Inside Out and Upside Down (Detective Drake)

He'd seen some pretty messed up things in his time. This was one of them. It was a lot like the one before it, with the incredible inside-out man. The only difference was, this guy wasn't dead yet.

It was probably an unfortunate thing. Ashton hadn't wanted to look at the guy. A few words from the redheaded forensics girl were all he'd really needed. Inside-out, thrashing screaming unpleasantness had pretty much summed it up. He'd had to look, though. It was like a car crash. One peek led to two peeks.

Ashton turned away from the man with a look of disgust on his face.

"Consider me up-to-date on this whole thing, Anya..." He muttered to the redhead. "It's a good thing I didn't take you out for coffee before this... would have wasted a perfectly good muffin..."

The forensics investigator slapped her forehead. "Like I'd have gone with you at all..."

Ashton ignored her. His eyes had settled on someone out-of-place. The gray suit was a dead-giveaway. The woman wasn't part of the normal crowd. She had a scar on her mouth, too. Someone nudged him and whispered into his ear, 'Internal affairs'.

Ashton mouthed a miniature 'oh', then approached her gravely. "Detective Drake. Can I help you, Miss?" He stuffed his hands in his leather jacket's pockets, waiting for a response.

>>"What no handshake?"

He let his a thin smile be his taciturn response. His hands stayed where they were.

"Name?" He asked.

Her face was a mask that didn't hide her emotions well. There was a tautness to her features. Body language told him that comment might be the last of its kin. She was serious now, business as usual. With the body where and how it was, that probably had something to do with the change. It was gruesome. They could joke with people all they wanted. That did not change the fact. One learned to distance themselves from the grisly nature of a crime scene with dark humor, sarcasm, biting wit. He'd learned to space himself from it, to not let it bother him. That still never prepared one for this sort of thing. He mentally referred to it as a 'body', but of course... it wasn't a corpse yet... and so, he wouldn't joke about it. They were both adults. He wasn't kidding around here. She'd stopped, too. To joke at a crime scene like this one set a bad example for his subordinates. Nobody needed to get in the habit of having the back of their head smacked.

She introduced herself. He committed the name to memory. Federal Marshall Gage. That told him why she was here, 'nuff said. Ashton gave a slight nod.

Her eyes veered back towards the body. Ashton's eyes followed.

>>"Got an ID on the victim?" She asked.

Ashton recalled the vic's ID. One of the forensics team had plucked it out with a pair of tongs. They'd been lucky. It had fared better than the rug. "His name is Paul Perrette." He looked at her back as she stared at Paul. "Lives in Suburbia. A computer programmer. Different from the last one." He paused, and eyed her. "You are aware of the previous case similar to this?" Ashton asked her. It was mutant-related, it was likely to conclude. If she was here, she had probably connected some dots.

Unless she was one of those curious gawkers interesting crime scenes attracted.

She was aware of the previous case, but this one was better. At least, to Internal Affairs.

"Ah," Ashton commented, hint of distrust creeping into his voice.

Internal Affairs had weird tastes in what they were interested in.

Had they found a connection yet? "Other than the similarities between the two victims, no. I've got my men digging, but we haven't found anything connecting the two yet......" He cut himself off in a trailing silence as Gage left without preamble. That was weird. She was weird, this Gage-lady. Scar by her mouth, Internal Affairs, and hasty exits. Shrugging towards the concerned looking officers on the sidelines, Ashton followed after her. Out the front door he went, into bright sunlight.

Ashton reached into his jacket pocket and flicked out a pair of shades. "You alright, Gage?" Ashton asked, standing a meter or so away. He had his arms crossed impatiently. Why had she booked it? Weak stomach? In her line of work?

She was definitely strange.

This was a hell of a case, though. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt, whatever she said.

Never better? Obviously not. She had a weak stomach. This wasn't the sort of thing she dealt with often. No wonder she'd needed a break from it, and to get away from the victim. Ashton gave her the slightest of nods and a small grunt of acknowledgment. He eyed her curiously through darkened lenses. Just what was her specialty, then?

She seemed to predict that question, and gave him an answer. The Truth. For a second, his mind flashed to some show he'd caught the opening minutes of while channel-flipping a couple of times. X-something-or-other. The truth was out there.

"Right," Drake replied quietly. He watched her for a second, then followed after her.

Drake appreciated something, alright. He appreciated professionalism. Professionalism was not throwing up on the job. Miss Gage was doing a better job of that now than she had earlier, and she was getting the truth. As close to the truth as he suspected one could get using a mutant power. Because Gage was a mutant. He'd dealt with enough to catch the signs. Nobody was that good at picking lie from truth on the spot, short of Sherlock Holmes.

Ashton had never really liked Holmes. He was more of a Sam Spade guy. The Continental Operator. Maybe even Marlowe. He preferred the style. One thing usually led to another. Gage's useful power led them to new lines of investigation. They could follow that.

A Porche. He noted that as he walked through lawn.

A possible suspect? The client he was working for. Maybe.

A strange smell? Suspicious. Possibly, related to whatever had caused the programmer's situation... or the situation itself. Ick.

Ashton grunted in agreement. Maybe.

>>"Did you ever hear about the evolutional fiasco at the gradeschool uptown?"

Double Ick. "Yeah." Ashton replied succinctly, not sounding interested in discussing that. Melted gradeschoolers. Unpleasant. "I think we should go interview people at the programmer's work, get more information on this 'client' he had. There might be something there." He changed the subject.

>>"If it's the kind of client we're interested in, they won't give up the records to get us anything good."

"Maybe," Ashton replied, shrug, tone-implied.

Maybe, they'd have to get rough and go through the hoops and chains of command? Maybe, they'd have to get silly? Maybe, they'd have to get dangerous. Or maybe they'd just do some generous sleuthing, and everyone would go home at the end of the day, having learned something.

The key remote rose in his hand as Ashton unlocked his black Ford Taurus. He went around to the driver's side, and got in. Off, they went. Silence was golden. They got there. Ashton took in all the details of the building as they rode the elevators up to the appropriate office floor. And then, they were there.

Paul Perrette's office area wasn't amazing. Cubicles. Basic furniture. Basic computer, the most basic employees you could fathom. It was a workday, and everyone was still behind their desks. This was no 'root around for clues in personal workplaces' mission. At least, not yet. That would be a good idea, though. Once they were done looking into interviewing people who knew or worked with the recently deceased, they could go that way.

On entering the office area, the first thing to happen was the supervisor leaving his office to say 'hey'. "Hey," Ashton said right back. A single eyebrow arched. Who said hey these days?

"Hi," the supervisor continued. "Yes?" He looked from Drake, to Gage, befuddlement obvious on his face. "What is this about?"

Drake looked at him seriously, playing the role of the peace-maker. "Can we go to your office to talk for a moment?"

The man was curious and worried, but he gave in. All it took was a badge-flash response in answer to the 'who are you' look on his face. Gage followed Drake's lead. They went to the super's office. Drake clued him in. "Paul Perrette died today." He told the man. Rattled off details he could release, told the man to keep it to himself. Figured it was the only way to get more information out of befuddled paranoid Mr. Richards. Finally, he got to the point. Richards was shaking. Ashton continued as if he didn't notice. "I'm going to ask for your cooperation, and employee cooperation. I'm going to need to speak with your employees, ask questions, look at Perrette's office, dig around. You understand, right?"

"Whatever for?"

The guy was a bit stupid for the role of supervisor. Ashton looked him dead in the eye. "The investigation." He said.

"Oh." The super said, paranoia deflating inside him like a popped balloon - not well. A bit all over the place. "I'll help however you need." His eyes shifted suspiciously from face to face.

"Thank you," Ashton dealt with it. "Gage?" He looked to the woman from Internal Affairs. He smiled confidently at her. "What do you want to look into first?" He asked.

Ashton was still in charge, see? But he could let her think she had a bit of say now and again. He wasn't one to neglect a lady, now was he?

Letting Gage call the shots first off on the investigation hadn't just been to humor a lady. It had served double duty by allowing him to learn just how good a detective she was. So far, nothing outstanding had gotten his attention to tell him that she was useless. Everything had been fairly by the book. It was good to know that she had a handle on basic investigations procedures. You got to know the victim's friends, family, coworkers, asked around... maybe uncovered a motive or two. Looked for anything that stuck out.

She took computer duty. Good. She probably had an edge on him, there. Not that he was hopeless enough to require a new PDA every time his got a little problem, but... aside from knowing how to type up reports and do reboots, he wasn't anything special to write home about. He left her to do that. Him? She'd given him an order.

The timing was impressive. Almost as soon as she'd made her suggestion, one of the two she'd suggested had popped up. Had he been listening in? Ashton considered his face. He didn't look terribly guilty, not that one could tell always from a glance. Man's name was Vinny, though. Ashton never could trust a man named 'Vinny'. Almost as bad as 'Lonnie'.

Vinny came around to them, extending a hand. No hands were shaken. Ashton addressed him with cold efficiency.

"Can I speak with you, Mr. Gupta? Alone."

The hand dropped. Vinny looked a bit taken aback. He'd come over, looking for someone giving out handshakes and information. He'd gotten an inquisition. "Sure."

"I'll lead. Gage." A glance back. "Keep it up."

Vinny followed the detective out of the cubicle area, round the cubicle bank, to a makeshift office. It was actually the copy room, fax machine included. It needed a bit of cleaning up. Papers were scattered here or there on the table, on the floor. In the waste basket. Boxes weren't aligned with geometric efficiency, but it would do. Ashton shut the door behind Gupta. He stood by the door, cutting off any escape routes, crossed his arms.

Then, the questioning began.