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

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade had been a perfect student in primary and secondary school, as far as grades and behavior went. But as far as attendance went, he’d been morbidly lacking. A few of the people in his grade really only knew of him, and had never actually spoken a word to him. Being a year younger than everybody else and fairly sickly had prevented him from really ever making too many friends, and so he’d discovered his love of books early on in life.

He’d spend a lot of time in the local library as a child. He had been enamored with the worlds that he found within the pages, and had literally tried reading (and finished most of) all of the books in the entire children’s section of the library by the time he was graduating primary school, including nonfiction. After that he went on to young adults’ books. Despite his intelligence, he was still just a child though, and so he found it harder to enjoy the stories about men and woman that were so much older than him sometimes. He began to read poetry, and found he enjoyed both reading and writing it.

Despite his love for literature, he never thought of becoming an author himself. Sure, he’d drabbled in creative writing courses and written a few short stories himself, but he’d never thought of making it into a career. Still, his love for books never left as he matured into an adult.

He was, in fact, reading when he got a call on Saturday morning. Granted, it was a cold case file and not at all interesting, and so he hadn’t had a problem putting it down to answer the phone.

“Hello? Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking. Oh… Right. Sure thing. Okay. I’ll be there. Okay, goodbye.”

There’d been an accident at the library. Or rather, not so much an accident as a horrible occurrence. Moments ago, a young girl, only twelve, had gone up to the loft on the third floor that people sometimes used to read or have meetings in, and had found two dead men. The poor girl would be traumatized for life; Lestrade felt bad for her.

Pulling his coat on – It was nice, thick, warm – he made sure he had his phone, keys, and a few other things before getting in a police car and driving off. He put the sirens on; he was pretty sure this warranted sirens and anyways, he didn’t feel like waiting for the horribly slow traffic of New York City.

When he arrived, the library had been closed down: nobody could enter or leave for the time being. The people at the door greeted him worried, the librarian crying.

“Oh thank god, thank you for coming, it’s just upstairs, oh that poor girl…” the information was spewed tearfully, and Lestrade didn’t pay it too much mind, except putting in a few comforting words to the distraught woman.

He sighed. Looked like this might be a bad one. Oh well, at least it was more interesting than a break in. The one good thing about bad crime. He looked around at the people who were trapped and scared looking in the library. Surely they all knew what was going on already. He doubted it was cold murder in a library, it was probably premeditated and the murderer was unlikely to be in the building, but still, it was good they’d closed it down for the time being.

He walked up the stairs with mild trepidation, reaching the door to the third floor quickly. Taking a deep breath to ready himself for the possible onslaught of worried onlookers asking questions he wouldn’t know the answers to, he opened the door.

There was thankfully only a fairly small group of people in the large room. A few adults trying to comfort a very horrified looking girl, some other kids hiding their faces in books to avoid looking at the bodies in the corner, some fearful adults, and… Fiona Price. Lestrade blinked in surprise. Oh, well, that was coincidence.

“Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I’m on this case, and I’ll please ask that you might answer any questions I might have,” he said loudly to the quiet room, protocol and all. He looked directly at Fiona, an excited glint that showed only in his eyes. It’d been a few months, but he hadn’t forgotten her. He’d liked her, she’d seemed to like him, and they were a rather interesting pair.

He walked over to her first – dead bodies are in no hurry after all – and tried not to grin too widely. “Why hello there, Miss Price,” he said, unable to help looking a little happy. “It’s a lovely day to investigate a murder, isn’t it?” He wouldn’t blame her if she punched him.

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

Fiona didn’t see what happened when the girl found the two bodies. But she heard the bloodcurdling scream, same as everybody else. The downside of having a vivid imagination came milliseconds after the scream finished, as she pictured the cause of the scream. Of course I had to pick out Dracula for today, didn’t I? she thought ruefully, heart pounding with fear. She got up quickly, jogging into the loft room. There were others in the room with Fiona, a few adults and some children in a reading session. Fiona beat them to the loft. The door flew open and a young girl tumbled out, hands fluttering wildly over her face. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was so pale it was nearly blue. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Blood…” she gasped, voice trembling with fear. “There’s so much blood… oh my god…”

Shoot, it was Dracula, Fiona thought for a moment, wildly, then regained control of her senses. ”Somebody call nine-one-one” she cried. She grabbed the girl’s arm. ”What happened?” The girl just shook her head. “Blood…” she whispered, over and over again. Fiona briefly toyed with the idea of going inside the room herself, but she didn’t want to risk it. She was queasy around blood, embarrassingly so, her imagination would probably make it impossible for her to sleep for a long time, and besides which, she didn’t want to see anything involving blood while she was reading Dracula. So she put an arm around the sobbing girl. A few of the adults stayed behind to keep the younger children from crying or going into the room, but most of them swarmed toward Fiona and the girl. Fiona backed away, sure she wouldn’t be much help. So she stood back in the corner, trying to keep out of the way.

For the next half hour or so, people came and went. Most people came out of the loft looking decidedly queasy, and Fiona was glad she hadn’t gone in just yet. Someone had called the police. Swarms of local officers, mostly people with medical masks and such, filled the library. A journalist showed up, too. Fiona wondered if it had anything to do with Jack the Ripper, though he hadn’t done much in months. He doesn’t usually go after men, though, does he? she thought pensively. Dead bodies bothered her, yes- but surprisingly enough, she wasn’t as concerned about the murderer him or herself.

Her ear perked up as one of the police officers’ conversation reached her ears. “Called the inspector, yes, that’s right, he’s on his way. Should be here any minute.”
Fiona pondered vaguely if it might be Inspector Lestrade. She’d met the man at the café where she worked, and he seemed nice enough- he had a very trustworthy, caring air to him that made her want to talk to him.

As if she’d conjured him from her thoughts, she heard his voice. ”Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I’m on this case, and I’ll please ask that you might answer any questions I might have.” Fiona looked up and saw him returning the look. She smiled a little- but it was hard to get the image of “blood, so much blood” out of her mind. He walked over to her and smiled. ”Why hello there, Miss Price. It’s a lovely day to investigate a murder, isn’t it?”

For reasons she herself didn’t understand, she spluttered out a genuine laugh. ”It’s nice to see you, too, Inspector,” she said. ”It’s obviously a nicer day to investigate crimes than the last time we met.” She hadn’t been outside in hours- first she’d been working on a few projects, most of them invented for the sole purpose of escaping her Aunt Norris and the numerous chores she lined up for Fiona to do. Then the fiasco of the “incident”, as the police were calling it, had happened.

Fiona gestured at the door to the loft. ”They haven’t said anything about a murder, yet- I think they’re trying to keep people calm, but it’s not working terribly well. I mean, they keep telling us everything’s going to be all right in the same sentence as asking whether we saw anything suspicious and telling us not to leave the building.”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade was thrilled to hear the girl laugh, rather than the alternative, which would be to reprimand him for his cheery attitude. Still, despite the dullness of the day, it was a good one. He’d woken up cheery, before his piercing alarm sounded its annoying series of beeps, and the sun was out. A murder did little dampen his unusually cheery mood. Of course, he would have to be serious; this was murder, but he couldn’t help but to be thrilled to see the girl he’d thought about seeing a few times these past few months. She’d been kind, and enjoyable to talk to.

“It’s nice to see you too, Inspector,” Miss Price said, obviously amused by his previous jovial words. “It’s obviously a nicer day to investigate crimes than the last time we met.” Well, that was most definitely true, and he nodded quickly in agreement. That’d been a terrible day, overall. The rain and depression had both hit him with equal force, and all he could think about was seeing his daughter. But now he’d seen his daughter, and perhaps he was still basking in the absolute cheeriness that there was a young girl who was happy and healthy and beautiful out there who he’d help create and loved him. He lived for New Year’s day.

“They haven’t said anything about a murder, yet,” Miss Price explained, and Lestrade grimaced. Well, of course they wouldn’t just go out and say it. “I think they’re trying to keep people calm, but it’s not working terribly well. I mean, they keep telling us everything’s going to be all right in the same sentence as asking whether we saw anything suspicious and telling us not to leave the building.”

“I ought to make an announcement,” Lestrade said, slightly animatedly cocking his head, thinking. “To tell them .There’s no point in hiding it.” The frantic librarians and lower ranking police officers were taking care of the whole guarding the door and making sure people didn’t freak out too much downstairs. And besides, they let a few people leave who honestly really, really needed to, like that man who was shouting hysterically about his wife giving birth.

He looked back down at Fiona, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “So Miss Price, according to one of my coworkers whose brother works at the college, you’re a writer.” He paused for a moment, whether for dramatic effect or actual reason was unknown to both himself and anyone who was witnessing the conversation. And there were people – a lot of the poor library patrons were staring holes into his back, probably wondering why the hell he was talking to the girl in the corner instead of the dead men in the opposite one. “I’m sure you’ve read some detective novels. Come take a look. I could use a second opinion.”

Last time she’d come with him simply because she was able to. This time, she was actually in the location already, and so he didn’t bother reminding her about rule breaking and protocol again. Anyways, nobody would care. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him, and walked over to the opposite side of the room where the two men lay. He didn’t check for her to hesitate. If she did, or didn’t come, he wouldn’t have known, because, well, though he’d like for her company, whether or not she came with him really made no huge difference in the outcome of what was happening, most likely.

But she followed him, and they stood over the bodies together. People around her whispering, staring; the little girl who’d discovered the bodies was weeping silently. He decided to leave her for a moment, rely on pure, untainted observation first. Other people’s judgments sometimes could cloud his reasoning, and he wanted hard fact first, as not to miss anything. It was a strategy he’d used for a long time.

The bodies were laid side by side, hands nearly touching. Despite what he’d heard about the girl who’s found the bodies muttering frantically about copious amounts of blood, it wasn’t widely spread. The two men had a few obvious cuts but the blood as somehow very little, considering. The shirts they wore were pressed and uniform, identical. From the same workplace was likely, then. They were holding nothing, which meant they’d probably been moved her after the death, this further backed by the fact that they were in the same position, not as if they’d fallen. There was little blood on the surrounded carpet, only in one concentrated area: across the two men’s chests. In fact, the patterns seemed wrong for a gunshot wound. There were no splatters, and there was no obvious burns on the holes in their shirts. The girl who had found the men hadn’t come because she’d heard a gunshot, so the probability of the men being shot in the library was unlikely; even with a silencer, it would have still made noise.

Lestrade mentally concluded that the two men had been shot, put in different shirts quickly after (while they were still bleeding) and put here purposely. So far, so obvious. But there was no note, no notice. Most of the forensic team was still roping off the area outside, or confronting citizens inside the building, but a few were up here.

“Peel back the shirts,” he ordered sternly. The closest man did as he asked. Right, just as he’d suspected: the bullet wounds were embedded inside the men’s chest, but hadn’t been shot while wearing those clothes; for some reason the killer had changed the victims.

“Edgar Washing Service,” one of the men read, looking at the small labels on the tags of the shirts.

“They weren’t shot here. They were changed. Apparently at a washing service. Get someone down there right now,” he said seriously.

Oh, this was interesting. Lestrade looked over at Fiona, wondering how she was coping with the sight of dead men. At least this wasn’t too gory. Well, by his standards.

“What do you see?” He asked quietly. She was a writer, she would have a creative opinion that Lestrade was interested in hearing. “Look closely, think about the stories you’ve read. Take your time. Then tell me.”

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

Lestrade cocked his head to one side. ”I ought to make an announcement. To tell them. There’s no point in hiding it.” Fiona shrugged. She didn’t know if it was, strictly speaking, the best of ideas- but it wasn’t her call to make. If it were me, I’d just try to get everyone down on paper as fast as possible, and get them out of here as fast as possible. But Lestrade said last time he’s been doing this for at least as long as I’ve been alive- he knows what he’s doing.

Lestrade turned his attention back to Fiona, and she was only slightly suspicious of the tiny smile on his face. ”So Miss Price, according to one of my coworkers whose brother works at the college, you’re a writer.” She stared at him. At the college? They know who I am? Oh my god… she thought wildly. Someone at the university she longed to go to more than any other knew who she was. It was shocking. Lestrade continued, and she could only just hear him at the edge of her shock. ”I’m sure you’ve read some detective novels. Come take a look. I could use a second opinion.”

If Fiona hadn’t been in shock before, she was now. The first time she’d met the inspector, a friend’s store had been robbed and she’d come along out of concern. Afterwards she’d cringed over it- who did she think she was, tagging along on a police investigation because she knew the victim? It had been mortifying to even remember. But now here was the inspector, and what was more- he was asking her to take a look. For a brief moment Fiona considered not doing it, not making a fool of herself in front of the professionals and surrounding people. How could she do it? She was seventeen, not even a full adult yet, she knew nothing about crime besides what she’d read in Nancy Drew and other detective stories, she was queasy around blood, she wanted to go home…

So of course Fiona followed him. She approached a little apprehensively- it was the first time she’d seen a dead body outside of a few movies, and she wasn’t looking forward to all of the “blood, lots of blood”. But she looked, steeling herself for the worst.

It wasn’t actually that bad. There was surprisingly little gore- the worst part of the whole thing was the eyes, and Fiona could avoid looking at those. She didn’t know either of the two men, but she did what she could. She didn’t know much about guns or knives- but the small patches of blood told her that it had probably been bullets that killed them, not anything with a blade. But what was odd… Fiona had seen enough movies to know that bullets made splatters. The shirts both men were wearing were clean, very oddly so. Lestrade ordered one of the nearby officers to peel the shirts back, and Fiona tensed, clenching her fists as she looked at the bodies. It was hard to look anywhere else. ”They weren’t shot here. They were changed. Apparently at a washing service. Get someone down there right now,” ordered Lestrade. Fiona gulped, swallowing again and again to conjure some moisture into her dry mouth. Lestrade looked at her, and his voice softened as he spoke to her. ”What do you see? Look closely, think about the stories you’ve read. Take your time. Then tell me.”

Fiona nodded. Her mouth tasted bitter. A small, rational part in the back of her mind piped up So that’s what adrenaline tastes like, it said thoughtfully, or is that just bile? She shook off the unease she felt, but it was clinging to her. She wouldn’t sleep easy that night, but it was better than “blood, so much blood”. Not Dracula, then she thought drily, surprised that she had the nerves to make a joke then. Not shot here, she thought, crouching to get another look, and also partly because she was worried her legs might give out from under her. So why would they be moved here? Why here, the third floor of a public library? It can’t have been easy to get them up here… She frowned. ”There are security cameras on the South and West stairwells, but the staff one doesn’t have cameras,” she said slowly. ”And the elevators are in public view, so if someone was getting them up here they’d either have to take the staff staircase or disguise the bodies.”
She looked around, this time scanning the carpet. ”There’s no drag marks on the carpet- you can see where heavy things get pulled around, see?” she said, drawing her hand across the plush carpet to show the difference. ”They were placed, not dragged. Someone strong needed to lift them- or several someones.”

Fiona was surprised at herself, but she didn’t get as embarrassed as she thought she would. ”Check the garbage cans and the big dumpster out back for garbage bags, boxes- anything that would fit… them… and not be completely out of the ordinary. New furniture boxes, maybe?”

She looked back at the bodies, hair on the back of her neck crawling. She swallowed again- there was a bad taste in her mouth. Fiona blinked. There was something about the hands… She looked closer, unwilling to get within three feet of the men. On a hunch, she pulled off the ring on her right hand, looking down at her fingers and back up at the hands. ”They were wearing rings,” she said. ”Thicker than mine- but the same thickness, same finger, on both men. Maybe a club ring or a class ring? They might have known one another.”

OOC: I don't know anything about the actual library layouts, I'm just making up the bits about the elevator/stairwells.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade looked at Miss Price carefully, wondering if asking her up had been a bad idea after all. The girl seemed a bit unsteady at the sight of the dead bodies. Oh, I’m such an idiot, he thought guiltily, I was stupid enough to forget that most people have never seen a dead body before. Being in his line of work for so long, Lestrade overlooked the fact that many people found what was probably their first sight of the dead disturbing. He wondered if Miss Price might faint. Thankfully, she stayed standing, and the taught muscles in her face seemed to relax a little after a moment.

He listened curiously to what she had to say when she spoke about security cameras. It was a good idea, and he was impressed that she could remember all that about the library’s layout; she must spend an awful long amount of time here. “They were placed, not dragged. Someone strong needed to lift them – or several someones,” she said. He tried not to stop her when she told his men to do something; he couldn’t stop her now, wouldn’t ruin her train of thought. He would have to try not to be such a control freak, of course. He did signal with a finger for the people she talked to, ‘wait,’ though. He stayed silent for her to go on.

“They were wearing rings,” she said, “Thicker than mine – but the same thickness, same finger, on both men. Maybe a club ring or a class ring. They might have known one another.” Lestrade waited a second to make sure she was finished, then turned to beam at her proudly.

“Very, very good!” He said. “Fantastic for a first try, really.” He was incredibly impressed about the ring bit. He contemplated how to correct her without sounding cruel. But then, he supposed she wouldn’t take a bit of constructive criticism to hard; she was an author after all. Authors got corrected all of the time, didn’t they? He pointed to the window next to the wall.

“See there? The window’s open. And if you look closer…” he motioned for her to walk a few paces around the bodies to look outside, “There’s a fire exit. Most windows that have the ability to open as wide as this one can on high floors like this have stairs along side the building.” He fingered the clasp on the window. “This can’t be opened from the outside though, so you’re right, there had to have been more than one person. Someone had to open it from the inside. However,” he pointed down at the street, “This fire exit was closed down ten years ago. It’s not to be used anymore, because the rust on the stairs was dangerous and off-putting, I guess. They’re still usable though. Anyway, there’s an ally 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; it's the perfect blind spot. 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 ordered another subordinate.

He stepped back from the window, then leaned down to get closer to the bodies. “You’re absolutely correct about the ring theory. Perfect.” He smiled, looking up at her. He reached into his pocket for his walkie talkie (such a stupid name for a handy device) and talked to the two who had gone to the cleaners. “Find their clothes yet?” He asked.

“Yes sir,” the voice came back a second later. “All bloody. Sent the samples over to the lab, see if it’s theirs.”

“Good man,” he said, then to Miss Price, “Bingo.” He grinned, and stood, grunting slightly as he pushed himself up, hand on leg. “Look in the pockets of the shirts or pants, see if there’s anything to identify,” he said into the communication device.

“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!” Lestrade exclaimed, dropping the usual ‘Miss’ in his excitement. “So, class rings becoming more and more likely. Possibly just finishing up their bachelors, considering their ages.” Or they could be married, but that was more unlikely. The state of New York had recently legalized gay marriage, but he assumed some young people were still tentative to marry, especially while still in uni. Well, that was sad. Two boys, so young… What a shame.

“We’ve got a license plate number from the building next door, sir,” a voice came from his walki talkie.

“Great,” he answered, and looked at Miss Price. “So, you’re right on most major accounts. I’m impressed. Now,” he motioned towards the little girl who’d found the bodies. “Let’s go talk to her, shall we? If I remember correctly, you’re quite good at comforting people…” he was half joking, but it was true. “But let me talk first, if you don’t mind.” Then he started to walk over.

OOC: Yeah, I don’t know anything about it either; making it up as I go along.

[/center]

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

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.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Yes, rust did stick it shoes, sometimes, but he doubted that the people who’d come up the stairs had actually come inside, and the man who’d helped the others get the bodies inside through the window was likely to have come up through the building. So they’d probably come up the staff exit. Of course they did. The library, though strict in policy, did not have the best security system. Obviously. He noticed how Price didn’t bother coming over to him when he showed her the window. Well, that was alright. He was impressed enough that she hadn’t fled at her first sight of the dead in the first place.

The girl seemed to flush at his compliments, which he would later admit to himself had been rather lavish, though not undeserving. He was sometimes a bit to open though, he knew. Fiona followed him over to the little girl, who was still crying, though not as hard as she had when he’d first arrived on the scene. She was sitting at a table with a few other adults, assumedly her parents or guardians, and her chair was placed to face the wall, instead of the bodies. He wondered why they hadn’t moved her to another floor. Perhaps she wouldn’t move? Or had been suffering from shock? No matter, questions needed to be asked, and though his colleagues sometimes had teased him for it in the past, he was quite good with kids, and knew how to handle them well.

He looked at the adults who were sitting with the girl questioningly. “May I?” He asked. A man, probably the girl’s father, nodded. He looked a bit shaky himself.

Leaning down to sit on his heels in front of the girl with Price standing next to him, he gave her a small smile. He knew not to make it too cheerful, or fake – no need to make light of the situation – but just bright enough to be comforting. The girl had been staring at the rug with a morbid fascination until then, and her eyes slowly tracked upwards to look at Lestrade’s face.

“Hey, I’m Greg,” he said, using his nickname of his first name simply because it was short and easy. Lestrade was foreign, and possibly frightening to a child. Then again, his accent was still prevalent, despite his toning it down for the kids purposely, so using Greg had been rather pointless.

“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.” He kept his voice even and soft.

The girl was silent for a bit longer, but she didn’t freak out, which he took as a good sign. Finally, she said, with her voice high but surprisingly level, “There was a lot of blood. Too much blood.”

“Anything more?” He asked hopefully.

“There was… a man. Coming down the stairs. He ran into me as I was going up.” She looked at him with surprising intensity for a child. Perhaps getting over the initial shock, she wasn’t nearly as shaken as she seemed. “He killed them. You should arrest him.”

Lestrade blinked, surprised at the girl’s bluntness.” We’ll try out best. Can you tell me what he looked like?”

The girl faltered, and she seemed slightly less composed. “He looked bad. Just bad. He just looked bad,” she said, and… well, using the same word three times was definitely a sign of-

-The girl started crying again. Bit, silent tears, then louder ones. Her parents looked helplessly at him, obviously not sure what to do. He didn’t blame them; what do you do when your daughter’s just witnessed murder? He looked up at Fiona.

“Price?” He muttered, standing. “Do your thing.”

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

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.”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade watched casually as Fiona introduced herself to the girl, shaking her hand. The girl accepted nervously, and introduced herself as Ethel. Lestrade internally berated himself for not asking her what her name was himself; it might have been more reassuring for her, and make him sound like he cared more. Fiona beckoned the girl out of the room, and the two walked slowly past the wall that connected this room with another smaller room. Lestrade was pretty sure it was the one that a lot of groups used for club activities and such.

He leaned again the wall, crossing his arms. He didn't mean to look so casual, it ended up that way anyways. Ah well. He listened carefully to what Fiona asked the girl. Normally he'd be upset she'd taken her away, and he was a little annoyed, but Lestrade was the one who invited Price over, he couldn't very well take back his offer.

”It’s a bit much in there, isn’t it?” he heard Price ask. She was probably making that assumption out of personal experience. Perhaps this had been a bit much. Murder was murder; he shouldn't be getting so happy about it.

“I can’t… I can’t stop looking at… at them.”

”Me neither. It’s not a nice thing, is it?” There was a pause, and Lestrade felt it safe to guess that the girl - Ethel, he reminded himself - had shook her head no then. "That man you saw leaving," Price continued, "What makes you sure he was the one who killed them?”

“He looked bad.” Same answer she'd given him. Lestrade hoped Price would be able to get more out of her than he had. Granted, he should have made a bit more of an effort than he had. But he had wanted to test Price.

”Did he look more like Captain Hook or Jafar?” he heard her ask. Oh, that was good. The girl was a little old to be spouting Disney references, but what the hell, it worked. And it was very friendly.

“Captain Hook,” he heard Ethel answer, her voice lighter than before. That was good; had she was Jafar, it wouldn't have been bad, but it is natural instinct for the average Caucasian woman to assume a criminal's skin to be darker than it is, sadly enough. But the girl had said - implied - white, so the man was probably white.

”Did he have a moustache like Captain Hook’s?” asked Price, "What about a hook?” Lestrade resisted rolling his eyes. As charming and mildly helpful as the Disney references were, he didn't exactly have the fondest memories of watching them with Dolores. Mostly because she went on a marathon when she was in the hospital with appendicitis. Obviously she'd been successful in surgery, but those hours were some of the worst of Lestrade's memory.

“No,” the girl laughed, "He had a cane like Doctor Facilier. It was all white.” Lestrade wasn't really sure who the girl was talking about, but… a white cane. Now that was certainly interesting.

”Did he have sunglasses on?" Price asked. Lestrade smiled. Good Price. She was coming through after all.

“Yeah, big reflective ones,” said Ethel. Lestrade heard Price's chair creak lightly as the girl rose. 

”Well. Sounds like a bad man to me,” Price agreed, ”Were those your parents in there? Do you want me to get them?”

“No, they’re my… My aunt and uncle.” Oh, oops. He'd not meant to make that assumption. Didn't Price say something about living with her aunt and uncle? Curious. He thought.

 ”Thank you for talking to me,” Price said after a moment, ”You should be able to go home soon - not yet, not until Inspector… until Greg says you can, but soon.” He chuckled a bit at hearing her use his given name. It was quite weird, really. He leaned forward, off the wall, as Price came back around the corner and stood with him. Ethel walked back to her seat, carefully avoiding looking at the opposite corner.

”Only one kind of person is allowed to carry a white cane,” she said to him, her voice quiet. ”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.”

He grimaced. It was a good theory, but there were more explanations. "That would explain why he ran into her," Lestrade sighed, not exactly pleased to correct her. He remembered the feeling of when he used to think he could get it all on the first try, and then something came along and there were a thousand more crushing possibilities. "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…" he looked at her, grimacing, "Well, then he's not our man. Sorry." He paused, before adding, "I'll tell one of my guys to check for any Caucasian blind men here," he said the last part loudly at a subordinate who complied immediately.

"Well, I'm not sure what else we can do just now. Ask about a bit a suppose, but the forensics guys and medical practitioner will take over now, get the bodies out. We can test more about their deaths at the lab." He looked at Price sheepishly, feeling slightly guilty for so quickly dismissing her theory. But a message chimed in on his radio: "Yeah, here's one here Sir. Definately blind. You wanna question him?"

"Bring him up," Lestrade answered. "Thanks for that," he said, turning back to Price. "That was… good of you. You're good with kids." He paused for a second - he had time to ask, the guy wouldn't be up for another few minutes - before asking, "Sorry but who's Doctor Falsi - Falcié?" It was a completely useless question but be wanted to sound more cheerful; give her something to tell her she couldn't be wrong with, and he honestly wanted to know.

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

”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.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Price looked a bit surprised for a some reason, he wasn’t quite sure why, but she answered his question about the Disney villain with a smile. She mentioned having five younger siblings – he’d forgotten that – and then said, “A Disney villain. New guy.” He chuckled slightly at the wording of that – new guy – Disney was a bit of a happy family, after all. “He was in the Frog Princess,” she continued, “See, I knew my useless knowledge of all things Disney would come in handy someday.”

“I ‘spose so, yeah,” he smiled. He’d never watched many of the Disney movies with Dolores, mainly because she’d preferred watching shows like Arthur and Clifford on PBS instead of longer things; then again, when he’d had as much contact with her, she’d been young enough not to be able to sit still through a whole movie without a snack break. Maybe she’d found love in Disney movies by now? Still, Lestrade had watched a few of them, yes. With girlfriends, his brother, just for fun really. He enjoyed them, even if he couldn’t stop thinking about murders most of the time.

“So…” Price said quieter, “What do you think?”

“Of the murder?” He asked, and not waiting for the answer, “I think we’ve got a few good leads. The testing with show a lot, it usually does. And the gunshot wound and powder will be analyzed, which will help.” He paused, then said, “We know the killer’s a man, mostly likely, had at least one accomplice whose license plate number will be highly helpful – that’s a huge lead – and had access to a Laundromat, suggesting his position or relation to the company is close enough that he can bring dead bodies in without noticing. Likely he or his accomplice is an employee.” He stopped talking, and looked at Fiona, who seemed to have more to say. She usually did, he thought, slightly amused.

“Did…” she hesitated, and Lestrade wondered why. “Did you notice anything… odd… about the little girl? Ethel? I’ve seen little kids cry. I know what it looks like.” Well, with five younger siblings, yes, she would have. Though, no, Lestrade hadn’t noticed anything really peculiar, except for the fact that she was deadpan about what she thought. “Their faces get all red and blotchy when they’re upset,” Price explained, “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 felt to me like a fake, like a tantrum.” She finished, looking nervous. Perhaps she thought Lestrade would scold her for her slightly negative observation?

“Do they?” Lestrade asked. “Well, I suppose anything’s possible.” Dolores hadn’t cried much once she turned about three, and when he was child… Well, as far as he remembered, he didn’t cry much either. “I can’t think of a reason she might be faking it, besides… Well, you have to remember, that child’s going to be completely mentally disturbed for the rest of her life,” he sighed, grimacing. He always felt bad when it was kids, or kids being traumatized. It just wasn’t right. He’d seen death for the first time when he was young, very young, but most hadn’t. “Do you want to ask her about it? If what you say it true, then she’ll probably just fake tears again if I ask her. But you she seemed to like…”

Price answered, and Lestrade nodded. Ethel was downstairs anyhow, so it would have to wait a moment no matter what, because a blind man was walking into the room with a crinkle over his shaded eyes and a frown, and Lestrade knew instantly that the man was innocent. He hadn’t yet smelled the scent of blood, even with his heightened senses, and he was appalled by it. And besides, the profile was all wrong… Still, Lestrade wondered why he hadn’t smelled the blood when he had been up here before.

He walked over the man, announced himself, and shook the man’s hand. When introductions and pleasantries were over, he said, “Why did you not smell the blood when you were coming down the stairs? The girl who discovered the bodies ran into you on the way down.”

“Me cold,” the man said, and he was telling the truth; his voice was stuffed up. “Smell’s not too good at the moment, but I can smell right now, blowed me nose, see?” Lestrade nodded, even though the man couldn’t see it, and dismissed him. He looked towards Price as the officer who brought him up helped him away. “Dead end,” he said.

_{OOC: They can go question Ethel again now, if you want, and if Fiona answered yes.}

[/b][/i][/sub]

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

”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,”

[/i][/b] said Lestrade after a pause. ”Had at least one accomplice whose license plate number will be highly helpful- that’s a huge lead- and had access to a Laundromat, suggesting his position or relation to the company is close enough that he can bring dead bodies in without noticing. Likely he or his accomplice is an employee.” Fiona nodded. I’m missing something, she thought. It should all be here. Everything should be here, all the clues. There’s something I’m missing.

Lestrade looked thoughtful after she spoke about Ethel’s performance. ”Do they? Well, I suppose anything’s possible. I can’t think of a reason she might be faking it, besides… Well, you have to remember, that child’s going to be completely mentally disturbed for the rest of her life.” Fiona nodded, but she wasn’t convinced. She acted almost perfectly normal, though, she thought. Aside from not being able to describe the man she saw, she was acting just fine. No tears, no shocked silences. She acted like a normal kid. Something’s not right about that.

”Do you want to ask her about it? If what you say is true, then she’ll probably just fake tears again if I ask her. But you she seemed to like…” Fiona blinked. She’ll probably just fake tears again? He believes me!
”I don’t know,” said Fiona. ”I’m not sure how to bring it up. But I could give it a shot.”

Fiona noticed Lestrade looking over her shoulder and turned to follow her gaze. A man with a cane was walking into the room. He had pale skin and sunglasses, just like Ethel had described. His face, however, was all twisted up, his nostrils flaring at the smell of blood. Lestrade shook the man’s hand and introduced himself to the man. ”Why did you not smell the blood when you were coming down the stairs? The girl who discovered the bodies ran into you on the way down.”
“Me cold. Smell’s not too good at the moment, but I can smell right now, blowed me nose, see?”
Lestrade nodded. The man did sound terrible. ”You should take something for that,” Fiona said without thinking about it. The man nodded, and with the help of another police officer, the man left again.

”Dead end,” said Lestrade. Fiona ran both hands through her hair and groaned. She hadn’t gotten a vibe from the man, hadn’t gotten anything but a wide-open read-me-like-a-book personality. Nobody can fake that, she thought. He’s not it. ”So… you want me to go talk to Ethel again?” she asked.

Something’s not here, she thought. There’s something here that I’m missing. Why the library? Why would anybody put two bodies in a library? The answer came and made chills run up and down the back of her neck. Because they wanted people to see this…

She looked back at the bodies. She was sufficiently enough in shock to be able to look without needing to swallow bile now. Fiona looked at the way they were positioned. No one had moved them- they were still close together, their hands almost touching. Laid out that way- but why? What’s the significance of that? she wondered. Then she blinked. She’d missed the cuts before, missed the scrapes that both had. They fought, she thought. Why is that important?

”They fought their attacker,” she said to herself, thinking out loud. ”They weren’t just picked off. They were chosen… killed for a reason, and moved here for a reason. Their attacker… they fought him or her before they were killed. Why wouldn’t their killer just shoot them?” She rubbed her thumbnail across her lips, thinking. ”And why here? Why a public library? They wouldn’t have had much time to get the bodies in here and get out- they would have had no way of knowing if anyone was coming in here.”

Her eyes widened. Unless there was a signal, she thought. Someone keeping watch- or someone who got the signal to let people through. Maybe they even set someone up to find the bodies, to draw attention. Ethel…
Her theory was only slightly crazy, but she was reluctant to say anything else. A public library. What’s here that makes this place so special? There’s lots of public places- why this particular building? What’s here that isn’t anywhere else? Lots of books, obviously… But what if it was a distraction? The bodies draw everyone out of the other parts of the building. If they wanted something else from here, from the library, it would be easy to get everyone out- but why go to all this trouble? You could just check something out...

She looked back up at Lestrade. ’Are there any materials here not available to the public?” she asked. ’Anything people can’t see, or can’t check out?”

OOC: Sorry for the wait- we lost power yesterday so I couldn't get on![/blockquote]

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Price had shown previous hesitation about questioning Ethel again, which was natural, Lestrade thought; pushing a child had the unbalanced tendency of going too far, too soon, much too quickly. Perhaps it was better to go on the safe side and leave the poor child alone. Then again, if Price’s words were as insightful as he hoped, she mightn’t be entirely innocent as a child. Still, that’s what she was, a child. He shrugged when she re-asked his question; it was up to her.

Lestrade watched as Price switched her gaze back to the bodies, and she looked steadier at the sight of death than she had before, though still unnerved. He sighed and ran his hair through his hands, the long-time habit making his already short hair appear even shorter, sticking up at all ends and flashing the grey that he had so long managed to avoid until suddenly, it was all there at once. He hated that that had happened to him. Anyway, off topic-thoughts, he berated himself.

“They fought off their attacker,” Price stated, and Lestrade knew that while she wanted him to hear her, she was mostly speaking out loud. They’d already covered this, and Price didn’t seem the type of repeat facts too often. “They weren’t just picked off. They were chosen… killed for a reason, and moved her for a reason. Their attacker… they fought him or her off before they were killed. Why wouldn’t their killer just shoot them?” Lestrade resisted the urge to interrupt her; she was getting dramatic, and while a writers’ point of view he thought would be handy, the imagination can go down the wrong path too easily, especially for an amateur.

“And why here?” She continued after her pause, brushing her thumb across her lips with drawn out and almost theater-like grace. “Why a publish library? They wouldn’t have had much time to get the bodies in her and get out – they would have had no way of knowing if anyone was coming in here.” She paused again, and finished with, “Are there any materials here not available to the public. Anything people can’t see, or can’t check out?”

Lestrade waited a moment to make sure Price was finished – if anything, Lestrade certainly knew the girl could tangent to the definition of rambles – and finally nodded. “Of course there is. But-“ he stopped himself, unsure how to phrase his words unkindly; he was already worried he’d been too harsh with her today, though it was a necessary harshness. But she was just a girl, and practically forcing her to see those men he hoped had not changed her.

“You’re making this too dramatic,” he explained, his tone soft and though he could be scolding her, had his one been different, his was not. “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.” He waved his hands in the air, explaining with random hand motions that really meant nothing to anyone except himself.

“Besides,” he continued. “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.”

He paused, finally saying – because really, he was talking a lot for himself today – “…But, there are restricted sections of the library, if you want to check it out. It’s a good idea really; a good place to hide things, clues. Or we could talk to Ethel again.”

[FIONA "FANNY" PRICE]

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?”

[/b] She was forcing her mind to resurface into reality, to leave the dramatic world of detective novels in the pages of a book. ”And if the killer wanted attention, wanted people to know about it… why a library? Why here? There are a lot of public places that are easier to get to, easier to hide bodies in without being seen.”

For the first time Fiona looked around the room. She wasn’t looking for clues this time- just looking at the room itself. She knew this room, had picked out a book from it once for a school project. She couldn’t remember much about the project, but she remembered the book. A musty old one by someone named Gustafson. Fiona’s eyes darted to the shelf with “G” books on it, a few yards to her left. She crossed the room slowly. This wasn’t about the murder- just her need to resurface, to pull herself out of what felt more like a dream- or a nightmare- than reality. Nothing helped her to do that better than a book. The Gustafson book wasn’t hard to find- it was big and had bright blue binding. She pulled it out, flipping through the pages aimlessly. What was that project about? she wondered. I can almost remember…

The book fell open to the section she’d once read before.

New York history.

Of course! she thought wildly. This is the New York City history collection! All of their historical documents are around here… all of the records…

She didn’t want to be overly dramatic again, but there was something here, something important. A smart killer. Someone who wanted to send a message with a few bodies. Fiona looked back at the two men- by now she was so deep in the dream feeling that it didn’t really phase her much. They had been placed, almost posed, and in the same way. Their hands were outstretched, pointing out away from their bodies. Fiona didn’t move again, but followed the line their fingers made, straight to the edge of another bookshelf. ”The kind of person who gets into political trouble, has problems with the way the public’s lives are handled…”

Fiona wasn’t going to follow that kind of a hunch in front of the police officer, but she made up her mind to go through every book on that side of the shelf as soon as she could. It’s probably nothing, she told herself. But it’ll bug me until I look, until I can say for sure that I’ve exhausted every possible scenario.

OOC: Sorry again for the wait! I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get back to you, so sorry![/blockquote][/size]

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“I know,” Price sighed, and Lestrade was sure he’d gone too far. “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.” Lestrade grimaced.

“Crime in the movies is dramatically different from that which is real,” he huffed, annoyed as any true officer would be at the mention of fictional crime. But Fiona, after she muttered about complications – he hadn’t broken her then, she was still imagining – seemed to be looking frantically around for something. He wondered if it was the result of seeing a dead body; the panic at witnessing the outcome of murder first hand.

“What are you looking at?” He asked her. He didn’t want to sound like he might just turn her ideas down again, though they were a bit intricate, and said kindly, “I… I may not immerse myself in fictional ideas, but I’m still open to ideas, of course.”

She was a writer, after all, and he was the one who asked for her opinion. He wanted to – she deserved to be heard – hear her ideas. They were so innocent, it was almost like a guilty pleasure.