Welcome to Grimsborough, Perez

by alex_ze_awsum

Summary:

Following the harrowing events of her teenage years, Valentina Perez has worked herself to the bone through her education to reach the place she is now -- a new recruit in the Grimsborough Police Force. She's assigned a partner, given a case, and is immediately put to work. No rest for the wicked, after all.
However, as she continues her work, she finds herself in mystery after mystery, uncovering more and more her teenage self would probably never even DREAM of.
How will she navigate things? Will she go the smooth sailing route, or will she crash and burn?
(I suck ass at writing summaries, I am so sorry-)
(PLEASE READ CHAPTER 1 BEFORE ANYTHING, IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT FOR CONTEXT)

Chapter 1: IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!

HI!

It's me :D

This chapter's mostly meant for me to explain a few things, just to clear some stuff up!

 

First: Fun fact, you may actually know me from Wattpad! My first work with Val was actually my first ever fanfiction!

Of course, I hate looking at it now, it makes me cry tears of cringe, but yeah! (Then again, I was, like, 12?)

I actually tried doing a rewrite of it a while back on Wattpad, which at least some of you might have seen (Hi, Ticcory and Katrina! Your comments are actually still on that fanfiction, in fact!)

Now, why did I stop working on that?

Simple: I realized that I still was not confident in my writing, and the way I set up some things just felt SO OFF, so I just...gave up.

So yeah, this is a rewrite of a rewrite! Only this time, I'm actually at least a bit more confident in my writing to work on this!

 

Second: If you follow me on Tumblr (*cough*, alexlesuagz on Tumblr, *cough*), then you might have seen those posts with some of my OC biographies.

Well, guess what? They're not canon anymore...at least, some parts aren't!

Due to some changes, some parts in those bios have officially been decanonized, including:
- A character's birthday
- The names of a character's family members
- The status of a character (whether or not they're dead)
I won't say which ones, though, because that'd just be spoiler territory, so happy hunting!

 

Now, third and most important: If you read the tags, then you're probably aware about the fact that this story contains cases that have pretty triggering themes, including:
- Abuse
- Sexual violence
- Suicide
(Some instances will have more detail than others, but in the end, most of it is just implied or mentioned.)

While one can argue that the original content in Criminal Case is triggering by itself (it's about murder and has tons of violence and includes many mature themes), I do want to make sure that you, as the reader, are at least aware when there's more sensitive content. Because of this, I have decided to give a warning in the preceding chapter before the triggering one, a trigger warning on the case in question, and the case chapters with said content will be marked with a warning sign. [⚠️]
Also, any topics that aren't exactly triggering, but still may cause distress to readers will have content warnings at the beginning chapter notes.

Please, stay safe, and happy reading!
- Cody

Chapter 2: A Funeral

Summary:

grief
/ɡrēf/
noun
deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.
"she was overcome with grief"

Notes:

Content Warning for the following:
- Death of a family member

I was originally supposed to write the eulogy to her funeral, but I decided to refuse.

I wanted to, I even volunteered for it – but I just…couldn’t.

Also, the priest told me that maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea because it might “strain my mental state” or something. I get it, but at the same time, I don’t.

Instead, the speaker pulled down a projector and a screen and pulled up a whole slideshow montage of pictures of her.

My tía.

Regina Perez, one of the slides read with a picture of her behind those letters. 1961-2002. The photo’s of her at a party, smiling and laughing along with a couple other people as she holds a bottle of cider in her hand.

It’s the last picture ever taken of her before she died.

I’m left just staring at every single photo that flashes onto that projector screen, photos of tía Regina smiling and laughing. Sometimes, the slideshow flips onto the same photo from a couple slides before, with some zoom-in or zoom-out effects as some lame attempt to act like this was a completely different photo.

But even still, there’s a lot of photos of my tía smiling, despite me never seeing her so utterly joyful like this before she died.

There’s something a bit angelic about seeing someone’s smiling and laughing photos right above their casket, a small part of my brain says. Hold on, am I even looking at the same woman that raised me alone for 10 years? Last time I checked, tía Regina almost never laughed like this-

I can’t even hear what the speaker is saying over the sounds of the baby screaming and sobbing next to me, his mother apologizing profusely to the people around them. It’d almost be funny if it weren’t for the fact that it’s a funeral out of all events.

“He’s just a bit nervous, pardon me. It’s his first funeral.” The woman whispers to me for the 26th time as she gives her child a pacifier.

That’s a fucking baby, I want to tell her, why would you think this is a good idea bringing a baby to a funeral?! Who even are you, lady?!
Instead, I merely grunt out some random noise of acknowledgement as I go back to staring at the photos.

 

Once it’s time to pay respects to the deceased, I find myself standing in the back as everyone else takes their turns walking up to my aunt in that and thanking her for everything she’s done for them. Even the woman with the baby, who I finally recognize as Mrs. Harrison from the town next to ours, goes up to pay her respects.

Sometimes people even come up to me to send their condolences.

“I’m Henry Crosby, I’m sorry for your loss. Your aunt helped me…”

“I’m so sorry about what happened. Your aunt was a good woman…”

“I’m sorry…”

“She helped me…”

“Your aunt…”

For the next 30 minutes, I end up constantly cornered by people telling me stories about my tía, about how brave, smart, and kind she was for them.

Throughout all of them, I’m left confused.

“Your aunt was a sweet, kind person…” She was a bit of a recluse, even before the incident.

“Your aunt’s a bit of a celebrity, you know. Always willing to help others.” She was???

“Did she seriously never tell you about what she did???” Apparently not? She barely told me anything about work.

“Did she even love you, then???” How the hell does that relate to anything?!

“Oi, stop hounding the poor girl! You’re stressing her out!” The funeral director shouts at some more people that had tried asking me questions. 

Before anyone else can react, he’s already shooing them away, before sighing and turning to me. “People these days,” he grumbles as he wipes his hands on his shirt, “always assuming that they’re entitled to answers…”

“…They weren’t stressing me out, y’know?” I pipe up, fidgeting my sweaty hands together.

The funeral director gives me a look, raising one eyebrow and furrowing the other as his big, bushy mustache twitches. “Ah, whatever. Did you give your respects to your aunt yet?”

“…No,” I admit.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He gestures one hand to the casket. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, wouldn’t it? Or are you just a bit nervous?”

I wipe my palms on the skirt of my dress, staying silent.

He sighs in response, giving me an expression of either pity or agitation. “You know what? If you’re nervous, I’ll stay close to be some sort of…support for you, alright?”

My eyes widen at the offer. “…You’ll do that for me?”

“It’s the least I can do. Your aunt was a good woman. Did not deserve the fate that she received.” He lets out another sigh, then lets out multiple wheezing coughs into his fist. “Damned dust…anyways, also, I think we can both agree that mourning is…a very difficult process. If you end up having some sort of panic episode, I’ll be here to help ground you.”

I blink once, twice. “…That’s actually quite nice of you. Thank you for the offer.”

He gives me a smile in response. “No problem.”

I turn around to face the casket, taking in a deep breath then exhaling before I walk up to face what’s left of my aunt.

The casket’s closed, which is quite lucky for me, because the last time I saw my tía’s dead face was the day of her murder.

Not fun.

I breathe in and out again. Then again.

I take one last look at the funeral director, who’s giving me a small thumbs up of encouragement.

I turn back to the casket, breathing in and out once again.

You only have one sentence to say, Valentina. Just say it.

I swallow down excess saliva before I finally speak.

“…Who are you, tía Regina?”

Chapter 3: An Introduction

Summary:

friend
/frend/
noun
1.
a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.
"she's a friend of mine"

Notes:

Valentina has a fresh start, and meets a fresh face.

“Officer Perez!”

The mention of my name some feet away jolts me out of my thoughts, and I put down the book I’m reading to see who just called me.

It’s a man with spiky brown hair and a police uniform, eagerly jogging up to me from the stairwell.

“Hi! Hi, hi, hi!”

He screeches to a halt in front of my desk and holds out a hand for me to shake. “My name’s Inspector David Jones, but you can just call me Jones, alright?”

“Oh!” I’m a bit startled at his surprise entrance, but I quickly shake it off to take in his appearance.

He seems pretty nice, actually. He looks a bit taller than me (part of me is betting that it’s the hair), and he’s eagerly smiling at me with big blue eyes.

Oh dear, is he staring at me-

“...You are Officer Perez, right?” David Jones asks with a smirk as he still holds out his hand to me.

“A-Ah-!” I attempt to get out of my chair, banging one of my hips on my desk. “Ow, shit-” I brush off the pain and turn to David Jones, taking his hand and shaking eagerly. “Yes, I am in fact, Officer Perez! Nice knowing you, David Jones!”

“Please, just call me Jones!” He chuckles. “It’s friendly enough for me, and everyone calls me Jones here.”

“Jones it is, then!”

“Great!” He gives me a thumbs up. “You’ve come at a great time, Perez! Considering the recent spike in crime in Grimsborough, we need all the help we can get.”

“I’m happy to be of service!” I give him a smile and a nod. “So, where should we start?”

“Well, as your partner, I’m here to guide you through how we do things here. Did you already get a tour of the place yet?”

“There was a tour?”

“Uhh, no, but there is now!” Jones wraps his arm around my shoulders and waves around us. “Hiya there, my name is David Jones, and I’ll be your tour guide today as we navigate Grimsborough Police Station! Now, all aboard as we start downsta-”

“OI, JONES, SHUT UP IN THERE!”

Jones and I jump at the sound of the voice outside, our gaze shifting from the door to each other.

“...Who the hell was that?!”

Suddenly, a blonde man peeks into the room. “...Yeah, don’t mind Ed, he’s just in a bit of a bad mood,” he says with an apologetic smile.

“...I can tell.” Jones mutters in reply.

Notes:

I do genuinely want to know what you all think so far, so comments are appreciated :] The chapters will get longer, this is just a bit of a quick start.

Chapter 4: The Death of Rosa Wolf - 1/3

Summary:

be·gin·ning
/bəˈɡiniNG/
noun
the point in time or space at which something starts.
"he left at the beginning of February"

Notes:

Valentina and Jones's first case together begins!

Unfortunately for us, we’re interrupted midtour while Jones is ranting to me about the vending machines.

“Jones, I called you three times, what the hell are you doing?” A white-haired man asks, causing Jones to yip and turn to him.

“Ah, Chief King! I was just giving our new recruit a tour of the station!” Jones explains, gesturing to me.

Chief King glances to me, and I smile politely back to him.

He turns back to Jones, his eyebrows knitted into a frown. “Well, the tour will have to wait.”

“W-wait, why?” Jones and I both ask.

“There’s been a murder.”

“What?!” I exclaim. “We’re getting a murder as our first case?!”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Chief King sighs, his mustache twitching from side to side. “A young woman was found dead at the entrance of town. You and Jones are going to comb through that crime scene and catch the killer, alright?”

Jones notices my expression, then gives Chief King a thumbs up. “You got it, Chief! You can count on us!”

“Splendid! Jones, be sure to show Officer Perez the ropes. She’s not some friend you can gossip about the vending machines to, you’re her superior, and you have to teach her. Capisce?”

“I- uh- yeah, okay, yessir!”

“Great!” Chief King smiles at the both of us. “I hope that this case will be reasonably simple for the both of you.”

“Alright!” Jones says with a grin as he walks off. “This is gonna be pretty interesting, don’tcha think, Perez?”

I hesitate for a second, still processing the Chief’s words. “I- you know what? Yeah, yeah, let’s do this!” I start marching for an exit.

Jones stops me with a hand on my shoulder and turns me around. “Exit’s that-a-way, Perez. The cruiser’s parked on the corner outside, just wait there while I go get my keys!”

“Ah, alright!”

 

As we finally drive up to the crime scene, I take a moment to just stare at what is in front of me.

The woman lying against the sign seemed to be in her early 20s, with long, flowing blonde hair and a bright red dress. But the dress doesn’t disguise the dark red stain of blood that had splattered out of the slash in her neck and seeped into the fabric.

Even with the slash, she almost looks like she’s just sleeping.

The poor girl was probably still in college.

My face must have scrunched into some kind of weird expression of disgust or sorrow, because Jones is giving me a look. “…Uhhh, you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah…just- just a bit…upset, honestly.”

Jones glances at the woman, still slumped against the sign with no signifier that she’ll ever breathe again. “…Ah, yeah, I understand. It’s tough, knowing that these people had their lives cut short when they had so much going for them.”

We stand in silence, merely staring down at her.

“…Does she have a name?” I ask.

Jones pauses. “I think the Chief told me that the caller said that they recognized her — one ‘Rosa Wolf’.”

“…‘Rosa Wolf’,” I repeat, partially to myself. I get down on one knee and put my hands together in some sort of prayer in front of her. “May you rest in peace, Rosa. I promise we will find your killer.”

Silence.

“That’s…that’s really sweet of you, actually,” Jones mutters as I stand back up.

“It’s the least I can do right now, we still have a killer to catch,” I reply. “So what should we do first?”

“Right, right!” He says, pulling out his walkie-talkie. “I’ll call the coroner to take the body in for an autopsy, how about you look around for clues? There’s rubber gloves in the car.”

“Alright!” I give him a thumbs up before going to check the cruiser. Sure enough, there’s a box of rubber gloves in the back, so I take a pair and snap them on.

Going back to check the crime scene, I avoid looking at poor Rosa and search the surrounding area instead, rustling through grass and scanning gravel until I come across a bloody knife on the ground. 

Bingo.

I slip it in an evidence baggie then turn back to see a paramedic put the body on the stretcher to put into the coroner’s truck. Speaking of which,

“How did that truck get here so fast-?” I ask Jones as I walk up to him.

“That’s the magic of our team,” he chuckles, “we always get to our destination quickly.”

“…ohhhhkay.” Why do I have a feeling that he’s lying here? “Anyway, I found this in the grass. Looks like the killer was in a bit of a hurry.”

Jones takes a look at the knife and grins. “Nice job, Perez! By the looks of it, this definitely is our murder weapon!”

I ponder for a second, looking at the knife. “What if it isn’t-?”

“Don’t jinx it, Perez, please.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

 

As soon as I enter the morgue with Jones in tow, I’m hit with the scent of disinfectants and air fresheners wafting throughout the room and practically attacking my nose.

“…Holy moly, I get that this is a morgue, but I didn’t expect the smell of citrus to be so…pungent,” I whisper, covering my nose and mouth with my shirt.

Jones lets out a small snort as he chuckles, merely waltzing into the morgue, his arms open like he owns the place. “Well, rather this than the smell of dead bodies, y’know? You’ll get used to it soon, don’t worry, Perez.”

He takes in one big sniff, and I can’t help but roll my eyes as I scan the room. “I get it, I get it…where is your coroner?”

“What?”

“Shouldn’t your coroner be around here to tell us the autopsy results, or is he somewhere else?”

Jones blinks, also realizing that there’s no one else in the morgue but us. “…Oh, I know where this is going. I swear to god, Nate, if you’re doing that thing again-”

“What thing?”

Jones and I both squeak and jump at the sound of the new voice, snapping our heads around to see a new person — a man with a bushy black mustache, crimson glasses, scrubs, a lab coat, and gloves standing in front of us with a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Damnit, Nathan!” Jones exclaims. “Don’t do that again, you keep scaring the shit out of me!”

“I thought I told you I was going to get coffee first?” Nathan asks, taking a small sip from his cup. “I literally texted you about it.”

“What?!” Jones sputters. “No, the hell you didn’t-!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and fiddles with it for a bit. “I swear to god-”

A pause. Jones is gaping at the screen for a second, then he silently puts his phone away and coughs into his fist, his cheeks a little flushed. Nathan has his eyebrow raised as he takes another sip of coffee, but I can see a hint of a smile.

“ Ahem!— Well, anyway, the autopsy,” Jones says, glancing around the room. “What’re the results?”

“Well, Officers,” Nathan walks past us and grabs a clipboard off of a table, “I studied the wound on the victim’s neck, and I can tell you for sure that the killer is right-handed.”

“That’s possible?” I ask. “Like, finding out the killer’s dominant hand from the victim’s wounds?”

“Yes, actually,” he replies, “it depends on where pressure was most applied when it comes to creating the wound — in Rosa’s case, the most pressure was on the left side, so the killer’s right-handed.”

“Huh,” I blink as I take in that information. “That’s really interesting, actually! Thank you for telling me!”

“The more you know, Officer!”

 

“Nathan seems like a nice guy,” I say to Jones as we go down the elevator.

“He is, yeah,” he responds with a smile. “I know it looks like he and I hate each other, but he’s a genuinely good dude. It’s just some things about him I’ll never get used to…”

“Like how he surprised us like that?”

“Yeah, that.”

We get off of the elevator and immediately run into the Chief.

“Ah, Officers!” He says. “I have some information for you.”

“What is it, Chief?” I ask.

“An anonymous tip has been sent in about the crime.” His mustache twitches to the left. “According to this witness, our killer wears a blue cap.”

“There’s a lot of blue caps in Grimsborough, though, how can we narrow it down?” I inquire.

“Simple: You just narrow it down.” He explains. “Considering the fact that Rosa Wolf had a small family and friend group, I think it’d be pretty easy.”

Easy for you to say, I’m still new to this job…

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention!” He continues. “The witness also reported that the killer ran in the direction of the abandoned house after committing the crime. That is where I’d like you two to go next!”

“Aye aye, Chief!” Jones says with a small salute as Chief King walks away. “So, Perez, what do you want to do first, find the suspects or check the house?”

“Hmmmm…” I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment. “…how about we split up? You find suspects while I go check the house?”

“Good idea!” He exclaims as he hands me his keys. “The car’s out front, I trust that you’ll search through that place with a fine-tooth comb!”

Notes:

Before anyone asks, yes I had a bunch of chapters made beforehand and now I'm just posting them in a single day LMAO-
ANYWAY, the actual plot begins!

Chapter 5: The Death of Rosa Wolf - 2/3

Summary:

Our dynamic duo solves Rosa's murder.

…It took me around an hour after reaching the “Welcome to Grimsborough” sign to find what Chief King meant, because there was more than one abandoned house in the area.

Finally, when I have narrowed it down to one house, I park the car and go up to the house.

That took…way longer than I expected. My legs are practically asleep at this point, so I’m stumbling around and kicking them against random things to get them to wake up.

“ Mierda-! ” I trip and fall face-first into some grass.

I pull myself up and dust myself off, looking at the abandoned house in front of me.

The place looks spacious from the outside, as if it could fit a family of four if not for the caved-in roof blocking my entrance. Not like I need to search the house anyway, because I’ve already found my clue.

A small pile of torn-up, bloody blue fabric lying on the grass.

From the looks of it, the killer must have tried tearing up evidence.

Luckily for me, I brought my forensics kit. Jones had already explained to me the basics, so all I need to do is put the pieces back together.

Unluckily for me, I never learned how to sew anything except for a dolphin stitch, so I spend the next 20-30 minutes trying to not prick my fingers while piecing the cloth back together.

Huh, it’s a blue football jersey with the number 9.

I look back at the “Welcome to Grimborough” sign and try to imagine the scene – the killer slashing Rosa’s throat, leaning her body against the sign, then dropping the knife and running over to the house. I imagine them hurriedly scrabbling to take off their shirt, tearing it into pieces to make it harder to identify.

Quick-thinking, but sloppy.

I hear my phone ring, so I answer it. “Valentina Perez speaking. Who is this?”

“Hey, Perez!” It’s Jones on the other end, and he’s breathing heavily. “I’ve managed to narrow down the suspect pool to two suspects in particular!”

“That fast?!”

“Yeah! Urk- unfortunately, one of them just can’t seem to cooperate-!”

“LET GO OF ME, FUCKFACE!” Another voice on the other end yells. I hear some sort of thrashing, and Jones yelling.

“Why, you little-! Anyway, Perez, did you find anything at the abandoned house?”

“Uhh, I did.” I reply. “I found a football jersey with the number 9 on it.”

“That’s great! Ack- bring it to the station, I’ll meet you there! I got the suspect with me right now!”

The last thing I hear before he hangs up is the sound of the suspect punching him, and I can’t help but stare at my phone with a bit of concern. Ohhhhkay. What the hell happened?

 

When I reenter the station, I’m greeted by Jones with a black eye. “What the-?!”

“Oh, hey Perez!” He greets me like he didn’t get punched in the face. “Yeah, don’t mind the black eye, one of the suspects just wasn’t cooperating.”

“Huh?! Who?! What happened?!”

“Yeah, I found out that Rosa had gotten into an altercation with gang member Ash Bison before her death, so I went to ask him about it. It didn’t go well, as you can see…”

“Ahh, shit.”

“So you found a jersey, you said?”

“Yeah, I did.” I show him the evidence bag containing the bloody shirt that I had pieced back together.

“Hmmm…” He examines it for a moment, taking in every single detail. “So our killer wears a number 9! That’s great, we got our last clue!”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I think this is it, we can go arrest the killer!”

“Holy shit!” I glance around excitedly. “My first arrest, my first arrest-!”

He chuckles and pats my back. “Easy there, Perez! We still gotta be careful and sure about this, alright? You don’t want to arrest the wrong guy.” He hands me two manila folders, one being noticeably thicker than the other. “Here’s what I managed to uncover about our main suspects.”

I thank him, set the folders on a desk, and begin looking through them.

The thicker file belongs to one Ash Bison, a gang member whose history is filled to the brim with charge after charge. Vandalism, disturbing the peace, assault, pickpocketing — you name it, it was in there. Judging by the photos of him, he wears the same fucking outfit everyday and doesn’t give a shit about the law. He downright poses in front of security cameras, blue cap perched on his head, gun in his left hand raised in the air like he’s about to shoot up the street, complete with a wicked smile.

The thinner file belongs to a Matt Barry, a tall, proud, and handsome young man with tousled brown hair. According to his file, he was a college student — a top player on his school’s baseball and football teams, and one of the ‘main bros’ of their frat house, too. The only photo of him that is in the file is a photo of him leaning right against a baseball bat.

“I think I know who our killer is,” I say, putting Matt’s file back on the table.

“Oh?” Jones raises an eyebrow. “That fast?”

I nod. “Once I compared the suspect profiles with our clues about the killer, it was pretty obvious.

“It’s Matt Barry. He killed Rosa Wolf.”

Notes:

HaHA!...I have no idea what to write for these end notes, whoops.

Chapter 6: The Death of Rosa Wolf - 3/3

Summary:

The murder may have been solved, but there's still some loose ends to tie involving the other suspect.

Matt denied the allegations at first, but the mention of his football jersey was enough for him to break down. According to him, Rosa had cheated on him, and he got so angry seeing her again, he dragged her to the outskirts of Grimsborough and slit her throat.

The rest is a bit of a blur — the trial went quite smoothly, Matt accepted his punishment, and he was led away.

“The jilted lover…” I hear Jones mutter to himself as we sit at his desk, “…a classic motive for sure. Feels like something out of a crime drama if you ask me.”

“Hm? I guess so,” I reply, sipping some coffee. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well, I know what you two are doing!” Chief King’s voice booms from behind us.

I almost spill my coffee and Jones lets out a shriek as we flip around to face him. He glares down at us for a couple of seconds before his expression softens glancing at me. “My apologies, I might have been a bit more intense than intended…” he says with a slight chuckle as he steps back to give us some space. “First thing in order: Congratulations, Officer Perez, for solving your first case!”

I feel myself beaming with pride, and Jones gives me a grin. “Well, she’s a quick learner! I guess you can say I taught her well, huh, Chief?”

“Second thing in order, however,” Chief King continues. “Perez, Jones, I’d like you to investigate that Ash Bison character. He may not have killed Rosa Wolf, but he is definitely quite shady.”

His criminal record definitely said more than enough about him already. Jones and I both nod, but I just can’t help but ask. “What’s up with Ash Bison, exactly, sir?”

“The tattoo on his neck,” Chief King responds curtly. “Did you notice it?”

Honestly, no, I was too focused on his suspect profile to point it out, but I wasn’t gonna make a fool out of myself. “I mean, yes, but I didn’t really think about it, I was more focused on the case.”

Jones tries piping up. “The tat-”

“Jones,” Chief King snaps, “let me explain.”

Jones shuts up and sits down.

I can see Chief King bite the inside of his cheek as his brows furrow, and he glances to the side for a second before turning back to me. “The snake tattoo on his neck is the calling card for the members of the Vipers, the biggest gang in the Industrial Area.”

“…Oh, shit.”

“‘Oh, shit’ is right,” he mutters, “the Vipers have been a thorn in our side since the goddamn beginning of time, and they are in no way in hell good news.”

He puts — no, slams —  down Ash’s file on the desk. “That is why I want you to interrogate him. See what he can tell you about the gang. Any info is good info, we need all that we can to deal with them properly.”

Jones and I both nod. “Aye aye, Chief!”

 

Once again, Ash proves to be a challenge. According to another officer, after a good 30 minutes of them pleading, begging, ordering, and demanding him to come down to the station, he finally relents.

And now, he sits across from us in the interrogation room.

“So,” Ash says, breaking the awkward silence between us, “what do you want?”

Jones already looks like he’s gonna burst a blood vessel, and Ash’s question causes him to grit his teeth and twitch. “For fuck’s sake…we told you this in the cruiser!”

“Well, congratulations, officer,” Ash snarls, “your statement was probably so insignificant, I shoved it out of my mind!”

“WHY, you little-!”

“ANYWAY!” I interrupt, holding Jones back from practically tearing Ash to pieces. “We need some info about your gang, the Vipers. Do you have anything to share?”

Ash snorts. “Got nothing to tell ya, missy. Now, get lost.”

Well. That didn’t work.

“Well, guess what?!” Jones snaps. “Officer Perez and I are going to go back to that roadside, and when we find what we need, we’re gonna make your life a living hell!”

Ooo, boy, this ain’t good.

Ash purses his lip and rolls his eyes, not really acknowledging Jones practically leaning over the table to yell at him. “Ah, well, go to the roadside, then. See if I give a single. Fuck.” His sneer is practically wider than the table.

“Ohhh, we will, Ash!” Jones shouts. “We will!”

He stands up and storms out of the room, leaving me alone with Ash. “PEREZ! WE’VE GOT EVIDENCE TO FIND, COME ON!”

 

Coincidentally enough, the place Ash was before he had been arrested was a couple miles down the road from where we found Rosa Wolf, and as we arrive, I spot it. A pistol just lying there in the dirt.

“Ah-HA!” Jones exclaims as he snaps on a pair of gloves. “How about we check it for fingerprints, see if we can find anything?”

I pull on a pair myself with a nod. “Yeah, Bison probably dropped it when he got arrested. I’m gonna see if I can get something out of it. Can you hand me the forensics kit?”

“Here ya go!” He hands it to me, and I immediately get to work in trying to pick up any possible fingerprints.

And lo and behold, I find some very clear fingerprints on the side of the pistol barrel in no time.

Bingo.

“Oh, damn, those fingerprints are clear as day!” Jones exclaims as he studies them. “Let’s send them to the lab and see if they get a match!”

 

The tech expert’s lab is on the third floor of the police station, and as we enter, I’m hit with another wave of the stench of disinfectant.

“…This place, too?” I think out loud.

“Yeah, well, you gotta keep the tech clean somehow,” Jones remarks.

The dude in the gray hoodie sitting at one of the monitors takes off his headphones and turns to us. “Oh, hey!” He smiles as he stands up. “Officer Perez, right?” He asks me.

I nod, and extend a hand. “Officer Valentina Perez, at your service!”

He takes it gladly and gives it a good shake. “The name’s Turner, Alex Turner! But you can call me ‘the Digital God’ if you want.”

Jones scoffs with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m very sure Perez’ll do that…Alex is in charge of all the technical stuff here, and he IS good, just not THAT good.”

Alex lets out an amused snort in response. “Spoilsport. Aaanywho, I analyzed those fingerprints you sent me.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Did you get a match?”

“Sure did! To one ‘Ash Bison’!”

Jones immediately perks up. “Perfect! I’m definitely sure that fuckstick doesn’t have a gun license, too. How much do you wanna bet that he’ll spill the beans, Perez?”

I bite the inside of my cheek with hesitation. “I mean…considering how much trouble he was already, I doubt he’d really cooperate.”

“Eh, lighten up a little, Perez! I’m sure he’ll talk!” He assures me.

 

He doesn’t.

Well, not in the way we need.

Once we had managed to get him to come to the station again, we sit him down to have a little chat.

Jones plays the first move, slamming down photos of both the gun and the fingerprints on the table with a smirk. “So, we’ve got your gun, and your prints, Bison. In case you’re too stupid to realize it, this ain’t good. ”

Ash rolls his eyes again.

Jones slams his fist on the table, glaring at him. “Now, give us something good about the Vipers, or it’s to the slammer for you!”

Ash sinks down into the chair a bit and raises his hands in mock surrender, still grinning at us. “Alright, Perez. Ya got me. We’ve actually changed leaders recently, because the old one was quite… something. ”

Oh? Jones and I lean in a bit in anticipation as Ash pauses like he’s on a crappy  TV show. “And?” Jones demands. “What’s their name?”

Ash clears his throat. “The new leader’s name is…”

Another pause.

“… Keath Myass!”

…

Wha?

I frown, trying to process what Ash just revealed. Jones, on the other end, is grinning like an idiot. “Great, Perez, let’s go talk to this Keath-!”

He hesitates, and both of us have a joint realization. “Keath…Keath My-”

… Oh, that’s not-!

Ash looks like he’s having the time of his life as he’s covering his mouth, his body shaking with silent chortles.

Jones, on the other hand, looks like he’s gonna strangle someone. “Why, you little-!” He pauses, taking breaths to calm himself, but right now he’s giving Ash the stink eye. “You know what?! Perez! Put this shitstain behind bars!”

“Uh, aye aye-!” I exclaim as I take out my handcuffs to arrest an Ash Bison that’s currently in hysterics with laughter.

Notes:

Surprisingly, this chapter took 2 whole pages on my Google Doc, what the hell bro 😭
Anyway, OKAY YEAH this is all I got for today LMAO
I'm hoping to get through "Corpse in A Garden" soon, though, so stay tuned!

Chapter 7: A Celebratory…Celebration!

Summary:

wel·come
noun
an instance or manner of greeting someone.
"you will receive a warm welcome"

Notes:

More of a long filler chapter before the next case, not gonna lie — Jones just drags Valentina outside to touch grass. (/hj)

“You wanna go for a walk?” Jones asks.

“Hm?” I lean forward in my chair.

“I mean…how about we get some fresh air?” He puts his soda can on the table. “We’re not really doing anything right now, and we haven’t been outside in a while.”

“Jones, weren’t we outside a couple minutes ago?”

He pauses.

“…Pretend we weren’t.”

I can’t help but let out a snort at that. “Alright, I guess we should go outside, then. Where do you wanna go?”

“Hmmm…as shitty as it is, there’s some really good places I wanna check out in the Financial Center,” he notes. He stands up and begins pacing around the desk. “There’s the burger place on 50th Street, the fast food place on Solomon Avenue…”

He continues muttering and pacing around some more until he stops and snaps his fingers. “I KNOW! Perez, do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Uhhh…” I ponder his question for a second. “…kind of? I mean, too much sugar makes me ill, but that’s not even a ‘me’ thing…”

“Well, it’s good enough, because we’re going to Donut Deck !”

“I…what’s Donut Deck ?”

“Why, best donut place in all of Grimsborough, obviously!” He replies. “Get ready, Perez, and be sure to bring a coat!”

 

I only have time to grab my coat before Jones practically pushes me outside, causing us to get multiple weird looks from other officers along the way.

“ Ay, ay ay! ” I yell out, flailing my arms as he urges me to the car. “Slow down, please!”

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” He says. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“Nah, just a bit disoriented,” I admit, shaking my hand out. “You have a bit of an iron grip, I’m not gonna lie…”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Yeah, that is completely my bad, I’m so sorry…”

“No worries, I get it, you’re excited!” I respond. “So, we’re going to Donut Deck ?”

“Yup!” He tells me as he heads to the driver’s side of the car. “Because nothing says Grimsborough like ‘donuts’!”

 

The drive was pretty much smooth sailing. The worst part was probably listening to Jones ramble about different parts of Grimsborough to me, and even then, it wasn’t even bad.

…I like hearing him talk, actually.

We’ve both lived in Grimsborough our whole lives, but hearing someone else’s completely different perspective on it is quite eye-opening. And it’s quite the boredom buster while we’re in the middle of the typical Financial Area traffic.

“This,” Jones gestures to the sea of cars around us, “is why I moved out of the Financial Area.”

I sigh. “Yeah, no, completely fair. Can’t believe that it was completely different only a small while ago…”

“Yeah, insane, right?” He pipes up. “Feels like yesterday that the tallest building in this district was only 10 floors…”

Our shoulders rise as we move an inch forward, but sink again when traffic continues to clog.

“…Trust me, Perez,” he mutters to me, “this is gonna be worth it, I swear-”

 

Holy crap , he was right.

I practically gape at the charming little building near Cooper Park, a one-floor shop embellished with splashes of pink and blue.

“They even got a lil patio!” I say my thoughts out loud as we pull up in front. “Damn, I really am missing out in the Financial Center!”

“Well, despite all the rotten apples in this city, there’s a couple diamonds in the rough!” Jones replies with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go order!”

I am still entranced, but I follow him as we get out of the car.

Looking closer at it, I realize that it’s worn — the lettering on the canopy’s kinda faded, the paint on the walls is peeling off, and the color on the floor tiles is finally rubbing off after what I can assume is decades of people walking on it.

As we walk in, Jones takes one big sniff, so I do the same.

I’m slammed with multiple aromas at once. There’s strawberry, blueberry, peanut, chili, sugar, spice, everything nice, I FEEL LIKE I’M ON CLOUD FUCKING 9-

“How’s it feel so far?” Jones asks me.

“I’M IN HEAVEN.”

He lets out a laugh, a hearty laugh as the two of us stand in the donut shop. “Well, welcome to the world of donuts, Perez!” He tells me. “C’mon, let’s go order.”

We confidently walk up to the counter, and the old lady there immediately lights up seeing us. “Ah, well, if it isn’t good ol’ Davey Jones!” She exclaims with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re back!”

“I’m happy I’m back, too, Ms. Fennell!” Jones replies with a grin. “I brought a guest, too! This is my new partner, Valentina Perez!”

I give Ms. Fennell a polite wave hello, and she adjusts her glasses and squints like I’m an ant. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before…are you new to Grimsborough?”

I shake my head. “I’ve lived here my whole life, I’ve just never been to this district specifically.”

“Ah, well, wise choice!” She tells me. She turns to Jones still with that bright smile. “So the Chief finally let you mentor someone!” She says, beaming. “I believe congratulations are in order!”

“Yeah, we just solved our first case together, too!” He adds.

“Ohh, double congratulations it is, then!” She notes. “Would you like one freebie munchie or two?”

“‘Munchies’?” I whisper to Jones.

“They’re just donut holes,” he whispers back. “She just doesn’t call them that because she thinks it’s a bit awkward to say. Also, someone else already called them ‘munchkins’, apparently. So ‘munchies’ it is.”

“Davey?” She asks. “One freebie munchie or two?”

“Ah, two please!” He calls back.

 

We decided to surprise ourselves with the flavor, so Jones told Ms. Fennell to ‘go buck-wild’. And ‘go buck-wild’ she did, because once she came back with our paper bag of goodies, some of the icing had seeped through. “Oh dear, something must have spilled…”

“Ah, don’t worry!” Jones tells her as he hands her a couple dollar bills. “If it’s coming from your shop, it’s gonna be good no matter what!”

She giggles as she hands him the bag. “Well, it’s been quite the delight seeing you again! I hope you and your partner enjoy!”

“Thank you, Ms. Fennell!” We say in unison while we leave. We sit at one of the tables on the patio, and Jones places the bag on the table before tearing it open.

“Alright, Perez, dig in!”

I immediately grab a donut and take a bite.

Holy SHIT-

Every single one of my tastebuds is coated with every single flavor seeping from the donut and onto my tongue. All the serotonin is activated at this point, and I can’t help but smile like an idiot as my mind begins racing, to savor all of it.

I identify rich, decadent chocolate ganache, warm, pillowy dough, smooth, creamy peanut butter, the bittersweetness of the hint of coffee, sweet sticky jam filling — holy fuck, I’m almost overwhelmed with every bit of it—

“Uhh, Perez?” Jones asks with a chuckle, “You look like you’re gonna explode-”

“I FEEL LIKE I’M IN THE CLOUDS, JONES.”

“Haha, knew it!” He takes another bite of donut and pulls out his phone. “Ms. Fennell never misses with the donuts. Glad you like ‘em!”

I glance at him as he begins typing something. “Hey, what’cha doing?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m just checking the time!”

He obviously isn’t, but I can’t really tell what he even is doing, so I just brush it off and continue eating.

“Once we finish these donuts, we’re heading back, okay?” He tells me. I nod in response as I continue munching down, feeling pretty content despite the cold weather.

 

The traffic is even worse on the way back. I practically find myself napping in the front passenger seat, with the only sounds around me being the constant honking of car horns and Jones slamming his head into the steering wheel.

After what feels like forever, we finally escape the horrors of Financial Center jamming and drive back to the station.

“…Why are the lights off?” I ask.

“What?” Jones pulls the car into the parking space and stops it.

“Look.” I point at the building, at the completely darkened 2nd floor windows. “It’s like they all just left there…”

“Hmmm…” Jones gets out of the car and steps closer to the building. “…kinda hinky, if you ask me.”

“Who the hell says ‘hinky’ in 2012- okay.” I step out of the car too and follow Jones.

The station seems…a lot taller in the evening. Maybe it’s just a shadow thing, I dunno, but the thing feels like it’s towering over me at this point. A chill runs down my spine as I stare up — either it’s just nerves or the November wind.

“So, you coming inside, Perez?” Jones asks me from the front door.

“I-” For some reason, I hesitate. “…Um…” A gust of wind hits my back, slightly pushing me forward. “… Mierda , alright, I’m coming-!” I dash indoors after Jones.

The first floor still has its lights on, but it’s silent. As Jones and I tiptoe around, we immediately come to realize that we’re completely alone. All we can hear besides the sounds of our breathing is the sound of a pin dropping to the floor.

“…Okay, now this is really weird,” I mumble, looking under a desk. “Did everyone just leave?!”

“I don’t know…” Jones whispers, picking up a folder and looking under. “…never thought they’d do something like this.”

“Really?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You know them better than me.”

“True, true,” he shrugs, “but you never know with humans. We’re all strange creatures, y’know?” He leans against a desk and starts playing with a pen, trying to twirl it between his fingers only for it to flub out of his hand. “SHIT- Robin made it look so easy-”

I’m still looking around, trying to gather any clues on what to do, when I hear something.

A rustle of paper?

A thump?

Damn, I don’t even know, but I can swear that I hear something , and it’s coming from above.

“…what was that?”

“What was what?” Jones asks, his shoulders stiffening for a moment.

Thump.

“I think there’s something upstairs!” I exclaim, standing up. “I can hear it!” I see him furiously typing into his phone from the corner of my eye. “Wait, what are you-?!”

“What??? Meee???” He exclaims, tossing his phone to the side away from me. “Nooo, it’s fine!” He gives me the most unchill grin possible.

I stare at him with a deadpan expression in silence.

“…Yeah, no, I’m going upstairs.”

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” Jones exclaims, flailing his arms as he dashes in front of me, blocking the door to the stairs. “Are you sure? What if it’s unsafe up there?”

“Well, you never know until you check,” I reply, pushing past him and walking up the stairs.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jones stammers. “Hold on, wait! I don’t think we-”

I open the door to the second floor and flash my phone light into the darkness. Immediately, I see a flash of brown and gray, and I make eye contact with a very caught-off-guard Alex Turner on a step ladder with a cardstock letter A in his hands. “FUCK-!” He loses his balance, tumbling to the floor.

“ALEX!” A woman with a ginger ponytail yells as she suddenly stands up from behind a table. I’m still standing awkwardly in the doorway, struggling to process what’s going on.

The woman and I make eye contact, and I manage to spot multiple other cops peeking out from behind furniture. Finally, the cogs in my brain are turning, I start connecting the dots. “Hold on- are you-?”

“…Surpriiiiise,” Jones says sheepishly from behind me.

 

As it turns out, Jones had taken me to Donut Deck so that way the other members at the station had time to prepare a surprise party.

“I…all this?” I stutter, dumbfoundedly gesturing to the streamers and balloons strewn around the room. “For me?”

The ginger-haired woman (whose name I learned was Grace, the lab chief) laughs in response. “Yes! This sector of the police force doesn’t really have many recruits come work here, so we like to celebrate every time someone new shows up.”

“…yeah, and we all forgot about it until this morning,” Alex chuckles, sliding the ice pack around on his head. “Thank Ramirez for going to buy everything on such a short notice…”

“Holy crap, thank you!” I say with a grateful smile. “Can- can I go grab some refreshments?”

“Sure, it’s your party!” Alex replies with a grin. “Go crazy, have fun!”

 

I spend most of my time at the party introducing myself to the other members of the force. A portly man in the uniform with a mustache standing by the window talking to a person with curly brunette hair, so I go up to them to say hi.

“Ah, Officer Perez!” The portly man says, holding out a hand. “I’m Ramirez, one of the field officers here, and this-” he gestures to the brunette, who raises an eyebrow, “-is Robin Douglas, a major here!”

I shake Ramirez’s hand readily and turn to Robin. “Hello, Major Douglas! It’s a pleasure to get to work with you!”

Robin remains silent, their brows furrowing slightly.

“…Robin?” Ramirez asks. “You alright, amigo ?”

Robin blinks twice, pursing their lips. Their gaze is on me and me only, like there’s no one else in the room with us.

“...Perez, right?”

…Holy shit, did NOT expect their voice to be so deep for some reason-

“Y-yeah!” I reply. Two of my fingers are pinching and pulling at my sleeve at this point. “Valentina Perez. Is there an issue?”

Robin goes silent again, leaving me to slightly shake in my boots.

“...Hm. Your name rings a bell, but I can’t tell where,” their expression softens slightly as they mutter, taking my hand and shaking it.

Oh? “Is that so?” I inquire. “Interesting…”

Our hands hold together firmly for a moment, neither of us moving a muscle before Robin notes, “...Your palms are extremely sweaty, Perez.”

I pull back immediately in embarrassment, wiping my palms on my pants as I apologize profusely.

“Oh, no worries!” They snicker. “Also, no need for the ‘major’ title, just call me Robin.”

 

I continue grabbing more food and talking to those around me, until I spot Jones with his cellphone and a plate of cake. “You look distracted,” I note, “are you good?”

“Eh? Yeah, I am!” He replies.”It’s just that someone I invited didn’t show up.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, my friend Jodie. Told me that they had something to do and were unfortunately pretty busy.” He sighs. “Well, they did tell me to tell you that they send their congratulations!”

“Oh, tell them I say thank you!” I reply,  sitting down next to him.

“How’s the cake?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s pretty good!” I take another bite. “Pretty light and fluffy. Not that sweet.”

“That’s good!” Jones takes a bite of his cake slice as well. The two of us sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, taking in every detail around us. That is, until Jones speaks again.

“You know…I see something special in you, Perez.”

“Oh?” I put down my fork. “What is it?”

“You’ve got a lot of potential, y’know? It’s…hard to explain, considering how we barely know each other, but I can see it. Even after just one case together, I see something .”

I can’t help but blush and smile at that. “Ah, thank you! I’m really happy I’m living up to your expectations…” I glance at Jones. “…Jones, are you eating that cake with your hands?”

“What? I couldn’t find a fork.”

“There were forks over-” I let out a huff. “-okay, nevermind then.”

Jones pauses, looking at his frosting-covered fingers. “…to be fair, this cake was too good to just eat with a fork.”

An amused snort comes out of my nose. “…You need a napkin?”

“Do you…have a napkin?”

“Yeah, right here.” I pull one out of my coat pocket.

“Yeah, sure, thanks, Perez.” He takes it and wipes his hands with it.

I purse my lips as I think for a moment. “…Val.”

“Eh?”

“Call me Val.”

I see a smile spread on his face as he hears my words.

“Alrighty, then. Val it is.”

Notes:

If you read the first rewrite, then you’d know where this chapter comes from! I decided to keep it for here, because why the hell not-
Anyway, next up: Val and Jones explore real estate (GONE WRONG⁉️)/jjj

Chapter 8: Corpse in a Garden - 1/3

Summary:

It felt almost like the nightmare he once had as a child.
Except, this time he didn’t run and hide — he just stood there, frozen in place with that piece of scrap in his hands.
How did this happen?
Where did this come from?
Who did this?
It takes him a couple seconds for him to move. He feels like he’s yanking at his own muscles as he walks down the lawn, staggering to the sidewalk as he pulls out his phone to dial a number.
“…Yes? 911? I just found something in a junkyard garden.”
He swallows down the lump in his throat.
“…a hand. A severed hand.”

Notes:

Val and Jones get called to a junkyard garden to investigate the murder of a broker.

The rain that had been pouring since last night was just starting to clear up into a drizzle when I walked into the police station, squeezing my umbrella dry and stuffing it into a bag.

Ever since my first case (which was a week ago), at least a small section of my mind has been focused on one thing.

The Vipers.

As the Chief’s words and Ash's criminal record and attitude indicate, the Vipers are a much bigger threat than one might expect to see from a local gang. So that’s why I came in early today: To talk to the Chief and request being put on their case.

 

“No.”

“Wait, why ‘no’???” I protest.

“I do not mean to doubt your abilities, but you still are quite inexperienced.” Chief King tells me. “The Vipers are extremely powerful foes. You may be talented, but they’ve been a consistent threat for a reason.”

…He has a point.

“Of course, this doesn’t mean that I don’t have anything for you,” he adds, “because there’s been quite a peculiar phone call.”

“What happened?” I ask, furrowing my brow,

“A man named Dave Simmons called, claiming he saw body parts in a junkyard garden.” He hands me a small folder. “Inside is the transcript of the 911 call in case you need it, go grab Jones and solve the case quickly and efficiently. Do I make myself clear?”

“Loud and clear, sir, yes sir!” I exclaim, giving him a salute.

The tips of his mustache twitch up as he grins at me. “That’s the spirit, Officer!”

 

“...remind me, what did this Simmons fella say in the 911 call?” Jones asks as we drive down another dingy road.

“Uhh, sure…” I pull out the transcript, then glance up at our surroundings. “...hey, you sure this is the right way?”

“Yeah, east of Harris Heights, right?” He inquires, still driving.

“Yes, but this looks like the west of Harris Heights…” I note, glancing down at the address Simmons had stated. “‘East of Harris Heights, Fracti Avenue’.”

“...Huh.” Jones pulls the car over to the side of the road. “Hey, can you check the GPS? Maybe I misclicked something.”

I lean to my left to check the GPS, only to come to a realization. “Wait, did we even charge this thing?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I unplug the GPS from its socket and show the completely blank, not-on screen to him. “I think it’s dead.”

He takes it from me, tapping it a couple times and squinting before promptly sighing. “...Well, fuck me, Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He leaves me alone in the car,  walks down the street for a bit, and disappears into an alleyway.

And then, I hear a crack.

No, multiple cracks and crunches, like something’s being flung around and smashed against the walls. What the fu-

Jones comes out of the alley looking like nothing even happened, except for the fact that he’s carrying a completely cracked-up screen in his hand. “Well, whaddya know!” He says with a chipper tone in his voice as he gets back into the car. “I did mistype it!”

I’m still staring at the fucked-up GPS, wondering about the point of all of this and why he’s putting the GPS back into place like it still works. “UHHH???”

He sees my expression and laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna work! Give it a lil tap!”

I reach over, and as hesitantly as possible, tap the display screen, and holy shit, the fucking thing still works.

“Fracti Avenue, here we go!” Jones says as the car starts up again.

 

“…Well, Chief King was absolutely right to call this place a ‘junkyard garden’,” I mutter as we pull up to the crime scene.

“No kidding,” Jones mumbles as he parks the car. “This place is even filthier than a Financial Center dumpster.”

Trash and dead leaves are strewn all over the lawn and the roof of the house. Boards haphazardly cover the windows, with the nails pinning them looking like they were just smashed in. The roof is the only thing that at least looks the least damaged, and even that had multiple cracks and holes.

I gingerly step out of the car first to take a closer look, but as I do so, a tile slides off the roof and hits a couple moldy planks with a crash.

“Truly a ‘home sweet home’.” Jones jests. He walks over next to me, giving me a small glance. “So, shall we take a look?”

I nod. “I’ll get the gloves.”

“Alright! You take the left, I’ll take the right.”

Once we snap on gloves, we make quick work searching through the garden — while Jones looks through dead and dying foliage, I take a peek in some rubble near the house and immediately stumble across what I came for.

“…ay, well, I’ll be,” I mumble to myself with a grimace as I move another piece of rubble.

“You found something?” Jones asks, glancing in my direction.

“Mhm.” With two gloved fingers, I pull out a shriveled up severed hand.

Jones’s expression scrunches with disgust as he stares at it for a moment, and he places down a broken gnome he was holding before standing up. “…Ew.”

“You’re right on that part,” I mutter.

“I’ll, uh, put that in an evidence bag while you search the house.” Jones takes the hand out of mine and goes over to the car.

I turn back to look at the house for a moment, just…considering my options on how I got to this position and how to proceed, when I hear the sound of footsteps.

The man running up to me was short, with a gray suit and band-aid on his face. He’s practically huffing and puffing by the time he reaches me. “Whoa, sir, breathe!” I exclaim, carefully catching him before he collapses and setting him on the floor. “Are- are you alright?”

“My apologies, Officer!” The man stammers. “I just left for a moment for a stress coffee, I should have waited by the scene-” Wait a minute.

“Are you Dave Simmons?” I ask.

He nods as he wobbily stands up. “Yes, ma’am…I saw the hand in the garden and immediately called the police.”

“You did a good job,” I say, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “My suggestion, stick around, and take a rest…my partner and I will have a look inside once he’s done storing evidence.”

Jones is already by the front door of the house when I walk over there to meet him.

“So, Val!” He says, pushing the door open with a creaaakkk. “You wanna go in first, or shall I?”

I gesture for him to go in first, and his nervous smile drops.

“I-I was hoping you’d go fir—fine.”

 

Try to guess the condition of the interior of the house! If you said the obvious, that it was just as rotted away and broken down as the exterior, then congrats! You’re correct!

If you said anything else, then I don’t know what to say.

Either way, the place looked like rot, smelled like rot, and I very much wished that I was anywhere else.

“Welcome to the true smell of death,” Jones tells me with a grimace. “I wonder what Simmons was planning to do here.”

“Simmons is a real estate agent, right? I assume he’d want to sell it.”

“Yeah, that’s true. My question is ‘to who’.”

We carefully tiptoe towards the scent, with Jones leading the way and me right behind. I attempt to step over some splinters on the ground, and my foot immediately caves the floor under it. “Fuck-!”

“Watch your step, Val,” Jones says.

“Yeah, a bit too late for that warning,” I respond with a grimace, pulling my foot out of the hole in the floor. “Goddamn, even the floor’s rotted…” I won’t be surprised if they just tear this house down.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Jones?” I glance up.

Jones is staring into one of the rooms with pursed lips, as if he’s struggling to come up with something to say. “Well…I found the second part of our victim.”

“Wait, what?!” I stumble over to him and glance through the doorway into the bathroom.

“…Holy crap.”

There is our victim, alright. Haphazardly lying in the bathtub full of bloodied water in only his underwear and a tie, his clothes tossed to the side. His face is twisted into one of agony, and I can’t help but gulp.

Jones makes the first move, stepping over to the body carefully. He watches the body for a couple of seconds before reaching in the water, pulling up the victim’s left hand (WITH GLOVES ON, DON’T WORRY-), revealing nothing but a bloody stump instead.

“…So this was definitely the hand’s owner,” he notes. “Judging by the red lines on his body, the killer was probably in the process of chopping him up completely when Simmons came into the picture.”

I nod, glancing around the room. “We’ll still have to send that man to Nathan just to be 100% sure…”

The rest of the bathroom is in utter disarray, further adding to Jones’s “interrupted murder” theory. “Check this out, Jones!” I exclaim, picking up a bottle of flammable liquid from the floor. “Our killer was kind enough to leave a couple clues.”

He lets out a snort through his nose. “How kind of them, not gonna lie. Now…” he scans over the room. “…can you take care of the flammable liquid and search through the victim’s clothes? I’m gonna call the morgue to take the body for an autopsy.”

I give him a thumbs up as I immediately get to work, trying to search through the clothes first and pulling out two objects of interest — an ID card and a golden tooth.

“Apparently the victim’s name is Ned Dillard,” I mention to Jones. “He was a mortgage broker.”

“…Oh, that’s fun,” Jones replies with a grimace. “Nice finding that gold tooth, though.”

“Thanks!” I tell him. “Lemme check this barcode, too, hold on…”

The barcode was pretty incomplete, so I had to figure out how to piece it together. A somewhat hefty task, but nothing impossible.

“Tracking the location of that thing’ll be pretty simple,” Jones says. “The sale of flammable chemicals is under strict tracking laws, so it’d be decently easy to find where that thing was bought.”

I nod. “It says here that the bottle actually came from a mini-market nearby.”

“Did it now? Which address?”

I read out the address to him, and his face lights up. “I’ve been to that mini-market! I know the owner there, Joe Stern. Let’s go talk to him, Val!”

 

I think the best way to describe Joe Stern is “perpetual frowner”.

Then again, I don’t think I would be smiling either if I worked in a particularly shitty part of town.

After we had dropped our evidence off at the lab, we had gone to the mini-market to talk to Joe Stern, and the first thing I noticed as we pulled up was a giant snake spray-painted onto the wall.

“Ah, Joe’s a Viper?”

“What? No he isn’t.”

“…ah.”

As we enter the mini-market, I notice Joe sitting behind the counter, reading a…certain magazine.

Ohhhkay.

Once Joe sees us, he puts his magazine to the side and turns to face us. “Well, if it isn’t Officer Jones, and…” he glances at me. “…person.”

“Officer Valentina Perez,” I tell him with a smile, holding out my hand for him to shake. He doesn’t take it. In fact, his brow furrows more as he gives me an unamused expression.

I pull my hand away to avoid embarrassment.

“…So!” Jones says, pulling out the bottle of flammable liquid and holding it up to Joe. “Recognize this bottle, Stern?”

Joe squints at the bottle, his lips pressed into a thin line. “…Yeah, this bottle comes from my shop. The brand’s in the back of aisle 3. So what?”

“Mr. Stern, we need to figure out who bought this bottle,” I say, “they’ve committed a murder!”

“No shit, I can guess. What else would your killer buy this stuff for? Grilling?” He lets out a huff as he cracks his knuckles. “Listen, missy, you don’t seriously think I keep track of all my customers, do you? Dozens of people buy shit from here every day.”

“Is that so?” Jones pipes up. “Well, in that case, we will have a look around your shop, if that’s alright with you!”

Joe lets out a huff of annoyance, but he gestures around the shop. “Be my fuckin’ guest.”

Jones and I immediately set to work searching the mini-market, and the first thing that catches my eye is a trash bag in the far corner of the store.

Jones can see where I’m looking, and he grins. “Fact of the day, Val…” You’ll soon find that suspicious things always end up in the trash! Come on, let’s look through!”

Joe yells at us to take it outside, so that’s what Jones and I do. Once we set it outside, Jones unties the bag, and I snap on a pair of gloves and begin digging.

The bag was pretty full, so it takes me a second to find something, but finally I pull out a receipt…a decently long one.

“What’cha find?”

“Hmm, lemme see…” I read through the receipt. “So the owner of this receipt bought a bunch of groceries, snacks, and stuff…” my eyes wander to the bottom of the receipt, and my eyes widen. “…wait a second. This person bought a saw!”

“Wait, what?!” Jones takes the receipt from me and reads it himself. “Holy smokes, you’re right! They got a saw, like the one from the bathroom, and a bottle of flammable liquid! This shit is a goldmine!”

I nod, and point to the bottom. “Also, look at this…” it says that they also bought bandages! They obviously didn’t buy them for Ned…”

“…so our killer has a bandage!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “We’re making some pretty good progress on the case, Val!”

All of a sudden, his phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket to check. “What is it?” I ask.

He flashes me a grin as he holds it out to show me. “The lab results are ready; we’ll catch Ned’s killer in no time!”

 

First thing we needed to check was the autopsy results, so we headed to the morgue to visit Nathan.

“…Oh, dear fucking god, he’s doing it again,” Jones mutters his breath.

“Doing what again?” I ask, trying to adjust my lungs to the smell of disinfectant.

He shoots me a look. “You know! His little ‘magic trick’ thingy-!”

“Mind elaborating on that, Jones?”

Both Jones and I shriek as we turn around to see Nathan just standing there holding a coffee cup.

“…Oh, yeah, that,” I whisper to Jones.

Nathan glances at me, giving me a smile as he picks up a clipboard. “So, Officer Perez! I have your autopsy results.” He clears his throat before he begins to read. “Firstly…the hand you found in the garden matches the body in the house.”

“*Phewf!*” Jones mutters. “Thank god, it’d be a nightmare if it wasn’t.”

“Do not put that image in my mind,” Nathan mentions with a grimace. “Anyway, I found another important thing to note…sawing off a hand takes loads of effort to do so.”

“So…that means our killer is a man?” Jones asks.

“Ehhh, a bit more general than that,” Nathan replies. “More of just…someone with a strong build, loads of muscle mass. For example, a cis man can do something like this, but also can a trans woman if she’s on her first three years of estrogen, because her muscle mass is still mostly preserved.”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “Hm, I didn’t know that. So in the end of the day, strength depends on person to person, right?”

Nathan snaps his fingers. “Correct! Best course of action, look for someone with a strong build.”

 

Next thing Jones and I did was visit Grace in the lab to learn about the tooth.

“Ah, hello officers!” Grace exclaims, beaming. “I finished analyzing the tooth you sent me.” She pulls out a clipboard. “Jones, remember when I told you to send me a picture of the bottle?”

“Yeah, what about it?” Jones asks.

Grace pulls out a close-up picture of the bottle cap for both Jones and I to see. It takes me a second, but I notice it.

Teeth marks. All over the bottle cap. I can’t help but wince imagining the scenario — the killer trying to pry open the bottle, but accidentally pulling out one of their teeth in the process.

“So the killer probably lost the tooth trying to bite open the bottle?” I ask Grace.

“Correctomundo!” She tells me.

Jones gives me a playful jab to the side. “Either that cap’s stronger than our Chief, or our killer’s got some lousy teeth! In any case, let’s look for someone with a missing tooth!”

…Wait, wasn’t there someone with a missing tooth we met before? I ponder for a moment before snapping my fingers. “Joe Stern and Dave Simmons both have a missing tooth!”

“Yeah, you’re right!” Jones exclaims. “That makes our witness a suspect!”

“And Stern?”

“Not sure, honestly…he might’ve bought from his own store to cover his tracks, but…” Jones hesitates for a moment. “Y’know what? We’ll think about it later. Let’s go talk to Simmons!”

 

“…What’s with the sudden call, officers?” Dave Simmons asks nervously as he sits across from us. He’s wringing his hands like there’s no tomorrow, flashing us a nervous smile. “Is it about Mr. Dillard?”

Jones and I flash each other a glance, then we both look back at Simmons.

Jones purses his lips. “Ehhhhhhhh…Maaaybe.”

Simmons’ eyes widen, but he seems to be trying to look as calm as possible. “Oh…what is it?”

His smile looks even more fake right now, like he’s holding back the urge to have a mental breakdown.

“Your tooth.” I say.

“My…tooth-?”

“How did you lose the tooth, Simmons?” Jones asks, his brow furrowing.

“A-Ah! My tooth!” Simmons exclaims. “I lost it when I was young, officers. I have nothing else to say here, except that I was just there to sell the house. That’s how I noticed the hand in the yard.”

“Very well,” I mutter in response, “may I ask — if you were there to sell it, do you know who the house belongs to?”

Simmons’ expression lights up as the topic shifts away from him directly. “Of course! The property belongs to Mr. Marconi and has been derelict for years now. He’d be much better off without it.”

Marconi-?

Out of fucking nowhere, Jones begins fucking coughing on his spit. “Oh, shit-!” I exclaim, rushing to his side. “Jones, are you alright?!”

Jones doesn’t even acknowledge me as he practically whips his head towards Simmons. “Did you just say ‘Marconi’?!”

“…Yes.” Simmons’ face scrunches with confusion. “Is- is there a problem, officers?”

“‘Is there a problem’? Yes there is a problem! This is huge!” Jones turns to me. “Val, we gotta report this to Chief King, stat!”

“Wait, who’s Marconi?!” I inquire.

“I’ll tell you later!” He replies as he dashes out of the room. “I’ll meet you on the second floor, Chief’s office!”

 

I didn’t get a proper explanation about Marconi until Jones and I were driving to the Blue Flamingo.

According to Jones, Marconi was, for lack of a better term, a bastard. He was apparently a local gangster who had gained infamy in both the average populus and the criminal hierarchy due to his ability to…get away with everything. It’s not even that he bribed anyone, there’s no proof of bribery on his record.

There’s just…no proof pinning him to anything worth arresting. Despite his connections to countless murders, robberies, and other crimes, apparently there’s no evidence to properly tie him to them.

“He sounds like a piece of work,” I mutter with a grimace.

“Ohoho, you haven’t seen nothing,” Jones grumbles as we pull up to the Blue Flamingo. “He’s the most pretentious, chauvinistic asshole I’ve ever seen…the worst of the worst criminals.”

I pause, looking at the bustling club in front of us, people streaming in and out in constant motion, and loud dance music blaring into an echo. “Hm…so I probably shouldn’t go in there myself, huh?” I ask, chuckling awkwardly.

“…I’m very sure you’re more than capable of talking to him yourself…but just in case, I’ll keep you company,” he tells me, getting out of the car.

I nod. “…ohhkay.”

There’s a little bit of lurching in my gut from god-knows-what, but I try brushing that feeling to the side.

…This is gonna go quite sideways, isn’t it?

Calm yourself, Val! This is just a gangster we’re facing. Nothing truly crazy in Grimsborough. Don’t act intimidated!

I take a deep breath in, cool November air flooding my lungs.

Then, I exhale, letting everything rush out.

Let’s do this.

Notes:

AAAUGH SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES I GOT INTO ANOTHER MENTAL BLOCK AND I HAD SOME AND SCHOOLWORK
I’m gonna be posting parts one at a time this time to try to update a bit more frequently, I hope you don’t mind-
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it’s a bit of a long one, I think I beefed it up too much— gotta have those Val and Jones interactions LMAO
ALSO I’M CHANGING THE EXPOSITION IN THE CHAPTER SUMMARY FROM THOSE DEFINITIONS TO COLD OPENS I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND-

Chapter 9: Corpse in a Garden - 2/3

Summary:

The plot thickens as Val and Jones piece together the clues to Ned Dillard’s murder.

Surprisingly, the Blue Flamingo seems a lot…calmer than I expected.

I guess it’s because of the fact that it’s a weekday, so most of the customers there probably just got out of their jobs. The biggest group of people I notice is a pair of partygoers just bopping their heads to the disco music as they chug their drinks. Despite the condition of the Industrial Area, no one here even seems like any sort of criminal.

Of course, never judge a book by its cover. We still have to treat this with care.

We start searching through the crowds, with Jones taking the lead. My eyes are constantly smacked with blue, pink, and purple lighting, and I can barely even make out anything specific except Jones.

He carefully stands close to me, scanning around the club. “Stay with me, Val,” he whispers, “Marconi may put up some charm to try to get out of some potential trouble. Stay alert.”

We scoot past a couple groups of people, the beat of the disco pounding in our ears as we try to walk as casually and as sneakily as possible.

All of a sudden, Jones pauses.

“He’s over there, Val,” he hisses at me, pointing to a corner of the room. “You see him?”

No, not really.

I shade my eyes and glance at where Jones is pointing.

… Ah.

Tony Marconi stands tall and proud, his gray suit and black hair looking deep purple in the lighting. His arms are crossed, and his brow is furrowed in a glaring scowl. He’s currently staring daggers at a man he’s talking to, and the other dude’s curled up in the corner, quivering slightly as Tony says something to him. I can’t hear anything over the music, but judging by what I can tell, it’s not good.

I take a deep breath in, but before I can exhale, Jones is already heading over to Marconi, and I have to scurry over. Once Marconi tosses the man to the side, he turns to face us, his eyebrow raising in amusement.

“Oh, Inspector Jones?” Marconi asks, smirking. “And a new face! How wonderful.”

Against my better judgment, I hold out a hand. “Officer Perez, Mr. Marconi. Valentina Perez.”

Marconi’s smirk fades a little, his eyebrow somehow goes a little bit higher and the lines on his forehead deepening. “Perez, you say?” His voice raises a bit at that. “Well, welcome to this hellhole, gamberetto .” He takes my hand firmly — almost too firmly — and shakes it.

“Marconi, can we ask you a question?” Jones demands firmly.

Marconi lets go and gives me a small pat on the back before turning to Jones. “Hit me, Inspector. Go right ahead.”

“Alriiight!” Jones says sarcastically, pulling out a picture of the victim. He hands it to him. “We’re wondering — have you ever heard of this man, Ned Dillard?”

Marconi looks at the picture, squinting at it for a moment. “Ned Dillard, you say?”

“Yes.” Jones crosses his arms. “So answer the question.”

Marconi shrugs, folding the photo up and handing it back to Jones. “ Scusa, never heard of him. Is that all? I’m a very busy man, y’know.”

Jones scoffs in annoyance. “Are you-?! I-” he shoves the photo into his back pocket. “I’d watch my tone if I were you. Ned’s corpse was found on one of your properties.”

Marconi shrugs, like this is just everyday for him. “A tragedy, for sure. But do you have any evidence I was there?”

I glance at Jones, and I notice that his brow’s furrowed even harder than it already was.

“Exactly,” Marconi says with a small chuckle. “Unless you can link me there, I don’t see how it concerns me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have no time for some trivial matters.”

Jones grits his teeth and tries objecting, but Marconi just pushes past the both of us — but not before grabbing a napkin from a nearby table and handing it to me.

“Your palms are sweating, gamberetto ,” he tells me. “My suggestion, try to strengthen your nerves a little more before you come around here.”

And just like that, he leaves us alone, with only the loud oonch oonch oonch of the music accompanying us in the room.

 

“…What the hell does he mean, ‘strengthen my nerves’?” I mutter to myself as I wipe my hands clean of sweat. “No shit I’d be at least a little bit afraid of a mobster…”

“Especially considering the fact that it’s Marconi,” Jones grumbles with a scowl etched into his expression, “you don’t know what the hell that scumbag’s up to…”

We walk into the station, and I shove the napkin into my pocket. “So, what’s our next course of action?” I ask Jones.

Before he can respond, Chief King strides up to us. “So, Perez! Jones! How is the Ned Dillard case going? Have you found out who killed him?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet, unfortunately.”

Jones pipes up. “We do know that Ned’s killer has a strong build, they’re missing a tooth…”

‘...and they have a bandage!” I add.

“Well done, that’s quite the list!” Chief King exclaims. “What’s your next plan?”

“I-” Jones opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He shoots me a nervous glance, but all I can do is shoot one back. “Well…we’re going to…”

Chief King’s brow furrows with annoyance. “Well, you’re going to go BACK TO THE CRIME SCENES AND FIND SOMETHING, CAPISCE?!”

“SIR, YES SIR!” Both Jones and I shout in unison before we bolt back to the car.

 

Well, there’s a reason it doesn’t hurt to double-check something.

Jones and I decided to check back in with the abandoned house and its bathroom, and I managed to find a tie clip on the stank-ass floor. A pretty clean one, at that.

“Huh, that’s strange,” I mutter, picking it up, “how did I miss this before?”

“Well, it tends to happen sometimes. We were probably too distracted by the body to notice,” Jones replies, studying it. “Huh, that thing is immaculate…how did it end up here?”

I stare at it, then I glance back at him. “I’ll see if I can pick up something from it…”

He nods. “Alright. I’ll be looking around if you need me.”

He leaves me alone, and I begin the lifting process, before pulling up a pretty clean fingerprint a minute later.

“…Jones!” I call. “I got a print!”

Jones immediately comes back, and he grins at the clue I had gotten. “Well done!” He exclaims. “You’re already quite the expert at this!”

“Let’s send this to Grace,” I tell him. We stand up and begin heading outside.

The moment we get outside, however, a breeze brushes through the front yard. It breaks up a pile of leaves, sending them scattering across the lawn.

And- a card?

“Hold on-!” I say, rushing over to where I see it. I snag it out of the air just in time before another breeze blows it away.

“What is it?” I hear Jones ask as he walks over to me. “What’d you find?”

I hold it up to him for him to see, and we look at it together. It’s a business card — one for Ned Dillard. On the back of it is a note scribbled in marker.

Jones whistles. “Nice catch, Val! Seems like not even the wind can carry away evidence from you!”

I let out a snort in amusement before turning my attention back to the note. “‘Call Maria’…there’s a faded number here, too — best assumption is that it’s hers…”

“Probably,” he agrees, “but you never know unless you check. “You know what to do, don’t you, Val?”

“Leave it to me.” I take out a sticky note and a pen and begin trying to decipher the faded text. Either I’m lucky, or this thing is stupidly easy, because I solve it in a couple of seconds.

Jones whistles as he looks at the number. “So you’re both a skilled detective and a speedster, huh?”

“I’m still a rookie,” I tell him with a small chuckle.

“Nonsense!” He says as he gives me a pat on the back. “You got potential. Sooner or later, you’re gonna be a true expert at this in no time! In the meantime, let’s send this to Alex!”

“Why can’t we just…call the number?”

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be the most professional thing to do, wouldn’t it? If this is Maria’s, she could just hang up on us if we just call her over the phone.”

“Hmm…yeah, you’re right about that. Let’s send it to Alex.”

 

First, we go to Grace’s lab to get the results for the fingerprint on the tie clip.

“I’ll make this quick,” she tells us, “the fingerprints on the tie clip you found at the scene didn’t match anyone in our files.”

Jones lets out a sigh. “Well, that at least knocks out those possibilities.”

“I’m not finished,” She continues, “because the fingerprints did match something — the prints present on the murder weapon!”

Jones and I share an excited glance at this. “So the tie clip belongs to the killer!” I exclaim.

“Exactly!” She tells me with a smile. “So your killer’s wearing a tie!”

 

Alex’s lab is the same as I last saw it, only this time, it smells like those vanilla candles you can get in those cosmetic shops.

Alex is busy swiveling around in his chair as he types, but the moment he spots us, he effortlessly puts his laptop on the table and gets out of his chair, no dizziness or anything.

“…Damn,” I whisper, slightly impressed, “how the hell’d you do that?”

“Practice,” he replies, dusting himself off with a grin.

Jones chuckles. “Alrighty, enough with the chair shit. You check the phone number we sent you?”

Alex picks up his laptop. “Yup! Belongs to one Maria Sanchez.” He shows us a photo of her scowling at the camera, her messy black hair falling out of her bun. “From what I found out, she’s a housemaid, so I presume she had been working for your victim.”

“Duly noted,” I say with a nod.

Jones snaps his fingers. “Thanks for the info, man! Let’s get Ms. Sanchez down to the station, shall we?”

 

It takes at least 20 minutes despite Maria telling us over call that she’ll take only 10, but at least she's more cooperative compared to someone like Ash Bison.

And judging by the fact that she’s stumbling through the door completely soaking wet and cursing to herself, I can tell that her mood is particularly sour today.

“*PFTAH*-! Motherfu-!” She wipes her hand on her trousers as she walks over to the interrogation table. She clears her throat. “*Ahem*! Apologies, officers, I did not have the most… pleasant day…”

“Oh, no worries!” I reply. “We all have pretty shit days at points.”

“Mmm. At least you’re understanding…” she grumbles. “…so elaborate. Why am I here?”

“Well,” Jones takes out the case file and flips through it. “Answer this question for us, Ms. Sanchez — were you familiar with one ‘Ned Dillard’?”

It doesn’t take a genius for Maria to piece together the implications of that sentence, and I can see the edges of her lips twitch upwards in a triumphant smirk. “Dillard’s dead?! HA! So there is some justice, after all!”

Jones and I glance at each other at this reaction. “I…assume you knew the victim, Ms. Sanchez?” I pipe up.

“No shit I did, I was his maid,” She replies. “Or I was, until that sonuvabitch fired me two days ago!”

Jones’s eyebrow seems to go higher at this revelation. “And now while Ned’s in bits and pieces, you’re doing…relatively okay, and your termination certainly gives you a motive for murder…”

She shrugs and scoffs at the same time. “Think what you think, I don’t care. In the end of the day, I know I didn’t kill him.”

I purse my lips. “Do you…have any idea who else had problems with Ned? From what I’m hearing, he doesn’t seem like the most… likeable individual…”

Another scoff. “That’s an understatement, kid. But to answer your question — if I were you and your little… porcupine of a partner-”

“ Porcupine-?! ” Jones splutters.

“- I’d go talk to Dennis Brown. He’s a bodyguard, and he recently offered his services to Dillard before he died!”

“Hm,” I ponder about this, tapping my fingers against the cool steel of the table. “He also had a problem with Dillard?”

She shrugs again. “Hell, if I know or care. I just noticed him a couple times, never talked to him. He seemed chummy enough to Dillard, so that’s why I thought of him first.”

Jones stands up. “I- we- thank you for the information, Ms. Sanchez. We’ll, uh, go talk to this Dennis Brown!”

He gestures to me to tag along with him, and as I get out of my chair, I notice that he’s patting his hair in relatively stunned silence.

“ Por- porcupine…?! ”

 

This time, we track Dennis Brown down to a nearby club (not the Blue Flamingo), and we find him standing outside, having a smoke.

Dennis talks first, raising an eyebrow as he sees us. “What the…?”

“Mr. Brown!” Jones calls. “Grimsborough Police Department, may we speak to you?”

Dennis stomps out his cigarette and adjusts his tie. “Uh…yeah, sure! Go right ahead.” He flashes us a toothy grin as he rubs his nose.

“Okay,” I say, “first of all…Mr. Brown, someone told us that you recently offered your services to one Ned Dillard shortly before his death. Is this true?”

Dennis nods, scratching the bandage on his face. “Sure. Ned Dillard was a crook, and his shit put a lot of honest people out in the streets with nothing. The guy obviously needed protection!”

Well, this dude certainly has his moral compass tuned correctly.

Jones squints at Dennis for a moment. “I see you’re missing a tooth,” he observes. “Did you lose it on the job?”

Dennis awkwardly scratches his face again. “Uhh, yeah. It’s a rough job. Sometimes you end up on the wrong end of a fight.”

“That checks out,” I mutter.

Jones and I stare at Dennis some more, scrutinizing him, when he pipes up again.

“…Look. About Ned…I didn’t kill him.” He mumbles, fumbling around in his suit pocket. “But I got a list of people who might have: all the people who got their houses taken from him!”

Now my eyebrow is on the rise. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, here you go!” He tells me, handing me…a small pile of ripped up paper. Jones and I visibly slump in stunned disappointment, and Dennis purses his lips. “…I-I didn’t think I need the list no more. Since the guy’s dead, I tore it up. You can probably still put it back together, though.”

“Yeah, uhh…thanks,” I reply, taking the papers from him.

Dennis steps back from us. “Uhh…happy hunting, officers!” Before we can ask him any more questions, he goes back into the club.

“…Huh,” Jones glances back at me. “I think I got some tape in the car, we’ll fix it up in there.”

We head back to the car, and I piece together the list on the dashboard.

Sure enough, Dennis was right. The list contains a whole bunch of names of people.

“Holy shit,” I mumble to myself.

“The man wasn’t lying after all…” Jones whispers. “…hold on, is that-?”

He points to one name on the list, and I feel my jaw drop.

“Joe Stern”.

 

We drive back to Joe’s mini-market, and Jones practically storms in ahead of me and slams the list on the counter.

“Why didn’t you tell us that your property got seized by Dillard, Joe?!” He demands.

Joe stares at the list for a moment, then glares at Jones. “And so what?! That’s a whole list, I’m not the only one Ned Dickcheese got to!”

“Maybe, but Ned’s dead,” I comment, “and this makes you look a lot more suspicious. Do you mind if we, uhh, check out your shop again?”

Joe waves at the shelves. “Be my fuckin’ guest.”

“Thank you.” I nod and give him a polite smile and follow Jones to check out the market once again.

However, while Jones makes a beeline for the shelves to look for clues, my eyes go elsewhere.

More specifically, they eye the surveillance camera attached to the ceiling.

“Jones,” I say, “hoist me up.”

He turns to me, confused. “Wha-?”

I point up at the camera, and I can see his expression twist in understanding.

“Oh, I see…alright, hold on.”

He hands me a mini screwdriver from his pocket before turning around, giving me something to climb onto. I manage to cling onto his back as he hoists me up, and luckily enough, I manage to grab the camera and unscrew it from the ceiling.

“…What the fuck are you lunatics doing?” Joe calls at us.

“Mr. Stern-!” Jones says, his voice straining under my weight, “We’ll be taking your surveillance camera for analysis.”

“*Pssht*…first the trash, now the camera…you really don’t have anything better to do? What, you gonna take my snacks next?”

Jones helps me down, then turns to him. “If I were you, I’d shut up, Joe. Officer Perez here certainly knows what she’s doing!”

Joe looks past Jones and frowns at me and the camera I’m now holding in my hands. “…Yeah, no. I highly doubt that, but I’m too tired to argue.”

“…Is that a yes-”

“Yeah, take the fuckin’ camera. Do what you gotta do, I don’t give a shit.”

 

We ended up taking the camera to Alex, spending our time recapping the case as he worked on gathering the data.

Once he finished, he sent us a text, and we headed down to his lab to hear what he had to say.

“Alright!” Alex claps his hands together. “So I took a look at the footage from the camera you gave me, Perez. Remember the receipt you found that belongs to the killer?”

Jones and I nod.

“Cool!” Alex turns around and clicks around on his computer, pulling up a tab. “I used that to find the time of the killer’s purchases, and I fast-forwarded the recording to the same time!”

He shows us a screenshot from the recording. It’s pointing at Joe’s counter, and Jones and I both gape at the looming, shadowy figure right in front of it.

“Something about this clip makes me feel like I’m intruding on something,” I whisper with a grimace.

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya,” Alex replies. “I’m pretty sure your killer was at least aware of the cameras, because he was never facing them at all, but you wanna know something neat I did?” He flashes us a grin, almost as if he’s pleading that we say yes.

Jones tries speaking first. “…No-”

“Yeah, sure!” I interrupt. “Go ahead.” Jones gives me a really? expression, but I ignore him.

“Sweet!” Alex turns back to the computer, pulling another tab on screen.

It’s full of search results for market shelves, and the image that was clicked on was for one certain brand of white shelf.

“I found the shelf that Joe uses, ay-kay-ay the shelf the killer was standing next to,” Alex tells us, “and I did a height comparison to the killer’s silhouette. Now, my estimates are far from perfect, but with the power of technology, I did a bit of work, and…”

He does a small drumroll. “Lady and gentleman, your killer is precisely 6 feet tall!”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “Wait, that’s actually pretty good- Val, write that down, WRITE THAT DOWN-”

 

As we leave Alex’s lab, I go over all the clues we’ve gathered so far.

The killer is 6 feet tall and a strong build, bandage, missing tooth, and a tie. That’s a fact.

Now, to match a name and face to that profile.

As I sit at my desk, I pull out the suspect files and flip through them, going over them one by one.

Dave Simmons has a bandage, missing tooth, and a tie, but he’s too short. I rule him out immediately.

Joe Stern is 6 feet tall and has a strong build, bandage, and a missing tooth, but he’s not wearing a tie at all. I put his file to the side and flip to the next one.

Marconi is 6 feet tall and has a strong build and a bandage on his neck, but I can’t see a missing tooth at all in his smirk at the camera.

With a somewhat-trembling hand, I put his file to the side.

Maria Sanchez only has a bandage on her forehead, but nothing else, so I just put her file to the side immediately.

Finally, I pick up the last file — Dennis Brown.

He’s grinning at the camera, his missing tooth as clear as day. The bandage on his cheek is still there. He’s just standing in front of the camera in his suit and tie, borderline flexing his strength like he’s a bodybuilder.

“I found him.”

 

We tracked Dennis down to the same club as before, and we enter, scanning our eyes around the bustling crowds and flashing lights to spot him.

“There!” I exclaim, pointing towards the back of the club. Dennis is trying to weasel his way through the back door, probably to get to a getaway vehicle. “He’s gonna get away!”

“Oh no, he won’t!” Jones shouts. “I’ll chase after him — Val, you intercept him from the entrance!”

“Got it!”

I dash out of the entrance and weave my way through the parking lot, hiding behind a car and waiting patiently.

A minute later, Dennis is scrambling out from behind the building, adjusting his tie as he tries to look as casual as possible while he makes a beeline for a car.

Jones is right on his ass, handcuffs at the ready as he barrels at him. I gape at them weaving through rows of cars like it’s some sort of cartoon, until I notice Dennis dashing in my direction.

I stick out my foot into his path, and he trips, crashing onto the asphalt with a loud THUD. He yells out in anger, trying to get up, but Jones gets to him first and puts his hands behind his back.

“Dennis Brown,” he hisses, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Ned Dillard!”

“BULLSHIT!” Dennis shouts, thrashing against Jones’s grip. “You got nothing against me, bastard!”

“So the tie clip at the scene wasn’t yours?” I ask. “What about the tooth in that bathroom?”

That shuts him up immediately — he stops struggling and stares at me like I caught him with his pants down.

“You tried to chop up your victim!” Jones shouts. “And when that didn’t work, you decided to burn him down, but Dave Simmons entered the scene, and you fled!”

Now Dennis is looking away from the both of us, blubbering like a fool. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Yeah, right, tell that to the judge,” I reply. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

 

“Your- Your Honor!” Dennis Brown stammers to the literal judge. “I can explain! I-I’m a victim of circumstances!”

Judge Hall shakes her head. “The evidence collected by Officer Perez leaves no place for doubt. The reason why you committed this crime is irrelevant.”

She slams her gavel down, the sound radiating through the silence of the entire courtroom. “This court nearby sentences you to life in prison for the premeditated murder of Ned Dillard!”

Dennis starts shouting expletives at Judge Hall, practically trying to jump her from where he stands as two bailiffs come in and drag him out.

Jesus, I can’t help but think to myself as I wince, so this is what trials are like.

We all watch as Dennis is yanked out, the doors closing behind him. He’s still yelling, so everyone waits for the sounds of him cursing to slowly fade away.

Finally, it stops, and Judge Hall breathes out a sigh in relief. “Moreover…the court would like to thank the police of Grimsborough, in particular, Officer Valentina Perez for their swift investigation and perfect results!”

Wait, what the f-

I’m blinking, stunned at the shoutout as the people around me are all in applause.

All for me. I stare around the courtroom, borderline confused.

Jones gives me a pat on the back and a grin. “Well, would you look at that, Val! You did a good job, congratulate yourself!”

I blink once, then twice, then pat myself on the back.

“Court is adjourned!”

Notes:

Uhh, hi 😭 It’s been a while
I’m genuinely so sorry I haven’t updated in a while. To be honest, I had a bunch of tests to prepare for, and I also had a mental health crisis, so that’s fun.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to update this more frequently now that school’s almost over-

Chapter 10: Corpse in a Garden - 3/3

Summary:

Ned Dillard’s killer has been arrested, but there are still some loose ends to tie up, and even more questions to be answered.

Chief King flashes me a big smile as Jones and I enter his office. “Congratulations on your first big case, Officer Perez!” He tells me. “You truly have what it takes to make a great cop.”

I chuckle sheepishly at that. “Hey, it’s still just my first big case. I still haven’t got much under my belt…”

“Well, I know what you can add,” he replies, handing me something.

A new badge.

“Wait a minute…” I say, studying it. “Does this…? Do you mean…?”

He nods. “You’ve been promoted to Deputy, Perez!”

Jones lets out a whistle seeing the badge in my hands. “Well, what do you know…”

“Well, I know what you two will be doing,” Chief King replies. “There’s still some parts of this case that need your attention.”

“Yeah?” I ask as I put my badge on. “There’s still more?”

Chief King nods grimly. “We’ve discovered that Dennis Brown had received a large amount of money from an offshore account.”

OH? Jones and I share a glance.

“So you’re saying…” Jones whispers. “…Holy SHIT, I KNEW IT! Marconi definitely paid Brown to kill Dillard!”

I can see Chief King give Jones a…look, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…For once, I agree. My best suggestion, put some pressure on Dave Simmons — he’s connected with Marconi and may know something.”

He pauses. “Also, he’s been spotted roaming around your crime scene, so either way, it’s best to catch him and make him talk.”

“Ooo, shit,” I mumble under my breath before clearing my throat. “Got it, Chief!”

“Oh, and make sure to check up on Joe Stern on your way back,” Chief King adds. “He’s requested your assistance.”

“…He has?” Jones asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, he has. Is there an issue?”

“No, no issue, Chief. I’m just surprised because last time I checked, he wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Well, he specifically requested the assistance of, and I quote, ‘the annoying guy with the spiky hair’, and ‘the new girl’, so…”

“…Ah. Um, alrighty then.” Jones gives Chief King a salute. “Got it, Chief! We’re on it!”

 

First stop! The junkyard garden.

As Jones and I pull up in front of the wrecked-up house, we spot the one and only Dave Simmons searching through a pile of leaves.

Jones gets out of the car first. “Hey, Simmons! What’re you doing here?”

Dave lets out a yelp, falling back on his ass the moment he spots us heading over to him. He stands up, clears his throat, and dusts himself off. “I- I could ask you the same thing!”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “We’re cops. And as you can tell…” He gestures to the “DO NOT CROSS” tape that winds around the entire property. “…this crime scene is closed to the general public.”

Dave’s expression pales. “I- um-” He swallows. “Well, I…I lost my pen! Yes, my lucky pen.” His eyes swivel around the entire lawn. “It’s my lucky pen, you know. I never sign a contract without it!” Jones glances at me, giving me a smirk and a small gesture at Dave before he turns back to him. “Lucky pen, eh? Don’t worry — Deputy Perez and I will look for it for you. Now scram!”

“Y-yes, sir!” Dave squeaks as he scrambles away, sliding under the “DO NOT CROSS” tape and darting away.

Jones and I watch him leave, and Jones chuckles as he hands me a pair of gloves. “‘Lucky lpen’…does Dave Simmons really think he can fool us with that story?”

I frown, itching my nose. “I had a lucky pen once in high school…dunno what happened to it, but I do remember using it a lot…you sure he’s lying about the pen?”

Jones lets out a snort. “Oh, Val, Val, Val…you may be a Deputy, but you still have a long way to go.” He snaps on his pair of gloves. “Sometimes you gotta be as uncharitable as possible in order to find the truth of the matter.”

“I- I guess so,” I reply, putting on my gloves. “Alright, let’s find what Simmons was looking for!”

 

As it turns out, Jones was right — no pen anywhere.

But as I head over to the house again, I spot something hidden real good inside a bush.

“What the hell…?”

I reach inside and carefully pull out a full-ass manila folder, filled to the brim with documents. “Whoa, what the-?!”

Jones is dashing over to me in an instant. “As I expected, no pen…but last time I checked, documents don’t grow on bushes!” He barks out a laugh when he looks over my shoulder. “And what do you know!”

Tony Marconi’s name is emblazoned on the front sticker in thin red marker. Also, there’s a shitton of smudging…

“Looks like some numbers right here,” I mumble, pulling out a sticky note and a marker. “Lemme see what it says. This’ll take, like, what 1 minute?”

It took around 30 seconds, but I wrote down a set of numbers that I decoded from the sticky note. All we needed to do now was send it to Alex. What do the numbers lead to, and why was Marconi’s name there?

 

“Alright, Alex,” Jones says as he crosses his arms, “whadda you got?”

Alex rubs his hands together before he grabs his laptop. “Okay! So, the number you guys found in the documents is actually a land registry file. Marconi’s file, actually!”

Jones lets out a chortle. “HA! Fuckin’ knew it!…Anything suspicious?”

“Indeed, there is! Lemme show you…” Alex types into his laptop and flips it around to show us the results, putting it on a smaller table. “…read ‘em and weep!”

Jones and I lean in at the screen, scanning over every word, every chart, every little detail. From what I can tell, the file states that Marconi wanted to buy a series of properties in Grimsborough, all of which had mortgages held by one

“…Ned Dillard!” We exclaim out loud in unison.

To make matters even more interesting, the next file we read has even more wild information.

“…And Ned refused his offer!” Jones shouts, clutching the side of his head in bewilderment.

“Yup!” Alex leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Hence why Marconi would have possibly wanted to kill him!”

“So he got Dennis Brown to do his dirty work?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!” Alex tells me.

“Alex, you’re a goddamn GENIUS!” Jones says. “This is far from enough to charge Marconi, that’s for sure, but let’s see if we can put this under Simmons’s nose to see if he sings!”

 

Dave Simmons is practically gonna crack his knuckles to bits at this rate as we keep glaring at him.

Not gonna lie, I have no idea why we’re in a staredown like this in total silence — Jones did it first, so I just kinda decided to follow his example. Not the best idea in retrospect, but either way, it’s so quiet, I hear a paperclip drop off the table and onto the floor.

Simmons clears his throat first.

“…So, did you find my lucky pen-?”

Jones smirks deviously as he pulls out the files, setting them on the table and sliding them over to him. “Not really, but we got a ‘cut-the-crap-now-and-start-talking’ pen over here.”

I can practically FEEL the pants-pissing terror oozing from Simmons as he stares at the file. “I- uh-”

Jones leans back in his chair, his expression turning from a smirk to a downright shit-eating grin as we lock in our position, trapping Simmons in a corner. “Thanks to the documents you ‘lost’, we found out that Ned had owned real estate assets that your lil ol’ Marconi wanted to get his grubby lil hands on!” He lets out a low whistle. “Now, ain’t that a funny coincidence…?”

Simmons is squirming even more, and I can’t help but quietly pull out a spare tissue and hand it to him. “Your palms are sweating, sir-”

Simmons snatches it from me and scrubs his hands rigorously like he’s found some kind of potent germ. “I- I don’t know anything about this! Mr. Marconi just wanted me to sell this one house!!”

“And we’re sure that Marconi put a hit on Dillard, but we won’t stop until we prove it!” Jones retorts.

“I won’t tell you anything about Mr. Marconi!” Simmons snaps. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop sticking your nose in his business!”

 

“Goddamnit!” Jones yells as we leave the interrogation room. “I was sure that Simmons would squeal eventually…”

“…So, Marconi’s just gonna go free?” I ask. “Just like that?”

“Oh, ohohohoho…” Jones grabs a coffee cup and takes a massive swig. “…be patient, Val. One day, that fuck will make a bad move, and you and I will be there to put him in the slammer!”

“I…are you sure?”

“Oh, definitely! One hundred percent.”

 

Next thing we decided to do was go see Joe Stern, so we headed to his mini-market to see what he’s up to. As we pull up, we find him pacing outside, cigarette between his fingers.

“So, Stern!” Jones says. “What did you call us for?”

“Well, I’ll tell ya what!” Joe snaps.

No hello or anything, okay-

“I saw one of those snake-tattooed, sweat-stinkin’ motherFUCKS storm into my shop and mess around with my shelves!” He shouts. “He ran away when I busted ‘em, but I KNOW HE HID SOMETHING-”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jones exclaims. “First of all — calm the hell down, please. Second of all, did you say ‘snake-tattooed’?”

“Damn right, I did!” Joe barks.

Jones and I share a glance.

Definitely a Viper.

Jones clears his throat. “Okay, Mr. Stern. I think it’s best if you stay outside while Deputy Perez and I go search for what was hidden!”

“You’d better,” Joe growls as he relights his cigarette. “If you fuck this up, this whole CITY is setting ablaze!”

“Alriiight!” Jones pushes me over to the minimarket. “Let’s make this quick.”

 

First thing I notice is that the minimarket looks relatively the same.

“…We’d better keep a good eye out,” Jones had told me. “In fact, use all your senses of you have to.”

I put on my gloves and got to work, scanning shelves to see if anything’s out of place. There’s the usual snacks, chips, drinks, and I study each package under the flickering overhead lights.

“…Is it just me,” I mutter to myself, picking up a cookie tin, “or does this look tampered with?”

Jones peeks from around the corner and lets out a snort seeing the cookie tin in my hands. “I don’t think it’s an appropriate time for a snack, Val,” he teases.

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate time to joke, either,” I reply, holding up the tin. “Someone either put something in, or took something out.”

His smirk drops. “Huh, guess you’re right. That does look rummaged through…Hey, how about we take a peek inside?”

“Already on it.” I carefully open the box and reach inside, pushing past cookies and pulling out a baggie of white powder. “O h .”

He raises an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. “Well, guess you and Stern were right! Someone on the Vipers gang must’ve loved their cookies extra frosted!”

I frown at him. “…I’m sorry?”

“I-” He purses his lips. “Someone must’ve loved their cookies with extra sprinkles!”

Um.

He glances at me and sighs. “…Cocaine, what I’m trying to say is that the white powder looks like cocaine.”

“…You could’ve just said that first?” I ask.

He waves me off. “Nevermind that. We’d better take this to Grace. See what she says!”

I blink. “I- okay, then! To Grace’s lab we go.”

 

“Hey!” Grace greets us eagerly as we walk in. “I’ll get straight to business…”

She rapidly flips through the papers on her clipboard before slapping one page with her pen. “Over here! I’ve got the test results on the powder you found in that cookie tin. It’s cocaine, but not the purest form!”

“Ela- Elaborate on that?” I request, crossing my arms.

“Gotcha!” Grace flips the page. “From what I’ve gathered, 20% is cocaine, but 80% of the mixture is lactulose, a synthetic sugar used to treat constipation. In other forms-” she snaps her fingers, “-a laxative!”

A what-

Jones laughs out loud, borderline scaring the shit out of me. “PfftHAA! Too bad that bastard didn’t take some before leaving — would’ve left a trail if he just went full ‘grab-and-go’!”

“What is this, like…” Grace ponders for a moment. “…the fifteenth bag of coketulose we’ve encountered?”

My jaw almost hits the floor at that. “FIFTEENTH?”

Jones’s lips press into a tight line. “…Yeah, jokes aside, we’ve been seizing a lot of this shit in the Industrial Area lately. If things get out of hand, who knows what the fuck’ll happen?”

“Well, I guess the best thing to do is to warn Joe Stern,” I mention.

“Yeah, definitely.” Jones heads over to the door. “Let’s go! We can’t keep him waiting.”

 

“SO IT WAS FUCKING DRUGS!!” Joe shouts, slamming his fist on the counter, causing us to flinch. “Good FUCKIN’ GOD, what if those lowlifes come back for that shit?! I’m fucked! I’m doomed! They’ll- they’ll fucking- shove a broom up my-”

“Stern, Stern-” Jones says quickly, holding up his hands. “Calm the hell down, please. Police officers disguised as civilians will patrol the area to make sure you won’t get targeted.”

Joe breathes out a sigh of relief, fanning his face. “Thank shit, then. I just hope they don’t come back…”

“I think we all do,” I mutter under my breath.

Joe clears his throat. “Well, uh, thanks anyway for your help.” He gestures to the shelves with a toothy grin. “Take something you want, it’s on the house.”

Jones and I both blink. “Wait,” I say, “you really mean tha-t”

Joe shrugs. “It’s one snack, I don’t really give that much of a shit. Take something of your choice.”

Jones and I share a glance again. Jones shrugs, too. “I- okay! Thanks, man!”

Notes:

ACK I’m not the most proud of this chapter, but I hope you still like it nonetheless-

[TW!!] The next case’s murder is extremely gory, even for CC. (Iykyk) Please be aware of that before reading

Chapter 11: [⚠️] The Grim Butcher - 1/4

Summary:

There's barely anything in this dark and mist.
As she stands there, squinting into the black, she can barely make out something in the distance between those carved-up pigs.
Where the hell is that damn light switch?
She fumbles around, hand pressed against the cold metal wall as she feels for any sign of it.
There it is. On the other side of the doorway.
She reaches for it and flicks it on, sighing with relief as she turns back to the interior of the warehouse.
And then, she screams.

Notes:

Val and Jones investigate a murder case at a butcher's warehouse, stumbling across something straight out of a horror movie.
[CONTENT WARNING: Things get quite uncomfortable here. There's some visceral descriptions of the crime scene, and some implications of teenagers doing...acts with each other. If you know the context of the case in the game, you know what I'm talking about here.]

I think Mother Nature saw my relatively calm nature last case and decided to take it as a challenge. Despite how gross Ned Dillard's crime scene was, I've already seen so much worse to prove to myself that there's so much worse out there.

In retrospect, my whole morning can probably be summarized as the setup to “world’s shittiest horror movie” — I woke up at 2 AM to the sound of lightning and couldn’t sleep at all, so I just got ready for my day while half-asleep and living off of 2 cups of coffee. The rain did not stop, unfortunately — the sheer volume of slamming against my roof and window felt like my whole house was about to cave in, so I eat some leftovers from my fridge as I try to make sure no one’s going to break into my house and kill me.

So, yeah. Fun. I truly love wandering around my house groggy and half-dead, constantly checking doors and windows because the dark and storm made it so hard to see outside. By the time I had left home to head to work, I’m only working on 2 cups of coffee, half of an energy drink, and my primal fear.

I get there an hour early, immediately throwing my jacket onto a nearby hook and spending the extra hour sleeping at my desk, feeling a bit less like a zombie when I stumble into Jones.

“Whoa, there, partner-!”

It takes a little less than a minute for his words to fully register. “Hhnn?”

His slight smirk falters.

“…You look like shit.”

I run my fingers through my rain-soaked hair. “Wow, congratulations,” I grumble sarcastically, “how’d you guess?”

He lets out a snort. “Well, considering the case we have today, I have a feeling that day of yours is only gonna get worse…”

“Why’s that?”

He grimaces at the mere thought of the potential scene. “Yeah, uh…let’s just say that one Jennifer Carter did NOT have a happy ending.”

Uh oh.

“I…what happened?” I ask, putting on my jacket, shivering as the dampness of the material soaks into my uniform.

“From what I heard, her body was found in one of those butcher warehouses,” He tells me. “The ones near the docks.”

Oh no.

“Can’t say the scene’s for the faint of heart.”

Ah, shit.

“I’d be lying if I say I’m thrilled,” I say through my internal cringe. “But eh, we can’t control what’s given, amirite?”

“You gonna be alright, though?” He asks, scrunching his eyebrows. “You look like ass.”

I glare at him. “How kind of you. And yeah, I’m gonna be alright, don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

“That’s not healthy-”

“And right now,” I reply as I head towards the front door, “I don’t feel like caring. So come on, we got a case to solve.”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender as he follows along. “Let’s get going, and pray that it isn’t that bad…”

 

It is, in fact, that bad.

The first thing that hits me when I enter the warehouse is the strong smell of blood.

No crap, it belongs to a butcher, and the carved-up hogs hanging from the ceiling hooks are proof of that.

“Never liked the smell of raw meat,” I hear Jones grumble to himself, pinching his nose. “It’s dark as hell, too, what on earth…”

“…Thank god we came prepared,” I tell him, tossing a flashlight in his direction, “now, come on.”

Snapping on gloves and switching on our lights, we slowly begin our search — tentatively taking step by step into the dark.

I know that butcher warehouses are supposed to be cold, but it feels like someone turned the thermostat even lower than normal, and I realize that I’m huddling in on myself even with my jacket on.

Jones is kneeling under a table, probably looking for anything suspicious. “Jesus,” he whispers, “for a butcher preparing and selling raw meat, you’d expect this place to be a little more clean.”

He holds up a blade coated with dried blood. “This was just kicked under the table.”

“Huh.” I flick my flashlight around, scanning the floor as well. There’s a bloody footprint right next to the table, and I take a mental note of it as I glance up…

…and immediately drop my flashlight to the floor with a clatter.

Even in the dark, the corpse is still engraved into my very sight as it slowly sways there in the mist. Right behind three hanging pigs is the body of Jennifer Carter.

I hear Jones say something, but I can’t make out what he’s saying — all that’s in my focus right now is that pale, bled-out cadaver, stripped of any sort of clothing and dignity and left there like she was nothing more than an animal , left to be ogled at and torn apart by wild dogs.

I can’t even see any sort of wound from where I’m looking because of the fact that the body’s facing away from me, but I just know it’s horrific . Even still, I merely stand there, my feet practically glued to the floor as I stare like I’m in nothing more than a trance.

“…Val? Val? Val!”

I blink, finally noticing Jones snapping his fingers in front of my face.

“Thought I lost you for a second,” he chuckles nervously. “You were just staring open-mouthed into the shadows for a while. For a second, I was worried you saw a ghost…”

He holds up my flashlight for me to grab back, and I practically fumble with it as I take it.

“…You alright?” Jones asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I want to reply, but I can’t. There’s a lump in my throat, and I’m unable to swallow it down.

There’s blood covering the lens and I try wiping it off, but it doesn’t even work so I give up almost immediately, instead opting to merely point the flashlight forward.

Jones goes silent.

I squeeze my eyes shut and glance away.

The noise between all of us is the hum of the AC unit.

“…Holy mother of God.”

 

We decided to go outside for some fresh air before we actually take on the case. After a couple minutes of us sucking in the salty sea breeze (and Jones calling the paramedics), we finally worked up the courage to reenter the warehouse.

“…Well, what do you know,” I hear Jones murmur to himself. Suddenly, the lights flick on with a loud FWOOM echoing through the warehouse, causing me to flinch. “The light switch was right here,” he tells me with a nervous chuckle.

I roll my eyes. “Could’ve used this information before, but whatever.” I suck in another breath as I cautiously walk over to Jennifer’s hanging body.

She’s still just hanging by the hook her feet are tied to, her hands and head dangling in the air. Blood trails down her body, dripping off her fingers and pooling on the floor.

It’s almost as if she was turned into some sort of extreme horror art piece.

My blood runs cold as my mind immediately starts racing with the terrifying possibilities of who her killer could be — a sexual predator? A serial killer? A snuff artist?

Focus, Val. Focus on the present right now.

I pull my eyes away from Jennifer, leaving her with one last bit of postmortem privacy. I refuse to even glance in her direction anymore as I begin scanning the room for clues.

“…It’s worse than I expected,” I hear Jones mumble to himself, “the poor girl was butchered…like she was nothing but a pig.”

“Focus on the case,” I tell him. “All we can do now is bring Jennifer’s case to justice.”

He lets out a huff. “…Yeah, you’re right. Let’s look for clues.” He glances one way, then points at the ground. “…Did you make that footprint?”

I had almost forgotten about the footprint in the puddle of blood, and by this point, I just pause while looking around. “…I didn’t make that.”

“Well, I didn’t, either…” he replies, “…so it’s probably safe to assume that this is the killer’s!”

I head over to where he is and kneel down to study the footprint more. I notice Jones hesitating, and he squints.

“…Wait a minute.”

I pause. “What?”

“Look at the print,” he tells me, pointing down. “Here’s a little something good ol’ Nate told me. You see how the print almost indents into the blood, causing the blood to go around it?”

I frown and nod, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in my head.

Oh, God.

“…So that means that Jennifer’s killer just…stood there, watching her bleed out.”

Jones nods grimly.

Now I feel like puking.

I swallow down my fear and disgust, standing up and letting out a breath. He stands up with me, taking off his glove and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. It’s almost jarring how warm he feels compared to the cold air of the warehouse.

“Hey,” he whispers, “how about you go back there-” he points behind him, “-and I collect the footprint as evidence?”

I nod. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do that.”

I pass Jones, my eyes immediately falling to the trash can nearby. Alright. I’ll look through that, then. Nothing new, everything’ll be alright.

I adjust my gloves and reach into the trash, holding my breath…

…and immediately touch steel.

My heart drops as I pull out a massive bloody cleaver, glinting in the overhead light.

Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god oh god-

“Well!” Jones comes walking my way with a camera in his hands. “I sent the photos of the footprint to Alex. Hopefully, he gets something out of it…”

His voice trails off the moment he sees what’s in my hand. “…Well. Looks like you found the murder weapon.”

He takes it out of my hand and slips it into an evidence bag. “Jesus, this thing is massive. Imagine having that waved in front of your nose.”

I nod, gulping down the lump in my throat. “…Yeah, poor Jennifer must’ve been terrified.”

“Agreed.”

He glances at me once again. “If this calms you down a bit, the paramedics’ll be here soon. How about we just talk to the owner of this place, take this cleaver to the lab, and wait for the results, eh?” I can see him flash me a bit of a forced smile.

I purse my lips. “Alright. That’s definitely for the best.”

We start walking to the entrance when the paramedics finally arrive. Jones points them inside, and they pass by us, gurney in tow.

I can’t even watch, but I hear the sounds of clanking and rustling as Jones and I leave.

We leave the knife in a cooled storage container for a bit as we prep ourselves to go talk to Raoul Colletti, the tall middle-aged man with a yellow shirt and a bloodstained apron. He’s sitting on the front steps on another building, I assume another warehouse, his face in his hands.

“Excuse me,” I ask, “are you Raoul Colletti?”

He glances up at me and stands up. “Ah, yes, I am.” A huff of air escapes his nose as he rubs his face. “God, this is such a tragedy…Jennifer often came to the shop to buy meat. She was a sweet kid, you know. Always smiling…”

Kid.

For some reason, I almost forgot the fact that Jennifer was 16 years old.

16 years old, and she dies like this.

My stomach churns, but I ignore it to the best of my abilities.

“Mr. Colletti,” Jones inquires, “apart from you, who has access to that specific warehouse?”

“They’re all accessible with the same key,” Colletti replies. “Not the, uhh, safest choice, I know, but I don’t have the time to get the locks changed…”

He clears his throat. “…Anyway! My apprentice, Raphael Soza, has a copy of the key. And my daughter Trish, of course…”

His voice trails off. “…she- she was the one that found the body, you know. She’s quite shaken.”

My heart practically drops even lower than it already did. “…I’m sorry? I- how old is Trish, if you, uh, don’t mind me asking?”

Colletti’s expression twists into a look of pain. “…She’s only 16.”

Jones’s face is even paler than I last noticed. “…Jesus fuck. So we got two underaged girls involved with a horrific murder case…”

“Where is Trish, sir?” I mutter.

Colletti pauses for a moment. “Last time I saw her, she was wandering around here. Raphael’s with her, too.”

Jones nods. “Thank you, sir.”

He gestures at me, and we bid Colletti farewell as we head down the dock to search between warehouses.

However, as I take one glance back, I see it.

Jennifer’s body in that black bag, Loaded into the back of a coroner’s truck on a gurney.

  Jennifer Carter. Gone too soon.

 

After a few minutes of looking, we spot something quite interesting.

A girl in a yellow t-shirt and jeans is sobbing into the chest of a boy in a brown jacket and trousers. They both seem to be quite messed up, physically and emotionally. Makes sense, considering the current situation.

Jones clears his throat, causing both of the teenagers to turn to face us. “…Hello. I am Inspector Jones, and this is my partner, Deputy Perez.”

He gestures to me, and I nod in acknowledgment at them. “I assume you two are Trish Colletti and Raphael Soza?”

Raphael nods. “I- yeah, we are…”

Trish is still wiping her tears off on his jacket, smudging mascara down her cheeks. The look in her eyes seems to have so many emotions swirling behind them, but I can’t single out anything specific.

“…Is it alright if we talk to you,” Jones pipes up, “like, one at a time?”

Raphael and Trish share a small glance before Raphael leans into Trish. She clings onto him as he whispers something into her ear, but eventually she separates from him.

Trish slowly sunk to the ground, curling up into a small ball, hugging her knees to her chin.

My heart constricts at the sight, watching her mumble and whimper to herself.

Raphael turns back to us, giving us a nod. “Alright. I’ll talk first. Can…can one of you watch over Trish? She’s been…pretty freaked out.”

Jones and I both hesitate, thinking about whether or not this is a good idea.

“You know what?” Jones says, giving me a small pat on the back, “Val, how about you talk to Raphael? I’ll watch over Trish.”

“…Okay,” First time handling an interrogation on my own. Hopefully, I don’t screw this up.

I lead Raphael a bit away before clearing my throat. “Alright.”

I pull out a notepad. “Alright, so…Raoul said that you’re his apprentice?”

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, have been for 2 years. After my mom split on me and left me at that hobo camp, he was the one that gave me a chance!”

“Seems like you really respect him,” I tell him, jotting stuff down.

Raphael Soza — Colletti’s apprentice for 2 years. Got job after mom left him.

“…Hey, Raoul told my partner and I that Jennifer came regularly to the shop. You acquainted with her, by any chance?”

Raphael’s eyes suddenly widen, and he quickly covers his mouth to clear his throat. “Uhh, not really?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we mostly just talked,” he replies, glancing at the sea. “I’ve been dating Trish for 6 months, y’know. I don’t really pay attention to other girls…”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re working for the father and dating the daughter. Sounds like a really lucky arrangement!”

Looking really suspicious, I scribble down in my notepad. Oh no.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Life in Cooperville’s rough. The Collettis were really kind to me, I’m glad they’re not scared of me or something…”

“That’s good.” I give him a small smile. “Hey, my partner and I’ll probably have to look through your stuff in Cooperville to find any possible clues — is that alright with you?”

He hesitates, glancing in my general direction for a moment before letting out a sigh. “...Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” I shut my notepad, turning to go find Trish.

 

I find Trish where I left her, still sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest.

Jones is at least trying to alleviate tension, attempting to start a conversation with Trish to minimal success.

“...So…weather’s nice, right?”

She grunts in response, refusing to look at him.

“…Ohhh-kay.” He glances away, staring off at the sea. “Fine by me.”

The both of them notice us, and Jones raises an eyebrow, holding up a thumbs up.

All good?

I give a thumbs up in response. All good.

Raphael immediately bolts over to Trish, getting down on his knees and whispering some sort of comforting words to her. She whimpers in response, crawling into his arms and clutching him close.

“So,” Jones turns to me, “how was it?”

“Raphael was cooperative,” I reply, “told me about how he was pretty close to the Collettis – works for Raoul, dates Trish – and he gave us permission to look through his stuff in Cooperville.”

“The homeless camp…” He ponders for a moment and nods. “…Alright. Thanks for the information.”

“No problem. Now, time for Trish…”

It was a bit more of a challenge to get Trish to cooperate, unfortunately. Then again, I don’t blame her. I get how it feels, so I try my best to be firm but kind.

Eventually, she does hesitantly follow me,and we walk a bit away, going behind a stack of crates.

“…I-I still can’t get the image out of my mind…” she sobs, “…she looked like a pig! A damn pig, hanging up like that!”

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I tell her with a nod and a sympathetic glance, “must’ve been quite the sight.”

“I-It was!!” She exclaims.”She was just- just hanging there, sliced open, her guts almost spilling ou-”

“Let’s switch the subject a bit, shall we?” I ask, cringing as I struggle to remove the image from my mind again. “Were you friends with Jennifer, by any chance?”

She shakes her head almost immediately, wiping tears from her eyes. “I-I- no. We weren’t. She was just too…posh for me, y’know?”
Not friends with Jennifer, I scribble down. “...I’m sorry, posh?”

She shoves her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “Yeah,” she says, letting out a small scoff. “The ‘Alpha Bitch’ of our school, that kind of girl…”

“...A social butterfly?”

“Y-yeah, I guess you can say that…”

“...Hm, I see.”

Jennifer was a popular girl, I write, knew many people, probably.

“O-oh yeah,” she adds, “she was such a huge flirt, too!”

“A flirt?”

“Yeah!” She takes in a huge sniff of air to calm herself down. “Look. In the end of the day, she tended to…hit on a lot of people. I wouldn’t be surprised if she got the wrong person excited.,,”

Jennifer flirted a lot goes right into my notepad. “...Remind me, both you and her were the same age?”

“Yeah. I’m 16, and she… was 16,” she responds, her teeth grazing her upper lip.

Jesus Christ.

“...Alright, I think I have enough information.” I say, shutting my notepad. “Thank you for your time, Trish. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“...Mmm. Okay.”

 

Next stop of the case was Cooperville, the homeless camp at the heart of the Industrial Center.

Under the support beams of Greene Bridge is a huge settlement of tents, cardboard boxes, mattresses, and shelters made up of miscellaneous scraps found all throughout Grimsborough. And there lives its own little population of people – a city in a city, per se.

From what I remember tía Regina telling me, Cooperville’s been alive for more than a hundred years, managing to adapt and survive while Grimsborough grew and changed around it.

Honestly, as I grew up and passed by Cooperville going to and from home, I found myself both admiring the place for its strength to live while also feeling sympathy.

Because no matter how many times I passed by, barely anything’s changed.

“...Why doesn’t the mayor do something?” I mutter to myself out loud as we park the police cruiser in front of a seedy local bar.

“Hm?” Jones glances in my direction. “Elaborate, maybe?”

“Grimsborough’s got a homeless problem, right?” I ask. “Why doesn’t the mayor at least… try helping them?”

I can see Jones visibly frown as he ponders what I say. “...Honestly, I don’t know.” He stops the car and puts on the brake. “From what I remember, Mayor Johnson’s said that he’s got other priorities than focusing on helping, and I quote, ‘the addicts under the bridge’,”

He cringes just saying it out loud. “...Yeah. Not a good thing to say on his part.”

We climb out of the car and head inside the camp, with Jones taking the lead.

“So, how do we look for Raphael’s place?” I inquire. “Cooperville feels pretty large…it’s gonna take forever to find it.”

“That’s where I step in to correct you, actually!” He answers. “Because all we just need is a little help…”

We navigate our way through the shelters and people, with me trailing behind Jones like I’m a duckling following its mother. Multiple people glance our ways, squinting and whispering to each other as we trod past them.

…Well, mostly at me. I guess it makes sense why, but at the same time, I almost find myself clinging to Jones to avoid the many, many eyes burning into the very depths of my soul.

And then, Jones spots someone in particular in the distance. “Oh, there he is!...” I hear him mutter as we stop walking, before raising a hand. “Hey, Sam! Hi!”

A towering, heavy-set, bearded elderly man in a yellow shirt and baggy trousers puts down the switchblade and piece of wood he’s holding and glances in our direction. He squints for a couple seconds, then his eyes practically widen as he beams in recognition, a singular tooth in his mouth.

“Well, I’ll be!” He exclaims, standing up and striding over to us.”If it ain’t Inspector David Jones himself! Long time no see, buddy! It’s nice to meet’cha again!”

“Nice to see you too, Sam!” Jones responds with a grin, taking Sam’s hand and shaking it.

Sam grins back, an eyebrow raising as he spots me behind Jones. “Who’s the new kid, eh?”

“Oh, her?” Jones turns around to face me. “Oh, that’s our newest recruit! The one…the only…” He pauses, gesturing at me.

I blink for a second before I finally process what’s going on. “...Eh? Oh- OH-!” I clear my throat awkwardly as I step up to Sam, offering an outstretched hand. “D-Deputy Valentina Perez. My apologies,” I stammer out sheepishly.

Sam’s eyes…widen again. Out of recognition?

“...I’m sorry,” he says, “Perez, you say?”

I look straight up at him and nod. “Uhh…yes. Perez.”

His expression seems rather blank for a moment, like he’s trying to process what I just told him.

“...Well, I’ll be!”

For the second time, his eyes light up with recognition. “You, by any chance, know a ‘Regina Perez’?”

Wait, what the hell-?!

Jones and I share a glance, and judging by how high his eyebrows are, I can tell Jones didn’t know about this, either.

“You- you knew my aunt?” I query.

Sam lets out a hearty, raucous laugh. “By, golly gee, of course I did! She was a huge help in keeping Cooperville alive! In fact, almost everyone in Grimsborough’s heard of her! She was no Maple Heights resident, but she was a celebrity.”

“...Excuse me?!” I say.

I knew she was a social worker, but for some reason, I didn’t process the idea she would be…well known.

“Hell yeah!” Sam tells me. “By jove, she was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, bless her heart! Always willing to stop by and lend a hand if she could.”

HELLO???

I’m blinking rapidly at this point as I’m just…struggling to let this sink in.

I guess it makes sense, but at the same time, my last memories of her alive weren’t exactly the greatest…maybe it’s just me, but-

Jones clears his throat, snapping me out of my train of thought. “Hey, can we get back to our original goal here, Val? Please?”

“Ah, I’m sorry-!” I stammer. “I- I just-”

“No worries, Jones!” Sam chuckles, taking the hand I’m still holding out and shaking it readily. “One-Tooth Sam, Deputy! But you can just call me Sam. De-facto mayor of Cooperville!”

Jones smiles, looking back in my direction. “Sam’s also an old friend of mine.”

He turns back to Sam, his smile dissipating. “...Sorry to lower the mood a bit, but have you heard of what’s happened? Uhhh, recently?”

Sam’s grin fades, and he nods. “Yeah, it’s good seeing ya around, but I wish the circumstances were different this time…” He bites the inside of his cheek. “...So, I assume you’re here for Raphael?”

“Yeah, he let us look through his shelter,” I tell him. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is it?”

He points into the farthest corner of Cooperville. “His shack’s over there.”

I give him a nod and an acknowledging smile. “Thank you, Sam.”

 

Raphael’s shack is pretty small – multiple pieces of plywood, cloth, and metal stacked together over a mattress inside to create a makeshift set of a roof and walls.

And left right in front of it is a pair of women’s underpants – pink with the letter “J” right on the front.

Oooo, boy.

I suck in a breath as I snap on a pair of gloves. “...Those underpants look like they stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”

Jones glances at it, his eyebrows knitting together. “Honestly, yeah, they look pricey. Do you think they’re Jennifer’s?”

“If we’re going by just the ‘J’ on the front, then maybe,” I tell him, “but there’s a whole bunch of names that start with J. Best course of action here is DNA collection.”

He nods. “Yup, definitely. You collect the evidence, I’ll go fetch the forensics kit!”

 

I swabbed a pretty good DNA sample from the underpants, and we went back to the station to wait for Grace to analyze it.

I’m still pondering about what Sam had told me, bending and twisting a paperclip in my hands repeatedly as the clock on the wall continues ticking.

“Are you alright, —--?” Tía Regina’s voice echoes in my head. “Did anything happen today? Are you hurt?”

“You doing alright, Val?” Jones asks me.

“Hm?” I whip my head to face him, my thumb pressing against the edge of the paperclip. “Oh, yeah, I’m doing…relatively okay. Don’t worry.”

His responding expression is unamused. “...It’s about what Sam said, isn’t it?”

I hesitate, then silently nod, focusing my sight on anywhere but him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry if this sounds rude, but wouldn’t that kinda be a good thing? Your aunt being well-known for her kindness and generosity to those she helps?”

“I- I mean-” I stammer, “-yeah, I guess?” The paperclip slips out of my hands, landing on the newly-waxed floor. “It’s just- I don’t remember her being like that. She didn’t, like, hate me, but I don’t recall her laughing, smiling, or being this…generous messiah figure at all!”

“...Ah.” He glances at his phone. “Honestly, I get it. It’s rough trying to reevaluate your opinions on a loved one, especially when they’re no longer there…”

Looking up at me, he leans forward in his chair. “...If you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your aunt? I’m not familiar with her case.”

Right at that very moment, his phone lets out a ping! and he picks it up.

“...Oop. Nevermind.”

He stands up.

“Grace finished analyzing the DNA sample you sent her,” he tells me. “We’ll have this conversation later, alright?”

 

Grace practically rushes up to us when we enter her lab, clipboard clutched in her hands. “Perez! Your DNA sample is clean! I was able to match the DNAs quite easily!”

“Well, look at you!” Jones gives me a playful elbow to the side. “Already becoming a professional at this! Anyway, Grace, what did you find?”

“First of all,” she says, tapping her clipboard with a pen, “the DNA found on it matches with Jennifer’s – a perfect match, actually!”

He lets out a small whistle. “So the underpants are Jennifer’s…”

“...but why did we find it in Cooperville?” I ask, frowning. “We found it by Raphael’s shack, after all…”

“Funny you should mention that,” she tells me, “because I found his DNA in the sample, too!”

Jones and I practically freeze at this.

“...I’m sorry, what?!” I exclaim.”So that means…”

“...Raphael might’ve been dating Trish, but we’ve got evidence that he was fooling around with Jennifer.,” Jones finishes my thought. “Wonder what he’ll say if we put this under his nose!”

“And Sam might’ve seen something as well, right?” I pipe up. “He knows Cooperville like the back of his hand, he’s probably got some clue!”

Jones pauses, biting the inside of his cheek for a moment before clearing his throat. “...Yeah, you’ve got a point there. Let’s talk to Sam about this, too.”

 

Sam raises an eyebrow as we saunter back into Cooperville. “Well, I’ll be!” He chuckles.”Didn’t expect ya to be back so soon, eh?”

Jones and I share a glance for a second before I decide to step forward first.

“...Look, I’ll cut through the chase,” I say, “was Raphael seeing Jennifer?”

Sam’s jolly old smile falters. “I-I don’t think so, no.” His fingers itch at his bicep for a moment when he crosses his arms. “...No, I don’t think Raphael was seeing Jennifer, no. You’re not suspecting the kid, arent’cha?”

“I wish we weren’t,” Jones mutters gravely, “but his DNA was found on Jennifer’s underpants, and that makes him pretty high on the suspect list.”

Sam shakes his head. “I-I don’t believe it- Raphael’s a sweet boy, he’d never do something like that-!”

“I’m sorry. But in order for us to confirm whether or not Raphael is innocent, we need to speak to him,” I reply. “Do you know where he is?”

He stares at us in silence for a moment, but I can feel the cogs whirring in his brain as he tries to figure out what to say.

“...Last time I checked, he was at his shack,” he mumbles. “There must be another explanation to all this, but I have faith you two will get to the bottom of this.”

 

I see Raphael physically bristle like a cat as we stride in his general direction, but either way, he stands up and nods politely.

“O-Officers!” He says. “Didn’t expect you to show up again so soon. If…I can ask, how’s the case going?”

“Well,” Jones responds, crossing his arms, “we found some of your DNA on Jennifer’s underpants.”

All the blood drains from Raphael’s face. “I…excuse me?!”

“I shit you not,” Jones tells him. “So tell me, Raphael, how’d it get there? Did you and Jennifer trade underwear or something?”

I can’t help it – I jab Jones in the side in annoyance. “Wrong time for jokes,” I hiss.

Raphael holds up his hands in surrender. “No need for the sarcasm, sir!” He exclaims. “Jennifer and I were friends, but that was it! Nothing more!”

“...And the DNA?”

“I promise, I don’t remember how it got there!” He stammers. “I swear on my life, ma’am!”

“Surely you most likely did, it’s your DNA…” Jones mutters, “...we’ll keep an eye on you, Raphael. You can be sure of that.”

 

“You’re late,” Alex speaks with a confident smirk as we walk into his lab. “Finished the analysis hours ago. Where were you guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jones waves him off. “We went on a wild goose chase interviewing suspects in order to snag a lead. Anyway, what’cha got for us?”

Alex’s top row of teeth grazes his lower lip. “Well, it was either the photo or the footprint itself, but either way, it left a lot to be desired…”

“Shit,” Jones grumbles, “are you fucking kidding me.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Alex’s grin widens. “I’m not done. As much as the footprint you sent me left much to be desired, I managed to grab at least one piece of crucial information because I’m just that awesome!”

Jones’s brow furrows, and he scoffs. “Really? What is it, then?”

“The killer’s footprints are a size 10!”

Immediately, his brow softens, and his eyes widen at this information. “That’s, actually…really good. Thanks, man!”

“No problem!” Alex replies, giving us a small salute. “Good luck catching that killer!”

 

After what felt like forever, Nathan’s autopsy was finally done.

And as we walk into his lab, he’s nowhere to be seen, and we’re instead greeted by the frosty breath of the air conditioner at full blast.

“Nate,” I hear Jones grumble under his breath, “Nathan Pandit, I swear to fucking god-”

“Did you call me?” Nathan’s voice comes from behind us.
Jones screeches out loud, ducking behind me for a moment until he realizes who startled him. “GODDAMNIT, Nathan! Where the hell were you this time?!”

“Had to take a bathroom break,” Nathan replies, walking briskly past us to his cupboard. “Judging by your presence, you got my notification about the autopsy, correct?”

“Y-yeah, we did,” Jones mumbles with a pout. “Dunno why it took you so long, though…oh, whatever, just hit us. What happened to Jennifer?”

Nathan picks up his clipboard, adjusting his glasses. “Well, first of all, Jennifer was knocked over the head with a blunt object.”

He pauses, glancing at us.

“...Go on,” I mutter.

He purses his lips, glancing back at the clipboard. “...Despite this, it’s very clear that she was still alive when the killer sliced her open.”

…OH.

I slowly turn my head to face Jones, who’s staring completely wide-eyed and gape-jawed at the coroner.

“...And that’s not all.”

“Are you kidding me-”

“Jennifer’s heart is also missing.”

Oh my god.

“...I feel like someone’s squeezing my stomach like it’s a cheesecloth,” I manage to spit out.

“Yeah, it’s…” Nathan puts down his clipboard and sighs, pinching his temple. “...it’s something, alright.”

He puts his hand down and takes the clipboard again. “...Are you alright, Jones? You look a little green.”

‘A little green’ is an understatement – Jones looks like he’d be the first prize winner at a botany competition for ‘goofiest plant’. “No, no…” he strains out, “...keep going, I’m fine.”

“...Okay.” Nathan’s mustache fidgets for a moment before he glances back down at his clipboard. “If that’s not all, Jennifer was also tortured – I counted around 80 burn marks over her breasts. Her killer was obviously a smoker…”

“...I didn’t even notice that when I saw her…” I mumble under my breath, cringing.

“...but at the same time, they don’t seem to be that experienced,” Nathan adds. “I found numerous black hairs on Jennifer’s body. They’re too damaged to match to anyone, but hey, a clue is a clue.”

“I- I guess,” I say, “a clue is a clue. So our killer’s got both black hair and a smoking habit. Thank you, Nathan.”

Luckily, Jones seems to be relatively alright after I drag him out of the morgue.

“...Well, this case certainly is a grisly one,” he tells me. “Poor girl was hung up on that hook and carved up like a-”

“Please don’t remind me,” I groan, holding up a hand to gesture at him to be quiet. “I get it.”

“...Okay, okay, sorry.” He replies. “But hey, good news. Thanks to you, we got several leads – Raphael might’ve had an affair with Jennifer, and now we at least know three of the killer’s attributes!”

“I hope we catch that killer soon,” I respond, “I just wanna get this done and over with.”

“...Agreed.”

Notes:

Ooooo boy.
I'm not gonna be at around the bush here when I say this -- I lowkey put this off for a long while partially because of the fact that my mental health went to shit and I got really lazy, and partially because of the fact that this case just makes me pretty uncomfortable.
But hey, this one's a longer chapter. That's a plus, I guess...? Hopefully I finish the next one soon. Stay tuned!

Chapter 12: [⚠️] The Grim Butcher - 2/4

Summary:

The case gets more and more unhinged the more our dynamic duo look into it.

Notes:

[CONTENT WARNING: There's mentions of teenagers doing...acts with each other here, like the last chapter. Albeit, not exactly to the same extent as last chapter, but it's still mentioned in this one. Please be warned.]

This whole case feels like an intrusion.

Like I’m helping myself by looking through this girl’s private life, and she can’t even do anything about it because she died a slasher movie death.

I wonder how she’d feel, honestly. Knowing that no matter how much she’s accomplished in her life, the most she’ll be remembered for is her gory, bloody demise. Is that what her killer intended? Slut shaming a literal child whose wings they broke before she could even fly?

The feeling in my throat makes me feel like I’m gonna gag.

 

Jones and I run into Ramirez as we make our way through a hallway.

“Ah, Deputy Perez! Inspector Jones!” Ramirez exclaims, adjusting his hat and nodding at us. “Good afternoon. I’ve been looking for you two, actually-!”

“Hm? How so?” I ask.

“Well, mm-” Ramirez adjusts his hat again, pursing his lips. “-Jennifer’s mother, Vanessa Carter, is here to see you.”

My heart sinks.

I was so caught up in everything else, I haven’t even considered the possibility of Jennifer’s family being around.

Jones rubs the sides of his head letting out a small groan. “Oh, god. How is she right now, Ramirez?”

“...She’s fine.” Ramirez replies. “Well, physically. She’s shaken, understandably.”

“Ooooo, boy.” Jones lets out a huff from his nose. “I guess you can count this as some sort of experience, Val…”

“...I guess?” I itch a spot on my arm. “Uhhh, where is she, Ramirez?”

“We set her in one of the interrogation rooms to give her some privacy.” He responds. “The only one with the door closed.”

“...Thank you, Ramirez.” Jones says. “I think that was probably for the best.”

He gives me a light nudge to the side. “C’mon, Deputy. Our job ain’t over yet.”

 

Vanessa Carter is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, hunched over in her seat as she clutches a packet of tissues.

Her cardigan and skin is covered with wet spots that I quickly recognize as sweat, and her messy blonde hair is an absolute mess.

Jones and I share a glance as we cautiously enter the room, making enough noise to let her know of our presence but not enough to scare her, and sit down in chairs across from her.

I clear my throat.

“...Mrs. Carter?”

Immediately, I see her flinch, flipping around her chair to face us.

Her eyes are wide and completely bloodshot, dried tearstains running in rivulets down her face, her eyebags an almost purple color as she tries blinking repeatedly.

Once. Twice. Three times.

She gazes around the room, her hands refusing to stop quivering as she squeezes that tissue packet for dear life.

“...Mrs. Carter?” I ask again, trying my best to remain gentle. “I-It’s the Grimsborough Police Department. You’re at the station right now.”

Her mouth is just hanging open, her gaze a hollow, glazed-over blue.

Jones reaches out a gentle hand. “...Mrs. Carter, do you need anything? Some water? A pastry?”

She blinks again, slowly. As if every second is a frame in an animation.

“...My baby is dead.”

We pause, letting her words sink in.

“...My baby is dead, and you’re asking me if I want a pastry. ”

He visibly flinches at this, and he holds up his hand, shaking his head. “M-my apologies, Mrs. Carter. I didn’t mean to offend, I just wanted to- I-”

“...No, no.” She sighs, her breath quivering as she dabs her eyes with a tissue. “I-I get it. It’s just…”

Her voice trails off, her eyes welling up with tears again. “M-my baby is dead. Gone, gone forever-! I’ll never see her again, hold her again, tell her that everything’s going to be okay, that momma’s here for her, that- that- that-!”

Her throat clenches, and she lets out a loud screech in between screams and sobs, as if it were clawed out of the depths of her soul, and she collapses out of her chair and onto her knees.

“Mrs. Carter-!” I exclaim. Jones and I both get up out of our chairs immediately, rushing over to her sides.

“MY BABY IS DEAD!!”

She’s wailing, howling into her hands, grasping at her own hair and looking like she’s on the verge of tearing it right out of her skull. Her expression is twisted, mauled into one of pure, unadulterated sorrow.

“MRS. CARTER!” Jones shouts. He moves quicker than me, maneuvering one of her arms over his shoulders as he helps her stand on her feet. She grips his other shoulder, forcing him to look at her.

“I TOLD HER NOT TO GO NEAR THAT HOBO CAMP!!” She bawls. “I TOLD HER NOT TO GO, AND SHE DIDN’T LISTEN!!”

Hobo camp?
Jones glances in my direction, and I can tell that he and I have the same idea.

Cooperville.

He guides her to sit – setting her down gently back into the chair.

“Breathe, Mrs. Carter. Deep breaths.”

She sucks in air through her nose, and lets it exit through small, gradual, shuddering breaths out her mouth.

“..Alright. That’s good. Deep breaths, Mrs. Carter.”

“...Deep breaths.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It takes her a couple of minutes to finally calm herself down, leaning back in her chair and letting out a heavy sigh.

“...Thank you, officer,” She says, wiping her face with the tissue. “It’s just-”

She winces.

“We know,” Jones replies. “I’m so sorry for your loss. But in order to bring her killer to justice, we need your help. Are you willing to tell us any information necessary to the case if you have it?”

“Y-yes!” She stammers, almost standing up out of her chair. “I’ll tell you anything, for my baby girl!”

I feel my shoulders relax, and I let out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank goodness…”

“...Thank you, Mrs. Carter.” He says. “Now, first of all – you mentioned something about a ‘hobo camp’?”

I pull out my notepad as she opens her mouth. “Y-yes!!” She cries out. “The one by the bridge…”

“Cooperville?”

“Yes, that one!!” She clenches her fists. “I know she was seeing a boy there…Oh, she wouldn’t tell me a thing, but I KNOW she was!!...and…”

Her voice trails off as she blinks away leftover tears.

And now she’s dead.

I start writing into the notepad,

Jennifer was DEFINITELY seeing Raphael

Vanessa KNOWS that Jennifer was seeing Raphael and disapproved of it

Oh no

“Thank you for the information, Mrs. Carter,” Jones tells her. “Is it alright if we search through your home?”

She gives us a little wave of the hand at us.

“Go right ahead. Anything for my Jenny.”

 

The Carters’ home is…silent. Peaceful.

As Jones and I enter through the front door, the first thing we notice is the stench of smoke wafting through the house.

My eyebrows knit together in concern. “...That’s not good. Did Mrs. Carter leave the stove on?”

“I don’t think so,” Jones mutters, waving his hand in front of his nose. “Smells like cigarettes. Same scent that was on her clothing – made my eyes water like I was chopping onions.”

I frown. “There’s a difference?”

“Ehhh…” he walks ahead of me. “...not really sure? I think I’ve just memorized cigarette smoke as a smell in particular because I was so used to it growing up.”

My frown deepens with concern as I trail behind him. “...That’s not normal.”

He lets out a small laugh, patting me on the back. “Oh, no! It absolutely isn’t. Anyway, let’s at least check the kitchen to make sure this place isn’t gonna burn down…”

“Uhhh, okay??”

At least we can gauge that Mrs. Carter is a smoker, I guess-

We head into the kitchen and stop right at the doorway, taking in our surroundings.

 It’s is average-sized, complete with a good amount of walking room in between furniture.

Everything looks neat.

Untouched.

Just like how Vanessa had left it.

Jones taps my shoulder, gesturing towards the kitchen counter and sink. Go investigate that side of the kitchen, I’ll check out the other side.

I give him a nod, putting on those classic rubber gloves and heading towards the sink first.

It’s half-full of dirty plates, a sponge haphazardly shoved back onto a small dish next to the faucet. I’m focusing on the faucet for so long, I almost don’t even notice the home phone on the floor until my foot grazes it.

Huh. I put the phone back where it belongs before turning to the counter.

It’s…messier than the sink – some of the items placed against the wall are knocked over, as if someone had swiped at them in a sort of rage. Jars, bottles, those little spice containers you find at your local Asian supermarket…

There’s a pan with fried eggs still on the stove, but they’re completely cold at this point, half-cooked and smelling quite…off.

But not like smoke.

Jones was most likely right on that part.

Right next to it is a roll of paper towels on its side, the huge, uneven rip  suggesting that the last piece had been torn violently away.

But one thing in particular catches my eye as I glance a little higher.

There’s a couple books on the countertop leaning against a wall, and my eyes focus on the sparkly pink one in particular. Against the feeling in my gut that is probably my better judgment, I reach out and gingerly slip it off its hiding spot before opening it.

The handwriting is utter garbage, but I just so happen to manage to decipher the writing on the inside of the front cover.

“Jenny Carter!! Age: 9”

Oh.

“Hey, Val,” Jones calls in my direction, and I look over at him as he stands up from his hunch. “Did you find anything?”

“I’m not sure,” I reply, clutching the book in my hands. “Did you find something?”

He shakes his head as he walks over to me. “Not much. Most striking thing I noticed was the bag of beef in the fridge, but that’s probably more of an unfortunate coincidence than anything, considering…you know. How Jennifer was killed.”

I cringe, unsure of how to even respond.

He pauses, raising an eyebrow as he glances over my shoulder. “What’s that book for?”

“Oh, this?” I flip open to the first cover. “Judging by what I can tell, it’s Jennifer’s diary, but it’s from way back when she was a kid…” I rub my fingers along the corner of a page, my hand almost frozen in position as I contemplate whether or not to flip.

“...Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look,” he pipes up, “right?”

My brow furrows as I meet his eyes. “I-I don’t know. I know Mrs. Carter said that we could take a look around the stuff in the kitchen, but breaking into a teenager’s diary feels…off?”

“Hm.” His small smile fades as he looks back down at the book in my hands. “...Look. Val. I know this feels… bad for you.”

He sucks in a breath. “Okay, maybe bad wasn’t the best word for this. I don’t know what you’ve been through- What I’m trying to say is that we have a job to do.” He slips the book out of my hands and clutches it in his own. “Unfortunately, this means we have to push aside some of our personal values for the greater good…”

His brow knits, and his voice slightly trails off as he stares at the scrawled down letters of “Jenny”.

“...and the greater good here is justice for Jennifer. You, uhh, get what I’m saying?”

I purse my lips again, focusing my attention on the wall. “...Okay, I…I get it.”

He nods. “I…alright.” Turning back to the book, he begins flipping the pages. “Okay, Jennifer…what do you have to tell us…?”

I can’t help but peek a couple times as he skims through the diary, his eyes scanning over one page and the next. I can barely read what’s going on with the childish, spaghetti-like handwriting.

But Jennifer was a child writing this. And now she’ll never grow up.

“...Huh.”

He pauses, holding one page corner in his rubber-covered fingers. “That’s strange.”

“Hm?” I raise an eyebrow. “What is it?”

He hands the book to me. “The last couple of pages in the book are empty.”

Oh?

I take the book from him and turn to the last couple of pages.

He’s right – they’re empty. Completely empty. Like Jennifer had just given up on filling the actual book.

Unless you don’t count what I spot on the last page and back cover.

“There’s indentations here,” I mutter, feeling the area with my fingertips. “She must’ve torn some pages out.”

“Really?” He squints as he studies the page, then his eyebrows go straight up with surprise. “Oh, shit, you’re right! She must’ve been pressing down on the page pretty hard, the indents look deep…”

“Mhm.” I glance around. “Do you know where the dusting kit is?”

“I placed the forensics kit on the little stool in the hallway. Do you want me to go get it?”

I nod. “Yes, please. If my hunch is right, then I think we have a lead in our investigation…”

 

Sure enough, my hunch is correct.

It takes a bit of dusting, but once I finish, the lines on the page are clear enough for me to read.

“...Oh, god.”

"Raphael and me are THROUGH! He's NEVER going to leave Trish-the-Cow, too afraid of losing his job! That family's POISON! I HATE THEM ALL!!"

Jones lets out a little whistle, his brow hiking up his forehead as he reads over my shoulder. “...Teenage angst it is, huh.”

I grit my teeth slightly, closing the book. “Looks like this whole affair was starting to get serious if Jennifer wanted Raphael to leave Trish for her…”

He nods.”...Y’know, I think it’s time for our little lovebirds to spill the tea. What do you think?”

Absolutely.

 

We find Trish and Raphael sitting on a couple crates, keeping each other close.

Trish is practically clinging tightly onto Raphael, her arms wrapped around him in sort of a vicelike grip as he lets her lean into his lap.

I clear my throat, causing the both of them to turn around to face us. They both practically freeze as they see us just standing there.

I cough into my fist awkwardly. “-Hello!”

Raphael stands up first, putting himself between Trish and us.

Is it just me, or are his eyebags more pronounced-?

“What do you want?” He asks firmly.

I can’t help but flinch at the agitation in his tone. “Excuse me?”

“We’re just here to ask a couple more questions,” Jones responds, holding up his hands. “Same routine as before, nothing new.”

Raphael shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we’re ready for another round of interrogation right now. Trish is-”

“I’m fine.”

Trish’s voice is both hoarse but clear at the same time as she stands up, pushing past Raphael. “Let’s just get this over with.” Her fists clench.

Raphael hesitates, clearly caught off guard by her decision. “I- okay, then.” He puts his arms down.

Jones chuckles lightly. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll talk to you both separately one after the other, just like last time. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”

 

We lead Trish a little bit away from Raphael, just out of earshot so that way he can’t overhear.

“So.” Trish leans against a wall, giving us a deadpan stare through her tears. “Like I said, let’s get this over with.”

“Alright.” Jones looks at me. “Val, how about you take the lead here?”

I swallow down the burst of anxiety in my stomach as I pull out a photocopy of the pages from earlier. “So, Trish. We discovered this while looking for more evidence.” I hand it to her and cross my arms. “They’re pages from Jennifer’s own diary. What do you have to say?”

She takes the sheet from me, skimming over it.

She stills for a moment, her jaw slackening and her eyes widening. Her fists clench, and she practically shoves the paper back into my hands.

“Are you actually fucking kidding me?!” She snaps, pointing a finger right at me. “A girl just fucking died and you’re out here slandering her as if she has any say about it?!”

Jones raises his hands, moving in front of me and staring her down. “Now, Trish, let’s not get aggressive here.”

“ FUCK YOU!! ” She shouts. “I WILL BE MAD ABOUT THIS! These lies you’re spreading are DISGUSTING!!”

His glare narrows. “Listen here, I don’t think Jennifer would lie about this stuff in her own diar-”

“SHUT UP!!” She screeches, covering her ears with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!”

Good lord-!

Jones and I plug our ears with our fingers as Trish practically has a meltdown , screaming and slamming her back repeatedly against the wall.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

“RAPHAEL WOULD NEVER!!”

SLAM!

“HE LOVES ME, AND ME ALONE!!”

SLAM!

“HE’D NEVER HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH JENNIFER!!”

I glance at Jones, then back at Trish.

Tears are practically brimming in her eyes as she continues to yell, and I can’t help but be relieved knowing that Raphael’s still nack at those crates.

I clear my throat. “Trish.”

SLAM! “RAPHAEL IS MY BOYFRIEND, AND MINE ALONE!!”

“TRISH.”

SLAM! “HE’D NEVER FUCK THAT SNOBBY FLI-!!”

“TRISH!!”

I grab her hands and pull them away from her ears, causing her to let out a yelp. My grip is firm enough to keep her from wrestling her hands free, but light enough to not hurt.

She tries to struggle free, but I stand my ground. “Breathe. Just breathe. In and out.”

Eventually, she quiets down, following my instructions.

“In…and out.”

“In…and out.”

“In…and out.”

She lets out a sigh, and I loosen my grip into more of a clutch. “Alright. Good.”

I step back a little bit, letting go and giving her some space. “I know this is a lot to process. None of this is confirmed, but it is some pretty heavy speculation with some level of proof.”

I can see her gaze right into my soul, her eyes a dull, lifeless blue.

“...Do you understand this?” I ask.

“...Mhm.” She nods slightly.

“Alright. Just…please, know this.”

I hesitate for a moment.

“If all of this is true…this is not your fault. Please, do not blame yourself.”

Her eyes widen. Only a sliver, but they still widen.

“...Do you understand?” I ask.

She nods again. “Y-yeah. I understand.” She sucks in a breath, before turning around. “...I’m going for a smoke. Dad hates it when I smoke inside.”

“...Before you leave,” Jones pipes up, “can you ask Raphael to come over? We still need to discuss with him.”

She purses her lips together. “...Fine.”

Okay. This is going smoothly. All we just need to know from Raphael is how he’s connected with Jennifer. Are our hunches correct? Did he cheat on Trish with Jennifer?

 

“…Okay, fine,” Raphael groans lowly, rubbing his face with a hand, “I did cheat on Trish with Jennifer. We fooled around once or twice…”

Ah. Jones and I share a glance of narrowed gazes. Did he seriously just fold like that? I guess he did.

“...I expected you to put up more of a fight first,” Jones mutters with a bit of a scoff.

“Well, what do you know.” Raphael shrugs, sighing. “You found Jennifer’s diary, she wrote it herself, no use lying about it at this point.”

Dude looks absolutely deflated right now.

“I guess you have a point there,” Jones replies. “Can you, uhhh…do you remember why you two, er, ended things?”

Raphael snaps his fingers. “Oh, that’s an easy answer. Jennifer really hated the Collettis for some reason – kept calling them ‘poison’, kept telling me to break up with Trish, the whole ten yards.”

“And if you broke up with Trish, you could’ve lost your job, am I right?” I add. “Seems very convenient that Jennifer’s dead now.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there!” He holds up his hands in panic. “If there was one thing that One-Tooth Sam taught me that stuck with me for my entire life, it’s to never hurt those who didn’t deserve it. I may have had beef with Jennifer, but I personally find the idea that she ‘deserved’ to be carved up like that INSANE.”

“You sure about that?” Jones asks.

“No shit, yeah!” He exclaims. “I just told her to get lost, that’s all! Nothing else!”

I slowly pull out my notepad and write down as much as possible.

Raphael cheated on Trish with Jennifer

Jennifer wanted him to break up with Trish, but he refused

Trish maybe in denial?

Raphael lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Ah, shit…I’m getting a bit of a headache. Do either of you have cigarettes? It’s been a shitty day, I need a smoke…”

“Unfortunately, not,” I respond, adding one last thing to my findings.

Both Raphael and Trish are smokers

 

We stopped for bagels on the way back to the station.

“Y’know, Val,” Jones says, swallowing down a mouthful, “I think we’re actually making pretty good progress on this case!” He takes another bite. “Mmm, this smoked salmon hits hard…but honestly, I dunno where to go next here. Do we go back to the warehouse? Dive a little more into this “love triangle” lead we got? Or maybe should we step back a bit and look at the bigger picture?”

I ponder his question for a good, long moment as I stare through the cruiser window and stuff my mouth with bagel.

I gulp down what I’m chewing.

“…How about we look through Jennifer’s backpack?” I pipe up. “She was in high school, right? Maybe there’s something in there.”

The cruiser screeches to a halt, jerking the both of us forward in our seats with a loud “GRRRK-!”

Jones glances at me, his eyes wide.

“...Val?”

“...Yeah?”

“You’re a fucking genius.”

 

After a small while, we managed to gain access to Jennifer’s backpack.

I inconveniently needed to go get a drink of water right at that moment for my throat, so Jones had offered to look through the bag for me.

I said yes.

When I walk back over to him, I see him holding up a phone in his hand.

“Well, I hit a jackpot, Val!” He tells me with a smile. “I found Jennifer’s cellphone.”

“Hm,” I say with a nod, “they say you can find out about a teenager’s whole life, right?”

“Yup!” He slips the cellphone into an evidence bag. “Come on, let’s take this to Alex and see what he says.”

 

Alex wrapped up the analysis in no time, and Jones and I headed to his lab once we got that text from him that he was done.

“Okay!” He says, turning around in his swivel chair to face us. “Do you want me to cut the bullshit and just tell you directly?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Jones tells him, crossing his arms. “Just cut to the chase. What did you find?”

Alex chuckles confidently.”Well, I’ll just say this – I looked through the messages in particular. Most of the messages were just to and from her mom and a couple of her friends…”

I frown. “So it’s a dead end?”

“I’m getting there,” He replies, shaking his head. “There was one message in particular that stood out to me because she sent it 2 hours before her demise.” He clears his throat, taking out Jennifer’s phone and reading aloud.

“I’m not scared of you! I’m going to tell. You’re gonna pay for what you did!!”

“Oh, shit,” Jones mumbles, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds overly hardcore if that was meant to be a normal message.”

“Oh, and that’s not all!” Alex adds. “You wanna know who she sent it to?”

“Who?!”

“Raoul Colletti!”

…HUH?

Jones and I stare at each other as we process this new piece of information.

“...Well.” Jones says calmly. “I know who we’re talking to next.”

 

“That- That message was nonsense!!” Colletti exclaims, his voice almost bouncing off of the walls of the interrogation room. “I just laughed it off – Thought she just dialed the wrong number!” He wipes his scruffy black hair with a rag.

“I’m just concerned about the fact that she has your number in the first place,” I shoot back, “what did she even need that for?”

“Yeah, what she did,” Jones adds, “why did she have it? Fast orders of kidneys?!”

Colletti lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “Please. My number is public, on my business website! She must’ve got it from there.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Jones tells him. “In the meantime, we need to know both you and your daughter’s shoe sizes.”

Colletti raises his eyebrow. “Why do you- ah, whatever. I’ll tell ya.” He leans forward in his chair. “Trish and I are both a size 10.” He shakes his head, a tiny bit of amusement in his eyes. “She’d always complain that she got my feet, heh.”

“Thank you, Mr. Colletti,” I reply, writing the information down.

As we leave the interrogation, Jones turns to me, scratching his chin. “Y’know, Val, if Jennifer’s message was addressed to Colletti, he might be our number one suspect.”

“Maybe,” I respond, looking through my notes. “Of course, he denies it, and she can’t talk anymore…at least we know that both he and Trish wear size 10 shoes. Now we just need the others’...”

“Yup.” He itches the side of his nose. “Don’t worry, by the way. I called Ramirez, and he told me that he’ll gather the information for us.”

“Really?” I inquire. “He’ll do that for us?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I tend to rag on him a lot, but he’s cool like that.”

“Hm, alright.” I glance back down at my notes. “Hey, do you think we should check out Cooperville again? Maybe there’s something we missed.”

“...You know what? That is a good idea.” He jogs ahead of me, tossing me the car keys. “You drive the cruiser this time, Val! Maybe inspiration will strike us over there!”

 

Once we got to Cooperville, we immediately got to work in combing around for any clues, focusing most of our attention on Raphael’s shack in particular. We at least try out best to not disturb the residents, but sometimes I can feel them whispering behind me. Whatever, I guess.

And sure enough, our efforts are not fruitless. As I look into the shack, I find something stuffed between the wall and the far end of the mattress.

“Well, what do we have here…?” I mumble to myself, reaching in and fumbling around. Once I get a good grip, I pull.

And I yank out a blood-soaked rag – kind of like the one Colletti had.

Ooooo, I dug for iron, but struck gold!

…Why the hell do I sound like Jones? This is only my third case, and his mannerisms are rubbing off on me…

“JONES!” I call. “JONES, I FOUND SOMETHING!”

He practically dashes over to where I am in no time, his gloves and knees covered in grime and dirt. “What? What did you find??”

I hold up the rag. “Looks like the cloth Raoul Colletti used to wipe his forehead when we talked to him…how farfetched would it be to suggest that it’s got something to do with Jennifer’s murder?”

He lets out a small whistle. “I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.That thing’s encrusted in blood! Let’s get a sample or two and send it to Grace…”

 

And that’s what we did – I got two samples from the rag, and we dropped it off by Grace’s lab before just sitting back and crossing our fingers.

Please let this be a clue. Please let this be relevant to the case in any way, shape, or form, and make this not a complete and utter waste of our time.

Once Grace sent us that notification telling us that she was done, we had bolted straight for her lab.

“You got here quite fast,” she remarks, scribbling notes onto a sheet.

“Yeah, well, to be fair,” Jones heaves out, dusting his knees off, “we just want to catch this guy as quickly and as efficiently as possible. So, just give us the information.”

Her small smirk disappears, and she nods. “Fair enough. I’ll make this brief.”

She begins tapping the eraser of her pencil against the clipboard. “Most of the blood found on that rag was Jennifer’s, but not all. Her killer must’ve cut themselves in the middle of the job!”

“Oh?” I look up excitedly. “Were you able to find a match to anyone”

She shakes her head, chewing her bottom lip. “Unfortunately, no. That’d take weeks, especially with such a small sample like this one. Good news, though-” She smiles at us. “I was at least able to identify the killer’s blood type as O-positive!”

“That’s great, Grace!” Jones exclaims. “Val, write that down, write that down!”

I’m practically fumbling with the notepad as I pull out of my pocket, scrawling down as much as possible. Killer’s blood type is O+ Killer’s blood type is O+ Killer’s blood type is O+-

 

Although Jones and I are trying our best to finally get through this case, we agree to sit down and take a bit of a break to discuss over a couple cups of coffee.

“...I dunno how to feel,” Jones admits. “We have so many leads, but no reason to follow down one in particular…most of them could’ve killed Jennifer, and had a reason to.”

“Except for her own mother,” I point out. “And Sam.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but one of the killer’s attributes is that he’s got black hair, right?” He answers. “I honestly doubt that either one of them’s the killer at all.”

I let out a huff and take a swig of coffee. “True, true…well, at least it’s good we know the killer’s blood type, right?”

“Oh, definitely!” He smiles at me. “We may be in a bit of a dead end right now, but I still have faith that we have this case in the bag. Hopefully we’ll catch this sicko soon…” He tentatively sips from his own mug, “Let’s at least review…”

I lean back in my chair.

He clears his throat. “Jennifer had…issues with most of our suspects. There was that weird message she sent to Raoul…whether or not she meant that for him is up to debate.”

“And Raphael was cheating on Trish with her for a while,” I tack on, “whether Trish believed the affair or not, she hated Jennifer anyway…”

“Mhm.” He takes a glimpse at his phone, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment.

“...That’s strange,” I hear him mutter under his breath. “Ramirez doesn’t usually take this long…”

Out of nowhere, Robin Douglas bursts into the room through the door, sweat dripping down their body and sticking hair and clothing to skin as they huff and puff the air in their lungs.

“Robin-!” Jones stands up first. “Is something wrong? Did anything happen?”

“Oh, something happened, alright,” they reply through gritted teeth. “Do you know a ‘Mrs.Vanessa Carter’?”

Uh oh. My heart leaps into my throat. “Yes, she’s the victim’s mother,” I say. “Is she alright?”

Robin shakes their head with a grim expression, running a hand through their messy brown hair. “No, definitely not. She burst into the station, screaming and demanding to see you two about her daughter…”

“Oh, fuck.”

Jones’s brow furrows with concern. “Where is she now?”

“Downstairs, officer desks,” Robin tells him. “She’s hard to miss, that’s for sure…”

“Thank you,” I say, and Jones and I immediately sprint down the stairway to the first floor.

Robin is definitely right. She is extremely hard to miss. We just manage to scramble downstairs when we hear her cries.

“MY DAUGHTER’S HEART!! THEY SOLD ME MY DAUGHTER’S HEART!!!”

Chapter 13: [⚠️] The Grim Butcher - 3/4

Summary:

To quote a wise man, "fuck this shit, I'm out."

Notes:

[CONTENT WARNING: Slutshaming and some level of graphic descriptions of gore. Not as terrible as chapter 1, but that really isn't saying anything- Either way, you have been warned.]

I feel like the contents of my stomach have leaped right into my throat as Mrs. Carter’s words hit my ears.

Judging by Jones’s wide eyes and open jaw, he’s processing the same thing.

Together, we dash down the stairs and head straight for the offices, following the sound of the screams.

Sure enough, Mrs. Carter is throttling Ramirez by the shoulders, screeching right into his face as another officer is scrabbling to pull her off of him. She’s looking so much worse than before – her eyes are so wide it looks like her eyelids had peeled back, her hair is a wild and tangled mess, her skin is so pale, the tears spilling down her cheeks look like pure dots of white in the overhead lights.

“HER HEART!!! MY BABY GIRL JENNY’S HEART!!!”

“Mrs. Carter!” Jones rushes to her side. “Are you alright?! Please, calm down!”

She’s still hyperventilating, coughing, struggling to breathe, but at least she’s calming down.

Or is she?? I can’t tell-

Jones peels her off of Ramirez, the both of them tumbling away and crashing right into the wall. I hurry to help Ramirez to his feet, pulling him up by his torso. “Are you alright?” I whisper.

He nods profusely. “Y-yes- I’m doing okay. I was just- surprised-”

We both glance at Jones, still trying to calm down Mrs. Carter to the best of his abilities. His eyes are almost as big as dinner plates, his tears practically welling up in his eyes as he’s trying to tell her something.
What it is, I don’t know. I can’t tell. All that is ingrained into my head is the sounds of Mrs. Carter’s ragged breathing, stuffing my ears and knocking my heart into overdrive.

 

“ No, no, no.”

“She can’t be dead, she can’t be-”

“Please, wake up, WAKE UP, WAKE UP-!”

The stench of rusting iron is filling my nostrils.

I’m scrambling on the floor, splinters from the hole in the floor sinking right into the skin of my knees, but I don’t care, I give zero damns, I have to know, I need to know-

 

The sudden hand on my shoulder snaps me back to the present.

“Deputy?”

I let out a yelp, my hand jerking up and swinging towards whoever just tried to touch me.

“Whoa-!” Ramirez dodges my strike, my fingers barely grazing his mustache.

It takes me a second to even process what I just did. “I- OH, SHOOT-!”

I try to reach out to him. Shit, maybe that isn’t such a good idea- I falter, lowering my hands a little. “A-are you alright, Ramirez? Are you hurt?!”

My brain is still focused on the sound of Mrs. Carter’s breathing. Jones’s calming skills seem to be working, I hope, I pray silently to myself that they’re working-

“I-I’m doing alright, actually,” Ramirez stammers, holding his hands up. “I-I’m more concerned about you actually! You just…froze up out of nowhere.”

…I what?

I stare at him blankly.

His brow furrows.

“Hey, Val,” Jones calls to me, “I’m taking Mrs. Carter to one of the interrogation rooms to get some space. You meet me there, got it?” She’s still in his arms, her breathing slower but ragged.

Hah…

Hah…

Hah…

Huh…

I nod shakily. “...Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“...Val?” Ramirez mutters. “You- you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay? I-If the case is making you feel stressed, I could ask the Chief to let you have a break-”

I hold up a hand, my eyes glued to the floor. “N-no, I’m fine…I can finish this. I think I’m just tired.”

“Are you su-”

“Ramirez,” I plead, squeezing my eyes shut, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Please, just drop it.”

Ramirez goes silent.

“...Do you need a coffee? I can get you a coffee.”

“…I think that’d be good, actually.”

 

I meet Jones and Mrs. Carter in the interrogation room, tossing the used cup of coffee into the wastebin.

Mrs. Carter is already talking, apologizing profusely to Jones about “all the ruckus she caused” with her “freakout”.

“Once again, I-I’m so sorry, Inspector…I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m so, so sorry…” She buries her face into her hands.

He nods reassuringly. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it. Losing a loved one is…” his voice trails off for a moment, and he clears his throat. “...difficult. Especially if they died so…horribly.”

He spots me out of the corner of his eye, and his expression immediately brightens, at least by a little. “Oh, hey! Just in time, Val.”

“...Is Mrs. Carter alright?” I ask, wringing my hands.

“I-I’m fine!” She sits upright, dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes!” She replies. “Yes, I’m fine! This- this isn’t about me, anyway.”

I can feel Jones twitch next to me as I sit down at the table.

“...Okay.” He clears his throat. “Let’s just get through with this.”

He gestures at me to take out my notepad, in which I do.

“...First of all. Mrs. Carter, when you…came into the station, you were mentioning something about your daughter’s…?”

He’s pausing, and judging by the sweat dripping down his head and neck, he’s hoping that she’s bluffing.

Instead, the frantic, desperate nod she gives makes both our hearts sink. “Y-yes! I-I swear I’m not bluffing, officers!”

“We believe you,” he reassures her, “we just need information.”

She nods again. “Yes, yes-! I- I was at the butcher’s this morning, before I got the news…it was beef cuts, mostly…but when I got home, there was a heart in there, and I never bought any!!”

Oh, god. Her voice is starting to rise again.

There’s an implication to this that I’m starting to notice, and I do not like it.

Jones holds out a hand to her. “...Mrs. Carter-”

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?!” She wails. “THEY GAVE ME MY DAUGHTER’S HEART SO I CAN EAT IT!!!”

Both Jones and I are silent.

She slams her elbows on her lap and puts her head in her hands, sobbing once again.
“...I’m so sorry.”

The words come out of my mouth before I notice. It’s not like they’ll change anything, anyway.

“...Do you know where the heart is now, Mrs. Carter?” Jones asks.

She’s desperately trying to calm herself down now, putting her hands on her chest and struggling to slow down her breathing. “ Huh – huh – huh – the fridge!! I put it in the fridge!!”

…

Oh.

“Oh my god,” I hear Jones murmur to himself.

We’re just left staring at a grieving mother in silence, watching her break down completely for the third time in front of us.

Slowly, Jones slides back in his chair and stands up. “...Thank you for the information, Mrs. Carter. That is all we need. Do you wish for someone to escort you to where you have to go next?”

Through her labored breathing, she shakes her head vehemently.

I can tell that Jones is concerned – his brow immediately furrows and his lips purse, but he eventually just calmly nods.

“Alright. Suit yourself.”

 

As soon as we get to the Carter residence, we make a mad dash for the fridge.

Please don’t let this be real.

It can’t be.

It’s gotta be fake.

Jones makes it to the fridge first and throws open the door.

The color drains from his face, and my heart sinks.

I don’t even have to look in the fridge to know that Vanessa Carter was right.

I step once, twice, three times as I make my way over, peeking under Jones’s arm.

It’s there. She wasn’t kidding, she wasn’t goddamn kidding-

It’s a lump. A fucking lump just sitting there on the back of the bottom shelf. A mass of flesh and blood wrapped in paper and plastic, soaking in the cold fridge air behind some apricots, almost as if Mrs. Carter had just shoved it there to not see it and ran for the hills.

I don’t blame her.

My stomach twists, but I try my best to shake off the feeling as I put on gloves, reach into the fridge, and pull out the bag.

Jones retches right next to me, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, god- it’s squished. If there’s a human heart in there, it’s probably been completely turned into mush…”

“…You never know, though,” I reply, staring right at it.

“…Oh-kay!” He holds up his hands and turns away. “I’ll, uhh, call Ramirez, maybe. He’s still not brought us back the information we need, for some reason-?”

“I- alright. You do that,” I say, before looking back at the bag. “Ooo, boy…let’s get this over with.”

Let’s get this over with.

Let’s get this over with.

Let’s get this over with.

I find the opening and slowly peel away the bag.

Let’s get this over with.

The blood feels like it’s seeping through the paper, my gloves, and my skin.

Let’s get this over with.

I peel back the paper, too, now clutching a crimson, sopping wet ball of steak.

Let’s get this over with.

Piece by piece, I pare away the pieces of meat. My heart is hammering. The smell of iron is clogging my senses, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe-

The moment I see it, I feel my stomach roil with disgust.

A human heart. Even in its deformed shape, I know what it is.

If this is Jennifer’s heart, this is a whole new level of fucked up.

“...Jones?” I weakly call. “I…I found it.”

Jones pauses, turns around, then immediately turns pale.

“...I’m gonna throw up.”

 

After convincing Jones to throw up anywhere but inside the Carters’ home, we put the heart into an evidence box and drop it off at Grace’s lab.

As we sit and wait for her to finish, I see Ramirez appear from around the corner.

“Oh, Jones! I was looking for you and Perez!” He exclaims.

“Ramirez!” Jones calls, standing up. “Hey! What the hell?!”

Ramirez frowns, stepping back a little. “I- I’m sorry?”

“I texted you THIRTY TIMES since you offered to get that suspect profile information we needed!” Jones shouts. “You answered none of my messages!”

Ramirez’s eyes widen. “Ah! I’m sorry, I was trying to relay the information to you, but I got distracted when Mrs. Carter came in and started yelling at me! And then you two took her to the interrogation room, and I-” He’s stammering incoherently at this point. “My apologies, my mind is in multiple different places at once! I was running around all day…”

Jones’s brow furrows even more. “I-” He lets out a sigh, pinching his temples. “-Okay. Fair enough. But couldn’t you have just… texted us the information?”

“Ah, couldn’t do that either,” Ramirez responds. “My nephew took my phone and hid it somewhere, I didn’t have enough time to find it…”

“…Excuse me?” Jones asks. “How old is your nephew again??”

“…8.”

“…So let me get this straight.” Jones puts his palms together, squeezing his eyes shut as he sucks in a breath. “…You were fighting with an 8-year-old over your phone…and LOST? ”

An awkward silence falls over the room.

Then, Ramirez clears his throat.

“…Yes.”

Jones throws his hands up in the air. “Well, at least please tell me you still have it written down somewhere-!”

“That, I do, actually!” Ramirez butts in, pulling out a folded up piece of paper from one of his pockets.

I immediately pull out my notepad, waiting for him to relay this information to us.

“In alphabetical order by last names — Mrs. Carter wears a size 9.5…One-Tooth Sam wears a 10.5 and smokes like a chimney…and Raphael Soza wears a size 10!”

Jones glances in my direction. “Did you catch that, Val?”

I’m already writing all of the information down as fast as possible, flashing him a thumbs up.

He nods, turning back to Ramirez. “That’s good. Thank you for the information, Ramirez!”

“It’s no problem!” He replies with a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry I was so late in giving it to you guys!”

“Hey, it’s alright!” Jones tells him. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He gives him a salute back. “Alri- alright! I will!”

 

The moment Jones gets the notification from Grace that she finished her analysis of the heart, both him and I steel our nerves before entering her lab.

Jones moves first, slowly opening the door. “Uhhh, hey, Grace. How was the-”

Grace slams down her clipboard on the table and turns to face us. “I’ll just cut through the pleasantries right now — yes, the heart is your victim’s, alright.”

I don’t know whether to be relieved or even more horrified.

Grace strides right up to us, her expression twisted into one of genuine anger. “Let me get this straight — you’re telling me that your killer sold Jennifer’s heart to her mother?!”

Jones sighs, nodding slowly. “…Evidently, yes.”

All the color drains from Grace’s face. Her jaw slacks open, her eyes becoming as wide as the palm of my hand.

“…Oh, my god.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, that is…”

Sick. It’s sick, and we all know it.

“Did you, uhhh…find any fingerprints?” I ask. “On…Jennifer’s heart?”

She shakes her head. “…no. Unfortunately not. However, I did find something else — tiny yellow fibers, all over it!”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “Anything special about the material?”

‘No, they’re plain cotton, nothing crazy,” she responds. “But considering the fact that Jennifer had…little to no clothing on at all…”

“…The killer’s most likely wearing yellow?” He pipes up.

She snaps her fingers. “Exactly!”

He nods. “Alright! Alright, that’s good! Thank you, Grace!”

Yellow clothing.

“It’s nothing,” she replies, shaking her head, “just catch this killer as soon as possible! Stay safe out there.”

Ther killer smokes. Has size 10 shoes. Has O+ blood. Has black hair. And wears yellow clothing.

“Hopefully, this is the end of this case,” Jones tells Grace, “hopefully that freak didn’t have enough time to carve up someone else…!”

Vanessa Carter doesn’t have black hair, and her shoe size is 9.5. One-Tooth Sam’s hair isn’t even black. Raoul Colletti never smoked. And last time I remembered, Raphael had no hint of yellow on any of his clothing…

“…C’mon, Val,” Jones calls, shaking my shoulder softly. “We still got a job to do.”

“…Jones?”

“Yeah?”

“What is Trish Colletti’s blood type?”

He frowns. “If I can recall correctly, she’s an O+ like her dad. Why’d you ask?”

I stare right at him, my mouth falling open.

“The puzzle pieces fucking clicked.”

 

We find Trish and Raoul Colletti still at the docks, on stools as they’re in a bit of a conversation.

What are they talking about? I don’t care at this point. I just want answers — not just for myself and my partner, but for the peace of the woman who lost a part of her family and a part of herself.

Mr. Colletti notices us first. “Oh, it’s you-”

I march in front of Jones, immediately brandishing my handcuffs from my belt. “Trish Colletti,” I say with a scowl, “you are under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Carter.”

Both Collettis fall silent, their eyes landing right on the cuffs I’m holding.

Trish gulps, her hands twitching. “…What?”

Mr. Colletti stands up, trying to block us from his daughter. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, officers! There has to be some mistake, my daughter could never!”

Jones shakes his head, his lips a thin line. “I’m sorry, Mr. Colletti. The evidence doesn’t lie — it ties Trish quite directly to the scene. Her hairs, the cigarette burns on the victim’s chest…the yellow fibers on the victim’s heart from Trish’s shirt…”

All the blood is rapidly rushing out of Mr. Colletti’s face as Jones’s words sink in.

He glances at his daughter, who’s clinging onto his back as if she was an innocent, misunderstood victim in all of this.

But we know better.

And I know he does, too.

He’s frozen absolutely stiff, staring at Trish.

And he moves aside.

Trish’s eyes widen with dismay as I instantly head in with the handcuffs. ”Dad?” She calls.

He turns away, refusing to even look at her.

“You have the right to remain silent,” I say as I pin her hands behind her back. “Everything you say can and will be used against you in a-”

“Dad, you’re not gonna let them arrest me, aren’t you?!” Trish yells. “DAD!! DO SOMETHING!!”

Mr. Colletti puts a hand over his face, letting out a shaky sigh and still refusing to look Trish in the eye. “I-I’m sorry, sweetie,” he mumbles, “they- they have the proof, and-”

He makes one last glance her way. “How- how could you do such a thing?”

Trish’s expression shifts — no, twists — into a hateful, furious snarl. “THAT BITCH SLEPT MY BOYFRIEND!! And she was flirting with you, too, Dad, I saw!! How the hell was I gonna let that fly?!”

Oh my god. I can feel her practically wrenching against my grip as she struggles to break free, but I’m holding firm.

“So you’re telling us that you sliced this girl open because she was a FLIRT?!” Jones shouts, his eyes wide.

“SHE WAS A TRAMP!!” Trish shrieks. “I HAD TO TEACH HER TO BEHAVE!!”

“BY CUTTING HER UP?!” I snap.

“SHE HAD IT COMING!!” She screeches, still thrashing in my hold. “I regret nothing, NOTHING!! SHE BLED OUT LIKE THE PIG-HEADED SLUT SHE WAS!!”

“ENOUGH!!”

I pin Trish against a wall, refusing to let go of her as I adjust the handcuffs on her wrists.

“Trish Colletti, you are under arrest for the vile killing of Jennifer Carter. Anything can — AND WILL —  used against you in a court of law…”

 

The courtroom is buzzing with discussion as the trial starts, and I just don’t want to deal with any of it.

I was right — all the discussion around Jennifer was just about the bloody, gory details of the case. I guess that makes sense, but at the same time…

… this is the only legacy Jennifer will leave behind.

Judge Hall slams her gavel down, shutting everyone up immediately. “ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT!”

Once the whole room goes completely silent, she clears her throat, glaring down at Trish.

“In all my years in this court, never before have I heard of a case as heinous as this one,” she says, her voice booming across the room. “For this reason, Trish Colletti, despite being only 16 years of age, you are being tried as an adult for the kidnapping, torture, and slaughter of Jennifer Carter.”

“I only did what had to be done!!” Trish protests. “Raphael was under her spell, but now he knows I did it for love! For US!!”

“Thank fuck Raphael’s not here in this courtroom right now,” Jones mutters in my ear, “I think he knows he’s lucky you didn’t have time to carve him up as well…”

“I HEARD THAT!!” She shrieks at him out of nowhere, causing the both of us to jump. “STOP LYING!! He hated her, he wanted her gone, she was a WITCH-!”

She tries rushing at us, but a bailiff grabs her from behind, dragging her back to the witness stand as she screeches and thrashes.

Judge Hall bangs down her gavel again. “SILENCE IN THE COURT!!”

Everyone goes silent, save for Trish’s heavy breathing.

Judge Hall turns to Trish. “You are 16 years old. Don’t you think you had anything better to do than worry about your love life? Like school?! College?!”

Trish starts sputtering furiously. “I- I-!”

“What I find the most disappointing about this is the fact that you had your whole life ahead of you, and you chose to throw it all away for a boy who hurt you,” Judge Hall continues. “And look where you are now. Nothing more than a source of dread and shame for not just your victim’s family, but your own as well.”

Trish finally goes silent, staring right up at her.

She clears her throat, turning to address the entire courtroom.

“For the gruesome murder of Jennifer Carter,” she says, “Trish Colletti, you are nearby sentenced to life in jail, with psychological monitoring and a chance for parole in 40 years.”

One last slam of the gavel. “COURT IS ADJOURNED!”

The moment the bailiffs walk up behind Trish, I can see her start to squirm. She’s struggling against them again, trying to break free and scream at Judge Hall and the rest of the court.

“I HATE YOU!! I HATE YOU ALL!!!”

 

Jones immediately sucks in a big breath of air as we exit the courthouse and soak in the setting sun. “…Well! I’m not sorry to see the end of this case, that’s for sure.”

I smile weakly back. “I…yeah. Me too, honestly. This whole thing was a nightmare and a half…” I chuckle slightly.

He nods. “Yeah…I wonder how Mrs. Carter will ever manage to rebuild her life, not gonna lie. She didn’t speak a word at the trial…”

I almost forgot about that. Mrs. Carter was just gazing at Trish with a dull, almost dead look. No words out of her mouth, nothing.

What probably didn’t make things any better is the fact that Trish was floating about the whole thing, too.

I shudder, trying to keep my mind off of it. “…Yeah. I hope she can recover okay. Finding out that your loved one got killed is…truly an experience.”

And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“I dunno how I’d feel in Mr. Colletti’s shoes, either,” Jones continues. “Knowing that your own child is capable of such… cruelty… ”

“The fact that this all came from a love triangle, too,” I add, “just stupid teenager drama taken to an extremely violent level.”

He lets out a huff. “Judge Hall was right. The fact that Trish, Jennifer, and Raphael are all teenagers makes this case just…disappointing and sickening.”

The both of us go quiet, awkwardly standing at a crosswalk.

“You know,” Jones comments, “I’m impressed about one thing about this case, Val.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“The fact that you didn’t even puke once!” He gives me a congratulatory pat on the back. “You’ve got a stronger stomach than me, that’s for sure!”

Notes:

Funnily enough this chapter was shorter than I expected LOL

Chapter 14: The Grim Butcher - 4/4

Summary:

Val and Jones tie up any loose ends after Trish is finally put in prison.

Notes:

Hhhhhh just saying this first, this chapter isn't the best-
I'm not that proud of it, honestly, but I think I might just have way too high of standards for my work, idk
Anyways, enjoy!!

Jones and I are sitting at my desk, the only noises in the room being the sounds of our breathing and Jones’s tabletop fan he took with him whirring on my desk.

Jones is busy gargling water in his throat, which he spits into the garbage can.

“…How’s that supposed to help? I ask curiously.

“I don’t know.” He grumbles. “I guess to gaslight me into feeling cleaner.”

I have no idea what he means by that, but I decide not to argue. 

There’s footsteps from around the corner. We look up, and spot a very familiar white-haired man striding over to us.

“Chief King-!” Jones and I scramble out of our chairs, stand up, and salute.

He lets out a small huff, his mustache twitching slightly as he crosses his arms. “Well, I’ll be,” he says. “Deputy Perez, you and Jones did splendidly with this case.”

His left eyebrow’s up. That’s a good sign, most likely.

“I know it can’t have been a walk in the park, especially because of…the method-” he clears his throat, “-but you kept your cool and got on the bottom of things. Great job!”

… Well, we relatively kept our cool, I ponder to myself as I relax my muscles and give him a polite smile. “Thank you, Chief.”

Jones smiles as well. “Judging by the fact that you’re stopping by like this, though, you’ve got assignments for us to complete?”

Chief King nods, his smile fading into a grim line. “Unfortunately, yes. I think you should check up on Mrs. Carter and Mr. Colletti. Both of them lost a daughter today, and I want to make sure they won’t do anything they might regret.”

God. He’s right, and I’m already silently praying to myself that neither of them let the grief of losing a child consume them.

Loss is a powerful thing.

“Okay,” Jones says, crossing his arms. “We’ll make sure they’re alright, Chief. Is that all?”

He shakes his head. “No. While you’re at it, make sure you check up on that ‘One-Tooth Sam’ fellow. He’s brought up some serious concerns about the safety of the homeless camp…Hooperville, he called it?”

“I- Cooperville, sir,” I reply.

“Ah, yes.” The corners of his mouth twitch up slightly into an awkward little smile. “My apologies. I think old age is starting to catch up with me…” He coughs into his fist. “…Anyway! Carter, Colletti, and Sam. Make sure to check up on them, alright?”

I nod. “Alright. We…we can do that, yeah.”

Jones gives another eager salute. “Aye aye, Chief!”

 

First thing we decided to do was go visit Raoul Colletti. Luckily for us, we had called both Sam and Mrs. Carter, and they seemed relatively alright with being put on a metaphorical queue.

I can’t help but find myself worried about Mrs. Carter, though. I’m wringing my hands and bouncing my leg anxiously as Jones drives the police cruiser to the docks.

Colletti’s pacing around in front of his butcher shop, his feet rapping against the pavement. He’s wiping his hands with a towel — repeatedly, with a level of intensity that definitely for sure isn’t normal.

The moment he spots us exiting the police cruiser, he throws the towel aside, scurrying over to us. “Officers-! Oh, thank goodness! I-I need your help, truly!”

He reeks of sweat and animal blood, and his eyes are bloodshot.

Jones holds up his hands. “Calm down, Mr. Colletti, and explain in full. Start from the beginning.”

“I- alright, alright.” Colletti cracks his knuckles. “Fir- First of all, I still cannot believe that my daughter could do such a terrible thing…and- and second of all, I think- I think I’m going paranoid!”

“…Elaborate, please?” I ask.

“I- I haven’t slept in a while, Deputy!” He exclaims. “Every time I go into that damned warehouse, I see Jennifer’s blood everywhere!!”

Jones opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Raoul is still stammering out his words. “I- I know this is a tall order, officers, and you can brush me away if you want to- but, but please, can you inspect my warehouse and check whether or not there’s anything else tainted with her blood?”

I-

-what-?

We’re completely silent, staring at this incredibly fidgety man in front of us.

He clears his throat to speak again. “O-once again! If you don’t have the time, it’s fine, I’ll just clean it all up myself-”

Jones’s expression pulls into a very, very forced smile as he holds up his hand in reassurance, and I can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to calm Colletti or himself. “…No, no worries, Mr. Colletti! We’ll…we’ll be happy to look at all that blood for you!”

 

“…Okay, Raoul can’t be serious , CAN HE?!” He yells once we’re out of earshot, waving all around the warehouse. ”This place is COVERED in blood!! How in the everloving fuck are we supposed to figure out which is pork and which is woman ?!”

“Why the hell did you accept the task in the first place if you had no idea what to do?!” I demand, turning to glare at him.

“Listen, in my defense, you saw him!” He sputters out. “The poor man was grieving the fact that his daughter is a monster, I didn’t want to upset him!”

I open my mouth, then shut up immediately. “…You know what? Fair enough.”

“Booyah.”

The both us stare again at the misty, frigid, bloody expanse of the warehouse we’re in right now.

I see Jones wrap his arms around himself and shiver. “…So, how are we supposed to do this?”

I squint into the frosty fog as I turn on the lights. “I…Intuition, I guess.”

I scan around, spotting the only empty hook in the warehouse behind a hanged-up pig.

I slowly make my way over, keeping my distance from all the sliced-open cadavers before squinting closer at the hook. Sure enough, I think as I retrace my old steps, that’s the exact hook. Mr. Colletti most likely never touched it, even after Jennifer’s body was removed…

“Considering the fact that Trish hung Jennifer up there,” I say, pointing at it, “we can safely assume that any object……sssss with Jennifer’s blood are most likely in around a…general area, I guess.”

Jones lets out a small huff. “I’m relying on your instincts for this one, Val. If anyone can find human blood in this mess, it’s you!”

“How flattering.”

 

It’s a quick search. Jones and I just scan around the room for something that seems out of place, and the first thing my eyes lay on is a pair of glasses on a clean spot of floor.

“…Did any of the Collettis have poor eyesight?” I mutter out loud. “Or Raphael or Jennifer, for that matter?”

“I don’t recall so?” Jones replies, standing up and stretching his back. “Why’d you ask?”

I hold up the glasses. “Found this on the floor. How much can I bet that these have Jennifer’s blood on them?”

“Hopefully. If not, I dunno what to tell you…”

“I’ll send a sample of the blood on this to Grace,” I offer. “And in the meantime, we can do the other tasks while we wait for her to finish!”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea!” He agrees. “Yeah- yeah, let’s do that! The sooner we get out of this place and get this over with, the better!”

 

Once we drop the sample gathered off at Grace’s lab, we decide to check up with One-Tooth Sam to see how he’s doing. The moment he spots us, he strides over nervously. “Oh, thank goodness! You’re just the people I needed to see!”

“What seems to be the matter, Sam?”

He pauses, itching at his beard. “Look, it’s…it’s honestly a nightmare for everyone here right now! Between the Vipers, Marconi’s henchmen, and the Skulls, things here are getting worse and worse!”

…Who are the Skulls? My brow furrows with confusion.

He notices my confusion and turns to me. “The, uhh, other gang that roams this general area,” He explains. “They’re currently at war with the Vipers, and at this rate, this whole place’s gonna blow sky-high!”

Oh, that’s not good-

“Anyway,” he continues, “We have to hide everything we have, or those goons take it from us!”

Jones nods. “I understand your frustration, Sam, but so far we haven’t been able to pin anything on those guys…we’re trying our best, but right now-”

Sam smiles sheepishly at us and shakes his head. “Ha! Nah, don’t worry, I get it. I’m not asking for much…” He itches the back of his neck, causing flecks of dead skin to fling off. “...okay, now that I think about it, I could’ve just done this myself-”

“No, no, don’t worry!” I say, holding up my hands. “We’re here to help. What do you need, sir?”

He chuckles nervously. “Okay, uhh…listen. I’m a bit of a busy man right now, trying to work to keep morale high in this camp. I wanna try to talk to everyone, lift their spirits a little, that sort of thing, you know?”

Jones nods. “Go on.”

Sam clears his throat as he glances at him. “...I just can’t seem to figure out where I’ve hidden my lucky gold tooth. I don’t really have the time to look for it right now…and I’ve heard that your pal Val is a crack at finding lost things.”

Oh?
I can’t help it. My cheeks flush a little pink at the compliment. I have no idea why.

Jones chuckles and ruffles my hair. “Well, you hear that, Val? You’ve got a bit of a reputation!”

Sam lets out a snort through his nose. “D-Did I startle you? My apologies, Deputy-!”

“No, no, it’s fine!” I yelp, trying to hide my face behind my hands. “I just didn’t expect my name to spread so quickly! We’ll- we’ll find that tooth for you, don’t worry!”

Sam lets out a hearty laugh. “Thank you, you two! I gotta go check up on people right now, so…”

Jones nods. “We got it, Sam. You don’t need to mind.”

 

Jones and I scour all over the camp — looking through nooks and crannies, searching under cloth, wood, and metal, even asking around a couple of the residents. Unfortunately, we aren’t having that much luck finding it, but considering the amount of blood and gore we’ve faced today, a normal search for a normal item is a therapeutic change of pace.

Thank god.

My eyes eventually land on a trash can laying on its side, and I peer at it from a distance to try to assess any glint of gold.

“…You wanna search through that trash can?” Jones asks, looking over my shoulder. “Your flair might not be as good after you subject yourself to those fumes, y’know!” He snickers lightly.

“I think at this point, a trash can that I’m sure doesn’t have some sort of guts in it is a trash can I’ll willingly search indeed,” I reply. “…Also, I‘ll just take a shower at home. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “…You make a fair point. Be my guest!”

I walk over to the trash can, snap on a pair of gloves, and get to work sitting through trash. I’m holding my breath as much as possible, searching for any sign of a tooth.

And as I reach into a small pile of food scraps, I find it. A little gold tooth — judging by the shape, I assume it’s a molar.

Jones whistles, crossing his arms and leaning against a pillar. “Great job! Not gonna lie, I thought that the trash can would be more of a challenge. That thing is tiny!”

“I thought so too, I guess,” I respond, putting the trash back into the can and pushing it back upright. “But hey, we got it! Let’s give this back to Sam.”

“Alright! I spotted him somewhere that way…”

I follow Jones as we tread our way back where we came from, and sure enough, Sam is talking to someone else when he spots us coming his way.

“Here you go, Sam!” I exclaim proudly, handing him our prize. “One gold tooth! Fresh from the trash!”

Sam’s eyes widen as he takes it into his rough, calloused hands, squinting down at it. “Already?! Damn, I see the guys didn’t lie! You ARE a crack! Thanks, Deputy!” He chortles, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, I helped a bit too, you know!” Jones protests.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk. “Sure…” he reaches out, ruffling Jones’s hair, “…the important thing is that you believe it, haha!”

He turns back to me. “I’m pretty good at finding stuff too, by the way! I actually found something yesterday, hold on-!”

He hurries off into the crowd, leaving Jones and me alone.

Not even a moment later, he comes back, breathing like he had just run a marathon with something in his hands. “ Phew!— I think my age is startin’ to catch up to me, heh…anyways, this is for you!”

I hold out a hand in curiosity, and he gives me a cap — a brown jaunty cap with a fabric patch on the top. “It’s a little musty…” he admits. “I found it in a construction site and fixed it up the best I could.”

I nod with a silly little smile, holding the hat close. “It’s great! Thank you, Sam!”

 

After saying goodbye to Sam, we head back to Grace’s lab to get the analysis results about that blood sample we collected.

She’s scratching the side of her neck, slightly confused. “I took a look at the blood you got from those glasses, you two, and it comes up positive for the victim! But I thought this case was closed?”

Jones chuckles. “Yeah, long story…”

“I can wait.” She crosses her arms. “I’ve got some time, anyway!”

He clears his throat awkwardly, glancing at me. “So, uhhh…how about you tell her?”

“I…oh, you-? I- uh…fine.”

I turn to Grace and explain the whole thing to her — Raoul’s call, his request, and his admittance of paranoia. I can see her brow furrow with concern.

“That makes sense. If you can, maybe tell Mr. Colletti I send my best wishes.” She puts her clipboard down.

“Alright!” Jones nods at her. “Thanks, Grace. I dunno what we’ll do without you!”

 

Once we head back to the docks, we scan the place for any sign of Colletti. He’s sitting in front of the warehouse, wiping furiously at the door handle with a towel.

“Mr. Colletti-?”

“AUGH!!” He flips around immediately, his eyes completely wide with terror until he recognizes that it’s just us. “-Oh. Hello, officers.” He coughs into his fist. “So…did you-?”

Jones holds up the pair of glasses (which we had previously cleaned and sterilized). “This was the only item we could find that had traces of Jennifer’s blood on them.”

Colletti’s eyes light up with realization. “I…my ex-wife’s glasses! How the hell did they end up in-?!” He takes it from Jones, holding it in his hands as he takes a good, hard squint.

He glances back at the warehouse door, then back at the glasses.

“I…you know what? Never mind. At least it’s over, somewhat…”

He lets out a huff as he puts it into his apron pocket. “Either way, thank you for helping me! If everyone was as selfless as you both, maybe my daughter wouldn’t have become a murderer…”

“…Unfortunately, we’ll never know that, will we?”

A weak chuckle leaves his throat. “…I guess not. Anyway, thanks again. Maybe now I can finally sleep at night…”

 

Last, but not least, we finally stop by Mrs. Carter’s home.

Her front door is ajar.

“…That’s…odd,” I hear Jones mutter. “You think we should just…enter?”

As we step into the front yard, I can vaguely recognize the sound of clattering coming from inside the house.

Oh, that’s certainly not good. We exchange a concerned glance, and I make the first move. I head forward and trod inside, wiping my shoes on the “welcome” may to avoid trekking dirt everywhere.

The clattering’s coming from upstairs.

“…Mrs. Carter?” I call.

A pause of nothing.

“…Mrs. Carter,” I say again, “this is Deputy Perez and Inspector Jones. We just came by to see how you were holding up-”

SMASH!!

Something shatters into pieces on the floor above us, causing us to flinch. I hear an incoherent voice yelling in frustration before the sounds of footsteps follow. Finally, as Jones walks up behind me, we both spot Mrs. Carter sprinting down the stairs, breathing heavily as she’s practically gripping the guardrail.

She at least seems…better than before? Her eyebags are lighter, and there’s only tears pinpricking in the corners of her eyes. Which…isn’t much of an improvement.

“Oh, officers!!” She shouts, rushing right at us, grabbing Jones by the shoulders, and throttling the crap out of him. “You’re just in time — you’ve gotta help me, please!!”

“Mrs. Carter, please, calm down!” I stammer out, managing to squeeze myself in between the both of them. “Take a breather and start from the top, alright? Remember what Jones told you before, breathe in, then out…”

She immediately takes my advice, sucking in air through her nose, then exhaling a shaky breath.

“Okay, good…repeat.”

She does. In, then out.

We do this a couple times before her shoulders finally relax, letting out one last quivering huff. “Augh, I am so sorry…” she whispers. “I…Inspector Jones, are you alright?”

Jones is trying to get his bearings together, but he manages to nod. “Hm? A-ah, yes, I’m fine, don’t worry-”

She nods. “Ah, alright…yes, that’s good, that’s good…”

She’s still pacing around the room, her eyes searching every little crevice they see.

Is she…looking for something?

“...You said you needed help, didn’t you?” I pipe up. “Do you need help?”

She snaps her fingers. “A-Ah, yes! My sweet baby girl is going to be buried soon, and I can’t find her baptism medal anywhere!!”

“Her baptism medal?” Jones inquires.

She nods, turning back to the stairwell. “Yes, her baptism medal! She needs to wear it for her eternal rest- I placed it in one of my drawers, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere!!”

His brow furrows. “Maybe you misplaced it somewhere else?”

“I think so,” she replies. “I turned over the entire bedroom, and it’s just not there…!”

Immediately, she bounds back up the stairs, disappearing around a corner.

We’re left at the bottom, staring at where she was. The sounds of rustling and crashing resurface once again above us, and Jones sighs. “I’ll go help her look for the baptism medal. How about you search around on this floor and see if she may have left it there?”

“Should I text you if I find it?” I question.

“Call or text, I don’t mind,” he replies as he goes over to the stairs. “From what I can tell, it’s at least somewhere in this house…”

…That’s a lot of ground to cover. Fortunately, though, I’ve covered larger. “...Don’t worry,” I declare, giving him a thumbs up. “I got this.”

He gives me a thumbs up and a grin in return. “That’s my partner.”

 

Once Jones headed upstairs, I started my search, scouring the entirety of the first floor for the medal.

The interior is…smaller and plainer than I expected. The living room only has a couch, some tables, and an ottoman as its furniture, and there’s a lamp placed on the floor in the corner. In the guest room, there’s a bed covered with sheets and pillows, a bedside desk, and a closet, but that’s it.

In fact, most of the rooms are completely organized…everything’s in place, like I just stepped into a newly cleaned hotel room.

And then I reenter the kitchen.

Everything is untouched from the last time Jones and I were here — the paper towel roll on the counter still on its side, the exact same dirty plates in the sink, that half-cooked fried egg still in the pan and starting to stink.

Well, almost everything’s untouched. First of all, from what I can tell, there’s a book missing from the stack of books leaning against a wall.

Did someone take it? I can’t help but wonder. I guess she probably moved something around, but I swear, last time checked, there was another book here-

-Oh, wait, no, Jones and I took in Jennifer’s diary as evidence, that’s why there’s a space. Never mind.

I shake my head. What if I return the diary to Mrs. Carter? She’d want that, wouldn’t she? I’m pretty sure it’s locked up in the evidence archives somewhere…No, Val. Focus. Focus on finding that baptism medal.

Second of all, from what I can tell, Mrs. Carter had duct-taped the fridge door shut like it was its own crime scene blocked off from the public. The roll’s still lying on the floor.

I can’t say she’s wrong for doing that.

I get down on my hands and knees and peek under the fridge, looking for anything suspicious.

There-! A glint of gold flashes in my line of sight. The crevice under the fridge is too small for my hand to fit – every time I try shoving my hand inside, my efforts turn out fruitless. It’s not like I can even reach it if my hand was smaller or the gap was bigger – the light is coming from farther inside.

How the hell can I reach it?

 

“TITI!!!” I whine, constantly trying to jam my hand under the mini-fridge. “TITI, I NEED HELPPP!!”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “▇▇, what are you doing now?”

“I dropped a pencil and it rolled under the fridge!!” I pout, staring back up at her with watery, doelike eyes.

“Can’t you get a new one?”

“I like this pencil, and I want it back!”

“Tch, just get a new one at this point, muchachito. Try to reach there, and you’ll get your fingers chewed up by bugs. And you don’t want that, do you?”

“I-” I pout even harder. “-it’s my lucky pencil, though!! I need it for my homework, titi, or else I’ll get answers wrong!” I get down on my hands and knees, putting my hands together. “Pleaaaaseeeee?”

She scoffs, still staring down at me.
“...Fine. I’ll be right back.”

As I glance up, she’s already walking out of the room, and she comes back a moment later with some tape and a yardstick.

“Watch and learn, kiddo,” she declares with a smirk. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

 

Some tape and a yardstick.

I look around the kitchen, snatching the roll of duct tape from the floor. Standing up, I see a spatula and some other utensils sticking out of the sink.

No yardstick. I guess I’ll make do with what I have…Hopefully, Mrs. Carter won’t mind what I have planned.

 

After a bit of…improvisation, I actually manage to pull out the item under the fridge.

…Or actually, what’s left of it. I can tell it’s a medal, but it’s shattered into a bunch of pieces.

My heart sinks into my gut. Oh, god. How in the hell-?

I peel off each piece from the tape and lay it on the floor, trying to make some sort of vague idea reminiscent of what it might’ve been before.

Aren’t baptism medals usually made up of pure gold or silver? What kind of metal snaps into this many pieces?!

It’s a medal, I’m sure of it, but the material is probably some sort of plastic coated in some sort of good-ish quality gold spray paint.

Metal or not, I can’t give it to Mrs. Carter like this, that’s for sure.

Her potential sobs of despair start ringing in my ears, and I shake my head.

I had some glue in my forensics kit, right? Maybe I can fix this —

I stand up, sprinting down the hall to get back to the cruiser. Go, Val, go! Go as fast as you can-

 

Lesson learned — with some quick-drying glue, a cotton swab, and some quick thinking, you can fix almost any small object if you’re okay enough.

And here I am, on my hands and knees, cleaning away any excess glue to make the cracks look at least a little less obvious.

It is a baptism medal, at least, so there’s that. Once I confirm to myself it looks good enough, I snap a picture of the front and back and send it to Jones.

Hey

Found this in the kitchen and fixed it up. Is this Jennifer’s medal?

Standing up, I stretch my back a little, waiting patiently for a response.

Looks like a baptism medal He texts back. Hold on, we’re coming downstairs

Right away, I hear the desperate pounding of footsteps as Mrs. Carter bounds down the stairs first, rushing right at me and the medal in my hands.

I immediately hand it to her, and she starts flipping it around over and over in her palm, squinting right down at it.

“...Mrs. Carter?” Jones calls at her as he saunters up to us. “So, is that medal your daughter’s?”

“I- I…” Her breath is rapid, refusing to relax at all. “I-it looks like it, yes, but her older sister has the same…” She keeps flipping the medal over and over, the huffs coming out of her lungs becoming more and more rapid. “The…the birthdate! I CAN’T READ THE BIRTHDATE-!!”

Uh oh. “Do you need me to decipher it for you?” I offer, holding out a hand. “I can figure it out…”

Jones nods. “Yeah, let Deputy Perez fix it for you, she’s pretty good at this, and she only has three cases under her belt.”

She nods, handing the medal to me. “I- okay, okay…do you need anything?”

I think for a moment. “1 piece of paper and a marker. I’ll get this done in no time, Mrs. Carter.” I give her a small, comforting smile.

And for the first time since the beginning of this case, her lips curve slightly into a slight smile of her own.

“...Thank you, Deputy.”

 

Honestly, I had no idea how to properly read the markings on the medal, so I spent most of this time squinting at it and trying to decipher the etchings into the back. However, considering everything Mrs. Carter’s gone through, giving up just seems cruel.

So I continue trying my best to make out as much as I can, one letter at a time.

April…Twelfth…Nineteen Ninety-Five.

…Did the priest really have to write out the date like that? My eyebrows are scrunched up as I look interchangeably between my writing and the medal on the counter.

I clear my throat. “...Mrs. Carter?”

She looks up from her hands. “Yes?”

“Is Jennifer’s birthdate ‘April 12, 1995’?”

Immediately, her expression lights up. “I…yes! Yes, it is!”

Wait, really?

I watch as Mrs. Carter swipes the medal and paper out of my hands, glancing between both and muttering to herself.

“Oh, yes…yes, this is her medal!!” Her lips are curved into a genuine, hopeful smile. She lets out a sob of relief, clutching the medal close to her heart. “Oh, thank you, thank you, officers!!”

Oh, thank goodness. Every single muscle in my body relaxes and I let out a sigh I didn’t even know I was holding in.

Jones gives me a small whistle. “Well, didn’t expect you to solve that so quickly…well, guess our job here is done, eh?”

I nod. “Yeah, I guess so.”

We start leaving the kitchen, Jones leading the way after a job well done.

Both our footsteps are almost dragging on the floor as we trudge our way back to the front door. I lean back, letting out a sigh as I stare up at the ceiling lights.

Finally. It’s all over. All I just need to do right now is get back to the station and take a break…

“Oh! Officers, um, one more thing!”

We both glance back at Mrs. Carter, now standing halfway out of the kitchen. She’s fidgeting with the medal in her fingers as she gazes at us.

“Hm?” Jones raises an eyebrow as he turns around. “Do you need anything else, Mrs. Carter?”

She clears her throat, placing the medal on the kitchen counter. “Hm…ah, yes. May I…treat you to something? Tea, perhaps?”

Oh?

Jones and I share a glance for a moment.

She itches the back of one of her arms awkwardly. “I’d offer coffee, too, but I can’t find the machine anywhere for some reason…”

Jones purses his lips. The look he gives me is one I somehow understand immediately, and I turn back to her.

“...I don’t see why not.”

Notes:

Lowkey this whole chapter's kind of a drag but hey, stay tuned for the bonus chapter before the next case! Just them chilling before the next case :]

Chapter 15: "It Gets Better."

Summary:

Jones and Val have a conversation with Mrs. Carter over some tea.

Notes:

A bit of a smaller bonus chapter for today!
I'm so sorry this took so long, I wasn't feeling the best.
Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy! :]
BTW: Charlotte Carter is an OC that belongs to my friend Ziggy!! Go check her out, she's zgothaurus on TikTok and bonecuisine on Tumblr :]

The only sound in the air is the wheezing of the tea kettle.

Jones and I are sitting at the table, leaning back in our chairs as Mrs. Carter leans against the counter, staring off into the distance.

It’s almost freeing, just being here like this. Nothing really crazy to worry about…

“…Mrs. Carter, do you need to sit down?” Jones asks. “I can stand up for a bit-”

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” She replies. “Just feeling a little…spaced out.”

“Hm. Alright. Understandable.”

I shift around a bit awkwardly in my chair, shifting my head the moment I hear a small ding!

“Ah, tea’s ready!”

Mrs. Carter reaches into a cupboard, pulling out two teacups and setting them in front of us. “Be careful, tea’s hot.”

“We‘ll be wary,” Jones replies with a nod.

She puts on oven mitts, grabs the kettle, and carefully pours it into the cups in front of us. I blow on mine, taking the time to squint down at the detail.

The cups seem like they’re either made from china or porcelain, with tiny but colorful drawings lining the rim. They’re…delicate. Comforting.

“These cups are very pretty,” I can’t help but say.

“Th-thank you! I got them from my older daughter’s friend…”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “I don’t remember you mentioning another daughter. Do you mind telling us about her?”

Her expression brightens and she nods. “Yes! Charlotte Carter. Hold on! I have a photo of her…” She dashes into the living room, leaving us alone.

“…Do you think Charlotte knows?” I inquire, carefully picking up my teacup. “About…you know. Jennifer?”

Jones ponders the question. “I’m pretty sure the news should’ve reached her by now. From what I read in the files, she’s currently at Grimsborough University…”

“I see.” I take a tentative sip of tea, swishing it around in my mouth for a bit before swallowing. It’s floral, with a couple hints of citrus and sweetness. “…What flavor is this?”

He raises an eyebrow, taking his own teacup and sipping. “Tastes like Earl Grey. Mrs. Carter has some good taste…”

Speaking of Mrs. Carter, she bounds back into the kitchen with a photo in her hands. “My apologies for the wait, for some reason I couldn’t find it anywhere, and it turns out that it was in the bedroom and not the living room-!”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” He tells her, holding up his hands.

“I- very well.”

She slides the photo to the both of us, and we take a look.

It’s Jennifer with an older girl in front of the Grimsborough University campus. The girl looks strikingly like Jennifer, with the same blonde hair, and brown eyes. She’s got her arm around Jennifer, ruffling up her hair.

They’re both smiling, grinning in the setting sun in the distance.

“…That girl is Charlotte?” I ask.

Mrs. Carter nods slowly, glancing away. “Yes. That photo was taken on Charlotte’s  first day at college.”

I look back at the photo, at the girls’ huge smiles in what is probably one of the best days of their lives.

I can’t help but wonder how Charlotte feels. She’ll never see her sister again.

“...I’d like to apologize.”

We both glance back at Mrs. Carter as she clears her throat.

“...Again.”

I can’t help but frown. “...Mrs. Carter, you know you don’t have to apologize, right?”

“I-I know, but…” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve caused you trouble. A-a lot of it.”

…HUH?

Jones and I share a small gaze.

“You wanted to give your testimony and help with the case, didn’t you?” Jones pipes up before blowing on his beverage. “You helped the case more than you hurt.”

“But- but I still had a full-on mental breakdown in front of you two!” She stammers.

She can’t be serious, right?!

“I made an utter fool of myself, being upset like that-”

“-Over something you had every right to be upset over?”

The words leave my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying.

Both she and Jones fall silent.

“E-excuse me?” She stammers.

Shit. No turning back now.

“Your daughter just died a horrible death,” I tell her. “And you have every right to be upset about that. You’re apologizing for something you do not need to apologize for.”

Her mouth’s hanging open, but she doesn’t say anything.

“The emotions you’re going through are completely normal.” I suck in a breath. “Trust me…I know how it feels.”

Her eyes widen. She stares at me with a gaped-open, shocked expression.

I let out the air in my lungs. “You…you get what I’m saying?”

She slowly nods. “...Yes. Yes, I do.”

I can see Jones fidgeting with his sleeve cuffs out of the corner of my eye as the room goes completely silent yet again.

One second.

Two seconds.

Everything feels like it’s frozen in time.

And then, Jones speaks.

“...You have a very nice garden, Mrs. Carter.”

He’s trying to switch the subject. Have Mrs. Carter keep her mind on good times rather than the bad. Honestly, I thank him for it.

Her eyes visibly brighten the moment Jones starts talking about the garden, and I feel the tension in the room slowly ease away as she begins talking about the fond memories of every plant in that yard.

 

By the time our conversations finally wrap up, the sun’s already setting outside.

“Oh, god, it’s really fucking late,” Jones says with a small chuckle. “Thank you for your generosity, Mrs. Carter.”

“It’s no problem!” She replies with a tired but peaceful smile. “Thank you for bringing my Jenny’s killer to justice.”

“Get some rest and take care of yourself,” I tell her as I stand up. “Self care is important, after all.”

“I will, I will…” She’s already cleaning up the table, stacking teacups and taking them over to the sink. “I have to stay strong for Charlotte…”

“She’s lucky to have you as her mom,” Jones notes as he heads towards the doorway. “Anyway, we’ll be off!”

As he exits the kitchen, I begin to follow him.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Carter! I hope your day gets better.”

“Deputy Perez?”

I stop, one foot out of the kitchen, glancing back at her.

She’s holding the kettle in her hands, her emotions in her eyes unreadable.

“Do you…need something?” I inquire.

She puts the kettle down on the counter. “You..you said you’ve gone through something similar, right?”

Ah. The question causes me to flinch a little. “Oh…yes, yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“...Does it get better?”

This is when I pause. Her question almost feels like someone took my brain and squeezed all the juice out of it, because I have no clue how to respond.

Does it get better?

“Ah, well…” I scratch the back of my neck.

She’s still staring right at me.

I shake my head and shrug. “I…I don’t know. I think, at the end of the day, what matters is how you cope with it. But I’m pretty sure that if you manage to get through it, then…yes. It does get better.”

It’s an answer I just threw right in. I’m already silently praying that it’s one she’ll accept, too, because dear god, if she’s asking for advice, I have no idea how to give it-

She nods. “...Very well.Thank you, Deputy.”

I slowly nod back. “...It’s no issue. Again, thank you for the tea.”

And like that, I turn and leave the Carter residence.

 

As I make it outside, I see Jones already inside the car, presumably texting one of our colleagues. I’m going down the front steps when I feel a bit of moisture drop on my head.

Rain.

I look up, seeing tiny little globules of water gradually fall from the sky, popping on whatever surface they hit. And I can’t help but just stand there for a small bit, savoring the feeling of…everything right about now.

Maybe she’s crying, a small thought comments in the back of my mind, crying because she’s finally free. Tears of relief.

I take in a breath of the cool evening air, then let it all out as I head to the car.

Ready for another day ahead.

Notes:

I think going over this case again for the last couple of chapters has made me realize how genuinely tragic it is. Jennifer and Trish were both teenagers, and this whole thing had escalated from some shitty love drama. It...sucks. Trish deserved mental help, and Jennifer deserved better, period.
And that's what I wanted to show here. This case definitely didn't have that much impact on the whole plot of the game, but it definitely did have an impact on many, that's for sure.
I hope I did this case justice! Stay tuned for the next case, y'all!
ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Chapter 16: The Dockyard Killer - 1/4

Summary:

"Who the hell is that?"
He squints in the distance, the cigarette still between his teeth as he finally parks the barge into place.
The guy over there is sleeping, lying on the ground with his back leaning against the box.
Probably some dude high on whatever he could lay his hands on.
Of course.
He steps off the barge, striding over for yet another routine chase-off.
"OI!" He calls. "YOU THERE! This place is restricted! You better scram, go shoot up drugs somewhere else!"
Nothing. The guy doesn't move.
He continues walking over, now feeling even more annoyed. "You hear me?! Scram!"
Nothing.
He continues squinting, trying his best to study him.
*Wait.*
He pauses.
*Is that...*
Oh, god. It is.
BLOOD.

Notes:

If the last case wasn't enough, Val and Jones are back at the docks, ready to take on a new case.
[CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of drug/substance use and misuse. It's not graphic discussion, but it's still something to be warned about.]

For the next couple of days after Jennifer Carter’s case, I just spent my time…taking it kind of easy.

Usually, I’d spend my work days just filling out and filing paperwork, keeping everything in relative order at my desk. It’s…pretty monotonous, boring work, but it’s enough to at least keep me busy, and it’s better than nothing.

Also, it’s peaceful, calm work. The loudest noise I hear during this period of time is the beeps of the cars outside during the daily traffic jam.

But besides that, nothing much really happens.

That is, until something does.

 

As I stack another pile of folders on my desk, I spot Jones sauntering up to me.

”Hey, Val!” He exclaims, his eyes that same twinkling blue. “How are you today?”

I shrug. “Doing quite well. Same old, same old…” As I glance up at him, I notice that he’s got both of his hands behind his back. “…What’cha got there?”

He shrugs, whistling casually. “Oh, nothing much. Ran into the Chief today, and he told me that he was quite busy with some calls. So, he gave me the honor of giving you a little somethin’…”

He takes out one hand and slides something onto my desk in front of me.

A badge — a bigger and brighter one than the one on my uniform. It takes me a second to process what’s even going on.

“I- wait a second, I’m being-?”

He nods, the grin plastered onto his face. “Congratulations, Deputy! Or should I say ‘Detective’?”

I carefully replace my old badge with my new one, the pride in my soul rising as I take all of this in. “I- I’m going up pretty quickly, damn-!”

“You really are!” He ruffles my hair a bit with a small chuckle. “Sooner or later, you’ll be one of the best cops in this city, I know it!”

“Thank you!” I say, smiling up at him. “Thank you so much!”

He laughs. “Don’t thank me, thank the Chief!”

I stare down at the badge once again, taking in all the achievements I’ve reached up to this point. Maybe now, I can adequately stand next to all the members of my family.

As I look back up, I notice Jones’s smile fall, and he clears his throat. “Well, speaking of the Chief. He’s assigned us to a new case — a murder that happened at the docks.”

O h .

“Well, that’s…certainly a mood killer,” I mutter with a frown.

“It is, isn’t it?” He responds with a small huff through his nose. “So, uhh…you ready to solve a new case? Granted, considering why we had to see last time, I get it if you’re a little…you know.” He purses his lips then opens them, letting out a small pop . “…hesitant.”

“…How gruesome is this murder, then?” I mutter.

“Well, luckily, from what I heard, this one’s only been stabbed in the gut,” he says, “so not that gruesome.”

I raise an eyebrow, slowly getting out of my chair. “Well, considering the past couple of days were just me sitting at this desk doing paperwork, I think a walk at the docks would help a little…”

“Great!” He gives me a pat on the back. “They’re waiting for us to process the scene, let’s go!”

 

The murder scene was coincidentally a little bit further down the docks than Raoul Colletti’s butcher shop. As we pass by those warehouses in the cruiser, I find myself completely, suddenly, unrelatedly interested in the buildings on the other side of me.

Eventually, though, we reach the docks and step out of the car.

The first thing I notice is the dead body – a man lying against a crate covered in a blue tarp. He’s wearing jeans, cheap brown shoes, and a dirty green tank top.

Complete with a massive bloody stab wound right in the middle of his abdomen.

He’s pale, completely pale – bled out on the dockyard grounds, nothing more than a mess of flesh, hair, cloth, and cold sweat.

His hand’s resting on his abdomen, right under the huge gash in his gut. Probably grabbed his stomach after getting stabbed, stumbling back before finally succumbing to his wound.

I shake my head. Stop ogling him. Focus on the crime scene.

There’s a couple pieces of plastic next to his foot – probably shattered on the pavement when dropped. With my gloves on, I pick them up, scrutinizing them in my hands.

I think it’s a cartoon skull? I try my best to reorganize the little chunks on my palms in order to try to make some sort of coherent image.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jones crouch down and reach into the victim’s pocket, pulling out a musty leather wallet and opening it. “...Hm. According to our victim’s ID, his name is…‘Dan Broke’?”

He glances down at the body and frowns. “Name feels like some sort of cruel irony, not gonna lie. Judging by his physical condition and the fact that we’re in the Industrial Center, I have a feeling that the guy was trying his damn hardest to even scrape by.”

I nod, my lips pressed into a grim line. “That’s true. When are the paramedics coming to pick up his body for autopsy?”

“They’re gonna be here soon. The autopsy results won’t be ready in a few hours,  but I think we’ll find enough to keep us busy for now…” He pauses, glancing at me. “...hey, what’s that in your hand?”

“Oh, this?” I hold up the shattered pieces at him. “Pretty sure it’s some sort of badge?”

“Hmmm…” I see him stroke his chin, his brow furrowing in thought. “Alright, let’s come up with some sort of ‘to-do list’. We got Dan’s wallet to search through, that badge to put back together, or we talk to the guy who called in the body.”

“He’s around here?”

“Presumably.” He glances around. “Chief King said that Jodie told him to stay out near the crime scene, and he obliged…”

Jodie? “That friend of yours you mentioned at the welcome party?” I ask.

He nods eagerly. “Yeah! I haven’t told you that much about them, but they’re a 911 operator!”

I let out a small whistle. “Oh, shit…Isn’t that job infamously extremely mentally draining?”

“I mean, yeah, but isn’t any law enforcement job?”  He looks back at the body. “You see and hear…a lot of fucked up shit when you go down this path. But hey, we’ve already lasted this far,  despite what’s been thrown our way!”

He gives me a soft smile as he pats my shoulder. “And hey, I have faith in Jodie, too. I’ve known them since we were kids, staying strong in the face of everything was honestly their thing! We’ve already lasted around seven years in our respective fields, how could seven more hurt us?”

“I guess you’re right.” I raise an eyebrow and shrug. “Anyway, I’ll bag the evidence and see if I can find the caller first. Maybe he even saw the killer anywhere.”

“Your call. Hopefully, he didn’t wander away…”

 

After putting away the wallet and badge shards to examine later, we walk around the area to see if there’s anyone of note.

There’s only a single person leaning against a crate, his greenish-grey eyes darting around as he nervously flicks his lighter at the cigarette in his mouth.

He’s tall – my guess, around 6 feet tall – with a black hoodie, jeans, and black beanie tucked over a mop of long, greasy blond hair. The moment his eyes lay on us as we walk over to him, he chokes, dropping the cigarette to the ground and smushing it into pieces with his shoe.

“ AHM-! AHEM-! MHM-! ” He covers his mouth as he clears his throat. “Excuse me. Got a bit caught up.”

He lets out one last “AHEM” before brushing his hands on his pants and turning to us. “Um. You guys the police?”

“What does it look like?” Jones crosses his arms.

“Sorry, sorry!” The man mutters gruffly, holding up his hands. “In my defense, you know how fucked up it can get here. Didn’t wanna take any chances in case you guys were, uhh, gang members in disguise, I dunno.”

Jones’s brow furrows. “The Vipers and the Skulls are many things, but ‘smart’ is definitely not one of them.” He shakes his head. “But anyway, back to the original topic.”

I take this as my cue to pull out my notepad and pen.

“Are you the ‘James Smith’ from the phone call?” Jones asks.

The man nods, taking off his beanie and running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s me. Should I, uhh, start from the beginning, or-?”

“Start from the beginning,” I suggest.

“Alright.” He clears his throat. “So. I’m a barge driver, right? So I’m going down the river towards the, uhh…” His hands start jazzing up as he frowns. “You know, the, uhh, parky- thingy-”

“...The port?” Jones’s brow furrows.

James snaps his fingers. “Yeah, uhh, that! So, I’m parking the barge, right? I’m looking left, then right, then left again, then right again, then I spot that guy on the docks, just lying there.”

James Smith – Barge driver, I write down. Maybe a bit high. Was parking barge when he saw something suspicious.

“...Go on,” Jones says.

“Alright. So anyway,” James clears his throat, “I see the guy on the docks, and I’m confused as to why he’s just lying there. So I call out to him. ‘Hey! What are you doing in this area? You don’t like an employee here’, that kind of thing, right?”

“...And what happened?”

“He wouldn’t answer, so once I parked the barge, I went over to check on him. Thought that he was most likely either drunk or at least a little bit zooted. Maybe both.”

“And let me guess,” Jones comments, “you realized he was dead?”

James nods nervously, his teeth clenched together. “Yeah, I saw the blood and the fucking stab wound, and I freaked the hell out! I was like, ‘Oh, shit! This poor bastard’s actually dead, gotta call the cops!’”

Found body on docks after parking barge. Thought that victim was just high. Was wrong.

“Is that it?” I inquire.

He nods. “Yeah, that’s basically it. After that I just took a stroll and decided to just take a smoke…and that’s when you guys came in!”

Jones frowns. “You sure you didn’t see anything else? Another person, perchance?”

He shakes his head, pulling another cigarette out of his hoodie. “Nah. The part of the river where I saw the guy is always deserted. No people, nuh uh, no one. That’s why I was caught off guard when I even found that dude to begin with…”

 

After we thank James Smith for his information, we go back to the car and take a look at the two pieces of evidence we had found near the body.

First, the pieces of plastic. It takes me a lot of patience and precision (and a LOT of glue), but I do   finally manage to piece it together.

Sure enough, it’s got a cartoon skull emblazoned on the front. “Seems like something out of an alternative clothing store…” I mutter, squinting down at it.

Jones lets out a scoff. “Looks like something I’d wear when I was a teenager.” He shakes his head. “But hey, that badge didn’t end up at the crime scene by pure chance, didn’t it?”

I nod as I slip it back into the evidence baggie. “Yeah, I think our best bet is to send it to Alex.”

“Agreed. How about the wallet?” He hands it to me in another baggie.

I pull it out and open it. “Let’s see…alright, Dan Broke. What can you tell us from the grave?”

Despite it being stuffed to the brim to the point it’s almost bulging, the first thing I notice is the fact that there’s almost no actual money inside. No credit card at all, and only a dollar and 87 cents in coins stuffed into one pocket. The rest of the stuff inside’s just plain-old junk – old receipts, torn-up pieces of paper, some bloody tissues…

…all with notes scribbled onto them, filling any sort of empty space available. I’m no good at analyzing handwriting, but even I can tell that each mark was scrawled in some sort of desperation or hurry.

“REMINDER – Owe Jeremy $20”

“$30 for Kevin”

“Pay rent: $300 a month”

I can even spot a couple notes of this guy’s rushed math equations – completely botched equations as he tried to calculate something about money or cash.

Holy shit, this guy was in LOADS of debt… I frown even harder, squinting at the papers.

However, some certain words catch my eye.

“REMINDER – $60 FOR COCAINE. CHEAPEST AND CLOSEST FIX”

“$40 HEROIN”

“$55 METH”

Oh, god.

Now I know where most of his money went.

My heart slowly sinks into my stomach with dread as I process every single word in front of me.
I’m reading the notes of a man set on a path to destroy himself from the inside out.

If his killer didn’t get to him first, then his addictions probably would’ve.

“Jesus, this guy was a junkie,” I mutter.

I can see Jones’s expression soften with sympathy as he takes in what I just said, staring at the amount of papers strewn all over my lap. “Yeah, it’s…it’s a pretty unfortunate thing you see a lot around here.”

I slump back in my seat, looking down at the scraps on my legs. “I… fuck, man. I don’t even know what to say.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Let’s just…focus on bringing his killer to justice, alright? Like what Chief King’ll probably say, ‘stopping to smell the roses will only hinder, not help’. You find anything of note?”

I shake my head. “Besides the various notes indicating that this man was spiraling mentally, no…” I continue sifting around, weaving my fingers through papers and pockets until I actually manage to pull out something.

“Hey, wait a minute. This one’s got an address written on the back.” I yank out a small slip of paper and squint down at it.

“198 Elk Avenue.”

Immediately, I see him raise an eyebrow. “Hey, wait a minute!” He exclaims. “I know that address!”

“You do?”

“Yeah, we’re often called there for ODs, wellness checks, and brawls in the middle of the night,” he replies, “so, uhhh, yeah, not the safest spot in the entirety of Grimsborough.”

My lips purse at this information. “...Hm. So, we got a bit of a lead…”

He nods. “Yeah. Let’s drop the badge at Alex’s lab first and then talk to Gloria. She’s the building superintendent, so maybe she’ll recognize Dan!”

“Alright,” I respond, putting the papers back into the wallet, “sounds like a plan. Let’s go!”

 

The whole apartment complex reeks of mildew, smoke, piss, and dried spit as we waltz right in. The once-ornate wallpaper is peeling off of the walls, windows are boarded up with planks of wood, and I let out a small yelp as I almost step into a blatant hole in the floor.

“Whoa there, partner!” Jones tells me, catching me in his arms. “Make sure you watch your step, alright? This whole place is decaying more rapidly than a corpse.”

“How reassuring,” I respond with a forced smile as I get up, dusting myself off. “Anyway, where’s this ‘Gloria’?”

“Over there,” Jones points to a door labeled ‘SUPERINTENDENT’. “Follow me, and get your notepad ready. I’ll take the lead here.”

Once we reach the door, I pull out my notepad, and Jones clears his throat.Tightening his hand into a fist, he raps his knuckles on the door once, twice, three times.

“Gloria Roach?” He calls. “This is the GBPD. We’re here to ask you a couple questions.”

A couple seconds later, the door opens.

The woman on the other side is portly, standing there in her pink bathrobe and bunny slippers. She’s got curlers in her hair and her face full of heavy makeup – bright blue eyeshadow and deep red lipstick.

We must’ve caught her in a bit of a spa session, I think.

She frowns as she studies the both of us, but her eyes light up with some sort of recognition. “Ah, Inspector Jones?” She asks, her Jersey accent extremely noticeable.

“Gloria!” Jones replies with a smile. “My favorite superintendent in this shitty neighborhood.”

She grins. “Happy to see ya again, Inspector.” She raises an eyebrow glancing at me. “Who’s the kid?”

KID? “I-”

He pats my back. “This is my partner, Detective Valentina Perez!”

I politely wave hello, giving her a small smile.

She smirks at me. “Not much of a talker, eh? Well, nice to meet’cha, honey. You new around here?”

I nod. “Yes, I am new to the GBPD, ma’am.”

She lets out a little snort of amusement through her nose. “Hm, well, ain’t that obvious? Still got that spark in your eyes.”

…What?

I pause, glancing at Jones to gauge his reaction.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “How, uhh, kind of you. Anyway, we’re here to ask you about a certain man.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

I pull out Dan Broke’s ID and show it to her. She leans forward, squinting right at the photo. “...You’re asking me if I know him?”

“Yes,” I say in reply.

She continues to squint, studying the photo. “...Looks familiar. Pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend living here, third floor. What, he got in trouble again?”

‘Again’ – repeat behavior. Can’t say I’m surprised, just…disappointed.

Jones shakes his head in response to her question. “Actually, he’s, uhh…” he scratches the back of his neck. “...he’s dead, Gloria. He got killed.”

Both of Gloria’s eyebrows raise at this, and she stares at us with open eyes. “Oh!”

The only thing I can hear right now is the sound of the bustling city outside as Jones and I watch this woman process the news.

And then, she speaks.

“Ah, well, at least he won’t be throwing up on the stairs anymore, right?”

…HUH?

I make…some sort of expression as I listen to her response. Jones purses his lips, then clenches his teeth. “ Tch… your grief is touching, Gloria. You said he had a girlfriend, right? What’s her name?”

“Sally Stone.” She casually files her nails like a man didn’t just die. “She lives in apartment 315. And I’ll be here if you need to, er, interrogate me some more.”

Gloria Roach – Building superintendent, I scribble down. Gives zero shits that a man is dead. Dan has girlfriend? (Sally Stone: Apartment 315)

“Thank you, Gloria.” Jones replies. “Hope you have fun on your little, uhh, self-care day. Is the elevator fixed yet?”

“Nah.” She continues to file her nails, not even glancing up at Jones. “Don’t have the money. Or time.”

He swears under his breath, shaking his head. “Looks like stairs it is…thanks again, Gloria. Have a nice day!”

 

After climbing up four flights of stairs, we’re both absolutely winded as we reach the third floor.

“WHEWF-! HFF-! Fuck-! Shit-!” Jones huffs out. “God, now I remember why I always dreaded revisiting this place. Anyway, let’s get down to business.”

He helps me up, and I slump against a wall, still trying desperately to catch my breath. “Wha- what apartment did Mrs. Roach say belonged to Sally Stone?” I stammer out.

“Apartment 315,” he tells me. “Come on, let’s see if she’s home.”

I peel myself off of the wall and trudge behind him as we read the numbers on the doors. As it turns out, apartment 315 is the one on the end, so that’s where we go.

Jones clears his throat, signaling to me to take out my notepad as he taps his knuckles on the door. “Hello? Miss Stone?” He calls.

A pause.

“Miss Stone, are you home?” He asks. “This is the Grimsborough Police Department.”

No one comes to answer.

He frowns, turning to me. “I don’t think she’s home.”

Right at this moment, we hear the sounds of trudging from behind the door. “Oop! Never mind, then.”

The door slowly creaks open.

Standing in front of us is the face of a pale-skinned woman with short, scruffy red hair and bleary, bloodshot green eyes. She’s wearing a striped grey hoodie and a blue t-shirt, along with a pair of short jeans and high top sneakers.

There’s also a skull badge attached to the right side of her hoodie. One that looks remarkably similar to the one I found at the crime scene.

“Are you Miss Sally Stone?” Jones inquires.

The woman visibly scowls and crosses her arms. “Why should I tell you?”

“Cut the shit,” He tells her with a frown. “We don’t have all day here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes, I’m Sally Stone. Now what the fuck do you want?”

I clear my throat. “Do you know someone by the name of ‘Dan Broke’?” I show her his ID.

The moment she sees it, her jaw slackens and her eyes widen, every single bit of confidence in her body gone.

She shakes her head after a minute. “...I…I don’t know any Dan.”

“Really?” Jones asks. “Your superintendent told us that you two were a thing.”

She scoffs. “Mrs. Roach? She’s a cranky old bitch! Always snooping around, spreading rumors!”

I raise my eyebrow, writing down some notes.

Sally Stone – Victim’s girlfriend(?)

Denies allegations that she even knows Dan. Maybe lying.

REALLY doesn’t like Gloria Roach.

Sally’s still ranting when I glance up at her. “…and someone outta tell her to keep her fucking uglyass nose out of other people’s business!”

Jones’s brow furrows when she finally finishes talking. “Well, all the same, Miss Stone. Detective Perez and I are gonna have to take a quick look around your place, is that right?”

All the anger drains out of Sally’s place as she finally calms down. Her arms are still crossed, but she’s hesitating. “I…”

Jones raises an eyebrow.

She gives us a shrug and a small wave. “…Fine. Take a look around, whatever. I got nothing to hide.”

Once she lets us in, she flops onto her bed, leaving us to look around for clues.

The apartment is…cramped. Almost claustrophobic with how small it is. Like the rest of the apartment building, it’s completely unkept, with stuff strewn around the place. There is only a broken TV on one side of the room, a small table in the middle, and Sally’s bed tucked into a corner, as well as a stove, another table, and a washing machine in another.

The only cover between the living room and bathroom is a tattered up tarp.

Hey, at least the wallpaper’s surprisingly not tearing at the seams, but that is a low bar to cross right about now.

Focus on the nooks and crannies. I check any small cracks first, scanning under tables, the bed, the TV, behind the washing machine and stove, that kind of thing.

Looking behind the TV, however, does give me one clue in particular — a dusty old backpack covered in a thin layer of…

… is that crack?

I scoop some up with a gloved finger, squinting at the particles.

…No, just drywall.

“Hey, Val, what’d you find?” I hear Jones call as he heads over to me.

“This.” I hold up the backpack, and Jones beams. “Nice catch! Maybe we’ll find a clue or two in there.”

He glances down at Sally, still curled up in bed. “Miss Stone, we’re gonna have to take a look in your bag.”

Immediately, Sally’s eyes open, and she sits up in bed in alarm. “Wha-? H-hey, you can’t do that!” She exclaims, her words slurring as she rubs her eyes. “That bag is mine…I wanna see a warrant. I know my rights!”

I can see Jones smirk, clearly unimpressed. “A warrant? That’s sweet. We’ll return your bag to you when we’re done.”

She glowers right at the both of us. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, but Jones seems at least somewhat unbothered.

“..Fine,” she mutters, lying back down, “go right fucking ahead.”

“…Thank you,” I tell her, cautiously opening a pocket.

The whole bag’s filled with junk. Torn pieces of paper, leftover food containers, pencils, rotting scraps of food, you name it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I even notice Jones’s expression twist into one of concern seeing how much yet so little was inside. “…Jesus Christ.”

I crack my knuckles, steeling my nerves before sticking my hand right inside. Feeling around, I try to see if I can fish up anything of note…

…and I do. I pull out a small bracelet — a string of pink and blue beads, complete with 3 white cubed beads in the middle.

Beads with letters on them that spell out the name “DAN”.

“Looks like you struck gold with that bag, huh?” Jones murmurs. “I wonder how Sally will explain having a bracelet with Dan’s name on it…”

“…I guess we’ll have to ask her,” I state.

“No duh, we’ll have to ask her,” he replies, taking it from me. “I got this, don’t worry.”

He stands up, striding over to Sally.

“Miss Stone?” He calls. “Hey, Miss Stone!”

She groans, slowly pushing herself up and glaring at Jones. “What do you want now?!”

“An explanation for this,” he responds, holding up the bracelet to show her. ”Care to explain why you’ve got a bracelet with Dan’s name on it in your bag?”

Her angry expression immediately falls, her eyes widening with an emotion I can’t seem to properly make out. Fear, surprise, fear, grief — I have no idea.

But there is one thing I can manage to pinpoint — Recognition.

“That bracelet isn’t mine-!” She stammers nervously. “I dunno how it got into my bag!”

Jones glares right down at her, sucking in a breath. “Look, Miss Stone, there’s only so much bullshit we can take,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Stop lying and tell us what you know!”

“FINE!” She stands right up, glaring at  us. “Me and Dan were together, but I hadn’t seen him in days!” She sniffles, clenching and unclenching her fists. “I don’t know who killed him, so stop asking!”

Oh? Jones and I share a glance at her statement. Did she just-?

I clear my throat. “...You know, neither of us told you that Dan had been murdered.”

“Oh, I KNOW,” she hisses in response. “Why else would you be here?! Cops only pay attention to people like us when we’re DEAD!”

 

Something about Sally’s words cling to the back of my mind as Jones and I head down to the morgue for Nathan’s autopsy. Judging by the furrow in Jones’s brow, I can tell he’s thinking about it, too.

Surprisingly, both Nathan and Alex are in the morgue when we walk in.

“Wow, no jumpscare this time?” Jones asks with a small chuckle, crossing his arms. “Can this be every case?”

Nathan adjusts his glasses, a smirk plastered on his face. “No promises there. But anyway, you two are here for the analysis results?”

“Well, we aren’t here to sit down and eat lunch,” Jones replies with a shrug, “but anyway, yeah, we are, sooo…”

Nathan and Alex share a glance, and Alex gives Nathan a small nod and steps back.

Nathan clears his throat. “Alright – so I’ve got several things for you. First of all,” he picks up his clipboard and pushes his glasses up his nose, “Dan died from one deep stab wound to the stomach with a sharp object – most likely a knife, judging by shape alone. From the angle of the wounds, I can already tell you that your killer is left-handed.”

Jones raises an eyebrow. “You can’t seriously tell that from a gash, can you?”

Nathan shrugs. “I wouldn’t work here if I couldn’t. I found out that Rosa Wolf’s killer was right-handed from the slash on her neck, right?”

“I-I mean, I know, but this is a stab wound, not a slit throat-” Jones shakes his head. “You know what? No, we’re getting off topic here. Anyway, did you find anything else of note?”

“Yes, I found some red hair under Dan’s fingernails,” Nathan replies, “and you obviously know that Dan has black hair, so needless to say, the hairs weren’t his.”

I snap my fingers. “So our killer is a redhead!”

“Correct!” He replies. “Anyway, that’s all I have on my end. Alex?”

Alex flashes us a confident grin as he steps forward. “Alright! I’ll be quick with this one.” He cracks his knuckles. “Your badge was covered with Dan’s fingerprints, but only on the back, as if Dan had snatched it during the struggle. And judging by the less-than-stellar state the thing was in and the fact that Dan had no holes in his clothes, I doubt it’d be farfetched to assume that Dan had torn it right off!”

“So our killer has a skull badge!” Jones exclaims.

“Exactly!” Alex tells him with a wink and a smile. "I wish you guys luck!"

Notes:

Why was this 8-9 FUCKING PAGES ON MY GOOGLE DOC I WILL CRY

Chapter 17: The Dockyard Killer - 2/4

Summary:

The rabbit hole into this murder case deepens as Jones and Val continue their search for Dan Broke's killer.

Notes:

THIS CHAPTER WAS WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED, I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WORD SALAD OMG 😭
Not the proudest of how this chapter turned out, but I hope you like it nonetheless!!

“So!”

Jones and I let out a yelp as we’re immediately cornered by Chief King. “Detective Perez, Jones. How’s this case going? Have you found Dan’s killer yet?”

Well! I cough into my fist.

“It’s, uhhhh…” Jones forces a weak smile, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a bit of a slow start, Chief. Admittedly. We found Dan’s girlfriend, Sally, and we know that his killer was left-handed. That’s pretty much it…”

“What about Gloria?” I pipe up. “Which hand does she  use?”

“Her right,” he tells me, “so yeah, at least that rules her out. But not gonna lie, she wasn’t a likely suspect anyway.”

Chief King lets out a huff, crossing his arms. “Likely suspect or not, a good police officer follows every lead until they reach a dead end. Always remember that, both of you!”

Jones and I both nod. “Yes, sir!”

He clears his throat. “Now, I’ll give you a bit of help — I want you to take another look at the crime scene. Dan died in front of an open container, you might find more clues in there.

I frown. “He did?”

He frowns back. “I- yes, you didn’t notice-?!”

“...Honestly, no. I think we were just too focused on the body to notice…”

He lets out another huff, pinching his temples. “For the love of- just go investigate the crime scene, alright? Catch Dan’s killer.”

“Yes, sir!” Jones and I salute and head for the stairs.

 

Sure enough, Chief King was right – Dan did die in front of an open container, and I feel even more like an idiot than usual for not even noticing in the first place.

“I WANT TO SINK INTO A HOLE IN THE GROUND AND DIE.” I groan, clutching my head in my hands.

“Well, look on the bright side, Val!” Jones replies with a small chuckle. “He didn’t yell at you, didn’t he? At least there’s that!”

“At least there’s that,” I agree. A low bar, from what I can tell.

As we walk up to the container, I immediately see something suspicious – a cigarette butt lying on top of a box. “...Hey, wait a minute,” I inquire, snapping on some gloves to collect the evidence, “didn’t James Smith say that nobody EVER comes here?”

“Yeah, ‘nobody, nuh uh, no one,’” He says. “So this cigarette butt being here…May well prove interesting. You wanna gather some DNA from that?”

I shake my head. “It might take too long to process, won’t it? What if we just get some fingerprints instead?”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a good idea, actually! You got your forensics kit?”

I nod with a grin, holding it right up to him. “Right here! I’ll grab a fingerprint and send it to Alex!”

 

I manage to grab a couple good fingerprints right off of the cigarette butt, and we deliver them to Alex when we come back to the station. So that means yet another while of waiting. Fun!

We sit at my desk, nursing down some cups of strong, strong coffee in anticipation. I wasn’t even paying attention to the time until now, and when I do, I can’t help but raise an eyebrow as I notice that the sun is setting.

The only things that are lighting the room are the dim overhead light and the occasional desk lamp around.

“…I guess we’re pulling an all-nighter on this one?” I comment.

Jones flashes back a smile, but the corners of his lips are twitching. “…Yup. Most likely.”

Good god.

There’s actual flies now — flies just casually buzzing around our coffee, and we spend our time mostly just swatting at them in mostly darkness.

Suddenly, Jones’s phone on my desk buzzes to life, flashing its screen to the both of us. It’s Alex — he’s finished with the analysis.

I spot Jones grin to himself as he scans his eyes over the notification, and he mutters under his breath as we both get up from our chairs. “Now we’re talking.”

We hurry our way over to Alex’s lab, Jones right ahead of me as we finally enter. “Alright, Alex!” He says, crossing his arms. “This better be good.”

Alex swerves around in his chair, grinning at the both of us. “Down to business, eh? Okay!” He clears his throat as he stands up. “The fingerprint you found on that cigarette butt came from one ‘James Smith’.”

...Ah. Jones and I share a glance.

“...Didn’t expect that answer, honestly,” Jones mutters.

I cross my arms, pondering over all this for a moment. “Wouldn’t this be a good thing, though?” I ask. “Maybe he could give us some good information.”

“Hm,” He raises an eyebrow, glancing at me thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we should put some pressure on him…something about how fidgety he was tells me he’s hiding something.”

“Well,” Alex swivels his chair back to his desk. “I’ll leave you guys to it!”

 

After calling James Smith down to the station, we spend some time waiting in the interrogation room before he finally appears at the door, escorted by another officer.

Jones gives me a small tap on the side under the table, signaling me to pull out my notepad and pen. “You’re kinda late,” he notes, leaning forward in his chair.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” James replies with a small sheepish huff, sliding into the chair across from us. “Subway service was a hellscape…”

I purse my lips. “You don’t have a bike or car?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Nada. Planning on buying a bike soon, y’know.”

“…That’s good.” Jones clears his throat. “Unfortunately, Mr. Smith, we didn’t call you here over transportation.”

“I mean, yeah, no shit,” James responds with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “It’d be kinda weird if you did, right-”

“Mr. Smith,” Jones interrupts, leaning forward, “we found a cigarette butt at the crime scene with YOUR fingerprints on it. Care to explain how it got there?”

James immediately goes silent for a moment, his entire body stiffening. “...What?”

“You heard me.” Jones crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “You left it there, didn’t you?”

“I…” James stammers out something incoherent. “I- uh- fuck.” He slumps, letting out a huff. “Yeah, I smoked that cigarette waiting for the cops to show up. What, am I gonna get a fine for littering?”

He chuckles awkwardly, slumping even further.

“...You know that contaminating a crime scene is a serious offense, right?” Jones asks, raising an eyebrow.

James’s uncomfortable smile completely fades at this point.

“...Um.”

“Yeahhhh…not a good look.” Jones leans forward yet again. “However…we might forget about it. If you cooperate.”

James shrugs. “Uhhh…yeah, sure, man. Go ahead.”

Jones glances at me, and I clear my throat. “Are you a righty or a lefty, Mr. Smith?”

He frowns in response. “Er, I’m a righty…what does this have to do with your dead guy?”

“That’s confidential,” I elaborate. “Do you…still have anything you’d like to tell us?”

He purses his lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot his leg bouncing.

“...I actually have one thing. Hold on.”

Oh? Jones and I share a small glance.

James takes off the backpack I didn’t realize he had on in the first place and sets it on the floor, opening it and rummaging through his belongings.

“...Now. I know what this looks like,” he warns, “and I know this’ll look really, really bad.”

Oh, what the hell-

He finally pulls out something and sets it on the table, and Jones and I gape right at the parcel right in front of us.

“Well, I’ll be…” Jones mutters, “either that’s a drug package, or I’m the Queen of England! Where the hell did you get this?!”

James vehemently shakes his head. “I’m not a junkie or a dealer, I swear, man! I just found it next to the body, promise!”

“THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU TAKE IT WITH YOU AND NOT TELL US?!”

“LISTEN, MAN, IN MY DEFENSE, I WAS TWEAKING, ALRIGHT?! I SAW THE BODY AND FREAKED OUT!!”

Jones grits his teeth, glaring right at him. ”We’ll be the judge of that, that’s for sure…”

I pick up the package, examining the label. The writing’s pretty faded, so I try to translate it into my notepad, and I get it pretty easily — “DOG-KTX-2ED”. What it means, I have no idea, so I just awkwardly slide it over to Jones for him to try decoding.

Jones shakes his head as he reads it. “Nah, no clue what this is. You got any idea, Mr. Smith?”

James insistently shakes his head again. “Nope! Like I said, man, not a junkie or dealer. I don’t want that smoke, alright?”

Jones groans in response. “Damnit. I guess you’re free to go for now, Mr. Smith…” James nods, getting up and scurrying out of the door. I turn to Jones, who’s currently also slumping in his chair. “Great. I guess we don’t have any other choice…”

I raise my eyebrow. “…Elaborate on that?”

He sits up. with a sigh. “…We gotta see Bart. He’s our snitch on Caribou Corner, and knows everything about what’s going on there.”

“…Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It WOULD be, if he didn’t really, REALLY get on my nerves.”

“…Ah.” Well, this isn’t ideal, that’s for sure.

Jones mutters under his breath. “That cocky son of a…” his voice trails off, and he clears his throat. “…‘nice person’. Anyway, on a separate note, maybe we should search through Sally’s studio.”

I frown. “…Why? Don’t you think we’ve gotten enough out of her?”

“I wish we did,” he replies, “but I’ve got a bad feeling that she’s keeping something from us.”

…Uh oh.

 

Considering the fact that the drug package is a definite lead, we slip it into an evidence baggy and drive over to his spot on Caribou Corner.

The first thing I notice is his height — the man is pretty tall and lanky, standing at around 6 feet tall as he squishes a cockroach with the toe of his sneaker. His hair is short, ratty, and brown, and he glances around with bright green eyes.

Also, he seems to be obsessed with denim. He’s got jeans and a red-dyed denim jacket.

“…Is it just me, or does his head look shaped like a peanut?” I ask impulsively, squinting right at him as we park the cruiser.

Jones lets out a bark of laughter. “HA! Not gonna lie, I see it. But at the same time, I think it’s just you.”

We fumble out of the cruiser, heading right over to him. “Oi, Bart!” Jones calls. “GBPD here. We ne…would like to ask for your help.”

Bart turns to face us, flashing a toothy smirk. “Well, if it isn’t Inspetor Jones himself! Who’s the new gal?”

“Detective Perez.” I politely hold out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Bart…?”

“Williams.” He readily shakes it. “So anyway, what are you guys here for?”

Jones steps forward. “I’ll just cut through the bullshit. We found a code on a drug package, and we need your help in solving it.”

Bart crosses his arms. “A drug package, eh? My kind of expertise! What do I get if I help you out?”

Already, I see Jones clench his fists, pursing his lips real hard as he lets out a huff through his nose. “I swear to-” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before turning back to Bart. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you what you won’t get — my boot in you goddamn face.”

Both of Bart’s eyebrows raise, and his smirk immediately disappears. “…alright, jeez. Show me the code.”

I pull out my notepad and flip it to the right page before showing it to him.

He whistles. “Oh yeah, that’s Bulldog’s handle! He mostly deals in Oakville Alley, behind Kempe’s Barbershop.”

“Bulldog?” I ask with a frown. “Is that a street name, or something?”

He nods. “Yeah, his real name’s just ‘John’, if I remember correctly. Don’t call him that, though. Let’s just say he won’t be very happy if you do.”

… Ah.

“…I see,” Jones mutters. “H…hey, one more thing, Bart. Where’d you get that badge?”

I hadn’t even noticed the skull badge before Jones pointed it out, but yeah, there’s a skull badge attached to Bart’s jacket. Almost like the one we picked up…

“What, this?” He asks, gesturing down to it.

Jones gives him a look of “No shit”.

Bart glances down at the badge, then back at Jones. He smacks his lips, leaning against the wall. “…How old are you again?”

Jones’s brow furrows. “I’m 33, Bart, how the hell does this have to do with-” His eyes widen with realization, and I instinctively block him just in time before he can lunge right at Bart’s throat. “YOU FUCKING PRICK -!”

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t want any smoke, alright? I was just kidding around.”

Jones still glowers right at Bart, his glare almost burning a hole in the man’s silhouette. Bart still seems rather unbothered, though, like this is just an average Tuesday for him.

“But, yeah, jokes aside,” he scratches the side of his chin as he chews a little on his bottom lip, “everyone around this area wears them, dude. It’s the latest fad. And in my personal opinion, they look cool as shit!”

I bite back the urge to disagree with his opinion and instead merely nod. “Thank you, Bart.”

Jones sighs, lowering his fists and relaxing his shoulders. “You know what? Yeah, thanks for the information. We’ll…we’ll take our leave right now.”

 “...Y’know, I really wish Bart had red hair.” Jones comments as we drive down the street.

“Why’s that?” I inquire, still scanning my notes.

“Because he’s left-handed!” He tells me. “That and the red hair would’ve probably put him behind bars for a few good hours as a suspect.”

“Well, at least we can eliminate him as a suspect, right?” I pipe up. “Because he doesn’t have red hair?”

“...Hmph, guess that’s true.” We stop at an intersection, and he leans back in the seat. “Makes our job a bit easier. Since Gloria Roach and James Smith are both right-handed, too, I guess we can knock them off as suspects…”

…Which only leaves Sally right now. My heart sinks ever-so-slightly as I rest my elbow on the dashboard.

“...Where did Bart say that Bulldog dealt drugs again?” Jones asks.

“Caribou Corner, I think?” I respond. “Behind someone’s barbershop, he said.”

He leans forward, looking up at the street signs. “I think we’re close. I’ll park the car somewhere, and we’ll just walk to his location, alright?”

“I think that’s best, yeah.”

 

We finally park the car and walk a small distance to a backstreet behind a pretty swanky-looking barbershop.

It’s…quiet. Eerily quiet. The only sounds are the sputtering and whirring of the cars on the street behind us. What probably didn’t help things either is the fact that it’s still pretty late at night, so the whole back alley is absolutely pitch black, so we’re just squinting into darkness.

Jones and I glance at each other before gazing back into the alley. “…Do you wanna go in first, or should I?” I ask.

“…I think I’ll do it,” he whispers back in reply. Clearing his throat, he straightens his back. “HELLO???”

Nothing. He clears his throat and tries again. “BULLDOG??? ARE YOU THERE??? THIS IS THE GBPD, WE WISH TO TALK TO YOU!!”

Still absolutely nothing.

“…You think the coast is clear?” I mumble.

“Depends. You wanna go in first, or should I?”

I pause, trying my best to make out any items in the shadow facing me. This won’t be that bad, right? Yeah, no, this is nothing. I’ll be alright. It’s just like my basement in the middle of the night. Yeah, yeah, that’s it-!

“…You got a flashlight?”

Jones gives me a small smirk. “You’re braver than me, that’s for sure. I think I left some in the car, actually, hold on-”

He jogs away, clutching the cruiser keys in one hand, and I watch him disappear around another corner.

Suddenly, the air around me feels a lot colder.

Glancing around, I notice shops around me begin to shut off their lights, locking their doors for the night. The occasional car drives up the road, fading away into the distance. I do spot a couple people, but they’re just minding their own business, casually walking to their destinations.

…How far was the cruiser again? I flip my head around repeatedly, trying to spot any sign of Jones. How far away did we park?? Where DID we park???

The only light on me is the streetlight I’m next to blazing right down onto me, almost as if it’s burning holes into my back.

Maybe I should have followed him.

I wring my hands together, still glancing around to see if I can find anything of note. But everything’s completely blended together in the pitch black, with only a silvery-blue rim on top from the moon.

I breathe in and out, trying my best to calm down as I try to focus on the sound of the city around me.

There’s footsteps. I can vaguely make them out through all the other noise.

And they’re coming from somewhere —

— right behind me.

I immediately swerve around with a hitch of my breath, coming face-to-face with a man striding out of the shadows of the alley.

Oh my god. He’s huge — probably standing at around 6 feet tall, maybe higher — and built like a brick wall. Even the slightest movement of arm or leg causes his muscles to flex, and he’s heading straight towards me.

“Well, well, well,” he growls, his lips curling into a snarling grin, “don’t think I’ve seen you before, eh?”

His eyes are a striking bright blue, piercing right into my soul, and my gaze instinctually travels down to the very noticeable tattoo imprinted onto the side of his neck — A big bold B with a dog collar.

I stumble back multiple inches, pressing my back against the light pole. “You’re Bulldog?”

Bulldog chuckles, gaining ground as he takes step after step in my direction, his head high and hands slipping into his pockets. “The one and only. What, you here to arrest me or something?”

I shake my head defensively, my heart pounding in my chest. “No. We’re here because we need you to answer some questions-”

“ We? ” He lets out a boisterous chortle. “Who’s we, pipsqueak?”

Shit. For a good couple of seconds, I had completely forgotten the fact that Jones isn’t here.

“My partner just had to grab some flashlights, he’ll be back soon.” I stand up straight, dusting myself off. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, Bulldog, but either way, it isn’t working.”

His scowling smirk widens, twisting the sides of his mouth as he continues stepping close. “Oh, you don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m sure of that.”

His gaze darkens with something that’s nothing short of hatred.

Uh oh.

“…You’re a new cop, aren’tcha?”

I immediately shake my head. “No, no I’m not. I transferred districts, that’s why we’ve never met-”

“Bull-shit.”

I go silent, my mouth immediately felling like I swallowed a fistful of sand.

He chuckles again, running his hands through his hair. My palms are freezing yet flaming at the same time, drenched in sweat. “A new cop AND a liar,” he mutters, a gleam of steel flashing in his pocket. “You’re hiding something. Extra cash, perhaps?”

“You’re not finding out,” I hiss, maneuvering around the street pole and placing it between us. My heart is hammering in my ears at this point as I watch him scoff with amusement.

“Oh, is that a threat? How cute.”

He takes one more step towards me.

My hand reaches for my belt.

And then, light.

A massive white light shines in our direction, taking me completely off guard, and I immediately try shielding my eyes with my tie.

Bulldog too, definitely. He lets out a yell, dropping the knife to the floor and putting his hands up over his face. “OH, GOD, WHAT THE FU-?!”

“Oh, too bright? Sorry!”

Oh my god. That voice sounds familiar.

“…Jones?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“Hey!” He gives me a small cheerful wave, turning down the flashlight’s intensity, and I finally get a good look at the man people call “Bulldog”.

He’s practically on his knees, still covering his face and refusing to look properly at anyone. With his bright red hair and beard, his piercings, his shabby blue jacket and jeans, he looks…a lot less like a wall of shadow.

Might’ve just been the dark. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

Jones smacks his lips, one hand pointing the flashlight down at Bulldog and the other hand on his hip. “Well…! I guess you’re Bulldog?”

“Wh- what’s it to ya?!” Bulldog protests, pulling himself up. “The fuck do you want?!”

“First of all, some fucking answers!” Jones shouts, his tone a lot more aggressive. “I saw you trying to threaten my partner, what the fuck did you plan on doing to her?!”

“Hey, listen, man!” Bulldog replies, his hands instinctively raising a little. “I just wanted to scare her, that’s all! Nothing crazy!”

I see Jones open his mouth to yell at him, but an idea pops into my head.

I raise a hand, gesturing to him that I got this.

“…Listen,” I say awkwardly, “I’ll…I’ll let this go for now.”

Bulldog raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re just gonna…let me go?” He smirks.

“I’m not done.” I clarify firmly. “In exchange for me dropping this incident, you cooperate with us. We came here for a reason.”

He frowns, scrunching up his nose in disgust as he glances in between the both of us.

“…Fine.” He leans against the wall. “Hit me. The fuck do you want?”

I reach into my pocket and pull out Dan’s photo. “This man — Dan Broke. Have you interacted with him in the past few days?”

His brow furrows more as he scrutinizes every little detail of the man’s face. “No…? Why the hell does this involve me?”

“Because Dan is dead — murdered and left on the docks.” I shove the paper back into my pocket. “And we found a package near his body that had a code on it-”

Yet another scoff as he crosses his arms. “What, so a shitty junkie’s found dead on the docks — miles away from here, mind you — with one piece of paper? Give me a break. How and why am I involved again?”

”Don’t try to play smart with us, Bulldog!” Jones suddenly snaps, taking a step forward. “We know you were Dan’s dealer, don’t pull shit out of your ass now!”

Bulldog barks out another laugh. “Oh, really?! You see any drugs on me, copper? What kind of idiot do you think I AM?!” He stares Jones down, grinning even more.

A cocky one, that’s for sure. I sigh and shake my head. “How about we just search this alley, sir? Make things easier for the both of us.”

“Sure.” He waves around the alley. “Be my fucking guest. I got nothing to hide, anyway.”

And just like that, he prowls off, leaving the both of us alone — finally.

Jones grits his teeth. “God, I think I owe Bart an apology at this point, this guy’s so much worse…” he tosses me a flashlight, and I fumble with it for a moment before turning it on. “Well, you know what we’re gonna have to do, Val.”

I nod, grimacing. “Yup.”

So, that’s what we do. Going around the alley, swiping our flashlights along the walls to see if we can spot anything suspicious — Jones covering the right, me covering the left.

…And it’s your typical alley. Then again, I think it might just be the dark covering everything around us or the car exhaust we’re inhaling, but I can’t seem to find anything of note.

Just…your average dumpster, windows, air conditioner, litter, bloody poster handing on the wall…

…Wait.

I swivel my head around, swerving right back over to the one spot on the wall I just skimmed. And sure enough, there’s a tattered superhero poster tacked onto the wall with bubblegum out of all adhesives, and the whole thing is splattered with blood.

Bingo.

I call Jones over, and the moment his flashlight shines on the poster, he lets out a whistle. “Damn, Val, I’m impressed! This thing might be a goldmine of information!”

I nod. He’s right — the blood on the poster still looks and smells fresh, and there might be a small chance that it belonged to Dan. “I’ll get a sample!” I pipe up, taking out my handy little collection kit.

Hopefully, this isn’t a red herring, I ponder to myself.

 

Once I get the sample we need, we drop it off at Grace’s lab, leaving us with plenty of time to kill as we wait for results.

So Jones again offers that we go pay Sally Stone another visit in the meantime.

My teeth grit at the suggestion. After what happened last time, something in the back of my mind tells me that stressing the poor girl out even more than we already did is probably not a good idea.

A case is a case, I guess, a voice in the back of my brain tells me. Follow any leads if possible.

Sally is very much not happy to see either of us, but I think she was too tired to argue at this point. So she waves her hand, telling us not to ‘mess shit up’, and goes to take a walk.

Leaving the both of us alone in her apartment.

My eyes immediately fall to Sally’s sneakers, tucked under her mattress. Snapping on some gloves, I pull them out, studying the soles. They’re caked in dirt, and it’s at least a little bit damp…

“Jones?” I ask. “Do you have my forensics kit?” He doesn’t even have to say anything – he just smiles and slides the kit over to me, and I get to work in collecting a sample to send to Grace. In the little chunks of soil, I can occasionally spot small drops of red.

I have a bad feeling about this.

 

Conveniently enough, by the time we arrive at Grace’s lab to drop off the soil sample we got from Sally’s sneakers, Grace had just finished analyzing the blood sample from the poster.

“So?” Jones asks eagerly. “What did you find? Was the blood Dan’s?”

I hold my breath, silently praying that this isn’t just a red herring.

The moment she grins and gives us a thumbs up, I feel like I’m about to collapse from relief. “Yup!” She replies. “Sure enough, your hunch was correct – the blood on the poster is in fact Dan’s!”

Jones lets out a huff of laughter. “Oooo boy, imagine if it wasn’t–”

“Don’t jinx it,” she tells him, writing something down on her clipboard. “But anyway, this means that you’ve got your primary crime scene, guys! Dan was killed in Oakville Alley, then dumped on the docks!”

I cross my arms. “I wonder how Bulldog’s gonna explain this one, that’s for sure.”

“I’m kind of intrigued,” Jones adds, stroking his chin. “He’s just earned himself another visit!”

 

The moment Bulldog sees us sauntering his way, his expression twists into one of the ugliest sneers I’ve ever seen in my entire life. “Oh, look who’s coming,” he mocks, “it’s the shitbag squad.” He leans against the wall. “Back to nag me again over some bullshit?”

Jones furrows his brow, putting his hands on his hips. “Look, asswipe. You’re getting on my nerves, and I can say for sure you won’t like me when I’m angry!”

Bulldog scrunches up his expression into one of mock-rage. “‘YoU wOn’T lIkE mE wHeN i’M aNgRy!!’” He rolls his eyes, sulking. “Grow the fuck up, oh my god…”

“Look who’s fucking talking!” Jones snaps. “Listen here, pisswhistle, Dan Broke’s blood was found all over a tacky-ass poster that was put up in the alley that YOU work! You better explain how it got there, or else we’ll have to assume that you have both terrible taste in decor and a will to kill!”

…I’m sorry, PISSWHISTLE-?!

“Well, guess what?!” Bulldog snarls, stomping up to Jones and glaring right down at him. “I. Don’t. Got. A. Clue. And I give zero shits about it, too! So either you and your little partner over here fucking fuck the fuck off , or I will make you. Capisce?!”

Oh, god. I gotta step in right now, or things are gonna get REAL ugly-

I put my hand in front of Jones just as he steps forward. “...This conversation is going absolutely nowhere. How about we just…go?”

Bulldog grins, leaning back in triumph as Jones sputters at me. “Yeah, copper, how about you listen to the lady and fuck off?”

“But-!” I glare right at him, and he shuts up immediately. “-Fine. But remember, Bulldog. We’ll be back, and in one way or another, I’ll make your life a living hell-!”

“I think that’s enough coffee for you today,” I mutter as I take him by the arm, pulling him away from the sounds of Bulldog’s chortles, noticing him flip us off from the corner of my eye. I manage to drag him all the way down the street until he finally calms the hell down.

He lets out a sigh, pulling away his hand. “Well! That certainly was…interesting.”

“You didn’t have to immediately start a fight with him, though?!” I protest. “Listen, I get that he pisses you off, but maybe can you not? That conversation went nowhere!”

My heartbeat is pounding in my ears at this point. I think I’ve got enough coffee for myself, too…

He chuckles confidently. “We may have not gotten the answers we wanted, but we got some answers for sure!”

“You better explain what you mean by that,” I grumble, “I think I’m too tired for this stuff right now.”

“Understandable! I am, too.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Here’s a little tip from me, Val – sometimes, pissing suspects off yields interesting results…you saw Bulldog flip us off as you dragged me away, right?”

I frown. “Yeah, definitely, that’s for sure. Elaborate?”

“Which hand was he using?”

My brow furrows even more as I try to recall.

Hold on. “I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but if I’m not wrong, it was the…left hand, right?” My eyes widen as I finally get what he’s going for. “Ohhh, shit- ”

He snaps his fingers, grinning at me. “Correct! So that means…”

He’s left-handed.

“Holy shit, I gotta write this down!” I exclaim excitedly, pulling out my notepad and pen. “And, and the other things we learned about Bulldog, and Bart-”

-I really haven’t been writing things down, haven’t I?

Shit.

 

I manage to jot down everything I need as we drive back to the station.

Bart Williams – Police Informant. Is left-handed. Cocky prick, but honestly not the worst guy?? Might be useful later when identifying anything of note around the area. (Is it true that the skull badges are a fad???)

Bulldog – Drug dealer. Ew ew ew ew ew. Left-handed. Dan died in the alley HE deals in – hopefully most likely suspect.

We actually find Grace grabbing a coffee as we enter, and she waves us over. “You guys are just in time, surprisingly!” She tells us. “I finished looking over that soil sample you took from Sally’s shoes.”

“Pretty convenient timing, then!” Jones replies with a chuckle. “What’d you find?”

“Okay, hold on-” Grace snatches her clipboard from the table next to her and flips through the papers. “-Here!” She taps her finger repeatedly. “The soil sample from Sally’s shoes actually had multiple similarities to samples taken from the docks.”

…Uh oh. I watch as she pauses, chewing on her bottom lip.

Jones raises an eyebrow. “There something else?”

She nods. “There were little red specks in the soil from Sally’s shoes, and out of a pure hunch, I compared it with a sample of Dan’s blood…”

My stomach twists at the implication. “...You found a match, didn’t you?”

Another nod from Grace, her lips pressed into a thin line. “...Unfortunately.”

Oh, god. My heart leaps into my throat as I process what this means. “So this means that not only Sally was with Dan when he died…”

“...She may be his killer.” Jones mutters, finishing my thought. His expression is grim as he shakes his head. “Thanks for the information, Grace. Looks like Sally still has some explaining to do…”

…And that’s what I’m worried about.

 

Jones immediately takes the lead as we stride our way into the building, up the stairs and all the way to apartment 315, and I barely manage to catch up to him as he raps his knuckles on Sally’s door.

Sally luckily opens the door immediately, but she grits her teeth the moment she recognizes the both of us. “Oh my god-” she yells, “-why the hell can’t you just leave me alone?!”

“I’ll tell you why!” Jones shoots back. “We found proof that YOU were on the docks when Dan died! You got an explanation for that?!”

Sally’s eyes widen with recognition, and she merely sputters in response.

What the hell is he doing?! I open my mouth to protest, but Jones holds up his hand, signaling me to be quiet.

Sally rubs the sides of her head, her breathing getting more and more rapid. “I- uh-” She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she lets out a breath. “You know what?! FINE! Yes, I WAS on the docks last night! I found Dan, but when I realized he was dead, I freaked out! I ran away!! You happy?!”

“And you just HAPPENED to hang out on THAT GODFORSAKEN PLACE at the exact time Dan was dying?!” Jones snaps. “Come ON, Sally!”

Jesus Christ. I try to speak again, but he flashes me a glare.

Sally’s breathing is becoming more and more irregular at this point as she glances around, her hands twitching. “I- I- I-”

“Well?!” Jones demands.

She glares at him once again, her eyes wide with rage and full of tears. “I got lost, looking for him!! I didn’t hurt him, okay?! I loved him with EVERY FIBER OF MY FUCKING BEING!!”

Holy shit. My throat is as dry as sandpaper, and judging by Jones’s expression, he has no words to say, either. Sally’s still breathing heavily, her fists clenched as she stares right up at him.

She takes a step closer, gritting her teeth at us with a look of pure hate. “ Leave me the fuck alone. ”

Before either of us can respond, she slams the door in our faces, leaving us no choice but to head back to the car.

Jones breathes out a shaky sigh, and I immediately take this chance to glare at him for being a dick. He takes a moment to notice and sputters, turning away from me. “H-hey, don’t look at me like that! I- I know I was an asshole, but I’m sure that a little more pressure would’ve made her come clean eventually!”

“By yelling in her face the moment she opened that door?!” I exclaim as I follow him. “You could’ve gone ANY OTHER ROUTE, and you chose to IMMEDIATELY accuse her of killing her boyfriend?! That’s not called being a ‘proper cop’, that’s called ‘punching down’!”

“Well- well at least we got SOME answers from this, right?!” He refutes as we walk down the hall. “We got her testimony on where she was when Dan died – whether she’s lying or not, we’ll figure it out!”

“For the love of God-” I throw my hands in the air, letting out a huff. “-well, I guess, but at what cost?! That poor girl’s mental state?!”

He whips his head around to face me. “You think I WANTED to do that?!”

“No shit, OBVIOUSLY no, I’m just saying that what you did was IDIOTIC!” I shout.

A heavy silence falls between us.

Now it’s his turn to let out a huff, rubbing a hand over his face as he leans against a wall.

“...I’ll…figure out a way to apologize,” he mutters. “You’re right, I didn’t…I didn’t handle that interrogation good at all.”

I sigh. “THANK you.”

We both pause for a moment, then Jones speaks again.

“...I DID notice one thing in particular, though.”

“...What is it?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Sally’s watch was on her right wrist,” he says, “so that means that she’s left-handed.”

I shrug. “I’ll- I’ll put that down in my notes when we get to the car. At least we have that useful tidbit of information…”

We glance outside the large window at the end of the hallway.

The sun’s rising on the horizon, washing everything in a rather pretty orange-yellow hue.

“...I’m too tired for this,” Jones mumbles, pinching his temples.

“You and me both,” is all I grunt in response.

Chapter 18: The Dockyard Killer - 3/4

Summary:

Jones and Val get a very lucky lead that directs them over to Dan Broke's killer.

Notes:

This chapter is pretty short compared to the last one I'M SORRY 😭

Once we recap the case to Chief King again, he shakes his head. “Face it, officers. You won’t get anything more from Bulldog and Sally.”

“What?!” Jones exclaims in protest. “We’re close to the truth, Chief, I know it! I’m sure one of them is gonna talk eventually!”

“In TEN YEARS, MAYBE!” Chief King barks. “But do we have TEN GOD-DAMN YEARS?!” Jones opens his mouth to speak, but he immediately cuts him off. “NO! What you need now is a MUR-DER WEA-PON! Y’HEAR ME?!”

… I think we got it even without the emphasis on every syllable, I think to myself.

“I-” Jones stammers, fiddling with his hands uncomfortably. “-Alright. You got any suggestions then, Chief?”

Chief King sucks in a breath through his nose, the tips of his mustache twitching in all sorts of directions. “The alley, perhaps. Anything can be hidden in those trashbins!”

“Alright!” Jones turns to me immediately. “You heard the man, Val! The alleys it is!”

Before I can even say anything, he dashes out of the room, leaving me alone with Chief King.

And Chief KIng raises an eyebrow at me gesturing towards the door. “ Well? ”

Shit. My heart skips a beat, and I automatically give him a salute. “Y-yes, sir, Chief, sir!” I stutter out, and I hurtle right after Jones.

 

Once we arrive at the alleys, it’s finally bright and early in the morning.

Rise and shine. A man is still dead, and his killer is still not behind bars yet.

We snap on gloves, and begin rummaging through as much as we can – Jones going through the trashbags, and me checking around the dumpster.

And immediately, I strike gold – reaching into the dumpster one more time, I yank out a pocket knife from the depths. The blade is completely coated in blood – like it was plunged deep into the gut of an unsuspecting junkie.

“Jones!” I call. “I think I found a lead.”

He glances over to me, and the moment his eyes lie on the knife, his eyes widen. “Jackpot!! Holy shit, you’re a natural at this!” He takes the knife from me, studying it in his hands. “How much do you bet that the blood is Dan’s?”

“I don’t really bet on stuff,” I reply, “but I really had to, I’d say I’d bet a hot dog and an orange juice that this blood is Dan’s!”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asks me with a smirk as he hands the knife back to me. “Let’s get a sample off of this thing and send it to the lab. If the blood is Dan’s, then we have our murder weapon and one more step towards catching his killer!”

I nod. “Already on it!” I say, and immediately pull out my forensics kit to grab our clue. A few minutes later, I finally succeed in isolating a small amount of blood to send Grace.

He whistles, impressed. “Perfect job as always, Val!” He tells me, patting me on the back. “Let’s send this blood to the lab. Hopefully, we’re on the right track!”

“Alright!” I stand up, putting the sample away before taking one last glance at the knife. There’s something underneath all that blood that seems to look vaguely familiar, but I can’t seem to make out what it is…

From behind me, I hear Jones mutter to himself as he begins to walk back into the cruiser. “Man…how long did it take me to master these procedures again…?”

 

The wait for Grace's analysis of the stuff we sent her was excruciating, to say the least. Throughout those painful couple of hours, Jones and I had paced anxiously around the floor, counted up to seventy-five multiple times for no apparent reason, recapped the case repeatedly to each other, and stuffed our faces with granola bars from the vending machine.

So not our proudest moments, that’s for sure.

“Ah, Jones, Perez!” Robin Douglas’s voice calls from the opposite side from the room. “You in a bit of a dead end on the case or something?”

“Quite the opposite, actually, Robin-” Jones stammers out, “-we’re close, so goddamn close to finding the killer right now!”

“Ah!” Robin’s eyebrows raise, and they nod at us. “Well, uhh, good luck!”

And just like that, they leave, and we go right back to what we were doing.

After yet another hour, Jones’s phone pings, and he immediately lunges for it, scrambling to take a proper look at the screen. He scrambles to pick it up, fumbling around with it as I stand and watch with bated breath.

He turns on his phone.

Squints at it.

Then raises his hands in triumph.

“She’s done,” he tells me. “We’re on our way there, Val.”

 

We make a mad dash for Grace’s lab, bursting right through the door. She lets out a yelp, almost dropping her clipboard in the process. “OH MY GOD-!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jones says sheepishly. “Got a bit-” he clears his throat, “-eager there…”

“Well, don’t do that again, that’s for sure!” She answers with a small puff of breath. “But anyway, back to the blood!”

I instinctively lean forward, tapping my fingers on the table as she flips through a couple pages.

“Good news!” She tells us. “Not only is the blood on the knife Dan’s, I had it checked up with Nathan – he confirmed it matches the wounds on Dan’s body!”

“...So that means that we got our murder weapon?” I ask excitedly, leaning even more forward.

I let out a major sigh of victory as I almost collapse, and Jones lets out a whoop, throwing his fists into the air triumphantly. “FINALLY! OH MY GOD, FINALLY, A GOOD LEAD!!”

Grace covers her mouth, giggling. “...You know I still have more, right?”

OH??? I scramble onto my feet, and Jones immediately flips his head to face her. “THERE’S STILL MORE?!” He exclaims.

She nods. “I think I have an idea of who it belongs to…I took a closer look at the blade, and there’s a strange symbol etched onto it…”

“Alright!” I stand up, putting the sample away before taking one last glance at the knife. There’s something underneath all that blood that seems to look vaguely familiar, but I can’t seem to make out what it is…

Oh my god. My mind puts two and two together as Grace flips to another page on her clipboard before showing us.

It’s a closeup photo of the knife blade, the markings on it much more clear to make out now.

The symbol Grace was talking about?

A big bold B with a dog collar.

“Of fucking course,” I mutter to myself as my eyes widen with recognition.

Jones’s mouth is hanging open, and I can tell he realized the same thing I did.

“...I assume this symbol looks familiar to either of you?” Grace asks.

I nod vehemently. “I believe it does, yeah. Thank you, Grace – I think we have all the clues we need to find our killer!”

We park right in front of Bulldog’s alley and step out of the cruiser, ready to confront any resistance Bulldog might put up.

He doesn’t seem to catch onto our demeanor at first as we stride up to him, instead flashing another toothy grin. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the-”

“Save your words for the court,” I snap, whipping out the handcuffs. “Bulldog, you’re under arrest for the murder of Dan Broke!”

He’s certainly caught off guard by my words, because he sputters out some gibberish in protest as I put his hands behind his back. “Hold on! You got no proof, no proper evidence or nothing!”

“Actually,” Jones answers with a confident smirk, “We do! Your hair, your knife, all of it! We know you killed Dan and dumped him on the docks!”

Bulldog grits his teeth, struggling against my grip.

“Why you killed him, however…” I add.

“You wanna know why?!” He snarls. “That fucking punk had it COMING! I TOLD him it’d get nasty if he didn’t cough up that $2K he owed me!”

“So I assume that’s when you decided to attack him?” I ask.

“Nah, he attacked first!” He barks. “I bring up that girlfriend of his one time, and he goes absolutely berserk, swinging at me with his fists! I call that both self-defense AND an extermination job!”

Oh, what the actual fuck.

“So you threaten the life of Dan’s girlfriend, and you’re surprised when he wants to protect her?!” I shout. “Do you have zero regrets about what you’ve done, ANY of it?!”

“Fuck yeah!” He growls. “And I regret NOTHING, y’hear?! NOTHING!”

“Not like we’ve heard that one before,” I hear Jones grumble under his breath. “One thing’s for sure, that cockiness isn’t gonna get you anywhere in prison except an early grave…”

“Bulldog, you’re under arrest,” I declare as I cuff him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

 

 First thing I notice in the courtroom is that there’s a lot less bustling and whispering amongst the crowd compared to the last trial.

Of course. Last time, a teenager died in a gruesome, sensationalized slaughter, and this time, a junkie just got stabbed over a money dispute.

From what I can tell, I predict there’ll probably be little to no press coverage about this, either – Dan was a pretty unknown person. Bart and James didn’t seem to know him, Gloria remembered him as ‘the guy who kept puking on her stairs’, and the only person who seemed to care about him was his own girlfriend.

My mind goes back to Sally’s own words the second time Jones and I had talked to her – “Cops only care about people like us when we’re dead!”

…Unfortunately, she’s not wrong.

I snap out of my thoughts when I hear the bang of Judge Hall’s gavel.

“SILENCE IN THE COURT!” She commands, and everyone instinctively goes silent, waiting with bated breath.

Bulldog slides down his chair, sulking as he glares up at her.

Judge Hall looks down at the case file in front of her. “Alright. Now…Mr. John Bradley, what do you have to say for yourself?”

John Bradley, huh? I raise an eyebrow as Jones and I share a glance.

Bulldog snarls up at her, thrashing against his chair. “It’s ‘BULLDOG’, YOU FUCKING COW!!” He shouts. “GET IT FUCKING RIGHT!!”

Jesus Christ. I can’t help but cringe, pinching my temples.

Judge Hall’s brow furrows, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “...Very well. Mr…Bulldog. My point still stands, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He leans back in his chair, manspreading like there’s no tomorrow. “Fucking lawyer said it all, didn’t he? I’m a victim of circumstances! That crazed junkie came at me with his fists, I had to defend myself!”

“When you threatened the life of his companion! ” She snaps back. “You ought to take this more seriously. You took a human life , does it mean nothing to you?!”

Sally suddenly stands up from behind us, pushing through to reach the front of the crowd. “Yeah, does it mean nothing ?! How COULD you kill Dan, you PIECE OF SHIT?!” She cries out. “He was going to pay you back, he just needed a little more time!!”

“Sally-” I say, standing up and taking one of her arms.

“I SWEAR, I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS, BULLDOG!!” She wails. “I WILL KILL YOU!!”

“Young lady, calm down!” Judge Hall booms. “There is no need for further bloodshed.

Sally collapses onto her knees and bawls in my arms. I’m still holding her, my mind trying to process what to do next, when a bailiff holds out his hand to her.

“Miss Stone,” he whispers, “do you need some fresh air? I’ll take you for a walk around the courthouse…”

She slowly nods, taking his hand and following him out the courtroom.

I let out a shaky sigh, sinking back into my chair.

Judge Hall clears her throat. “...Bulldog,” she orders, “for the murder of Dan Broke, the Court thereby sentences you to 20 years in prison!”

“WHAT?!” He yowls, still thrashing in his chair. “FOR DOING THIS CITY A FAVOR?! YOU’RE ALL GONNA CRY OVER A FUCKING PARASITE?! BURN IN HELL, ALL OF YOU!! ”

“Bailiffs, take this man away!” She continues, slamming her gavel. “Court is adjourned!!”

 

“Welp,” Jones sighs as we step outside the courthouse, “that’s another murderer out for good. I think we handled it pretty well, don’t you, Val?”

I groan, clutching my forehead. “I guess so?? I hope Sally’s doing okay…”

He nods, pursing his lips. “Agreed. She already seemed to be in a pretty rough spot, I wonder how she’ll feel now…”

We walk down the stairs and towards the sidewalk in silence, taking in what had happened during the trial.

Jones puts his hand on my shoulder, giving me an encouraging smile. “...Hey. How about we go out for a cup of coffee? Donuts are on me!”

I slowly nod, giving him a small smile back. “...You know what? Sounds good.”

Notes:

Next up on 'The Dockyard Killer' -- a driver, a rock, and a snitch walk into the bar...

Chapter 19: The Dockyard Killer - 4/4

Summary:

Tying up loose ends after Dan Broke’s killer is arrested, finally.

Notes:

[CONTENT WARNING: Talks of drug abuse and misuse and descriptions of a panic attack.]
[TW// Salvador Cordero. He doesn’t speak and is mostly mentioned, but still…ew.]

“Detective Perez, Jones, splendid job on the case!” Chief King greets us as we enter the station. “You did spectacularly!”

“Can’t see we could’ve done it without your advice, Chief!” Jones replies proudly. “Thank you for the suggestion!”

“It’s nothing!” Chief King chuckles earnestly. “In the end of the day, it was still both of your hard work!” He clears his throat, his expression immediately steeling with resolve. “Unfortunately, however, your work is not done.”

We all know how this song and dance goes at this point. I clear my throat. “Who’s requesting our help, Chief?”

“Well,” he says, putting a hand on his hip, “Bart Williams is requesting our help. Says the matter is quite urgent.”

I hear Jones swear under his breath. “Anything else?” I ask, unfazed.

“James Smith is also requesting our help,” he adds, “and I’d like for you to check up on Sally Stone. Poor girl’s been through a lot recently, from what I can tell.”

Jones flinches away ever-so-slightly at this, glancing to the side. I merely just nod, and flash a small smile. “Alright. We’ll see if we can do anything!”

 

For the sake of Jones and Bart not getting incredibly violent with each other if things go south, I instead decide to drag Jones along with me to talk to James Smith first.

We find him on the street, curled up into a ball and nervously muttering to himself.

“...Is he actually high right now?” Jones mutters.

“Well, we’ll never know unless we check,” I respond, upping my pace as we head over to him.

The moment James spots us, he lets out a sigh of relief, scrambling to his feet. “Oh, thank fucking god-! There you are — Inspectors, I need your help, please!”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Smith?” I ask. “You doing alright?”

He stammers out gibberish, struggling to speak. “NO!! It’s a fuckin’ nightmare!!”

“How about you take a bit of a breather?” Jones suggests, “And then, you explain to us what happened?”

James nods. “A-alright, hold on, hold on-!” Out of absolute nowhere, he pulls out a greasy paper bag from his pocket and begins rapidly breathing heavily into it.

I frown. “Uhhh…should we stop him?” I whisper to Jones.

“...Nah, let him calm down. I think he needs it right now.”

“...Okay.”

So we continue watching him and waiting for him to calm down for a couple more minutes until he finally does calm down.

He breathes out one last sigh, crumpling up the bag and tossing it away. “Okay, okay! So…your guys completely shut down the docks, right?”

“...Yeah?” Jones raises an eyebrow. “We had to cordon it off because it was a crime scene. What about it?”

“I’ll tell you what!” James exclaims. “I lost my delivery form there, and I can’t get in to grab it! How am I gonna keep my job if I don’t even know where to go?!”

…Ah. Jones and I share a small glance with each other. “...You know what?” Jones pipes up, holding up his hands. “Understandable. We’ll see what we can do…”

We head our way over to the docks, going under the police tape and looking around for any sign of a form or sheet. Jones takes a peek into that open container from before, and I just continue glancing around my surroundings, taking a deep breath of the salty sea air.

There’s a table covered with papers in the corner of my sight. Someone must’ve accidentally left something there while being led out by police…like an unlucky barge driver.

Might be a good lead. I stride up to the table and begin rummaging around, searching for anything in specific that resembles a delivery form. There’s one paper in particular that sticks out to me with its contents as it sits at the bottom of the pile, and I look it over for any name.

“Driver Name — James Smith.” Yup, this most likely is it.

Unfortunately, though, I just now realize that the form’s completely soaked through. Crap.

I delicately peel it off of the wood table, pinching it in my fingers and holding it up to the sun. It’s almost translucent at this point, so I’m quite surprised to see that the ink didn’t smudge or bleed or anything…minus a certain spot right in the center.

An address, maybe? Better figure it out now…

 

I decipher the address in no time, writing it down on a sticky note and laying the form on a spare clipboard lying around.

268-GB-AVN…that’s the address, right? Hopefully it is… I tack the note right on the underside of the clipboard and spot Jones as I head back to find James. “You found the form?” He asks.

I give him a thumbs up in confirmation. “Yup! It’s a bit, uhhh…damp, but it’s legible!”

He frowns a small bit as he scrutinizes the clipboard. “...I don’t think that’s just ‘damp’...”

“Well, we can’t just dry it out here, right?”

He pauses, thinking for a moment. “...Yeah, good point. Hopefully, he won’t be bothered by its…condition.”

We head back to James, still sitting where we left him. “Mr. Smith?” I ask, holding up the clipboard.

His eyes immediately light up the moment they lay on it. “Oh my god, thank you!!” He snatches it right out of my hands, scanning it over. His brow furrows for a moment. “...Wait, why’s it so wet?” His eyes widen with concern. “Wait, why’s one of the-?!”

“Flip over the clipboard,” I politely suggest.

He pauses, flipping it over, and his shoulders relax as he lets out a sob of joy. “Oh, thank goodness-!” He crumples onto his knees, weeping with joy. “Oh, thank god, it’s legible, I’m not doomed after all!”

Jones gives me a playful nudge. “Looks like you did think ahead, huh…”

Suddenly, James’s head whips in my direction, and he scrambles to his feet again. “Thank you, thank you for saving my fuckin’ hide, Inspectors! I- listen, take this as a symbol of my gratitude-” He rummages through his pockets, digging around for…something.

He pulls out…two sticks of gum. “Uhhh…do you want to take this as a thank you?”

Jones looks like he’s been just slapped in the face. “A-are you really giving us squished-up pieces of gum as a than-”

I hold up my hand, covering his mouth as I take the gum from James. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. It’s no issue!”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Hope you guys have a great day!” He tells us. “Now, I just need to make one last delivery for today…”

 

Next stop — Sally Stone’s apartment. Judging by the way Jones is shifting uncomfortably in his position, I decide to take the lead on this one.

So I knock on the door.

Sally swings the door open this time, causing it to almost smash against the wall. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her skin and hair slick with sweat, her shoulders heaving with each shuddering breath.

The moment she recognizes the both of us, she lets out a groan of dismay. “NOT YOU AGAIN! What, are you here to tell me someone else I loved just died?!”

I hold up my hands as a sign of peace. “Miss Stone, my partner and I just wish to check up on you. How are you holding up, if you don’t mind telling us?”

Her body relaxes ever-so-slightly as she scrutinizes the both of us. “I…fuck, can I be honest?”

I nod. “Go ahead.”

She shakes her head, clutching her face in her hands. “I’m NOT holding up, I’m not holding up at all!! I can’t even find those stupid antidepressants that damn doctor gave me!!”

I give another nod, letting out a small sigh. “I see…” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jones in a little bit of thought, his arms crossed.

“…Miss Stone, how about you go outside and get some fresh air?” He suddenly suggests.

Oh?

Sally pauses mid breakdown, glancing up at him. “…Huh?”

“We can help you find those antidepressants,” he tells her, “Detective Perez over here has a sixth sense for searching for things, so maybe you can take a walk while we do the job for you.”

…Huh. I can’t help but sigh in relief seeing how much nicer Jones is towards Sally right now. Guess he took my words to heart…

Speaking of Sally, she’s wringing her hands in hesitation, pursing her lips. “…You’d do that for me?”

We both nod.

She slowly nods in return. “I…thanks. I think I do need to take a breather…” She runs a hand through her hair.

“Maybe head to Cooper Park!” Jones pipes up. “Heard they recently refurbished the statue over there. Might be a cool thing to have a peek at!’

“…Yeah, okay, maybe I will,” she tells us, nodding again before glancing down the hall. “I’ll…I’ll be back later, okay? You- you’d better have gotten my pills by then…”

Despite the demand, there’s no bite to her words, just mere exhaustion.

I nod yet again. “Take a break,” I tell her, “you certainly need it right now.”

After one last glance, she takes in a breath, exhales, exits her apartment, down the hallway and disappears down the stairwell.

Jones and I share one last look before entering the apartment.

It’s even more of a mess than last time — piles and bits of garbage are scattered all over the place, with even larger items like Sally’s TV lying on their sides on the floor.

“…Looks like Sally was quite desperate,” I hear Jones mutter gravely to himself, “hopefully we can find her pills in all this…”

My eyes are immediately set on a raggedy paper grocery bag in the corner of the room, laid on its side with its contents spilling out into a puddle. “…How likely would it be that Sally left her antidepressants in there?” I ask myself out loud.

“Hm?” He glances in the direction I’m looking. “I mean, maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. You never know until you search, eh?” He maneuvers around some trash, looking under a table.

I let out a small snort. “True. I’ll take a look.”

I tip-toe my way over to the bag, making sure I step on as little as possible before getting on my knees, snapping on gloves, and reaching right into the pile.

Instantly, I pull out a small medication bottle, a couple pills cluttering around in it.

…She probably missed it while searching around.

I shake the bottle a bit, squinting insideas if one of them might turn into a bug or something. But no, they’re pretty regular pills.

I read the label on the bottle to see if anything’s suspicious.

Paroxetine, it reads. Patient: Sally Stone. Doctor: Mulligan.

…Tía Regina took them too, didn’t she? I ponder to myself. …Hold on, why am I suddenly thinking about her now? Focus, Val.

Still a little bit unsure, I pop off the cap, shaking two pills into the palm of my hand. Still, nothing suspicious — they’re merely just tiny plain white ovals with some lettering and numbers engraved into them.

I put the pills back into the bottle just as I hear Jones’s voice. “You found anything yet?”

“Yup.” I hold up the bottle in confirmation, waiting for him to crawl over to me first before handing it over.

…He pauses, his lips tight and pursed as he takes them from me. He flips it around multiple times in his hands, squinting down at the label and scrutinizing every word.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his brow furrowing even more than it already was. His shoulders are tensing slightly as he just continues turning the bottle around over and over in his fingers. He pops open the bottle, peeking inside before shaking a pill into his hand and squinting down at that, too.

“…Well, these are definitely pills, alright,” he mumbles.

I frown. “Is anything wrong?”

He hesitates, staring blankly at all the trash at the floor for a couple of seconds before shifting his position — going from on his knees to just sitting criss-cross-legged on the floor, still examining the pill in his fingers.

…I guess we’re doing this now? I slowly sit criss-cross-legged right next to him.

He’s still silent, studying both sides of the pill like it was some sort of secret weapon.

“…Val,” he suddenly asks, his voice hesitant and almost uncharacteristically soft, “what if these aren’t antidepressants?”

I blink. “Uhhh…explain?”

A hfffff of air comes out of his nose, his gaze still glued onto the label of the pill bottle. “I mean…Dan was a junkie, right? What if Sally was influenced by his behaviors to do the same?”

I feel the muscles in my face push into a frown. “Do you…not believe her, Jones?”

“Cop’s intuition,” he replies a bit too quickly. “Better be safe than sorry, right?”

I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue feels like sandpaper for a good minute as I just…think about what he just told me.

He’s…not wrong, I guess. Better be safe than sorry.

“How long will it take for her to come back?” I murmur.

I watch as he ponders for a bit. He leans back, letting out a small hum. “Most ideal situation, she took my advice and is heading to Cooper Park to see that statue. That’s, like…one and a half hours by train, not counting walking to and from stations. She won’t be back for a while, hopefully.”

I give him a slow thumbs up. “…Okay. Let’s send the pill bottle to Grace to see if they’re antidepressants or not, and then give it back to Sally. Hopefully, Grace can work quickly…”

“You know her pretty alright,” he tells me with a small amused scoff, “she’ll get it done in no time! Then again, that still gives us a good amount of time to spare, right?”

I contemplate our situation for a second. “…You’re right, it does. Maybe during that time, we can help Bart, right?”

His small smile falls.

I stammer slightly. “I…right?”

He grits his teeth, staring blankly at the floor again, before he passes me the bottle of pills.

And then, he squeezes his eyes shut and puts his face in his hands.

“AaaaAUGHHH-”

 

Despite Jones’s very unsubtle protests to not see Bart, we drop off the pills with Grace and head off to see him anyway. The man’s pacing nervously back and forth on that one are of Caribou Corner.

The cruiser slides into the parking spot, and we climb out and onto the street.

Bart’s eyes light up the moment he sees us, and I spot Jones clenching his fists, gritting his teeth. I give him a side eye, just to remind him that getting pissed will help nobody.

“...You sure you wanna be the one to talk to him?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah. Better get it over with now.” He grumbles.

“Oh, just in time!” Bart exclaims anxiously as he dashes up to us. “Jesus Christ, it’s horrible! I’ve lost my wallet, you’ve gotta help me find it!!”

Jones crosses his arms. “And what makes you think we’d want to help YOU in particular, exactly?”

Bart runs his fingers through his hair, his desperate smile turning into an agitated glare. “You CAME here, didn’t you?!”

Jones lets out an offended sputter. “Yeah- well, I- yeah, but that doesn’t mean that I’d want to be here right now! My point still stands!”

…No, it honestly doesn’t. I let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Well, that’s pretty dickish of you, isn’t it?” Bart snidely remarks.

“Oi!” Jones snaps. “Pot calling kettle black here!”

“LISTEN!” Bart exclaims, grabbing Jones by the shoulders. “You know that the Vipers prowl this area, right?! They tolerated Bulldog being around, but they always gave me the stink eye every time I crossed paths with them! I know full well that if they saw my dumbass intruding on their territory, I’d have my head on a pike for sure!”

He practically throttles Jones, shaking him and screaming in his face. “I DON’T WANNA DIE FOR A FUCKING WALLET!!!!!”

Oh, god- I’m just about to step in when Jones pushes him away.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!!” He shouts, brushing himself off. “Jesus Christ, you’re lucky that we just solved Dan’s murder, because I’m in a…ehhh, relatively good mood right now! But you’d better give us something good in exchange, okay?”

Bart nods eagerly, falling down onto his knees and clasping his hands together in relief. “Oh, thank you, THANK YOU!! I’ll see what I can find, I promise!”

“Where’d you last see your wallet?” I inquire.

“Last time, I think it was around where Bulldog worked!” He tells me. “That shitty-ass alley…”

I hold up a hand. “I think that’s good enough. Thank you, Bart, we’ll find your wallet in no time!”

 

We finally park in front of the alley, and the first thing I don’t even have to get out to notice the wallet hidden underneath a dumpster.

“...Huh, it’s right there,” I note, climbing out of the cruiser.

“So it wasn’t even that crazy of a search!” Jones exclaims angrily as he exits the car as well. “That little dickweasel could’ve just grabbed it himself!”

“Well, in his defense,” I reply, picking it up, “he did mention the Vipers, right? Judging from what I can tell, I don’t think he would be able to come out of an encounter with one unscathed.” I cough into my fist. “...Ash Bison.”

I see Jones hesitate out of the corner of my eye as he processes my words. “...You know what? Fair point. I’ll give Bart…half leeway for that one.”

I roll my eyes. “...Okay. Alright then.”

I open up the wallet to see if I can find any sort of identification, any sort of sign that the wallet is Bart’s. Sure enough, his ID card is sticking right out, with his name and face plastered right on it.

…Lowkey, Bart with a poker face looks extremely uncanny, I think with a frown.

Suddenly, I feel Jones’s presence getting a little bit closer to me. “...Y’know, Val…” he whispers, “...what do you say we…have a peek inside?”

I turn around to face him, and he’s raising an eyebrow in some sort of suggestion, a slight, almost mischievous grin on his face.

My brow furrows as I close the wallet. “Don’t think that’s a good idea,” I reply, shaking my head. “We know it’s his wallet, it has his ID card.”

“But what if he’s hiding something from us?” He asks, almost begging with the way his tone is almost pitiful. “Come ooon, Val, pleeeease? I’m SURE he’s hiding something important! Just a little look, okay?”

My left eyelids twitch as I give him the most deadpan of deadpan stares.

We stare at each other in silence, the only other sounds are the honking of car horns behind us.

I let out an annoyed huff, rolling my eyes as I yank the wallet open again. “...Fine. But if Bart gets upset, that’s on you.”

He grins. “Great! Let’s see if anything’s afoot…”

I stuff my fingers into a couple pockets, sifting around for anything of note. Nothing really much stands out – just receipts, some extra cash, a couple other ID cards for different places,,,

As I pull out another receipt in particular, a couple shreds of paper behind it also fall out the wallet, scattering over the ground. “Oh, shit-!”

Jones immediately reaches down, scooping them back up into his hands. He whistles, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll be damned…If Bart keeps this torn-up photo in his wallet, it’s gotta be someone important, right? I’m sure!”

Oh?

I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity peaked. “Wait- wait, lemme see-”

He’s smirking at me as he passes me the small pieces of paper. “You think you can piece this one together?”

I study the pieces carefully. Judging from what I can tell, the photo seems to be of…some guy, standing there. “I think I can…you got any tape, maybe?”

“I think I have an extra roll in the car,” he replies. “I’ll go get it!”

 

Once he comes back with the tape and hands it to me, I get on my knees and lay the pieces of paper out on the ground. Then all I just have to do is arrange them correctly and put them together until it’s one clear photo.

It’s a man – a guy standing quite casual but proud with his hands in his jeans pockets. In fact, he’s decked out in blue – blue bandana and blue tank top, flakes of dandruff particularly noticeable on his shoulders. He’s…almost scruffy in a way, grinning at the camera with one eyebrow up, his mustache almost curling. Tattoos are almost everywhere on his body – teardrops on the corner of his eye, a spiderweb on his neck, barbed wire around his left arm and what looks like claw marks on both arms.

And a snake tattoo right on his torso, peeking up from his tank top collar.

Viper.

His striking green eyes feel like he’s staring right at me. I can’t help but feel a shiver run up my spine. 

Something about him feels off. So fucking off.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I hear Jones mutter as he stares at the photo from over my shoulder. “Hey, can I get a closer look at that?”

I hand the photo to him, my hands automatically feeling a little bit cleaner.

“,,,Yeesh, this guy looks like he’s seen better days,” I hear him murmur, studying the photo. “But anyway, he clearly belongs to one of the Vipers.”

I nod, glancing away at the photo, looking for anything to distract me from the extremely vile pit in my stomach.

And then it drops

Right out of nowhere, it feels like everything’s gone completely still.

The cars have stopped because of a traffic light.

Every sound around me feels like they’ve blurred together.

And I have a clear view of the man staring at me from the complete other end of the street.

The man that looks strikingly like the guy in the photo.

I can’t hear anything except the sounds of my heart pounding in my ears.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

His gaze feels like it’s searing a hole right between my eyes.

His expression is almost muddled – I can’t seem to grasp any idea of what exactly he’s feeling right now. Certainly surprise, but what else?

Recognition. Recognition and pure, unadulterated hatred.

His hands slowly clench around a wad of bills I didn’t even realize he was holding, his eyes continuing to stay locked onto me.

My heartbeat gets louder. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. BADUM, BADUM, BADUM-!!

The hand on my shoulder yanks me right back into reality, and I let out a yelp, flinching away.

Jones is gazing at me, concerned. “...You alright, Val? You were just…suddenly staring out into the distance.”

I shake my head. “I-I saw someone. Someone across the street-!!” I point right behind me, almost desperately as I clench, then unclench my free hand repeatedly. I’m letting out huge breaths of air I didn’t even realize I was holding.

He immediately follows where I’m pointing, his eyebrows knitted together, his irises darting around the street across from us.

And then…he goes still.

“...I don’t see anything.”

What.

I instantly flip my head around, my eyes flickering everywhere across the street – left, right, left, right, left, right –

– Oh my god, he actually vanished.

I’m clutching at my shirt, my breathing going into overdrive. Where is he?! Where in the actual hell is he?!

“Hey, hey, hey!” I hear Jones exclaim, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Val, Val, stay with me now, okay?! Stay with me! Remember to breathe, alright?!”

I nod, struggling to catch my breath.

“Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths,” he tells me, his voice commanding. “In, then out. In, then out.”

I follow his instructions, trying to focus on my breath and his voice through everything else.

In, then out.

In, then out.

In, then out…

It takes me a couple of attempts, but I finally feel myself calm down. Slowly. Gradually.

The roiling in my gut still remains.

“…You doing alright?” Jones asks awkwardly.

I slowly nod. “Feeling…better. I guess.” My gaze darts back to the street across from us, scanning it for any sign of-

“Hey!” He snaps his fingers. “Eyes on me, okay? Try to name some objects around that…aren’t behind you.”

I glance around the alley for a moment, my mind feeling like it was filled to the brim with helium and pulled down by a weight. “I see…”

A dumpster. “…a dumpster.”

Walls. “…walls.”

Fire escapes. “…fire escapes.”

My heartbeat finally begins slowing down.

“…Okay. Good,” He tells me, his hands still cautiously hovering over my shoulders. “…You feeling better? You still looking a bit pale.”

I nod again. “I think I’ll be…okay.”

“…Alright.” He stands up, holding out his hand for me to take. “You know what? Change of plans. How about I give the wallet back to Bart, and you take a rest in the car for a bit? Take a bit of a break, maybe. You haven’t slept, in, like, more than 24 hours?”

“…You neither,” I mumble.

He waves me off. “Whatever. Either way, you can rest in the backseat, if you want. I’m driving!”

 

I lie down in the backseat, an arm covering my face as we drive in utter silence.

That is, until we stop at a traffic light and Jones speaks. “…Hey, so…you got any idea on what happened? Back there?”

I hesitate, my throat as rough as sandpaper as I swallow down saliva. “I…I don’t know. I thought I saw the guy from Bart’s picture  over there, on the other side of the road, but then he just…disappeared. Like you said.”

A small part of my brain holds back from telling him about why this all started in the first place.

He lets out a small hm in response, leaning back in his seat. His fingers tap a bit against the dashboard as he tilts his head left then right. “…I see. Maybe some sort of visual hallucination?”

…What? I sit up with a start. “Jones, I know what I saw-”

He holds up his hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying that I don’t believe what you told me. But hopefully, at the same time…” a pause, “…it may be hallucinations from lack of sleep. That’s the best explanation I have right now. A…grounding point, of sorts.”

“But what if that guy was real?” I rasp.

“Then we try to figure out something else from there,” he replies. “Is that okay?”

A grounding point. Considering how light-headed I feel, I think I need that right now.

I slowly nod, sinking my head back down. “…Yeah. Alright, I’ll…I’ll take that.”

The traffic light flashes green.

 

We finally park at Caribou Corner.

Jones bounds out of the cruiser, wallet in hand. I know I’m supposed to be resting, but I can’t help myself — I take a small peek through the window to observe the interaction from the distance.

“Oi, Bart!” Jones calls. “Today’s your lucky day, your wallet’s right here!”

Bart practically beams. “Finally!! Thanks, oh my-!”

Jones holds a hand up to shush him, lifting the wallet away from him. “BUT…butbutbutbutbut, care to explain why you’re carrying around a picture of one of the Vipers in it? Hm?”

Bart’s smile immediately morphs into a scowl as he processes the implications. “Whoa, what the fuck, Jones?! That’s low, even for you! And judging by what I know about Detective Perez, snooping around my fucking wallet wasn’t her idea!”

A pause. “Speaking of which,” he asks, “where is she?”

I duck slightly, pressing my ear against the door.

“That’s confidential,” Jones tells him. “But anyway…photo.”

Bart scoffs in reply. “What good is it, paying taxes,” he mutters under his breath, “if cops just search through your shit…”

“Yeah, like you pay taxes!” Jones snaps. “Come on, Bart, spill the beans!!”

Another scoff. ”Fine, whatever…Guy in the photo’s name is Salvador Cordero, the Vipers’ new leader.”

Cordero.

My blood runs cold even hearing that name. My whole body wilts, and I’m almost shrinking in on myself.

That name sounds familiar. Way too familiar.

Calm down, Val, calm the hell down-

“Holy moly-!” I hear Jones exclaim. “I didn’t expect him to be that important! Thanks, Bart, here’s your wallet!”

I hear the sounds of a wallet smacking skin, Bart letting out a yell of annoyance, and footsteps dashing over to the cruiser.

Out of nowhere, Jones swings the driver’s door open, bounding inside. “VAL!!” He yells. “WE STRUCK GOLD!!”

 

He recaps everything I’ve just heard to me as we drive back to the station, and I just merely nod and let out multiple mhms as I try to figure out where I heard the name Cordero.

Cordero, Cordero, Cordero…

Luckily for me, Grace finishing her analysis of those pills is like a soothing balm and a necessary distraction. Surprisingly, she texts them to us this time.

“I’ll make this succinct so that way you can just pick the pills up when you get here”, the message reads, “The pills are legit. Sally didn’t lie.”

Both Jones and I let out a huge sigh of relief in unison at this, slumping in our seats.

“Thanks Grace!!” Jones texts back once we reach an intersection. “Im driving now, ttyl”

The moment we get back to the station, we head for her lab to pick them up.

Well, I do, before Jones out of nowhere. puts a hand on my shoulder. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, still concerned. “You don’t wanna take a break?”

I nod instantly. “I’ll be okay. What happened in that alley was nothing.”

He frowns. “You sure? That definitely didn’t look like nothing. How about you take a-”

“Jones.” I hiss. “I’m fine, alright? I’d rather appreciate that you personally let me finish the tasks I’ve started, and please don’t tell anyone about this.”

His brow furrowe, and I gaze at him with pleading eyes.

He sighs, defeated. “Suit yourself. But you’d better take a break after we’re done, okay?”

“Alright, thank you!” I reply, and we head to Grace’s lab together.

 

We pick up the pills and drive over to the apartment complex, bounding up the stairs to apartment 315.

Jones knocks on the door, and we wait in anticipation to see if anything would happen.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you see it), the door opens, revealing a very confused Sally Stone.

She looks a lot more relaxed, at least, but judging by her expression, we definitely had to explain why we had just upped and left.

“Where were you??” She asks. “Didn’t you find my pills??”

“We did, don’t worry!” Jones sheepishly replies, rummaging through his pockets. “Sorry we had to leave, our Chief had to call us for something important…”

He hesitates, then hastily adds, “…and confidential!”

Sally’s brow furrows, clearly not believing a word out of his mouth.

“Anyway…” he pulls out the pill bottle and hands it to her. “…I told you, Detective Perez over here’s the best at finding lost stuff!”

I merely just calmly nod and politely smile in confirmation.

Sally’s eyes lights up seeing the familiar orange and white, and she practically snatched it right out of Jones’s hand. “Holy shit, you actually found it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

“…Just be careful with the dosage, okay?” I add.

She nods vehemently, tears of relief brimming in the corners of her eyes. “I will, I will! I- I- I think I’ll be going to my parents’ for a while, to get away from all this…they’ll help me, I’m sure!”

Jones and I both nod. “That’s great!” Jones replies. “Three heads are always better than one, after all!”

Sally chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. Her smile’s almost…sweet. Innocent.

How old was she again? Nineteen?

I can’t help but sigh to myself. Hopefully, she can turn her life around. After all, there is still time…

Sally glances behind her for a moment. “Hold on, I need to say thank you…” She darts over to the smaller table, crawling on the floor as she searches in a pile of paper clippings for a couple moments.

Finally she stands up, looking at something in her hands before running back over to us. “Here!”

I take my time in reading it, Jones glancing over my shoulder.

It’s a fast food voucher, for one free “double burger” meal.

“I- I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can give…” Sally mumbles, itching her arm.

Jones and I share a glance, then look back at her. “It’s good enough, honestly,” I tell her with a smile. “Thank you.”

Jones nods in agreement. “Yeah, no need for big, grand gestures! We’re just doing our job here!”

Sally practically beams. “I don’t think anything can express my gratitude right now…once again, thank you, thank you for everything!!”

Notes:

WOOOO ANOTHER CASE FINALLY DONE!!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for the next case!!
I’m currently very tired yet posting this at 12:50-something AM. Never back down, never give up!! ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )
(It’s 1 AM and here I am writing fanfiction. What am I doing with my life.)

Chapter 20: Don't You Give Me Up

Summary:

Please, don't give up
On me, I belong
With you and only you

She said her name was “Perez”.

“Valentina Perez”, was it not?

It’s almost surreal, hearing that surname again after a whole decade of trying to avoid it…

… and my own failure.

Does she even remember me?

I feel myself squint as I recall from the top of my head.

She’s standing there, giving me that awkward, tight-lipped smile as she extends a hand for me to shake. One of her knees is wobbling, her eyes uncharacteristically wide, looking like she’s about to collapse under the beating disco lights.

Even then, I knew she looked quite familiar, but something in my brain was screaming at me. Shouting at me, clawing at me, begging me to believe that it wasn’t true, that she wasn’t in any way related to her , from ten whole years ago, a victim to my own cowardice–

The moment that name leaves her lips, my heart sinks.

God . I lean forward in my chair, rubbing my temples. This is an absolute mess.

I barely even pay attention to anything that Inspector Jones is saying. My eyes continually glance over at Perez like she’ll change at any moment into someone else.

But no, she remains the same, and she’s not even looking me in the eyes.

She looks so much like her.

Is she…afraid of me? If so, no surprise or blame there, but at the same time, the thought makes a lump form in my throat.

No. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Let’s not think about it right now. You’re a businessman, not a…

… a what? A wimp?

I cross my arms, staring down at the bowl in front of me.

What did Balanchine say this was again? ‘Ukha’, wasn’t it?

I tentatively put the spoon to my lips, taking another small sip. It’s still warm, and I feel my shoulders sag with relief as I swallow it down.

It’s bright. Savory. The fish flavor is a lot more subtle than I expected.

Note to self. Ask Balanchine for the recipe, and learn how to make this at home. Ginger would like this, wouldn’t she?

The clock on the wall is the only active sound in the room, leaving me alone with just my thoughts and a good bowl of soup.

5:32 AM. It’s almost time for me to leave soon, or else Levin might come back to open the restaurant doors.

Part of me wonders what he’d think, walking into his own restaurant and seeing me out of all people just casually sitting at his table and eating food made by his right-hand man.

I continue eating, this time a little bit faster, and I finish the small bowl in no time.

Alright. Now I just need to put this in the kitchen, and it’d be like I never was here–

The sound of keys jittering in a lock catches my attention, and I snap my head over to the noise, readying myself for any sort of confrontation.

Instead of Levin, though, his son bursts in through the door. Mikhail.

The young man’s unruly mop of golden blonde hair is matted, loose strands almost glued to his scalp. He’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, one sleeve of his jacket draped over his shoulder and the other sleeve instead hanging limply at his side. His eyes are opened to the size of dinner plates, darting wildly around the restaurant.

His gaze hones in on me.

“…What are you doing here?” He whispers, his stare almost blank yet wild, a thousand miles long yet stilted.

I shake my head and chuckle slightly, trying to lighten the mood a little. “What, a man can’t enjoy good food when he wants?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he just blinks like he’s a deer caught in headlights.

He lets out a grunt, staggering over to a chair and flopping right down in it. He’s still huffing, gazing down at his feet.

Somehow, I feel a pit of concern forming in my gut. “…Is something wrong?”

He still doesn’t answer, still breathing like a madman as he looks down at his jerking fingers.

“…My father,” he mutters, “where is he?!”

I pause, trying to recall anything Balanchine had told me. “...I assume you’re looking for him?”

“What does it look like, old man-?! ”

“Alright, alright.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll get this out of the way — your father’s not here yet.”

He stares at me, bewildered. “Wha-? Then- then, how did you-?!”

“I have my ways,” I tell him calmly. “But from what I know, your father comes around at around opening time — 7:30 AM, is it not?”

I can see the cogs turning in the man’s head. The puzzle pieces being put together, if you will.

“…Yes,” he replies, his muscles sagging slightly. “Yes, he does.”

“Okay,” I say. “So best case scenario, he’ll probably show up by then. If you want to, you can wait for him…or something. It’s up to you.”

He lets out a hiss as he slumps even more in the chair. Hopefully, he got the message.

I pick up the bowl again. “I’ll just…put this in the kitchen, if you don’t mind-”

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. “No need. I’ll do it for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? You’d do that?”

He stares at me deadpan. “It’s called manners, is it not?”

I shrug. “True, true…” I place the bowl back down on the table. I twist my torso a small bit, feeling a couple parts of my spine pop as tension releases from my body.

… I’m getting old.

“…Well.” I turn back to Mikhail. “May you have a…pleasant day. Hope you resolve any conflict you have.”

He flinches slightly, but remains tight-lipped.

I merely saunter past him, basking in the soft, dim light as I head over to the front door.

I take one last look behind me, at Mikhail still sitting in his chair. He stands up, taking the bowl and heading towards the kitchen.

And just like that, I turn and leave.

I’ll check up with Ginger, I muse. Maybe we can try to eyeball that soup recipe today…

It’s decently quiet today. Despite the fact that I’m deep in enemy territory, I feel no gazes on my back. Only a couple of people just heading to their destinations, just like me.

Wait a second-

My eyes widen as suddenly, I spot something – no, someone – out of the corner of my eye.

Is it her? Is she haunting me now or something?!

Before I can even process, though, she disappears into a crowd in the distance, leaving me completely alone on the barren street.

The only thing left is her words – words she spoke to me all those years ago.

“You’re too kind, Antonio. Someday it’ll be the death of you.”

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! It's actually pretty fun trying to write in another character's POV ngl
Anyway, stay tuned for the next case!! :DDD

Chapter 21: A Russian Case - 1/4

Summary:

THURSDAY 6:02 AM

{Where are you right now?
{People came to my door asking for you.
{They said they haven't heard from you since yesterday. You weren't at home apparently
{They're pissing me off
{Just call them and tell them to leave already, they're not leaving without you

{Father?

Notes:

Val and Jones get introduced to a case that's a little more...high-profile.
Also, a familiar face shows up.
[CONTENT WARNING: Some implications of abuse are mentioned. Just to clarify, this will be expanded on in the next couple of chapters.]

As I head to the station for my shift, I’m feeling…a slight bit better. Granted, I find myself still glancing around nervously from time to time, but I’m mostly fine.

I’m alive. Paranoid and dazed, but alive.

 

I’m suddenly jolted out of my stupor by a hand on my shoulder, and I can’t help but jump a little.

“Detective, are you doing alright?” Chief’s King’s voice rumbles from next to me.

I flip my head to face him. “Wha-?!”

He’s practically hunched over, his mustache a mere couple of inches from my own cheek, and I subtly scoot back just an inch.

“You’ve been freezing up lately,” he tells me, “and just blankly staring into space. Do you wish to go take a walk? Get a drink of water, perhaps?” His brow is furrowed, morphing his expression into one of concern.

…Do I? Through the haze in my mind, I try to figure out some sort of answer.

Do I take a break, or do I shrug it off and continue working?

I finally shake my head. “...No, don’t worry. I’ll be…” I wave one of my hands. “...fine? I guess?”

“I don’t need to hear an ‘I guess’, Detective,” he commands firmly. “I need an ‘I’m sure’.”

Oh- I can’t help but feel a little bit embarrassed as I nod sheepishly. “Y- yes, Chief. I’m sure.”

“ Are you?” He asks, leaning in ever-so-slightly and staring right into my eyes.

Someone give that man some brown contacts to contrast those baby blues, I swear to god. The light reflecting off of them is almost blinding.

“Y- yes, sir, I am!” I force out in a more confident tone.

He smiles at me, patting me on the back as he stands back up. “Good! Meet me in my office, Detective. No rest for the wicked – you and Jones have a new case on your plate. And trust me – this one is a way more grave situation.”

Just before I can even answer, that man’s already briskly striding out of the room.

 

I find Jones nursing a piping hot coffee as I head for Chief King’s office. I explain what’s going on to him, and we head over there together.

“So, Chief!” Jones says in a chipper tone. “You needed to see us?”

Chief King turns around to face us and nods. “Indeed. This whole affair’s been a mess and a half…”

“Well, how bad is it?” I ask. “Is this murder ‘completely butchered’-levels of bad?”

“Depends on how you see it.” He purses his lips, pressing them into a tight line. “But anyway, I know full well that the fallout of this case will be bloodshed if you two don’t deal with it as quickly and efficiently as possible!”

“I think we got this in the bag, Chief!” Jones replies confidently. “I’ve got faith in Detective Perez’s skills. We’ll get this case done in no ti-”

“ I’m not done, ” Chief King almost growls, gritting his teeth.

Jones promptly closes his mouth, shifting a slight bit behind me. “...Go on, then, sorry.”

Chief KIng clears his throat. “The victim of this case is none other than the head of the Russian mafia, Anton ‘White Bear’ Levin, found slain in his restaurant by some of his employees!”

…Oh, shit. For once, I actually have somewhat of an idea on who someone is.

Out of the few memories I have of tía Regina, her mentioning Levin’s name was one of them.

She shivers with fear, muttering to herself as I watch her organize the files on her desk.

“Levin, Levin, Levin, Levin, Levin…”

Judging by Jones’s expression out of the corner of my eye, he has an idea about who Levin is as well.

Chief King lets the news stew with us for a slow, slow moment before opening his mouth to speak again. “If his killer isn’t caught soon, you know what’ll happen?! A bunch of bloodthirsty henchmen prowling the streets! Looking for any sort of revenge!”

Jones purses his lips, side-eyeing me as he nods. “I see, I see, no pressure at all…don’t worry, Chief, we’ll try our best.” He turns to face me. “Right, Perez?”

“Hm?” I blink, turning to face him as well. “Ah, um- yeah, yeah, we’ll solve the case in no time!” My lips push against their ends into a smile.

“Levin’s” is a small restaurant located near the border between the Industrial Area and the Financial Center. It’s a lot more secluded than I expected — squished between a doctor’s office and a convenience store on a less crowded side of the road. No flashy lights, no enormous sign with its name in massive, bold font. Only a dim glow that was the most visible in the early morning dark.

Jones taps me on my shoulder. “I’ll secure the crime scene,” he whispers in my ear. “You go inside, collect the clues.” He holds up a roll of police tape.

I suck in a breath. “...Okay. I’ll do that.”

He walks ahead, gesturing over to me, then the door with a small grin on his face. “...Ladies first?”

I give him a deadpan stare, my lips pressed into a thin line. “You flatter me.”

His grin drops, and he clears his throat. “...Sorry.”

And just like that, I push open the door, the little bell on top ringing to signal my presence.

If only there was someone who would answer.

It’s a lot cozier compared to the cool November air outside – globe-shaped lights line the walls, filling the room with a comforting, almost homely radiance reminiscent of the lamp that sits on my desk.

The tables are covered with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, chairs neatly arranged around them, little green vases filled with flowers right placed on top of them.

It’s…a typical place. There’s obviously passion put into making the place look nice, warm, and welcoming. Almost as if it’s not owned by the leader of the local Russian mafia.

Speaking of the devil. Sitting on the floor a little bit of a distance away from me is who I assume is the man himself, completely disheveled over. He’s a mess  —  his clothing crumples of red and black over blue, his mustache and beard dripping with blood, with multiple bald spots so big, they rival his head.

His head. It’s completely decorated with splotches of blur and purple, his glasses hanging by one leg on his left ear. The other leg lies in his lap, having been either yanked or smashed off.

…The main attraction, though, is the giant wound right on the top of his skull.

What the hell is that?! I kneel down, slipping on rubber gloves as I squint.

It’s a collection of small, punctured holes arranged in rings, each ring smaller the more I look inward. If I had looked at it from afar, I probably would’ve mistaken it for a stamp at first glance.

…But, of course, it isn’t.

Is there one on his neck, too? I wonder. Sucking in a breath, I gradually lift up his head…

…And my gaze makes contact with his glazed-over, dull, lifeless eyes, rolling up into his skull.

He’s been beaten into an absolute pulp. The bruises on his face are even darker, more saturated, more punctuated . Some sides of his face are swelling, other parts completely caved in.

That’s not all. His jaw is hanging by a mere couple threads of muscle, almost swinging like a pendulum on two strings instead of one.

… Oh, what the fuck.

My stomach churns. My heart rate is beginning to quicken in pace.

But all I can do is stare.

No. Focus, Val. Stop gaping and do your job. I shake my head, slowly lowering his head back down into its original position before glancing back at the window.

Jones is busy calling someone, and from what I can barely hear through the glass, it’s Nathan.

Nathan. I glance back down at the body.

More of that particular wound shape, I realize. There’s more of those bunches of holes all over his chest and hands.

No, no distractions. I stand up, dusting off my knees. Nathan will take care of it. I think I’ll take another look around — that’ll be a productive use of my time instead of just stopping and staring.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and take a good look around, suddenly feeling like the room had gotten a lot more vast. Or am I getting smaller? I stumble, staggering past some tables, glancing around, trying to find anything of note.

There’s…barely anything of note.

Besides a couple of knocked-over items on the floor, everything seems to be put in place. Was Levin killed in another room and dragged over here? The lack of any sort of marks on the floor suggests otherwise.

…Oh?

There’s something lying under a chair, so I kneel down to see what it is.

It’s a cellphone. I reach over and pick it up, running my thumb over its cracked-up screen.

Suddenly, the ring of the bell catches my attention, and I jerk my head right up to see who it is. It’s Jones – striding through the door and immediately staring at the body.

He sucks in a breath through the nose, placing a hand over his mouth. “…Jesus Christ,” I hear him mumble. “What a mess…”

I nod grimly, standing up. “Yeah, it’s…something, that’s for sure. From what I can tell, either the killer got too carried away with what they were doing, or they had a serious grudge…”

“Maybe a mix of both,” he adds, pointing over to a counter. “Look at the cash register over there.”

It hadn't even occurred to me at first. Nevertheless, he’s correct - there is a cash register on the counter, and it has been wiped utterly clean. 

“You thinking it may have been a robbery gone ugly?”  I ask him.

He strokes his chin, his eyes flitting around the room. “Most likely. If I had to guess, the killer most likely had a grudge against Levin and decided to rob him. But Levin caught them in the act, the two of them fought, and the killer quickly gained the upper hand.” He purses his lips, glancing down at my hands. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Oh, this?” I hold the baggy with the phone up to make it more clear for him to see. “I found it under one of the chairs. I assume it might have been Levin’s?”

He raises an eyebrow, nodding. “Good catch! Hopefully, that phone and the autopsy’ll be able to tell us something about what happened here.” He hesitates. “Does…Does that still work, actually?”

“...Hm.” Does it? I reach into the baggy and pull it out. It’s still intact, so maybe it still works…

I press down on the power button on the side for a couple of seconds, holding a small breath.

Bingo. The screen lights up…

…and we’re immediately met with a lock screen asking for some sort of password.

Jones bites hard on the inside of his cheek, and I can tell that he wants to curse or punch anything around him. I side-eye him hard, and he merely clenches his fists. “... Damnit. ” He lets out a breath, before turning to me. “You, uhhh, you know how to crack the code?”

I glance down at the screen, and at the keypad. “...I’ll see what I can do. You call the paramedics yet?”

He nods. “They’re on the way and will be here pretty shortly.”

“Gotcha.” I crack the knuckles on my right hand. “Give me a couple minutes, and we’ll have something ready to send to Alex!”

He nods again, this time grinning at me. “Alright! I’ll make some reports to Chief King about this. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to let me know!”

 

By the time I finish opening the phone, the paramedics have already arrived and are placing Levin’s body into a body bag. I can’t help but stare a little as they zip it up, sealing him away from the outside world.

What…happened?  Why the hell is he like this? Who did this to him? I purse my lips, my mind flashing back to the sound of Regina’s voice.

“Levin. Levin. Levin. Levin. Levin.”

I shake my head, glancing down at the home screen. The wallpaper is a photo – one of a man that I can assume is Levin, but quite a bit younger. He’s still got the same glasses and a similar-looking outfit, but only this time, he merely has stubble and…hair on his head. He’s sitting in a chair, his back straight as he gazes into the camera. I can’t help but stare at his expression — a smile, one of pure joy.

There’s also someone else in the photo as well – a young boy, most likely 4-5 years old, with an unruly mop of golden blonde hair like his father. His eyes sparkle a bright sky blue, and his mouth open in a fit of giggles, showing a tooth gap on the top side of his mouth.

It’s like the picture was taken on the happiest day of their lives.

Jones is still on his phone, discussing for a few more moments before finally hanging up. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and turns to me. “Oh-kay!” He declares, clapping his hands together. “You look like you got something. Do you wanna go first, or should I?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “How about you go first?”

He nods, giving me a grin. “Gotcha! I just got off a call with Chief King because I wanted to ask if there was any more information about Levin.”

  Oh?

There’s someone standing outside, their silhouette almost hunched over as they just stand there, staring at the paramedics loading Levin’s body into the back of the coroner’s truck.

“According to Chief King, Levin had a son — Mikhail, I think he said his name was?”

Mikhail.

Anton and Mikhail Levin.

The person outside is still just gazing at the coroner’s truck, their — no, his — fingers digging into the fabric of his black sports jacket. His mop of golden blonde hair almost reflecting off of the early morning sunlight…

… Golden hair like the young boy in the picture.

As I squint, trying to make out the details of the man at the window, I hear Jones clear his throat. “…Um. Val? Did yooou…hear anything I said?”

“Hm? Yeah, I did,” I reply, my eyes glued onto the figure. “Did Chief King give a description of Mikhail?”

“Oh, yeah, he did!” He replies. “Said that last time they encountered Mikhail, he had blonde hair-”

Blonde hair. Checks out.

“-blue eyes-”

The man’s still gazing at the coroner’s truck with dull blue eyes.

“-a black t-shirt, black sports jacket, and a gold chain!”

The man’s fingers reach up to tug at the very gold chain around his neck.

Oh, bingo.

I thank Jones for the help. “You think we should talk to him?”

He lets out a small chuckle. “I think that’s pretty obvious. Of course we should let him know his dad’s dead, y’know…Chief King gave me the address to the guy’s apartment-”

I shake my head, nudging past him. “No, I don’t think that’d be necessary right about now.

“Hey, what-”

I’m just about to go over to the restaurant entrance when the man begins moving as well, striding over to the front door and yanking the police tape right out of his way with a loud rrriiiiIIIIPPP!!!!!

Jones lets out an offended gasp at this, immediately stepping in front of me. “The NERVE OF THAT GUY-!”

Before we can even do anything, though, the door slams open with a BANG, and in storms a man that’s towering over the both of us.

Now that I can get a better view of him, I’m sure that he matches Mikhail’s description.

His icy-blue eyes are filled with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. “OI! YOU THERE!” He yells.

Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god-!

All the color drains from Jones’s face, and he automatically takes a step or two back. So the guy instead stomps straight up to me, towering over me, glowering right down into my eyes. “YOU! Tell me, WHAT IS GOING ON?!” He snarls.

My heartbeat is practically in overdrive as I catch my breath with how fast the man even moves . “Sir, sir!” I stammer out, stumbling back. “A-are you-?!”

“Well?!” He growls, crossing his arms. “Speak.”

Jones and I both pause. Suddenly, my mouth feels a lot drier than I remember.

Luckily, Jones seems to catch onto the fact that I certainly am not talking, so he awkwardly clears his throat. “You’re…Mikhail Levin, I assume?”

“What’s it to you?” Mikhail asks in response.

Jones lets out a small sigh. “Answer the question, please. Yes, or no?”

Mikhail rolls his eyes. “What does it look like? Of course, I am. Now explain what the hell you cops are doing in my family restaurant !”

“...Mikhail, we’re sorry to inform you that your dad is dead. ”

Mikhail’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. He instantly goes as completely silent as me, all the anger and emotion in his gaze draining away in an instant.

…That is, until it all comes rushing back right away. His brow furrows as his lips twist into an arrogant… grin , and he barks out a laugh . “HA! Good riddance, that svoloch had it coming!”

The hell? Jones and I share a side-eye.

Jones clears his throat, suddenly looking very interested in a spot on the floor. “Well, you certainly sound quite devastated…”

Mikhail merely scoffs, waving us off. “Bah! The old kozyol and I never got along. Never considered me worthy of anything…bet he regrets having me around now!”

His smirk is giving me shivers down my spine. God. My hands clench at my sides as I finally decide to speak up. “Do you…have any idea on who might’ve killed him, Mik-” No, probably not the best idea to call a Russian mafia heir by his first name. Too informal. “-Mr. Levin?”

He shakes his head all-too-confidently. “Not a clue. Too many people I can think of, but no one in particular.”

TOO MANY-?!

I can physically feel the color drain right out of my face right at this moment.

“TOO MANY PEOPLE”.

To be completely honest, I am not in any mood to deal with talking to the entire Russian mafia right now.

Don’t worry Val, we can at least narrow down suspects…think about that, Val!! We can just narrow it down to the guys who were closest to Levin, or the ones around the crime scene!! We don’t have to deal with the ENTIRE Russian mafia, RIGHT???

WHY AM I EVEN THIS WORRIED??? WHAT’S GOING ON???

I’m snapped out of my panicked thoughts by a poke right between my eyes. Mikhail’s still glowering at me, but his words seem to be aimed at the both of us. “...You’d better find his killer before I do, though. Even though we had our differences, he was still MY father, and he died on our territory! His death will NOT go unavenged!”

Jones holds up his hands. “We’ll do our job, don’t worry! No need for further bloodshed.”

Mikhail glares right at him, causing him to jolt. After a couple more seconds, he finally turns around and leaves, He SLAMS open the door again and storms off, muttering about how he needs to clear his head.

I let out a sigh I never realized that I was holding. Jones is still standing in his spot tight-lipped. “...Okay. Is it just me, or was that really fucking weird?!” He finally spouts out.

I stand upright. “I…I guess?”

“You guess ?” He scoffs. “Val, that dude looks like he’d be more affected by a puppy’s death compared to his own father’s!”

“...I’d cry over a puppy dying, too?”

“I- You get what I mean!” He exclaims. “He’s got no sympathy for his dad dying. Which is like- I get it if Anton was an asshole, but-!” He hesitates for a moment before just throwing his hands in the air. “You know what? Whatever. Let’s drop the phone off with Alex for an analysis. We’ll see where we can go from there!”

Once we get back to the station, we hand over the phone to Alex and explain what we need, but also Jones decides to ask about any way to find Mikhail’s address. UnFortunately for us, Alex gets Mikhail’s apartment address in no time because Mikhail’s information is in the police database from a previous encounter with cops.

So…great for the case, not exactly for me, but then again, this isn’t about me.

Off to Mikhail’s place we go, then.

 

Mikhail Levin lives a lot farther down the street than the restaurant. In fact, we find his apartment building in a much more compact area full of the usual garbage and smoke like the rest of the Industrial Center.

No…indication that he’s the son of the Russian mafia leader. When we ask a couple folks for confirmation that this is where Mikhail lives, they merely respond with, “Oh, that really angry guy? Yeah, he lives on the 4th floor…somewhere.”

Certainly quite the eye-opener.

Anyway, we find his apartment door half-open. Interestingly enough, though, there’s no sign of a break-in — neither the lock or the door itself are damaged.

“Huh,” Jones comments, “either Mikhail is really forgetful, or his potential roommate is…”

I take a peek inside, and my nose gets immediately slammed with the stench blend of sweat, cigarette smoke, and vodka. The living room itself is nothing short of a mess, with loose items thrown around on the couch, table, TV, and floor. There at least seems to have been some attempt to clean up the place, though — there’s a still-damp rag on the table, a broom leaning next to the TV, and a vacuum cleaner still on and whirring in the corner. Also, there’s a fireplace. Not gonna lie, I didn’t expect to see a fireplace in a fourth floor apartment. 

“...You think Mikhail’s around here anywhere?” Jones mutters. “Or is he still somewhere else?”

Right on cue, Mikhail materializes from around a corner. He gapes right at us in shock, probably trying to process our sheer audacity of just coming in. His brow furrows.

“…How did you-”

“You left your door open!” Jones quickly explains, raising his hands. “My apologies, we should’ve just knocked…” He clears his throat.

Mikhail still stares at us like we’ve grown multiple heads. A hush falls in between all of us, nobody bothering to move a single inch.

Shit, nobody’s speaking…I guess I’ll have to start the conversation, then.

“…Is it alright if we search your apartment?” I pipe up. “For clues?”

He lets out a small snort in response, smirking at me. “Why? I’m certainly not the killer.”

“…That’s for us to decide, isn’t it?” I inquire.

His smirk immediately vanishes, and the section in the back of my mind prays for the Earth to swallow me whole. Even from across the hall, Mikhail is giving the both of us the stink eye of our lives… until he just stops and sighs instead.

“Fine. Don’t mess shit up.”

And just like that, he slinks away, leaving us with the freedom to search in peace.

So that’s what we do. We snap on gloves and get right to rummaging.

While Jones looks under the tables and couches, I look into some of the nooks and crannies — around the fireplace, behind the radiator, behind an ironing board, et cetera. However, I take one more glance at the vacuum cleaner still whirring by itself in the corner, and an idea pops into my head when I notice something peculiar.

It’s on, but is it working? I stride over, turn the vacuum cleaner off, and whack the tube against the ironing board repeatedly to free whatever’s inside.

Multiple pieces of cardboard fall out, spilling onto the floor.

OH? I instantly fall onto my hands and knees, scrambling to scoop the scraps back into my palms.

It’s definitely pieces of a box. A box that held something.

…The label. It’s hard to exactly tell what it says, but the certain shade of pink that I see on some of the scraps seems almost… familiar to me.

I shuffle through some more pieces, until I find a small bit of text that I can actually read.

“ClearSky”.

The…THE PREGNANCY TEST BRAND?

I purse my lips.

Mikhail didn’t mention having a girlfriend…Either way, the fact that it’s torn up and inside a vacuum cleaner of all places is certainly suspicious.

“Well, nothing on my end,” I hear Jones mutter from behind me. “You find anything, Val?”

I hold up a couple pieces of cardboard  for Jones to see. “Well, I found this…you recognize the brand ‘ClearSky’ from anywhere?”

Jones’s eyes widen in response. “The pregnancy test brand??  MIKHAIL’S PREGNANT???”

… What?

“Jones, did you get enough sleep last night?” I ask with a frown.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Most likely, no…maybe I should stop watching soap operas so late at night…”

“Wait, you watch soap o-”

“ANYWAY.” He leans closer and squints at the piece of cardboard  in my hands. “A pregnancy test carton torn up in Mikhail’s apartment…was it from a hookup or a girlfriend?”

“Should we ask him?” I suggest.

Right on cue, we hear Mikhail’s very loud footsteps from the hall as he walks up the stairs. Jones purses his lips for a moment, glancing from side to side. “…Better now than never, I guess. If he does have a girlfriend, maybe she’d be more willing to talk.”

Okay. Keep calm, Val.

”You still got your notepad?” He asks me.

Oh, shit-

I dig around in my pockets until I pull out my trusty notepad and a pencil. He grins at me, patting my shoulder. “Alright. Stay vigilant, and take notes when you can!”

We finally head upstairs, keeping an eye out for Mikhail. I’m already scrawling down what I know about the guy.

Mikhail Levin — Levin’s son. Did not have a good relationship with Levin; glad Levin’s dead.

Might’ve had a good dynamic with his father before? That phone wallpaper seems to suggest so.

What happened?

Just as I finish writing down my notes, a door down the hall creaks open and catches our attention. Mikhail steps out of the bathroom, and the moment he spots the both of us, he rolls his eyes and groans. “What now? ”

Jones holds up his hands yet again. “We don’t wanna bother you. We just wanted to ask if you have a girlfriend.”

Mikhail’s expression softens ever-so-slightly at the word “girlfriend”, but he quickly hides it behind a scoff. “What, you want to flirt with her behind my back?”

“…Just answer the question, man-”

“Yes, I do. I’ve got a girlfriend. Eva, Eva Coleman.” He replies with a huff. “She just came back from her nursing job, actually, not that any of it is your beeswax…”

“…Where is she, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquire.

“Bedroom. If you wish to nag her, too, she’s in there, resting.”

“We probably will, yeah,” Jones comments with a small snort. “Which door is the bedroom?”

Mikhail’s expression of malice, however, suddenly fades into hesitation. He’s frozen for a small moment, his mouth open but not moving as if he’s in thought.

“…You know what?” I’ll go wake her up. It might stress her out if two strange cops pulled her out of her rest…”

Oh?

Jones and I exchange a glance. “I…guess that makes sense,” Jones says as we watch Mikhail turn to leave. Just as he’s about to enter another room, though, Jones pipes up once more. “Hey, Mikhail? One more question.”

Mikhail rolls his eyes, but turns to face him. “What?”

“What’s with the scratches on your chest?”

I hadn’t even noticed that before, and judging by how Mikhail practically flinches as he looks down at himself, he hadn’t either. However, his lips curl into another smirk instead.

“That’s Eva’s job…I like it rough! ”

Ah. I did not wish to know that, but the more info the better…I guess.

He shuts the door.

There’s some muffled speaking I can make out from behind the wall coming from two voices. One voice is obviously Mikhail’s, but the other one is unrecognizable. After a couple seconds, however, the conversation stops short.

I hold my notepad close.

Finally, the door opens again, and someone else comes out to greet us.

The woman we meet is taller than the both of us – probably around Mikhail’s height. She stands with a slight tilt to her hips, her arms crossed over her chest as she smacks her red-tinted lips. Her eyes are a deep brown, but there’s something... striking about them. Like they’re holding back the depths to her soul.

She flicks back her long black hair, and I take notice of the black scarf around her neck immediately. It’s loose, draped around like she just threw it on.

But either way, my eyes fall to the scratches underneath.

The moment she lays her eyes on us, she lets out a huff, rubbing her temples.

”You need me for something? What, neighbors sent a noise complaint?”

At least she’s more polite than Mikhail, I contemplate as I grip my notepad. That’s good.

“…No, actually,” I hear Jones mutter, “it’s about a certain Anton Levin. I take it you…knew him?”

Her eyebrow raises a bit. “...Anton? I-I guess so, what happened  to him-?”

…Well.

“...He’s dead,” I murmur. 

Her gaze becomes one of…shock. Dismay, even? I can’t tell for some reason. A hand flies up to her chest, her jaw slack as if she’s trying to say something but can’t.

“...I’m sorry,” she finally whispers out, “ dead? ”

Well, this is certainly unexpected. My pen’s touching the paper, but I can’t seem to gather the strength to move my hand.

“...I take it you, uhhh…knew him?” Jones finally asks.

She shakes her head quickly – too quickly. “No, actually. We met only once before him and Mikhail cut contact…he was extravagant, but nice.”

What? “Cut…cut contact?” I inquire. “Do you have any idea on what they cut contact over?”

She shakes her head again, clutching her arms close to her chest. “No, not at all! Mikhail refused to tell me, and I didn’t want to pry.”

I notice Jones giving me a sideways glance, the both of us having the same ideas. Understandable, but suspicious. Might need some more looking into…

“I…see,” Jones tells Eva, pursing his lips. “I bet he was, for a mobster…I’m sure he would’ve been the ‘perfect’ grandfather, right?”

…Huh? I frown as his words catch on my ears. Is he-?

“What?” Eva asks.

He pauses for just a moment. “You’re…expecting, right? We found the pregnancy test box in the living room.”

NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN-

Eva lets out an offended scoff, almost stumbling back. “I- what the fuck-?! ” Before either of us can respond, she’s already stepping away. “That’s none of your business! You hear me?!”

Jones raises an eyebrow.  “I see. Sorry, didn’t mean to come off as invasive.”

She lets out another scoff. “Uhh, thank you, I guess? If you’re done prying into my business, then is it alright if I ask you to leave?”

Both of us nod profusely, apologizing as we exit the apartment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mikhail gazing at us as we leave.

 

“...Is it just me, or was Eva’s reaction pretty strange?” Jones queries as we stride out onto the street.

“Well, maybe her aggression is probably a lot more justified, considering how you asked her that question,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

He lets out a huff. “Yeah, honestly, I shouldn’t have…that’s my mistake.” We glance both ways before going to cross the street. “...But I wasn’t talking about that, surprisingly enough. Eva seemed a lot more…emotional when we told her about Levin’s death, didn’t she?”

I pause. He’s right about that, I’ll give it to him…then again, our only other point of reference is Mikhail.

“You think she had something with him?” I ask.

“Maybe? I’m not sure.” We continue walking down the street towards our cruiser. “Also, um,” He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek, “you…you saw the scratches on her neck, right?”

I nod. “...Yeah, I did. What about them?”

“Seems like she was trying to hide them, wasn’t she?”

I pause, my hand hovering over the door handle of the cruiser. “...What are you implying?” I ask, but I already get an idea, and a small lump forms in my throat.

Jones’s expression is grim, but he remains silent for just a couple more moments. “...You know what? Nevermind.” He pulls out his phone, shaking his head. “Hopefully, I might be overreacting on this…”

Suddenly, his phone lets out a ping. He glances down at it, a small smile forming on his face. “Well, would you look at that!” He says. “Alex finished the analysis. Let’s go see what he has to say, and we’ll work up from there!”

 

As we head back to the station to receive the results from Alex, I write down the information we know about Eva from our conversation with her.

Eva Coleman – Nurse and Mikhail’s girlfriend. Was probably on better terms with Anton before his death.

Most likely pregnant?

Where did she get those scars from? Is she safe??

Once we get back to the station, we immediately barrel our way over to Alex’s lab, skidding to a stop right in front of his open door.

He raises an eyebrow as he sees us. “Didn’t expect you to be in that much of a rush, huh?”

“Yeah, well,” Jones breathes out, “Val and I are dealing with the death of a Russian mafia boss. This is kinda urgent, y’know?”

“Fair enough. Cutting through the bullshit, then,” Alex replies with a chuckle as he reaches for his laptop. “Al-riiiight, sooo…” He turns it on, quickly swiping his fingers on the mousepad as he squints in concentration. “...First of all, the phone is, in fact, your victim’s! He’s actually got a pretty cute wallpaper of him and his son…”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but did you find anything that stood out, maybe?” Jones mutters, crossing his arms.

“That, I did!” Alex responds with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Because one picture on Anton’s phone stuck out to me in particular!” He flips his laptop around, showing us the screen. “I couldn’t find any info on the guy on the right, but do you guys recognize the dude on the left?”

Jones and I both lean in, studying the photo. It’s a photo of Levin’s restaurant, with two men standing in the window. They’re both only shadowy silhouettes, but I can make out some details – the guy on the right has grey hair, a thinner frame, and a white suit. No one I can remember from the top of my head matches that description.

The guy on the left, however, is a whole different story. Black hair, grey suit, built like a brick wall, leaning back ever-so-slightly as if this was everyday to him – there’s only one person I know that looks like that.

And judging by Jones’s expression, he knows too.

“...The fuck is Tony Marconi doing there?!” He demands.

Alex shrugs. “No idea. You gonna go ask him?”

“No shit, we are!” Jones exclaims. “I’m sure Marconi will be more than happy to tell us about his little buddy…how about we pay him a courtesy visit, eh, Val?”

“Huh?” I’m shaken out of my thoughts, and I immediately nod. “Uh, yeah, we gotta talk to him, for sure!”

There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it just won’t go away.

Why is it there? And what is it?

 

We stop by the morgue just before heading out, because Nathan had informed us that the autopsy had just been completed.

And sure enough, he’s not around anywhere when we enter.

“Goddamnit-” Jones mutters, before abruptly letting out a yelp when Nathan pops up from behind a table.

“Sorry, had to look for something important,” Nathan tells us, chuckling sheepishly. He holds up a couple pens in his hand.

“You…really should store those better,” I note.

“No kidding,” He comments, shoving them into his pocket. “But anyway, the autopsy results!”

The two of us wait with anticipation as he flips through the papers on his clipboard until he taps his pen on a document. “Okay! So…I’ve counted 36 oddly-shaped wounds on Levin’s body.”

I swallow down a dry heave. “Did you find out which weapon  caused them?” Jones asks.

Nathan shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. However, I did find out that your killer is 6 feet tall!”

6 feet tall. Mikhail and Eva were around the same height, I think…

“Also, I found skin cells under his fingernails,” Nathan adds. “Unfortunately, the sample is useless, but I think it’s pretty obvious that he died fighting. Also, the sample is at least big enough for me to say that your killer is scratched up pretty bad!”

“Our killer has scratches?” Jones mutters. “Makes the profiling a whole lot easier…”

 

Lastly, we go to see Marconi.

The Blue Flamingo is just about the same as the last time we visited – flashy, colorful lighting, loud, upbeat music, a couple of partygoers around, leather seats and a bar – your typical club you see everyday as if it isn’t owned by a gangster.

Like before, Jones and I keep our eyes peeled for the man of the hour himself, my notepad at the ready.

And we spot him, alright – talking to another man in some chairs. Jones turns to me, clearing his throat.

“Alright, Val – game plan. He’s got one of his goons there as well, so how do you think we should handle this?”

“W-what?” I stammer. “How about we just…ask the other guy to leave?”

“You think he’ll just leave, no questions?!” He sputters. “Let me remind you of the fact that these are extremely dangerous men. Who knows how things are gonna turn out if one thing goes wrong and everything goes to he-”

“Well, well, well!” I hear a voice exclaim with a chuckle behind us. “If it isn’t the person we wanted see!”

Shit. Jones and I both freeze, and my heart leaps into my throat.

The man Marconi was talking to is turned around and grinning at us, beckoning us to come over. Tony, on the other hand, has a completely unreadable expression, but he’s completely frozen stiff as if he’s caught off guard as well.

Jones grits his teeth. “...The hell?”

The other guy is still gesturing for us to come over, smirking like he just heard the world’s funniest joke. “Detective Perez, isn’t it? My friend over here would like to have a conversation with you!”

What?! Jones and I both share a glance. I grip the side of my leg, wiping off the sweat onto my pants.

Marconi puts a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder, his gaze almost boring into his back. The other man instantly shuts up as Marconi whispers something into his ear. I can’t tell what he said over the music, but judging by the way all the color instantly drains from his face, it’s enough to make my blood run cold.

The other man quickly nods, standing up and sauntering away.

Marconi lets out a sigh of relief, standing up and dusting himself off before his attention falls back to us. Instantly, his shoulders relax, and he smirks at us like… that didn’t just happen. “Well, didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” he tells us, “you miss me already?”

“Cut the crap,” Jones snaps back, “I’ll just get to the point.” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the photo before almost shoving it into his face. “You know who the other guy in this photo is?”

Marconi lets out a scoff. “Pleasant as always.” He crosses his arms. “I plead the fifth.”

Jones lets out a sputtering sound.”That- that’s not how it works-!”

“Well, that’s too bad for you, then,” Marconi’s smirk grows a little bit wider as he leans back. “I talk to plenty of people everyday. That man was most likely a client of mine, but I didn’t care to remember his name.”

Jones’s brow furrows and he grits his teeth. “First of all, quit smiling, it makes you look wrinkly.”

Marconi’s smile immediately drops.

“Second of all,” Jones continues, “I know FULL WELL you’re lying out of your teeth here, Marconi! Answer the fucking question!”

“Well, I said I didn’t remember, didn’t I?!” Tony snarls back. “You got your answer. Now, scram! ”

…That certainly went well. I can feel the second-hand embarrassment flood my body to the point I wish that I can wilt and die.

Jones lets out a huff, but he turns to leave. I follow in suit, trailing after him.

For just a moment, however. Because as we are both about to exit, Marconi clears his throat.

“...Actually.”

The both of us pause. Jones turns around to face him first, but I do too right after.

Marconi’s expression is…strangely hesitant. He glances around for a moment, before clearing his throat.

“...May I talk with you for a minute, Detective Perez?...Alone, preferably?”

Notes:

This one is a bit of a word salad omg 😭 I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!! This is my gift to all of you. Have a wonderful day or night!! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
(I’M SO SORRY FOR THE HIATUS BTW I GOT SICK 😭)

Chapter 22: A Brief Interlude

Summary:

A...small conversation, if you will.

“...May I talk with you for a minute, Detective Perez?...Alone, preferably?”

…What?

The question makes me freeze in my tracks. It makes Jones freeze as well, and we both gape at Marconi with our jaws hanging open.

Marconi adjusts his collar ever-so-slightly, almost uncomfortably as he stands there before us. I can’t even tell who’s the deer in headlights right now – him or us.

Suddenly, though, I feel something grabbing me from behind, and I’m yanked back a couple of steps. Jones storms right in front of me, blocking me completely from Tony’s view. “What do you want, Marconi?” He hisses.

Marconi holds up his hands, his lips still pursed. “I only wish to ask a couple of questions. Nothing extreme.”

A couple of questions? I peek around Jones to scrutinize Marconi myself.

He’s not putting his hands down, but he is lowering his head in resignation, still gazing straight at us. Is he actually being truthful? My eyes don’t leave him, studying him to see if there’s any signs of deceit. But… nothing.

Finally, I muster up the courage to speak.

“...How long will this take?”

He lifts head, making contact with my gaze. His face is completely calm, almost…expressionless. “Only a couple of minutes. Hopefully, if things move quickly, it’ll only take a single minute.”

“...I see.”

The club music around us completely drains away, instead replaced by the sounds of my own breath.

What are the odds he’ll take the chance to kill me? If he did, Jones would most likely stop at nothing to put him in jail. Would this whole thing be worth it? What is he even doing in the first place? Do I have any reason to trust him in the first place?

Absolutely not.

I glance around the club, squinting in the beating disco light. There’s still some people around besides us. A muscular man wearing a Blue Flamingo t-shirt and a headset stands by the front door, his stature tall and his arms crossed. Some strippers are on their poles, doing…whatever strippers do. A group of college students sit huddled together at the bar gossiping and giggling to themselves while completely wasted. The bartender merely continues rattling the shaker in her hands, rolling her eyes.

A good amount of witnesses. If I scream loud enough, who would come investigate?

I pat down my belt, gripping my fingers around whatever I can use to potentially defend myself.

“...I’ll give you five minutes.”

Marconi raises an eyebrow, his hands lowering ever-so-slightly.

Jones practically flips his head around to gape at me and my words. “WHAT?!”

Ah, shit.

I hold up my free hand in some sort of reassurance. “Hear me out-”

“No, no, I will not hear you out! Do you understand what the hell he’s capable of?!”

Kind of??? “Absolutely!” I say with full confidence.

Jones sputters, throwing his hands in the air and lowering his voice to a whisper. “So do you realize the amount of danger you’re throwing yourself into by being alone with someone like him?!”

…What?

“But I’m… not gonna be alone with him,” I point out, gesturing to the people around us. “Listen, I know it’s…a risk. But I think this is worth a shot, trust me.”

“But why?! ” He hisses.

I purse my lips, trying to come up with an answer in my brain.

Nothing comes out.

Why DO I even want to do this in the first place?!

I shake my head. “I’ll be quick,” I promise, patting him on the shoulder. “He’s only asking me a couple of questions, nothing more. If he tries something, I’ll figure out something to get out of it.”

He gazes at me completely unamused.

I flash him an uneasy smile back.

He squeezes his eyes shut and finally lets go of me. “...Fine. Your call. I’ll be waiting outside, okay?”

I nod. “I’ll call for you if I need any help.”

He nods back, his gaze flickering around the club. “Good. That’s…good.”

And just like that, he exits – leaving me inside.

Despite the fact that I’m surrounded by people, all I feel the most is alone.

“...You’re afraid of me.”

Marconi’s voice through all the club music makes me bristle, and I flip around to face him.

His expression is still emotionless – no, almost pondering.

Is he assessing me?

“...Is there a problem with that?” I manage to muster out of my lips. My heartrate increases ever-so-slightly, but I will myself to stay calm and collected.

Marconi…chuckles a bit, almost to himself. He shakes his head. “No, no, not really. Although, I’m slightly surprised about the fact that the police bothers to hire a recruit who cannot accurately control her nerves…”

…What?

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head again, waving it off. “Anyway, down to business. You may sit if you want, but this is only going to take a minute…” He reaches for a chair.

I hold up a hand. “I’ll…stand, thank you.”

“Alright.” He tells me, putting the chair back down and facing me once again.

This is…polite. More polite than I ever expected to come out of a gangster…I guess that makes sense, maybe.

“I’ll cut to the chase, perhaps.” He clears his throat, glancing around for a moment as if to check to see if anyone’s watching us.

I mentally brace for impact, waiting to hear what he has to say.

And then he leans in.

“...Do you happen to know anything about a ‘Regina Perez’, perhaps?”

 

What the actual fuck.

My heart almost leaps into my throat at his words. No – no, it picks up . Because I’m over here struggling to comprehend whatever the fuck I just heard.

And I can tell he can tell as well.

The moment he lays eyes on my expression, he takes one step back, then another, his eyes still studying every movement I make.

My breathing quickens, the room suddenly growing much hotter than before.

I stumble back, my eyes glued to the man right in front of me.

The words spill out of my mouth in a question – no, a demand.

“...How – how did you know about my aunt?! ”

Right at this moment, his eyes widen as well.

He takes another step back, glancing around again in complete thought. His brow is furrowed, and all I can bring myself to do is watch.

What is even going on anymore?

I finally gather up the courage to speak again.

“...If you don’t mind asking,” I spit out, “how do you know my aunt?”

His eyes widen again as he turns back to me. “Excuse me?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat, holding up my hands. “Listen, I do not wish to be rude, but I know my aunt well enough to know that she wouldn’t be talking to…for lack of better terms, criminals.”

I still can’t figure out what he’s emoting right now as he gazes right at me.

My heart is practically doing a drum solo in my ears.

He shakes his head, sighing. “It’s…hard to explain. But either way, thank you for answering.”

Well, that’s good. He’s calm. Pretty calm. I slowly lower my hands. “You…still got more questions for me?”

He turns his back on me, shaking his head. “...No. Not anymore.”

HUH?

“What?” I stammer. “But I thought-”

“I know what I said,” he clarifies, “but…” He hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gazes into the distance. “...Let’s just say that I need to rethink. Something’s come up.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “Also, I think you still have a case to solve, don’t you?”

Oh, crap. He’s right – the Levin case. I nod. “Yes. Yes, I- I do.”

He nods back. “Good. I’ll maybe come back to you once you’re finished so we can properly reconvene and discuss. Is that alright with you?”

What am I even doing?

Is this a good idea?

Before I can properly answer my doubts, I find myself giving him a stiff thumbs up. “Okay. Okay, I’ll take that.”

Good lord.

He nods yet again. “Okay. We have a deal.”

I glance back at the entrance of the club, where I know Jones is still waiting for me.

“...One more thing.”

I glance back at Marconi as he hesitates for just another moment.

“...Don’t…tell your partner about this. Just to be safe.”

I raise an eyebrow, about to ask another question before I stop myself. Of course, no wonder why.

“...I’ll make sure he doesn’t know,” I confirm.

He gives me the slightest hint of a smile. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Notes:

LMAO sorry for the short pause before more of the actual case 😭 But hey Val lore hint wooooo-
I just realized that this is lowkey kinda rushed I'm sorry 😭
[It is almost 1 AM where I am send help]

Chapter 23: A Russian Case - 2/4

Summary:

Things take...a turn, that's for sure.
Let's just keep it at that.
[CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of infidelity and VERY brief mentions of sex]

By the time I exit the club, Jones is on the phone with someone. Judging by his tone of voice, it’s most likely one of our colleagues.

“Yeah, but even if Marconi is involved, there isn’t much of a lead over there,” he mutters. “Levin’s killer’s identity and motives are still a mystery.”

He pauses, listening to the other end, before scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Come on, Ramirez, Bart is a pain in the ass. Every time I see the kid, I get a little bit closer to smacking the shit out of him!”

Bart? Bart Williams? Didn’t expect to hear from him so soon.

He leans against the wall, pursing his lips as Ramirez says something I can’t make out from where I’m standing.

“...Yeah, yeah,” he says with a sigh, “I know. Guess we don’t have any other choice right now.”

Another pause.

“Alright. I’ll go find Val, and we’ll talk to Bart. See you later.”

He slips his phone back into his pants pocket before he finally spots me. “Oh, hey Val!” He saunters up to me, raising his eyebrow. “So…how did the conversation with Marconi go?”

He looks…unamused. Like he expected that the conversation with Marconi wouldn’t go well at all.

Well, he was…kind of right?

I shake my head. “Nothing crazy. He didn’t spill anything important to the case at all. I guess you were right…”

“...Don’t…tell your partner about this. Just to be safe.”

His lips press together into a thin line for a moment, then he shrugs. “Eh, it’s…fine. Glad you at least made it out in one piece, y’know?” He clears his throat. “Anyway! Back to the case. Talked to Ramirez, and he suggested that we go talk to-” he cringes, “-Bart.”

“...I see,” I reply. “Alright. No rest for the wicked, I guess. You want me to talk to Bart myself?”

He shrugs. “Nah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Now come on, let’s go.”

 

As we head over to Bart’s corner, I write down some more notes.

Tony Marconi – Gangster. Maybe interacted with Levin before. Won’t really say anything, though.

Knows my tía somehow

Jones finally stops the car on the other side of the street, sucking in a breath. “Ohhhhkay! Let’s just get this over with. Come on, Val.”

We climb out of the car, scanning the street for any sign of Bart. However, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“You spot him anywhere?” Jones asks.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

Right on cue, though, the man of the hour comes swaggering around a corner, whistling to himself as he flicks through a wad of dollar bills.

He’s ditched the skull button, but he’s still wearing a similar outfit like the one he was wearing the last time we talked to him.

… Actually, is that the exact same outfit? Same haircut and everything.

Jones immediately begins sauntering over to Bart, beckoning me to follow. I walk behind him, keeping my ears clear to keep track of anything Bart has to say.

Bart is leaning against the wall, flipping through the bills in his hands. It’s now at this point where I realize that the bills are all ones.

He sees us first. “Oh, hey, Perez!” He says with a toothy grin. “Didn’t see you last time. You feeling better now?”

I flinch. I almost forgot what happened last time. “Yeah, I’m doing better now,” I tell him, fidgeting at my sleeve.

He doesn’t catch onto my unease, luckily, and just flashes me a smile. “That’s good.” He immediately goes back to flipping through his money. “Anyway, you guys need anything?”

Jones purses his lips, shaking his head. “Yeah, unfortunately,” he mutters. “I’ll cut to the chase. There’s a killer on the loose, and we need your help identifying someone.”

Bart raises an eyebrow, shoving the bills inside his jacket. “Really, now? Tech expert couldn’t do the job for you?” He remarks with a smirk.

“Trust me, talking to you again is the last thing I wanna do,” Jones hisses through gritted teeth, fumbling through his pants pocket, “but we couldn’t find the guy on the database, so here we are.”

“Hm. Guess that makes sense.” Bart crosses his arms. “Alright. You got a photo?”

Okay, moment of truth.

Jones pulls out a copy of the photo from Levin’s phone and holds it up to Bart’s face. “The guy on the left is Tony Marconi. You got an idea on who the guy on the right is?”

“Hm.” Bart squints at the photo. “Wait, lemme see-” he snatches the photo from Jones’s hand, holding it under a streetlight. “Hmmm…”

I hold my breath.

Bart hands the photo back to us after a couple more seconds. “It’s one of Levin’s henchmen, that’s for sure.”

“Really?” Jones raises an eyebrow. “You know which one?”

Bart confidently shakes his head. “Absolutely not!”

Ah.

Jones lets out a scoff. “Of course you don’t…” he grumbles to himself before clearing his throat. “...Anyway! Since you hang around here, did you see anything the night of the murder?”

Bart furrows his brow. “Hmmm, let me see…” he glances to the side. “...I think I might’ve.”

OH? “Really?” I pipe up eagerly. “What did you see?”

He taps his foot, pursing his lips. “Maybe I did…I guess you could…” he holds out one of his hands, rubbing his fingers together, “...‘refresh my memory’...”

“Bart,” Jones practically barks, making the both of us jump, “your ass is going to get a fresh memory of my foot! Cut the fucking crap already!”

Bart lets out a yelp of surprise, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay! Jeez, man, chill out! All I saw was some dude rushing out of the restaurant and dropping something into the sewers before dashing away. That’s all!”

The sewers? I ponder with a slight frown. I’ve never been in the sewers.

Judging by the look of utter dread on Jones’s face, though, he HAS. He lets out a groan, stepping back and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The sewers…shit. Alright, then. Thanks for the information, Bart.”

 

By the time we even begin climbing down the ladder into the sewers, I’m already gagging on the smell around us.

It reeks . Like, really reeks.

Fumes of trash leak from every single orifice around us as we continue down into the depths. And the smell just gets worse the further down we go. By the time our feet finally touch solid floor, The putrid stench is at an all time high.

Even worse, everything feels wet. The walls are moist, almost oozing fluid through the pores in the stone, dripping down from the ceiling into the puddles below. The air is hot and humid, dewdrops pooling on my skin, soaking into my clothes, my hair, my literally everything.

I wish I had brought my boots.

“I swear to god,” I hear Jones mutter as we tiptoe down the path, “if that punk set us off-track, he’s gonna get it! God, I hate sewers…let’s just try to find something in this mess before we promptly puke our guts out.” He pauses, glancing back at me.

I pause as well. “...what?”

He gestures ahead. “Uhhh…you go first, Val. I’ve got your back.”

S h i t .

Deciding not to argue, I cautiously continue walking forward.

 

After a good while of us walking down the walkway and finding absolutely nothing, we arrive at a crosswalk section, our eyes scanning around for anything more interesting.

Multiple huge grates in the wall on our right let water pour into the area below, doing an even worse smell to the other ones around us. Everything is shades of grey, black, and brown, adding so much more to the complete aura that this place is not for the faint of heart. Hell, with all the bars and grungy, musty stone, it reminds me somewhat of a prison cell.

At least most prison cells don’t have water flowing in like it’s a sinking ship. I dunno how to describe it, I was lucky enough to never enter a sewer until now.

Jones lets out a huff, tossing me some rubber gloves and a flashlight. “You know what we’re gonna do, Val. Let’s get this over with. Grab anything of note and immediately get the hell out of here.”

And so, we search. Jones checks around the right of the area, and I check around the left for any clues.

First thing I notice is the gold watch behind a barrel, covered in sewage but still glinting in the dim light.

Most likely Levin’s, I tell myself as I bag it for evidence. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see something floating in the water below.

A… wallet?

Might’ve been just another piece of trash, but as I take another look at it, I notice that the wallet looks like it’s made out of really high quality leather – the kind of leather a Russian mafia boss could afford.

I rush down to a lower platform, getting onto my hands and knees before reaching out and snatching it right from the water.

Thank god I’m wearing gloves.

As I stand up again, I hold up a hand, signaling to Jones to regroup and head back to the cruiser as I bag the wallet.

“You find anything?” Jones calls over to me. I nod, holding up the evidence bags with one hand.

“A watch and a wallet!” I call back. “Most likely Levin’s, from what I can tell…”

He lets out a confident chuckle as we head back to each other. “You see? I was right to let you go first! Let’s head back to HQ and see what this stuff can tell us!”

He hesitates for a moment, sniffing his hand, then sniffing in my direction. His nose scrunches up in disgust. “...You know what? We should probably showers back at HQ, too.”

… Fair enough.

 

Once we get back to the station, we store the evidence before promptly heading to the shower pods.

After we get that done and over with, we finally look over the stuff I had grabbed from the sewer.

Firstly, the watch – after a bit of work with a pair of tweezers, I manage to pull up a strand of black hair from way deep inside one of the hinges. Despite the possibility that the hairs might’ve also come from the sewers, we decide to take our chances and send them off to the lab. Hopefully, we might get lucky.

As for the wallet, it only takes me a couple seconds of flipping through papers until I manage to come across something worthwhile.

There’s barely anything inside to flip through, first of all – in the first couple of pockets, there are only a couple of photos of a woman and a young boy in her lap, which I make a mental note to check out a bit later. However, in the last pocket on one side, I find something much more damning.

An invoice. Issued to the Blue Flamingo, out of all places. Complete with a faded signature on the bottom line. There’s an odd but subtle smell coming from it too, but I can’t tell what it is.

Jones glances over my shoulder, noticing the slip of paper in my hands. “Wait, can I see that?” He inquires eagerly, practically swiping it out of my fingers.

His eyes scan over the lettering, and his eyes practically light up even more. “Well, well, well…an invoice to the Blue Flamingo. I doubt Levin signed this one, am I right?”

“Well, uh, probably not,” I mumble in agreement. “Not sure who signed it, though.”

“True, true…” He purses his lips as he looks down at the half-visible name. “…Y’know…we could always ask Marconi.”

Uh oh. Considering what happened last time, I feel a small knot in my throat at the prospect of Jones pissing him off again.

And what about the stuff he told me?

I shake my head. “He probably won’t cooperate, considering last time. Why don’t we just dust it to reveal the signature and send it to Alex for analysis?”

He shakes his head back. “Remember, Val, we’re in a bit of a time crunch here! It’ll probably take too long if we just send it to Alex.”

…He’s kind of right there (as much as I refuse to admit it). I purse my lips, still on the fence about this entire thing.

He gives me a confident pat on the shoulder, flashing me a smile. “Hey. don’t worry! I’ll handle it if you don’t want to. We’ll get him talking in no time!”

 

When we arrive back at the Blue Flamingo and track down Marconi, he only gives us a grin and leans against the bar counter.

“Well, well, well,” he says with a smirk, “you need anything else, officers?”

…He’s acting like his usual self. I can’t help but fidget with my sleeves at the observation.

“Cut the shit, Marconi,” Jones replies immediately, crossing his arms, “we found an invoice issued to YOUR club in Levin’s wallet, and I doubt HE signed it!”

Marconi raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re here for?” He chuckles for a moment before putting his hand on his forehead, his expression twisting into one of mock dismay. “Oh, noooo! You got me…” He clears his throat, smirking right back at us again. “...I’ve done some business with the Russians, big deal. You sure you’re not just coming to visit because you like me?”

I open my mouth to speak, but Jones cuts me off before I can even get any words out of my mouth. He stomps up to Marconi, glaring right into his eyes, and shouting. “Okay, cut the fucking crap, ‘Mario’!” He whips out a photo of the invoice, shoving it right into Marconi’s hands. “We wanna know whose signature this is!”

Marconi’s expression twists into a snarl, shoving the paper right back into Jones’s face. “Well, I guess you’ll have to figure it out yourselves, pigs. ”

And before Jones can speak, Marconi’s already striding away, leaving us alone to stand there like deers in headlights. For a second, I can see Marconi glancing over his shoulder at me.

“...That went well,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets.

Jones is still sputtering to himself, glaring in the direction where Marconi had left. “Oh, he wants to play, doesn’t he?!”

…What?

“...What?” I frown at him.

“We’ll show him how it’s done!” He growls, gripping the paper in his hands. “Let’s get back to HQ and analyze the shit out of this invoice!”

“Didn’t I suggest that before?” I protest. “And didn’t you say it would take too lo-”

Too late, Jones is already storming out of the front door.

I swear to- I sigh to myself and trail behind him.

 

We ship the invoice to Alex for him to analyze. Unfortunately, Grace isn’t done with the hair analysis yet, so we decide to wait by my desk in anticipation of something to finish.

I had decided to kill time by reviewing the case to myself, writing down some more notes, starting with a couple of possible motives for each suspect.

Mikhail – Did NOT like his father. Definitely some sort of conflict there.

Eva – Met Levin once and thought that he was ‘nice’, apparently. No possible motive as of now?

Marconi – Had business with the Russian mafia (maybe Levin too? Did some sort of disagreement happen?)

Bart – Might’ve seen the killer, but otherwise has no motive against Levin. The only thing possibly pinning him to the crime scene is the fact that he’s 6’0” tall, but that’s it.

I sigh, putting my notepad down. Something in my gut tells me that this is not gonna end well.

Jones comes back into the room at this moment carrying two cups of coffee. “Alright! You got anything, Val?”

I hesitate, then shrug. “...Ehhh?? Kind of? I don’t think Bart did it, that’s for sure. But besides that, everyone else has at least something typing them to the crime.”

“Well, a first step is a first step,” He replies with a sigh. “Progress is progress. Let’s just wait and see if Alex or Grace brings us any new info.”

 

Alex finishes the analysis first, so we head over to his lab.

“Okay!” He claps his hands together. “So! The guy who signed this invoice goes by the name of ‘Dimitri Balanchine’.”

“‘Balanchine’, huh?” Jones pipes up, crossing his arms. “You find any information about him?”

Alex shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. His record’s completely clean…well, besides one minor misdemeanor, but that resulted in a $400 fine.”

“Minor misdemeanor?” I furrow my brow. “What did he do?”

“Caused a scene at a local laundromat,” he replies with a small snort, “charged with disrupting the peace after yelling at one of the employees for accidentally mixing his red ties with his white ties.”

…What?

I can hear Jones behind me trying hard to hold back his laughter, covering his mouth and chuckling to himself. “…Well! Certainly seems like a pleasant guy.”

Alex lets out a huff. “Oh, definitely. By the way, one more thing!” He takes out his phone, scrolling through a couple of things. “The invoice had some sort of weird smell on it, so I sent it to Grace to see what was up.”

“You sure it wasn’t just sewer water?” Jones asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope! Grace found something interesting.” Alex taps on something, clears his throat, and squints at his phone screen. “This is what she said: ‘Okay, so I just took a look at the invoice you sent me. From what I can tell, this Balanchine uses a LOT of hand sanitizer! There was so much all over the paper. It’s a small detail, but it might be important to the investigation!’”

I nod, pondering to myself about what I know. Considering the fact that this invoice was in Levin’s wallet, this Dimitri guy was probably one of his associates. And judging by the fact that the invoice was for the Blue Flamingo…

My mind flashes back to Levin’s phone.

“Hey Jones,” I pipe up, “do you think that Balanchine was the guy Marconi was talking to in that photo on Levin’s phone?”

He glances at me, pursing his lips as if he’s thinking of the possibility. “…I think so. Maybe this ‘Balanchine’ guy was the man we were looking for!” He grins at me, then pulls out his phone. “I’ll ask Ramirez to summon him for a little chat…”

 

Dimitri Balanchine is a man I can best describe as ‘professional-looking’. He’s lanky, with a clean white suit and pink tie, along with a neat, swept-back grey hairdo. He stands tall and proud with a piercing icy stare, intimidating not through physicality, but in mentality. He doesn’t look like he can beat anyone in a fight, but he does look like he can easily piss you off or persuade you to kill yourself.

And his hands are damp, covered with the strong aroma of hand sanitizer.

I can’t help but shiver as he strides into the room, fixing his tie and collar before sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. “You called me, officers?” He asks with a smirk.

Jones clears his throat, pulling out the photo from Levin’s phone and sliding it over to him. “Well, Mr. Balanchine,” he declares, “we would like to ask you a couple of questions. First -- is that you in this photo?”

Balanchine raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the photo for a couple of seconds before scoffing. “Yes, that’s me in the picture. So what?” He snarks, leaning back in the chair. “Marconi is nothing but a mere client. None else.”

“Riiiiight…” Jones leans forward, perching his chin on his hands. “...and I’m sure your former boss would be so happy knowing that you were doing business with a competitor of his.”

Balanchine shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, business is business, you know, sir . Talking about business, that’s none of either of yours, officers. ” He sneers at us, specifically at Jones.

Is he…is he side-eyeing me-?

As Jones continues trying to grill Balanchine with some more questions, my eyes land on the scratches on the gangster’s neck. They’re an ugly, angry red, only somewhat covered by his pristine white collar.

Balanchine refuses to crack against Jones’s remarks, instead leaning forward himself. “Is that all you got, Inspector? Or do you have more in that chamber of a mouth of yours?”

Jones looks like he’s about to leap across the table and strangle the man, but he merely grits his teeth and sits back. “No. No, that’s all.”

Now’s my chance. I scoot my chair a little bit inwards, trying my best to catch Balanchine’s attention for one moment. “I actually- I actually have a question for you, Mr. Balanchine, sir,” I mutter.

He glances at me, raising an eyebrow at me. “Oh? Finally feeling brave, Detective?”

“Don’t humor me,” I impulsively spit out. “I just wanna ask you something — where did you get those scars on your neck?”

For a second — a split second — Balanchine falters. His hand instinctively goes up to his collar, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly. He glares right at me, snarling but hesitating. “I…I cut myself. Shaving.”

Those do NOT look like shaving scratches.

 

By the time our conversation has finished, Balanchine has given us little to nothing of substance, and sashays out of the interrogation room with his head high (and most likely his ego even higher).

Jones is gritting his teeth, hands clenched into fists. The veins in his forehead practically look like they’re about to pop, and I consider to myself whether I should get him some water.

The moment Balanchine’s footsteps disappear down the hall, though, Jones slams his fists down on the table. “THAT DOES IT!!” He yells. “These mobsters are getting on my FUCKING nerves!!”

Jesus Christ- I flinch back so hard, I almost fall over. “Calm down, please! BREATHE-”

“Alright, alright!” He shoves his hands in the air. “I’m calming down, okay? Geez…”

After a couple of seconds of silence, I shake my head. “You know what?” I pipe up, “Let’s not dwell on this. Balanchine seems pretty suspicious, so where should we search first?”

“The restaurant!” He exclaims immediately, standing up. “Great idea, Val! Let’s see if we can dig up anything about Dimitri’s ‘business’!”

Back to the restaurant we go.

I have to physically yank my eyes away from where Levin’s body was to focus on actually looking for clues, but either way, the image remains seared in the back of my mind.

His jaw. Swinging by only a couple of threads.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I shake my head. Keep your eyes out for clues, Val. Not…not that.

Jones is already crawling under a table, so I decide to join in by doing the same. As I peek under some chairs, though, I find something of interest — a soft white napkin, completely splattered with…something pink?

I take a small whiff. Smells faintly like blood, but there’s something else in it, too…

“Ah-HA!” I hear Jones suddenly yell.

As I pull myself out from under the table, napkin in an evidence bag, I see Jones wave a small book in the air. “You find anything?” I call over to him.

“A ledger!” He shouts back confidently. “I’m sure this thing’s got a lot to say…all the entries are coded, but Alex’ll definitely be able to crack it! Did you find anything, Val?”

I hold up the napkin. “Killer most likely wiped this on either their hands or the weapon. Smells vaguely of blood, but there’s some other chemical I can’t identify?”

He leans in and sniffs as well, scrunching his nose. “Hmm…yeah, you’re right. Some sort of cleaning product. How about this – you get a sample from that, and we’ll drop it and this ledger off at the station?”

Sounds like a good idea. “Alright, I’ll do that,” I reply with a nod as I pull out my forensics kit. As I start looking for a sample, I hear Jones pull out his phone.

“Hey, Grace…you finish with that hair sample we sent you? The one from Levin’s watch?”

A pause. He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, really? That’s great! We’ll be right there soon!”

 

After we drop the ledger off with Alex, we head over to Grace’s lab to both send in the blood sample.

“Oh, by the way!” Jones pipes up. “You said you finished analyzing the hair, right? Did you find anything significant with it?”

Grace nods. “Surprisingly, yes, I did!” She pulls out her clipboard and flips it towards us, pointing at a close-up photo of the strand of hair. “As you can see, judging by its scale pattern, medulla, color, and shape, I was able to determine that the hair comes from the head of an African-American person!”

I furrow my brow, tapping my finger on my arm. ‘African-American person…the only one of our suspects that matches the description is Eva Coleman, but considering the fact that we found the watch in the sewers, that hair could’ve come from anyone.

I glance over at Jones, and I can see that he’s most likely thinking the same thing. However, just before I’m able to ask a question, Grace continues talking. “What’s more, despite how damaged the hair was from the sewer water, there was still a bit of its root left. Through this, I managed to grab some DNA and matched the hair to one ‘Eva Coleman’!”

…AH. My heart almost leaps into my throat at the realization, the room suddenly feeling a whole lot stuffier than before. Guess that answers my doubts.

And judging by Jones’s wide-eyed expression, he’s coming to the same conclusions. There might’ve been a teeny-tiny chance that the hair was stuck in the watch by pure accident, but that single strand was lodged deep .

Grace says something that both Jones and I are definitely thinking right now. “Most likely, she came into very close contact with the victim for her hair to get stuck in his watch. Where on the watch did you say you found it, Detective?”

“I-” I look down at my wrist. “-the, uh- the hinge- hinge thingy.” I feebly point to the back of my wrist. “You know the parts where the band connects to the clock part? Yeah, that area.”

She nods. “I see…” She scribbles down something extra on her clipboard. “...Alright, I’ll go work on that blood sample! I wish you guys luck with the investigation.”

Jones nods back, albeit rather stiffly. “...Right! Thanks, Grace.”

Finally, we exit the lab, standing completely still and in complete silence as the door shuts behind us. I’m still trying my best to process this revelation, because – for lack of better words – almost everything about the investigation has changed.

“...So,” I manage to mumble, “we’re gonna talk to Eva Coleman, right-?”

“Oh, DEFINITELY,” he blurts out. “She certainly knew Levin better than she told us. Let’s ask her for a little chat…”

 

Unlike last time, we had decided to call Eva down to the station for an interrogation instead of talking to her at the apartment.

Whether that’s for the better or not, I’m not sure.

The moment she walks in, I can see her visibly tense up. She rubs one of her arms, chewing on a bit of her bottom lip.

Does she know we know?

I can’t help but put a hand on Jones’s shoulder, and the moment he glances at me, I mouth out some words to him. Take it easy on her.

He hesitates for a moment, then slowly nods. We glance back at Eva as she sits down.

She shifts to the left, then to the right, then back to the left.. Her eyes flick around as she shakes her head. “What…what do you want, officers?”

Jones’s lips press into a firm line, his jaw clenching as he leans back in his chair. “...The truth, Eva.”

Her whole body stiffens and her eyes shoot open. “How did you…”

“We found proof that you knew Levin more than you claimed,” I tell her as gently as I can. “Did something happen between you two?”

Something roils in my gut right at this moment.

Eva is completely still. Her perfectly manicured hands lie flat on the table, but they slowly, gradually bend and clench into her fists.

I lean forward ever-so-slightly. “...Eva?”

She huffs shakily, pushing her hair behind her ear. “...Fine. I’ll tell you. Anton and I were…having an affair.”

Oh my god, another case involving cheating. It takes me every single muscle in my body to keep myself from just collapsing on the floor from the news. Jones’s jaw is completely slacked open as well. “I…let me guess,” he stammers out, “is the baby you’re having Levin’s, too?”

She very slowly, hesitantly nods.

MAY THE EARTH SWALLOW ME WHOLE.

This is certainly one of…“the” twists of all time.

This changes almost everything, that’s for sure…and adds a completely sordid layer of context.

“Does…” I bite the inside of my cheek. “...does Anton know?” Hell, does MIKHAIL???

She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip again, staining her teeth with a bit of red. “I- I did tell him, yeah. The day he died, too…”

Oh, dear God.

“Did you tell Mikhail?” Jones mutters.

She fervently shakes her head, “No, no…” Tears are already welling up in her eyes. “...I’m too scared to. I- I planned to leave him for Anton, but now…” She heaves in a shaky bit of air, sniffling once, then twice.

But now Anton’s gone.

 

Eva Coleman – Nurse and Mikhail’s girlfriend. Was probably on better terms with Anton before his death. FORGET EVERYTHING, IT’S SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT OH MY GOD Apparently had a sexual relationship with Anton behind Mikhail’s back… yeesh.

 

Once we finally finish the interrogation, we stagger out of the room and make a beeline for the vending machines to rest and recuperate.

As the tray inside whirrs to life and moves to get my iced latte, though, Jones puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Val? I got a question.”

“Hm?” I turn to face him.

“Did you get that feeling in your gut, that’s like…‘oh, I wish that cases like these were easy’?”

What? I furrow my brow. “Yeah, I…I guess so.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to get used to it.” He gives me a firm pat on the back. “I’ll just say from experience, you’ll get that feeling a lot.”

…Oh. “Wow. How…how fun.” I force a smile on my lips. “Should we, uhhh…should we talk to Mikhail about this?”

He frowns, putting a hand on his chin. “Hmmm…I’d say no. Even if he did know, I doubt he would say anything until we can prove it, so there’s no use talking to him for now.”

“Fair enough,” I respond, gazing as the iced latte clattters to the bottom of the vending machine. “How is Alex’s progress on the ledger, by the way?”

“Last time I checked, he was pretty close to done,” he lets out a small sigh. “How about we take a very quick break first, and we go check up on him?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I reply, sipping my latte, “sure.”

 

We only spend a couple of seconds practically chugging our drinks before hurrying off to talk to Alex.

“Okay!” He tells us. “Sorry it was quite, um…” he purses his lips for a moment, “...long. It took me some time and a couple of headaches, but I finally managed to crack it!”

Jones is already leaning forward onto Alex’s desk. “And? What did you find?”

Alex slips his laptop into a bag. “Well, it was a list of orders and deliveries made by the restaurant – no shit, that’s what a ledger’s for. But-!” He swivels his chair over to a huge desktop monitor and begins typing at the speed of fucking light on the keyboard, “I did find something interesting. Looks like someone forged some of the entries to cover up some shady deals!” He moves aside after a bit, gesturing at the monitor screen.

I decide to take a small shot at a lucky guess. “And it was all probably Balanchine’s doing, wasn’t it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, the fake entries all have the same writing as the one of the invoice,” Alex tells him with a shrug, “so yeah, pretty sure you’re right there.”

Welp-

“I knew it!” Jones exclaims. “Levin probably found out that Dimitri was scheming with Marconi behind his back. So either Dimitri or Marconi probably killed him!”

“Do we have enough evidence for that, though?” I mutter. “Wouldn’t it be best to ask either of them?”

He scoffs lightly. “Well, yeah, sure…how about we put the ledger under Marconi’s nose and see where it takes us?”

Uh oh. Not again, I swear to god-

Every bone in my body is begging me to protest, but instead, I merely find the willpower to just sigh. “...Fine, sure. Lead the way.”

Surely, this will go well, like the last time we talked to Marconi, right?

RIGHT?

 

As soon as Marconi sees me stride into his club, his eyebrows raise, and a small grin forms on his lips. “Well!” He exclaims with a bit of a chuckle. “If it isn’t Detective Perez!”

Immediately, as Jones walks in behind me, Marconi’s smile falters, and the corners of his lips look like they’re being forced up. “...And…Lieutenant Jones.”

Jones paces STRAIGHT UP to Marconi immediately , whipping out copies of the ledger pages that Alex gave us. “Listen here, ‘Rigatoni’,” he growls, “we got a ledger here that proves that you and Dimitri Balanchine were scheming behind his boss’s back!”

Marconi takes one look at the pages and scoffs, almost holding back a couple of chuckles. “Your damn book proves what, Jones?” He borderline snaps. “That I’ve ‘committed a crime’?”

Jones sputters and stammers in reply. “W-well, I-I- I don’t know yet what your deal with Dimitri was all about, but I BET Levin sure didn’t fucking like it!”

Marconi snickers, even bending down a couple of inches as he gazes down at Jones. “If you truly wanted to know, Jones,” he sneers, “it was just about Russian vodka and caviar at a ‘fair’ price for my club. Siberian sturgeon caviar, too, in fact – All legally farmed and produced. What Anton thought about it was Balanchine’s concern.”

Jones clenches his jaw, and I instinctively catch myself stepping forward in case he leaps at Marconi’s throat. “Right…” he hisses through his teeth, “...because you would never even think about disposing a reluctant business partner, wouldn’t you, Marconi?!”

Shit, they might actually tear each other into pieces. I take a couple strides forward, extending a hand when Marconi’s deep, bellowing laugh echoes over the dance music around us.

“You really are going down that path, eh? ” He snarls, marching right up to Jones in only a couple of movements.

Jones sucks in a breath, stumbling back.

My heart slams against my ribs. Oh god, oh god, oh god-! I scramble to try to do something, but Jones holds up a hand in my direction, signaling me to stand still as he still keeps eye contact with Marconi.

Speaking of Marconi, he’s still smiling down at him, but none of that smile is reaching his eyes. “How… cute ,” he snarls before sucking in a breath. His hands slide into his pants pockets as he shakes his head. “What a shame you’re sending quite baseless accusations my way, Lieutenant Jones,” he snarks, “in another universe, maybe we could’ve been quite good friends…”

Jones visibly bristles at the statement. “Oh, just you wait!” He yells. “We’ll get you locked up in prison for a long time soon!”

Marconi responds with another chortle. “Just you try. You’ll never find anything against me, and you know it. ”

…Holy shit.

I don’t even know what exactly to make of that statement, but I can feel my stomach sink ever-so-slightly.

Before I can even open my mouth, though, Marconi’s head flips towards me, causing me to flinch.

Something about him seems… softer now. Is it his expression? His tone? His-

“Well?” He asks with a smirk as if what just happened never happened, “So you need anything, Detective?”

I pause.

…Um.

Truth be told, I have too much, but my throat is as dry as a desert, so all that comes out of my mouth is a couple babbles as I struggle to put together a proper coherent sentence.

He merely raises an eyebrow and chuckles. His fingers adjust his shirt slightly as he nods at the both of us. “Very well. Till we meet again, both of you.”

Jones lets out a scoff like Marconi just admitted to throwing a rock at his window, but before he can respond, Marconi is already walking away, leaving us hanging there like sitting ducks.

 

Dimitri Balanchine – Levin’s henchman. Had a deal with Marconi to add vodka and caviar to the Blue Flamingo menu. Are there any more motives, or is he hiding something more? (Uses hand sanitizer and has a scar on his neck. Maybe from fighting Levin?)

Tony Marconi – Gangster. Maybe interacted with Levin before. Won’t really say anything, though. Had a deal with Balanchine and apparently added vodka and caviar to the Blue Flamingo menu. Might have some other motives too?

Jones slamming his fist against the cruiser dashboard knocks me out of my thoughts. “Dear God,” he grumbles, “I swear to all hell, the only thing that gives me a headache more than Marconi is that smell of disinfectant that clings onto him like no tomorrow!”

I hesitate, my pencil still touching paper. “He smelled of disinfectant?”

He lets out a snort, leaning back in the driver’s seat and crossing his arms. “Granted, I could kind of make it out over the overwhelming stench of sweat and alcohol from that club…but I do know that it was that kind of artificial, cleaning product kind of smell. Like…” he purses his lips for just a moment as he casually glances outside, “...hand sanitizer.”

I can’t help but frown slightly. “...Are you sure that you aren’t just lying to try to get Marconi put in prison?”

“Surprisingly, no, I’m not bullshitting,” he remarks as he inserts the keys into the ignition, “I’ve been around that club before, and I’ve seen bottles of that stuff everywhere. Makes sense if he’s used it once or twice…”

“...Guess that makes sense.” I mark down that information just in case it comes in handy for later.

As we drive back to the station, Jones continues with our conversation. “Also, also!” He adds, “Did you see the scratches on his chest?”

I wait for a second, trying my best to recall.

Now that he mentioned it…yes, I did. A couple scratches right on his chest, barely peeking past his shirt collar. Three thin, pale pink lines surrounded by violent crimson skin.

I take the time to note that down, too.

“Anyway,” Jones continues when we stop at a traffic light, “I don’t give a damn what he says. We won’t let him off the hook as easily as he thinks, right, Val?”

“Hm?” I glance up from my notepad. “Oh- oh yeah, sure. We won’t let him off the hook!”

 

Grace is readily scribbling stuff down on her clipboard the moment we come into her lab. “Oh, hey, you two!” She says with a beaming smile. “So, I finished looking at the blood sample you sent me…”

She quickly flips through multiple pages. “...first of all, I matched the blood of the napkin to the blood of your victim! My hunch is that the killer wiped their hands on it to clean themselves!”

Jones raises an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest with a small smirk. “Really now? What makes you say that?”

“Well,” Grace grins at us, “first of all, the smudge marks on the napkin itself. They’re very streaky, as if the killer wiped their hands on it after committing the crime!”

OH? I lean in slightly in anticipation.

“What’s more, I found out that the sample you gave me also had traces of hand sanitizer,” she adds confidently, “and I mean, a LOT of it!”

Hand sanitizer. Who from our suspect list uses it? I open my notepad and scan through as much as possible.

“...So our killer uses hand sanitizer.” Jones lets out a small huff. “Great…just about everyone in town uses it, though. Like ol’ Jimbob down the street, I guess…”

And Balanchine and Marconi.

“It’s still pretty important information, though,” I mutter, “I’ll jot it down just in case…”

Notes:

AUGHHH I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭
I'll be completely deadass, I was both busy and NOT doing well mentally, hence the huge, unannounced pause. And I apologize so much for that-
Good news, though, I'm at least kind of back on business! I'll try to release more consistently as of now, hopefully! (And as tradition, I am currently releasing this chapter at midnight LMAO)
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for the next chapter!!
- alex_ze_awsum

Chapter 24: A Russian Case - 3/4

Summary:

Val and Jones are so close to catching Levin's killer -- they can feel it in their bones. All they just need is one last push.
[CONTENT WARNING: Some implications of SA mentioned (no one got SA'd, however)]

“So, Val!” Jones tells me as we leave Grace’s lab, “let’s review, alright? We gotta make sure that we get this right.”

He leans against a wall, so I copy him and do the same.

“Okay,” he says, “so we’ve made some progress in the case. Not only do we know that Marconi and Dimitri had motives to kill Levin-”

“-Mikhail too, most likely,” I add.

“Yup.” He strokes his chin, his lips parting by just a little. “We still have a long way to go, though…tell me, Val. What do you think we should do first?”

I ponder for a moment, tapping my pencil against the paper. “Maybe we should go back to Mikhail’s place and take another look. Hopefully, he’ll let us…”

“He’ll probably have to, considering the fact that he’s a suspect in his dad’s murder,” he replies, “but yeah, good idea…” He glances up at the ceiling, his lips pressing into a thin line. “In the meantime, I’ve got a plan to make Balanchine spill the beans on his deals!”

Oh? “And what is that?”

He merely flashes me a grin. “You’ll see. Let’s go sweep through Mikhail’s place again…”

 

Mikhail gives us a death glare when he answers the door, but he merely lets us in. “Don’t mess shit up, yeah? I’ll be in the bathroom – if you knock something over or misplace some shit, I will know.”

“Don’t worry,” Jones tells him, holding up his hands, “we’ll keep everything in place.”

“You’d better,” Mikhail snarls at the both of us before slinking to the bathroom.

The living room’s the same as before – albeit, with one new addition. There’s a fresh bottle of hand sanitizer sitting by the TV. Next to it is a note: “Make sure to stay fresh, Mikhail! –Eva”

So both Eva and Mikhail use hand sanitizer? I make a mental note to mark this down later.

“Hey, Val!” I hear Jones call.

Looking up, I spot him pinching a busted-up card between two of his fingers. “Found this in an address book…what’s the chance that this’ll have something important?” He passes the card to me.

I squint down at it as I hold it in my hand. It’s a worn grayish-white, with the edges frayed and torn. There’s something written on it with what looks like ballpoint pen, but the ink is so faded, I have almost no clue what is on there.

Welp. Let’s get down to business, then. I flip to a clean page in my notepad and try my best to transcribe the card lettering into something more legible.

It takes me 3 minutes until I manage to write down “820-058-467”. I tap on Jones’s shoulder, and he turns around eagerly to see what I have to show him.

The moment he sees my notepad, his smile immediately falls, twisting into a look of pure surprise and disgust.

“...How the fuck did Bart Williams’s phone number end up with Mikhail?! Hold on-!”

Wait, what?! I don’t even have the time to react when Jones snatches my notepad, yanks out his phone, and takes multiple glances between both. Phone, notepad, phone, notepad, phone, notepad-

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” He shouts, slamming his phone down on the table. “So that sneaky little bastard’s a lot more entwined in this case than he led us to believe…”

Holy shit. Jones isn’t wrong about that – If Bart blatantly lied to our faces, he’s in for one hell of an interrogation- “Wait, why the hell do you have Bart’s number in the first place if you hate him so much?”

He waves me off immediately, shaking his head. “I plead the fifth, it doesn’t matter. Anyway-” He coughs into his fist. “-This time, I’m kicking his fucking ass!” Before I can even ask any more questions, he’s already barging out the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Oooooh boy. I get up to follow him, and I catch Mikhail’s gaze as he peeks around the corner with a furrowed brow. He glances at me, and I can see the huge stain of water on the front of his shirt. “The fuck was that?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Levin,” I mutter, “it’s best if you keep out of it for now.”

He scrutinizes me, his jaw slightly clenched, but I sprint out of the door before he can say anything else.

Jones is already halfway down the stairs when I finally catch up to him. “H-hey!” I stammer out. “Where are you going?”

“To either get ice cream, or commit a felony!” He snaps, flashing me a wry smile. “I’ll decide in the car.”

As he pulls the keys out of his pocket, he flips them over in his fingers. “...You know what? I'll probably see too much red and crash the fucking car." He tosses the keys to me, and I let out a yelp as I try to grab them. “You drive!”

 

We find Bart outside Joe Stern’s mini-market, out of all places. He has a bag of chips in his hands, which he repeatedly squeezes and crushes before opening it, tipping it towards his mouth, and inhaling everything inside.

I park the cruiser on a nearby corner, and Jones is already barreling out before I even put on the brake.

“BARTTTT!!!”

Bart lets out a yelp, almost dropping his chips as Jones makes a beeline right at him.

Good lord. I fumble with the key for a moment before tumbling out and trailing behind.

“H-Hey!” Bart stammers out, almost dropping his bag of chips, “What’s up, man?” He shoves the bag behind his back, chuckling with a nervous, crooked grin.

“I’ll tell you ‘what’s up’, you little prick-!” Jones growls, holding up the card from Mikhail’s apartment. “We found your phone number at Mikhail’s place! I swear, Bart, this is the last time you lie to my goddamn face! ”

He looks like he’s gonna pop a vein.

No, scratch that – he’s gonna pop all his veins-

“Whoa, easy now!” Bart exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. Chip crumbs spill out of his bag like confetti, spilling everywhere all over the sidewalk. “Mikhail’s one of my best clients, I wasn’t gonna snitch on him like that! Employee-customer confidentiality and all that stuff, y’know-”

“And do you think I care right now?!” Jones snaps. “You’re a fucking police informant !”

I saunter up, raising my hand to intervene. “Jones-”

“News flash, Bart, ” He continues storming even closer to the poor guy, “Mikhail’s suspected of beating his dad to a fucking pulp! ”

I clear my throat. “Jones-!”

“You’d better speak now, or I’m ending your business once and for all, you hear me?!” He continues shouting.

“JONES!” I yell in his face, causing him to flinch. “Calm down, please! Take a breath!”

“Alright, alright!” He raises his hands. “I’ll take a breath. Don’t worry.” IMMEDIATELY, he glares back at Bart. “But Bart, I am not bullshitting here when I say-”

“Okay, okay!” Bart cries out. “Okay, I’ll tell you!”

He hesitates for a moment, looking at the chip bag in his hand before crumpling it up and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

And for just a moment, I catch him murmuring something under his breath. “...Mikhail, please forgive me for this.”

“Did you say something?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Just- just something. Anyway…” He dusts his hands on his pants, shaking his head. “...Yeah, I dealt to the guy. He and I weren’t friends, but he did tell me…things.”

Jones’s eyes narrow. “... What things, Bart?”

Bart wrings his hands together, not meeting either of our gazes. “Okay, so…he called me up recently, kind of…” his lips purse, “...freaking out. He was freaking out, a lot. Something about some personal stuff in his life…”

Eva. “His girlfriend’s affair?” I inquire, shooting my shot at a potential lucky guess.

He merely cringes in response.

Jones is completely silent at this point, all the anger drained from his expression.

“Did…” Bart stops for a second. “...did he tell you?”

Jones shakes his head. “No, actually. Eva did, and she told me that Mikhail didn’t know.”

“... Shit. ” Bart covers his mouth with a hand. “Oh, wow, that’s…that’s not.”

Mikhail’s suddenly jumped up on the suspicion meter. As Jones and I share a glance, we both come to a consensus.

Mikhail has a lot of explaining to do.

 

Bart Williams – Police informant. Knew Mikhail, and Mikhail knew about the affair between Eva and his father.

 

“...Mikhail? Yeah, he’s in the bathroom,” Eva mutters, fidgeting in her spot in front of the apartment door. “Is anything the matter, officers?”

For the first time, I spot Jones chewing on his bottom lip in thought. “We just…we need to talk to him, Eva.”

She freezes up. “Does he- did he-?”

Does he know? Her unspoken question hangs heavy in the hallway. Jones takes a small glance at me, and I meet his gaze.

Do we tell her? We both stand there for a moment in complete silence, neither of us bothering to step forward. And so, I take the initiative and shake my head.

“No, Ms. Coleman,” I tell her, “we just need to talk to him about something else.”

She lets out a sigh, her shoulders relaxing ever-so-slightly. “...Oh. Oh, that’s good.” Another hush falls between us before she gestures down the hallway. “Can I- can I go, now-?”

“Oh, sure!” Jones nods. “Do what you need to do, Ms. Coleman, don’t worry.”

With that, she hurries down the hall, leaving only us behind. The door almost closes on us if it weren’t for Jones holding it just in time.

“...You first?” He jokes.

“You gentleman,” I tell him plainly as I enter.

Bathroom. Mikhail’s in the bathroom. As we slide into the apartment, we make a beeline for the bathroom. The door’s completely shut, with only the sounds of someone gargling water coming from behind.

Gargling? I frown. Why is he-

All of a sudden, something clatters to the floor and splashes, and Mikhail lets out a loud and angry shout of frustration. Jones and I leap in our positions, keeping our hands at our sides.

There’s heavy breathing on the other side, then the sounds of long, incessant cursing. Something’s dropped to the floor with a splat. From where Mikhail’s voice seems to be coming from, he’s bending down.

After a minute, Mikhail swings the door open, causing it to practically slam against the wall. I steel my nerves once again as I reprocess how huge the guy is, clenching my fists at my sides. His eyes widen as he recognizes us, and his brow furrows. “Who in the-”

“Eva let us in,” Jones says, his words stilted. “Can we please talk to you, Mikhail?”

Mikhail swears under his breath again, clutching his forehead in his hand. “-For the love of-” He inhales through his nose for a couple of seconds, then exhales. “-Fine. Wait in the living room, I will be there soon.” Before we can protest, he slams the door on us again.

After a couple minutes of us standing rather awkwardly in the living room, Mikhail slinks in and plops right down on an armchair. He crosses his arms, glaring right at us. “So? Speak.”

Right. I wipe away my palms on my pants while Jones clears his throat and glances at a window. “I…Mr..Levin,” I stammer out, “we have a question.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Here it goes. “Were you…aware of your girlfriend’s affair?”

For just a spare moment, everything goes eerily silent. Mikhail’s expression falters, all the emotion falling from his face, and he just…stares at us.

Until his jaw clenches and his brow furrows. “What do you think I am, an idiot? Of course I knew.”

Jones lets out a huff of air through his nose. “Well, that confirms it…” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “...Is that why you always seem on edge?”

CRACK!!

My heart leaps into my throat as I watch pieces of drywall crumble off the wall, drifting to the floor.

Mikhail pries his fist away, blood dripping onto the floor. 

He’s trembling, trying to wipe away the red on his hand, but it just smears all over his skin.

Jones opens his mouth, but Mikhail cuts him off.

“Do you know,” he hisses, “how it feels? Knowing that you weren’t able to protect the person you love?!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jones furrow his brow. “…Mik-”

“SHE CHEATED ON ME WITH MY OWN FATHER!!” He shouts, causing Jones to flinch. “How would you react to that if you were in my place?!”

“I- well-” Jones stammers, “I- I would get pretty angry, probably.”

Maybe enough to do something regrettable. The implication lies heavy between all of us.

Mikhail sucks in a quivering breath, still clutching his bloodied hand. “You’d bet, I was! Even tried writing down a way to confront her about it…”

“...how did that go?” I ask, wringing my hands together.

He shakes his head, clutching his face with his bloodied hand. “…I decided not to. It’s not her fault.”

What?

“What…are you saying?” Jones inquires.

“You know what the hell I’m saying!” Mikhail retorts. “My father is a sick bastard, he made her do this! Be sure I’d GLADLY thank the guy that took him out!!”

… WHAT?

Jones is giving me a bit of a side eye, and I shoot a glance back, trying my best to process what Mikhail just said.

Oh.

Oh.

Another conflict of stories, that’s for sure. If we take Eva at her word, then she willingly has a sexual relationship with Anton Levin behind Mikhail’s back, resulting in her pregnancy.

If we take Mikhail at his word, then that means that Anton definitely deserved what he got.

  No. I shake my head. Don’t make assumptions so soon. We still have more to find…like any secrets Balanchine is hiding.

 

“…Sooooooo…”

Jones and I sit across from Balanchine once again, watching him shift in his chair. His arms are crossed, and his smirk is still as wide and obnoxious as ever.

“…we had a little chat with your buddy-buddy, Marconi!” Jones cuts in. “He snitched faster than we can say, ‘talk’!”

… Huh? I give him a slight side-eye. But we- we didn’t, though-

Balanchine’s snide chuckling echoes through the room, a mixture of scoffs and huffs as he throws his head back. “HA! You really think I’d fall for that? I know Marconi, he knows better than to just be a sellout.”

Jones grits his teeth, clenching his fists. “Damnit.”

Crap. I hesitate for a moment, fidgeting with my sleeve. Focus, Val, focus. “We still know you were dealing with him,” I mutter. “I assume you wanted Levin’s position, didn’t you?”

Balanchine raises an eyebrow at this, letting out yet another scoff as he leans further back in his chair.”Hm. Looks like you’re a lot smarter than I thought…very well, then.” He purses his lips for just a moment, wetting them with a slight sheen. “Did I want dear-old-Anton’s position? Yes.”

He comes back forward, resting his chin on the delicate, bony fingers of his knuckles. “Did his death make my day? Absolutely.”

Jones suddenly rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Let me guess – ‘it’s not like you’ to leave behind such a mess like how Levin’s killer did?”

“Of course,” Balanchine responds with another chuckle. “I’m much more subtle when I ‘operate’, I’ll say that now. And I’m certainly not idiotic to leave behind such a trail that Levin’s actual killer did. Believe me!”

He stands up, dusting his pants off before turning around. He chuckles YET AGAIN, muttering under his breath but obnoxiously loud enough for is to hear. “Like…who just tosses valuable clues into the sewers out of all places instead of merely tampering with the evidence?”

“Hey, how did you know that-?! ” Jones exclaims, shooting up out of his chair. “That is not public information-!”

“I have my ways,” Balanchine responds coolly with a smirk, glancing over his shoulder, “just like how you have yours. Just like that.”

He strides out of the room before we can have another word, leaving us in silence.

Jones suddenly slams his fist down on the table. “DAMN that psycho!” He yells. “He thinks we’re ‘too smart for us’, huh?! Well, we’ll show him!”

I pause, biting the inside of my cheek for a moment before speaking. “...Do…do we go down to the sewers-”

“Oh, hell YES, we go down into the sewers!!” He shouts, storming out of the door and down the hallway. “Let’s go prove that bastard wrong!!”

 

For obvious reasons, I am extremely hesitant about going back down into the sewers, but a job is a job. At least this time, I bring a face mask as a precaution.

A lot of the lights above were turned off, with shadows pouring down the walls, enveloping us in a thick blanket of darkness. The only things I can even hear are the splashes of pouring, rushing water

Jones passes me a flashlight as we make our way towards a conduit. “Watch your step, Val,” he tells me. “Keep an eye out for anything interesting, alright?”

I nod, flicking around as I trail behind Jones.

Anything interesting…

My flashlight beam falls upon something right behind the flowing fall of sludge water, and I bend onto my hands and knees.

Thank God I put on gloves. My fingers wrap around something cylindrical, covered in the slick, slippery sludge of sewer water. I yank, pulling out… wait, what even is that?

It’s an instrument of some sort. A smooth white handle and a bed of pins sticking out from one side. Despite the amount of sewer water on it, I can see a good amount of blood along the spikes. A felting tool?

“....This is definitely our murder weapon,” I mumble to myself as I stand up.

Jones is already sauntering up to me, clutching a gold chain in one gloved hand. “Well,” he mutters, “considering the blood on this thing, this probably belongs to either our killer or our victim! Did you find anything?”

“...I found this.” I hold up the tool. “Most likely, the killer stabbed Levin with this.”

He lets out a small hum as he shines his flashlight on it, squinting ever-so-slightly. “Hmmm…you’ve got a point. This meat tenderizer looks like it could make the wounds on Levin’s body…”

I nod.

Wait a minute-

“This- this is a meat tenderizer?” I stammer, my brow involuntarily furrowing.

He frowns. “...Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

A silence falls in between us as we just stare at each other. “...W-wait,” Jones stutters, “you’ve never seen a meat tenderizer before??”

I glance back at him. “Not one that looks like this, that’s for sure! Usually, my family members would just use a hammer-”

“People use hammers?!” He exclaims. “Who the hell hammers their meat?!’

I splutter some more, waving my hands in the air. “I- I don’t know!”

“You know what?!” He yells. “Nevermind! We’re going off topic here. Anyway-” he clears his throat with a loud AHEM, “-let’s send this stuff to Nathan and see what he says. Hopefully, this trip down to the sewers was worth it…”

 

While the analyses are being finished, Jones and I spend our time sitting at my desk in silence.

Honestly, even I don’t know why. I just watch Jones as he just leans back in his chair and cracks his knuckles against his palm.

“Hey, Val?”

“Hm?” I blink, snapping out of my trance. “What is it?”

He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak before immediately pursing his lips. He sits back up, his brow furrowing as he stares down at his hands. “…Nothing. How about we recap the case so far?”

Huh? I blink again more rapidly, then shrugging. “Uhhh, sure.”

He nods. “Alright. So…Levin was killed in his restaurant and then was found later in the day. No shit, we know that. Killer beat him to a bloody pulp with what we can assume is the meat tenderizer we found in the sewers, Current suspects are his son Mikhail, Mikhail’s girlfriend Eva, his right-hand man Balanchine, Bart…” he pauses, gritting his teeth, “...and worst of all, Marconi. ”

Some part of me feels a bit bothered by the way he said Marconi’s name, but I shut up instead. Pursing my lips together, I sit back and listen as Jones continues the discussion.

“All of our suspects have pretty damning motives, and they all have attributes shared with our killer,” he adds, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Do you remember what they share?”

I slightly jolt up at the question, but I nod anyway. “Yeah, I have it written down somewhere. Hold on-”

My notepad. It’s still in my pants pocket, and I pull it out to flip to the right page.

“Okay. So – we know so far that the killer is 6 feet tall, has scratches somewhere on their body, and uses hand sanitizer. Mikhail, Eva, Marconi, and Balanchine are all 6 feet tall, use hand sanitizer, and have scratches on their person.”

Jones pulls out a bottle of water and takes a sip. “And Bart?”

I glance down at my notepad, then look around a file until I manage to pull out a photo of Bart. His face is as completely clean as I remember.

“...Nothing. Did I miss him using hand sanitizer before?”

Jones purses his lips. “...No. If I remember correctly, he’s told me before that it gives him rashes..”

My eyebrows lift slightly at the note. “He has eczema?”

He hesitates. “Ehh, he never said. Nor did I really bother or care to ask.”

…Ah. “Fair enough,” I reply, scanning through my notes yet again. “If I remember correctly from our last case, Bart’s like, 6 feet tall too, right?”

He nods. “Yup. 6 feet tall exactly. Not like that makes any difference considering he matches none of the other attributes…”

Yeah, Bart’s definitely not the killer, that’s for sure. That only leaves the 4 other suspects.

All I can do right now is hold my breath and wait for the analysises to be done.

 

Both Nathan and Grace are in the morgue when we arrive for the results. Grace waves us hello immediately, beckoning us over. “Hey!” She says.

I wave hello back. “Hi! Uhh, why are you both in the morgue?”

“Had to ask Nathan about something involving that chain you sent me,” She tells me.

“Really?” Jones raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms. “What is it?”

“Where do you think the chain comes from?”

The question makes me furrow my brow slightly. Jones purses his lips as well. “Uhhh…judging by the blood, aesthetic, and the context where we found it,” he mutters, “The chain’s Levin’s, I assume?”

She snaps her fingers. “That’s the interesting thing. The blood on the chain was definitely Levin’s. However, the chain itself is too short for his neck!”

OH? Jones and I share a glance at this.

“...So the chain isn’t Levin’s.” Jones says.

Grace gives us a confident nod. “Correct! He probably ripped it off of the killer’s neck in the struggle.”

‘Struggle.’

My mind flashes back to the bloody sack of pulp Levin was reduced to, and I shake my head.

Of course.

“Also, I found skin cells under his fingernails,” Nathan adds. “Unfortunately, the sample is useless, but I think it’s pretty obvious that he died fighting.”

This is Anton ‘White Bear’ Levin we were talking about. I know little about the man, but it’s very obvious to assume that he wouldn’t go down quietly.

“So, the killer wears a gold chain?” Jones comments.

Grace gives him a thumbs up in response. “Yup!”

One more step ahead. My shoulders relax ever-so-slightly once more.

Nathan steps forward next, clearing his throat and holding up his clipboard. “Additionally, I’d also like to add something,” he says. “Despite the sewer water contaminating and washing away any useable sample on the meat tenderizer, I can confirm that it matches the wounds on Levin’s body. Congrats, you guys found the murder weapon!”

TWO STEPS AHEAD. I practically let out a huff of relief, and Jones pumps his fist.

“Out of everything we went through, out of all the bullshit we had to deal with,” he hisses through his teeth, “this is the best thing I’ve heard in the past couple of days. Thank you so much, oh my god...”

 

As we leave the morgue, Jones’s face is scrunched up in concentration. “So, our killer’s got a gold chain as well…”

I fiddle with my fingers at this new information. Neither Balanchine or Eva have gold chains, so that eliminates them from the suspect pool.

“...So, that only leaves Marconi and Mikhail.”

Jones nods. “Yup. We’re close to the end, I feel it, but I just know something’s missing…”

“Oh, I think I can help!”

Jones and I both yelp, swerving around to see Ramirez standing right behind us. “Some neghbor of Levin’s called the morning of the murder to complain about a fight!” He says cheerfully. “We could analyze the record, maybe!”

Both of us just gape, staring right at Ramirez and his happy little smile.

Jones opens his mouth first, sputtering as he raises one of his fingers. Then, he promptly shuts up, sucking in a breath.

“First, how the hell did you do that? Did Nate teach you or something?”

Ramirez’s smile falters a little. “I-”

“Second of all,” Jones pauses, sucking in another breath.

Uh oh.

“ARE YOU KIDDING?!” He shouts. “YOU HAD THIS FROM THE BEGINNING, AND YOU’RE ONLY TELLING US NOW?!”

Ramirez lets out a squeak and holds up his hands. “I- I- It was some old lady yelling about some sort of communist invasion!! You told me not to get involved in that crazy people stuff…”

Jones sucks in yet another breath, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” I tell him, “at least we got it now, right? Let’s just send the complaint record to Alex and see what we can make of it.”

He gives me a…look. I can’t even tell what he’s feeling, so I just give him one nervous smile and pray he lets the subject be.

He sighs, throwing up his hands. “Fine. Better now than never!”

 

After another round of waiting, we hurry our way down to Alex’s lab to see what he made of it.

“Alex!” Jones calls as we rush in through the door. “Did you find anything of use on that complaint record?!”

Alex grins at the both of us, leaning back in his chair and placing his laptop on his legs. “You two owe me big time for this one! The record was super noisy and was mostly the old lady complaining over the ‘commies next door’, but judging from what I can tell, she pressed the phone to the wall to try to record what was going on!”

Jones and I glance at each other, then back at Alex. “And?!” Jones yells.

“The old lady wasn’t lying,” Alex replies, “there really was a fight! The noises were faint, but you can hear them if you listen closely enough! I managed to clean up the audio and isolate the voices, and going off of tone alone, it’s definitely an argument!”

“Tone?” I raise an eyebrow. Wait a minute. “Ah, were they speaking in another language?”

He nods, sitting back up. “Yup! I don’t know that many foreign languages, but I managed to catch multiple curse words in Russian!”

“So our killer speaks Russian!” Jones exclaims. “As far as we know, only Mikhail and Balanchine do! That’s the last piece of our puzzle!”

That checks out. Mikhail we heard swearing in Russian in our first encounter with him, and Balanchine is the second-in-command-turned-leader of the Russian mafia.

… But Balanchine doesn’t have a gold chain.

I give Jones a nudge. “Can I drive this time? I think I know who the killer is.”

“Oh?” Jones flashes me a smirk. “Who do you think it is, then?”

“I’ll update you in the car.”

 

I reach out a fist and tentatively knock on the apartment door.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Please let Mikhail be home. Please let this be over.

I step back the moment I hear footsteps from within. Someone’s definitely home.

I look over at Jones, and he nods, crossing his arms.

The footsteps stop for just a moment, then the doorknob turns.

Slowly, it opens, and the slight glint of sunlight in black hair tells me immediately who it is.

“Ah, officers,” Eva says, letting out a breath, “how are you today?”

Jones purses his lips. “Do you know where Mikhail is, perhaps?”

She tenses. “Mikhail?” Her head turns, glancing behind her. “Yeah, he’s in the bathroom. What about it?”

I hesitate before crossing my arms. “…We need to talk with him. It’s important.” My tone stresses a little, and I hope she gets my implication without me having to spell it out.

Luckily, she does. Her eyes widen, and she stares down at the floor for a good long moment as she just stands still.

“…Alright. I was about to go, anyway.”

She tugs at her scarf before striding past us, heading for the stairs and disappearing around a corner.

“…It’s November, isn’t it?” Jones mutters. “I don’t think going out in just a sleeveless top, jeans, scarf, and boots is a really good idea in this cold weather.”

I merely nod in agreement, taking one step into the apartment. “Let’s get this over with.”

We slowly walk over to the bathroom, listening to the sounds of the faucet running inside.

I glance over at Jones, and he reaches out and knocks on the door.

“Mikhail Levin?”

Mikhail lets out a yell, and there’s a crash from inside. Something clatters to the floor, spilling what sounds like little pellets everywhere. “ FUCK-!! ”

There’s heavy breathing. The faucet is shut off. Bare feet step along the tiles.

Finally, after a full minute, Mikhail slams open the door, causing the both of us to jump. “What do you want?!” He growls.

“Mikhail Levin,” Jones declares, “you are under arrest for the murder of your father Anton ‘White Bear’ Levin.”

Mikhail’s eyes almost jut out of his skull. “What?! The hell are you saying?! I didn’t do shit!”

“Tell that to the court.” I reply firmly. “We found your skin cells, your gold chain, your hand sanitizer at the scene! What’s more, you have an extremely strong motive for killing him, didn’t you?”

Jones nods in agreement. “We know you killed your father after finding out that he had an affair with Eva, Mikhail. Didn’t expect him to be some sort of competition, didn’t you?”

“‘WHITE BEAR’ MY ASS!!” Mikhail slams his fist into the bathroom wall, cracking another hole in it.

Holy shit. My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but flinch.

“My father was a pig!!” Mikhail roars. “It wasn’t enough for him to disown me after my mother’s death, he had to go ahead and make Eva his BITCH!!”

He’s definitely not helping his case.

I clear my throat, standing my ground as firmly as possible. “You cornered him in his restaurant,” I tell him. “You argued with him, and things quickly got heated to the point you grabbed the meat tenderizer and attacked him. Is that correct?”

Mikhail lets out a snort, a smirk atwisting onto his lips. “Yes. And I don’t regret a single thing!”

“Okay.” I take his wrists, snapping my handcuffs on them in one swift motion. “Mikhail Levin, you are under arrest for the murder of Anton ‘White Bear’ Levin. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Mikhail doesn’t even flinch.

 

“…Now that all elements have been reviewed,” Judge Hall says, her voice booming over the courtroom, “does the defense have anything to say?”

When will this be over?

I’m staring straight ahead, one of my eyelids twitching as time ticks by way slower than I can think.

I manage to recognize a couple of people in the stands around me. Bart with an almost blank, glassy expression, sweat dripping down his forehead as his jaw remains slack and his hands clench on his knees. Balanchine leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over another as he gazes down at the scene in an almost chiding look. Eva blowing her nose into a tissue, her red-rimmed eyes full of tears.

… Wait, where is Marconi? I can’t seem to spot him anywhere.

I shake my head as I look back at the scene in front of me. Mikhail stands tall and proud in his spot, his smirk wide and confident.

“What are you going to do, guilt me?” He mocks. “No amount of time behind bars matters as long as that swine doesn’t touch my girl at all!”

“Do you have no shame?” Judge Hall inquires, frowning. “He was your father, a human-”

“He lost the right to call himself my father when he let my mother die and left me in the dust! I let him walk over me for way too long, and him laying a finger on my Eva was the last straw!!”

“I LOVED HIM, YOU SICK BASTARD!! HE WAS A REAL MAN, NOT A WHINY KID LIKE YOU!!”

The whole room goes silent, all eyes on Eva Coleman.

She’s standing, her hands pressed firmly on the guard rail as she breathes heavily. Tears streaming down her face as she glares down at Mikhail.

And Mikhail is completely silent, his eyes wide and his face pale.

The court is buzzing with gossip, and I fidget with my fingers as I glance down at my own feet.

Judge Hall slams her gavel down once more, the noise reverberating around all of us. “Order, order in the court!” She calls.

Everyone goes silent again, and she stares down at Mikhail.

“Mr. Levin,” she declares, “it is clear that you do not regret a single thing you’ve done that’s led you up to this moment. You murdered your father ruthlessly in a fit of rage. Because of this, this Court hearby sentences you to 23 years in prison along with mandatory counseling.”

Mikhail doesn’t even say anything in reply.

“Bailiffs, take this man away,” She finally calls, slamming her gavel down one last time. “Court is adjourned!”

 

It’s night again by the time we finally exit the courtroom. A cool November breeze flies right past us, brushing leaves and stray pieces of trash around the marble stairs down from the courthouse. I can’t help but shiver, shoving both of my hands into my jacket.

Out of the corner of my sight, I see Mikhail being loaded into the back of a cruiser by the bailiffs from the courtroom. Only half of his face is illuminated by the overhead street lamp, reflecting off of one of his cold blue eyes.

I pry my eyes away from the scene, huddling in on my self just a little bit more.

“That was…weird, don’t you think, Val?”

I glance over to Jones, who’s stroking his chin with his brow furrowed in concentration. “I genuinely thought we’d catch Marconi this time…”

Oh, of course. I take a quick look around, watching as people continue to pour out of the courthouse.

No sign of Marconi anywhere. Either he left early, or he literally just downright didn’t attend.

 “Now that I think about it,” I mention, “I didn’t see him anywhere during the trial.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Jones scoffs, “he didn’t even show up.”

… Ah. I guess that checks out for him.

“I assume he found some sort of legal exception?”

“Fuckin’ doubt it,” he grumbles. “Probably thinks he’s too good for the law and just never showed up.”

Another breeze flows past us, blowing my hair out of place and striking multiple sensitive spots on my spine. Goddamn. I bite my lip to keep myself from swearing, clutching my arms close to my body.

Jones is…still standing rather casually, his hands tucked into his pants pockets. “We’d better get to the car soon, huh?” He snickers.

I gnash my teeth together but manage to give him a thumbs up. “Where’d you park the car, by the way?”

“On the corner,” he tells me. “Come on, it’s not that far-”

Someone claps their hands behind us. One, two, three times.

Turning around, I can barely see anything in the dark, but I immediately recognize who it is by the spotless white suit.

Uh oh.

Dimitri Balanchine steps up to us, stopping right under a streetlight and flashing us a sneering smirk. “‘Bravo’, officers!” He haughtily chuckles, putting his hands down on his hips. “You did a…‘great’ job back there, and a huge favor for me and my image…”

Jones grits his teeth. “Careful, Balanchine! We’ll keep a close eye on you.”

Balanchine puts his hand up to his mouth, snickering as his eyes stay completely locked onto us. “Sure, sure…you go do that.”

Jones takes in a huge breath through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides.

No. Absolutely not.

“Jones,” I tell him. “Lets just go back to the station. I don’t think starting fights is gonna help anyone.”

His shoulders are still tensed as he glares right at Balanchine, who just stands in his spot, his arms crossed and his expression twisted into a grin.

“...Fine.” His fists unclench, and he sighs. “I could really go for a coffee right now…"

Notes:

AUGHHHH I'M SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG 😭 I was feeling HORRIBLE for a whole month and got busy with studies, it was so bad
But yeah, another chapter finally out!! Take this as a birthday gift from me to you maybe because I'm releasing this on my birthday :3

Chapter 25: A Russian Case - 4/4

Summary:

Tying up loose ends after arresting Anton Levin's killer.
[CONTENT WARNING: Discussions of domestic abuse that get kind of detailed in description. No one is abused in the chapter, but the topic is talked about. Also, implications and discussions of drug use.]

“Well done, officers!” Chief King exclaims as we trudge into his office. You did a helluva efficient job on this case!”

Jones gives me a firm pat on the back and slightly nudges me forward. “Couldn’t have done it without Detective Perez! She’s a quick learner, that’s for sure.”

My bones feel like they’re fucking jello. All I manage to give is a shaky thumbs up and a pathetic-looking smile.

“That’s very good!” Chief King continues. “However, a cop’s work is never done. Make sure there’s nothing else you can do for your former suspects and witnesses!”

Oh? I straighten myself up at the request. “Which- which suspects in particular do you wish for us to check up on?”

“Bart Williams and Eva Coleman both sent in calls for your help,” he replies. “Additionally, we’ve had several complaints about Levin’s restaurant since Dimitri Balanchine took it over.”

…O h . That’s great. Another round of drama with the Russian mafia. That’s great, so great! I force a smile and nod. “...Alright! We’ll do that-”

Jones nods as well, giving Chief King a salute. “We got this, Chief! Don’t you worry!”

 

“...According to the files, Balanchine’s got multiple complaints of food poisoning against him and the restaurant,” Jones tells me as we park in front of the building.

Food poisoning? “Oh, that’s not good,” I mutter.

He shoots me a sly grin. “As a customer, no,” he replies, “but if we want to get his restaurant shut down, then maybe yes…”

“What?” I frown slightly. “I thought we were just checking in and seeing if the complaints had any weight.”

“I mean…” He purses his lips as he opens the cruiser door. “Of course, we’re only going in for a check-up. But if the complaints were true, and we get Balanchine’s restaurant shut down…”

“...You’d be quite happy, won’t you?” I reply as I also exit the cruiser.

He hums to himself for a moment, shutting the door behind him. “...Mmmmmaybe. Let’s just go talk to Balanchine, and see where it goes from there.”

Of course.

We hurry inside the restaurant, our coat collars tugged up over our necks as the wind continues to pummel down on us.

Balanchine’s just sitting at one of the tables, one leg crossed over the other as he leans back in his chair. There’s a bowl of soup perched in his lap, the comforting scent of fish, vegetables, and herbs floating all around the room.

“Well, well, well!” Jones exclaims, barging right up to him and crossing his arms. “We meet again, Balanchine!”

Ooooh, boy. I squeeze my eyes shut, suck in a breath, then exhale. This is gonna be a long day.

“We’ve had some serious food poisoning complaints coming from YOUR restaurant” Jones exclaims confidently. “You’re gonna get it this time!”

Balanchine merely smirks again, chuckles, and sits up in his seat. He delicately places the bowl on the table and shifts over to face us. “Is this not the issue of the Health Inspectors?”

“Well, the situation seems quite grim from what we have heard,” I reply. “Serious lack of cleaning, parasites and worms in the food, and more.”

He snorts in response, shaking his head. “Either way, this seems like a… petty task for such ‘brilliant’ cops,” he spits.

“You’re taking this WAY too lightly,” Jones hisses through gritted teeth. “We’ll do whatever it takes to shut down your business, y’hear me?!”

Balanchine merely waves us off. “Yes, yes, I know. Knock yourselves out and search the restaurant then – happy hour just passed, so there’s plenty of junk for you to check!”

Jones lets out a huff of air through his nose before turning to me. “You ready to get your hands dirty, Val?” He growls.

…What the hell, let’s get this over with. I nod, snapping on my gloves. “...Okay. Let’s go.”

He shoots me a wily grin and a thumbs up, until Balanchine chuckles again next to us. “Well, since you like to get your hands dirty so much, why don’t you take out the trash in the process?”

Jones glowers at him, but shakes his head. “You take the left side, I take the right,” he tells me. “Come on, let’s do this!”

 

We managed to snag a plate of leftovers, and I collected a sample off of the plate to send to Grace. Jones seemed to be beaming with excitement the entire time, but honestly, I didn’t pay that much mind.

Once we sent the sample to Grace, we were suddenly left with a lot of free time on our hands before she finished the analysis.

“…How about we go check up on Bart?” I suggest.

Jones furrows his brow with a bit of thought, then shrugs. “…Fine, sure. I guess we better get through dealing with him now than later.”

“…Yeah, like that,” I tell him. “Uhhh, anyway, should I drive, or should you?”

“I’ll take the wheel this time,” he replies. “Don’t worry.”

 

Back to Caribou Corner we go.

Once we park on the same sidewalk as we’ve done before, we scan the street for any sign of Bart Williams.

The sun is high up in the air and casting a warm yellow and orange hue over the entire place, but there is no trace of Bart anywhere. No flicker of red from his jacket, no tufts from his curly black hair, no nothing.

“Maybe we’re too early,” I mutter. “Maybe he’ll be around in the evening?”

Jones shrugs as he gets out of the car. “I guess. If I can recall correctly, he does actually live around here, so maybe we can just go visit him…”

Conveniently, right at this moment, Bart comes bounding from around the corner of a brick building, clutching his face.

My eyes widen as I shove open the door and clamber out after Jones. Bart’s hair and clothes are even messier than before -  hell, it takes me a moment to realize that his jacket’s even on backwards. What’s more, he’s wearing his sneakers on the wrong feet, and his face is covered in scrapes, bruises, and a bloody nose.

“Holy shit,” Jones breathes out, “someone fucked him up, that’s for sure.”

I rush forward first as Bart props himself up against the wall, groaning in pain. “Bart?! Are you alright?!”

He takes one look at me, and his expression literally lights up as he immediately gets back up on both his feet. “Detective Perez!!” He exclaims, snatching my shoulders and shaking them rigorously.

Good LORD- I squeak in surprise.

“Thank the fucking STARS you’re here, oh my god!! Something terrible happened, I need your help!! STAT!!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jones commands, prying Bart off of me. “Geez, man, calm the hell down and explain from the beginning, alright?!”

Bart lets out a yelp as he stumbles back, stammering out incoherent gibberish before throwing his hands in the air. “FUCK, even I don’t know much to say at this point, man!! I’m still struggling to process the whole thing!”

Jones squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, letting out a huff. I roll my shoulders a couple times to make sure nothing’s out of place before turning my attention back to Bart. “…How about you take a breather?” I nervously ask.

Bart proceeds to whip out an empty chip back from his pocket, put it to his mouth, and practically hyperventilate into it repeatedly in quick succession. Jones purses his lips, his brow furrowing even more as we both study the nervous wreck in front of us.

After what feels like 10 minutes, Bart’s shoulders finally relax and he stuffs the bag back into his pocket. “ Phewf!- ”

“…Are you alright?” I ask hesitantly.

He nods, giving me a thumbs up. “Doing better, at least…”

“That’s good, I guess,” Jones replies, crossing his arms. “Now, uhh, Bart, can you explain to us why you sent in a call and look like you just clawed out of the depths of hell?”

I impulsively give his shoulder a little shove of annoyance for that one.

Bart doesn’t seem to catch on and wipes his nose with his arm. “It’s awful!! Terrible!! The worst fucking thing to ever happen to me today, man!! I’m freaking out just thinking about it, man!!”

OH?! Jones and I share a side eye at this news. “Shit, okay, okay!” He says, holding up his hands. “Just tell it to us straight, Bart! What the hell happened?”

Bart fiddles with his hands, mashing his knuckles against his palms as he clenches his teeth together. “…Some guys cornered me outside the comic book store and roughed me up really bad! They threw my Ripper Jade action figure into the goddamn sewers, out of ALL PLACES!! I was freaking out, and all that shit…and I thought, ‘hey, since you guys probably know the sewers pretty well, maybe I can ask you for help’, y’know…”

Ripper Jade?! The name catches my attention automatically.

Jones, in the meantime, slumps his shoulders as the concern in his eyes is immediately replaced by annoyance. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You want us to go back down there for a shitty doll?! ”

Goddamnit.

Bart scoffs in offense, clutching his pearls.

Even I can’t help it at this point and clear my throat rather loudly to get Jones’s attention. “Y’know, in Bart’s defense, figures like those are really expensive,” I mutter, “he’s got a right to be worried.” I turn back to Bart. “What kind of figure was it?”

“Thank you!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s a collector’s action figure, 16th edition, signed by June Rosenthal herself!”

Holy shit. I can’t help but let out a whistle at this. That lucky bastard. “You got a signed figure from THE June Rosenthal herself?!”

“Won it in an auction,” he says proudly. “Cost me a helluva lot, but it was worth it!”

“Why would you pay THAT MUCH for a DOLL?!” Jones yells.
“Don’t underestimate the dedication of geeks, Inspector!” Bart says in reply.

“I-” Jones sputters yet again, throwing his hands up in the air. “Y’know what? Whatever, whatever! EIther way, why should we get it for you-?!”

“I got information!”

OH? Jones and I both gape at Bart.

“...I’m sorry, what?” Jones asks.

Bart slowly raises his hands in the air, giving us a…look. I don’t know what he’s feeling at all. “I got some hot gossip for you guys. About the, uhh…gang war. I coooulddd give it to you, if you help me find that action figure…” He does jazz hands, giving us a nervous little smile.

Jones lets out another groan. “FINE. Fine, we’ll go back down into the sewers for your dumbass doll. But goddamnit Bart, this better be worth it!”

 

“...I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jones still grumbles as we trudge through the sewers yet again. “Fuck this shit, that kid is fucking killing me from the inside and out. This ‘hot gossip’ better be worth it…”

I can’t help but let out a huff, shaking my head. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “To be fair to him,” I mutter, “Ripper Jade figures are pretty valuable.” My flashlight flickers in my hand, and I give the thing a couple good smacks on the side.

He scoffs in response, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I guess…” A pause. “Hey, wait a minute, how do you know about this kind of stuff?”

I hesitate, biting on the inside of my cheek. “It’s, uhhh…a long story. Hard to explain.”

 

‘Ripper Jade’.

The name in big green-and-purple letters is pasted right at the top of the poster.

And I can’t help but gaze in fascination at the woman up in the front.

It’s cold – an early spring morning – but I don’t care at all. I’m standing outside that comic store in only a t-shirt and shorts, staring up at the new superhero that just debuted today.

My legs move on impulse and my arms on instinct as I hurry inside to buy myself a copy.

 

Jones raises his eyebrows, holding up his hands in a sort of placating gesture. “Hey, no judgement if you had a crush on her!” He chuckles. “I once had a crush on that guy in a toothpaste advertisement.”

Oh, dear GOD.

I clear my throat, heat rushing straight to my cheeks. “...I plead the fifth,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Don’t ask.” My feet automatically move quicker as I stride down the pathway to the sewers conduit. “Let’s- let’s just stick to the task and find the figure, okay?!” 

Jones lets out a laugh, hurrying after me. “Alright, alright! Let’s get this over with!”

 

…The figure is smashed.

Broken by the limbs into jagged, uneven pieces.

Wow. How fun.

Jones looks rather dismayed seeing what’s left of the figure, loudly groaning and clutching his head. “Goddamnit! If we give the doll back to Bart in this shape, the nerd’s gonna have a meltdown!”

I run my fingers over the pieces, squinting in the dark as I examine every edge, every side, every point.

A signed figure from June Rosenthal herself.

I can’t just leave it like this.

My thumb rubs over the joint for Ripper Jade’s arm before I move the piece to connect to the torso. To my surprise, the cracks slot together almost perfectly.

… Wait a minute. I try again.

Once again, almost perfectly.

Since the figure doesn’t have any moving parts, theoretically all I would need is glue to try to properly fix this…

“…I can try piecing this back together,” I tell Jones. “It’s gonna take me a bit, but I think I can try.”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and pursing his lips as he taps his foot on the concrete flooring. A couple seconds later, he shrugs.

“…Ehhh, I don’t see why not. I got faith in you!”

A pause.

“…But how about we go back to the station for this instead? This place makes me want to puke…”

Fair enough. “Alright,” I say, slipping the figure pieces into a small plastic bag.

He nods. “While we’re at it, can we run the figure by Alex?”

I frown. “Why?”

“Eh, just a wonder why Bart was so attached to it,” he tells me. “Making sure that there’s nothing suspicious, y’know?”

 

It takes me a STUPIDLY long amount of time to fix the figure with glue, a toothpick, and a cotton swab, but eventually I get the job done.

And then it takes even longer to wait for it to finish drying, so Jones and I go for a bit of a coffee break during this time.

Once we come back to my desk, though, I arch my eyebrow seeing Alex already there, gazing at the figure in amazement.

He flips his head towards us, his eyes practically sparkling with excitement as he begins hopping on his toes. “I-is that tthe 16th edition Ripper Jade collector’s figure, signed by June Rosethal herself?!”

Jones pauses. My eyebrow arches higher.

“...Yeah, it is,” Jones replies. “Well, Bart says it is. Funny coincidence, actually, we need your help for a bit.”

“Really?!” Alex beams. “What is it?”

“Can you check to see if the figure’s alright and authentic?” I ask. “After it dries, of course...”

Alex glances back at the figure, nudging it a bit with his finger. “Yeah, sure! I’ll check this thing out,” he tells us with a smile. “Just drop by my room after is dries and I’ll look into it for you!”

 

Again, another long amount of waiting.

Apparently the glue I used took longer than I thought to dry.

Fun! So fun.

But at least it did finally dry. After we wait a couple more minutes, we take the figure over to Alex for him to look over. Waiting in the back of the lab, we practically hold our breaths in as he proceeds through scanning the figure, searching on his laptop, all that jazz…

“Done!” He exclaims, swiveling around in his chair.

Jones and I immediately perk up. “Well? You find anything interesting?!” Jones asks.

Alex nods, leaning back against the plush leather. “Looked up the figure and did a couple of look-overs, and what do you know!” He says. “It’s the actual 16th edition Ripper Jade collector’s figure, signed by June Rosenthal herself!”

Holy shit. My jaw practically drops.

Jones arches an eyebrow. “You know, you don’t have to say it like that always-”

“It’s funny!”

“...Fair enough.” He lets out a huff. “So, Bart actually had a point?”

“Yup.” Alex grins up at him. “This one’s SUPER valuable for sure. Looked it up online, and apparently people have paid THOUSANDS for these!”

… Yup.

Jones’s eyes widen to the size of dessert plates. “I- I’m sorry, people are willing to pay THOUSANDS for a DOLL?!”

Alex nods eagerly. “No wonder why Bart was so crazy about it!”

“...I don’t blame him,” I can’t help but mutter.

Jones coughs into his fist. “Sheesh…alrighty then, we’ll give it back to Bart and see what he says.”

 

We find Bart sobbing and moping on a park bench across from Caribou Corner, stuffing his face with even more potato chips. His knees are practically huddled up to his chest as he rocks back and forth.

… At least he physically looks a lot better. He’s still somewhat scratched and bruised, but he has a good number of bandages on as well.

Jones scrunches up his nose. “What the-?”

Bart immediately jolts upright, leaning back with the chip bag in his lap as if to act casual. “Uh- um- heyyy!” He exclaims, giving us a smile. “So, uh, um, err, did you-?”

“Yeah, yeah, we did,” Jones replies, gesturing at me.

I pull out the figure from my jacket pocket. It’s still wrapped up in wax paper when I pass it over to Bart and offer a polite smile.

His eyes practically light up as he scrambles over to me, snatching it out of my hands and tear off the wrapping and flipping it over and over in his hands. Finally, he lets out a sob of joy, clutching it close to his chest.

“Oh, thank you SO much, you guys!!” He exclaims, hurriedly slipping the figure into a backpack. “There’s not even a scratch on it, thank goodness!!”

My mind flashes back to the very broken pieces of figure on the sewer floor, and Jones and I share a look.

Yeah, let’s not tell him about that.

Jones glances back at Bart, crossing his arms. “Well, since we had to wade through hell and back to find it, I hope you’re happy, I guess.” He huffs through his nose, shaking his head. “Sooo…about that ‘hot gossip’...”

“Oooh, yeah, that!” Bart exclaims, perking up. “Heard some interesting things over the past couple of days.” He hums to himself, cracking his knuckles. “Okay, okay! So-”

Jones and I lean forward with bated breath as he clears his throat, sitting up on the back of the bench. “-A little birdie had a lot to say recently! There’s apparently a lot of tension between Salvador Cordero, the Vipers leader, and his second-in-command, Ash Bison!”

…Oh. Automatically, I catch myself biting back a scream as my heart kickstarts at that name.

Cordero. Salvador Cordero.

Where did I hear that name before?

Not him again.

My jaw clenches, but I remain silent as Jones raises a brow at Bart’s words. “Holy shit…”

Bart crosses one leg over the other. “There’s more!” He continues. “Cordero wants to wage war against the Skulls, but Bison’s pretty against it. You should probably keep a close eye on them for sure!”

Cordero. Cordero, Cordero…

I’m practically racking my memory at this, my lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh, definitely we will.” Jones replies with a grim nod. “We’d better keep that gang scum on a short leash.”

 

“...You doing alright?”

The question catches me slightly off guard, and I choke on my spit a little as I struggle to come up with an answer. “I- I’m sorry, what-?”

“You looked a bit pale when Bart mentioned Cordero,” Jones calmly comments as the car drives down the road. He’s still just gazing forward, but I can feel his sight on me through the rearview mirror.

Fuck. “I- no, I didn’t.” I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant. My fingers dig into my biceps as I cross my arms, and I stare out the side window.

“...You sure?”

“I’m sure. I might be just…dehydrated.”

As the car stops at a traffic light, Jones leans back in his chair and turns to me, one of his eyebrows arching as he gives me an unreadable look.

“...Suit yourself,” he says. “I’ll get you some water when we get back to the station, alright?”

I can only bring myself to nod as the car lurches forward.

 

When Jones hands me a bottle of water, I end up chugging half of it in a couple gulps as we head down to Grace’s lab.

Jones seems a lot more chipper now. He’s jauntily prancing towards the room, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. Of course he is.

As we enter the lab, Grace turns to face is, with a smile on her face. “Ah, just in time!” She exclaims. “I’ve got some good news for you two!”

Jones and I both hold our breath.

“The food samples you gave me are clean!”

THANK GOODNESS. The breath in the back of my throat releases, and my shoulders relax as I exhale. If I have to deal with anything involving the Russian mafia again, I’m going to have an aneurysm.

Jones, in the meantime, immediately drops the grin and shakes his head. “Damnit!” He hisses through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe that obnoxious douche is getting out of trouble again…”

Grace raises an eyebrow, the clipboard still in one of her hands. “…Shouldn’t you be happy, Jones? That people aren’t going to get sick there?”

I let out a sigh as I watch Jones silently seethe to himself. “…It’s a long story. Let’s just say that Balanchine is not the most…pleasant person?”

“‘Not the most pleasant’ is the fucking understatement of the century!” He cuts in. “That rat bastard is the most sniveling, snobby, 6-faced piece of shi-”

“-I get it,” Grace deadpans, “but that doesn’t change the fact that he seems to be in the clear as of right now.”

He groans. “True, true…”

“Wait a second,” I add, “if Balanchine’s restaurant is doing okay as of right now, where did those complaints come from?”

“Pretty sure that we’ll have to pass on to the health inspector,” he replies, shaking his head. “All we have to do right now is to go tell him the…‘good news’.”

“…Do you want me to handle it?” I offer. “You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

He clenches his fists, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll tell him.”

 

Judging by Balanchine’s confident smirk, he already knows what we’re about to tell him. He leans back in his chair, his legs crossed over each other like he’s lazily sitting on a throne and looking down on us.

“Well, officers?” He asks. “You get the result you wanted?”

Jones clenches and grits his teeth so loudly, I can actually hear it quite clearly. “…We found nothing suspicious, Ba-lan-chine ,” he grumbles, crossing his arms, “but you won’t be so lucky next time for sure! Those complaints definitely didn’t show up out of thin air, I know it!”

“Hm?” One of Balanchine’s eyebrows crooks up as if he just heard a joke so funny, he forgot to laugh. “But what if they did, Inspector? What about that?”

“Don’t snark at me, Balanchine!” Jones snaps. “I said what I said — your downfall is going to be soon, I know it!”

I clench my eyes shut and sigh, silently praying for the Earth to maybe swallow me whole.

Balanchine merely chuckles and shakes his head. “Good luck with that, for sure!”

Jones is practically sputtering at this point, readying himself to march up to the gangster when he lets out a heavy exhale. “You know what? We’re done here, Balanchine. You wanna get out of this shithole, Val?”

I pause. Usually in situations like this (like with people I knew back in college), I’d try to object somewhat or interject.

But right now, my bones feel as wobbly as a cup of pudding. And we still have one more task to do.

“…Fine,” I mutter with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

“Ah, but not yet!”

Balanchine stands up from his chair, and Jones immediately sucks in a breath. “Don’t be a sore loser, Jones. Moping doesn’t look very good on you.”

Out of the corner of my sight, I see Jones’s eyelid twitch.

“But…” Balanchine continues, “…I’m sure your partner  at least will appreciate a fine meal. Won’t you, Detective Perez?” His eyes fall right onto me.

Oh? I can’t help but lean forward in curiosity, but I hesitate.

Is this a good idea?

I shake my head. Better be safe than sorry.

I hold up my hands. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think we have the time for that,” I mutter apologetically. “Also, I don’t really have any money to pay with right now-”

Almost automatically before I can even process it, Balanchine places a warm plastic container in my hands. “No hard feelings, Detective! This ukha is on the house,” he tells me with a smirk. “Also, it’s a family recipe. Even better!”

“I-“ Before I can even respond, he’s swaggering away, disappearing behind the kitchen doorway and leaving me in surprised silence.

And Jones looks rather stunned for sure.

“…The hell was that?” He asks, his voice almost stilted.

“…I don’t know.” I glance down to the container in my hands. Judging by the rather fishy smell and the sloshing coming from inside, I assume it’s some sort of soup.

Kind of unfortunate.

“…I don’t really eat fish that often,” I admit, glancing at Jones. “Uhhh, do you want it?”

Jones’s eyelid twitches once more as he looks back at me.

“…You know what?” I mutter, awkwardly chuckling. “Nevermind. I’ll save this for later, maybe…”

 

I end up quickly eating the soup on our way back to Mikhail’s apartment. Despite the fact that I don’t like fish at all, the taste of it is actually quite good.

I should try making this at home sometime, I muse to myself.

Once we stop at the building, we head up the stairs and go straight for Mikhail’s apartment.

Someone’s sobbing from behind the door.

I pause. Jones pauses.

It’s definitely Eva.

I tentatively reach out a hand, rapping my knuckles on the door. “Ms. Coleman?” I ask. “Are you alright?”

The sobbing gradually quiets down, being replaced by sniffles instead as feet trudge across the floor.

And then, the door slowly opens, revealing the face of a very shaken Eva.

Her hair is a flurry of tangled knots, her eyes red-rimmed, and her cheeks splotchy with tears. Also, her outfit’s changed – she’s now wearing a pale blue woolen sweater, and her scarf is gone.

Making those scratches on her neck quite visible.

“Oh, it’s you…” she mumbles, slowly shuffling out of the doorway to let us in.

We both nod in thanks, heading inside and looking around for a place to sit.

There’s…barely any. The whole room is completely overturned — random items scattered all over the floor, multiple chairs tossed to the side, doors and cupboards thrown open.

I can’t help but wince, and I see Jones do the same out of the corner of my eye. Eva is definitely not taking anything well.

I don’t blame her.

Speaking of Eva, she’s right behind us and tugging at her sleeves. She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it.

“…How are you holding up, Ms. Coleman?” Jones gently asks.

She shakes her head, her palms cupping her elbows as she hugs herself. “…Not good. Not good at all. It’s just-” She pauses, her fingers gripping into the wool. “-the pregnancy, Mikhail’s arrest, that whole shtick.”

I can’t help but feel my heart clench.

She chuckles shakily as she stares down at the floor. “It’s…it’s been a long day. Stuff on my mind, all that…”

“I see.” Jones nods. “Do you need any help with anything, Ms. Coleman?”

“Ah, yes!” She glances around the apartment once more, her head swishing from side to side. “I- I can’t find Anton’s chain bracelet anywhere, although I was assured that it was returned!”

Did Anton wear a chain bracelet? I frown as I try to recall. Then again, most likely I was too focused on the very visible head trauma to notice. Damnit.

Jones nods again. “Do you have a visual description of it, perhaps?”

“Yes, I do…” Eva hesitates, still hugging herself. “...it was 18-karat gold, with its shape kind of like a…DNA helix?”

“18-karat gold, shaped like a DNA helix.” He nods yet again. “Alright. Val, do you have that noted?”

Do I? I rehearse the details in my head. Gold, and shaped like a helix. “Yes, I do,” I tell him before turning to face Eva. “Ms. Coleman, where was the last place you saw this bracelet? Before…everything happened?”

She hangs back, cracking one of her knuckles as her brow furrows. “...I think in the bedroom. But I already searched that place.”

“It’s a start,” I reply.

Jones gives her a small smile. “Yeah, no worries, Ms. Coleman. If the bracelet’s around this apartment, Detective Perez’ll find it in no time!”

The corners of Eva’s lips quirk up into a smile. A weak one, but a smile nonetheless. “I- I thank you, officers!” She says. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She quickly hurries through a door, leaving us alone in the living room.

I let out a breath I didn’t even notice. Suddenly, Jones puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “Is it okay if you go do this by yourself?”

Huh? “I- what?”

He exhales. “Listen. I…wanna have a word with Eva. Can you find the bracelet without me?”

… Ah. I bite the inside of my cheek, pausing as I consider my options.

… It won’t be hard, right?

“...Ehh, sure.” I shrug. “I can do that.”

He smiles down at me, giving me a thumbs up. “Great! Report back to us when you find it.”

Before I can say anything else, he heads into the kitchen, and I’m just standing all by myself in the living room like a deer in headlights.

Let’s get this over with. I stride into the bedroom and begin my search.

 

It’s nowhere in the bedroom.

At this point, I had combed over everything in there around 3 times to be thorough and still found nothing.

Looks like Eva did search through everything, I ponder to myself. In other words…

… Fuck.

I trudge back into the living room, my senses on edge as I get down on my knees and look under the couch.

And then, Eva’s words catch on my ear.

“...I fucked up terribly, Inspector.”

Oh? I perk up from my spot.

“...Explain?” Jones asks, sounding quite confused.

I lean forward, trying to peek through the doorway into the kitchen. From my very limited point of view, I spot Jones and Eva sitting at a table.

“You saw what happened,” Eva whispers, “at the trial. Me, screaming at Mikhail like that, insulting him when it was all my fault…” Her voice is quivering as she puts her face in her hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jones tells her quite gently, “him killing his dad was his decision, not yours-”

“But I cheated on him!” Eva meekly protests. “I hurt him when he needed me the most!”

…Oh. I suddenly feel a lot more intrusive for eavesdropping right now. Instead, I turn my attention to the couch and stick my hand right between the cushions, digging around down under to see what I can find.

No chain bracelet, unfortunately. Instead, I pull out anything but.

A set of keys, most likely Mikhail’s. I put it to the side.

A remote control, probably for the TV. I put it next to the keys.

An empty wallet. I put it next to the keys and remote.

An urn taped shut and tilted on its side. Some note is scrawled on the side with black marker.

…Huh. I’ll…ask Eva about this too, I assume. I slowly slide the urn onto a coffee table.

“...you don’t understand, Inspector. He’s been suffering .”

What? I flip my head back towards the kitchen doorway.

I hear Jones tap his fingers on the table. “...Elaborate, please?”

Eva lets out a sigh. “Ever since his mother’s death, Mikhail’s…been spiraling.”

Oh.

Oh, no-

I scramble to pick up the urn again, turning it around in my hands to see if I read what I read.

“Katerina Levin – beloved sister, daughter, and mother”.

… Ah.

“For a whole week afterwards, he was locked up in his room,” I hear Eva explain, her voice shaky, “but once he left, he was almost a completely different person. Aggressive. Angry. Closed-off.”

Jones sucks in a breath. “...If you don’t mind me asking,” he mutters, “did he-?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” From my spot, I can see her shake her head vehemently in the doorway. “He never laid a finger on me, promise! Got into an accident at the workplace, that’s how I got the scratches.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“...Alright. That’s…that’s good,” he murmurs. “At least.”

Eva nods, hurrying over to a kitchen counter. “Mhm.”

The whole apartment goes dead silent for a good long second.

I finally process the fact that I still have one hand stuck in between the couch cushions.

“...So why did you cheat on Mikhail, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jones asks.

Eva goes still. “I-”

She hesitates.

“I- um-”

Nothing.

“-I was tired..”

…What?

“...What?” Jones asks.

Eva lets out a sigh.

“Mikhail would…lash out. Every day it felt like I was walking on eggshells – anything that’d piss him off, he’d try to attack or lash out at. He even yelled at me a couple times, but every time, he’d apologize profusely and try to make it up to me, but at the same time, I don’t know how to feel about it-”

Oh, god.

I freeze in my spot.

Eva covers her mouth, choking back a sob.

“He got prescriptions to deal with his mental illnesses, but those became quite expensive to pay for, so he’d do…god-knows-what to try to get it.” She whispers. “God, I- I…I don’t know what he was doing. But he’d lock himself in the bathroom, for hours and hours, most likely struggling to try his prescriptions…”

Bathroom?

“...Did you tell him to get some sort of help?” Jones slowly asks.

She nods almost immediately. “Yes! I begged him to get therapy, or some sort of counseling, and he snapped at me!”

“...I see.”

I’m still planted in my spot, completely unmoving as I just sit there on the floor.

This is…

…oh, lord.

I rack my brain for what to think, but nothing comes out of it.

I shake my head. Focus, Val. Focus on finding that chain bracelet.

Eva’s words flash through my mind. ‘…He’d lock himself in the bathroom, for hours and hours…’

…What if-?

I brush off my thighs, looking around.

There. The door next to the kitchen doorway, leading right into the bathroom.

As quick as my legs can move, I head inside, my head flipping and flicking everywhere as I try to find even a sign of what I’m looking for.

Cabinets. Cabinets, cabinets, cabinets-

I grab hold of the mirror cabinet above the sink and yank the door right open.

Jesus CHRIST-!

The force jerks the entire cabinet, rattling the contents inside.

And spilling them all in the sink.

Little orange pill bottles – some empty, some full, some with only a couple pills left – clatter right into the basin, swishing and rolling around.

Shit. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have done that-

“VAL?” Jones’s voice through the thin walls makes me jump. “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine!” I yell back, gathering bottles in my hands. “Spilled a little something- I’ll take care of it! Don’t worry!”

None of the bottles burst open, at least. One good thing out of the sea of…whatever this is.

As I pick up bottle after bottle, though. I take a good look at the labels. They’re faded, the ink almost rubbing off on my hands. But I can vaguely make them out.

Antidepressants. A whole ton of them.

And considering what I know about the state of the Industrial Center, who knows which pills are actually legit?

Wait a minute. There’s a glint of gold at the bottom. Placing some of the pill bottles back on the shelf, I reach down and pick out what I think it is.

A chain bracelet, made from 18-karat gold and shaped like a DNA helix.

Seems like Mikhail shoved it in the cabinet, out of all places.

I put the pill bottles back on the shelf and shut the cabinet before making a beeline to the kitchen, holding the bracelet in my hand. “Ms. Coleman!” I exclaim. “I found the bracelet!”

Her eyes immediately light up when she sees me, and I give the bracelet to her.

She clutches it in her hands, the gold chain just perched on her palms as they quiver.

And then, I spot speckles of moisture beading up in the corners of her eyes.

“...Oh…”

Oh?

“...Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

Out of absolute nowhere, Eva’s arms envelop me in a hug.

My heart is pounding, my eyes wide as I just…stand there. Eva’s arms coiled tight around me, her face nestled against my shoulder as her body racks with sobs.

“I…” … Um.

I glance over at Jones, but he seems to be just as surprised at the sudden change in mood.

…What do I do? For some reason, my arms can’t seem to move to push her off.

So instead, I slowly wrap my arms around her, patting  her back in some sort of soothing gesture. “...It’s going to be okay, Ms. Coleman. I promise.”

Because that’s what we say, right? When a woman cheats on her boyfriend with his dad, resulting in boyfriend 1 killing boyfriend 2?

Shit. I’m no good at this, am I?

I open my mouth to speak again, but I just let out a pathetic-sounding “...Um.”

Eva stiffens, finally letting go and shoving the bracelet back into her pocket. “...Well!” She stammers. “I- I thank you, officers. Jones, and Perez.”

Jones gives her a small smile and a nod. “It was good talking to you, Ms. Coleman.”

She in turn smiles back. “You two, Inspector. Thank you…for listening.”

He nods again, before glancing in my direction. “Hey, Val? Can…you wait by the front door for me?”

… Ah. “Um…sure.” I step back, before turning around. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good!” He tells me. “I just need to chat a little. I’ll be with you soon.”

I purse my lips.

Should I ask? Pry into the conversation based off of what I overheard?

Something in my gut churns at the thought. …No. No, that’s too invasive. Maybe I can ask Jones later?

I give Jones one last nod before heading over to the front door.

Taking one careful step outside and then another, I lean against the wall.

“...Ms. Coleman?” I hear Jones ask. “You asked for my thoughts, is that correct?”

“...Yes, yes I did,” Eva replies. “What did you want to say?”

A pause.

“...It’s just…” He hesitates. “...Ms. Coleman, just know that it’s not your fault. That you wanted to leave Mikhail, I mean.”

Silence.

“...But-” Eva halts. “-but I told you, didn’t I? Mikhail needed help, and-”

“-And it is not your responsibility to fix him.” Jones replies firmly. “You are his girlfriend, not his therapist, and him taking out his anger on you was not your fault!”

I can’t help but blink in surprise at Jones’s change in tone. This is…certainly new for sure.

“I told you, he didn’t hit me-!”

“But he killed his father!” He tells her. “Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you stayed in a relationship with him!”

“Listen,” she snaps, “there was a difference between Anton and me! And-” she stammers out something incoherent from the back of her throat, “-you don’t know whether or not he could have hurt me! Neither of us do!”

“Well, better be safe than sorry!”

Everything seems to freeze. The voices, the sounds, the clock ticking on the wall.

Just for a moment.

“...I-”

“Ms. Coleman,” Jones tells her, “listen to me. Mikhail needs help. We can both agree on it.” He lets out a sigh. “But in order for him to get help, putting his issues on you and refusing to acknowledge his own problems was what led to his downfall. I do not blame you for wanting to leave. He was your boyfriend, not your responsibility.”

He pauses.

“…But don’t get me wrong, cheating on him with his father was an insane move.”

She lets out a bitter chuckle in response. “You don’t have to remind me there…” She falters for a small second. “...but anyway, thank you. I think…I needed to hear that today. And- And Anton’s son will at least have a token of his father, I don’t even know how to repay you and your partner…”

“No need,” he tells her. “It’s a cop’s duty to help those who need it, after all.”

And just like that, a couple seconds later, he steps out of the apartment and turns to look at me. The door shuts behind the both of us, and I let out a shaky sigh I don’t even remember holding.

“Are you alright?” I tentatively ask him.

He gives me a thumbs up and smile. “Yup! Let’s go back to the station. Still got something to do.”

 

We’re driving back to the station in the cruiser, stopping at a gas station for a refill along the way.

I’m inserting the pump into the opening, Jones studying the gauge inside as the tank gradually refuels.

“...Jones?” I mutter.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing over in my direction. “Yeah? What’s up?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, contemplating what I’m about to ask. “...Why did you have that long conversation with Eva Coleman?”

His smile drops.

Shit. Was I too confrontational?

Forward?

What’s the word for it??

“If you want to tell me, of course!” I quickly add. “I- I don’t want to pry-”

“No, no,” he replies, waving at me with a dismissive hand, “it’s fine. No wonder you’re curious. It’s just…”

He leans back in the seat. “...I guess Eva’s story just…resonated with me, y’know?”

“Ah.” I nod. “Is it…personal?”

“Partially.” He glances back at the gauge. “I’ve met people like Eva before this in my years being a cop, and I know we’ll probably meet people like Eva after this. And one of the things you quickly realize is that…it’s a cycle, y’know? A cruel, fucked up cycle. And Eva was lucky to leave early.”

His voice is somewhat quivering. I can’t help but glance down at his thumb, stroking the steering wheel in a traced circle.

“...I see.” I nod again. My heart clenches at the implications of his words

However, there’s one last question on my mind.

 “Do you…think Mikhail would’ve hurt Eva if things went differently?”

He pauses, his thumb stopping its little circling motions.

“...Well, we’ll never know.” He leans forward, glancing back at me. “In the end of the day, he’s in jail for killing his dad. Hopefully, he gets some sort of therapy…”

“...but in the end of the day, better safe than sorry?” I ask, the words slipping through my lips.

He nods. “What’s done is done. All I think we can hope right now is that he tries to heal from whatever’s haunting him.”

I finally empty the can of gas, closing the tank hatch. “I guess so.”

“Mhm.”

A stillness falls between us as I put the can in the back of the trunk.

“Hey!” Jones calls to me. “How about we get some coffee at the station? Drinks on me!”

I hesitate, pursing my lips as I consider my options.

“...Sure.” I give him a small smile. “I think we need a coffee right about now.”

Notes:

OOOOO BOY THIS WAS A LONG ONE.
Honestly, I'm so sorry this took so long, I was absolutely miserable for weeks and couldn't work, I apologize 😭 Lowkey I'm not sure how to feel about this one like legit
I'm VERY much open for feedback! Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments :D

Chapter 26: [⚠️] An Encounter

Summary:

After wrapping up the Levin case, Valentina heads home.
Unfortunately, due to her fatigue, she accidentally goes the wrong way.

Notes:

[CONTENT WARNING: Physical assault. It doesn't go too far, luckily, but it's still quite a detailed description.]
[Also, a certain fucking rat makes an appearance.]

The rest of our shift goes by in a relative breeze.

A blur of coffee, calls, and the constant creaking of filing cabinets.

By the time I clock out of work for the day, I’m completely exhausted to my bones, flopping over on my desk like a blob of jelly.

“Hey!” Jones says to me. “You wanna join me at the local bar? Heard they’re serving up something new tonight!”

Not gonna lie, the offer is tempting. But for some reason, I catch myself biting the inside of my cheek.

Do I today? Or do I just go home and sleep?

I purse my lips, furrowing my brow.

…No. Unfortunately, not today.

I shake my head. “Sorry, I can’t. Just a bit too tired…”

Jones’s smile falters, but he nods understandingly. “Hey, fair enough, y’know? It’s been a rough case.” He pats me on the back, flashing me a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright, Val?”

I smile back at him, my shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Jones. I will.”

“Alright!” He gives me a wave as he turns to grab his jacket. “Goonight, Val! Seeya tomorrow for our next shift!”

Just like that, he slips on his jacket and leaves out the front door.

And I’m completely alone.

Again.

I chew a bit on my bottom lip, before letting out a sigh. Time to go home, make dinner, and get a good, long rest.

 

The parking lot outside the station is practically barren by the time I exit, save for one or two cars still straggling around.

Also, it’s dark and dead silent. The only sounds drifting through the street are just wind or the occasional car passing through.

“...This is gonna be a long night,” I grumble. I purse my lips, pulling out a flashlight and flicking it on. Thank goodness I memorized the route back home the first day coming here.

It’s a good amount of walking, but nothing crazy long at least.

I don’t need much, either. All I have on my person is my pistol, cell phone, flashlight, and a couple of protein bars. I’m all set.

“Thank god it’s leg day,” I mutter to myself as I venture down the street.

A breeze wafts through the air, and I huddle in on myself as I take one step after another. A chill flashes up my spine, and I can’t help but shiver.

Chin up, Val. Don’t get distracted. Just get home, and you can make something to eat…or order takeout or something.

The streets are completely empty at this point.

Makes sense, because it’s almost midnight in November.

Another breeze grazes right through me, sinking its cold into my bones as I continue moving forward.

To my left and my right, I hear the closing of doors and the clicks of locks as even the late-night shops close up at this time. Looking ahead of me, I even spot the familiar blue shirt of Joe Stern as he shuts the front door of his shop.

… Wait, am I even going the right way? As another gust of wind smacks me in the face and seeps through my skin, I shake my head and glance around for a street sign.

Johnson Boulevard. Yup, this is the wrong way.

Shit.

I turn around and jog back the way I came, following the downward-beaming lights of the streetlamps above as I look around for another path.

 

How out of it am I today?!

It’s been 20 minutes, and I still am not home.

The road looks kind of familiar, but it’s in no way in hell leading back to my house.

Either way, my legs are so weak, it feels like my calves are going to snap in half like twigs. That’s great! That’s fun, so fun-!

I clutch my head as my heartbeat pounds in my skull. Punching the bone shell, over and over again. Please tell me that I’m going the right way.

The winds are picking up fast, driving right into my body facefirst as I stagger down the street.

God, god, god-

Gusts slam against my torso as I look around for some sort of cover.

All the buildings around me are some sort of closed, but there’s a single alleyway just a little bit farther ahead.

There!

Using all the strength left in my legs, I dash forward, ducking right into the alley.

The wind doesn’t reach me here. I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the wall. My hands scratch against the coarse texture of brick – little chunks of rock and cement sinking into the flesh of my fingers and palms, cutting skin and causing me to bleed – but I don’t care.

No, I do not care a single bit.

Thank goodness, some sort of temporary respite. I’ll take a small break, and then head out.

I wipe off the blood on my jeans, letting out another huge breath as I close my eyes for just a moment.

Just me.

Me, and the scattering trash on the street, flying around in the wind, with no care in the world, or a want, or a need…

Crunch.

My whole body stiffens.

The sound came a bit behind me. A single crunch in a whole lot of wind around my ears.

And it sure as hell isn’t some stray pieces of trash.

My right hand slowly sinks, trailing down to the holster on my belt.

There’s a drum solo in my chest. One beat after another.

Another crunch. This time closer.

The drum solo gets louder.

Louder.

Another crunch closer.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Another one closer.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Another step closer.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, BA-DUM, BA-DUM, BA-DUM-!!

I snatch the pistol out of the holster, swerving right around and pointing the weapon right in front of me.

It’s a man.

A guy just a couple inches taller than me, with broad shoulders under his clothes.

His bright blue tank top and bandana are extremely noticeable, even in this lighting, along with the gold chain around his neck.

But as I squint at him, I manage to make out the tattoo on his chest – right under his collarbone.

A Viper.

And even worse, my blood runs cold as I finally process who the man in front of me is.

“Well, well, well,” Salvador Cordero growls, flashing a toothy grin. “If it isn’t the one and only.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, pinpricking into my spine. My hands still grip the pistol as tight as I can.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss, trying to ignore how my palms are slick with sweat against the metal.

He laughs in response, a deep rumble in his chest. “This is Viper territory,” he says with a sneer. “I do what I want.”

I suck in a breath. “You still have to obey the law,” I mutter through gritted teeth, “‘Viper territory’ my ass.”

“Oooh, feisty, aren’t we?” He chuckles. “Well, no matter. Quite a lucky coincidence I get to see you again.”

What?!

“What do you mean?!” I snap. “I don’t know you-!”

“I know that.” He replies. “But I know you.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “What-?”

He slinks yet a little bit closer.

“How can I not? The little hotshot from downtown,” he hums in almost a singsong tone, “Va-len-ti-na Pe-rez. Quite a… special name, isn’t it?”

He’s almost whispering at this point.

I try to step back, but my back presses against the brick of the wall, stinging me through my jacket. My pistol remains trained right at him, right at his heart.

My mind is reeling at this point as I struggle to figure out what’s going on through the haze in my brain.

Cordero.

Salvador Cordero.

He knows who I am.

He looks familiar.

Almost like a certain someone.

He’s not even flinching at the pistol.

In fact, he takes another fucking step forward.

I can’t even hear the gust of wind anymore, only the drum solo of my own heartbeat.

He’s looming over me, leering with those dark, shadowy eyes.

…I can’t move.

I try to tug myself out of place, pull my hands away and make an utter dash for it, but I can’t. I’m bolted in one singular position, frozen still as he towers over me.

He stares down at me, his gaze almost…empty.

What’s going on? What am I doing?!

I glance down at the floor, behind me, then back at him, the gun in my hands shaking like a leaf right at this moment.

And then…his eyes widen ever so slightly.

His lips turn.

Twist.

Curl.

The corners of his mouth tip up, and his teeth glint in the dim lights of the street nearby.

A grin.

“What?” He chuckles. “Scared stiff?”

I haven’t even noticed it before, but my breath is quivering.

“...How do you know me?” I whisper.

His grin widens, almost morphing the structure of his face into something almost maniacal. His gaze is dead cold.

“You don’t know me, but you know someone connected to me.”

He leans in close, his breath brushing up against my ear.

“Iago Cordero. Now do you remember?”

My heart leaps into my throat.

Iago Cordero.

Now I finally remember.

 

“Iago Cordero. The Court has found you guilty for the horrific slaughter of Regina Perez, the assault of ▇▇ Perez, and robbery of the Perez household. Any final words?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Very well. For the crimes stated, you have been sentenced to life in prison with possibility for parole in 40 years. Court is adjourned!”

 

“You…”

My mouth is as dry as the desert as I struggle to speak.

“You’re his…”

“His brother,” Salvador replies, leering down at me. “And a brother never forgets, Valentina. ”

Before I can react, his hand shoots out, pinning me by the neck against the wall.

My pistol clatters to the ground, and he kicks it aside while his eyes are locked right onto me.

The back of my head throbs as it rubs along the brick, and I bite back a hiss of pain as I grab at his fingers.

“OH? WHAT’S THAT?” He hisses with glee, his eyes wide with joyful malice, “YOU STILL CAN’T FIGHT BACK?’

SLAM!!

He throws me at the wall, pain shooting through my body. My legs buckle under my weight, and I collapse to the ground.

“PATHETIC!!” He cackles. “YOU HAD THE BALLS TO PUT MI HERMANO IN PRISON, TO CROSS THE CORDERO LINE, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN FIGHT BACK!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK-!!

I struggle to pull myself up, scrabbling to gather any strength left in my body to get up and run.

But I can’t.

Salvador swings a punch at my head, and I just barely manage to dodge as it crashes against the brick, scraping blood into the stone.

Before I can dodge again, his other hand wraps his hand around my throat, pinning me to the ground. He’s snarling, blood and saliva dripping down his lips as he glares down at me with pure hatred.

“Hold STILL!”

My heart continues pounding in my chest as I struggle, thrashing in his grasp.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum!

He raises a fist, aiming right between my eyes.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, BA-DUM-!!

And then-

-his hand releases.

The fist never comes. Instead, Salvador lets out a yell as he’s dragged off of me.

…What?

I finally open my eyes, sucking in a huge gasp of air into my lungs.

Just in time to witness Tony Marconi slam Salvador against the wall.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” He snarls.

Salvador’s eyes flash with pure terror, and he’s raising his hands above his head in a placating gesture.

He’s panicking.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, Marconi!” He yells. “It’s just business with me and her, it’s all good! Didn’t see it was ‘your turf’!”

“I know damn well you assaulting her is not ‘just business’!” Marconi growls. “Tell me, WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE TO ASSAULT AN INNOCENT PERSON?!”

Salvador’s eyes widen even more than before, and he tries sputtering out an answer.

Marconi’s gaze is filled with nothing but rage.

Holy shit. I can’t help but scoot a bit away, just as when Marconi slams him against the wall again.

“OKAY, OKAY!!” Salvador yelps. “I’ll leave her alone!!”

Marconi finally lets go, dropping Salvador like a weight to the ground before immediately grabbing him by the back of his tank top and leaning in close to his ear.

I can’t hear what he’s saying.

But judging by Salvador’s eyes widening and his jaw unhinging, it’s not pretty.

He finally drops him, and the leader of the Vioers immediately flips around and scrambles out of the alley, his tail between his legs.

I can finally hear myself think.

…Until my breath catches in my throat when Marconi gazes right at me.

He slowly gets down on one of his knees, his eyes seemingly boring a hole into my very spirit.

I can’t help it. I squeeze my eyes shut once more, silently praying to myself to be left alone.

If you want to hurt me, just get it over with.

“...Are you alright, Detective?”

… Huh?

I open one of my eyes.

He’s still staring right at me, not moving from his spot at all.

There’s blood and scrapes still covering his knuckles, but his hands remain clenched into fists at his sides.

What is he thinking? Through the fog in my mind, I can barely make out the expression on his face.

He’s purse-lipped, his jaw ever-so-slightly tightened as he continues looking at me.

But his eyes. Something about his gaze seems… softer now. At least, slightly softer.

The back of my skull hits me with another throbbing ache, and I bite back the urge to curl in on myself. “I’m…fine,” I lie through my teeth.

“You’re bleeding,” he tells me quite bluntly. “It’s not safe for you to be walking here in the middle of the night.” He stands up, holding out a hand.

I hesitate for just a moment, my brain sluggishly processing any possible action to take next.

Why’s he-

Why’s he got his hand out?

I blink. Then blink again.

And then, it finally clicks.

Oh.

Oh, he just wants to help me up.

I take his hand, and he tugs upwards. Slowly but surely, I’m pulled onto my two feet.

Okay. Okay, that’s good. I let out a breath, shrinking away from his grasp.

God. How did- how-

How did we get here?

“I gotta-” I stumble back. “-I gotta leave. Thank you, for your help, Mr. Marconi-”

“You’re not interrogating me for murder,” Marconi replies coolly. “Tony is just fine.”

Right.

“Right…Tony.”

I swivel my head around, looking over at the empty street. “I still- I still have to leave. Sorry, and thank you for your help.”

Fuck. My vision is swimming. I stagger over to a wall, propping myself against it as I cover my mouth with my hand.

“You need to sit down and rest,” Tony replies firmly. “You’re in no state to be going out there in the dark.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, my hand moving to my forehead. “Just a bit- a bit dizzy. That’s it.”

He lets out a huff. “Quite the understatement, if you ask me.”

Goddamnit. I bundle my hands into fists, searing pain into my palms as fingers press against cuts. I bite back a curse before staggering away from the wall and flipping over to face him. “Bullshi-”

I trip over my feet. Shit-

I collapse, right into his body. His arms jerk, holding me semi-upright as I faceplant right into his chest. Double shit.

Everything goes still.

For a moment, a small, imperceptible moment, it’s just me in the arms of the gangster Tony Marconi himself.

And both of us are completely frozen…until he slowly wraps his arms around me, keeping me close and patting me on the back.

… What the hell.

I’m still practically rooted in place. My limbs are stiff, and a whirlwind of emotions swirl in my gut.

Oh, god.

I gotta leave.

Pulling all of my strength into my arms, I slowly raise my hands and make a meek little shove against Tony’s chest.

Nothing. I can’t move.

Either I’m too fatigued, or his embrace is actually… nice.

Warm.

Comforting.

Even through the pulsing discomfort in my body.

It’s almost…familial. Like everything is going to be okay.

No.

Everything will be okay.

My heartbeat finally begins slowing down as my arms wrap around his torso. His heartbeat is almost synchronized with mine.

Something warm and wet begins pooling in the edges of my eyes, stinging them as I suck in another breath.

“L-look,” I whisper, my voice quivering with much more sentiment than I expected. “It’s been a long day.”

He gives me another pat on the back. “I-I know.” He tells me.

“I’m sorry.”

Notes:

So! A bit of a shorter chapter today.
A bit of clarification -- I was originally going to make this chapter longer, and then I realized it was probably going to be too long and cost me a huge amount of my sanity, so, uhh...yeah. Hence the split into two chapters.
It's gonna get better for Val, I promise-

Chapter 27: A Much-Needed Discussion

Summary:

Valentina has a yearning for answers.
All Tony has is memories and past regrets.

I’m too exhausted to even argue against Tony at this point, so I let him lead me to the Blue Flamingo.

It’s at least a lot closer than I expected. Only a street over, and we’re stumbling into the building with my arm slung over his shoulder.

The Blue Flamingo is a lot more different around closing time. I mean, no shit, but for some reason, I’m still surprised at the stark contrast from before to now.

It was calm before, but now it’s just so… quiet. Barren.

The only people besides me and Tony are just some staff still hanging around and cleaning up the place. A man in a blue t-shirt sweeping up the floors with a broom, collecting a small pile of trash into a dustpan. A short woman with blonde hair wiping down the bar counter with an old musty rag. A buff guy whistling to himself as he exits the bathroom, cleaning his sunglasses with his shirt.

Someone’s put on some old, soothing jazz on the speakers, and there’s only one or two pink lights bathing the room with a blanket of rose.

“Sit,” Tony mutters to me firmly but not unkindly, gesturing to one of the tables. I slide into one of the chairs, slumping forward in the process.

“Easy.” He takes my shoulders, pushing me to lean against the back.

I lean back, letting out a breath I forgot I was holding in the first place.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers, letting go of one shoulder but still clutching the other. “Any headaches? Ringing in the ears? Nausea?”

Besides the pain in the back of my skull, no.

I shake my head. “...No, sir-” I hesitate. “-Tony, sorry.”

Now that I think about it, the walk here and the lights in my eyes made me less dazed than before.

Not by a huge margin, but a margin nonetheless.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Are you lying to me?”

“What reason do I have to lie?” I mutter.

He pauses.

One of the staff members – the woman at the bar counter – asks a question from where she stands. My mind can’t process what it is, but I hear Tony’s response.

“She’s hurt,” he says. “Can you fetch us some ice, maybe, Alice?”

Alice replies, her words muffled in my mind.

He purses his lips. “...Sure, that’ll do.”

A couple seconds later, I spot two slender hands place a bucket of ice and drinks next to my foot. Tony nods, says a thank you, before taking out a bottle of champagne and wrapping it up in a small towel.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your head?” He requests, sitting in the chair across from me.

I open my mouth to speak, but for some reason my throat is somehow drier than a desert.

So I only just stare at him.

…Who are you, Tony Marconi?

His expression eases, his brow relaxing slightly as he lets out a sigh. “Right.”

He slips the bottle back into the bucket before holding up one of his hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’s got his whole palm open. “Five.” i say immediately. “Five fingers.”

He nods, putting his thumb down. “How about now?”

“Four.”

He puts down his ring and pinky fingers. “Now?”

“Two.”

“Alright.” He leans forward just a little more. “Do I have your consent to check your injuries?”

I chew a bit on the inside of my cheek.

Do I let him? No harm in saying yes, right?

“...Sure.” I slowly nod.

“Okay.” He gets up out his chair, walking over behind me with that champagne botthe in hand.

 

Tony takes his time with the wound on my head.

Carefully and almost tenderly poking and prodding around the area, brushing my hair out of the way as he gazes right at it.

It’s almost boring into the back of my skull, but I keep my fidgeting to a minimum.

“Alright,” he says, pressing the champagne bottle against the wound, “good news. The wound isn’t bad – merely a couple scrapes.”

Scrapes. I look down at my hands, which are still covered in scratches from the brick. At least they stopped bleeding.

“You still would probably have to go get a medical professional to check it out, though,” he adds, “capisce?”

“Capisce,” I mutter in reply, giving him a thumbs uo.

“Good. Hold the bottle to your head, I’ll go get something.”

As I clutch the bottle to my injury, I watch as Tony heads over to the counter to do whatever he needed to do.

He’s…gentle. Kind. Not like the suspect Jones and I talked to before.

“...Do you happen to know anything about a ‘Regina Perez’, perhaps?” He had asked.

How did he-

My thoughts are interrupted by a glass of water being slid across the table to me. Tony sits back down in his chair, scrutinizing me in his stare.

Almost expectantly. Like he wants me to speak first.

… Two can play at that game, Tony.

I slip my hand around the glass. It’s ice cold, barely avoiding numbing my fingers. Then, I pick the glass up, tilting my head back and taking a huge chug.

The frost of the liquid is almost biting against the flesh of my mouth and throat, but I swallow down and slam the glass against the table.

Tony raises an eyebrow.

I lean forward. “My aunt. How did you know her?”

The smirk he gives me is bittersweet. “Going straight in for the answers. I respect that.”

He leans back in his chair, staring almost wistfully up at the lights. “Regina was…a companion of mine.”

HUH?

“I…excuse me?!” I exclaim, gaping right at him.

He merely chuckles in response. “Quite a surprise, isn’t it? Your do-gooder aunt being close with someone like me…” His voice trails off.

What the hell?!

My aunt Regina, being associated with the likes of Tony Marconi, the infamous gangster of the Industrial Center…

My gut twists at the thought. “Explain.”

His expression doesn’t even shift. I squint at him, trying to discern some sort of dishonesty, but I come up with nothing.

“From the beginning?” He calmly asks.

I stiffly nod. “Leave out no details.”

He nods back, leaning forward in his chair. “I see.”

The air between us is rigid, almost suffocating as he begins tapping his fingers against the table to the music. Pointer once, then thumb twice.

Tap, tap-tap

Tap, tap-tap

Tap, tap-tap

Tap, tap-tap

His brow remains furrowed in thought.

“We met in 1984.”

I bristle as the year sinks into my mind.

1984.

“...28 years ago,” I mutter.

“Correct.” Tony rests his hands on the smooth wood, his thumb stroking the grains lining the top. “Right in this very area, surprisingly enough. But this wasn’t the Blue Flamingo then. Back then, it was some abandoned store that I would rest in, smoking and drinking as I pondered about what to do with my life.”

He sighs. “And then one day, Regina had spotted me. Of course, the first thing she did was stride right through those doors to chew me out for drinking in public. The details of that interaction are quite blurry now, but somehow we came out of that interaction friendly with each other.”

…She was confrontational? I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t come up with anything to say. So instead, I signal at him to continue.

He gives me a small, very slight smile. “Regina had come to Grimsborough to earn a master’s degree in social work, and her route to and from college would pass by where I lived. So, we interected quite a bit.” He lets out a sigh. “And I guess, something between us sort of clicked.”

“...I see,” I murmur.

I just now notice that I’m leaning forward in my chair.

“...How close were you two…if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile drops, and he hesitates. “Well…” He strokes his chin. “...we tried dating 3 years into our friendship.”

…HUH?

“But I had just started getting involved in my little…businesses,” he adds, “and adding onto the fact that we were both going through quite a lot doing this time, we couldn’t keep up with the relationship and broke it off after 3 months.”

…Ah. Guess that makes sense.

But there’s another question burning at the back of my mind.

“...How did she respond to the fact that you’re a…” A criminal? Gangster? Maybe a murderer? “...y’know…?”

He lets out a lighthearted scoff. “What, do you think she was angry?”

…WHAT?

I blink once. Then, twice.

My aunt. Mi tía Regina. Not caring about-?

“She- she didn’t care?”

He smiles. “Not one bit.”

Another hesitation.

“...Well, I was very open with her about it. I guess that was one reason why she accepted it.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Told her everything. From why I started, to how my operations worked, and what was going on.”

Oh?

A thought comes into my mind.

“If you don’t mind me asking, actually,” I ask, “why did you start your…business?”

His smile drops, and he almost bristles at my question. “That-” He pauses. “-That is confidential, Perez.”

Ah. A wave of shame hits me in the back. “I- I’m sorry, Tony, so sorry for invading-”

He holds up a hand. “No, no- It’s fine. But it is a personal question.”

“I see.”

God. Good god. My cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

Both of us are silent, the only present noise being the slow jazz. I clutch my face in my hands, and Tony just…sits there. Almost expressionless as he gazes at his hands on the table.

Or he’s maybe in thought.

I fiddle with my fingers.

What should I say? What should I ask? Should I change the subject?

Looking up at Tony, I notice his brow furrow slightly. As if the memories he’s recalling are almost…painful.

Change of subject, then.

“...May you tell me about my aunt?”

“Hm?” He glances back up at me.

“May you tell me about my aunt? Please?” I tentatively mumble, running a hand through my hair.

His eyes light up immediately, and his posture straightens.

“Sure,” he says eagerly with a nod. “I can do that, yeah. Where do you want me to begin?”

I pause. Where do I want him to begin?

“...Start with anecdotes, maybe.”

~~~

The rain outside hammers on the roof of the church, smacking against the windows with every drop after drop.

I’m standing in the back, my arms crossed over my chest as I stare straight ahead.

Right at the projector screen, with the slideshow flipping through photos of Gina every minute as her neighbor drawls through some prewritten, bumbling eulogy that sounds like she was put there on a whim.

Then again, she was. Gina’s niece ▇▇ was originally supposed to do the eulogy, but she apparently had chickened out and refused.

I don’t blame her. I think many would have done the same.

No one even bothers glancing in my direction. Honestly, thank goodness for that.

All I do is gaze at her face on the projector screen.

“Regina Perez – 1961-2002”

Regina.

Oh, Regina.

What were you even up to?

I catch myself chewing on my bottom lip, clenching my jaw as emotion wracks my body.

Good God.

And our last conversation had been an argument as well. I had been insisting for so much – for me to help her more, for answers on her behaviors, for her to get help before the self-isolation consumed her whole.

And her response was merely a sigh and a shake of her head.

“You’re too kind, Antonio. Someday it’ll be the death of you.”

“Gina, I-”

“Leave, please. I need some time to think.”

Everyone’s standing up to leave now. But I still remain frozen in my spot, gazing over at ▇▇.

The poor girl looks so uncomfortable, shuffling around in her little black suit as she tries to stammer out something to the priest.

Say something idiot, a voice in the back of my mind tells me. This is Gina’s niece.

The last remaining member of their family.

Regina’s anguished cries flash through my head. The ones she let out as she clung onto my shirt, sobbing and wailing that night as we sit in her hospital room.

I should talk to her. A wave of grief slams into my gut as I glance down at my hand. At least give some kind words. Some advice.

But my body doesn’t move. I just gaze. The hand I’ve lifted clenches at my side.

…No.

No, I can’t. My heart wrenches as I shake my head to no one but myself.

The air in the church is almost suffocating in its density as I turn around, walking briskly to the door.

I pause, glancing back at ▇▇.

She’s by Gina’s coffin. Standing right next to it, her body completely stiff as she gazes right down at the smooth willow wood of the cover.

She hasn’t seen me yet. But either way, I mouth out a sentence pulled straight from the back of my mind.

“I’m sorry.”

I step outside of the church, sucking in a breath through my lungs as I take in the cool afternoon air.

My muscles still don’t relax.

I grit my teeth, cracking a couple of my knuckles against my palm as I gaze up at the gray, cloudy skies.

My shoulders are still tense.

The crowd of people outside begins to dissipate, and I let out a sigh as I reach into my pocket and pull out my cellphone.

Any business emails or texts today? Maybe from Anton.

There are, in fact. I lean against the church wall, skimming through email after email and taking everything in as much as possible as I wait patiently for the rain to stop.

One text message in particular, though, makes my heart leap into my throat.

“Tony”

“Please call me”

“It’s about Nicoletta”

~~~

All Tony tells me are anecdotes. Itty-bitty stories of aunt Regina and what she was like when alive.

Either way, they’re enough for me for now.

It’s nearly surreal, in an odd sense.

Listening to these full accounts of my aunt from a completely different lens from someone who knew her well.

Knew her intimately, in fact. There’s something almost fond with the way he tells me everything he knows. A small smile etched into the corners of his lips, the way he rubs the back of his neck as he chuckles through telling me something humorous.

And I just sit there in my little chair, champagne bottle wrapped in a towel still pressed against my now-numb head wound. Soaking everything in.

… He really did care for her.

Tony reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small cellphone and turning it on. All the while, he’s still gushing about aunt Regina.

…Until he looks at his phone, and his voice trails off.

“...Ah,” he says with a small chuckle, “seems like we’ve overextended our time together.”

Huh? “What?” I blink in confusion.

He shows me his phone screen.

1:03. A.M.

…Oh.

I fidget awkwardly in my spot, glancing between Tony and his phone screen.

“I…” I hesitate. “...what does that mean?”

I mentally facepalm. Goddamnit, Valentina. You know what this means!

Tony pushes his chair back, standing up. “It means,” he tells me, “you have to go home and rest.”

“What?! But I-!” I stand up right after him, immediately feeling a pang in the back of my skull.

Tony sighs, shaking his head. “Perez,” he tells me calmly, “you’re still hurt, and it’s currently past midnight. You need to rest and get a checkup some time tomorrow.”

“I- I have the night shift tomorrow,” I protest. “I still have time to spend-”

He puts a firm hand on my shoulder, cutting me off. “Then spend that time taking care of yourself,” he insists. “Save your energy for that night shift.”

I grit my teeth, taking the champagne bottle off my head and glancing down at it.

The blood on the towe wrapped around itl – my blood – is still a little bit damp. I run my fingers over the stain, and some of the residue comes off on my skin.

He’s right. I need to take a break.

“Hold on,” he says, hurrying off to a door in the back of the room and healing inside. He’s in there for a couple of seconds before he comes back out with two card in his hands. He holds them up to me.

“I’ll leave you with this,” he tells me. “I assume you’ll need it at this time.”

I take them and give him a small nod. “I…thank you, Tony.”

He nods back, giving me a small smile. “Thank you too, Perez. Get home safe.”

I give him another nod, before turning around and leaving the Blue Flamingo building.

The freezing November wind had drastically slowed down, leaving behind a mere cool breeze.

I take this moment to check the cards Tony had given me.

The first one is a bus pass, with big bold lettering stating that it’s valid for an entire month. I can’t help but whistle at this.

The other card is a Blue Flamingo business card, complete with the establishment’s logo, address, and contact information.

Flipping the card over, I see a phone number scrawled on the back in big bold marker. Under it is a message.

“Call me if you need anything. -T.M.”

Notes:

OOOOO BOY PART 2 IS FINALLY DONE
I hope y’all have fun with this one hehehehehehe
Stay tuned for the next case!
Cody out!

Chapter 28: Good Cop, Dead Cop - 1/4

Summary:

SUNDAY 6:20 PM
{Heading to Queen Street station right now. Will let you know when I get home

It’s been almost 2 hours and he still hasn’t answered.
That’s not good. That’s definitely not good.
Robin strides down the street, heading straight for Queen Street station. ‘Hopefully there’s some sign of where he went. He’s gotta be around here somewhere…’
They walk down the stairs, through the gates, and glance around.
‘Ed lives uptown, so I’ll go that way.’ They head towards the uptown stairwell.
A breath huffs through their nose as they adjust themselves. And then, with a strut in their step, they begin the journey downstairs.
There’s something on the platform in the distance.
No. Someone.
‘Oh.’
*Oh no.*
And their heart sinks.

Notes:

Tragedy strikes the GBPD when a fellow officer is found dead in a subway station.
But something seems…off.
And someone’s got something to hide.
So Val and Jones are on the case!
[CONTENT WARNING: Brief mentions of sex]

I spent a good amount of the next day at the doctor’s for a checkup.

Good news: The head injury wasn’t that bad. I had only gotten a minor concussion, and so the doctor had just told me to rest.

And rest I did. After eating a whole bowlful of cereal, I set an alarm and curled up into bed.

By the time I wake up, it’s 5:42 PM.

Perfect.

My head feels a lot better. I get out of bed and prepare for my shift, dressing up in my uniform and washing up in the bathroom.

While I’m scrubbing my face, however, I glance at my reflection in the mirror.

Oh, God.

There’s multiple small cuts and bruises on my face, along with the scrapes on my knuckles and the very hand-shaped bruise around my neck. The neck bruise seems to be fading, at least, but everything else is very much visible.

How am I gonna explain this?! I carefully poke a cut on the side of my forehead, recoiling at the sting.

Should I tell the truth? Make some sort of excuse?

I shake my head. I’ll come up with something when I get there. I got this. I got this!

 

“I got hit by a car,” I blurt out to Jones.

FUC-

His eyes widen, his mouth opening just a little bit at what I said. “I’m sorry, you…You WHAT??”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” I nervously sputter, shaking my head.

His brow furrows with concern, his stare piercing right into my soul as he scrutinizes me. “I- thank goodness, I guess,” he tells me, “but in that case, where did you get those wounds?!”

Shit. “I fell down the stairs,” I blabber, holding my hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s nothing, I promise!”

He squints. “Are- are you SURE it’s ‘nothing’?”

Goddamnit. “Yes, it is nothing!” I exclaim. “Jones, I went to the doctor already, and they said that I was fine!”

“Are you SURE?!”

“YES, I’M SURE!” I shout.

He flinches back ever so slightly as he goes quiet.

I hold up my hands again. “Listen,” I warily tell him, “It’s been quite a bit. I can walk. I can get to and from work. My head stopped hurting. I’m fine. ”

His brow furrows a little bit more as he stares at me.

I chew on the inside of my cheek.

Please no more questions. Please no more questions. Pleasenomorequestions-

“Alright.” He nods, his jaw tightening. “I concede. Just this once.”

I nod back. “Thank you.”

Right at this moment, the loudspeaker turns on.

“Detective Perez and Inspector Jones!” Chief King’s voice booms through the room. “May you please come to my office right at this moment?”

“Oh, shit.” Jones stands up. “Looks like we got another case to tackle. You ready for this one, Val?”

I shoot him a thumbs up. “As long as it isn’t dealing with the mafia again, I’ll be fine.”

He grins. “Great! Let’s go see what Chief King’s got for us.”

 

Chief King is gazing out of a window as we stride into his office.

He’s silent.

Hell, the whole room is silent.

“Hey, Chief!” Jones says cheerfully as we enter. “So, what’s the new case?”

Chief King almost bristles as he flips around to face us.

His expression is grim – his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Uh oh.

Jones’s smile falters. “...Chief?” He inquires. “Is something wrong?”

Chief King sighs, closing his eyes. “Jones, I didn’t call you and Perez over here for a cup of tea and some crumpets!” He snaps.

Shit-! We both jump a little, and Jones lets out a yelp. “Sorry, sorry-!” Jones exclaims, holding up his hands.

Chief King lets out a huff, shaking his head. “No, no…it’s my fault. My apologies.”

Jones nods. “...Alright. Alright.”

A silence falls over the room.

What happened? I ponder to myself. Why is Chief King like this-?

“Chief?” I tentatively ask. “What…what happened?”

Chief King purses his lips, then pinches the bridge of his nose.

“...I have terrible news.”

Both Jones’s and my breaths hitch in unison.

Chief King gazes at us with exhausted eyes. “Detective Ed Dunkin was just found dead in the Queen Street subway station.”

My blood runs cold.

Jones gasps, clutching his hands over his mouth.

‘Detective’?

So this was a fellow cop.

And he’s gone. Most likely murdered in cold blood, like Anton Levin, Dan Broke, and those before them.

Good God.

“Dead…” Jones whispers, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Who called in?”

“I think you might know them quite well.” Chief King replies. “Major Robin Douglas.”

My breath hitches, and Jones practically stills.

Major Robin Douglas from the welcome party.

“What…how did this happen?” I whisper.

“That’s what I’m counting on you two to figure out!” Chief King commands. “If there is a cop killer in town, we need to catch them, fast!”

Both of us nod and salute. “Aye aye, sir!” I exclaim. “Where would you like us to go first?!”

“Start by going to the crime scene and see what you can find!”

 

“...Is it bad to admit that I’m not familiar with Ed Dunkin?” I murmur as we drive down the road in our cruiser.

Jones shakes his head. “No, it’s fine! You’re still relatively new. I get keeping to yourself, honestly.”

“I see.” I purse my lips.

We’re both relatively silent as we drive down the street.

The sun is setting at this point, washing the entire place with swaths of pink, orange, red, and purple. But neither of us look up to admire it.

…Should I say something? I huddle in on myself a little as I glance over at Jones.

He’s now tapping anxiously on the steering wheel with one of his fingers as we stop at another traffic light.

…Sure. Why not.

“...Was Ed a friend of yours?” I carefully ask.

Jones pauses, still staring ahead. He furrows his brow.

And then, he shakes his head. “...No. No, he wasn’t. He and his partner are in the, uhh…robbery department, if I remember correctly? I haven’t really talked to them much. I do remember that he’s got a HUGE case record.”

Oh? “I guess he was pretty well-liked?”

“Oh, definitely!” The car takes off again down the road. “He was almost scarily efficient, from what I heard. He’d always lead the case, taking no shit from anyone, and fought for justice, no matter what.”

A real stand-up cop.

“I honestly did look up to him a bit,” he admits as we take a turn, “but besides that, I didn’t really interact with either of them…But Robin definitely did. They and Ed were decent friends…”

Oh. “...And they found the body,” I murmur.

Jones nods, and he looks back forward at the road. “Rest in peace, Ed. You were a good man.”

 

Finally, we park at a street corner, the subway station coming into view. Our car comes to a stop, and I notice the police tape blocking off the entrance along with some other officers. All of them have expressions twisted with grief.

One officer in particular sticks out to me. I only saw them once before, but I recognize their curly mop of brunette hair.

And judging by Jones’s sudden gripping of the steering wheel, he recognizes them too.

Major Robin Douglas is hunched over on the edge of the sidewalk, their expression haunted as they stare at the asphalt of the road.

We’re already bounding out of the car, dashing right over to them as fast as we can. Jones reaches them first, immediately heading over to their side.

“Robin!!” He exclaims. “Robin, are you alright?!”

Robin’s whole body jolts. “Jesus fucking Christ-”

I hear Jones swear under his breath, and he steps back. “Sorry, sorry-”

Robin shakes their head, their eyes darting from place to place. “No, no. It’s…it’s fine. I’m good…physically, at least.”

Their gaze then lands on me, and their eyes widen ever-so-slightly.

My heart skips at the sudden eye contact, and I shove my hands into my pants pockets to make sure I don’t fidget with anything.

“…Oh,” they mutter, their tone flat but winded. “I- It’s you.”

“Yeah,” Jones tells them. “I- It’s us.”

A pause.

“…Wha…what are you guys doing here?” Robin murmurs.

I share a glance with Jones.

Do I tell them?

He hesitates, then slowly nods.

I turn back to Robin.

“…We’re here to investigate Ed’s death,” I explain. “Chief King told us what happened, I…” I can’t help but snap my fingers as I try to come up with something to say.

“…I’m sorry,” I say, my voice falling to a small whisper, “about your friend. We both are.”

Jones gives one of Robin’s hands a slight squeeze. “Do you…you need a moment?”

They remain silent, their eyes gazing at their shoes for a second.

Then, they shake their head. “No. No, it’s fine. It’s gonna take me a second to process…” they suck in a breath. “…but this job is a dangerous one. You get used to it after a bit.”

‘You get used to it.’

My heart can’t help but sink at the thought.

‘You get used to it.’

No.

No, no, I don’t want to get used to it.

“…Can you tell us where Ed is?” Jones queries to Robin.

They merely point at the station, refusing to even look in it. “I found him on the platform,” they tell us. “I didn’t lay a finger on the body and just…made a run for it.”

“…Thank you, Robin.” Jones stands up, gesturing to me. “Come on, Val, let’s go check the damage.”

 

On the way down to the platform, Jones gets the basic gist from one of the other officers at the scene. We’re both swathed in a grease yellow-colored light from above, but honestly, neither of us care at this point.

“According to them,” he tells me, “Ed was reported leaving the station at around 5:27 PM. Robin found them at around 8, so there was around a 3 hour time gap where he entered the train station and died.”

I jot all this information down as thoroughly as possible. “So, in around 3 hours,” I mutter, “he could’ve done anything.”

“Yup.” Jones shakes his head. “At least we got an…estimate, I guess. Progress is progress.”

We finally step onto the platform, scanning around for any sight of Ed.

The lights shining down onto the platform morph from a grease yellow to a sickly vomit green, some of the lights flickering as we walk down the aisle.

There’s trash and graffiti everywhere as well. Littering the cracked-up seats, the floor, and the train tracks to the side. – old candy wrappers, empty food containers, old scraps of paper–

–and a man. Lying just a couple feet away.

There’s a single bullet hole right where his heart is, splattering blood over his chest and face. I can’t even see it for a moment over the red shirt and black jacket he’s wearing.

“...Is that Ed?” I ask.

Jones swallows hard. “...Yeah, that’s Ed.”

“...Goddamn.”

I suck in a breath and walk over to the body. Snapping on a pair of gloves, I kneel down and prod at his neck with two fingers.

Cold, dead skin.

I reach down to one of his fingers and try to uncurl it.

It doesn’t even budge.

Ed was dead for a while.

I stand up. “Jones, what time is it?”

“Hm?” He pulls out his phone and checks it. “9:32. Why’d you ask?”

“Rigor mortis set in,” I reply. “Ed probably died at around 6:30 or earlier.”

He hums thoughtfully in response. “...I see.”

His gaze is almost heavy as he stares forward, right at Ed. I can’t help it – I feel a tingling sensation in my spine at that.

“..You alright?” I query.

“Hm?” He glances back at me. “Ah, um…” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m- I’m fine. It’s just that seeing Ed’s body is…sobering.”

Before I can answer, he shakes his head. “You know what? No. We must keep our focus here! The paramedics are already on their way…” His head swivels around for a moment. “Ah-HA!”

He strides over to a garbage bag, picking it up by the knot. “This garbage bag might have some good clues. You ready to sift through this?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat, nodding. He’s right. We must keep our focus. “I’m ready, yeah.”

He flashes me a smile. “Great!” He hands the bag over to me. “You got this, Val!...” His smile falters for a moment before he turns away. “...I’ll go make some calls.”

I untie the garbage bag, unfurling and opening it like it’s a sack on the floor. It’s filled with scraps, pieces, and chunks of food residue, and I can’t help but groan.

Alright, Val. You got this, you got this!

I stick my hand right in, fumbling through all the garbage inside.

Most of the trash inside is soft. I cringe as I feel the slimy and slick textures pressing up against the latex of my glove, and I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

Come on, come on…just give me something. Anything!

My fingers touch something solid.

Wha-?

I grab hold of it and pull it right out with one big tug.

A…a flash drive?

There’s still some gunk on it, so I shake it off to the best of my abilities before taking another look.

Someone had scrawled on the back in thick black marker.

“PROPERTY OF THE GBPD”

…Excuse me?

Did I read that right?

I read the text again.

Yup, I did. So how the hell did it-

Jones’s voice echoes from the end of the platform. “Hey, Val, I’m back! How’s it going?”

“Uhhhh…” I hesitate. “...I found something in that trash bag. Who were you calling?”

He lets out a small sigh. “...His partner, Harry Landry. To tell him…what happened.”

Ah. I nod. “I…see.”

“Anyway,” he crouches down next to me. “What did you find?”

I hold up the flash drive. “...This.”

His eyebrow shoots up. “A…A USB key?”

I flip it over to show him the text. “Not just that.”

Both his eyes widen. “What the hell?! Wait, lemme see that-!” He snatches the flash drive out of my fingers, turning it around in his palm. “What’s a police USB key doing in the subway trash?!”

…That’s what I was planning to ask you. “...Honestly, I have no clue,” I say with a shake of my head, “but considering that our victim is a cop, something tells me that it didn’t end up in there by pure chance.”

His jaw clenches. “Yup. Whoever put it there definitely knew what they were doing. Let’s hope Alex can salvage anything from this!”

 

The whole atmosphere back at the station seems to have shifted completely since the news. Normally, there would just be the hustle and bustle around, the occasional joking and banter between coworkers, the sounds of machines around us running their daily functions.

But today, everything seems so… quiet.

Dead quiet.

Everyone’s just sitting at their desks, almost robotic with their movements as they just do their usual work. Everyone’s expression is also practically the same – stone cold, with furrowed brows and tight, pursed lips.

“Seems like news already spread to the station,” Jones whispers to me. “Come on. Let’s go give the USB key to Alex, and we can go find Harry.”

So that’s what we do. We stop by Alex’s lab and drop off the flash drive before heading up to the second floor.

It’s a lot emptier than the first, that’s for sure. Only a couple of officers around.

“That’s Harry,” Jones points to a desk in the far corner of the room. I glance over to where he’s pointing, studying the man leaning against it with his arms crossed.

First thing I notice is his height. The man is tall and muscular, with a head of curly blonde hair and a five-o-clock shadow. He’s wearing a white t-shirt as well, along with black suspenders and boots.

… Now that I think about it, I ponder, haven’t I seen this guy before?

I squint as I try to wrack my brain on the matter.

“Hey, Harry!” Jones calls as we walk over to him.

Harry turns to face us, his arms still crossed firmly at his chest.

Oh? I can’t help but raise an eyebrow when my gaze lays upon the huge bruise under his right eye. Well, I certainly don’t remember that. I shake my head. Focus on the case, Val. Focus.

Jones gives me a small pat on my shoulder. “This,” he declares, “is Detective Valentina Perez. She’s my partner!”

Harry hums in response. “Perez, eh? Didn’t I see you before?”

“Huh?” I raise my head. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, “your first day here. Jones here was telling you about some…thing, and Ed yelled from across the room. So I stopped by to apologize.” He lets out a huff.

 

“OI, JONES, SHUT UP IN THERE!”

Jones and I jump at the sound of the voice outside, our gaze shifting from the door to each other.

“...Who the hell was that?!”

Suddenly, a blonde man peeks into the room. “...Yeah, don’t mind Ed, he’s just in a bit of a bad mood,” he says with an apologetic smile.

“...I can tell.” Jones mutters in reply.

 

…Oh, shit.

“Oh, fuck, I remember that!” I hear Jones mutter as he runs a hand through his hair. “Do you, Val?”

I nod somewhat sheepishly. “...Honestly, I haven’t thought about that incident in a while, so I…kind of forgot about you. My apologies.”

Harry chuckles somewhat bitterly. “No need. You’re still new around here, and still getting used to how things work around here.” He pauses, his humorless smile faltering just a little. “Anyway…you guys were here to ask about Ed, right?”

Jones purses his lips and nods. “...Yeah. Sorry, man.”

Harry shakes his head and sighs. “Just…just tell it to me straight.”

Jones glances at the floor, his hands on his hips. “...Harry, where were you from around 5:27 to 8:02 PM?”

“…Why that time in particular?” Harry asks.

“5:27 was when Ed was reported leaving the station, and 8:02 was when Robin found him.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Shit, Robin found him?! Are they alright?!”

Jones nods. “They’re okay, luckily, but just…answer the question, Harry.”

Harry clenches his jaw in thought before snapping his fingers. “Ah! Yeah, I had to go grab some food for my kids. Had some free time, so I stopped by a local fast food place on the way home.”

I pull out my notepad and a pencil and begin writing down information as fast as I can.

“I see,” Jones says, “Were you aware of Ed meeting anyone around that time?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I saw him leaving the station and asked. He did say he was gonna go have a talk with someone, but that’s it.”

Write that down, write that down-

“Do you have any idea who this person is?” Jones inquires.

Harry furrows his brow, going silent for a small moment…before shaking his head.

“...No,” he replies, “no, I don’t.”

Oh? I cease writing, the pencil tip still planted on the page.

“...Really? Nothing? Not even any possible names?” Jones queries, raising an eyebrow.

Harry grits his teeth. “Look pal, if I did, I’d be out there arresting their ass right now! But I’m not, am I?! Just because I was his partner, it doesn’t mean that the guy told me everything he was doing!” He shakes his head. “Look, Ed could get really private, and go off on his own. He’d do that repeatedly while we were on the job – go after a lead alone and get his ass in danger! Hell, maybe he was on a case and never told me!”

Possibly. I frown as I write down more notes. “I see,” I tell him, “but private or not, we still need answers.”

I see Jones stroke his own chin for a moment. “Ed’s desk is upstairs, right?” He asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah, what about it?” He says gruffly.

“We’re gonna go check it out.” Jones nods to me. “Come on, let’s go have a look around!”

Harry suddenly steps forward. “Hey, don’t leave me out of the loop, okay? I’ll be around. Keep me updated!”

Jones gives him a thumbs up. “No worries, man. We’ll make sure you stay tuned in.”

 

Ed Dunkin’s desk is almost scarily neat and organized – files and papers stacked in neat little piles, paper clips and thumbtacks in a little container organized by color, a bundle of pencils in a rubber band slipped into a cup.

There’s even a picture frame on the far right corner, with a photo of Ed, a woman, and a young boy huddled up together and smiling straight at the camera. His wife and son.

Just like how he left it.

Did Ed know that he was gonna die?

Hell, it almost feels like he’s going to come into the room and demand why Jones and I are looking through his stuff, and I didn’t even know the man.

On a complete whim, I find myself picking up the bundle of pencils and looking in the bottom of the cup.

There’s a key. A small silver key at the bottom.

That’s strange, I wonder, dumping the key into my palm, what’s this key for? Why’s it in here out of all places?

“Shit,” I hear Jones mutter to himself. He’s kneeling on the floor, tugging the handle of the bottom drawer of the desk. “This drawer’s locked tight. There’s gotta be a key somewhere…”

…How convenient, then. “Try this key,” I tell him, handing the silver key over.

He takes it with a nod and a ‘thanks’ before putting it into the lock and turning.

Holy shit, it works. He pulls the drawer out with no problem, and we take a look inside.

…It’s just some shreds of paper.

I can’t help but let out a huff of disappointment, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Jones frown. “This looks like an arrest form.”

Oh? I glance at him. “You think?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure! Why the hell would Ed tear it to shreds? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Well, only one way to find out.

“You got any tape?” I ask.

Jones grabs a tape dispenser off of another desk and hands it to me. “Good idea! Let’s put it back together; it may give us Ed’s last ‘customer’!”

I immediately begin working, using the tape to painstakingly piece together the piece of paper. Once I finish, I let out a sigh and lean back.

Looks like Jones was right. It is an arrest form — for one “William Lewis”. I can’t help but squint at the photo. The man’s outfit looks obnoxious – puffy gray fur coat over a black suit, along with a purple hat on his head.

Oooooo, boy . I can already imagine how this man is gonna act.

“Hey, I recognize that guy!” Jones exclaims as he looks at the photo. “That’s Zeus!”

“‘Zeus’?” I frown even harder. “Like…like the Greek God??” What the fu-

“Yup.” He nods, gritting his teeth. “Local pimp and a real sleazebag with a band of prostitutes, although he likes to call them ‘callgirls’.”

Aren’t they the same thing?

Whatever, that’s not the focus here-

“Alright!” He claps his hands. “Let’s get Zeus over here for a little chat.”

 

Zeus comes in twenty minutes later than we tell him to.

He practically swaggers through the door like nothing’s wrong, hands in his pockets and everything. Humming to himself, a smirk plastered right on his face.

“Hellloooo, officers!” He says, sliding right into the chair across from us. “How’s it going?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jones’s jaw clench.

“I’ll cut right to the chase,” he tells the pimp, “Detective Ed Dunkin was recently found murdered in the subway.”

Zeus’s eyebrows practically shoot up, his eyes widening. “Ed?! Dead?! ‘Deader than dead Ed’?!”

… Huh. The guy actually looks shocked. His jaw’s even dropped.

“Shiiiiit…” Zeus runs a hand over his face while muttering to himself. “…Damn! Didn’t expect the guy to go that quickly. Rest in peace.”

I quickly jot down in my notepad, Zeus — Pimp. Knew Ed, possibly??

Jones raises an eyebrow, but clears his throat. “Yeah, Ed’s dead. Now, tell me, Zeus-” he pulls out a copy of the arrest warrant and puts it on the table, “-Ed had this in his desk, all shredded up. I assume you and him had interacted before.” A pause. “Perhaps, he tried to arrest you…?”

Zeus chuckles, shaking his head. “I sure HOPE that arrest sheet was torn up! That was part of our deal, y’know!”

… What? Jones and I both frown and share a glance with each other.

“...I’m sorry,” Jones mutters, “ deal? ”

“Yup!” Zeus replies proudly. “Ed made sure that I didn’t get sent to the joint, and in exchange…” he leans back in his chair, letting out a low, almost sensual whistle from his lips, “...I’d let him have some fun with my girls. Free of charge.”

…What.

My heart almost stills as the words sink in. My writing hand is completely still, gripping the pencil, and pressing the point right onto the paper. And judging by Jones’s slack-jawed, stunned expression, he’s thinking the same thing.

…And Zeus just laughs.

“No need to look at me like that, coppers!” He says with that smirk. “Maybe you just don’t know the guy as well as you think you do…”

Jones moves first, shaking his head. “I fuckin’ doubt that. Sure, I hadn’t interacted with Ed all that often, but I know for sure that the man wouldn’t do that.”

…But would he, though? I glance down at my lap. Jones and I barely know him. What if-?

Zeus merely shrugs and stands up. “Your loss, officers! Have fun figuring out who killed your colleague, I need a drink.”

And just like that, he just casually strides out of the room.

Leaving us alone with our thoughts.

 

The whole way to Alex’s lab is in relative silence, but as we enter, it’s almost as if nothing ever happened the moment we step in.

“Hey, Alex!” Jones says. “You find anything on that USB key?”

Alex turns around in his swivel chair to face us, pursing his lips. “Well…that thing didn’t agree with its stay in the trash, that’s for sure. Some sort of banana mush got inside and damaged it quite a bit.”

I hear Jones curse through gritted teeth. “...Okay! Was there anything you could recover, though?”

“I was, actually!” Alex replies. “It took me a bit, but I managed to restore one file – the police records of a certain ‘Angel Martinez’.”

I frown.

Angel Martinez?

Jones seems to be in quite a bit of thought as well. And then, his eyes light up with recognition.

“Shit, Angel Martinez? The dogfighting guy?” He asks.

Alex nods. “Dogfighting’s on his criminal record, yeah.”

DOGFIGHTING?!

“DOGFIGHTING?!” I exclaim, nausea pooling in my gut.

Jones nods grimly. “Yup. Angel was the scum we booked a while ago for organizing dogfights. Absolute piece of shit.”

Eugh, God. I can’t help but grit my teeth in disgust. “...And I guess we’re gonna have to call him to the station?”

“Unfortunately.” He replies. “Let’s go say hi!”

 

Angel Martinez, for lack of a better word, is an absolute beast of a man.

He towers over Jones and I as he saunters into the interrogation room, plopping himself into the chair and crossing his arms.

I take this time to look him over. Angel has short, spiky black hair and wears an orange and white hoodie with a dog printed on the right side. Also, he has a nasty bruise over his left eye.

Absolute piece of work, I assume. I purse my lips, having my notebook at the ready.

“What do you want, officers?” He snarls.

Jones takes the lead, leanaing forward and narrowing his eyes, “Impatient, aren’t we?” He snarks. “I’ll get to the point – Detective Ed Dunkin was found murdered on the subway platform today, and a police USB key with your file on it was found in a trash bag nearby.”

Angel scoffs, rolling his eyes. “So, you found my name on a dead cop’s drive. Big deal.”

Jones slams his palm on the table. BAM!

Both Angel and I flinch at the noise as Jones stands up. “Yes, big deal, Martinez! Ed was investigating your dogfighting ring, wasn’t he?! Is that why you killed him?”

Angel practically goes quiet for a good solid moment, his eyes wide with surprise.

I hold my breath. Did we get him? Is he backed into a corner?

But no – Angel merely throws his head back and chortles, slapping his knee. “HIM? Investigate ME? You’re- you’re joking, right?”

Oh, God. Is he about to say what I think he is gonna say?

“No, we are, in fact, NOT joking!” Jones snaps. “Just answer the damn question, asswipe!”

‘Oh, I’ll answer, alright!” Angel retorts with a toothy grin, leaning forward. “You sure we’re talking about the same guy? Fuck, Ed was one of my best customers! Didn’t miss a fight!!”

…What.

So now two of our suspects are saying the same thing.

Jones lets out a very disbelieving scoff. “Sureee. And Detective Perez and I deal dope while on the job! Don’t we, Val?”

I snap out of my thoughts and glance at him. “...We don’t deal dope, though?”

Jones snaps his fingers. “Exactly!”

 

Harry Landry – Victim’s partner. Didn’t know about whatever the hell Ed was doing.

Zeus – Pimp. Apparently struck a deal with the victim to avoid going to prison. Ed keeps him out of jail, and he lets Ed have sex with the callgirls.

Angel Martinez – Dogfighting Organizer. Ed apparently really liked those dogfights, being one of Angel’s best customers.

 

I close my notepad as Jones opens the door to the morgue.

Nathan is busy scribbling down some more notes on a clipboard, standing right next to an autopsy table.

“Hey, Nate!” Jones says as we enter. “Didn’t expect you to…y’know. Not do that whole ‘jumpscare’ thing?”

“Hm?” Nathan glances at us, “Ah, that. Didn’t feel like it would be appropriate to do so when a colleague is dead.”

…He’s got a point. I swallow down the lump in my throat as Jones lets out a sigh. “...Yeah, fair enough.”

Nathan shakes his head. “You two’d better stay safe, for sure,” he mutters as he puts down a pencil. “This job can be a hellhole.” He clears his throat. “Anway- I’ll get to the autopsy.”

He adjusts his glasses as he squints at the clipboard. “Ed was shot in the chest, as you can tell. The angle of the trajectory is particularly interesting – the bullet went down through the body, striking off multiple ribs before lodging in his left thigh, out of all places. That and the fact that Ed’s knees are scraped tells me that Ed was kneeling when shot, which means that his killer is 6’3!”

Holy shit. The information sinks into my mind, and I notice Jones’s jaw drop. “Kneeling down? So. he was executed?!”

Executed.

Nathan nods grimly. “...I guess you can call it that. Either way – even if he was, he fought back.”

Oh? Both Jones and I lean forward a little.

“His knuckles seem to have gone through quite a bit of damage,” Nathan continues, “scrapes, bruises, all that stuff. Which means that unless your killer is made of steel, they’re walking around witha fresh bruise on their face!”

Jones turns to me. “You got that, Val?”

I nod vehemently as I take out my notepad and jot down those clues.

Two steps closer to catching the killer.

Let’s see where this goes.

Notes:

SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I wanted to focus on drawing and learning ToonSquid for a bit oops
But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for the next one!

Chapter 29: Good Cop, Dead Cop - 2/4

Summary:

During the murder investigation of their colleague, tensions arise when Valentina and Jones uncover some very unsavory information by a man many considered as their friend.

As Jones and I leave the morgue, we spot Ramirez heading over to greet us. Strangely, his cheeks are blushing pink, and he’s wiping his palms on his shirt.

“Ah, hello, Ramirez!” I tell him, giving him a polite smile and a wave.

Jones nods in his direction. “You doing alright? You’re looking a bit…warm, I guess?”

Ramirez lets out a noise almost akin to choking on his own spit in response, shaking his head. “Ah, my apologies!” He says, nodding vehemently at us. “I just got a bit…flustered, is all. O-On a separate note, there’s a woman here who came to see you. Says she has some information on Ed’s killer!”

Oh? “Well, who is it?” Jones asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” Ramirez hesitates, “she didn’t give a name, but she did say that you know her well!”

OH? I glance at Jones, who raises his other eyebrow. “Really? Alright, give me a physical description, then. Maybe the face.”

Ramirez nods. “Caucasian woman with curly blonde hair, light blue eyes, deep red lipstick, and a mole on the left side of her face.”

I take another look at Jones, watching as his eyes widen in recognition. “Curly blonde hair, light blue eyes, deep red lipstick? That’s Ginger, alright!” He snaps his fingers.

Ginger? The name piques my interest for sure. “Who’s that?”

Jones smiles at me, patting me on the back. “Ginger’s an old friend of mine! She’s a hooker who lives around the docks, and I’ve known her for a good amount of years to know that she’s a tough cookie!”

I hum thoughtfully to myself. A hooker? “Is she one of Zeus’s callgirls?” I inquire curiously.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah. Shittalks him quite a bit behind his back, though!” He crosses his arms. “She’s got a good eye and ear, though,” he mutters. “With our luck, she might give us a tip about our perp!”

He turns back to Ramirez. “Did Ginger tell you where this happened?”

Ramirez, who thankfully looks a little less red, furrows his brow in concentration as he thinks for a moment. “She said that she saw them throw their gun into the river, in front of Dock 15. King wants you to have a look there!”

Dock 15 — only a 15-minute walk away from the Queen Street station. Even less if you’ve just killed someone and are darting down the street as fast as your legs can take you.

“Okay!” Jones glances at me. “Dock 15 — you got that, Val?”

Oh, I got it, alright. “Dock 15, yeah.” I nod as well in confirmation.

Let’s see how this goes.

 

Ginger is waiting for us in the interrogation room, so we make haste and get there as fast as possible. She’s sitting in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, her body completely at ease. Just like Ramirez had said, she’s blonde, with bright blue eyes, and she wears a red low-cut top, jeans, and some expensive-looking sneakers.

Oh wow. Even with just a glance in the doorway, I can’t help but blush looking at her.

Focus, Val, I silently chastise myself. Be professional. Can’t falter now…

… is my tie loose?

I tug it left, then right, almost like it never was loose in the first place. There — that’s better.

… Hopefully.

“Gingerrrr!” Jones exclaims with a bright, beaming grin as we enter. “How’re ya doing? How’s life been?”

Holy cow, it’s like a switch just flipped. Jones’s shoulders are a lot more relaxed, and he leans back just a bit in a more casual manner as he smiles at her. To be fair, she’s a friend of his.

We sit down in our chairs, and Ginger beams right back at us. “David!” She says. “I see you’ve got a new friend?”

Oh-? My heart skips a beat as Jones gives me a firm pat on the back. “Oh, her? This is Detective Valentina Perez, the newest officer in the squad!”

Oh, shit-

She’s looking at me now with a small smile curling on her lips.

Her very blue eyes are almost cutting into my soul, and my heart skips another beat. “I see…” she murmurs almost sensually, “...well, it’s quite nice to meet you, Detective! I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

I nod back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “It’s nice to meet you, too-” Wait, what? I can’t help but blink. “You- you’ve heard about me?”

She hesitates slightly, glancing between my look of surprise and Jones’s raised eyebrow.

“...Yes, of course!” she finally replies with a smile. “Your reputation’s grown quite a bit. I’m quite impressed, honestly!”

…I’ve only solved, like, 5 cases, though? I furrow my brow just a little bit, but before I can answer, Jones gives me a pat on the back. “That’s Val for you!” He says proudly with a wide grin. “I taught her quite well, for sure!” He clears his throat, and he sits back down. “Anyway, enough with the pleasantries,” he mutters, “so, you said that you have some information on Ed’s killer?”

I pull out my notepad and get ready to jot notes.

“You bet I am, gorgeous!” Ginger replies. “I was at the docks, watching the waves like usual. However, the moment I heard gunshots coming from the Queen Street subway station, I knew I had to keep my eyes peeled!”

Ginger – Local Prostitute. Heard gunshots from Queen Street subway station.

“I hid myself behind a couple of crates and barrels,” she continues, “waiting with bated breath in case someone came out of there. And boy, did someone run out of there like a bat out of hell!”

Oh? Jones and I share a glance.

Saw someone running out of the station moments later, I scrawl down.

“Do you have a physical description, of some sort?” Jones inquires.

She furrows her brow, putting her chin on her palm. “Hmmmm…”

A couple of seconds pass by, then she shakes her head. “No, not much.”

“Not much could still go a long way!” I pipe up. “What did you at least notice?”

She ponders again, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “A man with a pistol! Around 6 feet, maybe a bit taller. But the main thing I noticed was his eyes.” She chuckles. “Jones can confirm that I have a weakness for blue eyes.”

Jones giggles sheepishly, his cheeks pink as I glance down at my notes.

A bit taller than 6 feet man with blue eyes and a pistol?

Sounds very much like our killer.

Jones clears his throat. “Flattery aside, thanks for the information, Ginger! Your help won’t be forgotten.”

 

“Let’s head down to the docks!” Jones tells me. “Maybe if we’re lucky, the killer might’ve thrown the gun somewhere.”

I ponder for a moment as we head down the stairs. “If he threw it in the water, we’ll have to dive for it, right?”

He nods. “I’m pretty sure that there’s wetsuits and snorkels in the cruiser trunk. It’s gonna be a bitch to change into them, but hey, a clue’s a clue, am I right?”

We finally reach the ground floor and head for the front door, but before we can walk any further, a man’s voice booms from a bit away. “Hey!”

We glance to where it came from, and Harry Landry strides right over to us. “Ah, Harry,” Jones says. “How’s it going-?”

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Harry tells us through gritted teeth. “I heard that you’ve been talking with Zeus and Martinez. Remember to not trust a single fuckin’ word they said!”

I can’t help but flinch. Harry’s tone is gruff, and his expression is twisted into one of disdain.

Jones merely raises an eyebrow. “Why? What’d you think they told us?”

Harry sputters, throwing their hands up in the air. “I- I don’t know! But I know their type! They’ll say anything to make us look bad!”

‘Their’...‘type’?

Now I’m frowning. What the hell is he saying?

Jones opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t help it. I butt into the conversation. “I- can you elaborate on that?” I ask, “‘Their type’?”

Harry looks like he’s just been punched in the gut. He tries stammering out a response, and then he shakes his head. “Listen, I just don’t want you two to forget who the criminals are, that’s all!”

HUH?!

I’m frowning even more at this point.

“What do you expect us to do, then?” I ask in reply. “Just…discard what they told us and not look into it?”

Harry opens his mouth.

Not today. Absolutely not. I cross my arms. “We’re aware of Zeus and Martinez’s track records,” I tell him, “but that doesn’t mean that their words shouldn’t be treated seriously. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Listen here, Perez!” Harry suddenly snaps, pointing right at me and making me flinch again. “I’m trying to warn you, okay?! People like Zeus and Martinez are nothing short of dangerous, and if you believe a word they say, they’ll do anything to rip you to shreds!”

He shakes his head again as he sucks in another breath. “Christ. I need a coffee.”

Before I can even object, he turns around and strides away.

Isn’t there a word for that kind of discrediting? I ponder to myself. ‘Tu quoque fallacy’, wasn’t it? Or am I misremembering?

It’s at this moment that I realize that Jones is staring at me with wide eyes and a slack-jawed expression.

“…Would it be bad to admit that I didn’t expect that?” He asks. “You doing…that?”

Fuck. “Listen, I’m sorry,” I mutter, holding up my hands. “I shouldn’t have, it was reckless of me.”

He lets out a small huff through his nose. “It’s…it’s fine.”

A pause.

“Not gonna lie,” he admits, “Harry had a bit of a point, though.”

What? I glance back at him. “Excuse me?”

“Zeus and Martinez are criminals.” He crosses his arms. “We have to be careful around them, it’s true.”

I guess? But at the same time…

“...Ah.” I slowly nod. “I’m sorry, it’s just that ‘their type’ just felt like he was discrediting them before we can come up with a proper understanding of the situation. Criminal or not, their statements are statements.”

“Oh no, I’m not gonna deny that,” He responds. “‘Their type’ was certainly a choice of words.”

He shakes his head. “Anyway, enough of this. We have to keep going. You wanna head down to the docks?”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s probably our best bet here.”

And on our way, the subway station is reopening to the public soon. Hopefully, we can take another look around for clues!

”Come on, let’s go!”

 

Dock 15, as it turns out, is only a couple of miles down from both the Dan Broke case and the Jennifer Carter case.

In other words, I can’t escape this fucking dock.

I let out a huff as we climb out of the cruiser, the fresh salt in the air doing barely anything to calm my nerves as it felt like I was walking in my own footsteps over and over again.

Jones is already moving to the trunk, throwing it open and pulling out a MASSIVE, OVERLY-STUFFED duffel bag and tossing it to the ground with a heave and a loud WHUMP.

“...Holy crap,” I murmur, gazing down at the sight. The zipper sealing the thing tight is almost pulling open from both ends.

“But wait!” Jones tells me with a huff, tossing down another duffel bag right next to the first, barely missing my head as it WHUMPS to the floor. “There’s more!” He says proudly, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“...Oh, wow.”

“Yup! Pretty sure that there’s everything in here.” He gives one of the bags a good, hard smack before letting out a yelp, shaking his hand in the air. “The wetsuit, oxygen tank, scuba equipment…”

Wait, what? “Did you say oxygen tank?? ”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Wouldn’t it have been wiser to put them separately compared to everything else?” I ask.

He purses his lips and furrows his brow for a moment, before shrugging. “...In retrospect, yeah. Then again, I wasn’t the one who packed these.”

He puts his foot on one of the bags and pushes it over to me. “Here! There’s some bathrooms further down the dock.” He points ahead to some rickety old stalls, then grabs the other bag and hauls it over his shoulder. “Afterwards, we regroup back here! Alright?”

I reach down and take a hold of the duffel bag strap, gripping it tightly in my fingers. “Uhhh, yeah,” I mutter with a nod, “I got it!”

 

It’s a bit of a hassle hauling the duffel bag down the dock and then changing into the wetsuit, but I finally manage to get the hang of it.

How I managed to not dislocate my shoulder in the process, I don’t know. Either way, when I regroup with Jones, I’m in full scuba gear like I’m gonna go deep-sea sightseeing and not looking for clues in a murder.

Jones, in the meantime, is already jumping into the water, equipped with the scuba gear as well as he glances at me. “Oh, hey!” He says with a grin, slipping on his goggles. “Good news, the water here isn’t that cold today. That’s a little bit less of a bother, right?”

“I guess so?” I reply. I sit down on the edge. “Let me just-”

Gradually, I slip my feet into the water.

It’s cool, but the comforting kind of cool. Like a… bed of that kind of temperature-changing gel.

I’m not sure if that makes sense.

Slowly but surely, I snap on my googles, slip down into the gentle waves, and dip myself below.

I’m enveloped whole in an instant by cool greens and blues, and I look around for Jones.

He’s already ahead of me, his head dipped into a bed of weeds as he pokes and prods around. A fish passes by above him, and he gives it a little wave.

Well. Since he’s looking through that area… I turn around, my eyes trained on the shadows covering the riverbed under the dock. Maybe some clues floated there? Who knows.

Something catches my attention from the corner of my eye, though. Something metal, lying flat on the bottom of an overturned car.

…Never mind, I ponder. Jackpot.

It’s a pistol – sleek, small, but packs a punch.

Enough to put a bullet through a police officer.

With both my hands, I pick the gun up and examine it in my palms.

… This gun looks a lot like mine. Same patterns, same size…same everything. The main issue is that the amount of scrapes covering a spot on the side.

I glance over in Jones’s direction, just as he sticks his head up from the bed of weeds. He turns to face me, and I hold up the pistol and point at it.

He gives me a thumbs up – no, two excited thumbs up – and we both head for the surface.

Despite me having an oxygen tank, as soon as we break through the top of the riverbed, I remove my lips from my mouthpiece and take a deep, shuddering inhale.

Jones floats over to me, flashing me another congratulatory grin. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve got major underwater vision, Val!” He tells me, giving me a pat on the back.

I nod, flipping the pistol over in my hands again. “Hey,” I mutter, “is it just me, or does this look like the guns we use?”

He takes off his goggles, furrowing his brow slightly. “Really? Hold on, lemme see.”

I hand the pistol over to him, and he takes a good look at it too.

His eyes widen, just slightly as he studies it. “...Holy cow, you’re right,” he tells me, “I’m pretty sure it is! Glock 22, just like what we have!”

Ohhh, shit.

“Granted, whether or not this is the murder weapon is up for debate…” he murmurs under his breath, before he clears his throat. “...Once we get back to the station, we’re giving this to Nathan. Hopefully this leads somewhere, or else we’ve just gotten wet for nothing!”

I nod in agreement. God, please don’t tell me this is going where I think it’s going.

 

On our way back to the station, we decide to stop by Queen Street station for another look around for clues.

While Jones decides to dig his hands in the trash, I take a look around the subway seats to see if there’s anything that sticks out.

There’s still garbage scattered everywhere, so I snap on a pair of gloves and begin searching.

Sure enough, there is something! A ticket, sticking out from between two of the seats.

And judging by the amounts of money listed, the aggressive-looking dog icon on the back, and the literally blatant, big bold words spelling “BETTING” on top, the ticket had a very specific use.

‘Oh, I’ll answer, alright!” Angel retorts with a toothy grin, leaning forward. “You sure we’re talking about the same guy? Fuck, Ed was one of my best customers! Didn’t miss a fight!!”

“...Fucking hell,” I murmur.

“Welp!” Jones puts down a trash bag, taking off his gloves. “Couldn’t find anything on my end. How about you, Val?”

“...Um.” I hold up the ticket for him to see. “This betting ticket.”

He frowns, tossing the gloves into the bag. “A…betting ticket? Look, Val, I know we’re desperate for leads, but a random piece of trash? Seriously?”

“Says the guy who was just sticking his hands in the trash bag,” I retort. “I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here.” He lets out a small scoff in response. “Also,” I add, flipping the ticket over to show him the dog icon.

His eyes widen immediately. “Alright, forget what I said,” he tells me, “hadn’t seen that the ticket was for dogfights!”

I nod. “Angel mentioned that Ed was a better, right? If his claims were true, then…”

There’s a silence that falls between both of us, the implications clear.

He slowly nods back. “...Let’s check that ticket and see what we can find,” he says, “and then send it to Alex.”

“...Alright.” I take out the dusting kit and carefully do my thing, brushing powder over the ticket and then gently pouring off the excess.

There’s a slightly smudged print, right in the dead center.

Bingo.

 

Once we get back to the station, we drop off the gun with Nathan and the ticket with Alex.

And now…we wait.

As we sit at my desk with bated breath and in absolute silence, we spot Robin coming out of one of the bathrooms. Looking arguably more pale than before.

“Oh, hey Robin!” Jones calls, getting up from his chair. I follow suit, trodding after him.

Robin’s shoulders visibly flinch, but they relax just a second later as they turn to face us. “Jones. Detective Perez.” They nod stiffly.

“How are you holding up?” Jones asks. “After, um…that. Thing.”

Huh? Both Robin and I glance at him. “...You mean me finding my close friend’s dead body’?” Robin asks.

“...Yeah, that.” Jones clears his throat.

Robin lets out a small scoff. “I’m not a child, Jones, you could’ve just said it straight.”

Jones purses his lips, clearing his throat again. “Yeah, my bad. Sorry.”

Robin shakes their head. “Whatever. I’m doing…better, at least.” They let out a sigh. “Listen, I…I overheard you talking to Harry.”

Both Jones and I freeze.

“I…I see,” I murmur. “Do you have anything to say?”

They hesitate for a moment. “...Is it true?”

What?

“E- Excuse me?” I stammer.

“Is it true?” They ask. “That Ed’s…done…things?”

Both Jones and I pause, the space between us filling with silence.

“...We haven’t come to a conclusion on that,” Jones finally replies.

Robin nods, their expression not brightening in the slightest. “I see.” They clutch their head. “...I need a coffee.”

“We’re not stopping you,” Jones tells them. “Take care of yourself, Robin.”

They nod again, then turn and leave.

Right at this moment, Jones’s phone pings with a notification.

 

“I’ll make this quick,” Nathan tells us, pulling up some photos of smushed pieces of metal. “The bullet on the left was fired from the pistol you sent to me-”

“The gun wasn’t waterlogged?” Jones asks, furrowing his brow.

Nathan shakes his head. “Glocks are meant to be water-resistant. It was a bit janky, but it did fire. Anyway, the bullet on the left was fired from the pistol you sent me, and the one on the right was the bullet found in Ed’s body.” He slides both photos to us. “Take a closer look – is there a difference?”

We squint down at the photos. Surprisingly enough, the only difference I can make out is the fact that the right bullet is covered in Ed’s blood.

“...Blood doesn’t count,” Nathan adds.

Never mind. “I can’t spot any difference,” I note with a small shake of my head. …Wait. “So, this means-”

Nathan nods. “Yup. The tests are clear – the gun is your murder weapon.”

Oh, thank goodness. Jones and I let out a collective sigh of relief with that revelation. “Another step forward,” Jones mutters. “Thank goodness. But do you have any idea whose gun it is?”

“I think that’s for you to find out.” Nathan pulls out another photo from a file, containing a close-up of the side of the pistol. “Someone had tried to file off the gun’s serial number, and judging by the desperate, quick strokes, they were in a rush. Probably tried rubbing it against a wall.”

I gaze at the photo, and the half-completed numbers etched into the metal, barely visible under the scratches.

Can I get something from this? Slowly, I trace my finger over the lines, trying to discern any possible shape. “...I think I can fix it up,” I comment. “Might take me a bit, though.”

Nathan and Jones both raise an eyebrow. “Really?” Jones inquires. “Well, be our guest. I've got faith in you!”

I nod, giving him a small reassuring smile. “Give me five minutes with a pen and paper, and I’ll have something to send to Alex.”

 

It does, in fact, take me five minutes, but I finally manage to pull out a coherent serial number.

So, we say goodbye to Nathan and bound over to Alex’s lab.

“Oh, hey, you guys!” Alex says, turning in his chair to face us. “You’re just in time – I was actually gonna call you about that fingerprint you guys found on that betting ticket!”

How convenient.

Jones lets out a small huff. “Well, lucky us, I guess. But unfortunately for you, we have something else for you to look over.”

Alex leans forward, flashing a wily grin. “Really? What is it?”

Jones gestures to me, and I hand over the photo and the paper with the serial number. “This number was on the gun used to murder Ed,” I explain. “The killer had tried filing it off, but I managed to salvage what I can. Can you find whose gun this belongs to?”

Alex takes both items and looks them over for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “...That looks like a police gun,” he comments.

“Yeah, we got that,” Jones replies, “but many people in Grimsborough own a Glock. It could be anyone’s, but in the end of the day, we don’t know for sure.”

“Yeah, true.” Alex puts the items down on his desk. “I’ll check this up for you. In the meantime…”

He pulls out his laptop, turning it on and clicking around with the mousepad. “...I looked over that print you showed me.”

Oh, crap. Jones and I hold our breath.

“...What is it?” I ask.

Alex purses his lips. “...Um. Well…” He fidgets with his fingers. “...you’ve got good instincts.” A pause.

“The print on your betting ticket was a match with Ed’s.”

… God.

My heart sinks.

“...So that means…”

“...Ed did gamble.” Jones finishes my sentence, pressing his lips into a thin, grim line.

Alex slowly nods.

How long was this going on? How did this even happen in the first place?

And why would he do this?

Jones grits his teeth, his fist clenching as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I can’t believe this! Ol’ stand-up Ed, taking bets and frolicking with criminals…”

They were right. Zeus and Martinez were right.

So that means…

“Martinez took his bets, right?” I mutter. “Maybe we can grill him for more information…”

He shakes his head. “No, these bastards have a designated person for that,” he grumbles. “We have to figure out who that is…”

“I’m one step ahead of you on that one,” Alex replies, leaning back in his chair. “His bookmaker was one Freddie Whitmore…a close acquaintance of Martinez’s, funnily enough.”

“Small fuckin’ world.” Jones shakes his head. “Thanks for the information, Alex.”

“Just doing my job!” Alex replies. “I’ll get the serial number to you guys in no time. Good luck with the investigation!”

 

Freddie Whitmore is tall, but unlike someone like Zeus and Martinez, he’s lanky and thin, and awkwardly shuffling over to his seat with his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets.

For lack of better words, he looks…ruffled. The mop of blonde hair is a mess, his beard and mustache are half-groomed and scratchy, the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and he looks like he barely got any sleep.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Inspector Jones,” he says with a small smirk, leaning back in his chair and manspreading. His eyes then glance at me, and he frowns. “And…you.”

“Detective Valentina Perez,” I tell him. “My partner and I are investigating our colleague Ed’s murder.”

Freddie’s expression goes blank.

Jones and I gaze down at him as he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it.

And then, he finally speaks.

“...Wait, Ed’s dead? ”

Jones frowns even more. “...Yeah, Whitmore…I told you that on the call. Ed was murdered.”

Freddie’s eyes widen, and he hisses to himself, clenching his teeth and rubbing his beard.

“...Damn.”

“Certainly surprised, aren’t you?” Jones says.

I slide over a copy of the betting ticket to Freddie. “We found this betting ticket near his dead body. We don’t need to hear about your scam, just tell us what you know about Ed.”

Freddie leans forward, glancing down at the ticket. “Feisty and straight to the point,” he mutters, a small smirk on his lips. “I respect that! Alright. I’ll tell ya what I know, sweetheart.”

Eughhh. I cringe internally at the pet name and my insides shrivel up like a raisin, but I keep my lips sealed tight.

Freddie finally closes his legs, letting out a small whistle. “Okay, Ed, Ed, Ed…he first appeared at Angel’s place, like…3 years ago, I think? Wanted to try betting to buy a gift for his wife, apparently. ”

Jones visibly bristles.

“And then he showed up for the one after that.”

My heart skips a beat. “And the one after that?”

Freddie nods. “Yeah, he just…never left, I guess. Ed bet mostly on the dogfights, and-”

“Let me guess,” Jones interjects. “He kept the other cops off your back, You made sure he didn’t lose too often.”

Freddie pauses and raises an eyebrow. “...Yeah. How did you know?”

Jones shakes his head. “Lucky guess.”

Third person to say something like this. I swallow down the lump in my throat.

One thing’s for sure, however – we cannot ignore these claims any longer.

 

“Let’s head back to Ed’s desk,” Jones had told me. “If we wanna find proof that Ed was bent, then we’ll most likely find it there.”

So back to Ed’s desk we go, marching up to the third floor when we probably could’ve just used the elevator.

Either way, that doesn’t really matter. Obviously, we have bigger fish to fry.

Where did I not check already? I ponder for a moment as my eyes scan the area.

“...I’ll look under the table, maybe,” Jones comments. “You take another look above!”

I nod, watching as he gets on his hands and knees. “Alright!” I crack my knuckles. “Let’s get this over with.”

The bottom drawer was the one with the arrest form, so I decide to scan through the upper two. Luckily, these aren’t locked, so I just pull them out and sift through the contents.

The middle drawer, compared to the desk, is a mess. Loose papers, files, scrap, notes, pens, pencils, and more just strewn around inside like they were nothing. And looking through some of the papers, there’s not even anything of definite interest. That’s not even all – at the bottom of the drawer is a half-crumpled photo of a family at an amusement park, smiling and laughing like they were on top of the world.

The same family like the one on Ed’s desk.

God, Ed. What were you doing? I clench my jaw as I gaze down at the happy faces in the picture. You had so much.

…Who am I kidding? I shake my head as I put the photo down. I don’t even know the guy. And we haven’t even confirmed that the allegations against Ed were true.

I smooth the paper out to the best of my abilities before slipping it back into the drawer.

The top drawer, however, is particularly interesting.

Not because of what’s in it – there are more neatly-organized files in stacks, but after reading through them, I conclude that they’re not relevant to the case at hand. So, I put them back in the drawer and get ready to put it back in its space.

And then, I look at one of the inner walls.

Oh?

There’s something flat haphazardly taped to the way back wall. There’s something marked on it, but I can’t tell what it is in the dark.

Placing the drawer down, I kneel and reach inside, my gloved fingers tracing around for a moment.

Fingers touch tape.

I catch a notch, scraping for a moment before grabbing hold and peeling.

Slowly, but surely, I pull out the item taped in the back of the drawer, and I hold it up to the dim ceiling lights to read what it says.

It’s a cigarette carton, complete with a graphic illustration on the back of a messed-up looking man lying in a hospital bed and the caption “SMOKING KILLS”. And inside the box, someone had scrawled down a message – “Warehouse 10, 4 PM”.

A meeting spot. And Ed had taped it there to hide it from everyone else.

“I can’t seem to find anything,” Jones comments, sitting down on the floor with a sigh.

I pause, still clutching the cigarette carton in my hands. “...Maybe try searching the bottom of the desk?”

He frowns, giving me a glance.

“Hear me out,” I tell him. “Feel around on the bottom of the desk. Maybe he taped something there.”

He purses his lips for a second, then shrugs. “Worth a shot.” Getting down on his knees again, he shoves his hand under the desk again, vigorously patting around the bottom with a thump, thump, thump-

His eyes widen. “...Hold on, I think I got something.” He rapidly pats an area. “Holy shit, Ed did tape something down here! Crafty motherfuc-” I wait with bated breath as I watch and hear him try to scratch off a corner, his whole body straining slightly with exertion.

Oh?

He purses his lips. “Holy shit. I think you’re right-! Hold on-”

I watch as he tugs. Once, twice, then thrice, peeling something off slowly but surely.

Finally, he pulls his hand back out, revealing a small business card, adorned with light pink swirls and the information for some candy shop…and then he flips it over.

On the back is a phone number, scrawled in streaky black marker, with a lipstick kiss right in the corner, along with the words “Call Me!”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from yelling.

Jones grimaces in disgust. “...Somehow I doubt that this phone number was from Ed’s wife.”

“Do we send it to Alex?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He replies, “Obviously. What did you find, by the way?”

I hand him the cigarette carton. “Ed had taped this behind a drawer.”

He takes it and frowns. “Hold on, what?!” He flips it over in his hands. “I remember him yelling at smokers for ‘polluting his fucking air’! And he’s holding onto this-?!”

“There’s something on the inside, too,” I note. “A meeting place, I assume?”

He pauses, then peeks inside. His eyes widen with recognition. “...Hold on. This looks familiar…” A pause, then he snaps his fingers. “...I know! Hidden messages like this is how that scum Angel gives the time and place of his dogfights!”

…Oh, shit. “So, we’re gonna have to talk to him again, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he tells me, gritting his teeth. He hands the card to me. “Give this to Alex and meet me by the interrogation room. I’ll call in Martinez.”

 

I do as I’m asked, and head down to the interrogation room. By the time I reach it, however, I lock eyes with Martinez on the other side of the hall. He glowers at me for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line.

I give him a small wave of the hand, mouthing “After you.”

He scoffs, marching into the interrogation room and flopping into a chair. I follow right after him, sitting next to Jones.

“What do you want?” Martinez growls, his arms crossed over his chest. “I got places to be, dogs to wrangle, and women to fuck. Make it quick.”

Crude words for a suspect of murder. I clench my jaw.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Jones says. “We found the place and time of your next dogfight in Ed’s desk.”

Angel lets out an angry chortle, throwing his hands up in the air. “And that’s surprising, because?!”

“Because-”

“For FUCK’S SAKE, are you slow?!” He snaps, rapidly tapping his forehead. “Ed LOVED those fights! No shit, he had the info!”

Jones’s expression flashes with anger. “Well, what if he started to lose interest?! What if…he could’ve served a threat, so you shot him dead?!”

Holy shit. I put my hand on Jones’s shoulder, hissing at him to try to calm down.

Angel merely laughs again. “I hated the bastard, I’ll grant you that! A bent cop is still a cop. But kill him?” He leans back in his chair. “I had nothing to gain from that, and everything to lose.”

…Shit. He has a point.

And judging by how Jones is gritting his teeth, he knows it, too.

 

After Angel had left the room, Jones’s phone pinged multiple times.

Texts from Alex, in fact.

Sending this via text bc it’s a bit easier! The messages read. Anyway, it was so easy its almost boring. The phone number you sent me had belonged 2 one of Zeus’s callgirls!

The nauseous feeling in my gut gets just a little bit more potent.

So Ed had a callgirl’s number. Despite having a wife and kid.

He had a family, and he threw it all away.

“...I think Zeus is due for another interrogation,” I heard Jones mutter. “I’ll call him in.”

 

“See?” Zeus smirks at us, his too-good teeth blinking in the overhead light of the interrogation room. “Old Zeus was telling the truth after all!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jones’s bottom eyelid twitch.

Zeus doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. “Yes, that phone number was given to Ed by one of my girls. If I remember correctly, it was either Misty or Lana-”

“Stop stalling and talk! ” Jones demands. “You’re not off the hook yet, Zeus, I swear to God!”

Zeus merely opens his arms, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Alrighty, then. Hit me.”

Jones gestures to me, and I flip to a page in my notepad to read off some questions I had prepared. “Did Ed start wanting more?” I recite. “Was he hurting the girls? Is that why you considered him a problem?”

Zeus lets out a bold, boisterous laugh. “Ha! Funny joke, shortcake.”

SHORTCAKE? My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I slam my notebook shut.

“But to answer your questions.” Zeus leans back in his chair. “I’d rather kill myself than kill Ed! He was the only reason my girls weren’t being busted by the rest of you!”

Jones looks like he wants to strangle the pimp with his bare hands, but through gritted teeth, he speaks. “...Very well! Thank you for your time, Zeus. ”

Zeus holds up his hands in some sort of imitation of peace as he slowly gets up out of his chair. “Listen, coppers, I mean no harm, y’know?” He tells us with a smirk. “Maybe someday, I can buy you both a drink! As some kind of good will.”

“No need,” I stiffly reply. “It’s fine.”

He raises his eyebrow, but shrugs. “Your loss,” he says, and he strides out of the door.

 

The walk up the stairs back to the second floor is longer than I remember.

Once we actually reach my desk and sit down in some chairs, we haven’t spoken a word to each other at all.

What happened? What actually happened?

Ed Dunkin was a corrupt cop, colluding with criminals. Now he’s dead in the subway station, shot in the chest.

What are we gonna tell Robin? They were close to Ed, right?

Hell, what are we gonna tell Ed’s family?

“...Y’know,” I hear Jones mumble, running his hands over his face. “I still remember the first day Ed transferred to the Industrial Area.”

Oh? “He transferred here?” I inquire.

He nods. “Yeah, from Maple Heights. I still remember Ed gathering us all on the ground floor, and giving us all a speech on our ‘duty’ and how the Law must be upheld…”

My heart aches just a little bit more. “...Was that even allowed?”

“Somehow, the Chief allowed it, yeah,” He chuckles bitterly. “I guess it was a good morale booster for sure. This place is in the absolute shitter. I remember Robin sitting next to me, watching and listening eagerly to the whole thing…

That makes sense. I can feel my hands clench into fists as I purse my lips.

And then, my heart sinks as a realization roils in my gut.

…God.

What are we gonna tell Robin?

They were close to Ed, right?

Hell, what are we gonna tell Ed’s family?

What are we gonna tell Harry…?

I freeze.

Harry Landry. Ed’s current partner.

How much did he know about Ed’s misdeeds? Did he try to stop him? To enable him? To even…work with him?

I stand up from my chair. “Jones,” I say, “where’s Harry?”

Jones freezes as well, and judging by his expression, I think he’s realizing the same thing.

“Last time I checked, I think he was on the ground floor,” he replies. “Fuck, how much did he even know?”

“That’s what we’ll have to ask him,” I reply, shaking my head. “Hopefully, he’s a lot calmer now…”

 

Fortunately (or unfortunately), we don’t even have to look that much for him. As soon as we get to the ground floor, he’s marching right up to us, his brow furrowed in barely-contained anger as he grips a coffee cup in one of his hands.

Fuck it. His rage means little to me right now, and I swallow down the lump in the back of my throat.

”Why the fuck did I just see Zeus prowling around here?” He snaps. “I told you two not to believe a word he and Martinez said!”

I suck in a breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Harry, Harry,” Jones says, holding up a placating hand, “we had to ask them about Ed. They’re suspects in this case, and we had to talk to them.”

“And they lied to you, didn’t they?!” He retorts. “Probably spouted some bullshit about how Ed was as bad as them, or something!”

Holy shit. I grit my teeth. Remember, Val, he’s emotional. He’s most likely emotional after the loss of his partner. It’s fine, cut him some slack, cut him some slack-

“About that,” I hiss. “We found hard evidence tying Ed to both Zeus and Martinez’s schemes.”

Harry goes completely stiff, his eyes going wide.

“Say what you want about them,” I say, “but we have very real proof that they were telling the truth here. Martinez, Zeus, and Freddie Whitmore. ”

Harry is still completely quiet, but I notice that he glances at Jones. Almost expectantly.

Jones merely shakes his head. “She’s right, Harry. This isn’t about Martinez, or Zeus, or Whitmore. This is about Ed.” A pause. “...And you, by extension. Tell us – did you know about his misdeeds?”

Harry grits his teeth, glaring at both of us. But at the same time, he’s almost…thinking.

I hold my breath.

Suddenly, he slams the cup he’s holding on a nearby counter before throwing his hands up in the air. “So Ed wasn’t Cop of the Month, so what?! ” He yells. “Are you trying to ruin Ed’s reputation, or find his killer?!”

Are you kidding.

“What, so knowing about Ed’s accomplices didn’t matter here?!” I retort. “Answer the question, Landry – did you or did you not know about his misdeeds?!”

Harry sputters in response, throwing his hands up in the air yet again. “Yes! No! Yes, I-” he hesitates for a moment, his brow softening for a moment.

Just a moment.

“So you DID know?” Jones inquires, crossing his arms.

Harry clenches his jaw, his fingers curling into fists as he sucks in a breath.

We watch as he exhales.

“...Listen,” he tells us. “Ed’s got a family. A wife, and a kid.”

That he threw away.

“I didn’t want them to think of him as a bad man, or a cheater!” Harry continues. “He was my best friend! Hell, Robin knew him since elementary school! I couldn’t-”

“If you knew about his crimes, then why didn’t you stop him?!” Jones demands.

SLAM!

Harry’s fist meets the counter, causing both Jones and I to jump.

“I tried! ” Harry shouts. “BUT HE WOULDN’T LISTEN! HE NEVER, EVER LISTENED!! ”

Holy shit. My heart is beating against my ribs as Harry glares at both of us, teeth bared in a snarl.

“...Fuck this shit.” He crumples his coffee cup and tosses it in a trash can. “I need another coffee.”

Before either of us can respond, he’s already walking away. Leaving us both in stunned, frozen quiet.

…Right at this moment, Jones’s phone pings, and he picks it up.

“...Oh, hey,” he tells me. “Alex finished analyzing that serial number you found.”

 

Moment of truth.

What’s Alex gonna say about that pistol?

“...Well, you guys are a bit quiet,” I hear him mutter as we enter his lab. “Cat got your tongues?”

“It’s a, uhhh…” Jones pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “...it’s a long story. Just…hit us with it. What did you find?”

Alex’s mischievous smirk falters for a moment, and my heart sinks ever-so-slightly more. “...So. I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want more?”

Jones crosses his arms. “Let’s have the good news first. For a…change, I guess.”

“Fair enough.” Alex clears his throat. “So! Good news – I found your serial number. It was, uhh…” he coughs into his fist. “...quite easy, actually…”

He falters, his voice trailing off as he presses his palms together.

“...Bad news.” He says. “I know why the gun looked like a police gun.”

Oh, HELL no. I suck in a breath through my teeth. “Let me guess, the gun was a police gun.”

“Even worse!” He tells me. “The gun was Ed’s. Which means your killer was smart enough to use a gun that can never trace back to him.”

… GODDAMNIT.

I cup my face in my hands, taking another deep breath to calm myself somehow. Jones, in the meantime, is completely stiff.

…Until he isn’t. He marches out of the lab, slamming the door behind him and leaving both me and Alex.

“...What’s he doing?” Alex asks.

His question is answered just a moment later when we hear highly enraged yelling from behind the door and in the hallway.

“SON OF A MOTHERFUC-!!”

Notes:

Uhhhh hiiii-
Sorry for disappearing for a couple weeks! My motivation was slipping, so I forced myself to focus on something else for a bit.
For some reason, this chapter was also a fuckin' doozy to write, but I'm at least proud of it at least somewhat, so, uh...yay?
I hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless!

Also, one more thing -- I think I might look for beta readers! Granted, I organized the CC fanfic doc pretty poorly bc I didn't know what I was doing lmao, so uhh-

Chapter 30: Good Cop, Dead Cop - 3/4

Summary:

Now armed with the information of Ed Dunkin's crimes, the narrative surrounding his murder has changed entirely. Luckily for Val and Jones, they're getting closer and closer to identifying his killer.

Victim – Detective Ed Dunkin.

Found shot in the chest at the Queens Street Subway station.

Engaged in betting on dogfights and corruption behind the scenes.

“Detective Perez!! Inspector Jones!!”

Chief King’s loud, barking order almost booms in my ears, causing me to jolt and almost drop my coffee. Jesus Christ-

“Yeah, Chief?!” Jones asks, immediately stiffening into a salute. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you what it is!” He shouts, his brow furrowing. “I’m still waiting for your report on Ed’s murder!”

…Ah. Yeah.

That.

The sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach manages to sink even deeper.

My fingers tap along the coffee cup as I purse my lips. How the hell do we explain this to the Chief?

Jones is also completely still, minus his fingers rapping against a counter. He coughs into his fist. “ Ahem!- ...about that.”

Chief King arches an eyebrow.

Neither of us opens our mouths.

His gaze narrows. “...Go on.”

I swallow down a lump in my throat. Guess it’s my turn.

I take one last glance at Jones, but he shakes his head, gesturing for me to step back. I follow his gesture, and he turns to the chief. “We’re…a little stuck,’ he says.

Chief King’s gaze narrows further. “Explain.”

“I- I’m getting there.” Jones clears his throat. “We tried talking to Harry about it, but he stormed off when we told him we knew that Ed was bent.”

I cringe. So we’re just gonna say it like that?!

Chief King’s eyes widen in shock. “Ed? Bent?!” He exclaims. “This is a serious accusation, Inspector! I hope you’re not throwing this around lightly.” His head snaps to me, causing me to flinch. “ Both of you.”

At this point, I wish we were.

I shake my head. “Unfortunately, there is proof.” I pull out my notepad, flip it open, and read out my case notes to him.

Every.

Single.

One.

From the occasional glances at his face, I can tell that he’s going through the five stages of grief all at once. His jaw dropping in shock and denial. His brow furrowing and teeth clenching in anger. His mustache twitching as he shakes his head. His eyes full of dismay. And then finally, his expression dropping into numb acceptance.

My voice trails off when I read the last word, and I slowly close my notes.

Chief King sucks in a shaky breath, his eyes squeezed shut. And then, he exhales.

“...I…see.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose between two of his fingers. “Adds some explanation as to why Harry refuses to cooperate, I assume,” he adds. “He’s most likely in some sort of denial.”

Most likely. Jones and I share a side eye.

“I doubt Harry will agree to cooperate further after this…” Chief King shakes his head again, crossing his arms. “My recommendation: you two go back to the river.”

Of course. The killer dropped the murder weapon at the docks. Who knows what else he could have dropped there as well?

Jones and I both salute in response. “River it is, Chief!” Jones says, before turning to me. “Come on, let’s go!”

We bound towards the front door.

 

Like last time, once we arrive at the docks, we put on our wetsuits and diving gear and head right to the river.

Our plan — grab anything of interest and meet back on the dock.

Jones points to himself, then to the underside of the dock. I nod, pointing down at the grass and the abandoned junk lying around in the sand.

He nods back, flashing me two thumbs up before swimming away.

I’m left alone yet again, but my eyes are already set, and I swim right over to the submerged car from before.

There! Right inside, lying on the ceiling, are pieces and scraps of metal.

And judging by the shape, I know what this is.

Reaching inside through the cracked window, I scoop up the pile of metal into my hands and examine a bit closer.

A surveillance camera. Judging by the fact that it’s broken, it must’ve fallen off of something, and gotten kicked into the river.

… Now that I think about it, how convenient is it that these pieces didn’t drift away in the water?

I shrug to myself, then begin swimming back up to the surface, ready to wait for Jones.

 

I’ve already changed back to my uniform and put the pieces of camera in an evidence bag when Jones finally bursts through the surface with a deep inhale.

He curses to himself, sputtering and gasping as he wipes water out of his face. “Fuck-! Shit-!”

Holy- “Crap, are you okay?!” I ask, concerned.“Where’s your scuba mask?!”

He holds it up to me in his free hand. “Oh, I’ll tell you what happened!” He exclaims with a huff. “I was trying to look for evidence, when one thing led to another and I slammed facefirst into a pillar and knocked off my goggles!”

Oh, good lord-

“But that’s not all!” He adds, his grin almost manic with sarcasm. “Out of nowhere, a FISH came by, SNATCHED my googles, and I had to have a TUG-OF-WAR with it to get them back! Almost drowned!”

My jaw’s practically dropped at this point as I gape at him. “...Well!” I say, “Seems like you had a productive dive.”

He snorts in response. “Ohhh, I wish ,” he replies, then clears his throat. “Anyway!”

He climbs onto the dock, flopping belly first. “How did your search go?”

“Oh, yeah!” I exclaim. “I actually did find something.” I hold up the evidence bag for him.

He slowly takes it from me, his eyes widening in surprise. “A surveillance camera?!”

I nod. “Found it in a submerged car. Thought that it might be of some importance.”

“Oh, it definitely is!” He holds the bag up to me. “This is the same kind of security camera used in the subway! It even has the station’s name here!” He picks out a piece and hands it to me.

Sure enough, it says “Queen Street” on the bottom, printed in sleek, clean font.

I practically flinch. I hadn’t even noticed that at all. “So the killer was the one who probably threw it in the river?”

He nods. “Most likely. Normally, I would laugh at the dumb fuck who took it, but the subway system hasn’t been renovated in years, and I’m pretty sure these cameras don’t transit their feed!”

“Transmit feed”? My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“It means that it probably still has the footage!” He tells me. “Let’s get the data from this and give it to Alex. If it ended up in the river, chances are that it caught the killer on tape!”

“Alright!” I nod back at him. “Let’s see if Alex can salvage anything!”

We’re close to the truth now. I can feel it!

 

It takes a good amount of time, consisting of me struggling with finding the data, extracting it, and waiting for Alex to finish analyzing it, but finally he sends us the text.

“Well, well, well!” Alex says confidently as we walk into his lab.

The fidget cube in his lap falls to the floor, and he quickly but awkwardly scoops it back up in his hands.

Jones raises an eyebrow. Alex clears his throat.

“All I’ve gotta say,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “is that you two are lucky to have me! Giving this broken, soggy camera to anybody else would have led you to a big, fat nothing.”

”And let me guess,” Jones inquires with a small scoff, “Because you’re a genius, you were able to reconstitute the images it captured on the night of Ed’s murder?”

”Correct!” Alex responds proudly. “Because I’m a genius, I was able to reconstitute the images it captured on the night of Ed’s murder!”

I can’t help but chuckle, leaning in to whisper in Jones’s ear. “Honestly, considering the state we found that camera in, that’s quite impressive.”

I can practically sense Jones hesitating for a small moment before he nods. “…I can’t argue with that. We’d highkey be toast without him.”

Alex clears his throat, launching forward in his chair and smirking. “Aaaaanyway,” he adds, “I will admit — the camera angle isn’t great. Judging by the footage, it was tucked into some random corner of the station, and didn’t capture the events of the murder.”

Jones lets out a groan, but Alex shushes him immediately. “Ah, ah, ah! Not done talking yet. Still got more to say.” He clears his throat. “While it didn’t capture the events of the murder, it DID capture the killer running away from the scene before he knocked the camera over! The image was blurry, but it did catch a mop of blonde hair!”

Blonde hair.

That certainly eliminates some suspects…

“Blonde hair,” Jones mutters. “That takes away Zeus and Martinez with their jet black mops.”

He’s right in that regard, that’s for sure. That leaves only Ginger, Freddie Whitmore, and Harry Landry.

No, not Ginger. She’s a witness, and we have already established that the killer is a man.

A man with a bruise on his face.

A bruise that Freddie Whitmore doesn’t have.

I’m completely frozen stiff, my arms crossed over my chest.

I take a glance at Jones.

His eyes have widened, and his jaw is slack.

He’s processed the same thing.

 

On our way up to the third floor, we suddenly encounter a familiar face.

Chief King is walking downstairs with a steaming mug in his hands when he notices us.

“Ah, Detective. Jones,” he says curtly, giving us a small nod. How is progress on Ed’s murder?”

“We’ll send in the report soon, Chief,” Jones replies. “We're just about to make an arrest.”

”Oh?” Chief King’s eyebrow shoots right up, and the corners of his mouth shift upwards. “You finally got enough evidence to indict a killer?”

Jones and I both fall silent. We flash each other a side eye for a moment.

Then, I clear my throat. “…Yes. But I don’t think you’ll like the result.”

His smile falters immediately.

For a second, I see his lips purse tightly as he looks back down at his mug, then back to us.

He lets out a sigh, and slowly nods.

”…I see. Very well. Just…” A second of hesitation. “…remember. No matter what, you have to follow the evidence. I’m trusting on you to make the right decision.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “…Thank you, Chief.”

He nods again. “You’ve done a fine job, Detective Perez. I’ll let you and Jones handle the arrest.’

And just like that, he strides away, down to his office and leaving us in the stairwell.

Jones lets out a huff, cupping his face in his hand, “…Let’s get this over with.”

 

Conveniently enough, Harry Landry is standing at Ed’s desk.

Right in front of the yellow tape, gazing right at the picture of Ed and his family.

I suck in a breath and then exhale.

Jones gives my shoulder a small squeeze, and we slowly walk across the room.

Harry glances up at us.

A chill runs right down my spine. Harry’s eyes are a cold, dull, bluish-gray, and his lips are pressed tight in a downturn.

“…Hey,” he mutters, straightening his posture and slipping his hands into his suspenders pockets. “Listen, I just wanted to apologize for my…” he hesitates. “…my freakout.”

Oh?

”I should’ve trusted you guys’s judgment,” he continues. “You’re not idiots, and you didn’t have any personal connection to this, so no bias, either.”

Another pause.

“…So,” he adds, “how’s the case? If you…don’t mind me asking.”

His smile is hopeful.

I hear Jones breathe through his teeth, crossing his arms.

He’s not opening his mouth.

My hand feels over the handcuffs on my belt.

I guess it’s my turn to do this.

My heart sinks.

Slowly, I unclip the cuffs. “…Harry Landry,” I declare, “you are under arrest for the murder of Ed Dunkin.”

Harry’s expression falters, morphing into something completely unreadable.

Shit. Is he going to lash out? I can’t help but take a step back.

Instead, though, he merely lets out a sigh.

His shoulders sink.

His gaze becomes crestfallen.

“…I knew you’d figure it out.” He runs his long, calloused fingers through his messy blonde hair. “I should have turned myself in that night, but…”

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. “…I guess I’m weaker than I thought.”

Oh my god. My fingers clench over metal as I struggle to figure out what to say. However, my mouth is completely dry, so all I can do is sputter.

Until I finally get the words out.

“…But… why? ”

He lets out a sigh. “Look, I- I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But I couldn’t just watch Ed ruin his career and everything he worked for! I had to do something!”

“So you confronted him upfront?” Jones asks, his words stiff and stilted.

Harry nods. “When I first asked him about it, he acted sorry, said he would stop…”

But he didn’t. I watch, practically helpless as his voice cracks and then trails off.

He takes in another breath. “…So I decided to up the ante.”

The flash drive.

“I told him to meet me in Queen Street station — it’s almost completely abandoned anyway, so we could safely talk in private.” He lets out a huff. “Terrible decision, in retrospect. I had too much faith…” A smack of his lips. “…So, that fateful night, when Ed and I met, I told him that I had a USB key filled with proof of his colluding with criminals, and that I was gonna report him.”

He falls silent.

I don’t need much to piece together what happened next.

“…He didn’t take it seriously?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Not at all. He just laughed in my face.”

The words sink into the air around us.

“Said that he had connections,” Harry continues, “that no one would listen to me. Of course, I was pissed, so I shouted at him, demanding that he turn himself in.”

Jones leans forward ever-so-slightly. “And?”

“And then he punched me. Right in the eye.”

Silence fills the room.

All I can hear now is the sound of my own heartbeat.

“We…we started fighting,” Harry whispers. “And then….I’m not sure how it happened. One second, he was pointing his gun at me. The next...” His voice trails off.

He doesn’t need to say more at this point, that’s for sure.

What happened that night is clear as day.

Jones lets out a shaky sigh, his shoulders shuddering with every little movement. “…Val,” he mutters, “can you handle the arrest, please? I don't have the heart to read him his rights.”

My fingers tighten around my handcuffs, and I reluctantly nod. “...Sure. I…I can do that.”

Harry’s eyes are still on the picture on Ed’s desk.

 

The courtroom was packed, that's for sure.

Of course. The murder of a fellow cop was definitely enough to catch a good amount of eyes.

Luckily, though, the trial was straight and to the point. Harry had pled guilty to all charges, confirmed everything, and cooperated with the court.

That doesn’t mean that it was any easier to watch, however.

Both Ed’s widow and Harry’s wife are in the stands. Mrs. Landry looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and Mrs. Dunkin is completely stoic…minus the utter look of betrayal etched into her expression.

I don’t blame her at all.

“Every time an officer of the Force stands in front of this desk,” Judge Hall’s voice booms over the courtroom, “I am reminded that nobody is immune from falling on the wrong side of the law.”

Harry’s eyes are squeezed shut.

Judge Hall leans down, gazing at him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. “Harry Landry. You have entered a guilty plea for the murder of Ed Dunkin. You do understand what this entails?”

“I do! I killed my partner!” Harry cries out. “How it happened is irrelevant! I shot Ed dead, and I’m ready to face the full consequences!”

My fingers are twitching, and I clench them around the fabric of my pants.

Judge Hall slowly nods. “Very well. Given the circumstances surrounding the crime, the Court thereby sentences you to 4 years for manslaughter, with a chance of parole in 2 years!” She slams her gavel down, the sound radiating through the entire courtroom.

Mrs. Landry lets out a wail, crumpling against her friend’s shoulder.

My blood is practically freezing in my veins.

Harry is muttering to himself, his gaze locked onto the floor.

“...2 years,” he whispers.

His tone, though, is rising with every word he speaks.

“That’s all I get for killing the man that taught me everything?!”

His gaze shoots up at Judge Hall, his eyes widening. “This was the justice I was fighting to preserve?!”

 

There’s no moon out tonight as we leave the courthouse. The only lights illuminating the shadowy streets come from the lamps and the cars driving down the streets.

A breeze blows by both of us, and I huddle further into my coat.

Jones exhales, his shuddering breath puffing in the cold air before disappearing. “...One bad cop dead, one good cop behind bars. Two families deprived of their husbands and fathers.”

A sad day for the Grimsborough Police.

My mind cuts back to that image of Mrs. Dunkin. Completely unmoving, like a statue, as the prosecutor reads out every single one of Ed’s crimes to the public.

Wait. A thought springs into my brain, and a feeling of dread floods through my spine.

“...Something tells me that Ed’s family in particular is gonna have an extremely hard time with the public,” I mumble. “Harry got off relatively easy, with only 2 years in prison and being revered as a man with good intentions, but who made a horrible mistake.”

Jones’s eyes widen. “And Ed…”

He’s definitely catching on now. I nod in response. “His family’s good names are now dragged down by his misdeeds.”

Jones’s hand rubs over his face as he lets out another breath of air. “Good god. This is…this is a mess.” A pause, then he shakes his head. “...Nevermind. ‘A mess’ is a complete understatement.”

We both fall silent as we stare out at the street.

“...You know,” he adds, “I would have never suspected Ed of making pacts with felons.”

I purse my lips as I ponder over that statement. “...True, but at the same time, trust is a powerful thing,” I remark. “Ed had the trust of many, including yours, and he used that to his advantage to collude with criminals behind the scenes. He had the responsibility to do the right thing, but never did it.”

A huff is his response. “Yeah, you’re right about that. I guess you never really know anyone or anything in this world, eh? All you can do is cruise along and try to deal with what life gives you.”

I guess.

My conversation with Tony replays faintly in the back of my memory.

Maybe I don’t really know anything.

How much is hidden behind the scenes that I haven’t found out yet?

“Oh! By the way.” Jones gives me a small nudge with his elbow, snapping me out of my thoughts. “If you ever see me turning to the dark side….I trust you to smack some sense back into me. Okay?”

His tone and expression are one of jest, but there’s a furrow to his brow and a sense of worry in his eyes.

I slowly nod, forcing a smile in return. “...Yeah. I’ll make sure of that.”

Notes:

Just to clear things up -- this chapter took this long because I had schoolwork to do. Omg I'm so sorry 😭
But hey, here's the chapter, at least! And Happy Pride Month, by the way! I gift you all some depressing shit lol

Chapter 31: [⚠️] Good Cop, Dead Cop - 4/4

Summary:

Val and Jones close up the loose ends after arresting Ed's killer.

Notes:

[CONTENT WARNING: Discussions and mentions of animal abuse and animal death.]

Robin is nowhere to be found when we get back to the station. “...That’s strange,” I hear Jones mutter under his breath. “Did they go on break or something?”

“I can confirm that’s true.” Jones and I both jump at the sudden voice behind us, turning around to face Chief King himself. His smile is a thin, flat line with the ends just tilted slightly upwards. “I believe they really do need the break nowadays. Especially after what happened.”

…He’s not wrong about that.

We’re all quiet for a small moment before he clears his throat once again. “…Anyway! Detective Perez, you handled this case with a cool head, despite the fact that one of your colleagues had been murdered. I’m very impressed!”

…I didn’t even know the guy.

“Your job, however,” Chief King continues, “is not done. A few of your suspects are still giving us trouble…”

“How so, Chief?” Jones asks.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First of all, that…pimp, Zeus, is causing a racket downstairs, and I have no idea why!” I suck in a breath. Oh, dear lord. “Additionally, Ramirez caught Angel Martinez walking on the subway tracks. Martinez claims that it was an emergency. I would appreciate if you sort this mess out, because both Martinez and Zeus are single-handedly giving me a migraine!”

Jones and I both nod. “On it, Chief!” Jones exclaims.

”Oh, and one more thing!” Chief King’s expression actually lights up. “On a lighter note, the delightful Ginger is here to see the both of you! She said ‘no rush’, however.” Ginger! My heart skips a beat.

Jones gives a salute. “Alright, Chief! Where are they right now?”

”Ramirez put Martinez in one of the interrogation rooms, and Zeus is on the first floor,” Chief King responds. “Ginger went to take a walk, but she will be back soon!”

Okay. So we have some semblance of a plan.

What should we do first?

 

Considering the fact that Angel apparently had an emergency, Jones and I agreed on talking to him first. Whether he was lying or not is something we’ll figure out later. Either way, his motives were probably serious enough to warrant trespassing on literal train tracks.

”Well, well, well!” Jones declares as we pile into the interrogation room. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Martinez.”

Angel glowers at the both of us, his hands clenching and tugging on the cuffs around his wrists with a clink! “No need to fuckin’ rub it in!” He snarls. “I just lost one of my puppies on the subway tracks…and I’d have gotten it back if that stupid fucking cop hadn’t arrested me!”

Well, nice to meet you too. I can’t help but grit my teeth.

“That ‘stupid fucking cop’ is called Ramirez, and he isn’t that stupid!” Jones snaps. Excuse me-? “And for your information,” he continues, “he arrested you for trespassing on a crime scene! If you think we’ll buy your ‘puppy’ story, you’ve got another one coming!”

“For FUCK’S SAKE!” Angel yells, slamming his fists against the table. “I’m serious! Go check it out if you don’t believe me!”

A puppy on the subway tracks. Might explain why Martinez was so desperate to put himself in danger for it…Not that he actually cared for it in the first place. “We’ll look for your puppy, then,” I blurt out. “Not to help you, though.”

Jone raises an eyebrow at me, but Angel throws up his hands. “FINALLY! At least someone has sense here!”

 

“…Val, do you seriously give a shit about what Martinez is saying?” Jones asks me as we walk to the stairs. “For all we know, the man could very much be lying here!”

“That’s true,” I reply, “but on the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I mean, if he’s not lying, then…” His eyes suddenly widen. “…that means we’ve got a poor loose puppy running around in the subway tunnels!”

“Exactly!” I tell him. We hurry up to the ground floor, grabbing our coats along the way. However, a voice from behind catches us off guard.

“There you are!”

I can’t help but cringe. Zeus struts up behind us, his smirk still twinkling in the overhead lights. I almost forgot about him.

“What is it?” Jones asks as we turn to face him. “Make it quick!”

Zeus holds up his hands, shaking his head. “I’ll be quick with it, it’s just one thing!”

”Then what is it?” I cross my arms.

”Listen,” he tells us, slipping his hands into his pockets, “last time I was put in custody, you guys never gave me back my tie!”

…HUH?

Jones gapes at Zeus like he just grew two heads. “You’re making all this fuss because of…a TIE?!” He had a tie in the first place?!  “You CAN’T be goddamn serious about this!”

Zeus, in turn, waves a hand over his outfit. “Look at me, man! I’m ALWAYS serious about fashion!”

This is gonna escalate into an argument, isn’t it? I purse my lips. Jones looks like he’s about to throttle Zeus by the shoulders at this point. Yup, time to step in.

I walk up to Zeus and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find your tie, Zeus, don’t worry. We’re kind of busy right now, though, so it’s gonna take a bit.”

He shrugs in response. “I got all the time in the world, sweet cheeks.” Ew. “I can wait.”

“Okay!’” I give him an awkward thumbs up before glancing back at Jones. “Do we have a lost and found anywhere?”

Luckily, he seems to have calmed down. “…Ramirez’s desk. He puts the items in the bottom  drawer, if I remember correctly.”

“We’ll go to the subway platform, then check Ramirez’s desk then!” I say. Hopefully, we find what we’re looking for.

 

When I was in elementary school, there was a stray dog that would wander around the neighborhood. Not a big or old dog, either. A small beagle with a scar on his nose — one tía Regina guessed was around 6 years old. The dog was an energetic little guy. Always jumpy and excited, hopping around from one side to another. I’d always see him around, barking hello to strangers, and living his best life eating anything people would give him.

My older brother named him “Scar”, after the villain from a movie he liked. Every day, when we’d walk to and from school, he’d always leave a bit of his breakfast for Scar, eagerly saying hi and playing with him when he’d get the chance. He was always so fond of Scar, and would beg our mamá for the chance to adopt him. But we never could. We only had just enough to feed and take care of ourselves, and mamá told him that we could take Scar to a shelter instead.

Scar died before we could, though.

A few days before my 11th birthday, a neighbor had caught him tearing a hole in her trash, and shot him with a pistol. He had run off into the shadows of the night, leaving only a trail of his blood in the grass.

They never found his body.

 

Before we entered the station, I had bought some canned dog food from a nearby convenience store. Better we come prepared for this.

“Martinez was on the tracks,” Jones mutters. “Most likely the puppy is still around there.” That’s where we head. Luckily, the station is still cordoned off from the public, so it means that we have full reign to search the premises for the puppy.

Hopefully, the poor thing didn’t wander far.

Once we hop down onto the tracks, Jones points behind us. “I’ll search that way!” He tells me. “You search the other.”

I give him a thumbs up, armed with only a flashlight and a can of puréed chuck roast.  “Got it. Find the puppy, and regroup back here. Seems simple enough.” I swallow down the lump in my throat as we split up. Flicking on my flashlight, I step into the darkness.

There’s not really anything around, that’s for sure. Just trash and grime. The puppy must’ve gone deep into the tunnels. How horrible was Angel Martinez to it if it thought that hiding in the dark was a good idea? Don’t think about that. I shrug off the shiver up my spine, and continue trekking down into the shadows.

The faint sound of a subway engine blares through the wall, and I have to will myself to remain frigid.

“Here, little guy,” I whisper under my breath, trying to ignore the tingles in my spine. “Heeere, little guy…”

A pained squeak echoes in the distance.

What the hell was that? I strain my head forward, trying to catch another sound.

There’s the padding of feet on the grimy, sticky floor.

No, not feet. Paws.

As I reach the roundabout of the subway, I peel open the can and place it on the floor before slipping behind the corner.

…Now we wait.

My heart thumps on my chest as I crouch down, my knees sinking into the muck below. Eugh, good lord… I cringe, my fingers twitching at my sides as I peek back at that can of dog food.

I freeze. In the distance, dragging a dead rat by its scruff along the rails, is a tiny brown puppy. This can’t be real.

But it very much is. In front of my own two eyes. Martinez was right.

My fingers are trembling, but my knees are planted firmly on the ground as all I can do is just…stare. The moment the puppy spots the open can, though, they immediately drop the rat and launches themselves forward and shoves their face right into the contents. Their mouth is wide, and even in the shrouds of darkness, there’s a glint of pure joy in their eyes.

The lump in the back of my throat only grows bigger as I finally manage to see why.

The poor puppy is barely holding on. There are scars everywhere on their shivering form – on their torso, head, legs, and tail. They’re limping, dragging their back paw along as they walk. Their ribs are practically indenting their skin, leaving a sickening pattern on their belly.

And there’s something in their eyes as well.

Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

So many emotions pass through my brain right at this moment. Horror. Disgust. Anger. Sorrow.

But one thing is very much clear. I need to get the puppy to safety.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, I pull myself up onto my feet. I’m still crouching, though – trying to make myself as small as possible in order to not scare them.

Instantly, though, the puppy’s head swivels in my direction, its eyes widening with terror.

I instinctively hold up my hands, freezing in place.

 

“Check this out!!” My brother exclaims. He turns around, patting his knees and whistling.

To my absolute shock, a dog bounds out of the nearby bushes. He’s barking with joy, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he gallops around the both of us. It’s the same stray from weeks before – the dog with the scar on the bridge of his nose.

The dog was friendly, but always kept his distance around people. So how did he-?

My brother lets out a laugh as the dog jumps on top of him, knocking him to the floor and licking all over his face. “Easy, easy there, Scar!!” He exclaims, ruffling the dog – no, Scar’s head.

I’m still just standing there in shock, like a deer in headlights. I sputter, raising my hands, but no words escape my mouth.

My brother merely glances back at me, still grinning like he just entered a candy store. “Surprised, arent’cha? Well, big brother Fernando is here to help!”

I’m still gaping, but I do manage to force out a “HOW?”

“It’s quite simple!” He tells me confidently, petting Scar behind his ears. “It took me some weeks of practice, but I just needed to build trust, stay careful, and also buy $35 of dog food!”

I hesitate for a moment, trying to process the advice.

“THAT’S where your pocket money went??”

 

…Well, I have the dog food. And I’m…careful enough, hopefully. All I need to do is build trust.

Let that puppy know that you can be their safety net, Val.

I suck in a deep breath then exhale, keeping my hands where the puppy can see them. “Easy, little guy,” I whisper.

I take a step forward. The puppy flinches slightly, but doesn’t move. “...Did you like the food? It’s..chuck roast, I think.” The puppy tilts their head.

Another step. “I won’t hurt you,” I mutter, praying in my head that I sound calm enough. “My friend and I are here to help. We’ll take you somewhere safe, and warm…”

An ear perks up.

“...And you can have all the chuck roast slop you want.” I crouch down, staring that puppy right in the eyes. “Sounds great, right?”

The puppy glances down at the can. “I can bring that with us,” I add. “You can finish your meal, no worries.”

They look back at me. Even in the lackluster lighting, the puppy’s eyes are weary and almost watery.

My heart clenches in my chest, and I gradually hold out one of my hands. “You’ll be alright with us, little guy,” I reassure them, “I promise.”

The puppy slowly trods over to my fingers, their body unsteady.

And then, they lick my palm. Once, then twice.

Then three times.

I sigh with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s going to be okay, little guy. I promise.

Tenderly, I scoop the puppy up into my arms, cradling them against my chest as I turn around and leave the tunnel.

Jones is waiting at the platform, making a call on his phone when we make eye contact. The moment he notices me, he mouths, “Chief King”. I nod back, and then his gaze falls down onto the puppy. His eyes widen, and he lets out a gasp.

There’s a bit of silence between the both of us, with Jones just staring at the puppy. That is, until Chief King says something on the other end. “…I’ll call you back, Chief,” Jones tells him, “Val just came back.” And then, he hangs up, his eyes still locked on the puppy. “…Well, I’ll be,” he whispers.

I nod. “Martinez was certainly correct in that regard. It took a bit for me to coax them out of hiding, but it somehow worked.” My fingers instinctively brush through the fur on the puppy’s head, trying my best to soothe. “I guess I got lucky, huh?”

He lets out a small, bittersweet chuckle. “Yeah, definitely. All that I managed to find were dead or dying rats on my end.” We both glance back at the puppy, whose face is pressed against my chest. “…Is it gonna be okay? Poor thing looks like it’s been through hell,” he whispers. For the first time in a while, his expression actually looks almost soft.

“Best we can do is get them medical help,” I reply. The puppy finally glances at Jones and me, their eyelids somewhat droopy. “Hey, little guy!” I coo down at them, gesturing to Jones. “This is my friend I mentioned before. He’s very nice, and he’ll help you.” Jones gives a small wave.

”Hey, little buddy!” He tells the puppy. “You’re safe with us, I promise. We’ll get you checked up and make sure you’ll be okay.” He slowly reaches out a hand, hovering it over the puppy’s head. A second passes, then two. Then three. The puppy licks Jones’s palm, and he beams down at it.

“Oh, that’s a good boy!” He says excitedly. “You’re such a sweetie, y’know?” He snickers under his breath, tenderly petting the puppy’s head. I can’t help but snort at the scene, but something else catches my eye.

There’s a tattoo on the puppy’s ear. A string of numbers, most likely some sort of code.

…Right. Martinez said that this was his dog. We have to make sure he’s telling the truth here and get that checked over.

…But what if this really is his dog?

I swallow down the lump in my throat. No. Don’t think about that part just yet. Do your job first.

 

Once Jones and I had arrived back at the station, we immediately got set to work. With the help of yet another can of dog food, we managed to get the puppy to stay still long enough for us to snap a photo of their ear tattoo to send to Alex. As for the puppy themselves, we weren’t sure of where to go. That was, until Grace offered to give them a checkup. So, we left the puppy in her care before heading to Ramirez’s desk for Zeus’s tie.

…Well, what’s left of it.

The moment I open the bottom drawer, the first thing I notice is the torn, tattered pieces of fabric scattered around inside. The very tie-shaped torn, tattered pieces of fabric scattered around inside. Uh oh. That’s…

“What the FUCK?!” I hear Jones exclaim next to me. “Did someone just chop at it with a pair of scissors?!” I try to speak, but he immediately begins scanning around the room. "RA-MI-REZ!!"

Right on cue, Ramirez strolls out from around a nearby corner. He looks somewhat hesitant, twiddling his fingers together. "…Yes? Do you need something?" Jones sucks in a breath.

Yeah, no. I hold up my hand in front of his face, mouthing at him that I'll handle this before turning back to Ramirez. "Uhhh…hey. Um." I gesture to the drawer. "One of our suspects wanted his tie back from you. Mind explaining to us why it's…like that?"

Poor Ramirez's face immediately pales. "Oh…Oh god, yeah, the tie! Um…oh, dear, oh dear…" He puts his head in his hands. "Listen, it's embarrassing! I had to look after my little nephew for an hour, and…"

Ah.

Jones throws his hands up in the air. "Great! Fantastic!! Either we ship this shit back to Ol' Snoopy back there and tell him that it's the latest fashion, or we actually fix the damn thing!" His gaze slowly drifts back to me, his lips pursing as he crosses his arms.

"…What?" I ask. Wait. "…You want me to fix this?"

"Listen, you're better than me at it!" He exclaims, holding up his hands. "You'll do a better job!"

I can't help but sputter. "But you know that I'm terrible at sewing! And this tie's in a bajillion pieces, I can't just-!"

"I can do it!" Ramirez pipes up.

We both stare at him silently, and he clears his throat.

"My wife taught me quite a bit," he explains. "I can try fixing it! Especially because it's- you know." He clears his throat again. "My fault."

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jones furrowing his brow in consideration. He glances back at me, and the message in his gaze is clear.

Do we let him?

I merely shrug. I don't see why not.

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders sinking slightly. "…Fine. Alright." He turns to Ramirez, nudging the drawer over to him. "Here's the, uhh…tie. Pretty sure we got twine and a needle somewhere…"

"I know it's upstairs, don't worry!" Ramirez replies, holding up his hands. "I won't let you two down!"

Jones raises an eyebrow. "…Huh. Well, I wish you luck. The tie's in some pretty small pieces…"

Good luck, Ramirez. You might need it.

 

Ginger's downstairs by the receptionist desk, sitting rather politely in her seat with her hands folded in her lap. However, her foot's tapping rapidly, and shes' chewing on her bottom lip with her brows furrowed. "Ginger?" I call as Jones and I exit the stairwell. "Chief King said you needed us. Did something happpen?"

Of course something did, I mentally chastise myself. Why else would she be here?

"Detective Perez, Inspector Jones!" She exclaims, standing up. "I'm so glad to see you two! Gosh, I hate to be a bother, but I was wondering whether you could help me…"

"You're not a nuisance, no worries!" Jones tells her with a smile. "Ask away, and we'll see what we can do."

Her lips curl up ever-so-slightly as she nods. "Right! Um…" She tugs at one of her sleeves. "…I was mugged while hanging out at the docks. Was watching the waves, having a good time, and then a guy suddenly ripped my bag off my shoulder and chucked it into the river!"

I can't help but just gasp. Oh, god?? "A-are you okay??" I hear Jones stammer out.

"I'm fine," she says, waving one of her hands. "Just mildly annoyed and very, very baffled. Like-" she throws her hands up in the air, "-he didn't even steal anything!"

"So probably some shitty troublemaker," Jones replies, letting out a huff. "Don't worry, Ginger, we got this. Do you have any clue to who did it?"

She shakes her head. "Well, it happened like a flash of lightning. He dove in, got what he wanted, and left…" She crosses her arms, tapping her foot some more. "…But I do remember a couple of things." Oh? "He wore mostly blue. first of all. Usually I'm a sucker, for blue, but it just looked tacky on him…also, there was a Viper tattoo on his chest."

My blood runs cold. Of course. Of course it had to be a Viper. I suck in a breath as I pull out my notepad and jot down the description.

"Honestly, I wouldn't want to send the man to prison," Ginger adds, shaking her head. "It's only a mild annoyance, anyway…not a crime."

"Ginger, he threw your bag into the river," Jones responds rather bluntly. "I think you have every right to be upset, considering that's both theft and property damage."

She slowly nods, glancing down at her shoes. "…Right."

Jones and I both nod back. "Right," He says. "remind me again, which bag was it that you had?"

"The fake crocodile skin one," she tells us. "Kind of like a tote shape, I guess?" I write it all down in my notepad as she makes a crude shape in the air with her hands.

"Fake crocodile skin, gotcha!" Jones snaps his fingers. "Don't worry, Ginger! We'll fish out your bag in no time!"

 

The search along the riverbed is, at least, quite easy.

Of course it is. When it comes to lost items underwater, a handbag made out of fake crocodile skin tends to stick out like a sore thumb.

…Yeah, we fish it out of the river pretty quickly. And the zipper's locked tightly shut, meaning that at the stuff inside is hopefully at least somehwat alright.

"Sheesh, are these replica animal skins getting harder to discern, or is it just me?" Jones mutters, running his fingers along the side and letting out a small whistle. "This highkey feels like the real deal!"

I frown at that comment. "You…know what the real deal feels like??"

He shrugs. "My grandfather hunted crocs in Florida. Still have, like, one or two trophies shoved deep in the back of my closet, I think?" …What?

"The more I know, I guess," I say with a puff. "Alright, should we give this back to Ginger?"

He purses his lips, glancing over the docks.

Uh oh. I've only known Jones for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell what that look means. "…No, we are not looking through her bag," I insist.

"…Hear me out," He tells me, "what if this isn't her bag? We gotta look through it to make sure, right?" His finger fiddles with the zipper.

I suck in a breath. "…God- goddamnit. You make a…somewhat good point." I snatch the bag back. "But I'll only skim through it at best."

"Good enough!" He replies eagerly.

Luckily, the fake crocodile skin had practically made the bag semi-waterproof, and it only takes a couple minutes of sifting around for me to have gotten over everything. Nothing blatantly suspicious, at least — mostly some cards scattered around, some makeup. and a bottle of soda next to her wallet. Explains why her bag felt so light.

However, one card does stick out to me. Buried under some random playing cards and some sticky notes, there's a certain business card for a club both Jones and I know well.

And Ginger too, apparently.

The moment Jones sees it, his eyes widen with shock. "What the-?! Since when did Ginger hang out at the Blue Flamingo?!"

"Probably for the music, I guess." Does she know about Regina as well? My thoughts are already racing in my mind. "Or maybe some…business?"

He clenches his jaw. "You think she and Marconi are…?" His voice trails off, but the implication remains clear.

I shake my head quickly. "Not sure. But right now, we have to give the bag back." I reach inside and try my best to sift everything back to where it was before.

Jones's expression is still just…troubled. …He's not dropping this, isn't he?

 

Nope, he isn't.

As we arrive back at the station with the now-semi-dry bag, Jones is chewing on his lip. Ginger's right where we left her, and her expression practically brightens as she sees us.

"My bag!" She exclaims, standing up. "You found my bag! I don't know how to thank you…" She opens the zipper and gazes inside, squinting. Her expression falls just a little. "…You didn't have to search through it, though."

My heart leaps into my chest, and Jones's jaw drops. "I- um-!" He stammers, holding up his hands. "That's crazy! I would never!"

"I guess you haven't," she teases with a small smirk, "but I know someone's been looking through it. Got that 'street smarts' instinct, yknow?" She puts the bag up to her nose and takes a small sniff. "Like, right now, I can very, very faintly make out the scent of iced coffee. Considering the fact that the only one here who does presently smell very faintly of iced coffee is Detective Perez, I can safely assume that she was the one who put her hands on it."

Oh, god. I can't help it — my cheeks flush red and practically burn as I stutter. I hold up my hands to my face. "Oh- Oh, lord, I'm so sorry-"

She laughs, a light, somewhat raspy laugh. "Oh, no worries, hun," she tells me. "I can tell you didn't take anything and that you meant well. You're fine. Just be careful, both of you."

Jones and I share a glance, and I slowly nod. "…Right."

Jones clears his throat. "Right. We will, thank you…you should take care of yourself, too. The streets these days are especially risky." I bow my head slightly in agreement. Then, he clears his throat. "*Ahem!* Including places like the Blue Flamingo, *ahem!*"

Not this again.

Ginger merely lets out a small snort in response. "I'm a big girl, Jones. Don't worry about me. Anyway, actually-" she digs around in one of her pockets and pulls out two coupons for a burger restaurant. "-got these in my last…payout. Please take these for your troubles."

Jones and I both share a glance with each other, then turn back to Ginger. "You…you sure?" I can't help but ask.

She nods, placing the coupons in my hand. "I insist! My situation's gotten better as well, so I probably wouldn't have used these any time soon. They'll be in better hands with you both!"

…Well. "Thank you, Ginger!" We both say in unison.

 

Luckily for us, Ramirez shoots us a text, telling us to come to his desk.

Surprise, surprise, the tie looks good as new! Minus a couple of loose threads here and there, it almost looks like it was never broken in the first place. Out of all the things I expected today, Ramirez having pretty great sewing skills was somehow not one of them.

You learn something new everyday.

We thank Ramirez for his help and take the tie down to Zeus, who's still impatienly waiting where we left him and chewing out one of the receptionists.

"Oi! Zeus!!" Jones calls as we walk in, holding up the tie like a fish, "congratulations, you won the lottery!" He places the tie down on the table in front of Zeus and points to it. "We found your precious tie!"

Zeus grins, holding it up like it's a prize. "Finally! I was about to crash the hell out, y'know! Missed this shit!"

"And I'm about to lose my marbles," Jones snaps. "So take the fucking tie and go home! You gave our Chief enough of a headache."

Zeus merely chuckles, standing up and ruffling both our heads. "Chill out, little dudes! Nothing to go crazy about, aight? Seems like you need something back from me."

I hesitate. "I…listen, we don't take callgirls-"

He reaches into his coat and pulls out two pairs of tacky, flashy rich-looking sunglasses and gives them to us like he's passing out Halloween candy. "Here, take these. On me!"

Jones sputters in response, but Zeus is already sauntering off, flashing us a peace sign with his fingers. "See ya somedays, coppers!"

…Ohhhhkay. Jones and I both stare at the sunglasses now in your possession.

"I am…NEVER wearing these," I admit.

"Agreed."

 

Finally, we head back down to Alex's lab to hear what he has to say.

Grace is already there, though, holding the little puppy in her arms and feeding it from a spoon.

It's just a baby. Good lord. My heart clenches remembering where I found it.

"Well," Alex tells us, turning around in his chair, "I'll cut straight to it. The puppy is Angel's."

I grit my teeth. First time in a long time that news like that makes me so viscerally upset.

"God!" Jones shakes his head. "That poor thing looks so sweet…I can't believe little guys like him get used for the worst fucking shit." I can't help but nod in agreement, my stomach in knots.

"So…what do we do now?" I whisper.

"We're not giving him back," Grace replies almost immediately. We all glance in her direction, and she looks up at us with a determined gaze in her eye. "You heard me. Poor little buddy's been through enough, we can't just let that monster have him!"

She has a point. I can see Jones nod solemnly. "Agreed. Who knows what could've happened to him if Val didn't find him."

The mere thought of those possibilities only make me a little bit more ill than I already am.

Grace nods back. "Yes, definitely! And that's why I'm taking Newton into my care!"

She gave the little guy a name. I can't help but smile watching Grace cradle Newton in her arms like he's a newborn. He even licks her face a couple of times, causing her to laugh.

Alex chuckles. "…You've known him for around 3-4 hours, and you're already attached by the hip…man, you deserve each other."

"Agreed!" Jones eagerly pipes up, slowly holding out a hand to Newton.

The little puppy takes a tentative lick.

 

Jones and I confidently stride into the interrogation room where Angel Martinez resides, ready as ever to share the news.

"You're lucky, Martinez," I tell him, "we found the puppy. Shaken, but safe."

"Great!" Angel stands up. "I paid a shitton for that filthy mutt!"

"You see, though," Jones interjects with a shit-eating grin, "is troubling. Bad news, Martinez: After some lengthy discussion, my colleagues and I have decided that you're not fit to be a pet owner!"

"WHAT?!" Angel's face turns red with rage. "The fuck are you talking about?!"

"You know what we are talking about," I retort, folding my arms over my chest. "You literally run a dogfighting ring, I think it's pretty obvious that the poor puppy won't be happy OR healthy in your care! So, in turn, you need to pay a fine for animal mistreatment, and the puppy's leaving your care!"

"You think I give a damn?!" Angel snarls, getting up out of his seat. "You're insane if you think I'm leaving without that shitty rat!"

"Oh, but yes you are!" Jones tells him straight. "Just pay your fine and leave, unless you'd like getting locked up!"

Angel grits his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. However, he turns around and storms out of the room.

"Don't forget to close the door behind you!" I call, satisfaction practically vibrating in my bones.

He storms back, grabbing the door and slamming it shut behind him before stomping away.

One victory out of a sea of bittersweet.

Notes:

OH GOOD GOD I'M FINALLY BACK
So so sorry for not updating in so long omg 😭 I was busy in the past 2 months with both Artfight and a summer performance I was in, and I wanted to focus on animations and stuff like YouTube.
Additionally, I finally switched writing platforms from Google Docs to Ellipsus! Holy SHIT it's such a lifesaver honestly <3
Luckily, I'm finally back with a new chapter!! Along with some planned changes!
1 - Any case not that relevant to the plot (ex: literally the next case, case 7) will be cut down to around 2-3 chapters (I haven't fully decided yet) for the sake of efficiency and time.
2 - I'm now officially open for beta readers! If you want to beta read my stuff, feel free to ask!
Anyways, that's it for now! See you soon!!
- alex_ze_awsum

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Criminal Case: The Collection