Alison walked up to Flack, looking at the row of suspects.
"Don't say anything." Flack said, smiling. She raised an eyebrow. "It's just better if you don't say anything. I thought you might like it being your first case back." She again looked at the suspects. Clowns were all dressed like clowns. There were about 20 of them sitting on the curb talking to officers.
"The victim's inside?" She forced herself to turn back to Flack.
"The owner. Gino Cressida. It's his son's sixth birthday. Witnesses say a clown just walked in and wasted him."
"And when you showed up," She pointed over her shoulder.
"The arresting officers had these guys detained?" Flack nodded, pointing at the line.
"Now, some of these costumes are way off, but more than half of them match the description witnesses gave of the shooter they saw walking across the street and disappearing down the alley."
"So one of these clowns might actorly be our killer."
"Yep, as if Clowns weren't scary enough as is." Alison looked around them.
"So what are they doing here in the first place." Flack flipped a page in his notebook.
"Apparently, there was an advertisement saying that if you showed up dressed like a clown, you would get 500 dollars. If they matched the outfit perfectly, they got an extra 50 bucks."
"Great, our killer thought of everything."
Greg walked into the lab where Lindsey was working.
"Hey, Greg, perfect timing." He stopped taking a small step back.
"What's up."
"I'm pulling bullet fragments out of the body of our VIC, and I could really use the help." Greg pulled out his phone.
"I uh think I have to take this." He turned to walk out, but Lindsey stopped him."
"Not so fast. I happen to know that you just finished your case, and Mac hasn't given you a new one yet." Greg groaned, walking over to the table.
"Alison said that you found a gun at the scene." Lindsey pointed over that the trays of gelatin.
"It didn't match our wound. I thought that I would try that before committing to reconstructing the bullet. Unfortunately, no, you and I have a long day ahead of us." Greg rolled his eyes, getting started on his section.
"How is Alison doing with her first case back." Greg smiled.
"Alright. She told me that half of her mind is here and the other half is with Ethan." Lindsey laughed.
"That's how it was for me at first. Tell her that it gets better. How are you doing?" Greg shrugged his shoulder, dropping another piece into the tray.
"I missed his birth; I just don't want to miss anything else."
"Don't worry, that won't be an issue."
Alison walking into the computer lab right as Adam slammed his phone down. He jumped a little when he spotted her.
"He hung up on me." He explained.
"I see that." She walked over to his desk. "Who hung up on you exactly?"
"The New York Clown Registry." Alison squinted her eyes.
"Alright, this is my first day back. You might want to start at the beginning. Messer just asked me if I wear sneakers in my clown shoes."
"I always heard wearing spillers worked better." Alison rolled her eyes. "Anyways. The Vic's phone records could not tell me who he hired as a clown for the kid's birthday party. So I went online to the ad the killer posted, and I scanned the photo ran an image search, and I came up empty. However, I discovered that there's a New York Clown Registry. Like they register their faces, actually. It's a trademark thing." Alison nodded.
"So we match the makeup to the registered face, and we get an I.D." Adam stood up, holding up a piece of paper.
"Okay, but Anal McGillicaddy will not give me this guy's information until I get a subpoena, okay. So now I got to do all this…" Alison helps up her hands.
"Relax. I'll call Erin and see what I can do." Adam handed her over the paper.
"Thanks." She smiled back.
"No problem."
Greg walked next to Flack, heading toward the door of the apartment that their suspect lived at.
"So I heard it's harder to get the address of a clown than you would think," Flack said, stopping at the door.
"From what Mac sand Messer said, the guy was downright mean." They stood to the side of the door.
"Let's hope this guy is a little nicer." Flack knocked on the door. "Sam Ridgeway, open up." He tried the door handle, and I clicked open. Greg pulled his gun. On one, he pushed the door open, following Flack into the apartment. Greg check behind the door then spotted a man on the ground. He had clown makeup on his face and duct tape over his mouth. Greg looked over at Flack, who nodded. Greg bent down, putting his weight on his good knee, ripping the tap off the man's face.
"You okay." He asked the man.
"You tell me. My head's pounding like he split it open with a cannon."
"Nothing a Band-Aid won't fix," Flack said, examining the small cut on his forehead while untying his feet. "Did you get a good look at the guy?" The man turned to him, squinting his eyes.
"Uh, yeah, dark hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven jeans, and a shirt." Flack undid the last knot glancing at Greg.
"That's kind of generic, Stan. Anything about him stands out."
"Yeah, the barrel of his gun. He had it point right between my eyes." Greg looked back at the door.
"The door jam looks pretty solid, so how did he get in."
"Look, I opened the door okay." The man groaned. "He said he had a delivery and needed a signature. He even asked me how much money I was going to make today. When I came to, he was gone, and so was my clown suit. Look, he took my hair and my nose too. I need those back. They were specially made. Very expensive. One of a kind." Greg coughed, trying to stifle a laugh looking at Flack.
"All right. We'll see what we can do. In the meantime, let's get you some ice. Greg call Mac and get a team over him." Greg got to his feet, pulling out his phone.
"Sure thing."
Alison walked down the hallway, talking to Erin on the phone.
"Seriously, Erin, I can't go with Dad to the mayor's dinner. Greg has work that night, and we don't have a sitter." Adam ran up to her, holding a tablet. "Sorry, I got to go." She hung the phone up. "What's up."
"I got a hit on the print that Greg lifted from the makeup at the clown's apartment. I think I found our killer clown." He handed over the tablet. "Bobby Renton." She looked down at the report.
"His only arrest was a fare beat eight years ago? Doesn't scream cold-blooded killer."
"According to the officer's report. Renton lost his wallet and had no money jumped the turnstile at the subway station, got arrested, and his prints have just been on file ever since." Alison shook her head.
"It just seems strange that a guy like that could get up this morning and kill someone. The whole clown thing speaks to premeditation."
"There are 15 matching points on the print, so it has to be our guy. There was something else that was odd. He hasn't had a license in five years."
"That's not that strange if you live in the city." Adam held up his hands.
"Fair enough, but at the same time, he got rid of his credit cards, moved from his only know address in queens, quit his job, and doesn't exist in any database where you could find anything on anybody. It's like he starts to disappear from his own life all on the same day."
"All on the same day." Alison started nodding her head.
"Thank you, Adam. I need to talk to Mac." She turned, heading down the hallway she walked into his office. "Have you heard from the FBI?" Mac looked up from his computer.
"Is there a reason they would be?" Alison smile.
"I think that our guy might be in the FBI's Witness Protection Program." She handed over the tablet. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the elevator and smiled. "And I think that man in the black suit is said FBI agent." Mac nodded.
"You sticking around." Alison backed up.
"Not a chance."
Alison walked into the living room after her long shift and smiled. Greg sat on the couch, his head tipped back, snoring. Ethan was sleeping on his chest. She smiled, gently resting a hand on Greg's shoulder, stirring him. He jumped, snapping his head up, relaxing at the sight of her. He looked down at Ethan, smiling.
"I'm sorry I didn't want you to wake up with a stiff neck," Alison whispered, pulling her feet up on the couch.
"No, thank you. I didn't think you would be back so soon." Alison looked up at the clock.
"Greg, I'm 30 minutes late." He glanced at the clock laughing.
"I guess our nap was a little longer than planned." Alison picked up a stack of papers on the coffee table.
"Are these your new edits?"
"No, just some research for a new book." Alison flipped through it.
"This isn't about a new crime family."
"No, it's about a Serial killer in Las Vegas. It's a little different than my normal crime books. What do you think." She set the notes down.
"I think that you write a great book." She looked down at her hands.
"What?" She didn't look up at him. "Ally, what is it." She let out a low breath.
"I don't know why the change in topic. Your books are doing great." Greg adjusted so he could better look at her doing his best to not wake Ethan.
"Alison, I write true crime books. My publisher has been asking for this for years. I just found the right case a few weeks ago."
"Just because they ask you to write one doesn't mean you have to." She whipped her nose on her sleeve. Greg didn't say a word. "I'm sorry, no, you're right, this will be a hit."
"Hey." Alison slowly lifted her head to look at him.
"I don't have to write this book if you don't want me to." Alison nodded, getting up.
"No, it's fine. I'm going to go take a shower. I had a long day." Greg opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. "Flack wanted me to let you know that the flooring came in for the house, but he can't oversee the delivery. He's going to the hearing for the clown killer. Apparently, he was the one that put him in WITSAK." Not waiting another moment, Alison turned, running up the stairs closing the door to the bedroom. She let out a deep breath rubbing her scared side. Everything was going to be fine.