Shadows : Chapter 1b
He wondered who'd named it Smallville. It was a name completely opposed to the kind of growth most towns craved. New factories, new stores, new homes, the entire process considered desirable across America had been stressed as unwanted, all with the choice of a name. It seemed reasonably suitable, though maybe Moderately-Sizedville would have been even more appropriate as, so far, the place seemed larger than he'd expected. Either way Smallville was a complete waste of time; it might make a half-decent tourist spot but it didn't seem a likely location for their quarry.
Ours is not to question why…
Sean let a half smile creep onto his face at the thought. He'd take a look around, phone in that the report had been bogus, and then go investigate a real lead. It was no big deal.
The hotel lot was almost empty with the noticeable exception of a large bus that dominated the area. Sean parked his rental vehicle behind it and turned off the ignition.
He'd be out of there in a half hour, twenty minutes at most.
Moving from the sterile environment of the air-conditioned car to the rural exterior hit him like a ton of bricks. It was… fresh. No better word explained the subtle nuances that seemed to be missing from the breeze. Sean shook his head and slammed the car door. Something just didn't seem right about a place without smog.
Half way to the hotel a flash of yellow caught his attention and after a brief debate he shifted his path to intersect with the bus doors instead. Two pieces of crime scene tape crisscrossed over the entrance practically shouting out "do not enter." Sean simply reached up and pealed it back from the right hand side, he was fairly sure the warning wasn't meant for him. Bracing himself he wedged his fingers between the two door flaps and pulled, straining a little before they decided to give way and allow entrance.
Rancid. The new scent came wafting out and he found himself coughing in reflex. God what a disgusting smell. Stepping gingerly inside he kept one arm in front of his face; he knew it wouldn't really help but he let himself pretend anyway. From the top of the steps it became immediately evident what was causing the stench. Easy to see in the sunlight, a dark black layer of congealed blood covered an entire row like a mold. Walking forward he tried to bury his disgust.
What the hell was with the local police? There's a point at which you finish with a crime scene and clean it the hell up. Of course it didn't hurt for him to see it with his own eyes, but it's not like they'd known he was coming.
The click of a hammer being cocked behind him punctuated the last thought.
"Put your hands up, slowly." An older voice, not a trigger-happy rookie at least, they were always dangerous. Sean slowly raised his hands and turned around.
"Front left inside pocket officer, I'm a federal agent." He said it quietly and calmly, not in a hurry to piss of a person pointing a gun at him. The police officer just scowled.
"Federal agent my ass. Get on the ground, put your hands on your head, then we'll see if you've really got a badge or not." His gun never wavered.
Sean took a long glance at the congealed blood covering most of the floor near where he'd stopped, turning to look back at the officer he raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you could just shoot me instead? I think it'd be more humane."
The policeman just blinked, it wasn't the response he'd been expecting. Finally he admitted wryly that yes, it probably would be. Coming to a resolution he stepped forward, keeping the gun pointed at Sean's chest while reaching inside to find the badge. During this operation Sean made sure he didn't move a muscle, at that distance he was fairly certain the policeman would shoot first, ask questions later.
The badge was where Sean had said it would be, and the officer took a good long look before saying anything. "Agent Philips?" Sean simply nodded in reply. Reaching to his belt the officer grabbed a radio and sent out a request for confirmation on the badge number. A minute later the two were outside the bus and Sean was no long at gunpoint.
He liked it better that way.
The conversation was long, loud, and quite angry. Officer Marks wanted to know just what the hell an FBI agent was doing trampling into a local crime scene, Agent Philips told him he was there to check for possible connections between the bus murder and several FBI files. Marks wanted to know what files exactly. Philips politely told him to go to hell. That was right about where it started to get loud.
In the end Sean simply pointed out that if Marks made some phone calls he'd find that he had every ounce of authority necessary to claim federal jurisdiction. Word should be passed that he was in town and that he'd be by the local station to talk with the investigating officers the next morning.
Marks left after fixing the crime scene tape and threatening several times to make the phone calls. Sean wasn't worried, he actually found it amusing. His ass was completely covered.
The venue was wrong, but he had to admit the murder scene felt right. Most of the time there was no evidence left behind at all, but when he did leave a mess behind it usually looked allot like the inside of the bus. Combining that with what he'd read in the report…
Sean sent a silent apology to his superiors and headed towards the hotel.
He wondered who'd named it Smallville. It was a name completely opposed to the kind of growth most towns craved. New factories, new stores, new homes, the entire process considered desirable across America had been stressed as unwanted, all with the choice of a name. It seemed reasonably suitable, though maybe Moderately-Sizedville would have been even more appropriate as, so far, the place seemed larger than he'd expected. Either way Smallville was a complete waste of time; it might make a half-decent tourist spot but it didn't seem a likely location for their quarry.
Ours is not to question why…
Sean let a half smile creep onto his face at the thought. He'd take a look around, phone in that the report had been bogus, and then go investigate a real lead. It was no big deal.
The hotel lot was almost empty with the noticeable exception of a large bus that dominated the area. Sean parked his rental vehicle behind it and turned off the ignition.
He'd be out of there in a half hour, twenty minutes at most.
Moving from the sterile environment of the air-conditioned car to the rural exterior hit him like a ton of bricks. It was… fresh. No better word explained the subtle nuances that seemed to be missing from the breeze. Sean shook his head and slammed the car door. Something just didn't seem right about a place without smog.
Half way to the hotel a flash of yellow caught his attention and after a brief debate he shifted his path to intersect with the bus doors instead. Two pieces of crime scene tape crisscrossed over the entrance practically shouting out "do not enter." Sean simply reached up and pealed it back from the right hand side, he was fairly sure the warning wasn't meant for him. Bracing himself he wedged his fingers between the two door flaps and pulled, straining a little before they decided to give way and allow entrance.
Rancid. The new scent came wafting out and he found himself coughing in reflex. God what a disgusting smell. Stepping gingerly inside he kept one arm in front of his face; he knew it wouldn't really help but he let himself pretend anyway. From the top of the steps it became immediately evident what was causing the stench. Easy to see in the sunlight, a dark black layer of congealed blood covered an entire row like a mold. Walking forward he tried to bury his disgust.
What the hell was with the local police? There's a point at which you finish with a crime scene and clean it the hell up. Of course it didn't hurt for him to see it with his own eyes, but it's not like they'd known he was coming.
The click of a hammer being cocked behind him punctuated the last thought.
"Put your hands up, slowly." An older voice, not a trigger-happy rookie at least, they were always dangerous. Sean slowly raised his hands and turned around.
"Front left inside pocket officer, I'm a federal agent." He said it quietly and calmly, not in a hurry to piss of a person pointing a gun at him. The police officer just scowled.
"Federal agent my ass. Get on the ground, put your hands on your head, then we'll see if you've really got a badge or not." His gun never wavered.
Sean took a long glance at the congealed blood covering most of the floor near where he'd stopped, turning to look back at the officer he raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you could just shoot me instead? I think it'd be more humane."
The policeman just blinked, it wasn't the response he'd been expecting. Finally he admitted wryly that yes, it probably would be. Coming to a resolution he stepped forward, keeping the gun pointed at Sean's chest while reaching inside to find the badge. During this operation Sean made sure he didn't move a muscle, at that distance he was fairly certain the policeman would shoot first, ask questions later.
The badge was where Sean had said it would be, and the officer took a good long look before saying anything. "Agent Philips?" Sean simply nodded in reply. Reaching to his belt the officer grabbed a radio and sent out a request for confirmation on the badge number. A minute later the two were outside the bus and Sean was no long at gunpoint.
He liked it better that way.
The conversation was long, loud, and quite angry. Officer Marks wanted to know just what the hell an FBI agent was doing trampling into a local crime scene, Agent Philips told him he was there to check for possible connections between the bus murder and several FBI files. Marks wanted to know what files exactly. Philips politely told him to go to hell. That was right about where it started to get loud.
In the end Sean simply pointed out that if Marks made some phone calls he'd find that he had every ounce of authority necessary to claim federal jurisdiction. Word should be passed that he was in town and that he'd be by the local station to talk with the investigating officers the next morning.
Marks left after fixing the crime scene tape and threatening several times to make the phone calls. Sean wasn't worried, he actually found it amusing. His ass was completely covered.
The venue was wrong, but he had to admit the murder scene felt right. Most of the time there was no evidence left behind at all, but when he did leave a mess behind it usually looked allot like the inside of the bus. Combining that with what he'd read in the report…
Sean sent a silent apology to his superiors and headed towards the hotel.
