Author's Note: The plot really begins to come into play here. On another note, two certain officers, Yates and Murphy, are actually canon South Park characters. If you'll recall episodes like The Jeffersons, Cartman's Incredible Gift, and The China Problem, then you'll remember these guys. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.
Warning: language
Anatomy of the Law
The Park County Police Department had canvassed the surrounding area, the uniformed men taping off what was to be the center of a crime scene and two high school girls and a boy were detained to give their statements.
In the middle of it all, Sergeant Harrison Yates, a red headed, stocky man with a distinctive red moustache was cursing up a storm, his partner Detective Mitch Murphy at his side, agreeing with everything he said and adding in his own swears.
Yates, though, was pissed off not because he was called out to be here but because he had just about to nail another scumbag in a prostitution raid. Didn't those assholes in charge know how long it took to apply makeup and get that wig just so so that none of those perves out there would suspect he was a man.
Murphy was only swearing because he had spilled his coffee in his lap on the drive out here.
When he had finally calmed down, Yates approached one of his men and asked, "So what's the story here?"
"Well, we got a call from three teenagers about an hour ago that one of them had found a skull," was his answer. "We sent a patrol car out to make sure it wasn't a false alarm or a mistake but it turned out they were telling the truth. We think they were out here trying to have a threesome or the girls were trying to lez out and the boy to watch."
"Nice," Yates said. "Very good work men. Keep to it and we'll interview our witnesses, maybe force a confession out of them so that we can get back home in time for the season finale of Lost."
"You get'em sir!" a nearby cop shouted.
Thus, Yates and Murphy were on their way to wrap this whole case up quickly. Neither of them wanted to miss Lost all because someone decided to go out and murder somebody. It just wasn't right that the rest of America would get to see what happened on that island while they had to slave away at their desks.
"So how are we going to go through this? Good cop, bad cop?" Murphy asked.
"That sounds good," Yates agreed. "You're good, I'll be bad."
"Hey, you were bad cop last time," Murphy stopped and glared at his partner. "It's my turn!"
"Well, I called it first," Yates replied. "Get into character; we don't want to tip them off."
"Yeah, yeah," Murphy grumbled as he set himself up to appear slightly upset yet willing to work to get to the bottom of the matter at hand while Yates himself became more stoic.
Yates' mask, though, almost broke as he got a good look at the three teenagers. He winced at the one in the pink coat; that color was so not her. In fact, red wasn't her color either. What she needed was…wait, he was suppose to be doing something. Yeah, he was the bad cop. Right. But how the hell was he to keep in character when he was confronted with two fashion don'ts and a grudge teen wannabe?
His job could be so tough sometimes…
"You're the kids that found this place, correct?" Murphy asked aloud as he approached the teens.
The one in the pink coat nodded her head, tears leaking from her eyes while the one that resembled a rainbow had her arm over her shoulders, eyeing the two police officers warily while the boy seemed disinterested in the whole thing.
Yeah, that one had to be a Goth.
"Well, we just want to go over your statements, get your names so as to make sure you girls…and guy are who you say you are," Murphy continued, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. "Standard procedure."
"Well," the rainbow girl began only to get interrupted.
"You're the murderers, aren't you?" Yates accused, ignoring the look his partner was giving him. "You killed whoever that skull belongs to and now you're trying to pass it off as if you didn't do it. I'm right, aren't I?"
The girl in the pink looked scared shitless, little Ms. Rainbow shocked, and Goth boy flicked away his cigarette, looking pissed.
"Don't bother to deny it, we know it was you," Yates declared. "Just admit to it so we can get this shit over with and be home in time for Lost."
"Wait, you mean to tell us that you think we're the guilty ones with no proof whatsoever just so you can go home and watch some stupid TV show?" Rainbow girl said, getting more and more ticked off with every word she said.
"It's the season finale!" Yates defended. "There's no way in hell I'm going to be missing it, not to a bunch of preteen adolescences who are pissed off at their mommies and daddies for not getting them ponies, alright?"
"Oh Blimey, we're freaking teenager!" Rainbow girl shouted.
"Everybody, calm down, that goes double for you," Murphy intervened, his last words directed at the male suspect. "Now let's go back through this from the beginning."
"You mean where you're trying to accuse us of killing a skull?" Rainbow girl asked dryly.
"It's not just a skull, it was a person Goddamn it!" Yates shouted. "I'm gonna throw the book at you monsters if it's the last thing I do!"
"Easy, man, take it easy!" Murphy ordered. Turning back to the teens, the detective said apologetically, "Sorry about this but my partner gets a bit involved with things like these. It would be helpful if you could tell us everything that happened, even the smallest detail, so that we can get this all cleared up."
"They're guilty, I tell you!" Yates announced.
The boy finally was able to speak, "'ow do we know you won't just twist what we say so as to get early conveections?"
The two cops froze up and slowly looked at the boy, giving him odd looks.
The boy frowned. "What?"
"You wouldn't happen to be French, would you?" Yates asked slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Oui," he replied dryly.
"Oh Goddamn it!" Yates yelled out as he began stomping away, Murphy dropping his side of the routine and scowling harshly, leaving the teens to watch after them in slightly confusion.
"I can't believe it! One of them's a surrender monkey, French asshole!" Yates snarled. "They're too big of pussies to ever go around killing people."
"And we were so close!" Murphy sighed. "I really thought they were about to crack."
"And now we're going to have to miss the season finale of Lost," Yates moaned. "I was really looking forward to watching it with my wife and getting some nookie out of it."
"Role play?" Murphy asked.
"You know it," Yates confirmed.
"Hey Sergeant," one of the officers called out. "What's the deal with the suspects?"
Yates sighed melodramatically and said, "One of them is French and the other two lack the balls to go around killing people. I'm guessing you know what this means."
Slowly, one said aloud, "We're going to miss Lost?"
"I afraid so, Lou," Yates admitted tiredly.
"AWWW!" the officers cried out in unison.
"Hey, what about Cop Drama?" a different officer asked.
"Hmm," Yates thought. "Maybe if we hurry and pull out the old black and white, we can probably just miss the first five minutes… Alright people, let's get this all wrapped up and get back the station. Make it hasty, I hear they're going to say meecrob twice."
"Zat is either ze most unprofessional or ze most incompetent law enforcement I 'ave ever seen," Christophe slowly stated as he watched the crowd of police officers scramble about.
"It's Park County, what can you do?" Rhiannon shrugged before looking down at Katie. "You holding up?"
"It…it was so horrible!" Katie whimpered. "Why would somebody do something like that? Why kill someone and leave them out in the middle of the woods?"
"But didn't you see worse on that Wonderland adventure of yours?" Rhiannon questioned.
"It wasn't the same!" she defended. "It was war, damn it!"
"You'd be surprise just what kind of scum live in zis world," Christophe commented. "I 'ave seen and met much worse 'fore. Zey…zey are a different breed of human."
"Let's just get out of here," Rhiannon said. "I hear they're showing the season finale of Lost tonight."
"Really? Lost?" Katie perked up. "C'mon guys, hurry up! We're going to miss it!"
"Welcome back to Channel 4 Evening News."
"Earlier today, some reckless teenagers had a grisly surprise today when fooling around in the woods they discovered a bloody skull. Police were immediately at the scene, questioning the teenagers and upon learning one of them was French, let them go since we all know that the French suck at killing people.
"Who the skull belongs to is still unknown but we here at the South Park News will keep you updated, the next update being in the next five minutes. Stay tuned.
As for our next story, Miley Cyrus, also known as Hannah Montana, was discovered having an affair with another sitcom. Details in the next ten seconds."
He frowned.
How had this happened? How could one of his sites been found? At this point, only a skull, the equivalent of one body, had been found but should the police take a closer look at the site…
Damn it, he hadn't thought it'd be discovered so soon, or at all. It was fortunate he had more than one place to go to but having one of them found really rankled. At least he had a new victim just waiting for some attention.
Yes, runaways were easy pickings, this one of no exception. He had been afraid that she would have listened to her instincts and turned away but like the other morons, she had gotten into the car and the rest was standard procedure. He had her put away in a safe place and had felt generous enough to place her small collection of stuffed animals in with her. She'd need all the comfort she could get because soon his fun would be starting.
The lights from the town barely reached the small strip of land but you only needed to be able to just barely see in order to do something as simple as digging a hole.
It had come as a surprise to Charlie when Christophe had called out of the blue, telling her he was coming by and that she needed to bring a shovel with her. She didn't make any argument, just said fine and went to the garage to retrieved the tool.
Now, nearly an hour later, she was wiping the sweat from her forehead, sitting at the edge of a hole and taking a short break while Christopher remained in it, shovel loads of dirt flying out periodically. By now she had gotten a good amount of the story out of the mercenary; what had first started as a getaway for him and Annon ended up with them somehow gaining a third wheel in the form of Katie Blaine.
Then Katie ended up finding a skull in the middle of the woods and Rhiannon had insisted they call the police to tell them about it. It was amazingly obvious that Rhiannon had little to no contact with the police in this county, not counting Officer Barbrady, and didn't know what she was inviting when she made the call.
Hell, even when Bain made attempts on the girl's life the cops hadn't been called in. Goes to show that the people in this small town were able to handle themselves with little to no law enforcement, only needing the presence of a single officer to maintain order.
However, Christophe wasn't pissed off by the events leading up to the police showing up; it was the blatant racial profiling they did in front of his face, dismissing him as a possible suspect just because he happened to be French.
"What do those cocksuckers know?" she could hear him growl down in the howl, a clod of dirt flying out momentarily. "I've keeled more people than he knows! I am not a pussy just because of my ethnicity!"
Charlie refrained from pointing out World War II, knowing that now was not the time to bring up historical facts.
Besides, it wouldn't be the first time she had made fun of him for being French. In fact it was fun, as long as you had quick reflexes and could duck under the first swing of a shovel aimed directly at your head. Despite being out of the hole they were at, she knew that she wouldn't be able to outrun him should she try teasing him. He had longer legs and had always been a better sprinter than her.
As Christophe continued to mutter in rage below her, she sighed and glanced around at their surroundings, not in the least surprised to see a virtual minefield of holes. Usually, she and Christophe would have filled them back up but the townsfolk didn't give two shits about this so they were left unfilled. At the rate they were going, though, they were going to need to find some more land.
Or, you know, do the logical thing and just fill the holes back up.
…but that would be too much work…
She tuned back in as soon as she began to hear Christophe's English degrade into muttered French curses and she rolled her eyes. She didn't understand half the shit he was saying, mainly because this was the first time she had heard him say such words, but she also didn't care as she was able to get the gist of it.
"I'm sure their parents aren't sodomizing Nova Scotians," she said tonelessly down into the hole. "Wouldn't they have said 'eh' all the time if they were?"
A shovelhead smacked the ground next to her and in the next second, a darkly scowling Christophe emerged from the hole and settled himself right next to her, tossing away a spent cigarette and lighting up a new one. With a wordless gesture, she held her hand out, which he stared out for a moment before rolling his eyes and placing a cigarette in it, offering up his lighter mockingly.
She accepted since she didn't have a lighter on her.
Breathing out the tar-filled plume, she relaxed slightly as the nicotine began to take effect. "Feel better?" she tossed out, expecting a negative answer.
"Not particularly," he grumbled out as he leaned back, keeping his body propped up by leaning back on his arms with his hands planted firmly on the ground. He felt silent for a moment before suddenly blurting out, "I mean, I zought the people in zis part of se Goddamned country wouldn't be zo fucking stoopid and believe zat fucking stereotype!"
She winced at how heavy his accent got as he complained. "You forget, we live in a town of near inbred rednecks," she pointed out, inhaling another drag on her cancer stick. "Plus, the town hasn't really changed much since the first and second grades, or at least the time I remember from back then, like Ms. Claridge being burned by Trent Boyette. I think some boys tried to put her out with their piss."
"I was homeschooled back zen," Christophe commented. "Didn't begin attending ze pathetic public school systeem until middle school."
"Huh, so that's why I never saw you at school," she said, looking contemplative.
"And I wish I was still being homeschooled," he grumbled. "Do you know what it was like to be labeled by not only ze fucking assholes in zis school but also ze teachers? First day and I'm written off as a foreign British pussy! I'm not even British!"
Charlie just gave him a look, one that blatantly said, "you did not just say that." She then snapped at him, "Hello! I traveled abroad. Italy, Russia anybody? The kids and teachers there were also assholes and called me a stupid American to my face. And whenever I tried to show them just who I was, there was always a teacher around to catch my punch and send me to the principal's office! It was worse in Italy, especially after I reminded them of how they got their asses kicked in World War II! The Russians were drunk when they went after me."
"But aren't Russians always drunk?" Christophe asked, curious.
"Only half the time," she shrugged. "High tolerance from drinking all the time."
"I see," he muttered, obviously making a note of that. She figured that he may have had some…assignments that took him to the largest country on Earth. It wasn't big enough to hide her family and herself from Jack, though.
By now, she could see some tension leaving the larger boy. Either it was from talking or the nicotine was finally hitting him but she much preferred him like this than pissed off and ready to kill something with his bare hands. He had once told her a story where he had been fleeing from a mission and ran into a bear, having to suffocate the beast before it gave away his position. Something about fish was involved there but she hadn't paid that much attention to the story until he mentioned choking the bear itself.
"It hasn't been easy for us, has eet?" Christophe sighed.
She looked at the boy. "How do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, my mother trying to abort me by stabbing a clotheshanger into my heart while I was still in ze womb and guard dogs; you with cancer and Jack. Having to hide, kill, fight…"
"Deal with Bain," she added, finally catching on to his train of thought.
"Well, zat last one more for you zan me," he chuckled.
"Oh? And what about all the times he's attacked and kidnapped Rhiannon?" she threw back goodheartedly.
"You…have a point," he acknowledge, taking another drag. "But…at least I'm not attracted to him, eh?"
She punched his shoulder, and not in a friendly manner either, as she blushed. "Will you fucking shut up with that?"
"Why?" he teased, not in the least affected by the blow much to her chagrin. "I've always been curious what you zee in him."
She paused at that. She was reluctant to admit that he had a point; the boy was an asshole with more than a few screws loose. What guy walked around throwing sharp, pointy objects at people who pissed him off and attacked anyone, anywhere with the least bit of provocation? On the other hand, there were times he had proved that he was much deeper than some hating machine with a perchance to attempted murder. For example, a day or so ago, he had driven her home without being asked and hadn't shown any tendency to be a bastard. Then there was her collection of incidences where she had either kissed or ended up kissing him. It was surprising that he was good at it since she had the idea that no one even wanted to get close enough to do that.
She was perhaps the most knowledgeable person in the world who knew how Bain Cynis thought. Christophe and others had only learned about him out of necessity and while that was also how she started, that necessity had turned to desire. She actually wanted to know what made the boy tick, what could change him from being an ungodly asshole to a lethal defender to a confident and slightly compassionate individual. How many facets were there of him? There were times she dreaded being near him and there were others where she only wanted to be with him.
A paradox, one in which she had found herself enraptured and unwilling to escape.
But this was starting to tread in dangerous grounds so she hastily changed the subject.
"So you found a skull today," she said, wincing internally when she saw Christophe tense up beside her, undoing hours' worth of relaxing and loosening up.
"Katie did," he finally said, most likely trying not to think about certain law enforcement personnel. "It…it looked like it had been there awhile. No flesh, no meat or tissue, nothing." He fell silent before looking right at her and asking with a raised eyebrow, "What would Sherlock take from zis?"
Oh, oh that was just great. Teasing her about her ob—er, enthrallment with Sir Arthur Doyle's greatest literary creation. Damn, now that made her feel like she was a Twilight retard. Well, she'll prove that you could actually learn something from Robert Downey Jr. than from a whinny bitch who should slit her wrists and bless the world with her absence.
"Well, it could be that the skull belonged to a hiker who got lost and died," she pointed out. "Animals live out in there; it could have been left there by a wolf or a Sasquatch."
Aw shit, she had to bring up Bigfoot…
"And what if it wasn't zat?" he asked, seemingly looking over her little slip.
"Foul play?" she asked, making sure that she was on his train of thought first. "Then the person who the skull belonged to either was killed in that spot or somewhere else and the skull was dragged there by wolves. Were there any other bones there?"
"A few, I zink," Christope thought.
"Then the person was killed there or the body was dumped there," she shrugged. "And since it was just bones, that means that it was there for some time; six months at the least and maybe more than a year."
"Great, so we're in a murder mystery, huh?" he commented. "Perfect, just fucking perfect. What are ze odds they'll catch who did zis?"
"Not great," she said. "Sherlock didn't do a lot with dead bodies."
"Zen who would?" Christophe asked.
She paused as someone popped up into her head. Oh man, she knew that ze Mole was not going to like this. "Besides the police and detectives?" she asked.
Christophe nodded.
"Well, I know Bain reads a bunch of True Crime novels," she shrugged. "He's smart; he ought to have picked up something."
"Non. No way," he stated. "I'd rather read ze books myself."
"He had a lot of books," she said dryly.
Christophe paused, hesitating. "Isn't…isn't there some other way?" he asked.
"We could ask the police but you don't seem to be on good terms with them," she pointed out.
"You could ask them," he nearly pleaded.
"Ask who? Barbrady?" she snorted. "I don't know a lot of people who would know about murders. I know a bunch of smart people but only one who's both smart and knows about murder. What'll be?"
To be honest at this point, she really, really didn't want to be doing this either.
