So I'm back after too long a hiatus! But here's the start of that multi-chapter case fic I promised back in like May. I hope you enjoy it.
For those of you who are interested: I'm now living in the Chicago area and have a job but need a better paying one (but then, who doesn't?). I'm also looking for a place to live and/or a roommate so if I don't update that often I apologize and feel free to nudge me to get me going.
Desperately want them but sadly they are not mine.
XXX
The dim light of the candle placed low in the centre of the table illuminated very little. The woman occupying the space, hand delicately holding a glass of red wine, clearly did not mind. Her eyes were directed to the small, brightly lit, empty stage. She was alone and unmindful of the fact.
Max stood behind the bar observing her as his hands wiped the surface in front of him. She was a regular and usually came in with one or two others. He wondered however what had brought her to this place tonight and alone, for it was not her usual night, nor was she at her usual table. She seemed, not to be waiting for someone but rather, for something to happen; her eyes never left the empty stage as her hands played with the wine glass. Max shrugged and turned away from his observations. He had work to do and would figure out the puzzle later. Moments later the band assembling onstage captured his attention. Puzzle solved. He should have known but forgave himself; things tonight were a bit different. Max did not like different nights. The regulars would often complain when their favourite cocktail waitress was gone, or that a different band was playing, or that the house special had changed. Tonight would have lots of complaining; Angie had not shown up for work and the band was not the usual one of the night. But lots of complaining often meant lots of drinking which led to lots of tips. It was a trade off really.
The band started playing drawing Max' eyes back to the woman at the small table in the corner. His suspicions were confirmed. She had set her glass down and was now resting her chin in her hand, eyes now glued to the man on stage holding a bass guitar in his hands. It was obvious that all her senses were attuned to that man. She was not there for the music.
She did not move during the entire first set until, close to the end of the last song something caused her to jump. Her hand went to her pocket and produced a phone, obviously the cause of her distraction. Giving the technology an annoyed glance and the man on stage a wistful one, she gathered her things and walked to the door and out into the night.
Max listened to the band finish then announce their break. The bassist leaned to the leader and whispered something causing the leader to nod. The first man then picked up his instrument and walked off the stage in a hurried manner, pulling out his phone as he did so. Fifteen minutes later the band was back sans one bass player. Max wondered if there was a connection to the disappearance of the woman and the man, but not for long as his attention was called for by another customer at the bar.
Outside, the bassist exited the back entrance, into the dark alley, stopping short when he saw a woman standing there. Despite the minimal light he recognized her. He would know her anywhere. "What are you doing here tonight?" He could not hide the surprise in his voice.
She smiled; dim light from above reflecting off her curls, turning them into a delicious shade of caramel. "I must admit to overhearing the conversation a few weeks ago when you got a call asking if your band could switch nights with whoever played on Fridays. I figured I'd come providing there was no case. So here I am, and of course there is a case. I just got the call and thought I'd wait out here for a few minutes to see if you did as well."
The man smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "I did. Drive with me?"
"Sure. I took a cab here anyway."
"Stel, you could have called me." admonished the man as they walked to the SUV parked behind the building.
"Mac, it's ok. I wanted to surprise you." She lightly touched his arm in assurance.
"No one else came?" his face was curious. Usually many of the team came to see him play. In fact, he could not think of a time when anyone came alone.
"I didn't tell them. I wanted to watch and listen with out distraction. You're so good: I really enjoy watching you play. You have sure hands." He was glad the darkness hid his warm face.
Mac changed the subject as he assisted Stella into the vehicle. "What do you know?"
"A man found in an alley much like this one; Asian, in his forties, some sort of puncture wound in his temple."
"Witnesses?"
"Not sure. Flack is there now."
The drive was swift and silent, both occupants making an attempt to draw their minds to the case and prepare themselves for what they might find. Neither being too successful as thoughts of the one beside them continued to intrude.
Why had she come? Sure she was on call and free to do anything she wanted unless a case came up but why chose to come see him? And why come alone? His band was ok sure but nothing to go out of the way for. She lived on the other side of town.
What was going on in his mind? Had he been glad to see her there? Was he upset that others did not come? She doubted that last one, Mac being an intensely private man never cared when there was a lack of fuss made over him. In fact, Stella was quite certain that he was embarrassed when the entire team came to watch him play then showered him with complements when the show was over.
Arriving at the scene, all thoughts save those involving the case fled their minds. Ducking under the yellow tape, they found themselves in a surprisingly clean alley between a flower shop and a small clinic. Across the street from the alley was a shop that sold the kinds of stationery supplies one would expect to use in China; horsetail brushes, scrolls of thin paper, pots of ink. Positioned almost exactly in the center of the alley, lying on his side was the victim. His head rested on his outstretched arm, the hand at the end clutched into a fist. There was a hole about the size of a quarter in the temple but very little blood. If whatever had caused that hole had killed him death would have been instantaneous causing very little blood loss.
Stella knelt by the body and began taking pictures. Between pictures she processed evidence found on the body. Prying open the fist she first noticed a dark stain on the fingers. After photographing and swabbing the stains she continued her examination of the hand. Opening the fingers completely she found a small piece of red paper folded to resemble a crane. There did not appear to be anything on it but she would leave that for the techs in the lab to determine for sure. A few more pictures and her job was complete. Standing to her feet she cast a glance around the alley for Mac. He was at the end, taking photos of the scene in general. Stella could not help but take notice of his hands. Even encased in latex she could see the gentle strength that they were possessed with.
"Find anything?"
"Not really. There are some small pieces of square paper at the entrance to the alley. Some of the sheets have what looks to be a shoe print on them, but other than that no sign of a struggle or anything else. Is it just me or does this alley seem cleaner than most?"
"Yeh, it is pretty clean. But there is a clinic beside us so they might take pains to keep it clean for sanitary reasons."
Mac walked to the entrance of the alley, and looked across the street. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a plastic evidence bag filled with small sheets of paper and studied it. Then his gaze fell onto the victim who was being placed into a body bag. Finally he allowed his gaze to cross the street again.
"What are you thinking Mac?" Stella had been quiet during his observations but broke the silence when she noticed his face. Clearly he had something on his mind.
"Asian man, small sheets of square paper, Asian store across the road. It's worth a look." With a determined stride he crossed the street. Peering into the window of the shop he observed all manner of brushes and paper. Along the wall he could see pots of ink and in the middle of the floor was a pool of something dark and glistening. "Blood?" He questioned as Stella came up beside him.
"Only one way to find out." She pulled out her phone and within thirty minutes the daughter of the shop owner was opening the door.
"I'm sorry I cannot get a hold of my father." She said as she let them into the store. Turning the lights on she stopped short and gasped at the dark puddle on the floor. It was too dark to be blood.
"Ink." observed Stella. Obviously it had come from the shattered pot beside it and from the position of the pot it seemed to have fallen from the counter. Again Mac and Stella fell into comfortable habit; she worked with the main area and he worked the perimeter. The glass counter was almost pristine save for a few prints which Stella lifted. Mac called to her, standing at the entrance to another room. As she approached she was surprised to see what amounted to a very tiny barber shop. It had only one chair and the most minimal of hair cutting tools. There was also a lack of the typical styling advertisements on the way. Stella snapped some photos as Mac looked around. "Stella" He pointed at a photograph on the wall. In it the victim was standing with the girl who let them in.
"Ma'am?" He called the girl over. "Who is with you in the picture?"
"That's my father. He was born here but my grandparents are from China. They instilled in him a deep love for their home country and taught him the traditional way of writing the ancient script of our people. My father loved it so much he opened this shop to share that knowledge. He taught classes in here on Saturdays."
"And the barber shop?"
"That's not a barber shop. In China it is custom for little boys to have their hair cut when they reach one year of age. Then their hair is made into a writing brush that is given to them when they come of legal age. My father kept this room so that he could do everything in the shop for the families. When my mother died three years ago this place became his life."
"Ma'am-" Mac began, beckoning an officer to join them as he did so.
"Please, my name is Angie."
"Angie, would you please accompany my officer to the station. We have some more questions for you." Mac would wait until later to have the girl identify the body.
Watching her leave he wondered at the changes that were about to take place in this young woman's life. He felt for her, knowing how it was to suddenly lose a loved one and have no one else. As soon as that thought entered his mind he dismissed it and looked toward the woman with the head full of curly hair who was still taking pictures of the crime scene. He might have lost a loved one but he still had family.
Stella looked up from her camera to see Mac staring at her, something she had caught him at more and more lately. She was not ready to ask him about it. "Mac? Are you finished? I am and would like to take the evidence to the lab and see what we can learn that we have not learned here."
"I'm done. Let's go. I want to be there to tell Angie about her father anyway."
XXX
Should I keep going? This is my first case-fic so I'm not really sure how this thing will come across. I know it starts off kinda odd but I'm going somewhere with it I promise. Alerts and favourites are nice but reviews are love!!