A/N: I could give you a billion reasons why this chapter is so late…. But I'm sure you'd rather read the chapter instead of reading my excuses, so I'll just let you get to it.
It's a longer one, though! Maybe that'll sweeten you up? Just a little bit? Maybe?
I won't even ask for reviews. I don't deserve them.
Rating: M
Pairings: Klaine, Niff, vague mentions of Brittana.
Warnings: Character death, mentions of extreme homophobia, violence, slight gore, language and sexual situations. Alternate Universe, obviously.
Summary: Homicide Detective Kurt Hummel was just called on as Primary for a well-known District Attorney's murder. As the bodies continue to pile up, all traces lead back to one Blaine Anderson, who Kurt can't help but feel is innocent. Something connects this case that just doesn't seem to add up, and when one body becomes another, and another and another, Kurt is running out of time to figure out just what it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned.
Kurt was sure that his eyes were going to start bleeding. He had now clue how the electronic-geeks up in TEDD did it day in and day out. He was barely through five hours and his eyes were screaming.
He pushed back from his computer, rubbing his aching eyes and checked off another person. So far he had been through all the interviews Puckerman had, and half the basic backgrounds Abrams had sent his way. So far, nothing had popped on either side. He was clearing out the weeds, but it was going slowly, and he felt like he was missing something entirely.
He frowned slightly, rubbing the back of his neck when he remembered his conversation with Abrams. Everything was okay for the beginning, trying to get the e-geek to speak human and not comp-u speak, going over which backgrounds he'd run through, which Kurt should go over, which linked and which had no bearing whatsoever. It was fine until Kurt brought up the fact that he'd need security discs from Anderson's midtown offices and the outside security from the apartments where Lopez was dropped off.
Abrams had paused, looking hesitant and slightly wary. "Well, ah, D-Serg, about that. Not much nagging to be done, really. Anderson's security head sent them over from both places. There's no tampering from that source. But, well, you should take a look at the apartment complex."
Feeling mildly irritated Kurt had watched the discs. Anderson's offices were all well and good; Santana had arrived at four ten and left at four thirty, looking just as she had when she had gone in. Schuester had left at the time indicated, as had Anderson and Pillsbury. There was no evidence of tampering.
Though with a guy like Blaine Anderson, he had a feeling that he could've edited it without showing a single blip.
The apartment complex, on the other hand, was a different story. There was a five minute time frame where it was entirely blank. One minute there was a scene, blackness, then a body. The security officer during that time period had sent the disk to his boss, who sent it to his boss, who was the major head of the Security division. He in turn sent it to Anderson, who gave it to Abrams along with the office security.
And when Kurt was still on the link wondering why the hell he was being so cooperative, Abrams had shifted awkwardly. "Well, ah. He also left a message."
Kurt's eyes had narrowed. "A message?"
"Uh, yeah. Just, y'know. To pass on to you. He uhm, well hopes you enjoyed his little gift—he was happy to give it. And he is willing to cooperate wholly and completely with the NYPD and your investigation, all you have to do is ask." Abrams blanched at the gleam in Kurt's eye. "Don't kill the messenger, that's just what the guy said. Hey, how did you mange to get into talk to him anyway? The guy's like—"
At that moment Kurt chose to click of the transmission before he did something he'd regret. He hated apologies and he knew he'd have to make one if he stayed on any longer.
He wasn't really pissed, he admitted. He was irritated by the fact that Anderson was making his blood race. And, judging by the way he reacted to the coffee, making him act like a teenage girl with a crush.
He cast a guilty glance to the fourth cup of that amazing, wonderful coffee he'd had already. But you couldn't blame him, he reasoned with himself, with all that soy product and recycled shit everything was made of now, a real hit of coffee to a cop is like a bag of gold to a beggar. It was just too hard to resist.
He was getting a bit punchy, he realized. He wanted to put in a couple more hours, but knew it'd be useless if he didn't even process what he was doing. And if he stayed up he wouldn't be at his best, and Santana Lopez deserved no less.
He stood, stretched and downed the rest of his coffee, locking down his unit as he did so. He lugged himself into his bedroom, stripping all the way and leaving his rumpled clothes where they fell.
His bed had never looked so inviting. In just his boxers, he flopped down on his cool sheets and let his eyes slide shut and blank. Just a few hours down…
And his eyes popped back open when he heard his communicator. Clamping down on a groan, he sat and reached for his device, instantly alert despite his previous exhaustion. "Video off," he ordered. "Hummel."
"Dispatch Hummel, Detective Sergeant Kurt…"
*.*
Cleaner this time, he thought, hot anger coursing through him. This was what he was looking for. This was how it was supposed to be the first time.
No muss, no fuss.
Plain and simple death for Officer Sam Evans.
If Santana Lopez's death hadn't already had every cop out for this guy's blood, Sam Evan's death was going to do the trick.
A fucking cop. A fucking kid. Kurt blanked his face of everything he felt and reminded himself to do the job. He sealed up and turned on his recorder.
"Victim is Evans, Officer Sam, by identification. DOB is October 18, 2026, twenty-one years old…"
*.*
He lived alone, and he lived in a small, but obviously loved apartment of an officer just out of the academy. He also loved the color blue—judging by how almost everything he owned was some shade of the color—was a bit obsessed with new and vintage video games, and most of his socks were mismatched.
He was also close to his parents and siblings. Frames were everywhere. On the coffee table, on the shelf in the small hallway, print-outs on the fridge in the kitchen and more on his desk. Pictures throughout his life, birthdays, graduations, and the just-because moments where everyone had huge and happy grins on his faces.
Kurt couldn't remember having any of those moments—and didn't know if it was easier or harder on someone.
He walked through Evans' sealed apartment, gathering and trying to figure out how Sam Evans and Santana Lopez were connected. Because they were connected. The method of killing spoke of that obviously enough.
But why? Why were they connected? And how? There was nothing to point to the fact that Santana had even ever met Sam Evans, much less have her death entwined with his.
A hard ass District Attorney who lived with and loved with her children and wife. A still-green rookie, an officer just out of the academy who lived alone. She worked criminals, he worked traffic.
His death was clean, hers was meant to look sloppy.
Both were efficient.
Why the fuss with Santana? Why was the murder meant to look like a crime of passion instead of what it was; cold, calculated, and ruthless?
Because something else was here, he thought. Maybe it was only meant to be Santana to begin with. Maybe that was all it was supposed to be. But something changed. And the façade went out the window in favor of getting it done.
Something else was going on.
But what? What the fuck was he missing?
He walked into Sam's room and felt the pity in his stomach churn. It was still a boy's room.
The bedding—a light blue—was rumpled, sheets tangled together and pillows knocked to the floor. Restless sleep, it looked like. There were game consoles in a cabinet under the small screen next to his home unit—also plugged with vid's and games. He had racks lined with music, and posters on his walls of various bands and comic-cons.
Posters, for Christ sakes.
Sure, he had the obvious in his bedside drawer. Spermacide and the magazines any male is bound to have.
But the room was purely boy—not even yet a man.
Kurt stepped silently into the adjoining bathroom—small, but with all of the necessities. Rumpled towel on the floor, and recycling bin set to full.
Kurt frowned and opened the medicine cabinet. Pre-approved departmental tranqs—half empty. He turned the bottle over to see they were prescribed barely two weeks ago. Bottle of blockers too—half full of the little blue pills.
Still frowning Kurt stepped back in to the bedroom. He ran a finger on the desk and with it came a thin film of dust. He walked into the kitchen, opening the fridgie door and seeing a couple bottle of fizzie pops, some Pepsi, and a candy bar. He programmed the insta-chef, and it was still almost full. Rifling through, he saw that it was refilled almost two weeks ago, also.
Evan's was neat—then why did he let the apartment clutter? If he wiped down his fridgie and screen, why didn't he make his bed? Every game and music disc he had was organized and alphabetized. This was a healthy boy who seemed to love food if the selection he had in his insta-chef was any indication—then why didn't he eat any of it?
"What was going on, Sam?" Kurt murmured.
He ended back in front of Sam's home unit. He frowned when he realized it was coded and protected, tagging it for TEDD and sending a message to Abrams to handle it.
He stepped back and took one last look around the room. With pity churning his stomach he turned and left Sam Evan's apartment to the sweepers.
*.*
Kurt made his way to Sylvester's office, knowing better than to not update and report. Especially now.
He knew on some level it was awful, but when it was a cop it changed everything.
Her door was already open onto the floor when he arrived, which was unusual in itself. What was more unusual was that she was sitting down when he walked in. Usually if she were in she'd be standing at her window, the better to intimidate you, my dear.
He blinked and shook his head slightly, clearing the fuzz. Alert, he reminded himself. Take an energy pill directly after reporting. That's what he'd do.
Sylvester looked up when he entered, and everything about her was solemn. She gestured him to one of her chairs, and though he preferred to be standing when he gave his oral report, he sat.
"It connects to your case?"
Kurt nodded, knowing exactly what she was asking. "Yes. Both victims were killed the same way ME confirmed—rounded metal instrument through the temple. So far there are no prints or fibers anywhere from the lab, same as first. The only difference is the tongue, carvings on the stomach and other excess bruising and lacerations. But it's the same, Lieutenant. Something was off the first time; it felt like too much, something trying to be that it wasn't. This fits."
She nodded and gazed at him soberly. "You do realize this is going to change everything?"
He nodded, already having witnessed it just from the press tagging his professional and personal 'link. When it was a cop's blood spilled it always changed things.
"There's something I need to ask you, and I hate it as much as you, but were they dirty?"
Kurt swallowed down the greasy feeling in his throat. "On Santana Lopez, no not yet. I've had the case for barely twenty-four hours but so far from what I've witnessed she wasn't. There's something else going on," he added, "but I'm not sure what yet. I haven't had the chance to dig in to Evan's but I will."
She nodded, and Kurt could tell she was unhappy by the lines around her eyes. "I need to report into the Commander. Two murders in twenty-four hours, one a cop and one New York's District Attorney, there needs to be damage control. You may need to do a press conference. I know," she said, already assuming his unhappy response. "But like I said; it needs to be done. You may not have to, the commander may decide not to waste your time with the press and politics, but if he says you do, you'll get it done."
He nodded once. She sighed and rand a hand through her blonde hair. She looked so tired, and Kurt remembered with a start just how old she was. She'd been a cop for nearly thirty years before she chose him, and another twelve years since. He'd forgotten considering how strong and abrasive she usually was. But right now she looked tired.
"Get back to work then," she said. "I expect updated reports. Close the door on your way out."
He nodded and stood, and did as she said. When he turned back towards the room full of cops, it was silent, a rare occurrence. Every eye in the room was on him and he knew that they had heard.
You take one cop, you take all of them.
He stood for a moment, silent. He met every eye in the room, and Puck was seated at his cube, face grim and eyes blazing. The other man gave a short nod, understanding Kurt, and went back to his unit.
"We lost one of our own." Kurt said quietly, but steadily. "Even before, it hit close enough with DA Lopez. But whoever this is took one of ours. Now it's personal.
"Any and all assistance is welcome, and for second-grades, expected. Dump your work load on a lower; I've gotten clearance from the LT.
"We're going to find who did this," he said with certainty. "Not only because a cop was killed. Maybe that makes us more determined, angrier, but not only. We're going to find them because they took a life, because they played jury, judge, and God. They took a man and a woman's life, a wife and mother, a son and friends. We're going to find who did this because it's the only option."
All jaws were clenched and all eyes burning. Kurt knew he'd have the assistance of every cop in this room even if it wasn't an officer. It was because he was asking, and it made a warm, proud felling grow in his stomach. But he also knew he'd have them all and more because this was a cop, and that changed things.
He met all of their eyes once more and gave a short nod, striding towards the door and signaling Puckerman on his way out of the silent room.
*.*
They walked in silence for a moment, taking the glide instead of the lift. They paused in front of a vending machine, Kurt swiped his badge in front of the scanner and entered a selection.
Welcome Hummel, Detective Sergeant Kurt. You have purchased a Yum Yum snack bar which comes to one point six credits. An entirely natural product, made from soy, chocolate and caramel substitutes—
"Natural, right." Kurt snorted, grabbing the bar and ripping it open. He split it in half, handing one to Puck who shot him a shocked look. Geez, Kurt thought. You threaten to bite someone's hand off when it comes to food one time…
"What do you need me to do?" Puck asked finally, breaking the silence.
Kurt swallowed the sticky and imitation chocolate bar, throwing the wrapper in a recycling bin on the way to the lift. He lowered his voice as neighboring cops strode around them. "I need to you find out if Evan's was dirty. Yeah, I know," Kurt said when Puck swore. "But I need to be sure and I trust you to be thorough without sending flags up to IAA that were looking. If they have anything to begin with I'll probably get a visit from one of them, but if that's the case, I want it to be put off as long as possible. We're just checking, and if there's more, I'll go to Sylvester and she'll go to Internal Affairs. But I don't want it to come to that just yet."
Puck swore again, running his hand over his shaved head. "Why not ask Abrams?"
Kurt raised an eyebrow and spoke dryly. "Use your detective shield. If anybody in Internal Affairs were going to snoop and see if Evan's is being scanned the first place they'd look would be the Technology and Electronics Detective Department. But I know you," he continued. "And I know that while you may be a Homicide Cop, you could get into TEDD easily and outshine Abrams. I'm asking you to do this so we can get it done quietly. And if there is nothing on Evan's we can say we checked, and we don't have to put a smear on his badge."
They were quiet again as they stepped onto the elevator, and Kurt noticed the side-long glances from other cops, the nods and the tightness around their mouths.
Cops, he thought, can be any division, any rank and their still ours.
They stepped into the garage and Puck finally sighed. "You know I'll do it. But fuck, Hummel. Nosing at another cop. It just blows larger-than-life."
Kurt nodded, understanding completely, but knowing that this was the only way if they wanted to keep it quiet. "Just don't send up flags, and try to keep it within the eye of SafeGuard?"
Puck gave a small smile. "Right. Like I could try and get anything past the epitome of electronic spies. They'd have me out of my chair and fined up the ass before I could say 'whoops'."
Kurt shot him a mild glare. "Just watch your toes."
"Aw, shucks, Serg. Would you miss me if I was thrown in a cell?"
"I'd miss you as much as I'd miss sparring with a junkie on Bionic."
Puck shook his head and shot him a leering grin, though his heart obviously wasn't in it as much as usual. "Liar. Anyway. Where are you heading?"
Kurt kicked his tire. "Fight with the blonde bimbo at Anderson's Empire."
Puckerman frowned. "I thought you had seen him already?"
Kurt nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I did. But guess who owns Evan's apartments—and who employ's the security there?"
"That's not surprising. The guy owns everything."
"I know. And I wouldn't go back if it were just that. But guess who went to private high school with the vic's older brother?"
Puck blinked in surprise. "No shit?"
Kurt nodded. "Two years ahead of Anderson, but they were in their school's Glee club together. Evan's older brother transferred to Dalton Academy after altercations at his old school. Transferred in the middle of the year of his senior year, Anderson's sophomore year."
"I thought Evan's was raised in New York?"
"He was. Right after the older brother graduated his family moved here. There's a fourteen year age difference between the two. Evan's was four when they moved, so he was raised here."
"I guess it'd be enough to want to contact him about, but still. The little brother of a guy he went to Glee club with for half a year in high school? Doesn't it sound like a stretch, Hummel?"
"Maybe. But Evan's also knew Tina Cohen-Chang."
Puck looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Say what, now?"
"Brittany Pierce's best friend. Evans's mother owned a little shop in Manhattan where Tina worked summer's, and baby-sat Evan's on the side. He had a couple old pictures in a digital photo album."
"Huh," Puck leaned against the side of the car. "But no one's to say that Anderson actually had anything to do with him. He'd never even met any of Pierce's and Lopez's friends."
"Another angle to be work."
"True." Puck pushed off the car to face Kurt. "How'd that go anyway? Is he a total spoiled ass-faced Momma's pampered boy?"
Kurt snorted out a laugh, steeling his stomach against the knots when he thought of Anderson involved in the case. Because it was only when he was involved in the case. "No, actually. A bit arrogant, but then again, so are you. He's just…" he trailed off, trying to think of a word to describe Kurt's impression of the confusing man he'd had one meeting with. He couldn't think of a word frustrating enough, so he just shrugged, turning and entering his code onto the door of his car.
"Holy shit," because Puck had breathed it and sounded amazed, Kurt turned to him in confusion. "You dig this guy."
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Dig? No, I don't." Am insanely attracted to, confused by, and nervous around, maybe. But there was no 'digging' involved whatsoever.
"You do. Oh my god, you so freaking do." Kurt wouldn't' have been surprised if Puck were to squeal and start clapping his hands.
"If you're finished embracing your inner preteen girl, I have a cop killer to find." That caused Puck to deflate for a moment before he grinned.
"If you accepted yours, you wouldn't be as uptight. You need to get laid."
"For the last time, I'm not interested."
"Not me, though you're missing out. Anderson."
"Have you forgotten he is one of the prime suspects and that I'm still not interested?"
Puck shrugged. "You so are. And what does your gut say?"
That Blaine Anderson was innocent. But it could just be his libido talking, not his gut. "It says that he stays on the short list until I can prove otherwise."
"Ah, so since you're trying to clear him, it means you feel that he didn't do it."
"Jesus, what are you, five? No. I'd do the same with anyone. I did it with Brittany Pierce—"
"Who your gut said didn't kill her wife."
"And their other associates and acquaintances." He finished with a glare. "I'm not trying to clear him, I'm tying off all ends and working every angle. I'm working the case and trying to find a murderer, not clearing and losing my head over the coffee sending, gorgeous, arrogant and charming CEO of a large empire."
Puck lifted an eyebrow. "'Coffee sending'?"
Kurt deflated, shoulders slumping in defeat. "He sent me coffee. A bag of coffee. Real coffee."
Puck frowned. "Like—"
"Like from real coffee beans, real caffeine, not veggie and soy additives. The real stuff, liquid gold."
Puck raised both eyebrows. "And you haven't jumped the guy?"
"There's the small detail of him possibly being a murderer."
"I see you didn't say that you weren't interested in jumping him."
Kurt gave a small frustrated scream and turned to open his door, slamming it while Puck laughed.
He pulled out of his slot, hoping he got Puck's foot.
*.*
If Kurt hadn't outgrown blushing years and years earlier, he was pretty sure he would be. All he wanted to do now though was smack Puck in his stupid smirking face. Or Anderson. Either was fine, really.
He shook his head, clearing it of all thoughts but the case. It took a moment, but he managed by brute will.
Kurt blinked suddenly. Anderson Enterprises always was on top when it came to technology—including security. Especially security. How was the camera jammed during those ten minutes?
Competing company? Homemade was out of the question—the tech aspect was too sophisticated.
Anderson, or an employee?
There are plenty of people who are geniuses in electronics, he reminded himself. Have Abrams re-cross data for tech and electronic backgrounds.
His in-dash beeped and he answered after seeing the coordinates. Fabray, Quinn ME, Morgue.
Her face swam on screen, head tilted. "Guess what I found." She said without preamble.
"I don't want to know what kind of shit you find in your line of work."
"Probably the same as you. But that's not it. I was glancing over the scanning's on Lopez's head and comparing them to Evan's. Guess what I found after further investigation on Lopez's after noticing something on Evan's?"
"Stop the dramatic effect and just tell me."
"No love, I swear. Faint burn marks around the ending puncture in the cranium."
"Burns?"
"Faintly, and only on the circumference of the rounded edge. I contacted the lab and weapons division, and there is one prototype currently on the market. Anderson Enterprises new laser and metal scalpel for medical. It's not the laser scalpel itself, just the outlines. And Anderson Enterprises guards its blueprints and draw ups closely."
"So only Anderson Enterprises has it," Kurt finished, stomach dropping.
"Unless someone has managed to recreate it with the bare minimum of details, which I doubt."
"Right. Thanks, Fabray."
"Anytime, Detective Sergeant." And she clicked off screen without further ado.
Kurt sat a moment, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, absorbing the new information.
He then blew out a breath, and ordered the in dash 'link to contact Blaine Anderson's direct line. The number had been written on the note with the coffee.
