chapter 3! Major thank-yous to my reviewers (BigDaddyBall, UltimateEvilLord1, Syver'ti, and GrimlockX4) who willingly spend their time to critique my work. Free hugs for all! And to those of you who don't review, I may take longer to put up chapter 4 just to annoy you :P just kidding. But seriously, review and I will respond back to you
disclaimer: I don't own Predator, Alien, AVP, or Chicago. I just own my original characters and this story (though sometimes it seems my characters have minds of their own!)
Well, we ran the usual tests on the guns - nothing really interesting there, except all of the bullets were accounted for. That was rather odd, considering both had gone through all of their ammo. Either the perp was bulletproof, or the gunners were terrible shots. The cocaine was definitely cocaine, and the money had traces of at least 2 illegal substances, most likely used to get high. This just stank of "drug deal," with more than a hint of "gang." However, James' report didn't exactly fit with our theories.
"What do you mean, none of them were shot?" Evan repeated, incredulous.
"All three victims died from being stabbed or beaten in some way. Tests have concluded that our shortest John Doe had been impaled with some long, retractable instrument through his intestinal tract; the one with a crooked nose took your double blades to the heart and left lung; and the vic with the alcohol and potato chips in his system was shredded by the blades across his chest, along with some broken ribs and a serious concussion," the coroner announced to our group.
Jen was dumbfounded. "Well, there goes our only logical theory," she said dejectedly.
"Not quite," James contradicted. "'Shorty' was addicted to cocaine, and there is substantial evidence that he abused other drugs as well. I also found traces of tattoos on the other 2 bodies, including matching cobras."
"That still doesn't explain the skinning," I reminded the group. Evan, Tyler, and Jen murmured in assent. The aging coroner still had some crucial evidence for us, though.
"There is one more thing," he added before we left, "Whoever did this either had a great talent for skinning-or was well-practiced. My guess is that the perp has a hunting background."
"Thanks, James; we'll look into that," I promised as the team and I headed back up to the lab.
Since the bodies were missing their skin, we couldn't run their fingerprints through the database. However, the cobra tattoos turned out to be connected to the South Side Cobra gang, so the gang theory wasn't completely out yet. The third body's DNA matched a guy that had been missing for about a week. The story was that his wife caught him with crack, and he ran off with her last paycheck. Apparently he cashed it so he could get his next fix. No new evidence emerged from the skinning case after that, so we continued testing samples from 2 other murders from the West Side, along with a good number of rape kits. By the time we finished up, it was about 4:50 pm.
"Dinner time!" Evan announced as we signed out and headed to the garage. "Where shall we eat today?"
"How about that old Chinese place on the corner of 20th and Warner?" Jen suggested.
Tyler agreed. "Yeah, we haven't been there in ages."
Evan turned to me. "What about you, Kai?"
I grinned. "Sure; why not?"
"Alright. Meet you guys there," Jen promised as she unlocked her Suburban and climbed in.
As I fiddled with my keys, Tyler came up to me.
"Hey, would you mind if I hitched I ride with you? My car's still in the shop," he sheepishly requested.
I raised an eyebrow. "They haven't fixed the hood yet?" He shook his head. "Did Zach tell you when it would be done?"
"He said by Friday, and I have that court appearance tomorrow for the Dickson case…" the dark-haired forensic scientist trailed off, and looked at me hopefully.
Sighing, I relented. "All right, you can borrow my car tomorrow; just don't get me any parking tickets," I warned. "Get in."
He beamed. "Thanks!" Tyler hopped into the backseat as I started my dark blue Honda CR-V. After pulling out of the garage, the young CSI attempted to start a conversation.
"Sooo… why do you go by 'Kai' instead of 'Kate' or 'Katie,' like our cheerful desk clerk?"
As I turned a corner, I took a quick glance at the eager face in my mirror. "I take it you've found out that my real name is Kaitlyn, then?" He nodded. "Well, to be honest, I absolutely hated my name all through elementary school because it was so common. There was at least one other Kaitlyn in all of my classes; in 4th grade, there were 3 besides me, and they all spelled it differently. I didn't want to be known as 'Katie O.' any more, so in junior high I created a new nickname for myself, and it stuck."
My passenger digested this information, then slyly questioned, "Any particular reason it sounds Japanese?"
Stopping for a red light, I replied, "Nah, its just the first 3 letters of my name. Although," I added, "in freshman year in high school, I did get into the Japanese culture when my friends introduced me to manga." The light turned green, and we continued on, pulling into the small parking lot less than a minute later. "Chinese Wok" blinked in argon-red letters above the door to the restaurant.
After showing Tyler where the insurance papers and the car registration were, I handed him my keys and we left my blue Honda CR-V. The gangly crime scene investigator locked it, and the 2 of us headed towards the rundown building. Suddenly, that sensation of an unfriendly gaze on my back returned, so I whipped around to spot my stalker. Aside from a dark green Impala entering the parking lot, there was no one there; at least, nobody paying attention to me. The anorexic blonde leaning against a bench smoking a cigarette didn't seem to be interested in anything except the text messages on her hot pink cell phone.
"Earth to Kai-you coming or what?" the dark haired forensic scientist called. He was holding the door open for me. How sweet.
"Yeah, I just thought I... heard something," I fibbed as I entered, shrugging it off as hyperactive nerves.
After a pleasant dinner with my colleagues (during which we discussed the skinning case and didn't make any breakthroughs), I paid for my sweet-and-sour chicken and rice, picking up a complementary fortune cookie on the way out. Since my apartment is only a few blocks away, I decided to walk home.
The final rays of the setting sun were reflecting red and gold off of the many skyscrapers as day slowly transitioned to night. The unbearably hot, humid air was tempered by the cool breeze from Lake Michigan. Strangely, there weren't many people in this part of town even though it was finally beginning to cool off. During the day, most were kept indoors by the oppressive heat wave that had rolled in over the weekend, but the nearby lake made nights somewhat bearable. This particular evening wasn't actually that bad; it was pleasant to stroll in, although my heat tolerance is a bit higher than most people. Twilight had become dusk by the time I was about three quarters of the way home, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on.
As I was passing a darkened alley, I heard a faint slicing sound. The night breeze carried the tang of wet iron to my nostrils-blood, I recognized-so I cautiously entered the shadowy realm between an office building and a derelict Goodwill store. The sudden clash of metal rang against my eardrums as something at the far end knocked a trashcan over, and my hand went to my .42 in its holster. Skittering feet rushed towards me, and I braced myself for whatever came out. In the dim light from the streetlamps, I found the source was a battered orange tomcat that hissed at me as it raced by, heading for a quieter alley to sulk around. There was an ear-piercing shriek of metal on brick, and I drew my handgun, slowly advancing while the sound continued on and off. It seemed to be heading upwards, so I craned my neck to look above me. The air seemed to shimmered for a second at the top of the Goodwill, and I heard heavy footsteps running over the roof of the store.
As I turned back to the mouth of the alley, something wet and sticky hit the tip of my nose. It had become too dark to make anything out overhead, so I dug my cell out of my jeans and flipped it open, hoping the screen would shed some light on the subject. Another drop hit it, and the backlight glowed red through the splatter. I slowly looked up, and although the light from my phone was faint, I could just make out the skinless features of an inverted human head. Yet another drop of blood landed on my forehead as I wiped off the screen and dialed a number, backing out from under the fresh body. After a few rings, it picked up.
"Uh, Katie? Forget about your date tomorrow. We're gonna be working overtime."
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