Disclaimer: So I saw Rob Thomas' premise for the next season of VM and the man is a genius and I wish I had anything to do with that but I don't.
AN: SORRY it took so long for an update but work, three plays, and a trip home later and ANOTHER move and I finally got my inspiration back. THANK YOU! Thank you to all who have read and reviewed and alerted this story- this chapter is short but once I finish one more part I will have lots of posting. Also on a social note: WGA remain my heroes! Their writing is what I am sure inspires many of us... keep up the fight!
Now back to our regularly scheduled fanfic...
Mitchell House
Pan High School was a good idea; just not a great one. The information I got was standard and repetitive. She was a cheerleader beloved by the school and her friends- who could only tell me she had recently started seeing a new guy from Neptune. Her friends mentioned she kept mum on who the guy was to spare her dear ex- which turned out to be my new BFF Eric Howard.
Eric did exhibit all the appropriate emotions when discussing his missing ex-girlfriend. Beside, ex-boyfriend/VP's son's killing girls is so last year. Seriously, I was nowhere closer other than the small lead that perhaps the only thing that connected all these girls was Neptune and maybe a new boyfriend.
I reviewed the facts as I stood outside the door to the Mitchell house. Reviewing case facts calms my nerves- far healthier and more legal than smoking. The door eventually opened and I came face to face with Sheriff Elizabeth Mitchell. She was anything but intimidating and bore an odd resemblance to that neurotic woman doctor on that old show Grey's Anatomy, that my mom made me watch re-runs of with her. Okay January, hold onto your neurosis for one night and get it together, I told myself. I extended my hand and was pulled into a motherly hug and into the living room.
"You have a lovely home, Sheriff Mitchell." I replied in my best Stepford impression. Not that their home wasn't lovely, because it was. It was your classic Americana homespun motif; designed with craft fair finds and small town antiques.
"Thank you January but please call me Liz, tonight. I have heard quite a bit about you from Heathe. And of course, I have had the pleasure of meeting your father."
"Yeah Dad's sure something…" I half mumbled, wondering what he might have told her that I would later need to deny.
"He told me you are quite the crime fight yourself. He has an article framed in his office of your piece on the homicide and kidnappings. He's very proud. I have to say solving a case like that is very impressive for a young woman your age. Have you thought about law enforcement?"
Yeah, I'm sure the Academy would love a recruit who pays off her sources, DOES NOT follow the rules, and tends to put themselves in danger before actually thinking things through. Sign me up NOW! I thought lightly. I was however a little taken back that Dad had my piece framed and bragged. I never thought I was the kid he'd brag on.
"No, ma'am. I love writing about the crimes. I love getting the scoop and sharing the story with others too much."
"I can respect that." She smiled warmly. She looked to the clock and then to the hall as if expecting someone. "I'm sorry, we will be eating shortly but Chris went to pick-up Heather, Heathe's little sister from karate and Heathe ran to the store for me. Once they all return we'll sit down to eat. But…since they aren't here why don't we take care of business? Heathe said you had questions to ask me about the Case."
She motioned for me to sit down in a large chair and she took her place on the overstuffed couch. I grinned and wondered how to play this. I pulled out a small notebook and pen from my purse. My best way of getting info from this woman I assumed would be to be unassuming.
"First, let me thank you for answering my questions. I really just want to keep my fellow students informed about their friends and family and how the case is going."
"I completely understand."
"Alright…how long was it before you found the first girl missing?"
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I knew the answer to this question- any idiot who could read a paper knew the answer but it is always best to start at the beginning. She began with all the major details: the time of disappearances, who called them in, the general crime scene, the work with other local authorities, and what little connections the crimes all shared. She also pointed out the painfully obvious that the statistical chances these girls were alive were slim to none.
"Thank-you. Now I understand all of the young women who are missing are middle to lower middle class, is that correct?"
"Yes, but we strongly believe that is just a coincidence and not a common denominator."
Was she serious? Statistically speaking, usually young women who are kidnapped or abducted from this economical bracket are done so because there is less money, power and influence behind finding them. Next question.
"Okay. May I ask why did Mr. Kane and Mrs. Casablancas offer so much reward? It would seem to me they don't know these girls other than their children attended the same school as most of them. Even then, these girls did not run in the same circles as their children."
"I believe Mr. Kane and Mrs. Casablancas are simply backing the communities in which they employ many people. They, like other members of the community, want to believe Neptune is a safe and excellent place to raise a family."
"I see." Actually what I saw was a complete line of crap. Members of the community? Neptune a safe place? Was this woman really believing this fairy tale? "You mentioned that at each crime scene a piece of jewelry that belonged to the victims was found, is that correct?"
"Yes. Every piece of jewelry we found was hanging in one or another from the rearview mirror."
"Has a criminal profiler given an analysis of what motivation this might be?"
"Neptune doesn't have access to a criminal profiler of that caliber."
"Are you sure? From what I understand, Dr. Russ Kerson from San Diego was willing to analyze the crime scene- what happened?"
Okay, I had stopped playing coy and Liz knew it.
"I understand you have talked with Keith Mars and know that his services were "let go" from the case. I am taking a wild guess here and I think you already know the answer to your question. Dr. Kerson is a good friend of Mr. Mars and when we let him go he took all his forensics and profilers with him. What you need to understand is we will get much farther in this case with leads from the community prompted by the generous donations of the Kane Corporation than Mr. Mars and his back-handed P.I. ways of obtaining information."
Gloves were off.
"Of course, and Neptune is really a safe place to live."
Mitchell House- Dining Room Table
His dad was a plastic surgeon. Not the kind that makes a lot of money but the ones you find in the strip malls. His dad was passive-aggressive, balding, and leering at me.
And I thought my parents were weird?
So I guess I should re-cap the dinner so far. Once Liz had obtained my juvenile record and a complete family history- which was spotless for the most part- we patronized each other the rest of the conversation. Dinner had been cooked by Liz and was frozen lasagna, frozen garlic bread, and store-bought-home-made apple pie. Heathe's dad, Chris, had returned with Heathe's "precocious" sister Heather just as I had finished setting the table. The man that entered was not who I expected to be the father of the magnificent looking boy I had been drooling over of late. He was as my Mom and Dad would politely say a "Uncle Roy." Uncle Roy had been my father's uncle who had a thing for women of the red light district. Oh, and by women I mean men pretending to be women. So every time a certain family member or acquaintance was mentioned that everyone should be leery of- he/she was an Uncle Roy. Heathe's dad---way Uncle Roy- and Heathe and his mom knew it.
As we sat down for dinner, Roy…I mean Chris only asked me one question- was I a cheerleader? Strange and disturbing and total cause for me adding him to my list of suspects. Dear Liz had played it off as concern for his son's new friend. Sure, I bet he's concerned the moment he takes my pom-poms…ewwww. The rest of the night Liz and Heathe and Heather monopolized the conversation and Chris merely leered. The only pause was when I asked why they had moved so far away from the good ole' south. The answer I got was political at best. By that I mean, never really answering my question but alluding vague and totally avoiding the truth. My guess, daddy dearest did something to embarrass the clan and they hightailed it to a place far far away from the gossip and dirt.
Maybe the whole family needed to be on my list.
Overall, the dinner was a complete waste. I ate my food…choked down the food and was more than thrilled when Heathe excused us to take a tour of the house. The tour was three seconds before we ended up in his room.
Get your mind out of the gutters, kiddos.
"I'm sorry."
"About what?"
"My dad. He's just…"
"Different?" I was trying to help.
"Disgusting."
"Okay…" Where do you go from there? I looked very closely at Heathe. Amongst the obvious cuteness, in the room I noticed a shade of darkness when he mentioned his father. There was no love there but that happens, right? But was this more than teenage hate or shame?
Heathe sat down on the edge of his bed, I followed him. He looked towards the wall. "You've been a good sport."
"Heathe, seriously, it was okay. Did you forget who you're talking to? I'm the girl that managed to piss off the entire 09er royalty and a major film and television producer. He was drunk, too. This dinner has a long way to go before taking place as the worst one yet…"
The boy turned to me and the darkness had suddenly subsided. He smiled brilliantly and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and a murmur of thanks. We sat and talked for fifteen minutes more about nothing before he took me to my car. Liz had been cordial when saying good night, not appreciating her son and a new girl alone in his room, I guess. Heather was apparently my new best friend. Chris shirked in the background with his head down as if while I were gone he had been punished like a dog.
I drove home knowing what I had to do the next day- the Mitchell clan had to be investigated, no matter how hot I thought the son was.
Pipe Warehouse
It had grown colder in the Warehouse.
It had grown louder in the Warehouse.
A simple passerby might have heard the faint sounds and rhythms of a hack saw. But who would pass by the eyesore at night? It was in the bad part of town, the really bad part. It seemed lately that not even transients would reside there. Neptune myth had been the Fighting Fitzpatricks, notorious corrupters of the law and occasional murderers, were terrified of the abandon building.
But not everyone was scared. No, for one person, the place was a respite from the noise of the day that filled his head and home. Quiet peace and nothing but the music of the saw to ease his soul.
Pieces worked much better in the freezer. Pieces allowed him to dismember them from his conscious and mind. Cut into pieces as they had done to his life. It made all logical sense to him. In the logic, he was coming to a new conclusion. A dangerous conclusion that someone knew his secret. Someone was much too close to him and the pieces that fit together to make the mystery whole. He had tried but not hard enough.
As the saw sliced into the last of them, he decided the freezer could fit one more. One more and then it would be over.
Or till they started cheering again.