Murder In The Cityu

  • So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
L

LuceRepleuit

Guest
Original poster
Thomason "Tom" Strands

27

Detective with the Detroit Police Department.



Monday. Apr. 20. 4:15am

The slow, measured ticking of the cat clock that hung on the wall drove Tom crazy. He ,wasn't sure if it was the ticking or the fact that it's unbelievably bright black eyes were constantly fixed upon him. Sure, his lover, who lay sleeping beside him, looking like the angel Tom knew he could be if he ever really wanted to, could argue that the cat clock was looking at him, but Tom had the cat's number. He knew what was going on it's sick, kitty-cat, mechanical mind.

The realization that he had just thought of a cat clock as a being a living, thinking...thing...had him moving from bed, stretching before padding quietly towards the kitchen where the sweet, heavenly nectar of the gods awaited. It was ready, in all it's glory, in the top right hand cabinet beside the sink and Tom grabbed it, preparing it as quickly as he possibly could.

If Tom was being honest with himself, as he sometimes was, he would clearly inform himself that it was not a cat clock or even the coffee that had kept him anticipating the night. It was the time he had to work. Alone. His partner at work was good at his job, yes, and he loved falling asleep in his lover's arms and waking up there too, but the fact would always remain that he needed to work alone sometimes. He needed to be stress free.

He took his cup of the god's drink and made his way to the office area to go over the cases he had been recently awarded. There was a kidnapping, which looked to be wrapped up quickly if the mother was right in assuming that it was her ex-husband.. There was a disappearance that had been pushed aside for months and was just now being sent to him. Tom had little hope for it. The last one was a murder. Just one so far, thank god. He remembered still how bad the city had reacted just ten years ago, when a serial killer had been loose. This case had been kept fairly hush-hush as far as he knew. He didn't need to really watch or read the news when he practically lived it everyday, or heard about it from those who did it.

Brushing back his black hair, he settled on a bit of a sigh before opening the files. He had to get in some time before his lover woke up and was pissed at him for working at home again.
 
Samuel (Sam/Sammy) Harp

25

5'11"


Time: unknown-

Sam sat in the bathroom, warm water on his hands, washing the mess off of them. He looked at the mirror and couldn't help but smile at himself, then looking to the right, seeing a woman laying on his floor. He grabbed a wash rag and washed off his face, making sure every spot was gone. He walked back out when he was done, changing his clothes and burning the ones he was wearing. He walked to the woman, crouching down and putting a number 2 on her chest.
"Gotta run, hun. I have... well, I don't really think they'll take to long to get here," he chuckled, picking up the phone and dialing 911.

"911, where's your emergency?"
"A woman was killed about ten minutes ago at 611 Huntings Drive," he answered, picking the red out of his nails.
"Alright, we will be sending an ambulance, don't leave."
"Oh, that's not possible."
"I'm sorry, sir, what did you say?"
"I'm saying I'm going to leave, because I killed her," he said, hanging up after and leaving the house. He smiled, walking down the street.

As Tom sat in his house, looking over the files, his phone started ringing.
 
Tom frowned down at the file on the killer. He would have to wait for the autopsy report since those were strictly supposed to stay in office, but the profile the criminal psychologist had made on the killer was disheartening. It listed a number of qualities the killer would have now, among them the fact that the killer was possibly able to become a serial killer, since that first kill had been so well executed. There was almost no evidence of who the killer could be--no fingerprints, no hair follicles, no flakes of skin or anything like that. The criminal psychologist was the only way they even knew that the killer could be male, and that wasn't the most reliable form of evidence.
It was starting to look like this was going to be a very long case unless someone came forward with testimonies or concrete evidence.

The phone beside him rang obnoxiously and he quickly picked it up so his lover didn't wake.

"Detective Strands speaking," he murmured as he stood and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack, intent on taking the phone call outside.
 
"Detective? There's been a 911 call and we need you at the scene. We believe the killer is the same as in a case you are working, since it's the same MO," the person explained quickly.

Sam hummed lightly as he walked down the street, smiling sinisterly when the cop cars went by. He flipped open his phone, calling someone back.
"Hello Mr. Long, I'm glad you called back."
"Ah, yes, I saw you called and wondered why?"
"Well, I just wanted to inform you that we have found a few people who could be able to take you in, if you still need help."
"I hate admitting, but I do. Have any fully agreed?"
"No, none have been notified as of yet, we needed to tell you first," the woman answered, then the rest of the call was a casual farewell.
 
"Fuck," he muttered, slipping his other arm into the sleeve as he balanced the phone precariously between his shoulder and ear. "I'll be right there. Just put the address in GPS of my car and tell them not to touch a damn thing, alright?" He quickly hung up and pocketed his phone, hurrying back to his room to pull some proper pants on and grab his gun and badge. He pressed a soft kiss to his lover's forehead when he was done, then rushed out.

His car was an inconspicuous little Sedan, made specifically to look like the most innocent car on the planet. On the insde, though, was a custom system with a GPS, radio and small dash computer that were installed in normal squad cars. He had paid for most of that with his own money, though the department had given him a bit of help with it. The money he had spent himself had been worth it though. When he needed to do undercover work, it was the perfect car for the job. Tom slid into the vehicle and started it up, booting up the GPS and selecting the address that had been sent, quickly heading there. If he recalled correctly, it was just five blocks from the scene of the first murder. That in itself was a particularly daring thing to do. People had been searching the whol city for hints of the murderer.. For the murderer to excute a crime just five blocks from the first? That was... Well, it was just ridiculous. Tom would bet his badge that it was probably a clean crime scene too--no evidence, nothing to properly work with to catch the killer. He could only hope that he was wrong and that the killer had made a mistake in this second murder.
 
Sam jumped in his car, parked conveniently in someones drive-way. Once there, he put his bloody gloves in the trunk. He knew they wouldn't burn like the clothes did, so he didn't. He always wore two on each hand, as precaution. He picked up a list and crossed the womans name off. Her name started with B, the first mans with A. Next was Christian Adams, the owner of a chain of restaurants. He also lived just ten blocks down the road.

Sam put the list back, getting in his car and waiting as he saw a car go by. It was a nice little Sedan, looking innocent, but heading to the scene of a murder. Sam couldn't help but smile a little, pulling out and heading the other way.
"Stupid police..."
 
When Tom pulled up to the scene, all he saw was chaos. The street was lined with police cars and Forensics vans, and the house itself was swarming with police. There was a whole line of police tape around house, tied to the trees in front of it and to the fence to give complete coverage. Neighbors of the victim were being interviewed by a few of his fellow police officers, but it looked as if his partner was already inside. He parked horizontally, cutting off entrance into the street since it seemed no one had done that yet, and quickly got out. It took him just a moment to duck under the police tape, flash his badge at the officer patrolling it, and move into the scene of the crime. He glanced at his partner, who was already there.

"Who's the victim?" he asked, taking out a small notepad to take his own notes on the crime.
 
The man was tall, and rather buff looking. He seemed to spend a lot of time working out, and had very short, military cut blond hair.
"Brianne Harrison. She's the daughter of a wealthy family. She lives here with her husband, no kids. Tom, I swear to you, it is the same exact guy. No finger prints, a pile of ashes in the yard, a note in the desk drawer about her time and cause of death, the number... everything is the exact same. This was a perfect murder, and we are not finding this guy any time soon," he explained, looking at the man who was now standing beside him.
"What do you suppose we do?"
 
Tom shook his head slightly as he looked at the once pretty woman. A woman with no children, just a husband, alone in a house in the early morning hours. She had clearly been an easy victim. So had the other one though. If he recalled, Andrew Higgens was a wealthy man who lived just with his wife. All of their kids were grown and had moved out already and his wife had been with some relatives in LA the night of the murder.

"Has anyone called the husband yet? I want him down at the station and questioned while we pack up the body. We need to look into if this woman had anything to do with the first victim. Both were wealthy or from wealthy families. I want checks on any country clubs or high end restaurants and I want them cross-referenced to see if they were killed for a similar motive. It might also give us an insight into the next victim." He took down the woman's name and crouched down to get a better look at the body.

"Paul, I want you to make sure the autopsy report turns out the same cause of death as what the note said. Go with them when they take the body, alright? Meet me in the office this afternoon and we'll go through the evidence together, as well as do the research on their families. I don't want to call this a serial killer yet, alright? And somebody make damn sure that none of this gets into the papers. The Department can't afford to have reporters hounding us or name the serial killer something like they have before. It'll just fuel the killer's fire."
 
Paul nodded, waiting as the body was loaded once everything was done and they took whatever they needed. Once the body was taken, he went with, and called in a report with what Tom said they needed to have, also telling them to inform the husband.
"Oh, cant the press does not find out about this, alright?" he added emphasis on that, hoping there wouldn't be a problem.

Sam hummed lightly as he sat in his car, looking at the home of Christian Adams. He studied the house, checking to make sure e had a way in and out easily. Once done, he smiled and drove away, heading back to his home.
 
The woman Paul spoke to responded in the affirmative, wished him luck on the case and hung up, hurrying to order everyone around. Tom himself made his way to the police station to begin his own work. He called his house at stoplight, leaving a message.

"I've got a case, love, so I might not be home until tonight.. Take care of yourself and call me if you need anything. Make sure you take the trash out and go shopping too, I think we're out of milk." The light turned green and he pressed the gas, moving forward. "I love you." He shut his phone with a soft snap and tossed it into the passenger seat as he continued to the station.
 
Once Tom arrived, he was there for and hour or so until Paul showed up.
"They haven't finished, but they said the cause of death is definitely the same as the letter. So, have you found anything significant yet?" he asked, sitting across from the man at his own desk. He looked at the pictures and files of both victims so far, blinking in slight confusion.
"Hey... you know, this probably doesn't matter, and probably isn't even something to really look at, but... well, the first guys name started with an A, the second with a B,"
 
Tom shook his head. "Nothing significant yet. Their families didn't even know each other. They didn't go to any of the same restaurants or held any mutual company. They ran in totally different circuits." He tossed his notepad onto the desk with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. As Paul pointed out the coincidence in names, though, he straightened up.

"They what?" He quickly glanced over the files and saw he was right. "No.. No, this could be something." He picked up the phone and called their research department.

"I want a list of anyone with substantial wealth or from a wealthy family with a first name starting with C. Make sure it's the first name, not the last name, and email it to me when you're done."
 
The man on the other line agreed, hanging up so he could work.
"You really think this isn't just a coincidence?" Paul asked, knowing it was a long shot. He looked over once more and that seemed to be the only relation, other than that they were wealthy.

Soon tom had the email. The list had many names on it, along with their income.
"So... are we going to warn them all?" Paul asked, a little worried about how many there were.
"Maybe... since the second murder was five blocks away, we could narrow it down to the number of names in that area?"
 
"We have little to go on, Paul. Even if this is a coincidence, we have to run with it.." Tom pulled up the email once he got it, glancing over the names and incomes. There were quite a few, they wouldn't be able to run them all.

"Yes, let's go by location. Maybe do another five to fifteen block sweep.." He trailed off, calling them again to get the new, narrowed down list and hung up when they agreed.

"We'll warn the ones who show up on that list and put more patrol out for the next few weeks. It's been one week since the first murder, yes? Today was the second. We'll up the patrol for a week and tell them to either stay somewhere else or up their own security for the next month. If we can't find him within that time frame, we may not have a serial killer.. I hope we don't anyway."
 
The email with the narrowed list arrived quickly, and now there was only 10 names. Paul nodded, looking over the list as well. He picked up his phone and began putting people at different locations.
"I'll take five and you take five?" he offered, standing and pulling on his jacket.
"I hate telling people they could die," he mumbled, grabbing his gun as well.

Sam finally returned home, pulling off his jacket and flopping on an old beat up couch. He whistled lightly, holding up his arm as a large Cockatoo came and landed on his arm. He hummed softly, listening to the bird sing back.
"In two weeks, I'll do C," he whispered as if the creature would understand.
 
"Yeah, that'll be fine." He stood as well, pulling on his own jacket and gathering his phone. He checked it briefly for any messages from his lover and when he didn't find any as of yet, entered in the names and locations and slipped it into his pocket. "Believe me, I do too.. And we can't even give them a good reason why." He sighed a bit, knowing that all the people would be confused and would ask him questions. He only hoped that they wouldn't tell anybody anything.

"If Shay calls, tell him to text me, alright?" he told one of the secretaries, who sometimes patched his lover through to his desk if he ever forgot to just call his cellphone. Tom turned back to Paul. "You take the first five, alright?"
 
Paul nodded, looking at the list.
"Sounds good. Meet back here?" he asked to make sure. Once they were out, he got in his own car and drove off to the first address: Christian Adams.

Back at Tom's home, the phone rang. When Shay answered, a woman was on the other line.
"Hello, is this the home of Thomson Strands?"
 
"Yeah, see you back here," Tom said, before leaving as well, driving quickly to the address of the first person on his list, Cynthia Lines.

Shay sighed a bit. People still didn't say "Thomason Strands and Shay Jeffrey" and they'd been living together for a few months shy of a year already. Still, he couldn't be too angry he supposed. "Ah.. Yes, this is. May I ask who's calling?"
 
"I'm Natalie Williams, and I would like to ask if he would be willing to participate in a new project. We are trying to get troubled individuals off the streets and help them to turn their lives around, and we believe Mr. Strands would be good for one of our participants. Would you pass on the message?" she informed kindly.

Sam got up, putting his bird back in her cage and feeding her, smiling lightly.
"We might be moving away soon, hun. You excited?" he asked, though he knew she wouldn't respond at all.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back