Do Your Part to Save the Scene (Fiona, Casual)

Lestrade was impressed by what she’d said, even though she’d only been thinking aloud. ”Very, very good! Fantastic for a first try, really.” She blushed at the praise, bringing some color back into her pale face. Lestrade was getting excited now. He pointed at the wall and she followed his finger to a window. ”See there? The window’s open. And if you look closer… there’s a fire exit.”

Fiona’s mind was racing. She watched him as he fingered the window clasp, but didn’t trust herself to walk. She wasn’t that used to the bodies just yet. But she was okay enough to back up, to put some distance between herself and the two men. ”This can’t be opened from the inside, so you’re right, there had to have been more than one person. Someone had to open it from the inside. However, this fire exit was closed down ten years ago. It’s not to be used anymore, because the rust on the stairs was dangerous. They’re still usable though. Anyway, there’s an alley down there. Another reason it was closed. Bad place down there. There’s a building so close, and so, there’s no security camera there. A car could have easily driven in with the bodies here. Check the security cameras from that other building for cars that turned into here,” he called to yet another police officer. Fiona’s head was spinning. She got up and moved toward the window, peering out at the stairs. They were coated in rust- barely a speck of silver metal was exposed. ”Would rust stick to shoes?” she asked. ”They might have taken some of the stairs with them.”

Lestrade was looking at the bodies again. She had to steel her nerves once more before she could look back- and even then, she kept her eyes fixed on Lestrade, and not on the corpses. ”You’re absolutely correct about the ring theory. Perfect. Find their clothes yet?” he said into the walkie-talkie in his pocket. A voice crackled back over the line. “Yes, sir. All bloody. Sent the samples over to the lab, see if it’s theirs.”

”Good man,” said the inspector, and grinned at Fiona. ”Look in the pockets of the shirts or pants, see if there’s anything to identify.”

“Already done, Sir. They’re both twenty-two, Mark Kleeber and Angelo Donatelo, go to NYU. Both had a few bucks on them… ah, some random candy wrappers. Wallets, credit cards. Both also had matching rings in their shirt pockets.”

”Good job, Price! So, class rings becoming more and more likely. Possibly just finishing up their bachelors, considering their ages.” Fiona shook her head. ”This sounds so silly- but I was thinking about a secret society, some kind of club where rings are identification. Maybe you could check their schedules, see if any other students in their classes had similar rings, or whether they had any classes in common. There had to be some connection, some reason why the two of them were both killed.” Something about the elimination of her first name made her feel a little better, a little more firmly landed on the ground. She felt like she was part of the investigation, and Lestrade’s pride in her observations had her feeling… strange. Not unpleasant, she thought. In fact, it’s really nice to have someone proud of me- but it’s really strange. The Bertrams, of course, wouldn’t be proud of anything she’d done. They barely even noticed that she was working at anything. Her parents might have been proud- but they didn’t really know her enough to be proud of her, not anymore, and they didn’t know what was going on in her life. Is this what it feels like? she wondered. Is this what having a parent feels like? It made her miss her own family, miss that wonderful sense of having done well, more than ever.

The walkie-talkie crackled into life again. “We’ve got a license plate number from the building next door, sir.”

”Great. So, you’re right on most major accounts. I’m impressed. Now. Let’s go talk to her, shall we?” said Lestrade, motioning toward the girl with the dark braid. ”If I remember correctly, you’re quite good at comforting people…” Fiona blushed a little, remembering the scene in the café. It had been painfully embarrassing, but also somehow reassuring. I did most of the talking, she thought. I was so hyped up on caffeine that day. I monopolized everything- but now he’s the excited one. It’s his home ground- last time we were on mine.

Lestrade asked her to wait until he’d spoken to the girl, and she nodded. The girl was sobbing, still, nervous and unable to tear her bloodshot eyes from the two bodies. Someone needs to cover those up, Fiona thought crossly. That poor girl will have nightmares until the end of forever.

Won’t you, though? asked the little calm voice in her head. And wouldn’t Lestrade? You get used to it, apparently.

Would I ever want to get used to seeing dead bodies? she asked herself, and she wasn’t sure of the answer. But for the first time, crime had an appeal- not in the doing of it, of course- but solving crimes. Maybe I’ll write a mystery or a detective story sometime, she thought. It’s not that hard, not if this is any indication.

Fiona followed Lestrade toward the girl and her parents. Lestrade’s voice softened as he spoke to the little girl, a comforting smile on his face. ”Hey, I’m Greg. Fiona blinked. She didn’t remember having gotten his first name when they’d met- she was surprised to hear it now. He kept his voice light as he spoke to the terrified girl. ”Do you mind telling me, just what you saw? Take your time. Just tell me what you think will help me, so you never have to see something like that again.”

The girl’s voice was as even as Lestrade’s when she answered him. “There was a lot of blood. Too much blood.”
”Anything more?”
“There was… a man. Coming down the stairs. He ran into me as I was going up. He killed them. You should arrest him.”

Fiona didn’t know if she was the only one who was put on her guard by the girl’s even tone. Something about the certainty in her voice when she condemned him felt… wrong. No little kid would be that sure, Fiona thought. She tried to shake it off, but the feeling that there was more to the girl than there seemed to be stuck to her like glue. Don’t be ridiculous, Fi, she chided herself, and turned back to their conversation, on edge.

”Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“He looked bad,” said the girl- was it Fiona’s imagination that the girl’s breathing was getting faster? “Just bad. He just looked bad.”

She broke down into tears again, loud sobs racking her frame. Fiona’s eyes narrowed slightly. This was something she was familiar with. Maria and Julia, her cousins, were both spoiled brats. Whatever they wanted, they got- and when they couldn’t get it, they cried until they did. Julia’s specialty was the big, theatrical sobs- Maria favored sniffling and moping around the house until someone asked what was wrong. And Fiona had witnessed both often enough to know when she- or others- were being played.

Lestrade didn’t show any signs of noticing the trick. Maybe Dolores is just really well behaved, thought Fiona, remembering when Lestrade had mentioned his daughter. ”Price? Do your thing,” he said quietly, standing. Fiona hesitated a brief moment before nodding a little and putting a smile on her face. ”I’m Fiona,” she said to the girl, holding out a hand. The girl shook it uncertainly. “I’m Ethel,” she said quietly.
Fiona motioned out the door. ”Is it okay if Ethel and I talk for a minute?” she asked, addressing the question to Ethel’s parents. They nodded slowly, and Fiona led Ethel out of the room- she wasn’t sure if Lestrade was following, but she had a feeling he would be listening in.

Fiona sat the girl down at a table. ”It’s a bit much in there, isn’t it?” she asked. The girl nodded. “I can’t… I can’t stop looking at… at them.”
”Me neither. It’s not a nice thing, is it?”
The girl shook her head no, and Fiona leaned toward her. ”That man you saw leaving- what makes you sure he was the one who killed them?”
The girl shrugged. “He looked bad.”
Fiona bit her lip, considering a strategy. She cocked her head to one side. ”Did he look more like Captain Hook or Jafar?” she asked delicately. The girl blinked, smiling a little. “Captain Hook,” she said.
”Did he have a moustache like Captain Hook’s?” asked Fiona, and held up her hand. ”What about a hook?”
“No,” giggled the girl, and she looked slightly more cheerful now. “No, he had a cane like Doctor Facilier. It was all white.”
Fiona blinked. New York law was very careful about who was allowed to carry white canes- and someone who used one would be the last person suspected. There’s audio books on this floor, she thought, and it would explain why he ran into Ethel.
Fiona pointed to a police officer with sunglasses on his forehead. ”Did he have sunglasses on?
“Yeah, big reflective ones,” said Ethel. She looked much less pale. Fiona got up. ”Well. Sounds like a bad man to me,” she said lightly. ”Were those your parents in there? Do you want me to get them?”
“No, they’re my-” Ethel’s eyes widened a little. “My aunt and uncle.”
Fiona nodded slowly. Her suspicion of the little girl didn’t go away- but no child that small could make up something about a man with a white cane and sunglasses. She smiled at Ethel. ”Thank you for talking to me,” she said. ”You should be able to go home soon- not yet, not until Inspector… until Greg says you can, but soon.”

She turned back to the inspector. ”Only one kind of person is allowed to carry a white cane,” she said quietly. ”New York law prohibits anyone but the legally blind to use white canes like that. There’s books on tape on this floor- and it explains why he would have run into her. It all fits.”

”That would explain why he ran into her,” sighed Lestrade. Fiona could tell by the look on his face that she’d missed something, and her heart sank a few inches. ”But not why he chose to take the stairs and not the elevator. Convenience and all, if he was trying to get away quickly. Though he could be bluffing. It’s a possibility, but… Well, if he wasn’t faking it, he’d have had to know the library extremely well to find his way to the window, open it, haul the bodies in and lay them so neatly in such a short amount of time. It’s likely that he’s not actually blind or… Well, then he’s not our man. Sorry.” Fiona sighed, too. I was so sure I had the answer, she thought sadly. But he’s right. I come here often enough to know my way around- but even I couldn’t find the stairs blindfolded, let alone open the window or arrange bodies. Maybe he was faking- but either way, if he was coming the other way after the bodies were found, he must have known they were there. There’s a draft coming in through the window- he can’t have missed that. And, she thought, wrinkling her nose slightly at the idea it smells like blood in there.

Lestrade was still speaking. ”I’ll tell one of my guys to check for any Caucasian blind men here.” Another officer caught the hint and left quickly, thundering downstairs to check against the list of people still in the building. Lestrade had an odd look on his face- it looked almost like embarrassment, almost like guilt. It made Fiona blink. ”Well, I’m not sure what else we can do just now. Ask about a bit I suppose, but the forensics guys and the medical practitioner will take over now, get the bodies out. We can test more about their deaths at the lab.”

Fiona blinked. We? she thought. She was surprised more than anything to be included, to be a part of something- sought after for her perspective. It was a strange feeling, but she was shocked to find that she liked it. After almost a decade of being mostly alone, of keeping her opinions and ideas to herself, here was someone who genuinely wanted to know what she thought about the world, about something specific in it. It was almost too much to believe. There was a warmness in her chest, a sort of glowing feeling that she identified, still surprised, as pride. Pride and slightly flabbergasted happiness. I like Lestrade, she thought. He’s a good man. It was nice that he liked her, yes, but it was even better that she was useful to him. She could provide a perspective that he couldn’t- she could help. That was worth the most of all.

The radio crackled into life. “Yeah, here’s one here, Sir. Definitely blind. You wanna question him?”

Fiona’s heart stopped. But there had to be someone she’d seen, she thought. Ethel said she’d seen a blind man- there had to be one here. But this, at least, might provide some answers. Lestrade told the officer on the other end of the line to bring the man up, and turned back to Fiona. ”Thanks for that. That was… good of you. You’re good with kids.”

She shrugged. ”With five younger siblings it’s tough to escape. I’ve memorized all of the dialogue in Peter Pan, and most of Toy Story- someone at home was watching them almost every day.” She didn’t mention that she still loved the movies, didn’t admit that she checked out more books from the children’s section than the young adult, that her favorite movies were still the animated classics. ”Sorry, but who’s Doctor Falsi- Falcié?”

Fiona smiled at that. ”A Disney villain. New guy- he was in the Frog Princess. See, I knew my useless knowledge of all things Disney would come in handy some day,” she said, trying to smile a little. Out of sight of the murdered men, it was much easier- so long as she didn’t stop to think about them. ”So…” she said, this time a little softer. ”What do you think?” she asked the inspector. She wasn’t talking about Disney this time- she wanted to know what he was thinking about the murders. She glanced around- Ethel was gone, downstairs with the others. Fiona waited, unsure of whether or not to mention her bad feeling about the little girl. But if he hasn’t noticed, and it might help… she thought.

She took the risk. ”Did… did you notice anything… odd… about the little girl? Ethel?” She paused for a moment, then continued. ”I’ve seen little kids cry. I know what it looks like. Their faces get all red and blotchy when they’re upset- it takes a while for them to go back to normal. But Ethel… when she stopped crying, her eyes were a little red, but that was it. Her face was clear. I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing. But it… it felt to me like a fake, like a tantrum.” She had to admit, she was nervous about telling Lestrade her hunch. She’d been wrong about so much- but she’d been right about some things, too, and at least she was thinking. She looked at him cautiously, hoping she hadn’t missed the point again.

”Of the murder?” asked Lestrade when she asked what he thought. She nodded, but he was continuing anyway. i[]”I think we’ve got a few good leads. The testing will show a lot, it usually does. And the gunshot wound and powder will be analyzed, which will help. We know the killer’s a man, most likely,”

None of it made much sense to Fiona. Part of her was very glad that it didn’t- it meant she would never be in danger of planning murders like this. But a bigger part of her was just frustrated that she couldn’t figure things out. It’s going to bug me until I can fit the pieces together, she thought irately. The answers are all here- or they should be. What am I missing? What clue am I not seeing? What’s here that I don’t understand?

Maybe I’ll talk to Ethel again, see if I can get anything else out of her, she thought. Lestrade seems okay with that. But I’m no good at playing bad cop- I could never scare her into telling what’s going on. I guess I’ll just have to be smart about this.

She was beginning to feel a little nervous at how obsessive she was becoming over a murder. Lestrade was running his hands through his graying hair. His face didn’t look so old, but the gray was there, sticking out in his short spikes of brown hair. There was a look on his face as well, not so much one of oldness but of weariness. I knew it had to be a stressful job, she thought, I guess I just don’t really understand how much yet. She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that “yet” tacked on at the end of the thought. It felt too much like a prophecy, an omen that this would not be her last crime scene. Fiona didn’t quite know how she felt about that. Certainly the idea had its merits, but could she ever get used to dead bodies on the floor, to that awful smell? Would her hair turn gray after a few years of puzzles like this one?

All the same, it was addictive. Fiona loved riddles and puzzles- and this was a puzzle, however macabre. She was getting desperate, though, desperate to find the answers that she was certain were in the room. Lestrade nodded slowly when she asked if there were any materials the public couldn’t access. She did not, however, like the uncertain ominous ”but” he added. She braced herself. ”You’re making this too dramatic,” he said softly, more gently than she’d been expecting. Fiona’s shoulders slumped. ”The rate of random murders is higher than people might think; it’s nearly twenty percent. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but that’s one out of five, and the rate of murder, though notable, is not nearly as much as petty crime.”

She nodded, making a face as he went on, waving his hands as he spoke, gesturing like the words weren’t quite enough. ”Besides. There’s a lot we can tell from the location. I mean, of course they fought their attacker- who wouldn’t- but the placing of bodies in a public place signifies intelligence. The killer wants attention, and he’s not afraid of it. He wants people to know. Most likely the kind of person who gets into political trouble, has problems with the way the public’s lives are handled.”

Fiona pushed her hair back from her face. ”I know,” she said unhappily. ”I mean, I didn’t know all of that, but… well, you know. I just… I don’t know anything about murders past what I’ve read in books or seen in movies. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

She bit her lip. “So the murders are probably random, but the victims had the same ring on. It’s probably not very likely that that’s a coincidence, right? Maybe they were together when the killer found them?”