The Scene Before That - Inspecting the Scene of the Crime
"Detective Montoya!"
The officer hurried up to her as she parked the car in the warehouse car park, near the taped off crime scene. She recognised him, had worked with him a couple of times before.
"Sergeant Hayward?"
He gave her a strained smile in response. "That's me. So where's your new partner? Slacking off already?"
"Could be. Off sick, apparently with the flu that's going around. So what's happening? You look a little stressed."
"Make that queasy. I warn you, the crime scene's… pretty messy. I've had to send even my more experienced officers out for some fresh air."
She took a deep breath. Wonderful. "Okay, so lets walk and you can give me some details while I psych myself up."
"Sounds fair. We think we've got a pretty good idea what the motive for the murders was, mainly because we were about to arrest the victims for it."
"The arson at the new clinic, right?"
"Right. Taking it from the beginning, it goes like this: St. Michael's was a free medical clinic for the homeless and poverty stricken that opened soon after Gotham crawled out of No-Man's Land. It was set up in an old church and funded by donations, a large portion of them from Wayne Enterprises."
"No surprise. Wayne funds half the charity organizations in Gotham. Don't know what we'd do without him, frankly."
"Tell me about it. I don't think it's likely to be relevant anyway, but I thought I should mention it. In any case, St. Michael's was known for taking in pretty much anyone in need, regardless of circumstances. Unfortunately it seems that it's just that kind of charity that made it a target. The clinic had two members of the Manic street gang at the clinic and was treating them for knife injuries. There's apparently a massive feud between the Manics and the Eightballs at the moment."
"So the Eightballs burned down the clinic."
"All the evidence points to it, yeah. There were 35 innocent people in the clinic at the time. Only 15 got out."
"I saw the report. Bastards"
"I'd almost say they deserved what they got, but…" He paused and looked uncomfortable.
Montoya felt she needed to prompt. "So anyway…"
"Right, yeah. So we investigated and came to the conclusion that the Eightballs were responsible. Luck and an anonymous tip gave us here as their hideout, so we went in for a raid this morning."
"But someone had got there first."
"Oh yeah. And it was someone who wasn't happy with the Eightballs. You ready?" Hayward paused by the warehouse door and looked to her. Montoya nodded and he opened it.
She sucked in a breath. Dios. This was… My god. They hadn't been killed. Killed wasn't a strong enough word for what had been done to them. They'd been slaughtered.
The Eightballs had been a tough gang, comparatively speaking. The Eightballs hadn't had a chance. Their leader's remains were nailed to the wall, his eyes gouged out, his hands mutilated into bloody stumps, but at least his body was whole. The others had been hacked apart. Body parts decorated the warehouse interior, feet, arms, tongues. Blood… there was blood everywhere. Blood painted the walls. Entrails painted the floors. The smell of death was pervasive.
She stared, unable to look away.
Hayward cleared his throat. "There… there is evidence that many of them were still alive when some of the body parts were cut off. Most of the legs are broken. We think that the killer disabled them and… well… He started small… fingers, tongues…"
"He wanted them to die in pain. My god."
"Yeah. That's pretty much it. This is pretty hellish stuff. I mean, these guys were killers, but…"
"I know." Montoya took a calming breath, rubbed her fingers over her eyes. "I know what you mean."
"Ahh, so I… Shall I leave you to take a better look?"
She looked at him sympathetically. She couldn't blame him for wanting to leave here, it sounded like a good idea to her as well. But she had a job to do. She was a homicide detective.
Tune it out, just like you always do. Don't think about it.
"That'll be fine. I'll get back to you in a sec, okay?"
"Sure."
She turned from him and walked into the killing grounds.
***
"Detective Montoya!"
The officer hurried up to her as she parked the car in the warehouse car park, near the taped off crime scene. She recognised him, had worked with him a couple of times before.
"Sergeant Hayward?"
He gave her a strained smile in response. "That's me. So where's your new partner? Slacking off already?"
"Could be. Off sick, apparently with the flu that's going around. So what's happening? You look a little stressed."
"Make that queasy. I warn you, the crime scene's… pretty messy. I've had to send even my more experienced officers out for some fresh air."
She took a deep breath. Wonderful. "Okay, so lets walk and you can give me some details while I psych myself up."
"Sounds fair. We think we've got a pretty good idea what the motive for the murders was, mainly because we were about to arrest the victims for it."
"The arson at the new clinic, right?"
"Right. Taking it from the beginning, it goes like this: St. Michael's was a free medical clinic for the homeless and poverty stricken that opened soon after Gotham crawled out of No-Man's Land. It was set up in an old church and funded by donations, a large portion of them from Wayne Enterprises."
"No surprise. Wayne funds half the charity organizations in Gotham. Don't know what we'd do without him, frankly."
"Tell me about it. I don't think it's likely to be relevant anyway, but I thought I should mention it. In any case, St. Michael's was known for taking in pretty much anyone in need, regardless of circumstances. Unfortunately it seems that it's just that kind of charity that made it a target. The clinic had two members of the Manic street gang at the clinic and was treating them for knife injuries. There's apparently a massive feud between the Manics and the Eightballs at the moment."
"So the Eightballs burned down the clinic."
"All the evidence points to it, yeah. There were 35 innocent people in the clinic at the time. Only 15 got out."
"I saw the report. Bastards"
"I'd almost say they deserved what they got, but…" He paused and looked uncomfortable.
Montoya felt she needed to prompt. "So anyway…"
"Right, yeah. So we investigated and came to the conclusion that the Eightballs were responsible. Luck and an anonymous tip gave us here as their hideout, so we went in for a raid this morning."
"But someone had got there first."
"Oh yeah. And it was someone who wasn't happy with the Eightballs. You ready?" Hayward paused by the warehouse door and looked to her. Montoya nodded and he opened it.
She sucked in a breath. Dios. This was… My god. They hadn't been killed. Killed wasn't a strong enough word for what had been done to them. They'd been slaughtered.
The Eightballs had been a tough gang, comparatively speaking. The Eightballs hadn't had a chance. Their leader's remains were nailed to the wall, his eyes gouged out, his hands mutilated into bloody stumps, but at least his body was whole. The others had been hacked apart. Body parts decorated the warehouse interior, feet, arms, tongues. Blood… there was blood everywhere. Blood painted the walls. Entrails painted the floors. The smell of death was pervasive.
She stared, unable to look away.
Hayward cleared his throat. "There… there is evidence that many of them were still alive when some of the body parts were cut off. Most of the legs are broken. We think that the killer disabled them and… well… He started small… fingers, tongues…"
"He wanted them to die in pain. My god."
"Yeah. That's pretty much it. This is pretty hellish stuff. I mean, these guys were killers, but…"
"I know." Montoya took a calming breath, rubbed her fingers over her eyes. "I know what you mean."
"Ahh, so I… Shall I leave you to take a better look?"
She looked at him sympathetically. She couldn't blame him for wanting to leave here, it sounded like a good idea to her as well. But she had a job to do. She was a homicide detective.
Tune it out, just like you always do. Don't think about it.
"That'll be fine. I'll get back to you in a sec, okay?"
"Sure."
She turned from him and walked into the killing grounds.
***