Story: Hazards
Rating: T
Pairings: I don't know yet. My OC will definitely have a love interest though.
Summary: Heroes/Law & Order: CI Crossover. Detective Rebecca Conway of the Major Case Squad is working the case of a young woman murdered in her apartment. It seemed like a typical killing... at first. Each clue leads her and Detective Robert Goran down a road they never thought existed. It's very AU simply because I'm not including Eames.
Author's Note: It's been a long time since I've written anything, let alone a Heroes story. I love criticism; the good, the bad, and the ugly-- just as long as it is constructive and not mean-spirited. So in other words: be gentle ;)
Author's Note II: I hate Eames. I think she is so incredibly useless on that show that it's not even funny. I'm simply pretending that she doesn't exist. Also, I changed up some Sylar's victims. They've got new names, faces, etc.
Disclaimer: Tim Kring and Dick Wolf are geniuses. I own nothing except for my OFCs. I'm simply borrowing these amazing characters for fun.
Chapter Two
(An Upper East Side Brownstone, New York City, The Same Day)
A simple white envelope had been plucked from the dozens more from its container. Creamy yellow stationary paper was strewn about the expensive mahogany business desk. Delicate, manicured hands folded a piece of paper into the covering and sealed the ends shut with a glue stick.
She always thought it was unladylike to lick a letter shut.
With a sly smirk spread across her features, the young woman pushed herself away from the desk. Her black stiletto heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she walked through the enormous house. It was quite brilliant, she thought. She had spent some time in several large mansions before but never this elegant.
Too bad she was going to have to leave very shortly. It was such a shame. She never got a chance to enjoy the fruits of her labor for long.
She passed by a rather large mirror in the foyer and carefully reapplied her bright red lipstick. Her fingers gently ran through her long blonde hair, making sure that one hair wasn't out of place. If she were to pride herself on one thing, it would have to be her appearance.
She smoothed out any wrinkles in her black business suit; the fabric perfectly tailored her to slim body. She took a step back when a large object bumped against the back of her feet, almost causing her to fall. She caught herself though, and shook her head laughing.
A body of a middle-aged man lay just below her feet, a syringe sticking out of his side.
Silly Elizabeth, you should know better than to trip over the deceased. Have some respect for the dead.
Bringing the envelope to her lips, she closed her eyes as she imprinted her kiss. She placed it on the chest of her latest victim and closed the front door behind her.
Back at the station, Rebecca and Goran were going over evidence. Several case files spread across the large oval table. Seven crime scene photographs of other victims were taped across the oversized whiteboard on the opposite wall.
"One of the cops on scene found her purse. Nothing was missing in the apartment. Jewelry, money, personal information; it was all there, including her driver's license." In her hand was a photocopy of her identification. "Her name was Kayla Turner. She was a student at NYU, just about to finish her senior year. 23 years old…" Her voice faded as she read that last fact.
Rebecca couldn't help but relate to their victim. She was her age. Had her whole life going for her. And somebody, in such a sinister way, took it all away.
Goran cleared his throat as he watched his partner grow slightly uncomfortable. She was young, and still naïve when it came to the ominous world of police work. Rebecca wore her emotions on her sleeve and sometimes took cases a little too close to heart.
While that trait could be a cop's Achilles Heel, he learned quickly that it made her the best. Her passion, along with her intelligence, got her promoted more quickly than most. She was quite possibly the most dedicated detective he had ever worked with.
He cleared his throat with a little more effort this time, stirring her out of her cloud of thoughts.
Pull it together, Conway, you're embarrass yourself.
"So," she began, "Homicide spoke with the family. There was no boyfriend, no enemies. Then again, how many 23 year olds tell her family everything? I certainly don't do that. I got her cell phone records." She handed Goran a sheet of numbers with several highlighted. "Four calls and 8 text messages were sent and received in the past 24 hours."
Goran took the pen from his leather binder and circled the last four numbers. "The coroner report determined she died between 3 – 5 A.M. These right here? They were made after 2 A.M. The numbers are blocked though."
"Have we got the security footage back from Homicide yet?"
"Yeah," he stretched his arm out to turn on the television and VCR beside him.
The video was your typical surveillance footage. Each frame was in five-second increments, black and white, and not very good quality.
The duo watched as a dark-haired man wearing a black business suit walk from the elevators to the victim's apartment. Looking up at the camera shortly, he sneered evilly before waving his hand in front of the lens and cutting off the recording.
Rebecca knew that face. She'd seen it before. "Why does that man look awfully familiar?"
Goran rewound the tape a few frames back and paused the screen just as the man's face was visible. "That's Gabriel Gray."
"The guy that killed his own mother in her apartment a few months back?"
Goran nodded and walked out of the conference room to his desk and she followed. He opened a drawer to pull out a case file. "He owned a clock shop in the city. He was your average geek; still lived with his mother, didn't have any friends, pretty reclusive guy. Then one day he disappeared. His mother filed a missing person's report with the department about a month or so before she died.
"CSI found his prints everywhere on the scene. The apartment building's video caught him leaving just after her estimated time of death." He sifted through the papers until he found the photo he was looking for.
Rebecca's hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock.
"She was found with over 50 knives plunged into her."
She looked more closely. "She didn't die like the others. He kept her brain in tact."
"It probably wasn't any use to him. He did this in the heat of passion. Something set him off."
"We still need to find some type of connection. There has to be something, Goran." Walking back into the room an idea popped into her head. "What do we know about the victim before last? The guy in Chicago?"
"Donald Sullivan, age 49. He was a real estate agent in Chicago, had a wife and a daughter, nice little townhouse just outside the city. Last week the secretary found him at his office." Goran pointed to one of the pictures on the whiteboard as he spoke. The victim was face down on the ground, his top of his head removed.
"Same cause of death?" she asked.
Goran slumped down in a chair exhausted. "Everything's the same."
She was skimming over the autopsy report when something caught her attention. "Look at this," she pointed. "The murder weapon was listed as Unknown." Conway picked up the latest autopsy report from their crime scene just a few hours earlier. "The same thing's listed on Kayla Turner's autopsy." She looked up at Goran, stumped. "The coroner couldn't identify any known marks."
The medical examiners that ran the New York City Morgue were quite possibly the most experienced, intelligent, and skilled doctors in the world. They performed some of the most famous of cases, some still taught to this day in medical schools across the country. If they couldn't identify the murder weapon, then something was definitely wrong here.
"What was the statement the secretary made?" she asked.
"He had three appointments that morning. Two of them were clients of his for years, but at," He paused for a moment as he pointed the information out on the list. "11:30. He met with a man named Dr. Mohinder Shuresh. He had another man with him but didn't know who he was."
"A house call?" A powerful businessman such as Sullivan was too busy to visit a doctor's office. They usually had their practitioners make a trip to their place of business.
"The secretary didn't say. She didn't believe he was sick, but he had been leaving the office abruptly for the past few weeks." He looked up at his partner from his seat. "What do you think?"
Both of her eyebrows rose. "I think we're going to Chicago."
(Apartment of Kathryn Green, Chicago, Illinois, Seven Hours Later)
"Donald was a good man," began Kathryn Greene. "I worked with him for over twenty years. Our families had dinner together all the time. We never had any secrets between the two of us."
Rebecca smiled genuinely and placed her hand on top of hers. "I heard that's how the most successful businesses run," she spoke softly.
Kathryn patted the tears away from her face with a tissue and nodded silently.
"He didn't have any enemies?" asked Goran.
"No," she shook her head. "Everybody loved him."
"What about the doctor who came to see him? Had he been there before?"
She sipped her cup of tea before clearing her throat. "He was an Indian man. Dressed casually, had a leather bag with him. The man that was with him… white, dark hair, somewhat geeky looking… why am I being asked about this again? I already told the other detectives everything I know."
Rebecca patted her hand once again. A reassuring gesture she learned early on in her career that always seemed to help in cases such as these. It showed compassion and understanding; traits that a grieving family member or friend needed at that exact moment.
"We're just making sure that no stone is going unturned. The tiniest of details that could go unnoticed just might crack an entire case."
"You two said you were from New York?" Both detectives verbally agreed. "So why are you here, halfway across the country?"
Rebecca and Goran looked at each other. As if mentally agreeing, they told her about their case in New York, the five other related victims, just enough information to keep her satisfied without compromising their case.
Goran's cell phone began to ring loudly, and excused himself as he walked out of the apartment to take the call.
Kathryn had waited until Goran was out of the room before she began to speak. "You said the tiniest of details would help?"
"Absolutely. Was there something you remembered?"
"Maybe…" she hesitated.
"Mrs. Greene…"
"Kathryn," she stated. "Call me Kathryn."
"Kathryn," she spoke while looking into her eyes. "If you want to help Donald and his family, we need you to be completely honest. Don't think for a second that you're breaking his trust.
She began twisting the tissue in her hands. Rebecca knew right away she was holding something back.
"Well…" she began, "Some weird things had been happening in the past couple of weeks. I would have to order new phones constantly for this office."
"What do you mean?"
"You're going to think I'm crazy…"
"No," Rebecca reassured, "Of course not. Please continue."
"The phones… you know the receiver you speak into? The handle in the middle had melted completely through." She shook her head and had a confused expression across her face. "Not just that… everything had to be replaced. The chairs, pens, even our conference table. All of them had melted too."
Kathryn looked up at Rebecca. "Am I absolutely insane?"
"No, you're not insane. I believe you," she lowered her voice while stating that last sentence.
At that moment, Goran walked back into the apartment. "We need to head back to New York. Thank you for your time Mrs. Greene. We're sorry for your loss."
"What was the call about?" She asked as they were riding the elevator downstairs.
"We've got a situation." He wouldn't elaborate any further.
"Situation?" He still wouldn't respond to her, making her more nervous with each second passing by.
"Bobby," she spoke with a firmer tone.
He exhaled loudly and braced himself for the worst. "Nathan Petrelli was murdered this morning."
With that one sentence, Rebecca's world became numb.