No one in my family is a police officer or lawyer, so I'm sorry if I got something wrong. Same with the Cockney accent, I did my best, but who know if I got it right? :P Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
"Alright, let's get this mess cleaned up," Inspector Lestrade ordered the other officers, running his hand across his forehead with a sigh. That was the third dead body he'd seen in one week, all from different cases. It never ceased to horrify the officer that there were so many people willing to be so…cruel, for lack of a better word. As the body (not mid-30s, attractive lawyer woman, no, that would make it far too real) was rushed out, Anderson came up to him.
"Domestic violence at its worst," the tall man commented. "Husband's run off, it seems, so we've got-"
"We've got our men chasing after him, like I requested," interrupted Lestrade. "Thank you, Anderson. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pile of paperwork on my desk that needs tending to." He gave the forensic examiner a tight smile before heading off.
The DI didn't get to go home until after eight and, stressed and starving, he got some takeaway on his way.
Get inside, kick off my shoes, make a cuppa and watch some telly, he decided as his key turned in the lock. Better than sitting there and sulking at how empty the flat was since Sheila kicked him out and he had to live on his own for the first time in years. He put the food on his coffee table and went into his kitchen to grab the tea leaves. As he put the kettle on, he should have noticed everything was wrong. He should have noticed the chill coming in from the window that he made sure to keep closed at all times. He should have noticed the mess of newspaper on the living room floor, when he always kept them in an orderly-ish pile. Most of all, he should have noticed the figure that had been looming in a corner of the flat the entire time. But he didn't until it was too late and something hit him hard in the back of the head before everything went black.
Greg opened his eyes slowly and immediately regretted it as the light burned his pupils and he shut them tightly with a hiss. Only moments later, he felt a pounding sensation in his head and his hand flew up automatically to rub the sore spot. Only he couldn't. His eyes opened again and he looked around the room frantically, trying to figure out why he was sitting in a chair, his legs tied to its front ones and his arms cuffed behind his back.
"Don't bother struggling, those cuffs are real," a cockney-accented voice told him right before emerging from the kitchen. "You should know, they are yours after all."
Greg's eyes widened as he looked at the man in front of him, a smirk twisted across his features. "Victor Kraus," he breathed. "What are you doing here? When did they let you out?"
He shook his ear with a laugh. "Detective Inspector and ya still don't know when your little victims are set free, 'uh? Tut, tut. I was let out three months ago. Been plottin' this ever since."
Lestrade bit back the urge to ask exactly what it was the man was plotting, but he figured he would find out soon enough. "I put a lot of criminals in jail," he told him instead, "I can't keep track of all of them."
"Aww, and I thought I was special," he laughed.
"How did you get into my house?" Lestrade asked, already tired of the topic.
Victor shrugged. "Easy. Lady below you 'as a balcony , it was simple enough to climb to your window and break in from there. You're only on the fourth level." He moved to walk over to the coffee table and opened the bag of takeaway. He reached a hand inside and pulled out the container before opening it and taking a whiff. "Mm, smells nice," he commented before taking a bite. He put the container back down and took a swig of beer before turning back to Lestrade. "Oh, I'm sorry, 'ow rude of me. You 'ungry?"
"You've tied to me to a chair, I think we're past pleasantries," Greg grumbled as he eyed the criminal standing in his living room. Losing his reserve, he asked, "What do you want with me?"
He moved from the food and walked closer to Lestrade. "Revenge, Detective. You ruined my life!" he roared, his hands clenching into angry fists. "Criminals don't take well to people like me!"
"Maybe you should have thought of that before you molested three kids!" Lestrade countered, refusing to back down. If he was going down, it wasn't going to happen without a fight.
Victor eyes him for a bit before bursting out with laughter, his fists unclenching as he wiped his eye. "Oh, Detective, Detective, Detective." Straightening up, he eyed Lestrade with a vengeful smirk on his face, like a lion watching a zebra. "You know, no one who doesn't know I was arrested would guess what I did. I may be lower class, but I got charm. Kinda like a dolphin. That or people just don't give me a second thought. So if a police officer were to be found brutally murdered in his own apartment by someone of my status, do you think he would ever get justice?"
Lestrade fought hard to keep under control, but he couldn't stop his heart from pounding or his breath from coming out ragged with fear. "You're not a murderer. Don't turn into one," he tried reasoning. "You don't have to do this. Let me go now and…and I'll forget this happened. You can go back and do whatever you've been doing since you were let out, no police on your tail. But if you do this, I can't help you. They will find you and you will be put back in jail. What do you think they do to child molesters and murderers in there?"
Victor looked at him for a moment before laughing and Greg narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out what this psychopath found so funny. "Oh, don't worry, Detective, I won't kill you." He was in front of Lestrade in an instant, his hands gripping the arms of the chair and he leaned in close to the helpless officer. "But by the time I'm through with you, you'll wish I had."
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