Washing the Mob Out

18th Precinct - New York City

“Single female, Eighteen years old, dragonfly wings…found dead at scene…”

Jorge Cervantes mumbled as he jotted down a note on his notepad while reading through a file. So far, after the incident at the strip club, Jorge had pretty much figured that that lead had been a dead end. All he had gotten from those agents were snarky attitudes and sleepless night of waiting around for them to come to the conclusion that: A) he was a cop, and B) that he had nothing to do with the bust. Funny, he had been telling them those exact same things the whole night, but they just were hearing none of it.

Needless to say the detective was still a little irritated by that whole thing but he had managed to push it to the back of his head. What it left him, though, was that he was back to square one. He still had an unsolved murder and he needed to spend his time going over police files. Just because that one lead didn’t pan out, didn’t mean that another couldn’t. There had to be a connection out there…somewhere…

The detective sighed as he turned in his swivel to a bulletin board that he had put up next to his desk. He stared at the first case that had started this whole mess. A young woman by the name of Lois Durance; she was found dead and on top of that she was mutant, something to do with creating glowing green rocks. At first Jorge wanted to just chalk it up to random, New York City violence but something in his gut told him that it was more than that. The woman had no enemies, no real frienemies, not really even any close friends. She was simply a floater, a person who floats through life unseen and unheard from, choosing not to stand out in why significant way. Funny considering she was a mutant.

Jorge shook his head as he started at Lois’ photo, and then the photo of her crime scene posted up directly next to it. Around it were post-its with various notes written down about the scene and the victim, as well as possible personality aspects of the killer. Around that, though, were various other photos, other victims of unsolved murders. They shared some similarities but again…most of them just did not feel right either.

“Yo, Cervantes,” a voice asked behind. “How’s the Wall of Macabre?”

“Shut it, Anderson.” Jorge muttered as he did not bother to turn around and simply stared at the wall, leaning back a little in his chair.

“Seriously, Jorge,” the man said as he walked around to stand next to the detective’s desk, just inside of his peripheral. “You need a hobby or something. That whole thing is getting a little creepy.”

Jorge thoughtfully gnawed on his bottom lip as he scratched at his stubbly chin. The small hairs were coarse and rough. “There’s something more to this case, Anderson. I know there is.”

“Are you sure about that? You sure you’re just not looking for connections that aren’t there?”

The detective said nothing in reply. Instead he simply stared at the photo of the victim he had pinned up, slowly rocking back and forth in his chair. He had heard Anderson’s comment, even heard as the man walked away; but as much as he wanted to retort, part of him began to wonder…was he right? Was Jorge just looking for connections that simply did not exist between these cases? He shook his head as he reached over and plucked one of the other random victim photos that did not match the case and tossed it on his desk.

Staring at the photos was getting him nowhere…though how much he wished that it would…

Jorge heard some of the commotion that happened behind him, but he made no effort to turn and check. All he needed to hear was that it was Clemens’ voice and that was enough for the detective to completely turn himself off and ignore the man. He was the most sexist, chauvinistic, self-absorbed man that Jorge had ever met. He gave most officers a bad name and filled the stereotypes that many attempted to struggle again. Yes, it was honest to say that the man had absolutely no real sense of when to keep his mouth shut.

>> “Can I help you, sweet cheeks?”

Jorge shook his head at the man’s comment and automatically assumed that the man was probably harassing another of the female officers that had found their way into the offices. It happened from time to time, whenever a cop from another division needed help or advice from the MRC.

He blocked out the rest of the conversation and instead continued to sit still, eyeballing the pictures of the first victim and those that surrounded it. So far he could find nothing that linked them, and a couple he was sure were unrelated now, but why was he so complied to keep looking? His gut told him, practically screamed at him that there was something there, but if there was, why couldn’t he see it?

Another grunt of annoyance that he could find nothing he, he reached over and eliminated another unconnected victim’s photo when a voice suddenly shattered his quiet.

>> “So these are all our victims?”

Eyebrow raised, Jorge slowly turned in his swivel chair and saw a very familiar face. He looked at that soft, yet stern face, the gaze that could castrate a man and the mouth that would embarrass any sailor. It was needless to say that he recognized the woman and that was not necessarily a good thing. As much as he respected other figures of law enforcement, he found her particular irritating. Well…those feelings tend to rise when you are hurled into a bathroom and locked in, then questioned for hours by underlings.

He sighed as he stood up and turned to face her. “I know you. You gave me a lap dance.” he said, a bit louder than he met to. The statement seemed to catch a few of the other officers attentions who winked and grinned. Catching sight of this, Jorge waved them off. “Don’t you all have better things to do?” he announced with authority that seemed to catch them all by surprise. The snickering men and women then turned and went back to their works before they got another earful from Jorge. “And you…” he said as he turned back to the woman, “…owe me twenty dollars.”

His look was not angry, but nor was it pleased either. The man held an expression that looked as if he were searching the woman’s face for why she was here. He remembered then that she had told him she was FBI, and the bust that followed their encounter only proved it. But even if that were so, why was she here? And why was she commenting on his case?

“Some…” he said in reference to her question. “At least those who are under suspicious enough circumstances to possibly be connected.” He then unintentionally growled as he spoke next. “You have business here? Or this a personal call?”

>> ” “That was part of an ongoing FBI investigation and I owe you nothing.”[/i]

An incredulous look crossed Jorge’s face as he stared back at the woman and the smirk on her face. Of course she would hide behind her investigation to keep from giving back his twenty dollars. That simply was not fair, but honestly, what was the man supposed to do? Sue her? Knock her down and take her wallet? None of them were good options. He would have to live with the fact that he paid money for a lap dance and being shoved into a bathroom. What a great way to spend money…

He was liking the woman less and less now.

Then, with no regard to what was his workspace, she moved in and began to look over the case that he had pinned up onto the bulletin board.

>> “When you told your boss about the bust you had to tell him about the case. And once he found out that it may cross state lines he kicked it up to us. And by that perplexed look on your face I figure that you have no idea what the connection is..”[/i]

Jorge thought back to the day he came back after being held by the FBI to go over his story. He had not initially told the chief because he was simply working off of a hunch. There was no guarantee that it was going to lead to anything at all. He then remembered the look on the man’s face. A look that told him that Jorge had opened a door that he really should not have. The detective did not question it, especially since the chief did not reprimand him or anything and simply chalked it up to the inconvenience of not being in the loop. But now he guessed what the problem was.

The chief was going to have to report his findings to the higher ups, to the FBI and of course that means that they would have to get involved. Just great…so much work just to be thrown into the Feds hands.

The woman then began taking photos off of his wall and dug another one out of the trashcan…

>> “Those three have nothing to do with the case…And this one does…These are your serials.” [/i]

“You’re kidding,” he mumbled as he walked over, stood next to her and stared at the photos transfixed. It was astonishing to him as he stared at them and indeed began to see some slight similarities in their crime scenes. “How did you…?” he paused as he looked over the photos and then stood up straight to look at her. “I take it that you know more about this case then I do. Care to share any of your info?” he asked.

It was a silly question…but he had to try. He put too much work in this case to just hand it over now.

>> “Alright…Let’s start with the obvious. All of our victims were mutants, which makes ya think it’s just another average everyday hate crime committed by some genetically discriminatin bastard. But if you look closer you start to see more…Each girl was positioned in the same way. Ya couldn’t tell at first glance because all the photos were taken from different positions around the bodies and different vantage points. And if yur not lookin for somethin like that the body looks random, like it had been thrown or had just dropped there. This little detail shows a physiological compulsion of some kind. Probably to reenact somethin that really affected them; this could be the first murder or somethin from earlier in their life. But it’s only the positioning that’s important. Everything else about the crimes was different…Different ages, different races, different body types, different appearances. They weren’t even in the same social circles let alone the same financial brackets…”[/i]

The rant was long, unending, and most everyone would have either fallen asleep or simply passed her off as some kind of nut job that was too full of herself. Jorge was not most everyone. The man paused and intently had taken everything she was telling him and processed it the second it hit his ears. He was thoughtful, quiet and simply stared at the photos as the FBI agent had set up in, what at first seemed, random way and began to explain the rest of the findings.

Everything she had said, he heard clearly. He stared at the photos, those ones that mocked him so many times before by offering no clues at all as to why these particular women were dead. For a moment he was beginning to feel like they were staring back at him with those cold eyes, judging him for not being able to solve who did this…but it was different now.

The body positioning! Why didn’t he think to look at that? She was right, if one were not looking for something similar to the way the bodies had been placed, it would have continued to gone by unnoticed. As a matter of fact, even looking at the way the bodies had been posed, it still looked haphazard, as if they dropped dead where they stood. But he did look closer and he say that each “random” body position was practically the same. They were positioned and that meant that indeed was serial…

>> “There is no connection between these woman beyond the fact that they were all female and they were all mutants.”

Jorge nodded exhaustedly as he reached up and pinched the bridge of nose, looking for relief for having finally gotten proof that he was not crazy, that there was a connection here.

“And body positioning rules out random mutant hate crime.” he mumbled to himself more than her. “This is a serial case.”

Part of him wanted to laugh, the other part cry that finally there was proof there in black and white that he was not crazy. It is a sad when an officer begins to feel like he is losing his marbles. But what else was he supposed to think. So much of his time was being devoted to finding out who had killed Lois that he felt as if he knew the girl personally. He felt like he was failing and just grasping at straws. At least now…there was something, however small it was to go on.

The detective shook his head for a second as he finished pinching the bridge of his nose to release the tension and stepped forward to look more closely at the photos.

“No offense,” he muttered as he finally turned around to face the woman. “Has the FBI known about this for long? Or did you just stumble upon the connections today?” he asked with all seriousness. “This woman was then perps latest kill,” he said pointing to the picture of Lois. “That was at least two, three months back.” he stated as he then began to look underneath at the files of all the new found victims. “And if this killer has a time period between kills, it is between three and four months. And that means…we have another victim on the way.”