Chapter Fourteen
Murder Scenes, Missing Pieces, and Major Breakthroughs
Nick
Waking up to a buzzing phone is never pleasant. It’s especially unpleasant when you slept late because you couldn’t get the lips of the first man you ever kissed out of your mind, and you had to relieve all the tension that eventually built up. More than once.
That thought should have been unpleasant in itself because I shouldn’t be going around kissing the fuck out of a man I’m supposed to be interrogating, even if it’s unofficial and for something as minor as lying. But it’s not. Fuck, it’s not.
Then again, it isn’t like I was taking advantage of Elliot or something. The guy doesn’t do serious relationships. But he was definitely into all the making out we did. He’ll hopefully be into doing more than that. A lot more than that.
Because one thing is clear, I’ll not rest until I get to the bottom of what’s up with him. And if I’m spending time with him, we’ll be doing a lot more than just making out. Remembering that dazed expression on Elliot’s face, it’s inevitable, really.
No time to think about Elliot’s expression right now, Nick.
I’m just happy I successfully convinced myself to drive back to my place instead of following Elliot like a damn puppy.
I pick up Serena’s call, because the woman does a lot of questionable things, but calling at ass o’clock in the morning just to chat isn’t one of them.
“Hey, I’ve sent you an address. Be there in the next hour,” she says, getting right to the point. I knew there was a reason I loved her. Wait, I’m not sure I do yet.
“Why?” I try for a reasonable voice, but it still comes out all whiny.
“A body. Looks like an overdose, but we need to confirm,” she says.
What’s up with this city? “I’ll be right there.” I hate being a responsible adult.
“Chin up, princess. It’s in a Wendy’s parking lot, so there’ll be coffee. The all-you-can-drink variety,” she says, softening the blow.
“I love you,” I tell her. And she hangs up on me. Weirdly, not the worst response I’ve received for that declaration.
A quick shower later, I’m out the door, driving to Wendy's, hoping this really is just an overdose. I can’t deal with another killer this early in the morning.
***
Good news, it’s not another serial killer. It’s the same one. Silver lining and all that.
“With that amount of drugs, it can easily be an OD,” Serena says from the driver’s side of the door while I peer through the passenger side.
She isn’t wrong. That’s a lot of drugs in the glove compartment. But it’s not OD. It can be, but I know it isn’t. That’s because this is a werewolf, and there’s a big dent in the steering wheel that looks like a claw mark.
Not only is this the work of the werewolf hunter, but this time, it didn’t go as smoothly for them as it tends to do when they’re involved. Serves them right for getting smug and murdering in the open, unlike their usual MO of cornering victims in their homes.
But they’re definitely leveling up. All because I can’t catch them.
Everything here taunts me. Like the killer is sitting in a room watching us helplessly trying to find clues, and laughing at us. They have a cackling laugh in my imagination. Helps for maximum embarrassment effect.
I spot Dominic standing near the Wendy's door. I walk up to him, letting Serena continue the inspection. I have more urgent questions.
He’s on a call but disconnects when I approach him.
“You responded to the call?” I ask him.
He nods. “I was on patrol when we got it. I was the closest. The EMTs declared him dead pretty much right away,” he says.
“Please tell me there was a camera that captured the entire thing, and we just need to get in our cars and drive to the killer,” I plead.
Dominic huffs a laugh. “What’s the fun in that? Their camera doesn’t capture that far into the parking lot,” he gives me the bad news. Well, I already expected that. It’s the serial killer we’ve been tracking for years. They won’t be that sloppy.
“You think it’s the Vigilante Wolf Hunter?” he asks.
“We aren’t supposed to give them names, Dom. That seals our failure,” I berate him.
He tilts his head. “That can’t be true.”
Maybe it isn’t, but it sure feels like it. It’s giving them too much power. Anyway, “Yeah, it's them alright. The guy doesn’t look like he did a lot of drugs. Especially not enough to die of an overdose,” I tell him.
“But he had so much on him,” he argues.
“Yes, because he’s a dealer. The coke was packaged for sale. He was here to make a deal, probably with our killer. And yes, I’m refusing to call them Vigilante Wolf Hunter on principle,” I announce primly.
“Well, it’s a good thing Marcus is here then,” Dominic points over my shoulder.
I turn to look at Marcus making his way towards the victim’s car. I sigh, feeling relieved. It’s a rare occurrence for Marcus to conduct a proper post-mortem on the Bureau cases. Most of the time, he hops on later after human authorities have already closed the case.
“I need coffee to deal with Marcus,” I tell Dominic over my shoulder, already walking into the shop.
Armed with a fresh cup of sugar and caffeine, I head back to the crime scene.
“I’m almost sure it’s not an OD,” Marcus confirms without looking up when I come up behind him.
“It’s not?” Serena asks, stepping up beside me.
Marcus finally turns. “No,” he says to her. Then his eyes settle on me. “Looks more natural, probably a heart attack. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
I dip my head in a small nod.
Serena sighs dramatically. “Oh, thank god. I really didn’t want another murder case. We have so many pending cases, a new murder would have made me cry right here, right now. I’m not too proud to admit that,” she says.
That’s an unnecessary brag, Serena.
Marcus ignores us and longingly looks at one of the cups in my hand.
“Yes, it is for you. Stop giving me that look. It’s creepy.” I hand him the coffee.
He takes a long sip and sighs satisfactorily. “I was looking at the coffee, not your ugly mug that looks like it hasn’t slept in weeks,” he says. “I told them you weren’t ready to be off the Nick Welfare Check program yet.”
I roll my eyes. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about another murder at least,” I say, keeping the sarcasm on the downlow because Serena is still standing beside me, giving me a betrayed look.
That’s what she gets for all the bragging. “Dominic is getting your coffee. Stop giving me the death glare,” I say.
On cue, Dominic walks over and hands her a cup.
“Marcus thinks it’s something natural, like a heart attack. Why don’t you still take the statement of the person who found him and get the names of the staff who were on shift last night?” I instruct Dominic. Why not do things the easy way when we have the rare opportunity to?
“Also, try to get the contact information of the customers they had last night and the security footage,” I add. Maybe the killer finally slipped and bought a nice cup of coffee from the store to add his drugs to?
Dominic nods and goes back to the shop. Serena and I drive to the precinct after making Marcus promise he’ll call me as soon as he finds something.
This crime scene is different from the others. The killer was clearly out of their comfort zone. If there’s an opening to close in on them, it doesn’t get better than this.
***
After spending three hours with my eyes glued to the second human victim’s phone, looking for clues, I’m ready to smash it on the floor. And crush it with a hammer for good measure. Why was Cami’s sister dating an absolute jerk like him anyway?
I try to avoid judgments on the job. But fuck, he was a piece of shit.
Enough to get him tortured and murdered?
No, weirdly enough. He was more of a garden-variety jerk.
Just your regular misogynist, hateful bigot.
Unfortunately, in the world we live in, if people started getting murdered for that, we’d barely be left with half the population.
The digital forensics only got around to unlocking the phone last week, and the data file didn’t have any incriminating information. No death threats. No confessions. Just pages and pages of text that almost convinced me to wash my eyes with bleach.
Not that it was anything new. Personal phones are generally a safe place for people to unleash their true selves. I’ve definitely seen worse. But when you’re torturing yourself to find justice for someone murdered in cold blood, you at least want them to be a decent person. That’s not a big ask.
Apparently, it is because Nathaniel Rambert was not a decent man.
But it’s clear from his texts and social media presence that he did not have any connection to our first victim whatsoever.
I blow out a long breath and decide I need coffee to survive more of this, since cyanide isn’t really an option right now.
I find the pot empty because people in this precinct are heathens. Hopefully, I’ll never have to go through their phones. I start the machine and scroll through my own phone while I wait. What would someone think if they checked my phone? Probably that I send non-reply-able texts.
So, I send a very reply-able text to the only person who has given me that feedback.
Me: My day sucks. Hows urs going?
There, that is open-ended enough. Boring, yes, but something that guarantees a response. If it doesn’t get any, at least Elliot can’t blame me for it.
My phone buzzes almost instantly.
Elliot R: The same as every day.
I wait for a few seconds in vain hope that he’ll add something. Of course, he won’t. Continuing a conversation is beneath him.
Me: I found a 1 rply txt. Wht can get dr. Elliot to rply twice in a row?
Might as well go directly to the source.
Elliot R: Maybe start with not texting like a teenager.
I choke out a surprised laugh and get a confused look from an officer for my troubles.
“Someone just told me I text like a teenager,” I explain to her.
She tilts her head. “Oh my god, you totally do. All those missing vowels.” She shakes her head and walks away.
Huh.