Author's Note: Holy mother, I completely forgot about this thing! Does anyone still remember it? Hello?
Well, if you do, I can't say how sorry I am about this. I'm still in high school, and things have been insane. I was gonna post this chapter last weekend... but I was pretty sick. I'm better now, so here you go!
I really, really hope to update more frequently, especially since the next case is one of my favourites!
Thanks for sticking by me!
"So, Officers!" Chief King stood from his desk as Jones and I returned from our trip to the Blue Flamingo. "How is the Ned Dillard case going? Have you found something to incriminate Marconi?"
"Erm…" I shifted nervously. I wasn't quite ready for King to rip my head off yet.
"Sorry, Chief. We've got next to nothing against him," Jones answered for me.
"Unless we can fine him for having no taste when it comes to decorating a strip club," I muttered too quietly for Chief King to hear. Jones heard me and laughed, but he covered it with a cough.
"Oh." King frowned and knitted his brows. "That IS unfortunate. We've been after him for ages." He paced a few steps around his desk. "Oh well, you know what to do!"
Being the rookie, I looked up at Jones, hoping for him to clarify what King was talking about. Jones looked as lost as I was. King stared us down impatiently.
"… Um… Yes…?" my partner finally squeaked. King lost it.
"For God's sake!" he roared, slamming a fist down on his desk. "Do the only thing you CAN do! Go back to the crime scene and find something to push this case forward!"
"Son of a bitch, that man is terrifying," I shivered as I stepped out of the cruiser, my feet squishing on the muddy soil of the junkyard garden.
"You'll get used to it," Jones reassured, his eyes scanning the yard for any pieces of evidence.
"I was expecting you to bail me out!" I fumed. "You're supposed to know what to do! You're my superior!"
"Calm down, calm down! I just got cold feet, that's all!"
"Are you sure?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Positive!" Jones nodded. "Anyway, do you see anything worthwhile?" That got my head back into the game. I soon found myself circling a decaying maple tree, and I stopped just before a pile of dirty leaves. I knelt down and spread the leaves apart, and in the very middle of the pile, there lay a small, blue card. I picked the card up, and I skimmed the front of it. It was a business card belonging to our victim, Ned Dillard. Nothing special. I flipped it over, and on the back was some writing in black marker.
"Call Maria…" I read aloud. Jones peered over my shoulder.
"Think that's a phone number on the bottom?" he asked. Sure enough, underneath the message was what appeared to be somebody's number, but the ink had been badly smeared.
"Dammit. The rain must've ruined it," I muttered crossly.
"Well, why not decipher it?" Jones inquired matter-of-factly. I looked up at him.
"How?"
"By looking at it very closely, of course!"
"If you don't stop talking like a smart-ass, I'm gonna whoop you." He chuckled at that.
"Alright, alright. Take the card back to HQ and we'll make something of it there."
Then we made our way back into the disused house, which still smelled absolutely revolting.
"The sooner we get out of here," Jones coughed, "the better!" We steeled our insides and poked around inside the bathroom where we'd found the body. I was about to say that I didn't see anything special, but then my eyes darted over to a tie clip lying next to the bloody bathtub.
"How the heck," I said, "did this immaculate tie clip end up in such a disgusting bathroom?"
"You don't believe in magical fairies, do you?" There was my partner, being smart again.
"No. Of course not."
"Then I'd say it's worth looking into!"
I slipped the tie clip into a clear bag. I made sure to wear a thin plastic glove the whole time.
"We've got that business card and this clip. Is that enough to go on?" I wondered.
"Sometimes the smallest pieces of evidence end up solving the biggest cases, Marceline. Besides, do you really want to spend any more time in this awful house?" "… Good point."
Trying to decipher the number on the business card was ridiculous. Warming it barely cleared the ink up. Eventually, I decided to try using a magnifying glass to see if that would help. It took a lot of fancy guesswork, but in the end, I finally made out a legible number.
"Have you got it yet?" Jones asked as he poked his head in the room. In response, I shoved a yellow sticky note into his the note, I had written the number: 870-877-2245.
"I went through a little slice of hell to get that number, Jones. If you lose it or damage it, they'll never solve your murder."
"Alright, alright!" I wanted to wipe that smile off his face. Badly. "Let's give this number to Alex, our tech guy. He'll probably find its owner in our database."
"'Probably'…?" I repeated. Jones shrugged.
"Dead ends happen. Say, where's that tie clip?" In response, I nodded towards a metal table at the back of the room. I'd put the clip there for safekeeping while I worked on the business card.
"Nobody has touched it yet," I said.
"Great! You know what time it is?"
I glanced at my watch.
"Four o'clock?"
"Nope! It's fingerprint time!" Jones answered.
"Are you always this insufferably upbeat?"
"I'm just enjoying training you! Lighten up, Marceline!"
"I won't lighten up until we catch the son of a bitch who killed Dillard."
"Then let's get a fingerprint off that clip!" Very, very carefully, Jones showed me how to lift a print from the tie clip. My hands never shook. I was completely in my element. The end result was an absolutely perfect print. I finally allowed myself to breathe again.
"You're a natural at lifting prints," Jones commented, studying the print. "That clip never stood a chance."
"Thanks."
"What do you say we get this to Grace, see what she can come up with?"
"Sure thing. Grace seems nice enough."
"Yeah…" Jones tugged at his collar nervously. "But she gets pretty scary when she's mad…"
"I take it you've had experience with an angry Grace Delaney?" I couldn't help but smirk. Jones chuckled nervously.
"Thankfully, Alex is a lot calmer. Why don't we go see him?"
"That sounds alright." This Alex person was someone I'd never met before, and I was looking forward to knowing him. Hopefully he was less annoying than my partner.
As soon as I laid eyes on Alex Turner, I thought back to every single geek I'd ever known in high school. His skin was pasty and pale, like he never saw sunlight. His brown hair went past his ears, and it looked a bit greasy. He wore a grey jacket, and a large pair of headphones rested around his neck. When Jones and I walked into his lab, he quickly closed what looked suspiciously like a computer game.
"Hey! You're Marceline, right?" He sounded happy enough, considering we'd just interrupted his gaming time. "I'm Alex, but you can call me the Digital God if you want to."
"I don't think so," I smiled, shaking his hand. It was slightly sweaty.
"Alex is in charge of all the technical stuff here. Yes, he IS good, but maybe not THAT good." Jones looked like he was used to Alex's obvious geekiness.
"Spoilsport," Alex pouted. "Anyway, the owner of the phone number you found is called Maria Sanchez. She's a housemaid who lives in the area."
"I suppose we'll have to have a chat with this Maria, then." I scribbled her name and address into my notepad.
"Hey, Marceline?"
"Yes, Alex?" When I looked up at Alex again, he had this giddiness on his face that he couldn't hide.
"What kind of gamer are you? RPG? Horror? Online multiplayer?"
"I don't usually have time for games."
"Oh." Alex deflated, but only for a second. "One day, you shall learn from the Digital God!" he proclaimed in a cheesy deep voice. "He shall teach you, young mortal!"
Jones and I couldn't keep ourselves from snickering, and neither could Alex. As much as a nerd as he was, I could tell that he was a good guy.
"Alright, Your Pixelated Lordship, we're off to interrogate Maria Sanchez." Jones led the way out.
"Ned Dillard's dead? Ha! So there is some justice in the world, after all!" Maria Sanchez, a middle-aged Mexican woman cackled. Jones and I stood on her front doorstep, exchanging glances. That hadn't been the reaction we'd expected.
"Is that so?" Jones arched an eyebrow. It was amazing how he could become so serious so quickly. I almost admired that. "Why did the victim have your phone number, Ms. Sanchez?"
"Because I'm his maid. Or rather, I was. The bastard fired me two days ago!" Maria spat. I reminded myself that even though a man murdered Ned, Maria could've still played a part.
"And now Ned's in bits and pieces, you're the picture of health, and your termination gives you a very good motive for murder," I said flatly. Maria's eyes bored into mine.
"Think what you will." She paused to put her black hair up in a bun. "But if I were you, I'd go have a little chat with Dennis Brown. He's a bodyguard, and he'd just offered his services to Mr. Dillard."
"You wouldn't happen to know what he looks like, do you, Ms. Sanchez?" asked Jones.
"As a matter of fact, I do." Maria reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a business card.
"This is his. He gave me one before leaving. Not that I asked for it."
"Thank you." I studied the card closely. Luckily, Dennis had added his photograph to his card.
"Do you know when Ned's funeral is?" Maria suddenly asked. I shook my head.
"No, not yet. Why?"
"Let me know." Her mouth stretched into a menacing smile. "I want to be the first to spit on his grave."
"You think Maria had a hand to play in this mess?" I wondered aloud. Jones and I were cruising back to HQ.
"Maybe," Jones shrugged, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Don't forget Joe Stern or Dave Simmons."
"Or Tony Marconi."
"True, very true."
We passed by the Blue Flamingo, Marconi's horrible club. Then, I swore under my breath.
"Stop the damn car!" I shouted.
"What?! Why?!" Jones glanced out the window and saw what I saw. "Son of a bitch!" He pulled over as fast as he could. Before he'd even parked, I bolted out of the car. A man who looked exactly like Dennis Brown had just walked out of the club and onto the sidewalk.
The instant Dennis saw me approaching him, he froze in his tracks and reflexively put up his fists. I flashed my badge.
"Grimsborough PD, Mr. Brown. I just want a word with you."
"Sorry, sorry." He put down his fists. Dennis had olive skin and a large bandage plastered across his face, which I mentally noted. "God knows I'd never hear the end of it if I ever punched a lady cop." He scratched the back of his neck. "Heh. That's a combo of the two people never to punch. Ladies and cops."
Jones finally jogged up beside me. He seemed a bit out of breath.
"Mr. Dennis Brown, Maria Sanchez told us that you offered your bodyguard services to Ned Dillard shortly before his death. Is that true?"
"Sure." When Dennis shrugged, his muscles made his suit ripple. "Ned Dillard was a crook. He sold a lot of shit to a lot of people. The guy obviously needed protection!" When he grinned, I noticed something.
"You're missing a tooth. Did you lose it on the job?"
"Um, yeah. It's a rough job, sometimes you get on the wrong end of a fight." His story seemed plausible enough. Still, the missing tooth combined with the bandage made me reasonably suspicious. "Look, about Ned… I didn't kill him," Dennis continued. "But I've got a list of people who might've: all the people who got their houses taken because of him!"
"Oh really?" That piqued my interest. "Ned appears to have made a name for himself."
"You don't know the half of it," Dennis concurred.
"You wouldn't happen to still have that list, would you?" inquired Jones.
"I didn't think I'd need that list no more, since the guy's dead, so I tore it up. You can probably still put it back together, though."
"You're kidding, right?" I muttered.
But he wasn't. I found myself with a handful of paper scraps.
"Stay in the area, Dennis," Jones warned. "We're not done yet."
"Sure thing, Officers."
"Wait," I called as Dennis started to leave. He stopped in his tracks. "Why were you in the Blue Flamingo?"
"I'm a grown man," said Dennis. "I can do what I want."
"Got any tape?" I asked Jones when we got back to the cruiser.
"No, sorry. Why don't we lay them out on the dashboard?" Luckily, with Jones and I working together, we were able to put the paper back together in a reasonable amount of time. A name jumped off the page.
"Holy shit," I muttered. "Joe Stern lost his house thanks to our victim." Jones immediately turned the car on.
"That's just about the best motive I can think of off the top of my head," he said as he stepped on the gas. "Guy takes your home, so you murder him in a bathtub. It makes sense."
"We're going to the mini-market, right?"
"We sure are." Jones gave me a mischievous smile. "I think some thorough shelf-searching is in order."
"Back so soon?" Joe's voice hit my ears as soon as we stepped into his shop. My partner's happy-go-lucky attitude had melted away, thank God. It was nice to see him acting like an actual police officer.
"Why the hell didn't you tell us that your property got seized because of Ned Dillard, Joe?!"
"So what?!" Joe didn't look like he wanted to play games anymore. "I'm not the only one that bastard got to!"
"Maybe," spat Jones, "but it still makes you a suspect! Step aside, we need another look through your shop!"
"Fine!" shouted Joe Stern. "I've got nothing to hide! I didn't kill that son of a bitch, but I wish I knew who did! I'd give them 90% off everything in my store!" Boys will be boys, I reminded myself. Always shouting, always in each other's faces. While they were busy, I found something of interest.
"Hey Jones," I said before he could say anything else. He shut his mouth and gave Joe the evil eye before joining me.
"Find something?"
"I'd like to think so." He followed my gaze up to the ceiling, and immediately grinned.
"Bingo!" Jones turned back to our suspect. "Mr. Stern, we'll be taking your surveillance camera for analysis."
"First the trash, now the camera. You really don't have anything better to do?"
"Shut up, Joe." I hissed. "We'd better call Alex, Jones. This is his field of expertise, not ours."
Alex took the camera back to HQ, and we went back with him. Jones and I decided to head for Grace's lab and see if she'd finished analyzing the fingerprint we'd brought her. I'd nearly forgotten about it.
"I was just about to go find you two," Grace called over her shoulder as we walked in.
"Perfect!" Jones seemed to be back to his usual self again. "What have you got for us?"
"The fingerprint from that tie clip you found on the crime scene didn't match any in our files, but it was a perfect match with the prints present on the murder weapon." Grace had that horrible saw lying on a table next to her. It was covered in dried blood, and staring at it made me shiver.
"So the tie clip belongs to our killer," I muttered. Something occurred to me. "So does that mean our killer wears a tie?"
"It sure does!" Grace beamed. I racked my brain.
"Joe doesn't wear one," I noted aloud.
"Damn," Jones swore. "So Maria Sanchez is innocent, and so is Joe Stern. Who does that leave again?"
"Dave Simmons, the witness. He could've done it. Dennis Brown could've done it, too."
"What about Tony Marconi?" Jones's face lit up as the possibility. "He was wearing a tie!"
"But he had all his teeth," I pointed out.
"Damn it!"
"Jones! Enough with the profanity in my lab!" Grace said sharply. I'd almost forgotten she was there.
"Sorry Grace," Jones meekly replied. "Okay, so it's come down to Dave Simmons and Dennis Brown. We'll just need to wait for Alex with the footage from that camera. Maybe he'll give us the last piece of evidence we need."
One thing I'll say about Alex is that he sure followed through and he sure did it quick. It barely took him an hour to get us what we needed.
"So I had a look at your surveillance camera's recording, basing my search on the time marked down on the killer's receipt," he started as soon as we asked. "He never turned towards the camera, I'm afraid." I felt the muscles in my neck become tense.
"You've got to be kidding me." We were so close to finishing this. So close, but so far. Alex smirked at me.
"Are you doubting the Digital God, Marceline? I'm not finished yet! I compared the killer's height to the shelf he was standing next to, and…" He paused. I felt like punching him. Jones snickered next to me. I felt like punching him, too.
"…And?!"
"Lady and gentleman, your killer is precisely six feet tall!" Alex finally finished. Everything fit. At last, I finally knew who the murderer was. And there was no way it was tiny Dave Simmons.
"Thanks, Alex!" Jones shouted over his shoulder as we ran out of the lab.
When Jones and I passed the Blue Flamingo, Dennis was standing across the street, apparently looking for more people to offer his services to. When he saw us coming towards him, the color drained from his face. Luckily for us, he wasn't dumb enough to try running.
"Get your hands behind your back!" I shouted, drawing my gun. Dennis obeyed. He knew what was coming even before Jones slapped the handcuffs on him.
"Dennis Brown," Jones announced, "you're under arrest for the murder of Ned Dillard."
"You've got nothing against me!" Dennis yelled. We were drawing a crowd at a rapid rate. Even some of the people inside the Blue Flamingo came out to watch.
"You tried to chop down your victim," I stated, remembering the saw. "And when that failed, you decided to burn him up." That bottle of flammable liquid had to service some purpose, after all.
"Bullshit!" screamed Dennis.
"But you couldn't finish. Dave Simmons got in the house and you fled the scene." Honestly, it was amazing how the pieces of the puzzle all came together.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Beads of sweat ran down Dennis's forehead as Jones and I led him towards our cruiser.
"Save it for the judge," Jones growled. After putting Dennis in the backseat, I glanced up. At the very back of the crowd, I spotted none other than Tony Marconi. His arms were folded across his huge chest, and I'll never forget the smile he wore across his face.
When it came time for Dennis to be sentenced, I made sure that I was one of the first people in the courtroom. Jones, of course, sat himself down next to me.
"You did brilliant!" he beamed.
"Thanks," I replied half-heartedly. I was watching the judge take her seat behind the podium. Judge Olivia Hall radiated authority. She was an African-American woman with long hair tied back in a bun. She looked like she'd been born to wear a judge's robes.
Dennis rose to his feet.
"Your Honor, I can explain! I… I'm a victim of circumstance!"
"If he knows what's good for him, he'll shut up," Jones whispered to me. Judge Hall looked at Dennis the way a snake might look at a small mammal.
"Mr. Brown, the evidence collected leaves no place for doubt. The reason why you committed this crime is irrelevant."
"But Your Honor–!"
"Silence!" shouted Judge Hall. "The Court therefore condemns you to life in prison for the premeditated murder of Ned Dillard!" The gavel slammed down with a crash, confirming Dennis's fate. As if on cue, an officer led Dennis away. I wondered if he would ever see the light of day again. When I looked at Judge Hall again, her face had lightened into an expression that was almost pleasant. "Moreover," she continued, "the Court would like to thank the Grimsborough Police Department, and in particular their newest recruit, Marceline Marlow, for their swift investigation. Court is adjourned!"
The gavel came down again, but this time, I barely heard it. It felt like all the eyes in the room were on me, and I loved it. Jones squeezed my hand encouragingly, which startled me out of my reverie.
"We did it!" he chuckled. "That's one freak off our streets!"
"Something's bothering me," I muttered as I stood up.
"What's that?"
"What the hell was his motive for killing Ned?"
"Well…" Jones's smile faded. "I… actually don't know. He never said."
"Crap." I rubbed my temples. "This is going to gnaw at me all night." I somehow knew that the case wasn't finished yet.