Parallelogram--chapter three

'A' Division was silent. Chris cleared his throat and the sound echoed through the grey space around them, making their mutual discomfort a physical presence in the gloom laden space. Agent Cooper, for his part, was completely unperturbed by Gene Hunt's curse of a greeting, and he smiled amicably at Chris and Ray, his hand extended to them both in innocent greeting. Ray hesitated, clearly wondering if he was to follow the Guv's example and be a pigheaded prick, but he decided against this at the last minute and gave Agent Cooper's hand a decidedly limp grip before letting his hand fall to his side, his palm embarrassed by the seeming mutiny.

"You can learn a lot about a man by his handshake," Cooper cheerfully informed Ray. "For instance, your name is Ray Carling."

Ray raised a brow. "That's right," he said. He gave his gum a snap. "That's me name, don't wear it out."

"You once had a relationship with a woman who was fond of macramé and despite your slovenly exterior you hold a deep respect for gourmet cooking and have even gone so far as to apply at the Cordon Bleu cooking school in France as an alternative career choice as a master chef. However, your unfounded prejudices against the French culture have prevented you from fulfilling your lifelong dreams, and thus you have opted for a similar job. In many ways, law enforcement has similar requirements to the high stress machinations of an excellent five star kitchen. You are now the sergeant of this department, and are apparently happy with this position since you have abandoned your other dreams. Still, I would give you this piece of perhaps un-called for and unwelcome advice--Ray, a woman who knows how to tie complicated knots is never to be trusted."

Ray gulped at this outburst, a distinctive pallor evident to his skin over having been so intimately exposed in front of his peers--In front of Chris and Sam, no less.

"Is all that true?" Chris asked him, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open and his little mind no doubt remembering the entire vole-et-vents discussion not two weeks ago and seeing it in an entirely fresh and disconcerting light.

"Bloody Americans," is all Ray would mumble. He turned his back on the trio and sat at his desk, all hope of interacting with him further over.

Cooper turned his attentions on Chris, his hand held out to the young, naive officer. "Salutations," Cooper said, and Chris eyed the hand extended to him as if it held the black plague. He shrank from Cooper's hand and his scrutiny, his back firm against the main door leading into the office area.

"I...I got to go. Lunch hour." He slid through the door with snake-like grace and his shadow could be seen on the corrugated plastic windows as he made a mad dash towards the vicinity of the canteen. Cooper frowned at this, though the grin he'd worn since he'd come into their presence was still firmly in place. He turned his attention on Sam, his already extended hand daring Sam to meet his. Sam held both his hands up, like a man with a gun pointed to him.

"Believe me, you don't want to know my innermost secrets," Sam said.

Cooper let his hand fall. "Perhaps you're right. I do tend to come on a little strong in these situations, and I'm a little out of practice with the social niceties expected, especially those on foreign shores. I suppose it would be best if I get right to the point--I believe, DI Sam Tyler, that you have a killer among you."

Sam raised a brow. "I suppose the body waiting in the morgue right now was a bit of a clue," he said, evenly.

"I need to talk to your DCI," Cooper said, remaining stubbornly cryptic.

"Obviously, that's going to be a bit of a problem," Sam said, gesturing to the firmly shut door of Gene Hunt's office. Cooper waved this issue away as if it were fat bluebottle in its last hour of life.

"Meet me in the morgue," he said to Sam. "You and the rest of your team. Oh, and bring a tape recording device. I may need to keep it for an extended period of time, but it will be returned to you when I am finished with it."

Sam shrugged and gave him the bulky, portable tape recorder he kept on his desk. Cooper turned it over in his hands, assessing its value as if it were fine china with a discernible crack down its surface. "It's primitive, but it will serve the purpose," Cooper said. He pressed 'record' and 'play' at the same time, and immediately began speaking into it with clear, precise diction:

"Diane, I would like it to be noted that I am holding in my hands one PrinzSound TR8 tape recording device which, though primitive, shall serve me well as a component in this ongoing investigation. I have borrowed said machine from 'A' Division, an investigative branch of law enforcement in Manchester, England. The year is 1973, the month is May. This machine shall be returned to this aforementioned department on completion of my duties here, specifically to one Detective Inspector Sam Tyler. May I take this opportunity to say, Diane, that the unexpected turn this assignment has taken has brought me to a place that is the purest anathema to all that I hold sacred and dear. While the air of that idyll known as Twin Peaks had been fresh and clean upon my first arriving, with the scent of Douglas firs filling and cleansing my lungs, I have now found myself in a place of tar and oil fumes, a vile black pollution seeping into the very pores of my skin. Though I have never found the need to disease my body with the addictive properties of nicotine, I feel that every breath I take here is much like sucking on a string of Camel Lights only without the film noir glamour. Remind me, Diane, to inquire about that naturopath that Hawk recommended who lives just outside the border of Twin Peaks. I believe I will be needing some serious detoxification in order to maintain my good health upon my return. I already miss those fantastic firs. Cooper out."

He pressed 'stop' on the tape recorder, a stunned silence emanating from Sam. He couldn't help but give the agent a hooded glare. Cooper, however, completely misread the enmity in Sam's posture, and he playfully punched Sam in the shoulder.

"Have DCI Hunt and the rest of your crew meet me in the morgue in half an hour. I'd prefer it be immediately, but I have been warned that in order to ensure I have a place to sleep tonight I must call up a number of bed and breakfasts in the area in the hopes of a reasonable rate and comfortable setting. One must never cheat oneself out of a good night's sleep. Also, there is the matter of what time of day it is. As I see by my watch, it is exactly ten minutes after noon and I'm so hungry I could eat an entire pie and thirsty enough to drink a litre of coffee. Above all things, I simply must have that cup of joe. Is there a place you recommend for good food and conversation that is in close proximity?"

"That would be the canteen, I gather," Sam said, unsure. "It's just down the corridor, to the left."

"Perfect." Cooper held up his fist and gave Sam a thumbs-up sign. "No need to tell me where the morgue is. I already know." He sighed, oddly happy, and walked out the main door of the office, his posture straight, his body seemingly made of nothing but perfect right angles. "I could just die for a cup of coffee," he repeated.

"I could murder one myself," Sam murmured as Cooper left.

/

"I'm not working with him."

"At the risk of repeating myself, you don't have a choice."

"I make my own choices," Gene said with finality. He tugged a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, the thankful smoke hovering around his head. "Jimmy's gone and lawyered up. His rat bastard social worker has decided to say he's a schizoid nutter and needs hospitalisation rather than time in the gulag. I say he needs a good kick in the arse, and maybe a knock or two against the old cranium to give him some proper sense, but I ain't the one drawing up papers saying he's unfit for proper punishment like the rest of his bastard mates."

"Speaking of making sense," Sam reiterated, "we're expected in the morgue."

"Funny thing, expectations. They never quite live up to the reality of things, do they?"

Sam sighed through his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You're being a stubborn ass. I thought we had ironed all of this out not half an hour ago?"

"That was afore I got a good look at him and got the distinct, uneasy feeling that he was here to start digging out me grave. I'd say he's probably got a head start somewhere, and he's just waiting for his moment to lure me to the graveyard and kick me in."

"What are you on about?"

"He gave me a bloody creepfest, that's what I'm saying. My gut says he's bad news all around, and I'm not standing for having him in my kingdom, lopping off heads!"

An uneasy cough echoed into the confines of 'A' Division, and both Sam and Gene turned to see the gangly form of acting Superintendent Eisner glaring down at them. His cloudy eyes were somewhat focused on Gene, though it was difficult to tell if he was trying to place Sam into that same, cataract view. "Gentlemen," he said. "I have heard a very disturbing rumour. Apparently, 'A' Division is giving our guest from the New World a difficult time." He walked closer, his bones creaking in their joints, his gait unsteady. He placed a gnarled hand on the edge of a desk for balance, and his sour breath eked its way through the air to hover nastily in front of Gene and Sam. "I may be retiring on Saturday, but I do remind you both that I am the acting 'Super in the meantime. So, it's quite logical for me to rip you both a new one and demote you to meter maids if you don't get off your asses right now and start improving international relations. Get in the morgue, now, before both of your careers are put there."

He left as slowly and shakily as he had arrived, an arthritic powerhouse that held all the political might of Stalin. Gene was miserable, but at least he was putting on his coat.

"I blame you for everything," he said to Sam as they left. "You and your 'co-operation' crap. This case is going to sneak off into that agent's pocket and we'll never get a chance to take a killer off the streets. He'll be in Turkey by tomorrow morning, I wager. He'll kill his way across Europe before disappearing into the Africas. We'll never find him then."

"How can you be so sure of that?" Sam said, rolling his eyes at Gene's apparent ignorance.

"Because," Gene growled. "It's happened before."

/

The overhead light flickered above the body, sending blue shadows across bone white skin. Despite her obvious death, the girl seemed animated beneath the flashes of light, her fingers flexing after each shuttered view, her chest rising and falling. It was an unsettling vision, and Sam tapped at the overhead light, doing his best to stop the malfunction.

"I wouldn't bother," Agent Cooper crisply said. "The lights haven't worked properly since the girl arrived here according to the coroner. He says it's an electrical short."

Through the irritating flashes of light, Gene stared at Agent Cooper, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gaze looking long down his nose at the clean cut young man opposite the gurney in front of him. "Since our coroner has already given this unfortunate creature a good once over, pardon me if I find this whole exercise a tad repetitive. If there's anything to find, he would have already found it. She was strangled to death and tossed in an alley--Quite amazing, our powers of deduction around here. You'd best be careful, Yankee Doodle. Your lack of faith is showing."

"My name is Dale Cooper. Agent Dale Cooper, if you would be so kind as to appreciate my designation. While I understand that you may feel hostile towards my efforts in this case due to some territorial issues about your office, I assure you that my mission here is entirely one of a co-operative nature."

"He's using that word," Gene spat at Sam.

"I understand that I may have inadvertently breached some form of etiquette, and for this you have my sincerest apologies. Now, perhaps we could start anew." Cooper held out his hand to Gene. "Agent Dale Cooper, pleased to meet you."

Sam nudged Gene with his shoulder. "Now you say: DCI Gene Hunt, nice to meet you."

"I wouldn't shake his hand if I was you, boss," Ray warned.

"I don't bloody well shake hands with anyone," Gene growled. "That's for nancy boys like Sammy here, and politicians. I don't know if you've gathered it, but I'm neither."

"I had an inkling," Cooper said. He nodded briskly to Chris, who had the tape recorder balanced unevenly in his hands. On Cooper's signal he pressed 'record' and 'play' at the same time. Cooper's voice filled the examining room, its echo and the strange lighting seeming to make the room much larger than it was.

"Diane, I am now in the morgue of 'A' Division, where upon the cold, steel slab in front of me lays the body of a young woman in her late teens. Her hair is free of the usual chemicals found in hair-care products, her make-up minimal and though she is slim she is a healthy weight for her age. Though it may be true, as DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler have asserted in their reports, she may be a young sex worker, but it is also evident that this unfortunate young woman retains that distinctive aura of urban suburbia about her like a second skin. I shall go further and say with increased confidence that she was still attending school, as evidenced by the piece of blank foolscap found in a nearby purse which may or may not be hers. Save for this one item, the purse had been emptied. Thus, the problem currently presented to us is twofold: Who killed her, and what is her name?"

"Bloody brilliant deduction, that. Gold stars all around for you. Mind you, the facts would be easier to gather if you knew how to read. The report said the purse was nearby, and it's possible it's hers, not a given. As for the foolscap, it's probably just something tossed in from the trash what got stuck in the plastic the bastard murderer used to wrap her up in."

"All the more reason to pay attention to it," Cooper said, smiling widely. "The paper could be associated with the killer. But I was sure when I read the report that the blank sheet came out of her purse." Cooper took the suitcase that lay on the floor beside a chair onto its surface and quickly opened it up. Files were neatly arranged within it, along with a pen and pencil stuck into strategically placed leather loops. He took out a photocopy of a haphazard sheet of scribbling, and squinted in the near darkness over it. "It says here: 'Girls perse on her in the allie and they have plastic wrap up gerbige and lots of tape'" Cooper shook his head. "I had a hard time making out who wrote this, but whoever they are some remedial grammar lessons may be in order. They are clearly functionally illiterate."

"I wrote that report," Gene said. He snatched the paper from Cooper's hands and read it over. "It says here clear as the eyes on my face: 'We found her in the alley, the purse was near her and she was wrapped up tight in plastic with tape. Bloody obvious!" Gene tossed the photocopy back at Cooper. "If you want a novel, go to the bloody library! I'm here to bring to justice monsters and murderers and my words aren't paid by the penny like bloody Charles Dickens!" He leaned close to Cooper's tape recorder. "Did you get all that, 'Diane'? Maybe your boyfriend here could use some Cliff Notes on policing. It seems he think he's Shakespeare instead of a proper copper!"

"Diane is my secretary," Cooper said, clearly annoyed.

"Must be nice," Gene said, his lips pursed. "I wouldn't have given a thought to the Federal Bureau of Investigation giving their officers a bird or two to keep them happy on and off the road. Quite sordid for my taste, but then they do things different on your shores. The way it's all set up, it's like an arranged marriage, but with typing."

Cooper frowned at this. "Are you implying that Diane is some sort of consort?"

"Draw your own conclusions."

"Forgive me for saying so, DCI Hunt, but you are truly one of the most repulsive people I have ever met in my life. Diane, I am terribly sorry you have been pulled into this conversation, and I am taking you out of it, effective immediately."

"Never you mind, Diane, we've all figured how often it is you change his sheets."

Ray sniggered in the background, creating a severe level of tension in the already unsettling aura of the examining room. Cooper's fists were now clenching and unclenching, his jaw set firm as he glared at Gene, who himself was not backing down from his aggressive stance. It was like watching two cats about to spring at each other, Sam thought. Frozen postures of fury just waiting for the other to move to justify the strike.

"Give over," Sam snapped at them. "There's a corpse between you, for God's sake."

Both Gene and Cooper seemed to blink in the flashing light, their fury softening as they took in the task at hand. A mutual silence had now brewed between them was broken at intervals by the snap of Ray chomping on his gum. Cooper sighed, and collected himself, his voice even as he spoke once again into Diane's future:

"Diane, I am sure you are astute enough to have already discerned the parallels that this case possesses. I only hope that the heinous crimes which both ruined my life and saved it will not be repeated on the scale with which it took hold of Twin Peaks." He reached into his jacket pocket, and took out something metallic that glinted in the bluish light. "I am now holding in my right hand a set of tweezers and if I am correct, and unfortunately, I am aware that I am, we shall have far, far more important issues at hand than proper grammar and crude inferences of our character."

Cooper crouched down onto one knee and took the young girl's hand in his, looking for all purposes as though he were about to ask her to marry him, and slip a ring on her finger. The intensity he exuded created a further uncomfortable pall upon the setting, and Sam shifted where he stood, an uncertainty growing within him. With precise, unflinching confidence, Agent Cooper plunged the tweezers deep beneath the fingernail of the dead girl, an action that sent a wave of disgust through the room and put even Sam's teeth on edge.

Their disgust was immediately interrupted by the sound of clipped heels echoing into the gloom, and a sudden shaft of light burst in along with Annie, who shyly entered the macabre scene, her hands smoothing down the front of her skirt. "Sorry I'm late. That new copper was right distraught, I don't think he's ever seen a corpse before, let alone a murder victim. He's right devastated over her being a young girl and all. He was in hysterics in the canteen--Took me, Phyllis and a group of girls behind the counter to get him calmed down."

"And here I thought you was curling your hair. Might as well have been for all the good we've learned here. Agent Cooper here has been kind enough to start mutilating a corpse while giving his girlfriend a play by play. Fascinating stuff, right up there with sodom and Gomorra."

"He's just doing his job," Sam said.

"Over here we calls it 'disgracing a dead body'."

"As I keep saying, the FBI has some of the most brilliant minds in investigation. Just because you don't understand what he's doing doesn't mean it isn't valid."

"Oh it figures Sammy Boy here is a poster child for the 'I Love the Yank' campaign. Look at him, all pressed and tidy and not a spot of muck on him even though he's digging into that poor girl's body like he's planting tulips. Wound up tighter than an alarm clock, if he ever had to take a crap he'd smash the toilet. He uses a damned tape recorder, too, he's your long lost brother, he is. You're both from the same planet, Sam. Uranus."

Either ignoring Gene's outburst or concentrating to the point of deafness, it was impossible to tell for sure, Cooper suddenly grinned and held the tweezers close to his eyes for further, intense scrutiny.

"Et Voila," he said.

"Right, that's it!" Gene exclaimed.

A fist caught Cooper square in the face. A trickle of blood seeped out the corner of Cooper's mouth, which he tested with his fingertips, the droplets smearing the underside of his thumb. He looked up at Gene, utterly shocked.

"Oh my God!" Annie exclaimed. She embraced Cooper's shoulders and took a hanky out of her pocket which she used to dab at the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Are you all right?"

"What the bloody hell?" Sam shouted.

Testing his jaw and finding it wasn't broken, Cooper resumed talking into the tape recorder. "Diane, it is..." He checked his watch. "1:07 pm. DCI Hunt has just punched me in the face." He hit the 'stop' button on the tape recorder and turned to the stunned group standing in front of him. "Perhaps we should adjourn for a small break, and continue this venture in an hour's time."

"I can't believe this, you hit him!" Sam shouted at Gene.

"He spoke French, what did you expect me to do? This ain't fairyland, no frogs allowed!"

"What kind of idiot are you??"

The question went unanswered, for Annie had picked up the tweezers that Cooper had dropped and handed them back to him. "These are yours," she said, a look of disgust evident on her otherwise pretty face. The nail of the young girl was now bent backwards, exposing the skin beneath. Annie let out a visible, involuntary shudder.

"Thank you, um...?"

"Annie. WDC Annie Cartwright."

"Annie," Cooper repeated, and gave her a winning and only slightly blood-tinged grin. He reached over and hit 'play' and 'record' on the tape recorder and spoke into it once again. "Hold on, Diane. My tweezers have just been handed to me by one Annie Cartwright. I'm sorry, I should say 'WDI' Annie Cartwright, as she is one of the investigative officers in 'A' Division."

Annie actually blushed at this, a fact that irked Sam, though he couldn't quite figure out why. "You've just made me a higher rank than Ray," she said to Cooper, her face a furiously happy shade of red.

"Within the grasp of these tweezers is the answer to this current puzzle. As it was with Theresa Banks and Laura Palmer, so too with this unfortunate young woman." He turned his attention back to Annie. "If you would be so kind, WDI--I'm sorry, I guess it is WDC Cartwright--as to hand me that magnifying apparatus that is laying on the counter to your right."

"Thinks he's Sherlock Holmes, now," Gene muttered.

"I wouldn't say a bloody word if I were you," Sam warned him. "You're about to get tossed out of here for that crack you gave him. I hope it was worth it."

"This is my Division, no one throws me out," Gene said, though his voice did hold the barest waver of uncertainty.

Cooper held the tweezers beneath the magnifying glass and, to everyone's shock, he bid Gene to take a look within it. Reluctant, Gene cast a glance within, only to frown in understanding.

"It's the letter 'E'," he said.

"To match the letters 'R', 'B' and 'T'--All of which have been found on three other women. The name it will eventually spell is 'Robert', the killer's name, an act which, in his own words, was simply a matter of casual game-playing, a whim. This is evidenced not only in his own words, but in how he prefers to be addressed.

This is the clearly the work of Bob."

"Bob," Sam said, testing the name on his tongue. It felt odd, the way it sat, a bitter irony against the blandness of the name. Bob, the serial killer. He seemed comical, in that context, almost like a clown.

Sam shuddered.

Blood lay smeared on Annie's handkerchief, which had been forgotten on the slab, the dead girl's hand seeming to take it in her grasp beneath the flashing, animating light. The door opened, sending the room into a thankfully steadier glow. Gene Hunt was in its frame, his bottom lip stern as he looked down on his crew, a crew that miraculously now included Agent Cooper.

"Good job," Gene shockingly acknowledged. His eyes were steel as he glared at Cooper. "Now let's find this bastard Bob and rip his head off."