"Scrooge! We've been looking for you! We got news for you!" the commissioner yelled at him from his office. Scrooge winced, still recovering from all the whiskeys he took the night before. He turned back and entered his superior's office.

"Somebody may have found a murder relating to your case."

The detective took the file from O'Hara's hands and opened it. He looked at the pictures of the body, intrigued. The M.O was not matching the murders he had already, but it was the particularity of his case: there was no distinguishable M.O. Still not understanding what this murder had to do with him, he kept on turning the pictures, until he saw the apple. And immediately understood. They had found the initials; one more murder had just been added to his already full case. Scrooge sighed.

"And who's in charge of this one?"

O'Hara looked down. Scrooge looked at the first page of the file: Duck. Of course. It had to be him. He rolled his eyes and left the office without another word. His commissioner didn't try to stop him.

The old detective stormed out and headed directly to his nephew's office. He slammed the dying door open, making the poor Daisy jump so high she nearly fainted.

"Oh Miss Daisy I'm so sorry! I had no idea ya were in there dear!" Scrooge apologized.

"No worries, Detective," she smiled sweetly, "I was just dropping a few papers on Mister Duck's desk. Anything I can help you with?"

She was the sweetest assistant Scrooge had ever met. Usually the assistants of detectives were sad, depressed, mean. They were tired of what they were seeing all day, of how they were treated. But not her. Miss Daisy was always patient, always smiling, a warm presence anybody could count on when they were feeling down. She was a beauty, too. A real model if she had wanted. And everybody in the precinct knew she loved Duck dearly, except him of course.

"D'ya know where the Duck is? I'm looking for him I need him for my case."

She shook her head lightly.

"Sorry, detective. Last I heard, he was actually looking for you. I think he has some new stuff to show you."

Scrooge thanked her and bolted toward the big hall of the precinct, where all their colleagues were working. He quickly scanned the big room, looking for the familiar stupid hat his nephew was always wearing, but never found it. Where could he be? If he was looking for him, maybe he went to his place? Doubtful, Scrooge was rarely there anyway. Then it came to him. Duck was probably not looking for him. He just found an excuse to go investigate by himself. The little prick.

"Duck! I thought I'd find ya here boy. Tried to outrun me, did ya? That's not nice."

Duck shivered at the hoarse voice of his uncle. Damn, the old man was fast for his age. He turned away from the bloody operation table to face the other detective.

"Hello, uncle. What a coincidence to find you on my crime scene."

"Our crime scene, Duck. Our crime scene. Heard you found something for me?"

Duck threw him the apple in the plastic bag. Scrooge caught it easily and inspected it closely.

"That is the usual signature indeed." He approached the table and examined it.

"Did you have the time to read the file about this one or do you need me to fill you in?" the young one asked without even looking up.

"No, I just saw the apple part."

Scrooge finally took the time to fully take in the crime scene. The white room, with dried blood spattered on the walls, the neon lamps throwing a gruesome light on every detail of the massacre, everything was made to make you feel sick. Scrooge recognized the nauseous feeling he had on all the other crime scenes. You could feel the murderer's hate and sadism. It felt wrong.

"Well, looked like a suicide but wasn't. Basically, the guy carved out his own heart."

"Lovely."

The discussion ended there. They both investigated in silence, taking pictures and putting elements in plastic bags. After an hour, Duck finally left the room, feeling too sick to continue. Once he was out, he let out a breath he didn't was holding. This murder was really putting him off, for some reason.

"Hello Detective. Back to the scene? You gotta let us know when we can clean it up, we kinda need the operation room you know…" the light voice stopped. "Detective? Are you alright?"

Duck felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, saw the blond nurse he met the first time he went there, and managed a faint smile.

"Don't worry miss. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, Detective, and I know what I'm talking about. Would you like to follow me please?"

She grabbed his arm firmly. He tried to protest; he really did. However, he was suddenly feeling too weak to anything else but to follow her wherever she was taking him. They followed corridors, always bathed in the same white lighting, until they reached a door with a "Staff Only" sign on it. Duck didn't flinch. They entered a dark room, with a single bed and dozens of shelves, full of all sorts of medication, covering the walls. A tiny window let a single ray of sun entering. The nurse sat him on the bed, made him drink some weird-tasting water and asked him to wait there. He did. He felt dizzy, as if he wasn't in control of his body anymore. There was no more energy in him. For a second, he asked himself if he wasn't making a mistake, being here, but the thought left his mind as quickly as it came in. After long minutes, the door opened again. The blond nurse entered, followed by a brunette. The girl kneeled in front of him and spoke in a sweet voice.

"Hi there. Don't worry Detective, you're in good hands. I'm Miss Snow-White, and me and my friend here, Rapunzel, we're gonna take good care of you."

Somewhere in Duck's brain, an alarm rang. But his eyes were already closing.

After an hour or so, Scrooge deduced that his nephew had definitely left the building. He had noticed the boy was a little off his game but thought nothing of it. Ever since the Aurora's incident, Duck was not the same, and Scrooge knew that he never would be. A man who killed could never go back. It was one of the risks of the job, and it had many.

Scrooge packed his bag with all the elements he wanted Gizmo to analyze and left the room. On his way out of the hospital, a young blond nurse crossed his path.

"Excuse me, are you the detective in charge of the murder case?" she asked.

He stopped and nodded.

"Oh, great I was hoping to catch you! I wondered if we could clean the operation room, we kinda need it for, well, operations." She chuckled.

"Right. Sure. Well my forensic guy should come by to finish the analysis but after that, ya should be all good."

Scrooge saluted her and went on his way. Once he got to the hospital's parking lot, he noticed something strange: his nephew's shitty car was still there. But he hadn't seen Duck in the hospital, thought he was gone hours ago. Maybe the young detective had found a lead he didn't want to talk about. Scrooge would be mad, but his instincts told him it wasn't that. He was competitive, sure, but not reckless.

He decided to shrug it off. After all, Duck was a big boy, he probably had his reasons, nothing to worry about.

When Scrooge entered the precinct, Little Helper ran to him.

"Detective, we have a new one. They want you on the crime scene as soon as you can. Dr Gearloose is already there for the first analysis."

"Lead the way, Little."

On the way there, Little was driving, allowing Scrooge to take a look at the first pictures. A man, quite small, sawed in half in a magician box.

"How the hell does that happen? I mean, you don't just saw a man in half in one swoop. Somebody must have noticed something."

"Apparently, the spectators thought it was all an act. They only realized what happened when the magician opened the box in half showing, well, everything." Little grimaced, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Damn, some kids gonna need therapy."

They parked in front of an old, dying theater. A half-fallen sign displayed the name "The Wonderment" painted in red letters. The walls were painted in a dark shade of blue, and at some spots you could see the brick wall appearing beneath it. Everything about this place was screaming decay, and Scrooge wondered how people could come there and expect any type of wonderment.

They pushed the cracked glass door and entered a blue hall. They walked on a dusty red carpet to a velvet door.

Once they were in the auditorium, Scrooge felt oppressed. The ceiling was low and filled with huge luminaires. The room was small, and all the walls were covered in a worn-out red velvet.

Gearloose was on the stage, inspecting closely a blue box. Scrooge and the assistant climbed on the stage to join him.

"Hello Gyro. So, what happened to the guy?"

Gearloose looked up from the body and stood up, giving Scrooge the opportunity to get a good look of the man's insides. He shivered.

"Technically, the cause of the death is not hard to determine, Scrooge. This man has been sawed in half. I swear I thought I'd seen everything, but this job always manages to surprise me." He sighed.

Scrooge grinned.

"I know, pal, I know. C'mon, we'll laugh about that when we'll retire."

"Yeah, like you'll ever retire." Gearloose laughed.

Little Helper suddenly yelped from backstage.

"Detective! Doctor! I found something!"

Gearloose and Scrooge hurried behind the heavy curtain. There, they found the young assistant, sitting in front of and old TV post. He was holding a tape, with the initials S.W. marked in white, trembling.

"I think our killer knows we're onto him," the forensic shivered. He was tensed, and Scrooge knew why. A tape from a serial killer, left for the cops, was never good news. Did the Bugle Boys tell on him? It was a possibility; they were not be trusted.

"Put it in, Little. Let's see what the psycho has to tell us."

The assistant obeyed quickly and inserted the tape in the TV. The screen went white, then an image appeared. On the image they could see a man, sitting on a chair, his head hanging on his chest as if he was sleeping -or dead- and his hands looked tied behind his back. As he was facing down, they didn't recognize him right away. But Scrooge noticed something lying on the cement ground next to the chair: a hat. With a red pompom. The stupid hat his nephew was so sentimental about.

"Donald. It's Donald." His voice was hoarse, but firm. He was angry. Then a high-pitched voice chimed out of the TV.

Hello Detective! I see you found my little gift! So sorry that I had to do this, but you don't seem like you're able to mind your own business, so I must defend myself, obviously! Your dear nephew here was no match for us, we barely had to do anything. You should take better care of your family, Detective, you never know when they're gonna be gone.

Scrooge's fists clenched. The girl who was speaking was out of the frame, but he knew that voice: it was the nurse's voice he'd met earlier at the hospital. She had Donald.

Some of my friends, the Bugle Boys, informed me that you knew the name of your killer. Let's be frank, it isn't me. I am not S.W., just her friend. We know you know her name, so we advise you to drop everything. Otherwise, Mister Duck here won't see the light of the sun again. Simple as that. And you've seen what she's capable of!

Finally, her face appeared on the screen, with her long, blond hair framing it, partially hiding Duck's body, who had not moved the whole time.

You know, Detective, she's not a bad person. You should let her get her revenge. They had it coming.

Then the screen got black again. Silence fell for a few minutes. Gearloose was the first to break it:

"There's a chance it's not him. We didn't see clearly. They could have just gotten his hat."

Scrooge shook his head.

"She wouldn't have shown herself if she wasn't sure she had us. No, it's him. Dammit Snow-White. I still don't get what happened to her."

The forensic raised an eyebrow.

"Snow-White? Is that what the initials stand for? How do you know that?" he questioned.

"I went to the Bugle Boys. They knew her and her… partners. But I got the info in the night, and I didn't get the time to actually research them."

"Well, it's the only lead we got. Better go dig up some info on that Snow-White then."