Okay, this is the final piece of the puzzle. I’ve got two endings for the story and this is one of the versions. I’ll probably post the 2nd version after new year. Yes, yes, not the best possible ending and most likely, not the most popular. But still. I’d like to say that the ending on this one states my idea of poetic justice on something. Now without further adieu.
They’re both dangling in the air. Paul’s one hand is holding on to one edge of the rooftop while his other hand is holding Daniel’s wrist.
“Sam help me here!” Paul yelled. But Sam appears to be knocked out stone cold after the blow on his forehead.
He looked down. Daniel’s hazel eyes stared back at him and seemed to have turned soft and solemn once more.
“Paul, if I die, d-do you think I could finally be with my wife?”
“Don’t say that, Dan!”
“What do you think huh? Maybe death won’t be such a sad ending,” Daniel’s wrist starts to slowly slip from his grasp.
“Dan! Stay with me!” Paul pleaded.
“I’m you’re best buddy right?”
Paul nodded. His other arm is starting to grow numb from the cold and his grip is starting to weaken.
“Dan, please, don’t let go man” he pleaded once more.
“No, Paul,” Daniel smiled placidly at him.
Then the mad look in Daniel’s eyes returned.
“'CAUSE YOU'RE GOING WITH ME!” and his other hand grabbed hold of Paul's wrist and harshly yanked him off his balance.
Sam groggily got up and gently touched his forehead where Daniel had hit him. His pain was replaced with horror when he saw that Daniel and Paul are no longer in their spot.
Then he heard a loud crash as it came from below. He carefully got up, moved to the edge and looked down below. Daniel and Paul are on top of a dumpster.
“Jesus, no,” Sam muttered.
The paramedics have arrived and went over to Carlos.
“Paul! Daniel!” Sam yelled then he turned to the paramedics, “Quick! Down below the dumpster!”
Down below, someone groaning.
Paul tried to move slowly. He chest hurt and made him coughed a little bit. His stomach felt numb from lying down on the cold. Then his eyes focused on the one lying beside him.
“Dan?” No response.
Daniel was lying on his back with his eyes fixated on the sky.
Bits of snow started to shower down on them gently.
Then darkness seemed to have enveloped everything.
Paul sat quietly on his desk.
His cast-covered arm was gently supported by his leg.
While his uninjured hand is holding a cup of coffee.
Funny that a new year has begun. Again.
He wondered if there’s anything new that this year would bring.
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice.
“Uh sir, excuse me…”
“Yeah” he gestured at the table beside him.
Two brawny men, lifted the desk and took it out through the door.
Yes, the world is unfair. Indeed.
Spotlight shining down on him. His voice was loud and clear as he spoke:
To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.
He hath disgraced me,
“Hey Boss, wake up will ya?” he felt Squeak nudge him. “You’re falling asleep” she whispered. Paul straightened up. Looked around, hoping that nobody saw him fall asleep. They are in a theatre somewhere in Broadway for Carlos Dengler’s professional debut and they were invited.
and hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation,
“Isn’t he done yet?” He’s starting to get impatient. Why do I get to act like a bodyguard for this kid? “Oh shut up, Boss.” she whispered back, “ Can’t you see we’re watching a play here?”
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends,
heated mine enemies;
He’s dying for a smoke again but he knew he couldn’t.
Squeak still needs some assistance to guide with her while walking but other than that, she was fine since she was discharged from the hospital.
fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
“So, are you meeting him tonight after the show?” He whispered back. “Well…” Carlos looked up and he must have seen them as he had an unusual twinkle in his eyes. She blushed.
If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh?
if you poison us, do we not die?
and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
“Hey boss,” she whispered again.
“Can I take a day off next weekend?”
If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge.
If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example?
“Okay.” he said.
(Edit: Carlos’ theatrical piece are excerpts of Shylock’s Justification from Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice)
Again, Warning: Graphic Violence, Bad Language and well, you might need extra tissues.
Paul managed to pin Daniel down to the ground, punching him repeatedly on the face.
Daniel got hold of the collar of Paul’s coat, pulled his face closer and punched him on the nose.
Paul fell to the ground with his nose bleeding profusely.
It was Daniel’s turn to pin him to the ground, grab hold of his throat and began to tighten his grip.
“All my life, I’ve tried to live according to the law,” Daniel began with the mad glow on his hazel eyes, “I’ve obeyed it and became part of the enforcement. But what did they pay me in return? Nothing. No justice for my wife. My beautiful wife.” Tears started to stream down his face.
Paul could barely breathe but he could remember what happened.
Late summer morning. Daniel just got back from his honeymoon, well rested and well refreshed. He remembered Daniel mentioning of setting up a home near the beach where he could raise his family.
“You ready, Dan?” He remembered himself saying that to Daniel as they both got into the car.
“Sure, man,” Daniel beamed his radiant smile.
They were patrolling one part of the city when they received a report of a massacre at the one private residential area.
They arrived a few minutes later. Police line tapes have been put up. Several of the police officers were there.
Must be a party. Then somebody, maybe three or more, barged in and gunned everybody down and as they lay dying, hacked them to pieces like ribbons. They are theorizing it must be partly opportunistic as the victims’ clothes were ripped and the place appeared ransacked.
Paul entered the vicinity with Daniel walking behind him but he frowned when he saw several of the police officers there were unusually quiet. Some would not meet his stare.
“What’s going on here, Squeak?” he turned to her.
Squeak was unusually quiet.
“Boss..” her voice was trailing.
He waited for her to continue.
“Boss, please don’t let Detective Kessler in.” she said solemnly.
Paul felt a shiver run down his spine. His intuition seemed to have picked up something horrible wrong.
It was too late when he turned his head and saw Daniel, face deathly white, kneeling in front of one disemboweled corpse.
It was his wife.
Then a wild scream tore the silence. Like a scream of a wild animal.
It took him and several members to restrain and drag Daniel out of the crime scene.
Daniel took the case to the court but it was too perfect for a crime. No witnesses. No suspects. The case eventually went cold. It seemed so long ago but Paul could still remember the heartbreaking scream.
Again, Warning for: Bad Language, Violence, Blood, and Four Smexy Men.
“Don’t move!” Paul yelled with his gun pointed at Daniel. “It’s over, Daniel! Give it up now!” There was only a few feet of distance between them.
Daniel stopped and flashed a sinister smiled that made Paul’s stomach churn. “My, my, Paul. You never really failed to impress me ever since we met at College. I knew you’re too smart not to notice.”
Silence filled the biting cold air. Then the expression on Daniel’s face turned bitter.
“I just wanted justice, Paul.” Daniel quietly began. Paul and Sam know what he’s talking about. “When I lost my wife years back, I fought to bring her death to justice. Ironically, I never got it and yet I worked in the law enforcement for a long time. And those girls have to pay for it as well as him.” Looking down at the semi-conscious Carlos.
“Dan, that’s a long time ago…”
“To me it fuckin’ isn’t!”
With one swift move, he yanked Carlos by the collar and held him against his chest between him and Paul.
“Dan!” Sam tried to move towards him but Daniel held the sharp switchblade against Carlos’ throat.
“Stay back! Move and he’s dead.”
Paul tried to steady the hand that held his gun.
Shit! He’s lost it. Paul thought. He’s gone crazy.
“Put your goddamn gun down, Paul.” Daniel spoke through gritted teeth.
“Dan, this is making things worst. Give it up.”
“I SAID, PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN! NOW!”
Paul and Sam shared a glance. Slowly, Paul placed his gun down on top of the newly fallen snow.
Then he eyed something on the ground covered with snow.
“Dan…” He said as he rose carefully.
Daniel laughed an evil laugh. “And you think I’ll be stupid enough to let him go, huh?”
With one quick move, Paul kicked the object, a piece of loose pebble, and it hit Daniel square on the face.
Daniel screamed in pain and before he could move, Paul tackled him and managed to dislodge the switchblade from his hands.
It was a bit late before he noticed Daniel kick Carlos and making him roll over the edge.
Sam lunged forward and got hold Carlos by his coat in time.
“Woah, fella! Got you there!” He gasped as he tried to pull Carlos gingerly. It wasn’t easy due to Carlos’ heavy weight and the melted snow made the ground slippery. Sam was struggling to keep his footing stable.
Warning: Violence, Blood, Bad Language and FOUR(!) BEASTLY SEXY MEN!
Daniel was panting for breath as he dragged Carlos’ body at the rooftop. Good thing this guy lived at the top floor surrounded by constantly stoned junkies. If they did heard or saw him carry Carlos up the rooftop, they’ll probably assume it’s hallucination.
The left side of Carlos’s face was caked with dried blood from where Daniel hit him with a paperweight and was semi-conscious.
When he got near the edge of the building, Daniel stopped and turned Carlos over to his back.
“Thank you Mr. Dengler for being such a good help. Because of you, I managed to save my ass from the suspect line.” He smiled evilly. “Unfortunately, you’ve now done your purpose and I have to get rid of you. But before that…”
He took out a switchblade and made a swift slice on Carlos’ arm. Carlos let out a groan. Daniel took out the bloodied weapon and licked the blood.
“I never thought your blood tasted as good as those girls. If I knew back then, I could have enjoyed it two ways.”
He put out a letter and gingerly placed them on Carlos’ breast pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ve written there that the stress of the crimes has led you to depression so much that you have to end your life. At least you don’t to worry on what to say.”
He was about to push Carlos over the edge of the building when the door burst open and Paul and Sam emerged.
“Move your fucking taxi, you moron!” Paul growled. They were only a few yards away and now, some taxi stopped in the middle of the road to drop off a passenger with several boxes. A woman emerged out of the car teetering on her ridiculously high heels as carried her things one box at a time.
“Fucking women and their boxes!” He cursed once again. What is this? A fucking fashion show or something?
Paul blew his horn before brashly turning his wheel to overtake the taxi. As he did so, the taxi moved slightly and smashed a bit into the tail lights of his car.
He cursed once again. But he’s in no mood to stop and argue. That can wait.
Again, Warning: Bad Language, Bad driving, Some violence and BEASTLY SEXY MEN.
Upon arrival at the parking lot, Paul rolled down his window,
“Any luck, Pajo?”
“Negative, Sir. We’ve made inquiries inside the coffeehouse but I’m afraid Detective Kessler’s not there.”
“Now which theater could have Daniel gone? There’s so many theaters around this area.” Sam looked out at the window. “Fucking like looking for a needle in the fucking haystack.”
Paul stared at the surrounding coffeehouses and theatres. Colorful bulbs and neon lights are hanging outside lighting the pathway and the coffeehouses’ facade. Posters of current and upcoming off-off Broadway shows are plastered on all outside wall. Suddenly, the thought came crashing to him like a lightning.
“Pajo! Call for back up and ambulance! We’ll need it!”
Before Pajo could reply, Paul’s car made a rash three point manoeuvre before heading towards the main street causing Sam’s forehead to nearly hit the dashboard.
“Fuck you Paul! I’ll sue the pants out of you for trying to kill me!”
“Thank me later Dr. Fogster!” was Paul’s cool reply as he put the vehicle in full throttle, “I think I know now where Danny boy is. I guess this time, the King will now try to finish his pawn.”
“Hey thanks for the praise! I gave my all to that performance you know.”
“No probs man! You did very well. You deserve it.” Daniel smiled back.
Carlos was at the kitchen pouring boiled water unto a cup.
“You might think this is weird but I think all the stress of those accusations thrown at me somehow motivated me more in my acting. It felt like my catalyst or something. I’m glad that I have someone who believes that I’m innocent.” He said as he put down the kettle back to the cooker.
“You wished.” Daniel spoke.
“What?” Carlos turned to look when he felt something hard hit the side of his face. Then everything went black.
The moment of truth. Let’s just hope Detective Banks managed to explain and tie the loose ends together. By the way, this is a CRIME THRILLER story. Expect bad language, bad driving and BEASTLY SEXY MEN (who just so happened to have real life counterparts. Oh joy!). Anyway, we continue the story:
Alpha one, Detective Kessler’s car was last seen driving towards The Village.
“I can’t believe you’re telling me that Daniel killed these women.” Sam said as he sat smoking his cigarette on the passenger seat with Paul driving the car.
“And I can’t believe you managed to drag me into this police chase when I’m just a fucking medical examiner!”
“Before this night is over, there’s a strong possibility that we might need your medical expertise.”
“But how are you sure that he’s the killer and not Dengler?”
“Because I saw what I want to see.”
“We’ve seen what we wanted to see, Sam, that’s the problem. ” Paul tried to explain.
“But isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? To see what we want?”
“No, we do this job to see what needs to be seen.”
“I still don’t get you.”
“Sam, all the evidences we gathered easily led us to Carlos Dengler and in my experience in the NYPD, a real criminal is more challenging to find. Dengler may be an asshole but him being an asshole made me see his sincerity.”
“But Paul, aren’t you just being sympathetic? From what I gathered from the grapevine, the evidences gathered point out to him.”
“Ah, that my friend is the bait and we bit on it. How many physical evidences the forensics handed to you regarding these women?”
“Um what? The clothes? Well, they are naked. And body pieces? Not much.” Sam doesn’t like to remember that bit as it reminded him of the budget cuts and restructuring done within the department.
“Exactly. Majority of the evidences are mobile phones. And who’s the one in charge of the Digital Forensics?”
“Well it should be John Sheppard but since he’s on sick leave, it’s—” then Sam’s face froze then suddenly, he cried, “Daniel!”
“Yup,” Paul replied as he turned the wheel to the right. “The first two girls, Stella Jennings and Lily Sylva. According to the people close to them, they were lured by a guy they befriended on the internet but no evidence of the conversations were found. Rosemary Yates, was reportedly stalked by somebody and many thought it was her junkie ex-husband. We thought it too. The only evidences we gathered that tie them together are their phones that led us to the place near where Carlos Dengler lives and the drama school where he’s attending.”
“But Paul, it seems to be a solid evidence. The guy must have erased the evidence before we got there.”
“It would be convincing if only I didn’t saw Dengler cause the microwave on his girlfriend’s place to explode. How can he be so smart to erase the evidence and yet not know how to operate a simple fucking thing such as a microwave? Plus, my theory was, he’s just a scapegoat because of something he had.”
“His mobile phone. Dengler had a Blackberry given to him by an ex-girlfriend and when I went to interview her a few days ago, she mentioned that she should have gotten him instead a manual typewriter and a dove to carry the message because he doesn’t know how to operate it aside from making calls. The first time he was brought into the precinct for questioning, he recognized Daniel as the guy who salvaged his Blackberry after it fell into the puddle. I am suspecting that Daniel must have instantly thought he could use this guy as a fall guy and planted a tracker on the poor fuck’s phone when we had it confiscated. And it seemed to plausible because a few days later after Dengler was released, presto! Another dead girl. Daphne Cook. And the main evidence from the girl was her smartphone with the battery all drained up and has to be brought up to the Digital Forensics department.”
The car turned to another intersection.
“So do you think that what happened to Squeak may be related to this?”Sam stared at him.
“I’ve got an idea that Squeak found out that Daniel’s tampering the evidence and got into conclusion the he could possibly be the one behind all the killings. I now regret the time I mentioned to Dan to get some help from Squeak. It must have given him suspicion that anytime soon, she’ll catch him. That’s why he planned to kill her. You know that piece of paper found in her purse? I’ve ignored it quite some time until it hit me what she really meant.”
“All I remembered is that she wrote ‘Fancy Legs’. I don’t get how that helped.”
“I took it initially as a sign of distress because she knows that when I was in College, some fratboys called me Fancypants. Then I remembered the night when the precinct held a party for Dan before his wedding, Squeak got drunk a bit and asked him out for a dance because she fancies his goofy dances. Fancy legs, she meant, was Dan.”
“I see—oops, careful of that curb!”
Alpha one, we’ve spotted the car in a parking lot near the Caffe Corsino but nobody’s there.
“Search the surrounding area.”
Carlos Dengler wearily got out of the elevator and made his way to his apartment. The performance at the Caffe Corsino was great and the reviews are favourable although he had to admit, the coffee they served there were horrible. Like fucking tar coloured water, he thought. But he was glad that the performance was satisfactory and the audience was lovely. It felt like a little dream come true.
As he turned his apartment key, he felt the presence of somebody. He turned his eye to his right.
“Hey man! Nice performance you had at the Corsino,” was the voice.
Out of the darkened part of the corridor emerged Daniel.
“Oh it’s you,” Carlos let out a sigh of relief. “Thought it was somebody. D’you wanna come in for coffee?” as he turned the key and opened the door.
“Sure.” Daniel stepped inside. The door closed behind him followed by a click of the lock.
This is the scary part for me as some fans of a certain person will find out at the end of the story. Look, I like the guy too, ok? He just looks good to be bad sometimes.
It was New Year’s Eve. Paul wearily took off his coat and placed it on a coat stand along with his fedora. The day seemed to be long and tiresome. He went to the kitchen, took out a bottle of whiskey and opened it. The case of the serial killing seems to be getting cold with no solid leads. Yates was found in a remote town of Michigan and his extradition from Michigan to New York won’t take place until after New Year and until they drag him back to New York, no new development on the case.
He started emptying his pants’ pockets and laid them on his coffee table: his car keys, his cigarette pack, his lighter, his mobile phone—and something crumpled. A pink piece of paper. He looked at it, wondering where the hell he got it until he smoothed it and read what it said:
Margaret E. Pemberton, Forensics.
Squeak’s business card.
He looked at the back and found her bad handwriting. Fancy Legs.
Same words on the piece of paper found in her purse the night somebody tried to kill her.
He stared at it for long. But it seemed that the answers are evading him. He laid it down along the other things.
What is it that you’re trying to tell us, Squeak?
She gave him a clue a few days before she got assaulted. On a card.
Usually, when she needs to tell him, she’ll just leave a message on his phone or his email (although she knew he rarely uses it). But the message is on a paper.
Tiredness seeping in, he lied down on his couch downing a bottle of whiskey.
He is tired but his mind is racing. The killings. Attempt on Squeak’s life. And Carlos Dengler. A lot of the evidences, if not most of it, point out to that bastard. But his mind is telling him otherwise. The bastard, however irritating he may be, is not the killer. But why is he thinking that way?
Paul turned his eyes on the crumpled piece of paper once more.
The church bells rang for New Year’s Eve. This time, it sounded strange. And ominous.
He took another swig of his whiskey then he eyed his phone.
The church bells continued ringing.
He dropped the whiskey to the floor and closed his eyes.
The last bell rang its final toil.
Suddenly, Paul’s eyes shot out and he sat right up.
He was all alone.
“Why didn’t I notice it all along?” he spoke loudly as if expecting a reply.
He quickly stood up, grabbed his coat and fedora and ran towards the door.
Sam Fogarino was talking to the rest of the police officers at the main atrium of the department with each holding a beer. Sam was sharing jokes with them, gesturing with one lit cigarette between his fingers.
“Hey doc,” said Curtis pointing at Sam’s cigarette, “thought they said that smoking is bad for you.”
“Too bad you got the wrong doctor, Brandon boy,” Sam replied with a wicked smile, “smokers help me keep my job.”
Suddenly, the door burst opened letting in a loud gust of cold wind as Paul comes rushing in.
“What the fuck, Paul?” Sam said, “you worried you’ll run out of beer tomorrow?”
Paul ignored what Sam said and said instead, “Where’s Daniel?”
“Uh, dunno. Probably went home cause it’s New Year’s eve, you know.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed in anger as he cursed under his breath, “Fuck.”
Then, he turned to the rest of the men and said, “Send somebody to check on Squeak at the hospital. Alert every man in the department and find Detective Kessler now. The serial killer will strike again tonight.”
“But Sir…” Curtis started to groan.
“Do as I say Curtis!” He barked back before turning his back around to make his way to the door. He felt Sam run after him and touch his shoulder.
“Paul! Paul! What’s all this fuss about? Did Dan owe you something so important?”
“No. He’s the missing key to the serial killings.”
“What? The murderer is after him? I knew we shouldn’t have let that Dengler guy go!”
“No, it’s not him.” Paul stopped on his tracks to face Sam, “Daniel is the real killer.”
There was a sharp rap on the door. Carlos opened it and regretted doing so. Standing outside is Detective Paul Banks.
“Hello Carlos.” he wasn’t smiling.
“I don’t get visited by my mother as frequently as you do, Detective.” was Carlos’ dry reply.
Reluctantly, he let Paul in. It was snowing quite heavily that morning. As much as he wished Detective Banks to die stark stiff in the cold, he preferred to keep himself out of trouble. At least with this cop.
“I’m cooking at the moment, Detective.” Carlos said as he made his way back to the kitchen with Paul trailing closely behind. After the incident with Yates, Paul is much wary on people’s actions.
“I’m sorry but I’m not hungry.”
“That’s okay, I’m not inviting you.”
“I am just checking on you because I remember you moved out of your last apartment without informing us.” Paul said ignoring Carlos’ curt answer.
“I didn’t move out to run away from the law,” Carlos said as he poured something, maybe milk, into a small pan, “I was kicked out by my ex-girlfriend.”
“I see,” Paul eyed him suspiciously. Wondering if Carlos is planning to throw that to his face and break for a run just like Yates. Luckily, he’s got some back-up downstairs standing by just in case.
“That’s okay. You cops are trained not to believe people easily. I might be telling the truth or lying to you but what’s the difference?” Carlos placed the small pan inside the microwave and pressed some buttons.
Wow, he calls this cooking. Paul thought while trying not to grin. Impressive culinary skills.
“I’d like to question you about Daphne Cook.”
“Daphne?” Carlos grinned. “Yeah, she’s my classmate. Trying hard to be a singer and an actress but she has neither skill.”
“Nothing much. We’re just plain friends. And I don’t intend to sleep with her if you want to ask me about that.” Then Carlos’ smile melted and his eyes stared out to the window. “I’m guessing I’m the usual suspect here again.”
“Wouldn’t mind you cooperating with us if you’re really innocent.”
Before Carlos can reply. There was a loud bang. Then followed by a smoke.
Both Paul and Carlos crouched down.
“What the fuck was that?!” A woman’s voice was heard followed by footsteps running towards them.
Paul looked where the explosion came from. The microwave.
“The hell you did to my microwave, you moron?!” A woman with hair curlers and bath robe stood by the doorway.
“Well, it just exploded you know.”Carlos tried to reason out with her but she sucker punched him.
“Replace what you blew up Carlos or I’m kicking you out of here!”
With an indignant huff, she went opened all the windows and opened the microwave door to let the smoke out while sputtering a slew of curse words.
They ended up in the living room, sitting face to face. Paul lit his cigarette and offered a light which Carlos graciously accepted.
“You went to see Detective Pemberton in the hospital.” Paul spoke as he stared at Carlos straight in the eye. Not in an accusing way but in a factly way. Before answering, Carlos looked at the door, perhaps making sure that his girlfriend is not standing there listening.
“Well yeah I did but I wasn’t able to get in. Apparently, your boys are not letting anyone in. I’m just trying to be nice and friendly to her, you know.”
Paul moved his face away and stared upwards. If he wasn’t a police detective, he would have punched Carlos Dengler’s face right there and then.
He took a deep breath and turned to face Carlos again.
“Do you know what sort of dickery you’re doing , Mr Dengler?”
“Well you can’t blame me for trying to pay visit to your staff. I find her cute too.”
“She’s nearly killed, Mr. Dengler. By an unknown man who is most likely, also responsible for the deaths of several other women.”
“Now you’re thinking that I’m trying to kill her—”
“You’re not listening aren’t you? Or are you really that stubborn?” Paul put his face much nearer and Carlos saw how deadly serious he was. “Let me make it clear to you, if I hear you get near her one more time, it’ll give me more than enough reason to put your ass behind bars for good. And you could kiss your budding acting career goodbye.”
Warning: Contains bad language, Graphic and/or Implied Violence
“She suffered from severe head trauma at the back of the head but she’s now in stable condition, Detective. All we have to do is observe and wait for her to wake up.”
“When do you think is the approximate time, doc?” Paul asked.
“Frankly, Detective, I don’t know.” was the reply.
After the attending physician left, Paul sat down beside the bed and stared at Squeak’s comatose body. Several tubes and dextrose bottles are attached to her body.
Her head is mostly covered with gauze and on her face were large deep hued blue-violet coloured bruises.
“Hey Squeak, stop pretending you’re not hearing me. You got piles of jobs you need to work on, you silly cow.” He smiled weakly. No response.
“Don’t worry, kid,” Paul whispered as he stroked her hand softly, “we’ll get the fucker who did this to you.”
As he exited the door, he turned to the guards on duty.
“Don’t let anyone in except the attending doctors and nurses. Nobody will bring in anything there, do you hear me?”
“How’s she, Paul?” Sam asked.
“In a coma. Not sure what would be the outcome.” Paul sighed. His attention turned to the motley pile on the table.
“Are these all they gathered?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, “wanna start now?”
After putting on gloves and eye goggles, they began rummaging through the evidence gathered from the toilet as well as Squeak’s things.
First, a switchblade. Paul flicked it open. No blood. Squeak must have fought back her attacker.
“See if you could get any fingerprints on this,” Paul separated it and placed it in one bag.
They separated through every single bit of clothing and article when they came upon Squeak’s purse. Sam opened it and took out things one by one. Lipgloss, mascara, eyeliner, her pink credit card and her pepper spray.
“Hullo, what’s this?” Sam said as he fished something out.
It was a wrinkled piece of paper.
They looked at it under a magnifier.
Squeak’s almost ineligible handwriting. Scrawled ineligibly are the words “Fancy Legs”.
Paul grunted and then turned it over with forceps. Looks like a receipt.
“See if you could get fingerprints on this too and check who made purchase from there.”
“What do you mean I can’t get in to see her?”
“I’m really sorry sir but we’re just following orders.”
“Who told you?”
“Detective Banks, sir. I’m sorry but we’re not easily letting anyone or anything in.”
He turned his back. There’s no use forcing his way in without arousing suspicion.
“I’m sorry sir.”
“That’s fine.” He spoke automatically waving his hand dismissively.
Never mind, he consoled himself. Having bashed her head that hard and she’s most likely going to end up a vegetable for life.
But there must be some other way. Some other plan.
I’m gonna do Breaking the Cutie bit. It’s unpopular but it’s necessary in writing a fiction. Again, WARNING: CRIME THRILLER THEMED STORY so expect some blood, violence and bad language here. And I’m going to start tagging this under a band member’s name such as El Guapo because his fans deserve a good fan fiction. Hmmmm…
It was already 3:30 in the morning and Squeak knew she should be in bed by then otherwise Boss Banks would be in a bad mood in the morning and blame her partying for coming to work looking haggard. But she’s not on the internet checking her Facebook and fooling around. It was something that’s been nagging at the back of her head. Something that her intuition’s been telling her to do for quite some time.
Her fingers tapped on her laptop keyboard at lightning speed.
It’s been a long time since she’s done this but her ability have not diminished even a bit.
After the final click, out appeared something that she’s be looking for.
She stared at it for a long time. Shook her head in disbelief. No, this can’t be, she thought.
Then shifted her stare to a blank space. Thinking.
Then, she focused her eyes again to the screen and began to type once more with lightning speed. One character after another.
To hell with Boss Banks’ temper.
“I don’t understand why you recently keep showing up to work looking like a zombie, Squeak.” Paul spoke irritably. “You know that you’re needed to commit your energy here.”
Squeak just sat quietly, sleepy and tired with dark circles under her eyes, nursing herself with a cup of coffee.
The day started a bit badly for Paul. First, Rocco Yates went out on bail then ran off to another State. Probably to fucking Alabama or even Canada. It would take time before they find the bastard and drag his ass back to New York. Then, another suspect, Carlos Dengler moved out of his registered address. And then this morning, police officer Stanley presented to him a man who surrendered himself to the precinct and confessed to the serial killings only for Paul to kindly inform Stanley (in restrained anger) that the man is a plain nut who had been surrendering and confessing to killings for the past year just to grab media attention. In short, some plain fame whore.
But, those weren’t what made the day worse, it was the fact that they couldn’t get any information on the suspects whereabouts.
“What the fuck happened?” Paul gritted his teeth.
“Don’t know sir. The whole thing crashed down.” said one junior technician as he tried to tap a few more on his computer keyboard.
“Dan?” Paul turned to Daniel who had been busy on his own computer.
“I don’t know Paul. The system appears to be infected with malware.”
“Well, get Squeak to do something. She’s just bumming around in her office table.”
“Squeak? What does she know about this?” Dan raised one eyebrow.
“Well, she’s into gadgetry and stuff and always surfing the net on her smartphone whenever we’re in the car. She should probably have an idea on what’s going on. By the way, how long before you get to fix this?”
“Um, should be running in three hours time.” Daniel stared at the computer.
“Fucking three hours?” Paul nursed his forehead. This day is really shit.
Luckily, Paul thought of one person he thought of visiting that day.
And hopefully, it would give him at least some clues.
“Yeah, that’s me.” she responded with a bored face.
Paul flashed his badge and went in.
A few minutes later, he emerged outside.
“Thanks for the information, Ms. Hall.”
“Yeah and if you get to see that bastard again, tell him to get a manual typewriter and have a dove deliver the message to me instead of a fucking phone. Suits him better.”
As he got into the car, his attention was turned to the one behind the wheel quietly engrossed on the phone surfing the net.
“You finished?” he asked Squeak .
“Oh sorry boss,” she immediately put her phone away and started the car.
Paul lit his cigarette. Wondering where this investigation would lead to.
“Hey boss,” he heard Squeak’s childish voice.
“Got a new business card, want some?”
“What do I need your fucking business card for? And in pink?”
“Well, just in case you might need it.”
The music was loud. The disco lights are flooding. Drinks are flowing.
“Hey guys, I’m just going for a pee, yeah?”
She waded her way through the sea of warm, sweaty bodies. She is surrounded by people but she felt that a certain pair of eyes are fixed on her. She went over to a bar. Saw someone she finds interesting.
“Hey babe, do you come here often?” He spoke first. He must be one of the college jocks judging from his looks.
“Poof! Words are meaningless shit without action.”
“Wow, you’re one aggressive little thing aren’t you?”
“Shut up, loverboy, give me your number and if this is your night, might get lucky.”
Loverboy took out something from his pocket. A stupid crumpled scrap of paper. She took out her pencil eyeliner as he mouthed his number. But it wasn’t what he said that she wrote down.
After downing the shot of drink he ordered for her, she bade goodbye and made her way to the toilet to fix her make up.
The toilet was filled with odours of urine, vomit and cheap perfume. Only a handful of people were there. A girl was passed out in one cubicle. Someone was throwing up in another. And another must be sniffing something in another.
She stood in front of the mirror. She applied her favorite shade of lip colour.
She wonders if she might end up with Loverboy tonight. He looked cute.
But she is most certain of one thing. The presence of someone else. And he has finally arrived.
He moved closer. She quickly turned around to look at him. She knows what he’s going to do.
He put out his hand and she saw him clutching a knife. But she was ready and she won’t go down without a fight.
She took a small canister of pepper spray. He screamed as she managed to spray him squarely on one eye .
She twisted his wrist and managed to disarm the knife. He dropped the knife and she kicked it to one cubicle.
“You fucking bitch!” He cursed under his breath and swung his other arm and managed to hit her square on the jaw. She staggered and got her back against the graffitied tiled wall. He saw an opportunity.
He pressed himself against her and pinned her against the wall. She tried to scream but he covered her mouth with his gloved hand. She kicked him in the shin but it infuriated him more.
Then he saw at the corner of his eye, somebody coming. With desperation, he clutched her by the hair and repeatedly bashed her head against the wall. Crimson coloured fluid started staining the wall.
“Hey, where’d she gone? Thought she’s just off to the toilet.”
“She probably passed out.”
“Nah, she’s got the drinking tolerance of—”
A high-pitched scream was heard and then followed by a commotion.
He stumbled into a dark alley and beelined his way to where his car is parked. His one eye, that got hit by her spray, still stings and he couldn’t open it.
Bitch fought like a hellcat, he thought while rubbing his hurt wrist. Never thought she was that strong.
As he turned on the engine, he saw some blood on his glove. He smelled it first before tasting it.
He smiled. Her blood tasted good even when it’s a bit dried up. The fight was worth it after all.
“Really?”asked Squeak’s school girl voice. The three of them were sitting in the office. Daniel was busy looking through a pile of cases while Paul was sitting in a swivel chair with one hand carefully supporting the ice pack against his bruises while trying to drink the horrible tasting herbal tea that Squeak insisted he drink up lest he catches a cold.
Eventually, they managed to find Rocco Yates in an unrelated case of drug bust. Whether they could prove that he killed his ex-wife is yet unclear.
“Yeah, the bastard was too strong. Pushed me over the railing.” Paul said sipping occasionally at the bitter concoction while gingerly touching the bruise on his cheekbone.
“Uh-huh.” Squeak’s reply as she was trying to concentrate on what she’s doing in front of the computer.
“Good thing Daniel was there.”
“Yeah, glad I know how to resuscitate people.” Daniel interjected.
“Wait.” Squeak stopped suddenly and looked up at them. “You what?”
“Uh, I resuscitated him?” Daniel frowned.
“You mean mouth to mouth resuscitation?”
“Squeak,” Daniel replied with mild irritation, “how can I bring Paul back to this world if I didn’t do that?”
“OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! That is wonderful!” Squeak stood up excitedly as she broke into a giggle. She held out both of her palms with the thumbs touching at the tip as if making a frame and peered Paul and Daniel within it’s frame. “I can imagine and clearly see the two of you doing that!”
“Oh shut the fuck up you silly cow and get back to work!” Paul barked. Squeak, despite her competence in her job, sometimes acts quite strangely and it never fails to irritate and amuse him at the same time.
“Boss, I’m just gonna go to Doc Fogster for something.” She said while doing a funny dance as she made her way towards the direction of the elevator. As she was walking away, Paul is so sure that she’s wearing the biggest and most annoying grin on her face.
He smirked as he turned to Daniel. “The next thing we knew, she’s going to write something about us.”
“People are capable of doing what pleases them, Paul.”
I’ve edit this bit and re-written this a few times so if there’s some grammar nazi’s out there, all I could say is I’ve done my bit. I’ve tried to describe things as best as I can and English is my second language. Anyway, here’s the continuation of the story:
A phone call. No, it’s the phone call.
Paul knew what was coming even before he picked it. “Banks. We’re on our way.”
He stood up, took his gun and placed it in his holster. Then he put on his coat and fedora.
“Grab your cam again, Squeak.”
“Aye, aye, boss.”
This time, it’s found in the dumpster at a back alley. Found by some hobo rummaging for some scrap.
A woman. Stripped of clothing and internal organs. Multiple stab wounds all over the chest. Same M.O. But this time, it was decapitated.
Squeak took out the camera and started her work.
Female, possibly early to mid-20’s. Looks Caucasian or mixed race.
Daphne Cook. Theatre arts student.
Irish-American father; Venezuelan mother. Originally from Mercer County, New Jersey. Sharing a flat with another student in the Loisaida neighbourhood.
Worked as part-time staff at a local record shop. Didn’t turn up for work. Supervisor called her mobile phone but it was turned off. Flatmate reported her going to an audition the night she disappeared.
Paul stared at the latest victim’s file. He looked through the information.
He looked at the record shop. Last phone call on her mobile phone is from a number whose address seemed to be familiar.
Yes, too familiar indeed.
A disheveled man opened the door that Paul knocked on one early morning. Daniel volunteered to go with him as Squeak was sent by the Chief to help the Special Victims Division in one case as they are understaffed at the moment. Fucking budget cuts and restructuring indeed.
“Rocco Yates?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” replied the man, “What d’ya want?”
Paul flashed his badge and the man went pale but he reluctantly let them into his apartment.
The apartment was in shambles and smelled horrible. The sofa looked like a dog slept on it. Rocco Yates sat in the middle of it while Paul and Daniel chose to remain standing in front of him.
“We’re here to ask you regarding your former wife, Rosemary.” Paul began.
“Why, that bitch!” Yates muttered bitterly, “You’ve finally found her? Where’s she?”
“Mr. Yates, where were you on the night that—”
“Tell me where that fuckin’ bitch is!” Yates yelled, “She should know where her place is.”
“She’s dead, Mr. Yates!” Paul snapped back.
Yates stare dropped down momentarily before snapping back at Paul. “Wait, you here because…you think I killed her?” He stood up in indignation.
“No, Mr. Yates,” Paul tried to remain calm. Daniel stood quietly but his eyes were watchful.
“I didn’t kill her, okay? I love my wife but she just doesn’t know what’s her place. She’s trying to prove that she’s the one wearing the pants.”
“I understand that, Mr. Yates. Now, just tell us your whereabouts the night of Wednesday last week.”
“Well,” he sat down on the sofa, “I was just here in my apartment, watching TV with my favorite program on. I was drinking some beer and then I passed out. I woke up and it’s already morning.”
“Do you have any witnesses to prove that?”
“Oh fuck, do I have to?”
“Yes, Mr. Yates.”
“Oh, wait, yeah I remember now. Let me get something.” He got up and headed straight to one room. Before Paul and Daniel could follow, Yates slammed the door and locked it.
“Shit!” Paul cursed.
They heard a loud crash.
“He’s heading in the back way!”
They ran outside and saw Rocco Yates making a dash downstairs.
“Dan, call some back-up! I’ll try to keep up with him”
They parted ways. Paul ran downstairs as fast as he could as he chased after Yates until they got into a small, abandoned bridge. He managed to get close to him but as he was about to grab hold of him, Yates swung around swiftly and delivered a strong punch to across his jaw.
Paul staggered because of the impact. But Yates wasn’t finished with him yet. He delivered another blow this time straight into his stomach. Paul coughed and tried to gasp for breath as if his life is escaping.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking police bastard!” Yates cried. He tried to grab Paul’s service gun. They fought for it for several minutes but Paul gathered his strength and kicked Yates by the groin. The lanky man managed to let go of the gun but not without delivering another of his punches across Paul’s face. Then he lunged forward and violently rammed Paul several times against the concrete bridge.
Paul’s balance began to grow frail. Yates threw more strong punches across his cheek and twisted his wrist and made him let go of his gun. Yates, despite his disheveled frame, managed to grab
Paul’s other leg and started to haul him to the other side and push him to the water. Paul frantically tried to grab hold one of the railing and tried clawing to Yate’s shirt but it was too late. His hands became free and with one final punch on his stomach, Paul felt himself lose his balance.
With a loud crash, he hit the dense, cold water.
He tried moving his arms but the current seem to be too strong and his coat is getting twisted and started to pull him down. He tried to wriggle himself out of his coat but it seemed to have to have stuck into his body like second skin.
Shit, I’m going to drown, he thought. Paul fought and bobbed up and down the water but it seemed a futile effort. Slowly, he felt his energy dissipate and he began to descent. He opened his eyes but could only see darkness slowly enveloping him. His eyes began to close and was about to give in to the dark, cold abyss when he felt something—someone—crawl under his armpits and start to yank him up.
His consciousness seems to be shuffling back and forth. He tried to breathe but it seemed that his lungs are too filled with water.
Then a bubble of air gave him the strength to get up and throw up the water.
The next thing he knew, there was a blinding light.
He looked around as he coughed. He’s now safely on a river bank. A hand patted his back followed by a voice.
“You okay, man?”
He turned around to see Daniel kneeling beside him sopping wet. It was Daniel who jumped into the water and saved him.
Since this is a crime thriller fiction, the following chapter, I think, is the grittiest part and not for the faint of heart. So be warned.
A few days later, Carlos Dengler managed to bail himself.
Paul watched as the guards unlocked the cell.
“You’re free to go now, Mr. Dengler.” He called.
Carlos emerged from cell and stared down at Paul with obvious contempt.
“I told you I was innocent.” He said smugly. “You should be glad I don’t plan to tell the media of my illegal detention.”
“Believe me, Mr. Dengler,” Paul answered coolly, “we’ve encountered the media several times much more than the hairs on your head.”
Carlos wanted to yell back but he just gave Paul a stealth murderous glance as he passed him by.
“Before I forget,” he heard Paul speak, “just because you’re released today doesn’t mean you can easily waltz your way across another State.”
“I’m not contemplating on it.”
“Just a quick reminder.”
As Carlos was making his way to the exit, a figure comes rushing through and without looking her way, bumped to him.
“Hey watch it!” He smoothed his black designer coat. He was about to get angry when he saw before him, her small, girlish face. She looked cute. Not stunningly beautiful or gorgeous. Just cute.
“Sorry about that,” she spoke with a certain accent. Australian?
“Well, hello cutie pie,” Carlos flashed his most charming smile. Most of the time it works.
She flashed a smile. She’s got a small gap between her two front teeth but it seemed to look fine with her.
“Do you come here often?” He asked before thinking as they locked into a glance. This is after all the reception area of a New York precinct and not a club.
“SQUEAK!” a man’s voice was heard and they broke their glance.
She continued her way inside the building as Carlos continued to make his way out.
First day of freedom isn’t so bad after all.
She ran. Or tried to. But her legs gave way like jelly. The room was dim. Where is she? Before she could think, she felt some footsteps behind her then, she felt a heavy kick delivered at the back of her head. She fell down hard against the concrete floor. She tried to scream but she felt something rough wrap around her mouth and muffled her cries. He kept her steady on the ground by the heavy weight of his body as he wound her wrists with something prickly and thin, tying them together painfully.
She felt a hand gather some hair from the back of her head. She cried when she felt him yank her head back violently.
He began to drag her by the hair and headed back to the center of the room.
Quickly, he wound some cold chain around her wrists and hoisted her to fully face him.
In the dimness of the room, she could tell the curly outline of his hair, his smooth skin with beautiful, almost Adonis-like features. She could have fallen in love with him but it was the frightening look in his eyes. The glint of his eyes. Maniacal. Inhuman.
Her eyes pleaded mercy but her heart knew that this is futile.
With one swift move, she felt a blade tear through the middle of her blouse and move all the way down to her skirt. She felt his hands rip them every bit of her clothing completely. Her body shivered as she felt the cold air.
He stood back and stared at her in her nakedness. She tried to close her eyes but she saw him flash the most evil looking grin she’s ever seen.
Please, don’t. She tried shaking her head as tears began to blur her vision and run down her cheeks.
He suddenly stopped grinning. Raising his hand, he delivered the first blow down the right side of her chest.
She felt sharp pain. She wants to scream. Then blackness began to envelope her.
He smiled as he studied the lifeless body hanging before him. In one minute, she’s one chirpy, talkative girl who told him that she was dreaming of become an actress on Broadway. But now, all remains is her human shell. He moved near and sniffed the smell of her blood. It’s funny that it smelled metallic and dirty in long dead animals and people. But it smelled different when it’s a fresh kill. It was warm and smelled sweet. Like an escaped scent from a bottle of perfume.
He moved his dagger and dug deep into the right side of her belly. He pulled out the dagger covered with fresh blood and moved it under his nose. Like a wine connoisseur. He opened his mouth and his tongue licked the thick crimson fluid on the warm blade. Heavenly. Tonight is probably a good night.
As he savoured the taste from the blade, his other hand began to move and unbutton his shirt down. Then his hand moved to the zipper of his pants…
Again, the usual disclaimer as stated on the first part.
During the creation of this story, I came upon the question, To be or Not to be. Silly, why question? Introducing a new character here. A rather familiar old one.
The next morning, the police officers brought in a tall, lean man who towered over his two escorts. Paul watched from behind the glass as the man was brought in to the interrogation room. He had dark curly hair, thin lips and pale skin. Paul was thinking if they fished him out from the group of immigrants who illegally crossed the border from South America through a small boat when he noticed that this man was well dressed as if he just came out of a fashion photo shoot.
“What’s going on here? I want a lawyer!” The man yelled as he stared straight at the mirror. Nope, he’s a local with his New York accent and his voice had a distinct presence.
“Here’s his file, sir.” Curtis said as he handed over a folder to Paul.
“Thanks.” He opened the file, stole a brief glance at the man and then he went inside the interrogation room.
“Carlos Dengler?” he said.
“Yes, that’s me.” answered the man apprehensively, “What’s going on here?”
“Mr. Dengler, we have reports that you might provide us additional information about Rosemary Yates.”
Paul pulled out a photograph from the folder and laid it down on the table for Carlos Dengler to see.
“Maybe this would jog your memory a bit.”
Carlos’ pale face turned much paler upon seeing the photograph.
“Oh God! Sh-shit. I-it’s her.”
“Glad you know her now.” Paul smiled smugly.
“Look, I recognize her but I-I personally don’t know her,” Carlos said gesturing with his hands, “She serves me food every time I eat at the local Diner near the Drama School. I just had short casual conversations with her but that’s all.”
“I could believe that…”
“Well you gotta believe me!”
“Then perhaps you can start telling me your whereabouts on the Wednesday night she disappeared.”
“I just finished the rehearsal, I was hungry so I decided to drop by at the Corky’s. At that time, she was still there—”
“Oh I see, you saw her alive then.” Paul looked straight at him suspiciously.
“Yes, along with several other diners there.” Carlos shot back. “How about investigating them too?”
“Our boys are doing that as of this conversation. Continue your story.”
“Nothing unusual happened. She served me food and coffee and after that, she went to serve the other customers. End of story. Happy about it?”
“How about explaining to me how Rosemary Yates managed to receive several phone calls from your number if you’re just engaging in a casual conversation as her customer?”
Carlos’ mouth dropped momentarily before closing it promptly.
“You know that you are not doing yourself any favors here for lying, Mr. Dengler.”
Carlos hid his face with both hands for a moment before removing them and looked up to Paul.
“Okay, so I lied. I don’t want my girlfriend to know that I am eyeing somebody while we’re still a couple. She can turn any fight into a world war. She’s that much of a bitch.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
Carlos curled his lips and looked at Paul as if trying to judge whether to trust him or not. Then sighed.
“Okay, so I was being friendly with her for quite some time.”
“A couple of weeks, more or less.”
“You slept with her?”
“Jesus, you police really enjoy poking into some people’s personal lives aren’t you?”
“We make it our business especially when one person turns up dead.” Paul answered in a matter of fact tone. He’s trying not to show his irritation but this Dengler guy is proving to be too stubborn for his liking.
“No, I didn’t fuck her, if that’s the answer you’re looking for, Detective.” Carlos spoke in a sarcastic manner.
“Were you planning to?”
Carlos sat back against his chair and slapped one side of his face. Then moved his hand to stroke his chin.
“I’m not going to expect you to answer immediately but, got some good news, bad news and worse news for you” Paul began again, “The bad news is we’ll have to confiscate some of your personal belongings while we’re investigating.” He made a gesture at the glass and in comes Daniel with a clear plastic bag.
Carlos looked at Daniel as if trying to recognize him then his facial expression changed.
“Hey, I’ve seen you before.”
“Huh?” Daniel frowned.
“Yeah, I remember now, you’re the guy who fixed my phone when I accidentally dropped it on a puddle a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh yeah, I did.” Daniel smiled a little. “Sorry but we have to temporarily take your phone and if you could drop it here please on this plastic bag along with your other personal belongings. Thanks. We’ll return it as soon as the tests are finished.”
Paul rolled his eyes. Jesus, Daniel is so polite like a bellboy in a fucking five star hotel!
“Mr. Dengler, just empty your damn pockets and dump everything in there.” He cut in brashly. Carlos eyed him with annoyance but Daniel said nothing.
After having the clear plastic bag filled with Carlos’ personal belongings, Daniel quietly exited the room.
“Having just said that,” Paul continue as he stood up, “the worse news I’m about to say is, we have to keep you in custody for the moment.”
Carlos eyes shot out in shock. “What?! You’re locking me in? I didn’t kill that girl!”
Paul nodded to the guard standing behind Carlos. The guard moved forward and began to handcuff Carlos with his wrists behind his back.
“I need a lawyer. This is against my rights as an American citizen and as a taxpayer of this city.”
“Standard Procedures, Mr. Dengler. Nothing to worry about it. Unless you’re guilty.”
“Well, what’s the good news then?”
“You won’t be sharing your cell with another prisoner.”
“That’s the good news?”
“Wait till you see and hear the stories they have in store for you there. Take him away.”
After the interrogation, Paul went straight to one emergency exit and into the back alley of the precinct. An hour and a half stuck in that stuffy room and he’s dying for a cigarette.
He lit it up his cigarette and took a big, deep breath in and felt a sense of fulfilment as the cigarette smoke filled his lungs. A couple of minutes later, Sam came out from the door in what Paul called, his Dr. Kevorkian white smock gown.
“God, I’m dying for smoke and I fucking smell like Lysol and Formalin.” He fished out a cigarette from the cigarette packet on his pocket. Paul held out the lighter for him.
Sam blew out a smoke before he spoke.
“So, any new lead?”
“The boys brought this guy in this morning. Some drama school student from the Village. Turns out, the latest victim, Rosemary Yates, worked at the Diner near his drama school and had been seeing him.”
“Something typical huh?”
“We’ll see, we had his things confiscated and sent for analysis while we lock him up.”
“Lock the poor guy up? That’s police brutality Sir!” Sam flashed a mocking smile.
Again: Crime Thriller themed fan fiction. Rated for violence, implied and graphic.
The names of most of the characters just so happen to have real life counterparts. And no, I don’t earn any money out of this. Just pure pleasure of writing.
Paul was sitting on his office table looking at the files of information Squeak and Sam handed him. While it’s exactly not one would call neat, one could best describe it as an orderly disorder. Somehow it helps his sanity intact to have something constant in his erratic schedule. Amid the large piles of cases and information folders on his desk, he still places his cigarette pack at the lower corner of the right upper drawer at the exact place since starting his career at the NYPD ten years ago. At the right hand side of his desk next to the black pen tumbler is a cream coloured circle stain, created by thousands times he spilled his coffee, helped indicate to a newbie bringing him coffee where to put his coffee.
Coffee. God, he definitely needs one. If only—
The door opened and a sharply dressed man walked in. His face was clean shaven with his chocolate wavy hair kept in place by minimal amounts of gel. On each hand is a cup of coffee bought from the coffee shop not far from the precinct.
“Morning everyone.” He said. “Coffee, Paul?” as he placed one cup on the empty allocated spot of Paul’s desk.
“Dan! You’re back, dude! Been a long time.” Paul stood up to greet the newcomer and patted him on one arm.
“Hey DK! Welcome back!” Squeak threw her arms around him. Daniel smiled and politely greeted the rest of the staff present there.
“I decided to come to work ‘cause it’s boring to just stay at home.” Daniel said as he sat on his desk which is not far from Paul’s.
Daniel Kessler and Paul Banks have known each other since their days at the Police Academy and started their careers at the same time at the precinct. For ten years of working together, it seems that they have built a very good working partnership. Him, on the investigative field and Daniel holding court at the Digital Forensic division. And in that span of ten years, it’s funny to think that Daniel always comes in whenever he is in need of a coffee fix as if Daniel could read what he’s thinking. (Like an old married couple! Said Squeak—Shut up, you crazy cow! Paul would say whenever she says something stupid yet something amusing.)
While he had his own desk at the Digital Forensic division, Daniel kept his old desk beside Paul’s and unlike the rest of the desks, his are the most organized. From the files, to the distance of the in and out trays from each other to the angle of his chair’s backrest: Everything was symmetrical and the same as the time he arrived ten years ago. No scruffs or marks are seen his table as he religiously polishes it every week. During his absence, the office cleaner would do it for him and sometimes Squeak, not out of charity, but for accidentally spilling her drink on it one time.
Not far from Daniel and Paul’s desks is Squeak’s. Or rather, The Sidekick or the Resident Fangirl, as she was referred to by the rest of the precinct staff.
Her real name was Margaret Elizabeth Pemberton and originally from England. After obtaining a degree in Forensic Science, she relocated to New York (after enjoying a night of getting “wonderfully pissed” drunk in one bar on a holiday before graduation, she said) and has since been working with them for two and a half years. Her nickname didn’t came from her childish voice rather, from the lunch she would occasionally bring in ever since she started. One time, she decided to share it with some of the staff including Paul and Daniel.
“What’s that?” He said.
“Bubble and Squeak” was her reply.
“Was that all vegetable?” asks Daniel.
“Yup”. Daniel took one and ate it.
Paul picked one and looked at it one more time before biting it cautiously.
“It’s a fucking hash!” He exclaimed.
“It bleeding ain’t! It’s Bubble and Squeak!”
“It is!” He said.
“It ain’t!” was the childish voice.
The argument continued for a few minutes and soon subsided but the nickname stuck.
In contrast to Daniel, her desk is eternally cluttered by assortment of sorts. A messy pile of folders, a small candy bowl that keeps changing its location depending on where Squeak would decide to put it, a broken mug turned into a make-shift pen tumbler and pink post-it pads ('What the fuck is that?' Paul asked the first time the post-its appeared on her desk, ‘Uh, pink post-it’s?’ ‘I know it’s fucking pink, you silly cow but of all colors—!’ ‘Chillax, boss! It’s just a bleeding color.’). Her desk drawers are much worse that Paul wonders how she manages to find things when she needs them. He doesn’t want to search thoroughly because he had a nagging suspicion that she’s keeping some snake in one drawer.
“Any new info about the victim, Squeak?”
“Yup, the victim’s ex-husband is a meth addict and there were reports from the other precincts of domestic violence prior the divorce. Victim moved various locations and jobs in New York state, possibly because of him, until she moved to West Village. A few days before her death, there were reports of him threatening her to kill her if she doesn’t take him back.”
“Get Harley to look into that angle will you? Anything else?”
“Hey guys, here’s something I got from the feed.” Daniel handed over some files to Squeak’s desk.
“You might get an idea on that.”
Paul took the files and studied it. Then something caught his eyes.
Skip this bit if you like: After several days and hours of laboring this down and making sense of the stuff swimming in my head, I managed to write down my first Interpol fan fic. As of this writing, I’m yet to write down the ending but I thought I’d share a few paragraphs with you guys. By the way, THIS IS A CRIME THRILLER THEMED STORY. Which means, graphic and/or implied violence and bad language involved so be warned.
Usual Disclaimer: The following story is a FAN FICTION. Created from the author’s overactive mind. The names of most of the main characters are derived from certain real life people (would it be called an Interpol fan fic if it wasn’t?) although not the personalities of the real people themselves. Any resemblance to other situations or people, living or dead are purely coincidental.
Paul Banks stepped out of his car, took out a cigarette and lit it. He surveyed the area while savouring the comfort the nicotine gives him. The cold autumn wind is blowing harshly against his skin and made him shiver. He clutched his jacket tighter and secured his fedora before he closed the car door and proceed to do the task ahead of him. He got the call early this morning and led him to a rather secluded area of a beach. Unless he’s on a vacation, he hates going to the beach because it would mean getting sand inside his white shoes but he had no choice.
“Where is it?” He asked as he approached a group of police officers. A young police officer, appearing to be paler than usual, raised a quivering index finger and pointed out the direction to him. As he walked nearer, he studied the corpse before him. Naked. Covered with film of filth and sand. Flaming red hair contrasting the sheet white skin. The face far from recognition as it appeared to be bashed in but he could see what scared the junior officer— at the abdominal region, it is mostly skeletal with only some bits of flesh and muscle remaining where majority of the foul stench comes from. For the past few months, this is the third case of a body found disemboweled and dumped in a secluded area. A serial killer on the loose? Most likely.
Paul Banks stood there as another junior police officer ran past him to a corner and threw up.
“What do we have here now, Squeak?” Was his greeting to the person kneeling in front of the corpse and taking photographs.
Squeak puts down her camera and looked up at him. She spoke with transatlantic tone:
“Female. Between 25-30 years old. Caucasian. Victim’s body was found earlier this morning by a guy who was out walking his dog. No other witnesses. No identifications also on the body.”
Paul surveyed the area. The killer chose this primarily because it is secluded and wind blows here quite strongly even on summer which makes it unfavourable for anyone to come in.
After taking another puff, he spoke to the crew: “Okay guys, bag and tag this up and take it for forensics. Squeak, run a record of missing persons for the past 3 days.”
Victim: Rosemary Yates.
Divorced. No child. Originally from Buffalo, NY.
Reported missing 3 days ago. Works temporarily as a shop assistant in a boutique near SoHo and food service staff at Corky’s Diner, West Village.
Paul walked into the morgue. It was cold as ever but he didn’t mind. At the far end of the room, with his back turned, is the person he’s looking for.
“Something to tell me, Sam?” he spoke first.
“Beer’s on the body fridge on the lower right hand side” was the reply before turning around and peeling off the surgical mask from his face.
Paul grinned. “Dr. Fogarino, you know it’s against the department policy to keep alcoholic substances here. You never change.” as he went over to where Sam told him and took out two bottles of beer.
“As if the fucking chief would ever come down here even for a peep,” Sam laughed as he took one bottle that Paul offered, “besides, what do you expect me to give you, fucking cookies and milk?”
They shared a laugh then they both took a swig of their beer.
“So,” Paul started as he got serious, “anything about the body?”
“Yup. Time of death is possibly, 72 hours ago. It appears that the victim had been kept alive for sometime all bound up judging from the rope burn marks on her wrists. Some abrasions seen around the mouth and cheeks so possibly she was gagged. Ligaments on her knees appear to be cut off possibly to prevent her from running off. Cause of death, bleeding due to multiple stab wounds on the chest. The fatal blow tore into the aortic notch right above her heart. Based on the data of the surroundings where she was found, it confirms that the victim was killed somewhere and dumped later at the beach, some 24-48 hours after her death.”
“Victim was sexually assaulted. But it appears that it was done post mortem.”
“One of those sick weirdos again. D’you remember the last case I had?”
“Which one? The girl who was videotaped while she was being killed?”
“Yeah, sick bastards.”
“This is what I hate about this whole budget cut and restructuring thing the government is doing to us, Paul. I’m contented on examining bodies and stuff but now, they’ve added the working hours and I have to help Squeak go through their stuff and clothes and I ended up watching that fucking tape for forensic evidence. What’s next? Walk the mayor’s dog or something?”
“Hey, at least you keep your job.”
Paul smirked (quite typical of him) but it is true and he sympathizes with Sam. Sam, in his years as a medical examiner, can investigate a chopped up body and still go out with them for some beer and steak. But watching someone die a slow and violent death caught him unprepared.
“Okay, tell me about the hollow belly?” Paul spoke in an attempt to divert the topic.
“Ah, that.” Sam pointed a finger at him before taking a hug drink. “Here’s the grand part.”
“Wow, that’s cool Sam,” Paul answered dryly, “I expect fireworks to explode any moment and The Rockettes to come barging through.”
Sam ignored Paul’s remark and suddenly went oddly serious.
As they stared down at the remains, Sam’s green eyes stared down at the corpse soulfully before he spoke, “You know, when I was a kid, I went with my dad to a trip on Canada on a winter’s day.”
“Uh-huh?” Paul replied with uncertainty.
“It was then the first time I saw a polar bear attack attack and devour a seal. It was like one minute, it’s one cute cuddly living creature and the next minute, it’s all just a bloody mess of remains and shit like a torn stuffed toy—”
“Uh, Sam what does this have to do with this?” Paul pointed out at the corpse.
Sam looked at him straight in the eye. “This body is what the remains of that seal looks like.”
“You shitting me.”
“Fucking hell Samuel! Is there some weird drug in your beer? We’re in fucking New York! Now you’re trying to conclude that some fucking wild animal is probably on the loose and making a meal out of the residents? I wonder how we can explain that to the DA.”
“I don’t want to believe that too Paul but how can you explain the state of this…this.”
“Well explain it to me Dr. Samuel “Kevorkian” Fogarino in terms and words that I could understand. How you could say that this case is not a possible murder case we usually handle in this department in this part of New York?”
Sam took the challenge. They both put on some surgical mask and gloves and Sam grabbed one of his sharp scalpel.
“See this bit over here?” Sam pointed out the right side of the corpse’s belly (or what’s left of the belly) “This is where the liver is supposed to be. Nourished by two blood supply: the hepatic portal vein and the hepatic artery which explains why there’s little risk of the liver to suffer from
“Sam, cut the shit okay? What is it you’re trying to tell me?”
“It’s not there.”
“I got no medical background here Sam but it’s pretty obvious to me that the liver isn’t there.”
Sam is starting to get irritated. Talking to detectives is sometimes like explaining the basic fundamentals of science to an idiot with a three year old’s attention span.
“What I’m saying here Detective Paul Banks, is that the liver has been clearly cut off. Removed on purpose. Not a single piece of liver tissue was left. The rest of the internal organs are either decomposed or pulled out by force, see this bit here? It’s as if the intestines were pulled off. I don’t know if it’s by the killer or dogs. Who knows?”