Chapter 1
"And we have a match!" Myka grinned as Claudia flourished towards the computer screen, a woman's face appearing. "Oh she's looking good for it too," Claudia cooed in excitement, printing the accompanying document off for Myka. Myka accepted the document with a smile and looked it over.
"Helena G. Wells, ex-cop turned private investigator and journalist. Training in kempo and an excellent marksman." She hummed, speed reading the rest of the document silently, worrying her lip.
"You don't like her as a suspect?" Claudia asked, surprised. Myka frowned absently, drumming her finger on the slab next to the victim's head, unbothered by the dead body's proximity.
"She's an ex-cop, which means she knows that we have her fingerprints, and she knows what we can do with those," Myka explained, gesturing at the small thumbnail pictures on the bottom corner of Helena's profile. "I mean, she willingly and knowingly submitted her fingerprints and DNA to the city! Thus, she must be either very doubtful of the police force's ability, or somehow otherwise involved with the victim." Claudia pouted.
"Dammit," she sighed. "I was looking forward to a simple case." Myka laughed.
"There is no such thing, Claud. Pete and I will hit this woman up anyway: she might be a useful lead. Can you run a full toxicology? I know we have a COD but I want to know whether that thing I smelt at the crime scene was his perfume or drugs. It smelt oddly like fudge." Claudia mock saluted Myka.
"On it, boss," She grinned, donning her scrubs with morbid glee. Myka stepped out of the morgue and smiled at Pete as he fell into step next to her.
"Hey hey hey! How was the morgue?" He asked, glancing behind them at the swinging double doors in distaste. Myka grined.
"Morgue-y."
"I'm sorry I missed it. Claud give us any good leads?"
"Sort of. Remember that handprint around the victim's neck? Claudia recovered some fingerprints from it, belonging to a certain Helena G Wells." Myka gave her partner the file as they waited for the elevator. Pete opened the file and began reading.
"Helena G. Wells?" He furrowed his brow at the name.
"The journalist?" Myka offered, trying to jog his memory.
"Journalist?" Pete shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."
"She won a ton of awards last year because of some article she wrote about the evolution of the grappling hook." Pete shook his head. Myka rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter. Claudia said she looked good for it."
"This is amazing Mykes! She's our man, right?!" The elevator arrived and the doors opened as light spilt into the dimly lit corridor.
"Wrong."
"But –" Pete protested, following Myka inside.
"We can bet on it if you want, Pete. Ms Wells is going to have an air-tight alibi." Pete rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the ground floor of the precinct with a pout.
"Why do you say that, Myka?" He asked, glancing over the file again, trying to see if he missed something.
"Do you think she's the killer?" Myka asked as they stepped out of the elevator and into the late afternoon sunlight that was streaming into the lobby. Pete frowned.
"I'm not getting a vibe," he admitted, "but on the other hand the evidence is all against her." Myka rolled her eyes. A handprint was far from all the evidence.
"Well, let's go pay her a visit and see what your vibes tell you there." Pete grinned.
"Shotgun!"
"Pete, you're literally the only other person here. Who do you think is going to steal shot gun from you?"
"You never know, Mykes, you never know."
Helena G. Wells, the celebrated and renowned journalist, had a nice, medium sized apartment in the east area of the city. Pete whistled in appreciation as they stepped out of the car and he looked around the neighbourhood.
"Being a journalist pays well these days, I see." He told Myka with a grin. Myka rolled her eyes.
"Ms. Wells comes from old money, Pete. I highly doubt she earned this apartment for herself." Pete laughed.
"Ah well, I don't think I'd be a very good writer anyway."
"You could totally be a food critic!" Myka tried to defend her partner.
"I think that would just entail me sitting in front of a thesaurus looking up synonyms for the word 'delicious' all day."
"Such a selective critic, Pete." Pete just stuck his tongue out at Myka and she bumped his shoulder good naturedly. "I see that in the best way possible," she added. He rolled his eyes.
"Right, which apartment is hers?"
"Number 13." Pete pressed the button compliantly and after a few second the intercom crackled.
"Hello?" Pete blinked at the British accent and mouthed a shocked 'What?' at Myka. Myka ignored him.
"This is the Metropolitan police, Ms Wells. My name is Detective Bering and this is my partner Detective Lattimer. We'd like to ask you some questions." There was a dramatic sigh and the door buzzed. Surprised, Pete opened it quickly. "I'm on the fourth floor," the voice said with annoyed boredom before the line went dead.
"That did not sound like a guilty person," Pete told Myka. Myka bit her lip.
"She didn't sound innocent either," she offered. Pete glanced at her in surprise.
"Are you second guessing your judgement, Detective Bering?" He asked, clutching his chest in mock horror. "I never thought I would see the day!"
"Shut up, Pete." Pete laughed and Myka rolled her eyes, speeding up so she reached the fourth floor before her partner. The suspect was standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for the two Detective's arrival. She gave Myka a once over as they waited in an awkward silent stand off for Pete to come upstairs. Once he was next to her, Myka coughed.
"Good afternoon, Ms Wells. I am Detective Myka Bering and this is my partner Detective Pete Lattimer. We would like to ask you some questions." HG Wells pushed herself off the doorframe and offered Myka and outstretched hand.
"HG Wells," she introduced herself. "I suppose you'll want to come in." She stepped out of the doorway to allow Myka to pass. Pete followed.
"Can I ask to what this visit pertains?" Myka didn't turn around as she inspected Ms Wells' shelves meticulously. They were tidy, well organised and, most importantly, clean.
"Does the name Maxwell Farrell mean anything to you?" Pete asked, turning in the middle of the room to watch their prime suspect, who was aimlessly standing in the middle of the room, watching the two detectives around her.
"Yes, it means quite a lot to me." HG didn't elaborate.
"Mr. Farrell was found dead this afternoon in suspicious circumstances." Pete watched her face attentively as he uttered the words. "We're here to ask you some questions about him."
"Max is dead?" HG unfurled: one hand gripped for her chest and the other landed on her stomach as she gasped in surprised, staring at Pete in horror. She blinked and then slowly walked over to the couch and sat down. Pete glanced at Myka, who immediately went to sit down next to HG, offering her comfort with her physical proximity.
"Ms Wells -"
"HG," she interrupted.
"HG," Myka started again, "we are so sorry we had to dump this news on you so suddenly." Myka's apology seemed feeble and guilt tore at her as she watched the other woman shudder through some breaths. She didn't deserve the harshness of the delivery, whether or not she was a suspect for the murder. Still. Myka reached out and absently touched HG's shoulder, trying to show some form of solidarity as she whispered the next question. "We found your hand print around his neck." HG looked up at Myka, surprise and confusion crossing across her face as she anchored Myka's hand on her arm with her own. Myka glanced down at the hand in semi-confusion.
"Handprint?" She asked.
"As if you choked him," Pete elaborated. Myka shot Pete a glare, but he didn't shift his steady stare from HG. She returned the gaze, confusion still evident before she gave a breathy, almost relieved laugh.
"Yeah, that's what Max was into," she explained on an exhale. "I stayed the night and he enjoys that type of breath play." Myka was impressed with HG's lack of embarrassment on the topic: she held eye contact with Myka, stressing her point, her features earnest. Helena grinned, adding quietly, as if only for Myka's benefit: "It was completely consensual." Myka was aware that her hand was still on the woman's arm and she carefully extracted herself, shifting away on the couch so she could ask some of her more serious questions.
"Did you know Mr Farell well?" HG shrugged.
"Well enough. We were casual acquaintances when we met in grad school and have grown closer in the last five years. He was always a lonely man, though."
"Did he have any enemies? Anyone who might want to do this to him?" HG shook her head. Myka looked up at Pete, who asked the most important question.
"When did you last see him?"
"I left him this morning around 7am and he was alive and well, if a bit bruised." Pete noted down the details and Myka nodded thoughtfully.
"As the victim's girlfriend, you're on our list of suspects," Pete explained. HG blinked at him in surprise and then laughed.
"I am not his girlfriend," she corrected Pete. She faltered, suddenly folding in on herself again as he hand went for the locket around her neck. "Was. I wasn't his girlfriend." The verbs took her by surprise and she breathed, slowly before finishing her statement. "I was just a friend."
"Fine, then as his friend with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, you are still up there," Pete corrected himself, rolling his eyes at the suspect. Myka interjected before Pete could cause more damage.
"Can anyone confirm your story about last night?" Myka asked.
"And can you also provide us with an alibi for this afternoon?" Pete added. Ms Wells looked at Myka steadily and then nodded silently. She got up from the couch slowly, her hand still playing with a necklace around her neck and walked to the bookshelf, picking up a card.
"I was interviewing this man from 2pm to 430pm today," she told Myka offering her the card. Myka accepted it and glanced at the name before sticking it into her pocket. James MacPhearson, Journalist. "As for last night: my apartment has CCTV downstairs so you can see me come and go. Max's apartment has a porter, so I doubt it has CCTV but I am sure the night porter can corroborate my story." She shrugged. Pete noted down some more things before nodding to Myka behind HG's back.
"We can see what we can do," Myka promised with a smile. Ms Wells tilted her head lightly and smiled back. She had nice eyes, Myka decided, worrying her lips absently.
„Do you have any leads right now?" The woman was cleared: Myka was certain of it. After quickly glancing at Pete she decided to go with her instinct and trust this woman as a cop and a private investigator.
"You were our only lead so far: is there any information that you have that may be useful to us?" Helena smirked.
"I am an asset that the Metropolitan Police has used before, so I would only be too happy to advise on this case." She said it almost slyly, giving Myka a side-long look.
"The police consults you?" Pete was surprised. Helena leaned back, elegant confidence exuding from her as she nodded smugly.
"I was their key external advisor on the Miclan case." Pete shook his head, the name meaning nothing to him as Myka did a double take.
"Morgan Miclan?" She asked, gaping. Pete shoot her a look of confusion. "He was a serial killer responsible for the deaths of about half a dozen people five or six years ago."
"It was a grueling case." HG smiled in satisfaction. "My work was considered invaluable." Myka just looked at the woman steadily. She was strange, Myka decided. Strange and confident in her own intelligence.
Pete coughed and Myka looked away. "Right, well, can you be available in the next few days?" He asked. Helena straightened up and smiled absently, her eyes still on Myka as she got up. "We're gonna have to check your alibi."
"I'll stay in the country," Helena informed Pete. He guaffed and looked down at his pad before glancing at Myka again, who just nodded. "I think we have everything," he concluded, closing the pad slowly.
"For now, ," Myka added with a slight nod of her head. "Thank you for your help and we're sorry for your loss."
"So am I, Detective Bering. Good bye." She smiled at Myka again, and for a second Myka felt special. As if this smile was a special one, one reserved for her and her alone.
Pete sighed dramatically as they stepped out of the building, looking up for one second and then shaking his head at Myka. "Vibes say there's something off about her, but also she's innocent of this murder." Myka looked up the building.
"We should check her story with Steve's findings when canvassing the neighbourhood."
"Right, so it's back to square one until Steve can confirm (or unconfirm) our good lady's alibi." He made a face as he swung himself into the front seat of their patrol car.
"Well we should go see whether the toxicology report offers anything." Myka offered, starting the car and carefully pulling out into the street.
"Oh, yay! Back to the morgue." Pete made a face. Myka laughed.
"You can wait outside again," she promised him.
"Why can't Clauds come upstairs?" He asked with a pout. Myka glanced at him and chuckled.
"I'll see what I can do," she promised her petulant partner, placating him with a benevolent grin.
It was almost six when they arrived back at the precinct. Claudia was waiting for them in the bullpen, sitting on Pete's desk and chatting to Steve, who was lounging in Myka's chair. Myka narrowed her eyes at him. "Scoot," she commanded, making him jump up with an apologetic smile.
"Hey you two. Did you find anything?" He asked, going to lean on Pete's desk next to Claudia. Myka sat down and shook her head, pursing her lips in frustration.
"No, we came up empty," she admitted. Claudia shot them an incredulous look.
"Your suspect hand her hands around our murder victim's neck! How does that equate to nothing!?"
"Erotic asphyxiation," Pete explained. Claudia raised an eyebrow at him.
"What?!" She demanded. Pete laughed.
"I know, cool phrase right? It means people who find chocking sexy."
"No you idiot, I knew the expression. I work in the morgue remember? No I was just surprised at the act. He looked like such a vanilla guy before I cut him up and then this too!"
"Looks can be deceiving?" Myka offered. Claudia laughed.
"If I had a penny," she scoffed. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved her playfully to stop the fun morgue story she was about to tell them before it could get started. "Alright!" Claudia put up her hands and, as if realising for the first time she was still holding it, held out a file for Myka.
"I came up here to deliver you my full morgue report including the toxicology."
"And?" Myka accepted the file but waited for Claudia's summary before she opened it up.
"Well, he used to be one messed up cookie. His hair shows that just over five years ago our good friend enjoyed the delicious thrill of heroine and a few other recreational drugs. He's been clean for a while though, so I think we should all applaud him for that." Pete whistled through his teeth.
"Impressive," he admitted. Myka nodded absently, feeling like there was a piece missing. She gestured at Claudia to continue.
"Well, see, here's the thing thought. He was drugged at around noon, but his addiction meant that his threshold for narcotics was higher than the average man's. Thus the drug did not have the desired effect: I hypothesis that the killer tried to poison him, and when that clearly failed used his weakened physical state to attack him."
"Do we have the murder weapon yet?"
"Techs are still testing all the cylindrical devices in his house, but I am not hopeful. The killer was too smart to leave that kind of evidence behind."
"Ugh, I hate smart murders," Pete muttered.
"Okay, Steve and Pete: can you too try and figure out potential murder weapons? I would start with inspecting photos from the crime scene. I'm going to try and create a time line of his day and see whether any of his friends or family can help me figure out who he was meeting for lunch."
"Interviewing a lot of people?" Pete pursed his lips. "Sounds fun." Myka stuck her tongue out at him and left the morgue report on her desk, walking over to the side of the bull pen to fetch a white board.
"Guess who get's to go home now?" Claudia twirled in excitement. "Me!"
"Go away!" Pete called, turning his back on her to log into his computer.
"Just leave!" Steve agreed. Claudia just laughed and danced towards the elevator, humming loudly.
"Detective Bering!" The shout from the office was menacing. Pete grinned at Myka, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Captain Nielson sounds grumpy," he whispered. Myka narrowed her eyes at him.
"He always sounds grumpy." Pete laughed.
"It's true," he admitted with a shrug. "Go placate him." Myka rolled her eyes and pushed herself away from her desk, rolling towards Artie's office. She got up slowly and knocked on the door cautiously.
"Come in," came the gruff reply. "Myka?"
"Yes Artie?"
"When exactly were you planning on telling me that you met H. G. Wells this afternoon?" The short man seemed to grow in size as he looked down at Myka from across his desk, bushy eyebrows adding ferocity to his gaze.
"In my report where I usually list all the suspects with whom I have interacted across the course of the investigation?" Myka replied, uncowed. She had done nothing wrong. "Why?"
"Any dealings with that woman, any dealings at all you make me privy to!"
"But Artie, I don't-"
"No buts! You tell me." Myka swallowed dryly.
"Okay, she muttered, cowed and confused.
"That woman is dangerous, Myka. Remember that."
