I'll be right back," you promise with a smile.

You carefully pour coffee into a freshly cleaned mug, avoiding touching it with your bare hand, using a paper towel to lift it, then gingerly carrying it back to the interview room, sitting on top of a napkin in your palm. You lean down and present the cup to him as a waitress might.

"Thank you," Bradley says calmly and takes the cup. "You know, maybe you're not so bad. Hey, you kind of remind me of Suzy, you know?"

You force a smile and continue your questions, "where do you work, Mr. Hogger?"

"I'm an auto mechanic. I work at a local repair shop; Syd's," he answers and takes a sip of the coffee.

"How long have you worked there?" You follow up, not actually caring about the answers he gives you. You're simply filling dead air while your witness enjoys his coffee.

"Three years," he answers.

"Do you work long hours?" You ask.

"Ten hour shifts, five days a week," he answers.

"Sounds like an exhausting job," you comment.

"Eh. It keeps me in shape," Bradley replies. He holds up his arms and flexes his muscles. He certainly would fit the profile of the killer, you note. Follow the facts, you remind yourself. He lowers his arms and takes another drink of his coffee.

"You mentioned you and Ms. Ozcar went to a movie last week. What else did the two of you like to do together?" You ask.

"We'd go out to the bars from time to time. Julian doesn't drink so he never goes with," he answers.

"Did Ms. Ozcar ever mention Mr. Gates hurting her or did she ever express that she felt unsafe with him?"

He ponders for a moment while drinking more coffee. "No, she never said anything like that. She seemed to really like him. I don't know why," he scoffs. He downs another gulp of coffee.

"What about anyone else in her life?" You ask.

"Nah, I don't think so," he answers. "Everyone loved Suzy." He takes another swig of coffee.

"I appreciate your time very much, Mr. Hogger. Unless my superior has any additional questions, I believe we can conclude this interview," you announce and glance at Miles. He allows a placid smile to form on his lips.

"I have no additional questions. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogger," Miles says, calmly.

You call for a uniformed officer to escort Bradley out of the building. Once out of ear shot, you call for Gumshoe to bring an evidence bag and collect the used coffee cup. "This should get us a few fingerprints AND some DNA," you announce proudly. "Please take that to the lab, Detective."

"Right away!" He replies happily and turns to leave the interview room.

"You never cease to impress me," Miles compliments.

"Learned that trick from my dad. If they leave their DNA out in the open, I can take it. Plain view," you state.

"Very clever. What do you think about this witness?" Miles quizzes.

"I'm withholding my judgment," you promise, then let out a worried sigh. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have…concerns," you admit. "I'm not sure I believe him when he says he had no feelings for the victim."

"I have the same thoughts. He seemed very defensive when you asked him. There isn't enough to designate him a suspect yet, though. I'm very anxious to see the results of the DNA analysis, as well. That should help guide our search. What would you like to do next?"

You carefully consider all of the facts floating around in your head. Julian Gates seemed genuinely devastated when he heard Suzanne was dead. He was fully cooperative with the police, which, in Hollywood, always leads to a twist, but according to your dad, it was usually a good sign. Bradley Hogger was mostly cooperative but did show some suspicious behaviors and refused to give his DNA and fingerprints. Maybe the boyfriend has some insight. "I think I'd like to talk to Julian Gates again," you finally conclude. "I want to find out what he knows about Bradley Hogger."

You earn a proud smile from your mentor. "My thoughts exactly."

[agentcable]

Bad Prosecutor Ep. 4 Recap

Deputy Chief Prosecutor Lee Jang-Won's death has left Jin Jung stunned. All evidence indicates that his death was a homicide, but he is the only one who believes this. Jin Jung abandons all duties at the Civil Affairs Division to search for concrete evidence that could disprove Chief Prosecutor Lee's death as a suicide.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

Deputy Chief Lee's death was portrayed as a suicide, but Jung suspects it was a murder.

A-Ra investigates the case with Tae-Ho's approval while Jung and A-Ra search for evidence. Meanwhile Chul-Gi remains at the Civil Affairs Office, attempting to distract Jae-Kyung from Jung's absence with an awkward smile. However, Jae-Kyung quickly realizes that Jung is missing. Jung rejects the call from him. He believes that he will be scolded whether he answers or not.

To speed up the process, Jung asks Joong-Do to hack into Deputy Chief Lee's call history. He finds a friend of the victim in the call list and sets up a meeting. At the meeting, he discovers what the deputy chief has been searching for: an MP3 player.

A-Ra is waiting for the deputy chief's autopsy. Evidence of foul play was found upon initial examination of the body, but the offical autopsy report indicates suicide.

Jung and A-Ra regroup after receiving the results. A-Ra suggests they stop investigating since the official paperwork states that it was a suicide. They do not have enough evidence to dispute it. Jung persists and spends the night at his desk searching for evidence. Jae-Kyung offers him to ramyeon and questions why he continues to engage in behaviour that he knows will result in trouble. His answer is, "Because no one else will do it if I don't." When Jae-Kyung asks him to take out the newspapers to the trash, Jung discovers a headline stating that the medical examiner who worked on the deputy chief's autopsy has a history of fabrication or at least allegations of it. Jae-Kyung appears to be carrying some heavy baggage, particularly with Tae-Ho, despite regularly discouraging Jung. This may explain why he is discreetly assisting Jung. Additionally, Jae-Kyung reportedly met with the deputy chief shortly before his death.

Jung asked the deputy chief's daughter for a second autopsy, even though his family was angry with him. She agreed after he suggested that there might be foul play involved. To maintain secrecy, he decides to remove the body covertly and obtain his own medical examiner. Jung also reaches out to an anatomy professor to perform the autopsy discreetly, although he had to use his charm - even if it meant making cringey jokes.

Chul-Gi, Eun-Ji, and Joong-Do are entrusted with sneaking out the body, with Joong-Do playing the role of a corpse. They successfully retrieve the body, but in the chaos, Eun-Ji and Chul-Gi forget that Joong-Do is still inside the coffin. As a result, he is about to be cremated in place of the deputy chief. The crew rescues him, but almost burns him in the cremation machine first.

As everything is unfolding, the chairman of Kangsan Law Firm, Seo Hyun-Kyu is pressuring the justice minister to appoint a specific individual as the new chief prosecutor, following the recent murder of the deputy chief. Seo Hyun-Kyu is the driving force behind this. He first sends out his son and heir, Seo Ji-Han, to deliver the message. However, when it is not promptly followed, he confronts the justice minister himself and hits him hard to break his nose.

At the prosecution office, Do-Hwan faces jeers when his "ladder" suddenly dies. He approaches Tae-Ho promising to do whatever he asks and be his sword but Tae-Ho rejects him.

Chairman Seo has been pushing for Tae-Ho to become the new head. Tae-Ho has been hiding his ambition at work by portraying himself as righteous and unambitious. However, he is just like anyone else who wants to climb up the ladder. He has been collaborating with the chairman, and they are so close that he calls him "hyung".

Tae-Ho arrives at the prosecution office the next day and is greeted as the new chief. He maintains his unambitious and solemn persona. Meanwhile, Jung eagerly awaits the autopsy report. His hunch is confirmed when the second autopsy reveals possible foul play. Do-Hwan arrives with a warrant for Jung's immediate arrest. As he and Chul-Gi prepare to continue investigating, they must now deal with this new development. Jung is charged with the murder of the deputy chief. Unfortunately, Jung did get framed.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 167

Achilles Castle part 69

Lemonade and lies PART 12

Martha: pov I ate lunch before I arrived at the hospital Katherine is no longer on oxygen her lungs are doing great. She tells me Olivia has a possible suspect in the case. Which is awesome. Richard is getting some writing done on his computer. Me and Jim talk for a bit.

Joe: pov it seems like me and Muncy are doing everything today which is not fair but we did lie to Captain Benson about being drunk so I guess we deserved it. I'm stuck with Fin hovering over me and Muncy has Liv. I ask if I can get coffee from the break room. He says sure make me a tea while you're at it and make olivia a coffee.

Alexis: pov me and Dave are in the cafeteria getting lunch when I hear a boy say something nasty about cops. Dave says don't get involved but I do anyway, i tell the boy my stepmom is a homicide cop and she solves murders so  not all cops are bad. 

Farkas: pov does she solve the ones she committed or ones other cops did. Alexis says no it's not like that other people committed them and don't talk bad about my step mother.

Dave: pov we grab our pizza and sit down. A girl we don't know asks if she can sit with us. Cammalleri asks if her stepmother is the cop who took down bracken Alexis says yes. Cam asks if her dad Castle and stepmom are coming to the school's family dinner night. Alexis says it depends if she has to work and if she gets a case. After we finished eating we headed to the hospital since we got out early today. 

Jet: pov this is strange how no one knows the killer so it must have been random. Ryan found where the guy lives. I also found something strange. There is video from a grocery store of our suspect arguing with the victim over a parking space wow. Our victim was murdered over a parking space that can't be right. Liv says we need to find the murder weapon and more solid proof that he is the murderer.

Muncy : pov Ryan and Elliot went to get some tacos while we continued with the case. I'm so tired and hungover, Esposito is telling us about one of his weirdest cases. The woman was a psychic and predicted her own death, how strange. 

Ryan: pov I thank Elliot for coming with me to get the tacos he asks  me more about my family. Jenny is my wife's name and Sarah Grace is our daughter and Jenny is pregnant with our second child, a boy. Turns out Elliot is a grandpa already. I know Fin is also a grandpa.  At the station I put the food down on the table while Esposito grabs some plates and cups for everyone. The tacos look amazing. I can't wait to eat them.

Elliot: pov the food was amazing a few of us are heading to check out the house, we are leaving jet, Muncy,  Joe and Ryan at the 12th precinct while the rest of us search the house for info. We know the suspect isn't at home. He is at work. Liv called and told his boss to call him in so we could search his house. We have a warrant. 

Ayanna: pov the house is big we split up into 2 groups Me, Esposito and Fin in one group head upstairs and Elliot and Liv head downstairs together. Fin is shouting about how he may have just found something interesting about our suspect. Hidden in a closet he has a photo album labeled memory lane. 

Fin: pov i found a photo album labeled memory lane. It's full of newspaper clippings about missing/dead people. The one page has a stick that says another one. Oh sh*t, is this guy, a serial killer. I tell Liv over the walkie talkie we have a huge problem. 

Esposito: pov Liv says take pictures of the photo album and put it exactly where we found it and un, ass this place. Once back at the station we each look up one of the people from the photo album. Liv is trying to get the judge to sign off on a bunch of warrants. We don't have much to go with the pictures. I call Lanie since she might have info as a medical examiner she probably knows who did the autopsy on some of these if the bodies were ever found.

Lanie: pov  no I have never seen some of these missing people I  would remember doing the autopsy. wow the one body was found in the woods never solved, NJ police tried to solve it but nothing added up and they finally sent it to cold case. I can get in touch with the ME who did the original autopsy to see if we can confirm if it is this woman. It would give her family closure. I pick up the phone and call the original Medical examiner on the phone. I talk to Hank, the original medical examiner on the case. I'm working a homicide case and our murder suspect had a photo album and one of the women looked like one of yours. a cold case a while ago. He offers to come over to the morgue and go over the evidence with me. 

Kate: pov I just got off the phone with Liv turns out her suspect might be a serial killer, just great. This case is so stressful and has so many twists and turns along the way. She sent me some stuff I could look up so that way I can still help with the case. My dad is watching a baseball game muted that way he doesn't disturb me which is sweet. A nurse comes in to check my vitals. She says everything looks good right now. It's time for my next nebulizer treatment and meds. I still have a bit of a bad cough.

Jim: pov  while Katie is getting her nebulizer treatment I decided to walk around a little. Alexis and Dave showed up earlier and hung out a bit before heading off to get some shopping done. Martha is chatting with a cute Dr who looks too young for her. Captain Benson should be calling Katie back soon with more info. To be continued.  ……..

[boston-slayer]

Chasing Midnight

It was nights last this that made Faith ask one question, "what the fuck am I doing with my life." She sat at her desk, reading over the latest autopsy report. The coroner's report indicated the death was unusual, to her, it was typical. The unusual became Faith's normal as her years as the Slayer wore on. She couldn't figure out what precisely was killing these people. All she knew was that this was highly likely supernatural in origin. Being law enforcement was a double edged sword.

If she was going to patrol the streets for vamps and bad guys, she may as well get paid for it. Becoming a cop helped. Faith rose in rank to homicide detective. In that decade, she'd seen worst of man and demon kind. The crime surges near the Hellmouth were always high. Some years were higher than others. At least when she tackled someone in a graveyard in uniform nobody asked twice.

Nights like this were worse than the biggest demons she faced.

Three dead kids, all unknown causes. She hated child cases, the depravity of some people made her wish she could handle them like she did the monsters of the night. Faith often wondered if those same monsters they slayed were truly as evil as some of the killers she took off the street. The abduction of Bernadette Tyler became national headlines. 16 year old Bernadette Tyler, was a popular model and actress in California. She was no celebrity, well, not until now.

Her office phone rang, she looked at the clock that hung on the wall across from her. Great. Nothing good came from after hour calls.

"Lehane speaking." She answered it, bracing herself for the possibility they found Bernadette Tyler's body. Her brows furrowed, it was their unit chief.

"I was informed by my supervisor, that the FBI and CIA will be assisting us in this investigation." Her unit chief said.

"CIA, you're kidding?" Her heart raced and her blood went cold. Shit, she expected the feds being invited into this case, but the CIA? This changed the entire nature of the case. Supernatural or not, the CIA never got involved in homegrown cases, that was the FBI's job. The CIA specialized in international crimes that would compromise the safety of the United States. If they both were being invited into the case, then this meant two things; she was going to have the Goon Squad breathing down her neck at all hours, worse, they could be dealing with a trafficking ring, hitmen, hell even possibly a new terrorist cell. Any one of those dynamics would be ground for CIA involvement. All of those options were made worse by the supernatural deaths of these past five victims.

"Why?" She said after she collected her thoughts. "What are they thinking this is?" Faith needed an idea of what she was walking into at tomorrow's meeting.

"They didn't say much. I want you to get these agents up to speed tomorrow when they arrive." He said.

Faith thought out a string of curses, but, kept her voice level and professional. "Will do. What time are they expected to arrive?"

With the details arranged, Faith hung up and took one last look at the clock. Dammit, time to patrol. her concentration on her work was gone.

Her eyes blurred from the long hours and caffeine crash. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her medication and took them. It'd keep her alert for the night rounds. She grabbed her belongings and left the precinct.

The night was uncomfortably silent. Faith walked her familiar stomping grounds, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She focused on the teen hotspots, ensuring they weren't targeted. Not even an opportunistic vampire. It was unsettling; a calm before a storm that Faith couldn't pinpoint.

She walked the graveyard, the old high school and university, nothing. The only excitement was trying to fight her sleep paralysis demon long enough to finish patrol. As she walked by the local bar, she spotted a familiar blond figure step outside to smoke. She stopped in front of him and smiled, "mind if I bum one?"

Spike shrugged and handed her a cigarette. "How's patrol, found any boogiemen?" He asked and took a deep breath of smoke.

"Besides you? Nothing." She snorted. Faith leaned against the wall beside him and took a few drags. "They're calling in the feds and CIA over this Tyler case." Faith said and cursed. "The last thing I need is for them to be breathing down my neck." She and Spike kept tabs on the ongoings of Sunnydale. "It's not a typical abduction, this wreaks of demonic activity and I can't say a damn thing about it." Supernatural phenomenon were not unusual sights for her team. However, for her to admit she was part of it would ruin her career if not worse.

Spike chuckled, "sucks playing both sides, doesn't it?" A slayer being a detective was like a vampire being a doctor. It didn't happen and when it did, it usually went to hell eventually.

Faith finished her cigarette, "have you heard anything from B and the others?" At this rate, sucking in her pride and asking for their help, was tempting. No, she couldn't involve them in this. She could lose her badge if she was caught dragging "civilians" into a murder investigation. Being slayers and witches didn't change the laws around civilian affairs. As much as she hated it, she had to play by the rules; more so now than ever before.

In her decades since the fight with the First, Faith grew up a lot. Now on the eve of her 40th birthday, she learned she couldn't take the law into her own hands, but god did she want to sometimes. She didn't play Bad Cop with a chip on her shoulder like she did when she first joined the force.

Spike didn't answer right away, but eventually finished his cigarette and chased it with his beer. "Not lately. They've been on some quest for a magic weapon or something." They didn't tell him anything and frankly Spike didn't care, or so he told himself.

"Fun." Faith said unenthusiastically. A silence lapsed between them, the two finding it peaceful. The night was calm and clear despite how it unsettled her.

Spike finished his beer and said, "Right then, I'll see what I can find out on this Tyler kid." He didn't want to do it, he'd rather follow his vampire instincts and smash his beer bottle over the Slayer's head. However, Spike wanted to prove to Faith and the others that he was good and dependable.

Faith looked over at him curiously. She didn't entirely trust him, but, he'd proven time and again he could be. Faith half smiled at him and grabbed a business card from her wallet.

Spike raised his hand and shook his head, "I know how to find you." He smirked and looked around the small town, debating where to go next. "Just keep the goon squad from sniffing around my crypt." He half waved as he walked off down the street.

She didn't know what to make of that last remark but didn't think much of it. Faith called it an early night and went into the bar to drink her troubles away for the evening. If she was lucky, she'd get a few hours of sleep before she had to do this all again tomorrow.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Close Her Eyes by Lisa Regan

Josie Quinn #17

 Dark, grim, complex murder mystery that grabbed me on page one and didn’t let me go till the very end.

 What I liked:

* Josie: homicide detective, married, had a difficult childhood discussed in previous books, happily married to Noah, competent, professional, good at her job, someone I would like to call friend * Noah: police lieutenant working with Josie and also her husband, loving, kind, supportive, bright, protective, patient, perfect for Josie

* The plot, pacing, setting, and writing

* That it make me think, drew me in, and made me care

* The police procedural aspects of the story and how Josie’s team worked with the team from Bly

* The complexity of this mystery with all the threads that were found, followed, and how they were all tied up in the end

* Getting to see the supporting characters and finding out how they are doing

* The psychological elements and their impact on more than one

* Knowing that there will be another book in the series

* All of it really except…

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about all of the mental and physical pain and suffering that more than one experienced

* Thinking about how evil some people are

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely

 Thank you to NetGalley and Bookouture for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 5 Stars

    BLURB

 The young woman lay among the rocks next to the creek like a broken doll, strands of her long dark hair covering her face. Her body was the kind of cold that only the dead can be… A body lies beside Kettlewell Creek, the waters rushing and churning next to her broken form. When Detective Josie Quinn arrives at the scene, she finds few clues and a victim with no enemies. Nineteen-year-old Sharon Eddy was cherished by her beloved grandmother, who raised her, and her death shocks the Denton community where she worked at the local animal hospital. When Josie is called to the morgue to hear the results of Sharon’s autopsy, the case takes a sinister turn. She is horrified to see that a mark has been burned on to Sharon’s left hip with a cattle brand: a horseshoe shot through with an arrow. Shaken and terrified, the usually cool and collected Medical Examiner Anya Feist lifts her own top to show Josie an identical mark. Ten years ago, Anya fled her hometown after her marriage to her high school sweetheart ended in terror. But Josie can find nothing to connect Anya’s ex-husband Vance Hadlee to the murder. Her search of his family farm leads to more questions than answers. Then another body is found. A young woman in a red coat, lying in her final resting place, her hip bearing the same tell-tale horseshoe mark. As Josie gets closer to finding the truth, the killer creeps ever closer to home, threatening the lives of those Josie loves the most. Can she put together the pieces of this terrifying puzzle before it’s too late? A completely unputdownable crime thriller from an Amazon, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Gripping, page-turning and guaranteed to keep you up all night, it’s perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, Robert Dugoni and Rachel Caine.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[wylanvnneck]

This 2 part fic was written for the Secret Snusband Gift Giveaway hosted by @jurdannet​ and @jurdannetrevels​ for my lovely Knife Wife @lilacs-with-lavender​.

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Inspired by an episode of my favourite Cop TV show, ‘Castle’, in which a bet takes place with pretty high stakes, although the plotline has been tweaked to fit this fandom. My Knife Wife said she loved the Enemies to Lovers trope so that’s what I’ve (tried to) write here and I hope you enjoy the story of Homicide Detectives Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar and their mutual enmity.

Warnings: Not so graphic descriptions of murder and mention of drugs. (Really not sure what I need to tag, so please let me know if I’ve missed something.)

Posted as a Gift on AO3 | Part 2 | Masterlist

Part 1

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Victim’s name is Taryn Santorini, a metal sculptor by trade, she was found by her doorman fifteen minutes before we traced the address in Chloe’s hand back to her.” 

Detective Jude Duarte looks down at the motionless face of a scared looking brunette, a crimson splatter painting the tiled floor around her lifeless body. The room around her is a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, bed ruffled and unmade and metal figurines placed haphazardly throughout the little apartment.

“Lil, talk to me, what are we looking at?”

Before the white-blonde haired medical examiner crouched on the floor by the body can answer, a smooth dark voice that Jude so detests cuts through the air behind her.

“Why, Duarte, I’d say that the fact that Tara What’s-her-name was shot and killed is rather obvious.” The despicable excuse of a detective steps forward, a smug grin pasted to his face. Cardan Greenbriar, entitled little rich boy, over-confident bastard and sadly, her partner.

Patience, Jude reminds herself, patience was a virtue. 

“I meant, as I’m sure Lil knows, with what model was she killed and when?”

Liliver shoots her an amused sympathetic look before turning her gaze back to the victim.

“Looks to be a gun with a 45 caliber, same as the one used to kill Chloe Tatterfell. I’d say Taryn here has been dead for about 12 hours so pretty close to Chloe’s time of death, maybe just a half hour or so afterwards.”

“So chances are it’s the same killer.” Cardan interjects, the smug smile a little less vibrant now. 

“Yep. I’ll have to get her back to the morgue so  I can do a full inspection, see if I can find anything helpful.”

Jude steps back from the crime scene to give her some space, almost bumping in to the officer taking pictures of the area for later use. 

“Thanks, Lil.”

“Just doing my job, sweetie.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jude clips a glossy picture of their latest victim onto the precinct’s murder board. “Garrett and Van questioned practically all known associates of both Chloe and Taryn and none of them could recognise the other victim. There’s no obvious connection between the two and yet, for some reason they were both killed on the same day, by the same person.”

“And with the same gun.” Cardan is leaning back in his chair, his posture insouciant and his curly black hair falling lazily over his forehead. Surely that was a violation of precinct dress codes? Not that he’d care either way, rule breaker that he was. God knew it was only because of his daddy’s clout that he’d even graduated from the academy in the first place, whilst people like Jude had to work hard and save every penny and fight to get anywhere in the field of Law Enforcement.

“Ok, I’m going to head to the morgue whilst Van and Gare check through the victim’s phones and financials, see if Lil has anything for us.”

“I suppose, being the dutiful partner that I am, I should come with you?” Cardan’s drawl is as irritating as usual and Jude can hardly wait to get out of the proximity of his stupid raven locks and smoldering eyes.

“Please, you’d be doing us both a favour if you didn’t.”

“Aw, come now Jude you know you’d miss me.” He lets out a dramatic sigh as he half heartedly stands from his chair to join her as she speeds by towards the exit and she just barely resists the urge to throttle him.

Lil bustles around her examining room as she adjusts the fluorescent lamps shining down on both the victim’s bodies’. 

“So, apart from the type of bullets that killed them, the only similarity that I could find between the two victims is the fact that they both have tattoos.”

Jude raises a brow. “Everyone has tattoos.”

From across the autopsy table Cardan’s eyes gleam as he smirks. 

“Oh really? You got some ink on you, Duarte?” 

His tone is disbelieving and Jude can’t resist messing with him a little.

She pastes an obviously fake flirtatious smile on her face and drawls in a sugar sweet voice, “Guess you’d have to find that out on your own, Greenbriar.” 

She bites at her lip for good measure and thinks once more of how bad she would be at flirting in earnest. Lil certainly couldn’t keep the laughter out of her gray eyes. Cardan, however, has a strange look on his face, one that Jude can’t quite decipher, but she’s pretty sure she’s just one-upped him and she can’t deny the slight sense of triumph that the thought gives her.

 She turns her attention back to the victims. “You were saying, Lil?” 

“I’m saying that these tattoos seem to have been done by the same artist. Look,” she pulls back the white cloth covering the body of Chloe Tatterfell, gently pushing a strand of brown hair off of her shoulder to reveal the cartoonish character of a rose, inked in with dark black ink.

She then turns to Taryn’s body to reveal a similarly styled tattoo of a mermaid on her wrist. Just as she’s pulling back the cover Jude’s back pocket vibrates and the sound of her plain ringtone travels through the air. Quickly she swipes upwards to answer the call and it’s Garrett.

“Yo, so we looked through the victims’ phone records and found a connection. Both Chloe and Taryn made a phone call on the day that they were killed to the same number, belonging to a Locke McCutchins, he’s got priors including robberies and domestic assault.”

By the time he’s finished speaking she’s already waved a quick goodbye to Lil and turned to walk out the door, not bothering to check if her partner was behind her.

“Alright, text me his address, let’s go pick him up.”

“Locke McCutchins, open up, it’s the NYPD!” Garrett bangs on the door and the force is so strong that the wood vibrates as Jude clutches her pistol in her hand, body flat against the wall of Locke’s apartment with Cardan right beside her.

There’s no answer and the door is broken down as she, Cardan, Garrett and Van file into the room in a practiced motion that’s as familiar to her as breathing.

Right in front of them, sprawled across his couch, lies the dead body of Locke McCutchin, his tawny eyes still open and gazing unseeingly up at his ceiling, a dried red patch visible on his shirt.

Garret drops to the floor beside the couch, his sandy hair falling over his face as he leans over to check Locke’s pulse whilst the rest of them look on after having taken note that the apartment was clear.

“Body’s cold, he’s been dead for hours, entry wound looks to be about the same size as the other victims.”

Jude scrunches her eyebrows as she stands in front of the murderboard for the second time that day.

“So, Chloe Tatterfell, Taryn Santorini and Locke McCuchins were all killed within the span of 24 hours, all with the same gun, presumably by the same killer and yet so far the only connections we’ve found are Taryn’s address that was found written on Chloe’s hand, the phone call from both women to Locke and the similar tattoos on both Chloe and Taryn, but not on Locke.”

“Hmm.” Cardan seems to materialise out of nowhere, carrying a paper cup of what smells like freshly brewed coffee. Jude was convinced that he took his coffee with added alcohol but she had yet to prove it.

“What’s with the glare?” he asks.

“It automatically deploys itself when you're around.”

He scoffs. Twirls his coffee around. Takes a long, slurping sip.

“Hey, Duarte? Don’t get me wrong, I mean, the feeling is mutual, but what exactly is it that makes you despise me so much? I’d like to know so I can make sure to keep doing it.” 

Jude barely deliberates over her answer before she responds. 

“Being an overly cocky, obnoxious jerk who has only managed to get this far thanks to his Daddy’s fat purse will definitely be the best way to make me hate you, trust me.”

He grins but there’s no humour in the curve of his sensual lips, his eyes are cold metal.

“You think that the only reason I’m a detective is because of my father?”

“Yup.” She makes sure to add plenty of emphasis to that one word.

Cardan opens his mouth as if to speak, stops, presses his lips together so hard that they turn pale before the colour returns to them when a slow smile spreads across his face, this time full of humour, but the decidedly darker kind.

“Let’s make a bet. If you can figure out what the connection between our three victims is before I do, I’ll go right up to Captain Madoc myself and request a change of partners so you can be rid of my ‘overly cocky, obnoxious’ self. Deal?” 

He was extending a challenge and Jude was never one to back down from those. Besides, the chance to be rid of him with no cost to herself or her reputation was too good to pass up on. Still, there had to be a catch, with Cardan, there was always a catch.

“And on the complete off-chance that you figure it out first? What happens then?”

“If I figure it out first...you have to come with me as my date to this party that my dad’s having in a couple days.”

Those last few words come out in a rush and Jude has to take a moment to decipher their meaning. Followed by another moment to wonder if she’d somehow completely misunderstood what he’d said.

“You want me to what?”

“Be my date to a party. Honestly Duarte, do you have any idea how many women would jump at this opportunity?” His tone is disgustingly nonchalant. 

“I-” she struggles to find the words. “Take one of them then! Don’t you have a girlfriend, Nicasia or something like that? Blue hair and eyes? High pitched voice? Talks a lot about how much she gets seasick?”

“You know, for someone who’s only met Nicasia once you do remember quite a bit about her.” His steady gaze on her is intense.

For some incorrigible reason Jude has to resist the urge to flush.

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to study people.”

“Right. Sadly, Nicasia and I are no longer together, if we ever were. I got bored. Hence, why I need a date.”

“I’m sure you could just take one of your scores of female admirers, you don’t need me.”

“Is that jealousy that I detect in your voice?”

“Cardan.” 

“Look, the point is, I can’t be bothered having to deal with yet another simpering female who thinks that one night on my arm means a promise to a life-long relationship complete with marriage, a fancy mansion and exactly 2.5 kids. All I want is a companion for one night so I don’t get hounded by my mother for not having a girlfriend by which she can procure some grandchildren.”

“Oh so now you want me to be your fake girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes up at the ceiling and she fights the urge to slap him. 

“It’s just for one night! Besides, I thought me winning was barely even a possibility to you.”

She makes a noise at the back of her throat. “It is.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. Do we have a deal, or not?” He holds out his hand, sculpted eyebrows raised in confrontation.

She doesn’t really think he has much of a chance of figuring it out before her, but he had admittedly also proven adept at figuring certain things out in previous cases so there was definitely no certainty that he wouldn’t win, for all her bravado. Yet, her competitive nature couldn’t bear the thought of surrendering, so she pushes her unease aside and grips his hand in a firm shake. 

“Deal.” 

There’s an awkward moment when he takes a little too long to release her hand from his grip. Once he finally does, the rather pointy tips of his ears reddening, they both turn back to the murder board and the view of their murder time line and crime scene pictures, furiously trying to connect the dots in their heads.

A random thought intrudes in her brain.

"Wait, what if Garrett and Van figure it out before we do?”

As one, she and Cardan both turn towards the opposite side of the office where the two officers in question sat in front of their computers.

Van was typing in data on his computer, eyes glazing over and the tuft of black hair atop his head trembling whilst Garrett, or, The Ghost - as he was sometimes called thanks to his tendency to take months before answering non-work related messages - stood eating glazed donuts with one hand and speaking to someone on the phone held in the other. Jude loved the both of them but she had to admit that they didn’t exactly paint the most inspiring picture. 

Once again she and Cardan are in sync when they promptly turn back towards the murderboard and proclaim, “Nah.”

Van’s excitement is clearly written on his face when he walks straight up to Jude’s desk the moment she arrives at the precinct the next morning, slamming down a manila folder with the NYPD crest printed on it onto her neatly arranged table top.

Immediately she reaches out to open it, desperate for a break in the case that would not only put a three time killer behind bars but also ensure that she herelf wouldn’t commit murder if she lost the bet and had to pretend to be Cardan’s girlfriend for a night. The thought makes her want to shudder.

“So, I was looking into all of our victim’s financials and I noticed an anomaly. Two weeks ago on the 7th they each deposited 95 hundred dollars into their savings accounts, but we’ve got no way of tracing the money back because the amount is under the IRS’s investigative limit” Van takes a quick pause before continuing, “but that’s not all, both Taryn and Chloe have credit card charges for small amounts at a tattoo place called Fair Folk Inks down in Queens.”

“Great, that’d be the place where they both got tattoos, I’ll go down there and ask the owner a couple questions, thanks Van.” She puts the sheaf of financial accounts back into the folder and takes a quick swig of her usual morning coffee, black, no sugar before preparing to head out once more.  

“Going somewhere, partner?” 

She’d bumped straight into Cardan when stepping into the elevator and she lets out a small groan of frustration as she steps back from his sturdy form. He looks annoyingly chipper, usual cocky smile in place and laughter in his tone as he looks down at her slightly shorter self. His cologne is strong and emanates the scent of the woods and sunlight in the small elevator. The woods and sunlight? Clearly foregoing the rest of her morning coffee hadn’t been a good idea.

She’d thought she could make it out of the building before he finally arrived, necessitating in having to take him along as well, but clearly fate had other ideas. 

“Tattoo parlour. Queens,” she grits out.

“Let’s go then,” his tone is sickly sweet.

“Hi there, you guys lookin’ to get inked?” asks the pink haired girl behind the counter in fishnet tights and a tank top, looking up from where she is perched on a stool behind the counter when she hears them enter.

The parlour itself is shiny and white, the smooth metal counter and two spaced out black leather tattoo chairs complete with wheeled stools are the only pieces of furniture in the small space. Mounted on the walls are designs, each of them evoking a sense of fantasy. A pixie there, a selkie here, an ornate dragon, all staring right back at Jude as she takes in their surroundings. She takes note of the fact that the pictures staring back at her were very reminiscent of Chloe and Taryn’s tattoos, solidifying her suspicion that this was where they had got them done.

Before she has time to explain the reason for their visit, Cardan pipes up.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of getting one of a slithering snake, maybe across my back? I believe it would add to my already abundant sex appea-”

“Actually,” Jude cuts him off with her most scathing glare, to which he irritatingly responds with a grin. “We’re here on official business, NYPD, we need to speak with the owner of this establishment.” She holds up the badge that she’s just extracted from her plain black wallet as she speaks.

“That would be Vivi, hang tight a sec I’ll go get her.” With a sway of her hips Heather trounces off behind a curtained section at the back of the parlour. 

Unable to stand still for even a few moments, her partner has already wandered over to the corner of the room, pointing at a pinned up design, ““That goblin over there reminds me of Van.”

She ignores him. 

“Oh come on Duarte, you have to admit, there’s a definite resemblance.”

She spares the quickest of glances at the design and it’s true, there’s a striking similarity, but she isn’t about to give him the satisfaction of agreeing so she simply makes a non-committal grunt of recognition.

“Tell me, are you always this tightly wound or is it just for the majority of your day?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have inadvertently traveled upwards on her face and she can’t believe he has the audacity to say what he just did, although really, she shouldn’t be so surprised.

“Come on Duarte, we’ve been partners for quite a while now and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you laugh.” He’s standing a few feet away from her, his expression serious, not backing down.

“It’s called being professional.” She can feel the muscles working in her face as she hisses out the words through gritted teeth, blood pounding furiously. 

“Ahem.” She whirls around to find a tall bronze haired woman with striking cat-like eyes that were currently meeting her gaze wearing a lazy look of amusement.  

“Heather said there were some policemen who wanted to ask me some questions?”

Jude cannot believe that she had just gotten so sidetracked by her insolent partner that she’d forgotten why she was currently standing in the middle of a Tattoo parlour in Queens, clutching a set of regular sized close ups of three now dead people. She tamps down the irritation at her own actions as she thrusts out the photos in front of the woman facing her, Vivi, the pink haired girl had said.

“Yes, ma’am, do you recognize these people?”

She watches intently as Vivi carefully peruses the pictures before answering, “I know the two girls, Taryn and Chloe, we’re friends, I’ve even tattooed the both of them. I’m not really sure who he is.”

“Are you sure you don’t know him? Look carefully.” Cardan is all business now, stepping up to Vivi.

“I’m sure.” Vivi’s tone is almost defiant, daring him to question her again.

“You said that you were friends with the girls, how close were you?” 

“They came into the tattoo parlour at the same time about a month ago and we started up a conversation, we exchanged numbers and would meet up for a drink from time to time.” 

“Did they ever meet up with just each other?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Can you think of any reason as to why they’d both be killed by the same person?”

“They’re...they’re dead?”

Jude had intentionally asked the question in a way that would require a reaction and she wasn’t sure that she was entirely convinced by the shocked undertone of Vivi’s voice.

 “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

“She’s hiding something.” Once again Jude is back in front of the murderboard, furiously capping and uncapping a whiteboard marker as her mind whirls. She’s full of nervous energy, on the brink of a precipice and she wants nothing more than to be able to push herself off of it.

“Agreed.” Cardan is pacing the floor between her and the murder board and his posture indicates that he’s just as worked up as she is.

“But what I can’t understand is why she would kill two of her acquaintances plus a random vending machine operator, I mean, there’s no clear motive.” She’s barely conscious of the slight pain that tingles as she worries at her bottom lip.

Cardan halts in front of the board, takes a hard look at the scrawled timeline on it before once more resuming his brisk walk.

 “And what the hell is the connection between these three victims? They lived in opposite neighbourhoods, worked in completely different areas and fields, never seemed to have been in the same place at the same time and yet somehow they were killed by the same hand. Also, where did all that money come from?” 

His phone chooses precisely that moment to start ringing and the sound of ‘Horns’ by Bryce Fox cuts through the tension. 

“It’s Liliver,” he mouths as he swipes upwards to answer and puts the medical examiner on speaker phone.

“You got something for us Lil?’

“You bet I do. I had scraps from the victims’ clothings tested to try and find a common link. What I found were traces of bleach, acetone, sodium chloride and ammonia.”

“Drugs. They were making drugs. That would explain all the money.” Jude is burning and luminescent with victory, until Lili’s next words cut her down.

“It’s not drugs.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because of what isn’t there. If your vics were making drugs, there’d need to be a couple more ingredients. That being said, they were definitely up to something.”

She lets out a sigh of defeat. “Thanks, Lil.”

Cardan hangs up before bringing his fingers up to his temples, massaging the sides of his head as he burns a hole into the board in front of him.

Jude bites back a scream. “This is like the start of a bad joke, a teacher, a sculptor and a vending machine operator walk into a tattoo parlour…”

He scoffs, “Yeah, except we don’t really have a punchline.”

“Other than ‘they made a bunch of money and got themselves killed.’”

There’s a lull in the air and the frustration is palpable. There was so much more than just their bet at stake here, there was the need for justice for these three victims, who regardless of their crimes likely didn’t deserve what had befallen them. Besides, there was no way that they could let a ruthless killer roam the streets freely.

Suddenly, Cardan whirls around to face her, once again bringing his pacing to an abrupt stop, with a speed to rival that of the animal that was his tattoo inspiration.

“Made a bunch of money,” he repeats. 

He sounds like he’s just jumped off of the precipice. She, on the other hand, remained firmly mounted to the ground. 

“What?”

“A sculptor who works with metal, a chemist and a vending machine operator...I know what they were up to.”

Slowly, the light starts to dawn on her and her pulse speeds up. Yes, she thinks.

“Think about it, when counterfeiting money, what’s the biggest problem you face? Finding the paper,” he continues.

“And a vending machine operator would have an endless supply of one dollar billls!”

“Exactly, then the chemist would come in, using the chemicals that were found on the vic’s bodies to white wash those bills.”

“And then the sculptor would be able to fashion a set of metal plates with which to type in fake serial numbers’ so they can get larger denominations of money…”

“Right! So, plates, paper, there’s just one missing ingredient.”

Beaming smiles break out on both their faces when, in unison they reach the same conclusion. 

The 12th Precinct’s interrogation room had contained many suspects from the time it was built. Some were innocent and some were guilty, but there was no doubt in both Jude and Cardan’s minds that the feline woman currently seated across from them with her legs up on the table was one hundred percent guilty. 

“So you think you’ve figured it all out, huh?” Vivi’s drawl is deceptively flippant.

“I think so.” Jude answers calmly. “For instance, we’ve figured out that you were involved in and likely the mastermind behind a counterfeiting operation that raked in a substantial amount of money. You provided the last ingredient needed, the ink from your tattoo parlour stocks that was used to print on the bills.”

Cardan leans forward. “We’ve also surmised that you killed your partners in said operation; Taryn Santorini and Chloe Tatterfell, both of whom you met through your tattoo parlour, just like you said.”

“And our third victim, Locke McCutchins? Yeah, we know he was your cousin, once removed on your mother’s side wasn’t it? A distant enough relationship for you to not be flagged when checking his family, but close enough for you to enlist him in your scheme so you had access to vending machine bills.” Jude continues, she and Cardan having perfected the art of interrogating together ages ago, their tactics working smoothly together alongside each other. 

Vivienne sneers. “So what? You have no proof.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, we do. You neglected to hide the metal plates that you got Taryn to make for you in a place that wasn’t under a loose floorboard of your room, easily found with the aid of a search warrant.” Cardan smiles.

“You also tripped up when you stored your used gun with matching ballistics to the weapon that killed our victims in the same place as the plates.” Cardan’s smile is copied on Jude’s face.

Vivi’s skin pales and her cat’s eyes narrow into slits as she bangs the table, hard, before slouching back in the metal chair, the fight leaving her.

“Well, I suppose the jig is up, as they say,” she drawls.

Satisfied, Jude stands up and gathers the notepad and pen that she’d left on the desk and then bends over the interrogation table to meet Vivi’s gaze.

“What I can’t understand, though, is why? Why would you kill them if you’d already paid them?”

The Accused smirks. “It was all that idiot Lockes’s fault. He’d gotten himself into debt with some mob shark and needed more dough to bail his sorry self out. I wasn’t about to give it, he had his cut and that was all. But then, he threatened to go to the cops and tell them about what we did. Couldn’t let that happen, so I figured I’d kill ‘em all of. Just to be safe.”

The casual way in which she speaks of her deeds chills Jude to the bone. Wordlessly, she turns her back on yet another cold hearted murderer and exits the room with Cardan right behind her.

They come to a stop in front of the now empty murderboard, its surface shiny and white, devoid of words, but not for long. There was always a murder happening somewhere or the other, Jude had been a detective long enough to know that.

“So, now that Vivienne Insmire, tattoo artist, mastermind and ink supplier of counterfeiting operations and killer of ‘friends’ and distant male cousins is safely behind bars, I think you and I have a certain matter to settle, Duarte.”

She’d been trying hard to avoid this moment all day, pushing back thoughts of her close defeat and what its consequences would be. It seemed like now, she'd run out of time. She gulps.

“I suppose-” she almost can’t bring herself to say the words, “I suppose you won our bet, then.”

“Yup.” He’s not even trying to hide his gloating, “and you know what that means.”

The noise she emits is one that is resigned. She knows what’s coming.

“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow.”

“Or I could just take a ca-”

“Don’t be late, Duarte,” he calls over his shoulder as he leisurely strolls towards the precinct exit, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder.

--------------------------------------------------------------

If you’ve made it all the way down here, congrats! Here’s a link for part 2.

Tagging the lovely people on my short but treasured TFOTA taglist; @cupcakesandkittens​ (who helped immensely during the writing of this fic and who suggested adding in the interrogation scene❤) and my very own talented Secret Snusband, @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my taglist💕

[renee-writer]

That Eye Chapter 2

On Wattpad

I can’t get the sight of the semen smears on her inner thighs out of my head. That is where my mind is as Remie and I head to the precinct. Homicide is not an easy gig. I chose it because of this, wanting a challenge. It is usually easier to place the victims to the side and concentrate on the investigation, the clues, like placing a puzzle together. That was until Paisley was born.

 

My daughter is three months old and the absolute light of my wife, Lennon and I’s life. Ever since her birth, female victims hit harder. The thought of some piece of shit doing…

 

“August, you can’t think that way.”  I jerk at Remie’s statement and then laugh. It is dark but welcome. Of course she knows what I am thinking. We have known each other ten years, since the academy and have been partners for seven of them.

 

“Yeah, I know. It is just…”

 

“Anyone that even thinks about laying a hand on my Goddaughter and they will be finding pieces of him for years.” Her growl fills our squad car and I have to laugh again. Yeah, Remie is a bit protective of Paisley.

 

“You would have to get through me and Lennon.” She nods, thinking. We are at a light so she has time. Her fingers pat the steering wheel. I always joke that she is hearing a song only she can when she is thinking as she is always keeping a beat.

 

“Well, it would depend on who got to the bastard first.” The light changes and she continues down the street. “But for now, let’s focus on catching this one.”

 

“Agreed. It could be a woman. The semen could be from consensual sex. But the way the body was laid out suggests a sexual motive.”

 

“Or a shaming one.”

 

We do this. It is our process, bouncing ideas off each other. Even before we have all the information. It helps even if none of theories prove right. “Huh, could be. The stimulation of masturbation is new.”

 

“Yeah never seen that one before. Well, we will see if George can tell us if there is sexual assault.” Dr. Harry George is our coroner. Unlike some of the people in his role in some of the smaller counties in our state, he is a full medical doctor, trained in forensics so we don’t have to sent out our bodies to the state facilities for autopsies.

 

“Yes.” She starts to tap again. “I wonder if the graves were chosen on purpose.”

 

“The babies. Yeah that is a good question. The parallel between the lose of innocence and the overt sexual way she was posed.”

 

She snorts. “I keep telling you August that you should go for a profiler position.”

 

“Ya trying to get rid of me Remie?” I joke.

 

Another snort. “Yeah right. Do I look like I have time or energy to train another man.” Our chuckles fill the car. “No, in all seriousness, I just hate to see you waste natural talent.”

 

“Thanks. Really I…” am not used to having such compliments. Remie and It’s relationship, like most cops, mainly consist of put downs giving affectionately. “appreciate it. For now I will use this skill to find the piece of shit that took that young woman’s life.”

 

“Good enough.” We pull up at the precinct and get out and hurry in. All joking aside, the first 48 hours are critical. The faster we get a jump on the bastard, the more likely we are to capture him or her. At our desk we find some of the initial reports. Besides the semen, the body is marked with signs she fought for her life.  Broken fingernails, a newly chipped tooth ( how wonderful it would be if she got a chunk out of him or her!) CSI has also found a hair that isn’t the victim’s. The body will be dusted for prints as will the tombstone. Ever inch of ground around the scene will be carefully went through, every blade of grass checked for trace evidence. The surrounding area is also being searched for her clothes. If they are not found, an initial crime scene is still out there or the perp took them with him or her. George will run dental records and they will go through any missing persons reports that match her appearance. To have an identity would be nice.

 

We work though lunch as neither of us had much of an appetite. Notes on the interviews with the responding officer and the janitor. Notes on what CSI has found so far. Crime scene pictures, labeled and noted. Every missing persons report that was cleared. Paperwork is a hassle but, we know any tiny slipup will be used by the defense attorney when the case makes it to trial. So, we don’t every I and cross every t.

 

By the time George is ready to do the autopsy, we are pretty much caught up.

[trillian-anders]

suspect - i

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 5k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

Cheryl Hansen’s accent was thick, Boston southie. “Are they in bed?” She asked the person on the other end of the line, “I should be home soon. Probably another hour or so.” Her heel scraping against the concrete, arm wrapped around her middle. The temperature had dropped since that morning. A beautiful spring day it had been, just hours before. She took her kids to the park, a rare happy moment in a life she though she’d never find herself in. “I love you.” Spoken softly as a car pulls to a stop beside her, “I’ve got to go, bye-bye.” Her phone screen darkened, the passenger window rolling down. She puts her game face on and leans down to talk to the man sitting in the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t something she particularly liked to do. You could say she didn’t like to do it at all. But it was easy money. It was quick money. It was the only way she could make money. She couldn’t see his face, half covered by a baseball cap which wasn’t out of the norm. A lot of Johns tend to want to cover their faces, the embarrassment of paying for sex. The ‘shamefulness’ of it. A lot of them were like this.

“Get in.” His voice, demanding, aggressive. He wasn’t going to be an easy one, and she knew that. A bad feeling in her gut, she slipped into the passenger seat of the car. The car pulling off from the curb and disappearing into the night.

...

They switched the coffee. Bucky glared down at the bitter cup in his hand before searching through the cabinets above the coffee maker. French roast, he scrunched his nose up at before dumping the cup into the sink and rinsing out his mug. “So no coffee.” He mumbles to himself.

The bullpen was busy today. Already, and it was not a good day. He had three cases worth of paperwork to turn in, his dryer broke last night so his jeans were still damp when he put them on, and his arm was aching today. A storm was coming soon. He was late to work which meant getting breakroom coffee and unfortunately, they’d stocked it with the one kind he didn’t like.

First world problems, sure he tried to rationalize as he sat down at his desk, booting up his computer for the first time that day. His thumb flipped through the large stack of files on his desk, ready to be sorted through and input into the computer. Rubbing his eyes, he realized he’s going to need to go get some sort of caffeine at some point.

“Barnes.” Looking up from his computer, in the doorway of his Captain’s office, Steve Rogers. Long time friend and once partner, now Captain of this precinct. “Can I see you in my office please?”

The man across from him let out a laugh, his fingers playing on his lips, shady eyes glaring over at him from behind his computer screen. “What did you do Barnes?” Rumlow the little shit. Bucky hated working with him. Rumlow fought him for cases, always. Became a detective at the same time as Steve and was sore as hell that Steve got the Captain position over him. He was waiting for the day that Bucky was knocked down a peg or two. “But it’s hard with good old-fashioned nepotism.” Rulmow would jeer. As if Steve was giving him anything special. If anything, Steve had been giving him the short end of the stick.

Bucky had been stuck doing cases easy enough for a beat cop. He’d been begging Steve for something else, but it was always the same shit, “Those cases go to the detectives with more experience.” The homicides. The serial rapists. Granted, they weren’t as prevalent as a common break in or robbery, but he still craved it. Justice was why he became a cop in the first place. He wanted to be tracking down true criminals. Not these schmucks being busted for having an ounce of weed on them, something he didn’t see as much of a problem anyway. He followed Steve into his office, ignoring Rumlow’s comment.

“Shut the door behind you.” Steve said, sitting behind his desk. The glass windows to the bullpen hot on Bucky’s back as he was sure Rumlow was staring him down, trying to see what was going on by the look on Steve’s face.

“What’s going on?” Bucky sunk into the chair opposite. Steve shuffled papers around on his desk before looking up at his friend.

“They found a body in an alley in near lower Washington.” Bucky perked up in his seat. Steve shook his head, “Don’t fuck this up, do you understand me? I’m giving you some real responsibility here.”

“Of course not.” Bucky blew out a huff, “You know how bad I want this Steve.” He rolled his eyes,

“Yeah I know,” Steve leaned back in his chair, “Now get out of here.”

The clouds gave a murky grey light over the streets of Boston. Bucky peered up at them as he exits his car. He rotated his left arm, the muscles sore. There was already caution tape strung up surrounding the alley. Beat cops and people trying to peer into the crime scene.

The body. Fuck the body. Bucky’s stomach churned at the sight. Yes, solving a homicide came with its perks career-wise, but the physicality of it was something he’d yet dealt with. He’s seen his share of bodies as a beat cop. He would have been one of those suckers behind him securing the scene and making sure there was no civilian interference. Keeping all the looky-loos at bay.

That’s the thing though, everyone thinks they want to see a dead body, but when faced with one… it’s much more unsettling. This woman could have been anyone. She could have been Becca, his sister. She could have been Peggy, Steve’s wife. She could have been anyone. But that’s not saying that there wasn’t a stigma with it.

“It’s a hazard of the occupation.” Rumlow would spit at him later, “Nothing more than another dead prostitute.”

“Sex worker.” Bucky would correct him. And now squatting next to the body, looking upon her corpse. “Victim.”

She was flat on her back. Spread eagle on the ground. Naked. Her eyes blankly staring up at the sky. Her makeup was smeared across her face. She’d been crying. Ligatures around her neck, no doubt that she had been strangled to death. And the one strange thing, the one souvenir taken from her body. Her ring finger cut at the joint. And missing.

“Look who they let out of the bullpen.” A snarky voice from behind him, he peered over his shoulder. “I brought you a coffee.” Natasha Romanov. Assistant DA. No doubt the one assigned to this case, even though they both know it won’t go anywhere. No one cared about a dead sex worker, and the girls she worked with wouldn’t speak to cops. Bucky resented Steve for giving him this case. Immediately.

“Thank you.” Taking the coffee and stepping over to her side.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked, gesturing toward the body. Bucky took a sip of his coffee, bringing himself back online and feeling okay for the first time that morning, considering. He shakes his head.

“It’s a shame.” He takes another sip, “Guys just get to mow down these girls like they’re nothing. And no one will probably ever go to jail for this.” She nods,

“Sucks that they gave it to you.” Bucky sighs. Yeah, it does. “Well, I have to get back to the office, but let me know if you find anything.”

“Thanks again for the coffee.” He watches her go. The coroners waiting for him to give the okay to take the body for autopsy. He nods, stepping back and out of the way.

Whoever killed this poor girl obviously thought very little of her, having her spread open that way, discarded in an alley like trash. It stirred something raw in Bucky’s gut.

When he got back to the precinct he sat heavily in his chair, rubbing his eyes and typing the woman’s name into the computer. He’d have to tell her family, if they had any. Maybe she had priors.

And she did.

Her face pulled up on his screen. Cheryl Hansen. The life in her eyes. Miserable, but she was there. Alive, and she was arrested for drug possession, solicitation for sex work twice, she had a restraining order on an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he could start there.

But first thing’s first. Next of kin.

“She was a pretty little thing huh?” Bucky turned and glared at the man behind him.

“You’re disgusting.” Bucky spat, scribbling down her address and then typed in the ex-boyfriend’s name.

“I’ve got eyes.” Rumlow parried. “Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean she wasn’t hot.”

“Have some respect.” The ex-boyfriend’s face loads, his rap sheet longer than hers and littered with domestic calls and assault charges. A good lead. A great lead to be completely honest. The way she was murdered was violent and passionate. Intimate almost.

Cheryl lived in a bad part of town which wasn’t surprising. Bucky remembered on going on more than one domestic call here in his time on the beat, it was dirty, not too well kept. But it was cheap and it’s hard to find somewhere cheap to live in Boston. His knuckles rapt against the door. A shuffling heard from behind. The door opened, chain still locked into place and a hazel eye showed in the crack.

“Can I help you?” Cheryl’s Mother. He swallowed, anxious about what was about to follow.

“I’m Detective Barnes with Boston PD.” His badge held up for her to see. “I’m here to talk to you about your daughter, Cheryl Hansen?” The door shut and a scramble for the chain before it was pulled open. A baby on her hip.

“Did something happen to her?”

This was the worst part of the job. The despair. He was serving her with the death of her child. The death of her daughter. Cheryl had two kids. One just barely over a year, the other three years old. Two beautiful baby girls that no longer had their Mother.

Cheryl’s mom, Sophie sat across from him, sobbing. He didn’t know what to do. This isn’t something that ever got easier. A box of tissues stolen from the coffee table, sat between them at the small kitchenette. Her head in her hands, crying. He tried to comfort her. He did. Hand on her shoulder, but it was best to just let them cry it out. It was all you could really do.

“I’m sorry,” he says, knowing it won’t make it any better, “I’m going to do everything I can to find the person responsible for this, but I need you to tell me if there’s anyone you know who would want to hurt her.”

“She told me she was a waitress.” Sophie sniffled. “She told me—” A hiccup.

“I know this is difficult.” He scoots his chair closer, “But Cheryl needs us to help find her killer.” Sophie’s eyes red, body trembling as she met his gaze.

“Uh, Michael Hale.” The ex-boyfriend. Sophie sniffles and hiccups again. “He used to really hurt her.”

“Later on, a woman named Natasha Romanov should be by.” He says, “She’s going to want to ask you similar questions and she’ll help you get in touch with grief counselling and how to take steps legally for guardianship of the kids, I’ve informed her of the situation.” Sophie nods, taking the little business card with his number scribbled on the back. “If there’s anything you need at all, call me at this number.”

“We used to call her Cherry.” She sniffs, staring at the card. “That’s her nickname.” Her eyes met his, crying and obviously distraught. “People may not know her name is Cheryl. That’s all.”

With Sophie telling him that Michael Hale would be someone who would hurt Cheryl he had everything he needed to bring him in.

“Natasha.” He spoke into the receiver. “I sent you an email with the information I’ve gathered so far, I need you to look into Michael Hale, call me back when you get this.”

This neighborhood. Even as he stood out on the street, his car feet away. He was getting looks. He didn’t belong here and that was clear. He flipped his phone between his fingers, taking one last look around before slipping into the driver’s seat of his car and pulling away.

A few minutes into his drive Natasha’s name lit up on his dashboard. A button pressed on his steering wheel answered the call.

“Autopsy report should be in tomorrow morning at the latest,” She said, “I’m processing a warrant for Michael Hale, I think we have enough to at least bring him in for questioning, see what he was doing last night, but I think you should head back to the station.”

His brow furrowed, “Why is that?”

“There’s a reporter poking around, asking to talk to you. She’s… persistent.”

…

It had been a slow news day all in all. Not much going on outside of upcoming elections and the same silly little fluff pieces about a new animal coming to the Franklin Park Zoo or a kid selling lemonade real nostalgic like in their front yard raising money for one of their sick classmates. A shooting in Chinatown or a robbery here or there. A quaint little town just outside of Boston ‘shaken’ by whatever crime people were nonplussed about in big cities.

But it got your attention. Cheryl Hansen.

It showed up as a little blip on your radar. The way you followed the leads before. Maybe this time.

Maybe this time.

“Hey Sam.” Your editor. The big man behind the desk. “Let me take this.” He was wearing his glasses, reading emails when you showed up in his doorway. A printout of the police report, not much information to go on, but he would know. He would know why you wanted it. The paper plucked from his desk and he adjusted his glasses to read it, eyes gazing over the top rim at you.

“A murdered sex worker?” He asked, “Y/N…”

“Listen, Sam…” You slipped into the chair across from him, “We could get ahead of this, look at the details.” The detective’s notes. How the body was found. Where it was found.

But was her ring finger gone?

“Y/N…” Sam sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “The last time you fell down this rabbit hole it wasn’t good for you.” You remember. The hangovers were hell. The stress. The migraines. “I don’t think—”

“Sam it’s him.” You know it is. You can feel it in your gut. “I know it.” He looked at you, silently debating for a moment before saying,

“You can talk to the detective, get a short comment. Nothing more.” The paper thrown back on the desk between you. “Less than 300 words and I mean it. I don’t want you pulling out the red string.” You felt your jaw clench but willed yourself to relax.

“Thank you.” The paper hastily grabbed from between you and you took your exit, barely grabbing your jacket before running out the door.

Your heart raced when you saw that police report. This could be it. It could be the clues you’d been waiting for.

“Hi, I would like to speak to Detective Barnes.” The man at the front desk of the police station glanced up at you from his computer screen.

“He’s not here right now.” Another man rounded the desk, leaning on the counter beside you. “Is there anything I could help you with? Detective Brock Rulmow.” A shit eating grin. Wise guy.

“I need to speak to Detective Barnes about the woman murdered in the Combat Zone this morning. I’m an investigative journalist with—” His brows pull together. Head jerking to the side.

“The prostitute?” He asks.

“Sex worker.” You correct. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Rumlow’s jaw clenched, he looked to the man behind the desk as though in on a joke, then back at you.

“No clue sweetheart,” A chill down your spine, “I’ll let him know you were in.”  You try not to huff in frustration,

“I can just wait at his desk.” You offer, no big deal. He laughs bitterly,

“I’ll let him know you were in.” He repeats, like it’s final. You shake your head looking down at the man behind the desk.

“Is there someone else I could speak to?” You ask. The man looks between you and Rumlow, but before he can speak.

“You can speak to me.” Turning, you see a woman in all black, red hair perfectly smooth, pulled back on her head in a tight bun at the base of her neck. “Natasha Romanov, assistant DA, I work with Detective Barnes.” A sigh of relief. “You’re more than welcome to sit at his desk and wait for him, he should be back soon, but I myself will not be making any comments about the crime at the moment and I’m not sure he would be willing to either.” A blanket statement, but she didn’t shut you out so there was some wiggle room here.

“I just have a couple about the victim herself, Cheryl Hansen.” Natasha nods, “She has children?” Something that could be easily found with a search, but you’re asking her anyway.

“Two.” Natasha answers, “Young, only a year and three years.” Simple things make her think you’re just writing a short little piece about the victim.

“Was she married?”

“No,” She crosses her arms, leaning over on her heels. “But both children are from the same father.” You hum, a little bias there. Would it have made a difference if they weren’t?

“Does she have any remaining family?” Natasha looks at you for a moment, glancing at the bag on your back.

“Are you going to write any of this down for your article?” You shake your head,

“It’s up here.” A tap to your temple. “If I was taking a direct quote I would record, but…”

“These are simple questions.” You smile,

“Yeah.” You look back past the desk and into the bullpen. Rumlow glaring at you from across the way before looking back to Natasha.

“Her Mother.” Natasha answered, then looking at her watch says, “I’ve got to get going, but I’m sure Detective Barnes should be back soon, his desk, unfortunately, is the one beside Detective Rumlow’s.” Of course, it is.

“Thank you for your time.” But she was already walking away from you. You sucked in your teeth, slipping into the bullpen and settling yourself into the seat at his desk. The little plaque ‘Detective James Barnes’, slightly messy with an empty coffee mug and a large stack of files.

You could feel Rumlow’s eyes on you, but luckily, he hadn’t said much since you sat down. Now all you had to do was wait.

You didn’t have to wait long before a man entered the precinct and made his way over to the desk you were waiting at, you standing to greet him.

“Detective Barnes.” A smile as charming as you can muster, and a hand thrust out in front of you for him to shake. Which he does, giving you a strange look.

“You’re a reporter?” He shakes your hand awkwardly,

“Investigative journalist.” You glance behind you at Rumlow’s scoff, his eyes focused on his computer screen. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Cheryl Hansen.”

“Do you have any information that would be pertinent to the case?” He went to sit at his desk, stopped by your hand,

“We should talk privately.”

Bucky Barnes has heard your name before. You’d approached many Detectives in cases such as these and there was a little stigma attached to it. It wasn’t uncommon for your name to be brought up looking into the death of a sex worker. “Every time a girl is murdered suspiciously, she pokes her nose into it.” Natasha told him. “Just give her a little statement and send her on her way.” Harmless.

The small conference room he watched you slip your backpack off and sink into a chair, looking at him expectantly as he sat across from you.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Which wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t exactly the truth either. He needed to talk to Steve, but not much else could be done about the case until he got the warrant for Hale or the autopsy report.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” The little notebook laid out, pen absently set beside it. “I just have a couple of questions as far as the layout,” The notebook full of scribbles, notes. Bucky could see different names. Details. “She was on her back? Spread out? Naked.” Yes. He watched you pause for a moment, “Strangled?” He nods, yes.

“This is all things you can find in the police report.” He says, “What is your question?” You stare at each other a moment before asking,

“Was she missing her ring finger?” That took Bucky off guard. That wasn’t in the police report. Something he kept from accessible record. He stared at you for a moment,

“How did you know that?” He watched your mouth part, your eyes shifting into the bullpen, then back to his.

“You’re a new Detective, right?” You ask him. He nods, watching you rip a sheet of paper out and scribbling down an address. “I think you can really help me, but it’s not safe to talk here.” A phone number, before sitting back in your chair and looking at him plainly. “This isn’t just another dead girl.”

A knock on the conference room door. He spun around, Steve. “Barnes, in my office please.” A look past him at you, “Sorry for interrupting,” an apologetic smile. “Just have to steal him from you, but I’m sure he’d be willing to finish the interview at another time.” Bucky took the slip of paper from your hand, scooting back from the table as you stood across from him.

“Thank you for your time.” Bucky shakes your hand,

“Have a nice day.” And he was gone from the room. Walking through the bullpen and into Steve’s office.

“Thanks for saving me.” He sighs, sinking into the chair across from his friend. The paper shoved into his jacket pocket. Steve laughed,

“You’re not the first Detective she’s cornered looking for information.” Typing into his computer. “She has this conspiracy theory about the murdered sex workers in the Combat Zone that she’s trying to find a foothold in.”

“What conspiracy?” Steve had been a Detective long before he was, when he was still a beat cop Steve got promoted, and it wasn’t long after Steve had been promoted that he became Captain. The guy was a marvel. Very hard working, a little strict, but Bucky admired the perseverance of his friend. Steve wanted to be Captain just like his Dad had been, and he did nothing else but work hard to reach his goal. Bucky was sure that Joseph Rogers paved the way for Steve’s success, but Steve was so hard working on his own that he couldn’t help but have been proud of his friend.

Steve shakes his head, “Back in the 90’s there was a serial killer on the loose here in Boston that murdered a bunch of sex workers, but they caught the guy. He had a confession. His DNA was found on multiple crime scenes.” Steve sits back in his chair, slightly rocking from side to side, “But she still thinks they caught the wrong guy.” A shrug. “So she thinks he’s still out there and could pick back up at any time.”

“So she’s just nutty?” Bucky chuckles, sighing and rubbing his eyes, “Is there any margin for error on this?” Steve purses his lips,

“There’s a margin for error on any case, but I think that there was enough evidence for the jury to come to the conclusion that the guy was guilty.” A shrug, “I don’t remember enough about the case, but I’m sure you could look it up and see the details.” A slight rock side to side in his chair,

“Did you want to grab a drink later?” Bucky asked, “I think I need one after seeing that body this morning.”

“I can’t,” Steve sighs, “Peg’s brother is coming over for dinner tonight and I gotta be out of here right at five to go help her clean up and cook.” Bucky nods,

“Alright, so I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Standing from his chair,

“With your paperwork all finished.” Bucky groaned.

“Don’t give me that Buck.” Steve laughed, “It has to get done.” He raises his hands in submission,

“It’ll get done.” Bucky smiles, “Tell Peggy I said hi.”

“Will do.” Rumlow was giving him a look when he sat down at his desk, protein bar in hand.

“The broad is crazy right?” Bucky shakes his head, not answering, “She is hot though, next time I see her I’m probably gonna see if she wants to—”

“Don’t you have work to do?” A glance over the top of his computer screen, the smirk on Rumlow’s face.

“You’re no fun Barnes,” A laugh, “No fun at all.”

…

“He didn’t believe me.” You sighed into the receiver, shaking your head, “I could tell.” A deep breath from the other side.

“Maybe you need to take a break from this.” Sam’s voice laced with concern, soft for you on the other line. “I know how much this means to you Y/N, but it’s not healthy.” You could feel the tears starting. You needed to calm down. Your knee bouncing up and down as you sat in your car. The anxiety.

“I can’t let go, Sam.” A whisper into the car. “I just can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.” You could hear him on the other end, probably slipping his coat onto his shoulders. Picking up his bag. “Maybe you should come over for dinner. Riley is grilling steaks; I’ll have him throw one on for you.” Shaking your head.

“Not tonight, Sam.” You tug on your bottom lip, “I think I just need to be alone.” You hear him pause,

“It’s not—”

“Good for me to be alone, I know.” You look out the window of your car at the police station. “I think I’m gonna just go grab some dinner out and go to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, if you need anything…”

“Thank you, Sam.” The phone disconnected you ran your thumb across the screen before tossing it into your cup holder, turning your keys in the ignition and pulling off.

There was a little diner by your apartment. A place that had been your favorite since you could remember. You could recall in vague memories of your Mother, when she was still alive, taking you to this diner. It wasn’t the best diner, with the best coffee, or the best pie. But you knew everyone who worked there. It wasn’t uncommon for you to stop in and have dinner there while you worked. To be honest it’s what you preferred to do instead of going home to your empty apartment every night. Laptop out on the table while you ate a club sandwich and fries, Marie stopping by to refill your coffee while you sat with a half-touched piece of whatever pie they were trying to get rid of.

It was a comfort really.

And when you walk in and your table is empty, it just makes the day just a little bit better. Back to the wall, the window on your left giving you somewhere to zone out over the parking lot.

“Hi honey,” Marie, sweet and ageing, her hair was almost entirely grey now. You vaguely recall a time where it was pitch black. “What do you feel like eating today?” A glass of water and a soda brought over with her greeting. You hum, slipping your laptop out of your backpack.

“I think I want a burger.” And she was off. Your screen lit up you opened your notebook. The first page was a list of names. The twenty women killed over the course of 10 years starting in 1989 and continuing to 1999. One every six months like clockwork, the following pages, each woman having their own page. Name, next of kin, children’s names and ages. Details of their death. And on and on, you flipped through the pages. Leaving a blank page in between you write at the top, Cheryl Hansen.

Mother of two.

You wondered briefly what she wanted out of life. If she wanted to do something else and just tumbled into this bad life by circumstance, because they all did. You wondered how the system failed her. How she ended up dead in the middle of an alley somewhere because she wasn’t given the help she needed.

Tomorrow, you’d talk to her Mother. Like you’ve talked to the other next of kin before. You open the Facebook page. Thousands of members.

Justice for Nick Fury.

The man the murders were pinned on. The man you visit every week. And you made a post.

You thanked Marie for your dinner, picking at your fries as you wrote to your mods about the new development. That you’ll be looking into it, because you’re sure in the next day or two you’ll get a good amount of people forwarding you information about Cheryl’s death. A fund would be put up for donations to help her children. You sigh, leaning back against the booth.

As you finally bit into your burger, your phone lights up on the table next to you. A number you don’t recognize. Your thumb ran across the screen, answering the call, “Hello?” You wiped your mouth with a napkin.

“Y/N? This is Detective James Barnes… we need to talk.”

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: Gavin jumps right into the case that drives his brain in circles. He ignores and pushes RK900 to the side, determined to pretend he doesn't exist, but RK900 has had enough and makes a move.

Warnings: descriptions of a crime scene, cursing, kidnapping

Chapter Two:

“For someone whose handwriting is so messy you are quite organized” RK900 starts coming out of his interface trying to make conversation.

Reed rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore his attempt. Of course I’m organized, I am a fuckin good detective.

“You know partners need to actually work together” He continues on.

“You know I don’t actually give a fuck right” Reed snaps back lazily.

“Captain Fowler instructed that you cooperate”

“No he told me to accept it, not that I have to hold your fuckin hand”

“Aw you guys talking about holding hands already” Tina Chen jibes as she walks up from the direction of the break room.

“Real cute Chen”

“Haha, oh come on Gav. Anyway, move I wanna meet my new best friend. Hi I’m Tina Chen! Nice to meet you!” She says enthusiastically, putting her hand out for RK to shake.

“Hello, I am RK900.” He says, not accepting the handshake. It doesn’t seem like his ignorance is done in disdain but rather not really feeling quite comfortable enough to do that. Awkward.

Reed laughs quietly under his breath, Tina shoots him a dirty look taking back her hand.

“So new guy, you just go by RK900?”

“That is correct, I have no formal name given to me by cyberlife”

Stiff. Is he even deviant?

“Oh okay! Well it was nice seeing you!” She turns to the side to be dramatic “don't worry about this kid he’s like that to everyone.”

“I am not sure that’s a good thing” He says in a flat tone.

Gavins jaw drops a fraction, “alright, alright get out of here Chen.”

She blows a kiss and walks away with flourish. There is a moment of silence and Gavin starts to go back to work.

“There are multiple cases that are assigned to you and are marked as open.”

Gavin nods his head sarcastically, waiting for the RK unit to get to the point.

“Was that it?” Gavin asks coldly. “4 out of 5 of those cases are already closed, but our computers were down last week so paperwork is slow. I am currently assigned the string of double homicide cases.”

“We” RK corrects.

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“We- you mean, we are assigned to”

“Hah, you fuckin wish. I am assigned to the case, you are here to make the station look pretty.” Gavin bites back.

“Really? Well it seems to me that you are struggling with this case. Perhaps you need my assistance, Detective”

“I don’t need to ask you for shit”

“Well-”

“No fuck this, I’m leaving.” Gavin grabs his jacket, his luke-warm coffee and storms off.

Gavin hops in his car and starts it quickly, taking a deep breath, he pulls out of his spot and toward the latest crime scene.

As he drove he thought about the case's details. His knuckles curl around the steering wheel, stinging as he reopens the slight scabs and cuts that linger there.

Husband and wife, Christina and Mike, found dead in their home at 11:30 AM on September 21st 2039.

They are suspected to have died about 10 to 11 hours prior to their bodies being discovered.

Christina is suspected to have been killed first by strangulation and then Mike by blunt force trauma to the head. (Officers on scene noted that it may have been the corner of the coffee table).

Murder - suicide?

…...No, that's not probable men statistically are more likely to go with a quicker method.

…...Also, Christina showed no signs of defensive wounds and Mike would have shown some sign that she fought back. Regardless of relationship, when your life's on the line people normally try.

….the murderer is significantly stronger than both?

… enough for the main threat to be taken out last?

…..was the female victim used as leverage ?

There was no suspicious activity or persons around the scene reported by neighbors.

The two have a history of loud fighting, but have recently been reported as “doing well.”

The bodies were discovered by Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.

Gavin growls under his breath and frustration creeps back up his spine. This case is relatively new but the bodies have already been moved to the morgue for a more conclusive autopsy. The CSI guys on site are shit and nothing they do is quite up to Reed’s standards, so he normally tries to get a look at the crime scene himself.

“Those fukin CSI guys and no name beat cops have probably contaminated my crime scene” Reed grumbles as pulls into the neighborhood.

The crime scene is still pretty fresh as it's a day old. Cops control the area as the press covers the story.

Reed grabs his ancient dark brown leather jacket and slings it over his worn body. He likes autumn, but he's much too grumpy right now to acknowledge it.

He’s too angry and bitter to look at the warm colored leaves that saturate his peripherals and breathe in the crisp air. He would enjoy it too, what a bummer.

Guarding the main entrance to the home is some random beat cop that Gavin has seen around the office. He passes him quickly and brushes off the press’ questions with a stern, cold shoulder.

As he enters the house the first thing he notices is the cold draft of air. The house itself is decorated in a very homey manner. With each piece of furniture and decoration being slightly mismatched, everything is brought together in a sense of warm belonging.

The cold draft makes it feel like he’s gazing into the past. Gross.

He walks further into the house, breaching the archway that separates the foyer and the living room. There he sees the blood. It spatters across the floor, centering around what would have been the back of Mike’s head. It leaks out toward the rug and stains that homey blue color into an ugly dark red.

Gavin takes a deep breath, ready to find whatever the reports left out.

He looks up and calls over to the nearest officer, “are you the only one in here?”

“No, it's me and my partner, who's out back.”

“Oh, well get out I don’t need you guys walking all over my evidence” Gavin states bluntly.

The officer is taken back. He recognises Gavin, the department asshole. He scoffs a bit and walks off to get his partner and leave anyway. Fighting with the DPD’s detectives is a losing game, everyone knows that.

It's as if a switch goes off in Gavin’s brain. He begins to analyze his crime scene.

Blood splatter on the wall and furniture suggests that Mike went down facing the inside of the house.

….he was pushed. There is no way to throw yourself backward with enough force. Murder-suicide.

....there had to been enough force for him to go down fast enough at that exact trajectory to cause a deadly blow

...Mike has a violent(-ish) history, he would have fought back.

….no defensive wounds? (Note: check autopsy reports, maybe go down to morgue?)

At this point, Christina is already dead by strangulation. Her body was found facing away from the front of the house slumped toward the coffee table.

….looking in. What were they looking at? She is used as leverage and her husband is next, why does she die looking away from him? It takes about 4 minutes for a person to die of strangulation (unless the assailant was exceptionally strong).

…. If it took so long, why did Mike not try to fight as his wife choked?

...Something is not adding up. There's a missing piece somewhere.

Reed walks around the living room languidly. He wanders over to the innermost corner of the room, from this position he can see both “bodies” perfectly, along with a view of the front window.

The two victims are facing this corner, this is where the murderer stood. That's where they were when they strangulated Christina and where they pushed Mike. Gavin hums to himself, his brain works in quick and efficient cogs. Moving from thought to thought and connecting each tidbit with a string of concentration.

Mike’s wound should have taken another 5 minutes to become critical enough for him to bleed to death. But he is still looking right here. At this corner.

...what is he looking at? What am I missing?

Reed spins around wildly, looking at the piece of the room behind him. All that lies behind him is a single arm chair and a small circular picture frame that hangs above it. This corner of the room takes up no space and is a V-shape that connects the living room entrance to the kitchen entryway.

He stares hard at the little chair. Little chair.

A door opens in his head, but he can’t quite pin it down.

A sparkle catches his eye. He bends down to get a closer look, reaching his hand under the little chair. He pulls out a dusty untied bow with a few colorful sequences hanging off.

Little chair. Bowtie.

...Child. They are staring at a child.

He breathes out a hard puff of air. He hates cases with children.

They aren’t reported to have any kids.

He walks into the kitchen with a little more energy. He spots the tall white fridge that's adorned with colorful magnets. Magnets at child height with nothing attached to them and one higher up holding an empty, unmarked envelope.

That's so fake. Rigged. Staged.

He pulls open random drawers in search of the junk drawer. He knows there is always at least one in every household.

When he finally finds it he pulls out a slightly bent piece of printer paper. It's a drawing, a child’s drawing. A tall figure drawn in light blue holds the hand of a smaller green figure in a dress who is linked to a taller purple dress clad figure.

A little cloud to the left and a big tree to the right. It’s their family.

They were hiding evidence of a child, their child. Why? They were killed unexpectedly, it wasn’t to hide from the murderer. Who then?

…”Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.”

...hiding evidence of a daughter from the sister? Why?

Gavin’s head hurts, he doesn’t even notice he's clenching his jaw in anger. Cases with kids make him angry. He is on a roll now, he can’t stop his momentum.

He pries open the fridge.

Mostly empty. One carton of eggs, one jug of milk, and various vegetables in the drawer. Don’t kids have like snacks or something. This is the fridge of a bachelor.

He moves on, going upstairs. He figures that they can try to hide little photos, but a kid in a house of this size would have her own room.

The parents room check out, nothing special. It’s just as homey as the rest, left as if they were just out running errands.

He moves on to the door at the end of the hallway to the left, facing the street. Jack pot, it's the kids room. Though at first glance it looks like a normal neutral guest bedroom.

He takes a peak under the bed, small toys like dolls and stuffed animals are tucked in the farthest corner. The sheets are new and the bed is freshly made. (As fresh as a day old can be anyway). He walks over to the window and peaks out.

He can make out the big tree that blocks some of the view. From the drawing.

Reed can also make out the image of his freshly dubbed partner stepping out of an automated taxi. RK900’s stark white uniform shining under the overcast weather outside.

Fuckin perfect. Gavin huffs, even more determined to finish quickly. He doesn’t need some pristine plastic to walk in and ruin all his work. He can do it on his own. He doesn’t need help.

He goes to the closet and opens it up. Hangers are crooked and a few pieces of child’s clothing are sprawled on the floor.

Taken in a hurry. Fuck.

That solidifies it. Cristina and Mike had a child, or at least one living with them at the time of the murder. There is no other victim, so it is safe to assume that this double homicide has upgraded into a kidnapping.

“Fuck. FUCK”

Gavin pulls out his phone and dials Captain Fowler's number as he leaves to meet with the officers outside.

As the phone hits the second ring he is met with the face of his brand new partner.

“I will be assisting you on this case De-”

“Shut the fuck up tin can. Get out of the way” Reed rushes out. RK resists getting out of his way, determined to spit his own insults at the rude detective.

The captain doesn’t pick up. Reed moves past RK anyway.

Gavin reaches the officers outside. “Hey you, come here” he calls over the officer he sassed earlier in the house. “How many officers are on scene, right now?”

“Four. My partner and I, and Ortis and his partner as well.”

“Okay, listen up. I need you to stay here and keep the press under control and in the area, get the other three to comb through the neighborhood and alert me if they find anything. Our murderer may have kidnapped a little girl and we don’t have any other information.” Gavin commands in a low tone.

The officer's eyes widened, opening his mouth to say something.

“No, shut up. We can’t let the press know, so you stay here, stay quiet and make sure your buddies do their job. Got it?” He nods, and Reed shoos him off.

“How did you come to that conclusion, Detective?”

RK900, right, perfect.

“None of your business, RK900” he overprounances the unit’s name to be condescending, but his partner stares at him with cold, uncaring eyes. So naturally Reed continues on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a competent detective or something? Figure it out yourself.”

“Oh I did, I just wanted to know how you got to that conclusion.”

Flames heat up Reed’s body. He is quick to anger.

“You piece of shi-”

“Oh and while you were off being an ass I already contacted Fowler about the situation and the search for the young girl continues on at the office.”

Gavin clenches his jaw again, his tongue flicking over his teeth in quiet rage. RK900 stands there with an unfeeling look on his face, peering down at Gavin.

Reed would swear that there is a hint of a smirk teetering at the corner of that bastard's mouth. The shadow RK’s high brow creates on his eyes makes the distance between them seem daunting, widening the gap between them. Further smushing Gavin’s fragile ego into the bits and pieces between the dirt.

Dramatic, he knows.

Gavin from a couple months back would have ripped forward and swung on RK900, but this Gavin is tired. Resigned from the fight against his inferiority. He takes a breath, though it does nothing to relieve him of his anger, and walks off with nothing but a dirty look.

He has to solve this case, he has to. It is his last chance.