Title: In the Still of the Night
Author: ScoobySnax
Email: Malibu520@aol.com
Rating: R
Category: Fantasy
Content: B/A (JUST FOR NOW!!), C/A (eventually), C/S friendship
Summary: As detectives in LA, Liam Cavanaugh and Charles Gunn have to find a serial killer who is disemboweling his victims.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: ST and anyone else if you want it.
Feedback: Please, please, PLEASE!!!!!
-Chapter One-
"Whassup, man?" were the first words from Charles Gunn, as he fell into his chair across from his dark-haired partner. Dressed in his usual casual garb, he was a stark contrast to most of the detectives in the station, especially his black-clad partner.
Across from him, the man in question looked up wearily, rubbing his face with his hands. Gunn, as he was called, knew that expression very well, unfortunately.
"Uh-oh. What happened? Please don't tell me it's the Chaulk case, PLEASE?!" From the expression on his partner's face, Gunn already knew the answer. It was definitely not a good one. "Fuck."
"You're tellin' me."
"What happened, man? We had that piece of shit, we had him!" Gunn shouted, slamming his fist on his desk. His brown eyes were blazing in fury; he was ready to tear apart whoever had messed up the case they had worked so hard on.
"Bethany has refused to testify in court." Liam said this slowly, ending with a sigh. His forehead creased and he sank further into his chair. The black-on-black clothing reflected the dark mood that he was carrying and Gunn knew that the only reason Liam wasn't banging his fist was because he had more self-control. But the dark-haired man was definitely feeling the signs of his control breaking, though he probably wouldn't be too fast to admit it.
"You're fucking kidding me." The anger had fused with a look of disbelief.
"I wish." He sighed again. This was not his day, not his day at all. And this was bad, really bad.
It had taken Charles Gunn and Liam "Angel" Cavanaugh over six months to finally convince Bethany Chaulk to come clean about her father, and the fact that the man that was supposed to protect her had been her worst enemy. For years had he had molested her; he had become her rapist.
"You don't think…" Gunn trailed off, looking at his friend, hoping he wouldn't confirm his thoughts.
"Yeah. I do." He did. 'Damn,' Gunn swore in his head.
It was money. That's what it all came down to. Aaron Chaulk was a wealthy investment banker in L.A. His wife stayed at home, had never worked a day in her life. And both she and Bethany knew that if Bethany testified against Aaron, they would lose everything. And they did NOT want to lose everything. More accurately, Barbara Chaulk didn't want to lose everything. His law firm had a history of going for the throat. So they vouched for the sad excuse for a human being, Aaron Chaulk. And Aaron's little rabbit belonged to him once again.
"FUCK!" the dark-skinned man repeated, slamming his fist on his desk once more. "I am gonna kill that mother-fucker. I'm gonna KILL him!!!! We worked so goddamn hard! It was two goddamn months before the girl even SPOKE!"
He thought back to when he first saw Bethany, head wrapped in gauze in the cold hospital room, her shining eyes blank and the beginnings of a bruise under her eye. It was the first night she had ever fought back.
"Have you had MacClay talk to her?" Gunn asked hopefully, after taking several deep breaths to calm himself. Dr. Tara MacClay was the LAPD psychologist, trained to work with victims of sexual assault, especially children. She had always pulled through for the pair and Gunn was willing to try anything to put Aaron Chaulk behind bars.
"Yeah. And she won't talk to her. At all. And she never talked to anyone else. Chaulk said it was a big misunderstanding. She just wanted attention. The usual stuff."
Angel looked down at his desk, curbing the urge to punch someone, to break something. 'Self control, self control, self control, deep breaths…' he followed Gunn in composing himself with deep breathing.
"Fuck." That was all Gunn could say. "Fuck." The shock of the latest events seemed to have stunted his vocabulary to only that particular expletive. "Fuck."
The pair sat in silence; both thinking of what Aaron could be and probably was doing to Bethany, and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. "We told her we would make him stop. We promised." Gunn said quietly.
"Yeah," Angel whispered. "I know." He looked down.
The two men were jolted from their depressing thoughts by a yell from the opposite side of the room.
"Cavanaugh! Gunn!" A stocky man with a white hair and broad shoulders strode across the room to his two best detectives.
"What's goin' on Cap'n? You look freaked." This was said with slightly less enthusiasm than usual, with Gunn's nerves almost at the breaking point. He took another deep breath. The captain was too frazzled to notice the change in usual tone.
"Well, there's good reason for that." Captain George Haviland, the former colonel of the Army and current captain of LAPD Homicide Division Special Section I and II indeed looked 'freaked', as much as he could look. The usually stoic captain was frowning at the piece of paper he held in his hand and shaking his gray head. Yup, that was frazzled for Captain Haviland. "There's been another homicide. Same as the last two; this one is in an apartment off Olympic."
Gunn was already out of his seat and Angel grabbed his leather jacket from his chair as they ran out to their car and sped onto Olympic to see what kind of mess yet another sicko had left for them.
-0-0-
Gunn and Angel pulled up to a quaint stucco building with palm trees in the front. It could have been perfectly ordinary except for the fact that police cars and news vans surrounded it. Gunn looked around, his eyes narrowed. Angel was staring at the apartment building and the news vans stonily.
"Why are the news dicks always here before we are?"
"I was wondering the same thing," Angel replied as they both crossed over the police line and walked towards the door surrounded by even more yellow tape.
An officer approached them with a serious look.
"This is police business boys, you can't come past here." He made a move to push them back behind the line. "Now if you'll just leave, there won't be any trouble."
"I'm Detective Cavanaugh and this is Detective Gunn, we're here from Homicide Special Section. We've been told there was another killing," snapped Angel, with a look daring the older and shorter officer to object.
"There sure has been." Three pairs of eyes jumped to a redhead in a blue jacket that read 'Coroner' on the front pocket. "These guys are with me," she said, nodding to the detectives as the officer let them through.
"Whatcha got Will?" Gunn asked, ignoring the officer's embarrassed apology. The redhead turned to him with a grim smile.
"Nothing good." Nether detectives were expecting the other alternative.
Dr. Willow Rosenberg, Assistant Chief Medical Examiner, had worked with Gunn and Cavanaugh on many cases and knew them rather well, and knew all of the things the pair had dealt with so far in the city.
"When did the dicks get here?" Angel asked, following Dr. Rosenberg up a flight of stairs.
"Before the cops," she said darkly. "They wanted in the room, but the girlfriend locked the door and sat there, screaming her head off. The girl was in hysterics when I got here."
Angel and Gunn shook their heads in disgust. They didn't have much respect for the so-called "journalists" of Los Angeles. All they wanted was a story.
"They take her down to the station?"
"Yeah, a little while ago. I thought they were gonna sedate her!" Rosenberg paused at the door.
"They're calling him the L.A. Ripper. And looking at this mess, I believe it's appropriate." She led them into the apartment bright in the morning light. The trio walked to the back and into a bedroom and the redhead inclined her head towards the sheet-covered corpse on the bed. "See for yourself." She stood where she was, giving the two some space.
Gunn walked over to the bed and yanked the sheet back.
"Awww, fuck." It seemed to be his word of the day.
There lay the mangled body of a young woman. She was in the nude, her highlighted blonde hair matted across her face with dried blood. Her eyes were wide in shock, her body only now starting rigor. Her face was pretty, and had remnants of makeup from the previous night; eyeliner, mascara and smudged lipstick. It did nothing to make her seem peaceful. The two sets of eyes lowered and caught sight of the gaping hole in the girl's stomach. She had been eviscerated. But worst of all, she couldn't be past age twenty.
Gunn's face seemed to be frozen in a look of revulsion. Angel's wasn't too much different. Both had the urge to vomit, even tough they were supposed to deal with this kind of thing almost daily.
"Obviously, she died from disembowelment, just like the others." Willow's sudden comments made them turn their heads back to her. The pretty redhead briskly walked in between the two. "Around three hours ago, the body temp has only lowered three and a half degrees. Her friend came in this morning looking for her and found her. Lockley arrived first on the scene; she took the girl down to the station for questioning."
Angel had yet to say a word. He stood staring at the girl for a long moment, and then asked, "Do we know her name?"
"I don't. I'll run her through missing persons, but I don't know what we'll come up with."
"Try CODIS too," said Gunn, looking away from the empty face of the teenager. The grimace was frozen on his face.
"We need to get some people in here to take pictures." Gunn looked at Angel, still staring intently into the corpse's face. Even though she held no resemblance to his dead sister, Kathy, he could tell that was what was crossing Angel's mind.
Kathy was young, eighteen, her life ahead of her, when she was raped and killed. Every time Angel found about cases similar to his sister's, he became deeply involved in his work, completely focused. Gunn couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose his sister, and respected Angel's silences, making sure his partner always knew he was there for him. This was one of those times.
"I'll call them in," Gunn spoke up again, knowing that Angel had his mind on other things. "Who's the CSI?"
"Levinson," responded Rosenberg.
"Is Walsh still workin' on the case?" Gunn asked, referring to the Chief Medical Examiner of Los Angeles.
"Yeah, she just couldn't be here right now. Sent me."
"Good. I got the two best on my side. Thanks Will." Gunn clapped a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get back to the office. Angel slowly tore his eyes from the body.
"Yeah. Let's go." He looked back once more at the empty face of the teen. "We have work to do." He said forcefully, and strode out of the building.
-0-0-
"Whadja find, girl?" asked Gunn, walking into the morgue a few hours later with Angel in tow. It hadn't taken long for the dead girl's friend to tell the two detectives information concerning her dead friend. They knew her name was Laura and worked at a 7-11, but not much else. When she didn't show for work that day, her friend came in to check on her, thinking she was sick. She wasn't.
Gunn continued speaking to Willow in a casual tone, as if they weren't speaking about the body of a girl that had been found with her innards torn to bits.
"Not much, not that I'm surprised. Just her age. She was seventeen. A lot younger than she looked." She paused, taking a breath for what she was about to say. Angel winced, and Gunn stared at a corner, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. She didn't just look young. She was young. She was just a little girl.
"And she wasn't raped, like I said before but as always there was evidence of sexual intercourse. But, as usual, nothing but spermicide and a little bruising - and that could just be from doing it rough. And of course, no defensive wounds."
"Just like always," Gunn muttered.
"Well, we did find some fibers, maybe this time, this asshole left something for us." Willow scanned the corpse again. "I sent the fibers to trace, straight to Fred; I know you and she are close."
"No doubt," answered Gunn. "We're tight. She'll come through for us ASAP."
"And we ran got a hit on her fingerprints. She was a hooker and a druggie," said Willow. "Arrested on a few counts, first one was about a year ago."
"What?!" Gunn exclaimed; none of the other victims had been prostitutes.
"Yeah, I was surprised too," Willow shrugged, unsure as to what that meant.
"Name?" asked Angel, curious about this new development.
"Laura Ashley. But I'm pretty sure it's fake." Willow responded with a smirk.
"How else would she get into that club," Gunn shrugged. "At least that's the same name we have her as," he muttered, checking his notepad.
"Got an address?"
"Yeah, it's of a halfway house downtown. East Hills." That was funny. Then who did that apartment belong to?
Gunn spoke up again. "I know the owner. Her name's Anne. Cool girl. I'll hit her up."
"You got anything else, Will?" The woman resumed her scan of the corpse.
"She was a heavy drug user. I found copious amounts of heroin in her blood. She has had broken bones before but they healed properly; someone was caring for her. She has old bruises on her arms and vagina. Most likely from johns or her pimp. But, they seemed to have healed well. She's been in good shape lately. The drugs hadn't been in her system for long - she probably shot up that night. Her arms have recent track marks, but only a few. It must have been a while since she last shot up. I guess last night was her first time in a while and her last time forever." Willow pulled the white sheet back over the face of Laura.
She was silent as the two detectives let the grim words sink in.
"Thanks Willow, thanks a lot. We don't trust anyone else with the case." The redhead smiled, quietly enjoying their praise. It was as almost as important as the commendations she received from her mentor, Dr. Maggie Walsh. She admired her more than any other person; it was her standards she worked up to. But compliments from these two were almost as meaningful.
"Come on, Angel, we're gonna go downtown and talk to my friend," said Gunn quietly, gently tugging on his partner's arm, knowing his thoughts.
And Gunn was right. All Angel could think about was how his sister's death was the worst thing that could happen. That she had a life ahead of her. That she shouldn't have died. And somewhere deep inside of him, he wanted to scream that this girl deserved it. Kathy was better - she never should have been the one to go. But he knew that was wrong.
"Yeah," he answered slowly, thoughts still on his sister. "Let's go."
-0-0-
Cordelia Chase is not a pawn. Cordelia Chase will not be bought. Cordelia Chase will not be manipulated. Cordelia Chase is above those petty things. Cordelia Chase will not respond to begging.
"Anne, NO! Are you crazy? I am NOT going on a date with him! He's…he's…NO!" Cordelia Chase will not be swayed.
"Cordy, he's a nice man! And he really likes you, I can tell. He asks about you whenever I get to see him---" Cordelia Chase will not be convinced.
"Anne, I don't care. I could not care LESS! I do NOT want to go on a date with Russell what's-his-face---" Cordelia Chase will not give in. "Besides, why's he always at a law firm? He's not even a LAWYER! He can't be there for a good reason."
Anne snorted in annoyance.
"Cordelia, he's there because--"
"ANNE!!!" 'Saved by the yell,' thought Cordy, running away from her friend and into the next room, attempting to wake-up the sleeping form of a young woman in a bed. "ANNE!!! There's someone here for you!"
The long-haired blonde glared in the direction of her darker-haired friend.
"Coming! I'm coming!" Anne hurried down the stairs and into the lobby of the hotel to see an old friend and a stranger. One was sitting comfortably and one sitting awkwardly respectively in two beat-up chairs.
"Gunn!!" Gunn jumped up into the arms of the willowy blonde and smiled in her embrace. "What's good girl, I haven't seen you in a minute."
Angel looked over the girl, who he assumed was Anne. She was tall and slim, with long blonde hair parted in the center. Her bright blue eyes and full pink lips were smiling brightly. She had on blue jeans and a red short-sleeved shirt, was barefoot and he could read a tattoo on her arm that read, 'Rich' in half of a heart. He was jolted from his careful scrutiny when he heard the voice of his partner.
"And, this is my partner Detective Liam Cavanaugh."
"Hello," Angel said ceremoniously. "Just call me Angel."
"Hi Angel," Anne said, offering her hand. "How'd you get that name?" Gunn snorted and said quickly,
"It's a long story that no one wants to hear."
"Oh," she paused, stifling a giggle. Every time she heard Gunn say 'It's a long story', it was something not to be discussed, whether it was just a story that annoyed him or it really was long. "Okay. Well, what brings you guys to my lovely establishment?" she asked with a wink.
Lovely must have been a word with many connotations, because this place was far from it. It was a huge rundown building that seemed to be a former hotel. But in the lobby were a few comfortable sofas and chairs, a large desk, and an office. Angel had to admit that it looked homey and comfortable as well as far better on the outside than inside, and looked around the lobby. There were women in various stages of dress, some in what appeared to be pajamas, others in regular clothes.
"Business," the Black man answered with a grim smile to match Willow Rosenberg's.
"Oh. I see. Come into my office." She herded the pair into the office behind the large desk in the lobby and closed the glass door behind them. Several eyes peered through. She waved them away. The women cleared off, back to whatever they were doing before.
"Welcome to the vibrant nerve center of our massive corporation. So what's this 'business' you wanted to see me about?" Anne asked with a smile, walking toward her desk.
"A girl got murdered." Charles Gunn was not one to beat around the bush. "Laura Ashley. Do you---" Anne gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Gunn stopped.
"Laura?? She's…she's dead?? How?? When?? What happened to her?? God, I haven't seen her in four days, I thought she went back to Rack! Oh God." Anne collapsed in the chair behind her desk with tears in her eyes. Angel's eyes narrowed.
"That's about the time she died. It was three days ago," Gunn muttered to himself.
"And this 'Rack' guy…who's he? A boyfriend?" Angel asked cautiously. Anne shook her head and laughed bitterly.
"Sure. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend that pimps her out. Her boyfriend that dopes her up."
"That fucker's still ALIVE?" Gunn said, shocked. "Someone hasn't KILLED HIM yet? That's bullshit."
"So Laura's a prostitute?" Angel leaned forward, ignoring Gunn's outburst. Maybe they were getting somewhere. She knew about Laura's former occupation.
"I'm surprised you didn't figure that out. Where did you find her?"
"In an apartment," responded Angel, taking a seat in front of Anne's desk. Gunn walked to Anne and put his hands on her shoulders, trying what he could to comfort his friend.
Anne looked in Angel's eyes quizzically.
"Where?"
"Right off Olympic."
"That doesn't make any sense," she murmured, eyes empty, staring at the wall somewhere next to Angel's face. "Laura didn't have a house. Not unless she went back to hooking. She was pretty high-class for a while. I know she started renting one a while back. Since she was staying here, I didn't think she lived there any more. Coke has the tendency to drain your finances."
"Well, do you think she could've brought someone back? Would she do that to just anyone?" Angel asked carefully.
"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised. But she came here and she was scared. I don't ask many questions, the girls tell me when they are ready. Do-do you think it was someone she brought home?" Anne then paused, her mouth dropped open as the realization hit her in the face with the force of a train. "It was the L.A. Ripper, wasn't it?"
"We need to ask you a few questions, if that's all right," Angel started, reaching into the inside pocket of his leather duster and pulling out a slim notebook.
"Tell me the truth." Anne turned around and looked right into her friend's eye. Gunn rubbed Anne's shoulders. "Gunn, sit down. You don't need to hold my hand; I'm not a little kid. Now tell me. Was it the L.A. Ripper?"
The newspapers didn't shirk from publicizing the sick and cruel ways of the L.A. Ripper. He, or she, would have sex with the victims and then leave them the next day, eviscerated. There was only one connection between the victims -- the cold and cruel form of murder. The victims were male and female, Black and White, gay and straight. And know one knew how to stop it.
At Anne's words, the young man knew better than to protest. Anne had been through a lot; she was a strong woman. He walked in front of the desk and took a seat next to Angel.
"Yes. We think so. Now…when was the last time you saw Laura?" Gunn asked quietly, putting his hand on Anne's.
"Um, four days ago." Anne whispered. "She came in almost two months ago. She said she only wanted to stay for a few days. Said she was scared of Rack. She didn't make enough money that night. She owed him for drugs. A lot of drugs. She-she was scared. Said she wanted to stay here for a while."
"What exactly is this…establishment?" asked Angel curiously. Gunn was too busy playing loud rap music in the car for him to ask.
"It's a halfway house, like a shelter. Basically for homeless or abused women. We get a lot of prostitutes and drug addicts. But sometimes just a woman trying to get away from her asshole husband. They stay here; they can clean-up and make something of themselves. We connect them with business owners, get them jobs. If they have kids, we can keep them here too. We have family and drug counselors here every day. It's a home for women without homes."
If it weren't for the somber moment, Anne would have been proud. She started East Hills eight years before with a grant from a law firm in Los Angeles. It began as a small building on Crenshaw, but when that burned down, she moved across Los Angeles to the Hyperion Hotel.
Before her life with East Hills, she had been living on the streets with her boyfriend. When he was murdered, she realized that she couldn't live that way. She wanted to help out young girls and women on the down-and-out. She started 'Anne's House' in a run-down apartment building.
Two years after that, she was joined by Cordelia Chase, who became one of the hugest assets of the Hyperion. Yes, her charges had died before, been murdered, but none so viciously as Laura Ashley.
"I see." Angel looked at her again. "But she didn't stay a few days. Why was she here so long?"
"She didn't want to go back. She wanted to get cleaned up. She spent a month in rehab. Came out and stayed here. She started working at a convenience store down the street. I mean, she couldn't do much else, she never finished school."
Now the pair understood why the L.A. Ripper chose her. She looked respectable. She fit what he was looking for. He had no idea who or what she really was.
"Do you have any idea what made her leave?" asked Gunn, resuming the questioning.
"I don't know. We had group therapy that day…maybe it upset her. Sometimes she likes to go on walks by herself…she likes to be alone." Anne trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought, and her eyes were brimming with fresh tears.
"When she didn't come back, I thought she went back to Rack."
"Is he…particularly vicious?" questioned Angel tentatively.
"Not really. He's a business man." Anne gave a harsh laugh. "I don't think he would waste his time trying to be cruel. Maybe one of his little lackeys, but I doubt that. They are too stupid to do much more than a quick rape-and-kill."
"Does he rape any of his hookers?" Angel said bluntly.
"He thinks he owns them. He wouldn't consider it rape." She shook her head slowly, sniffing and wiping away tears. "But I said before, Laura was high-class. Yeah, Rack has some of those hookers who stand on corners, but he also has his own brothel. It caters to every type. But the girls have to be clean. He likes to get them young and bring them up. When a little girl is lost and alone in the city, it looks like a great place. Food, shelter, a warm place to sleep at night. Just for a little sex on the side."
"That's when the drugs come in," Gunn interjected. "He has to keep them somehow. All the girls do it. The little ones don't think much of it until it's too late," he finished softly, glancing at Anne. He was born and raised on the streets. He knew how the gig went.
"Yep. That's basically it," Anne nodded in solemn agreement.
"Is there a way to get in touch with him? He sounds like the last person to have seen Laura, if she did go back to him," Angel asked carefully.
"Yeah, a few of the girls here 'work' for him."
"Do you think we can talk to them?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll go get them." Anne left her chair and walked slowly to the door to her office. She turned around to look Gunn in the eye and whispered a simple request. "Can-can we bury her?"
Gunn jumped up and wrapped his arms around Anne just as she burst into tears.
"Shhh, girl, we're gonna find the bastard that did this. Don't worry. Me and Angel are the best."
"She-she was so young!" Anne sobbed into Gunn's shoulder. "She was so goddamn young." Gunn just held Anne while she cried. There was nothing else he could do.
-0-0-
Gunn drove back to the station house, Tupac blaring on the speakers. 'No Manilow this time, bro.' He was taking advantage of driving, since Angel never let him have the wheel. He was tired of Angel's music, anyway. He didn't say anything, knowing that Angel didn't want to think about the case, it brought back to many memories of his sister. No, she wasn't a prostitute, but yes, it was a vicious murder and she was young. She shouldn't have died. Anne's words in her sobs really hit him hard.
"Now lemme welcome everybody to the wild, wild west! A state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest--"
"-Pack a vest for your Jimmy in the city of sex'!!" Angel cut in unconsciously. The Black man turned to his partner in the passenger's seat and burst out laughing.
"You got it, man. I knew that you would get into it one of these days. Tryin' to act like you weren't listening."
"Tupac's hot shit."
Gunn laughed so hard he thought his sides were splitting and for a second, he thought he was going to crash.
"Oh God, oh good Lord."
"What's so damn funny?"
"Nothing white boy. Not a thing."
The pair got out of their cars and walked into the station house.
"CAPTAIN!" Gunn shouted, walking into the station and towards the captain's office.
"Dammit, must you yell that way?" Haviland snapped, opening his door to admit Angel and Gunn.
"Yup." Gunn flopped down unceremoniously into a chair across from the former colonel's desk as Angel took the seat next to him.
"So, what have you learned?" the gray-haired man asked, walking behind hs desk and settling himself into his chair.
"Well, Laura Ashley did live at the address she gave us. At least sometimes. It's a halfway house. Mostly battered women, drug addicts, et cetera. Anne, the owner, didn't know her by any other name and neither did anyone else." Angel looked back down at his notes and resumed speaking. "She's a hooker. Her pimp is--"
"Some asshole named Rack," snapped Gunn, voice dripping with venom. "His specialty is little girls."
"Have you investigated this 'Rack'?"
"Not yet. We're getting to it," replied Gunn. "We gotta talk to Fred down in Trace."
"I presume Miss Burkle will have some significant information."
"Doesn't she always?"
"And we're gonna talk to Rack after that."
"Good. Anything else?" Haviland looked at Angel questioningly.
"No, not yet.
"Alright, I'll check in with you both later." The captain dropped his head to his desk and the two men knew they were dismissed.
"Alright, to the asshole's." Angel looked up Rack's address and ten minutes later they were on their way.
Author: ScoobySnax
Email: Malibu520@aol.com
Rating: R
Category: Fantasy
Content: B/A (JUST FOR NOW!!), C/A (eventually), C/S friendship
Summary: As detectives in LA, Liam Cavanaugh and Charles Gunn have to find a serial killer who is disemboweling his victims.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: ST and anyone else if you want it.
Feedback: Please, please, PLEASE!!!!!
-Chapter One-
"Whassup, man?" were the first words from Charles Gunn, as he fell into his chair across from his dark-haired partner. Dressed in his usual casual garb, he was a stark contrast to most of the detectives in the station, especially his black-clad partner.
Across from him, the man in question looked up wearily, rubbing his face with his hands. Gunn, as he was called, knew that expression very well, unfortunately.
"Uh-oh. What happened? Please don't tell me it's the Chaulk case, PLEASE?!" From the expression on his partner's face, Gunn already knew the answer. It was definitely not a good one. "Fuck."
"You're tellin' me."
"What happened, man? We had that piece of shit, we had him!" Gunn shouted, slamming his fist on his desk. His brown eyes were blazing in fury; he was ready to tear apart whoever had messed up the case they had worked so hard on.
"Bethany has refused to testify in court." Liam said this slowly, ending with a sigh. His forehead creased and he sank further into his chair. The black-on-black clothing reflected the dark mood that he was carrying and Gunn knew that the only reason Liam wasn't banging his fist was because he had more self-control. But the dark-haired man was definitely feeling the signs of his control breaking, though he probably wouldn't be too fast to admit it.
"You're fucking kidding me." The anger had fused with a look of disbelief.
"I wish." He sighed again. This was not his day, not his day at all. And this was bad, really bad.
It had taken Charles Gunn and Liam "Angel" Cavanaugh over six months to finally convince Bethany Chaulk to come clean about her father, and the fact that the man that was supposed to protect her had been her worst enemy. For years had he had molested her; he had become her rapist.
"You don't think…" Gunn trailed off, looking at his friend, hoping he wouldn't confirm his thoughts.
"Yeah. I do." He did. 'Damn,' Gunn swore in his head.
It was money. That's what it all came down to. Aaron Chaulk was a wealthy investment banker in L.A. His wife stayed at home, had never worked a day in her life. And both she and Bethany knew that if Bethany testified against Aaron, they would lose everything. And they did NOT want to lose everything. More accurately, Barbara Chaulk didn't want to lose everything. His law firm had a history of going for the throat. So they vouched for the sad excuse for a human being, Aaron Chaulk. And Aaron's little rabbit belonged to him once again.
"FUCK!" the dark-skinned man repeated, slamming his fist on his desk once more. "I am gonna kill that mother-fucker. I'm gonna KILL him!!!! We worked so goddamn hard! It was two goddamn months before the girl even SPOKE!"
He thought back to when he first saw Bethany, head wrapped in gauze in the cold hospital room, her shining eyes blank and the beginnings of a bruise under her eye. It was the first night she had ever fought back.
"Have you had MacClay talk to her?" Gunn asked hopefully, after taking several deep breaths to calm himself. Dr. Tara MacClay was the LAPD psychologist, trained to work with victims of sexual assault, especially children. She had always pulled through for the pair and Gunn was willing to try anything to put Aaron Chaulk behind bars.
"Yeah. And she won't talk to her. At all. And she never talked to anyone else. Chaulk said it was a big misunderstanding. She just wanted attention. The usual stuff."
Angel looked down at his desk, curbing the urge to punch someone, to break something. 'Self control, self control, self control, deep breaths…' he followed Gunn in composing himself with deep breathing.
"Fuck." That was all Gunn could say. "Fuck." The shock of the latest events seemed to have stunted his vocabulary to only that particular expletive. "Fuck."
The pair sat in silence; both thinking of what Aaron could be and probably was doing to Bethany, and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. "We told her we would make him stop. We promised." Gunn said quietly.
"Yeah," Angel whispered. "I know." He looked down.
The two men were jolted from their depressing thoughts by a yell from the opposite side of the room.
"Cavanaugh! Gunn!" A stocky man with a white hair and broad shoulders strode across the room to his two best detectives.
"What's goin' on Cap'n? You look freaked." This was said with slightly less enthusiasm than usual, with Gunn's nerves almost at the breaking point. He took another deep breath. The captain was too frazzled to notice the change in usual tone.
"Well, there's good reason for that." Captain George Haviland, the former colonel of the Army and current captain of LAPD Homicide Division Special Section I and II indeed looked 'freaked', as much as he could look. The usually stoic captain was frowning at the piece of paper he held in his hand and shaking his gray head. Yup, that was frazzled for Captain Haviland. "There's been another homicide. Same as the last two; this one is in an apartment off Olympic."
Gunn was already out of his seat and Angel grabbed his leather jacket from his chair as they ran out to their car and sped onto Olympic to see what kind of mess yet another sicko had left for them.
-0-0-
Gunn and Angel pulled up to a quaint stucco building with palm trees in the front. It could have been perfectly ordinary except for the fact that police cars and news vans surrounded it. Gunn looked around, his eyes narrowed. Angel was staring at the apartment building and the news vans stonily.
"Why are the news dicks always here before we are?"
"I was wondering the same thing," Angel replied as they both crossed over the police line and walked towards the door surrounded by even more yellow tape.
An officer approached them with a serious look.
"This is police business boys, you can't come past here." He made a move to push them back behind the line. "Now if you'll just leave, there won't be any trouble."
"I'm Detective Cavanaugh and this is Detective Gunn, we're here from Homicide Special Section. We've been told there was another killing," snapped Angel, with a look daring the older and shorter officer to object.
"There sure has been." Three pairs of eyes jumped to a redhead in a blue jacket that read 'Coroner' on the front pocket. "These guys are with me," she said, nodding to the detectives as the officer let them through.
"Whatcha got Will?" Gunn asked, ignoring the officer's embarrassed apology. The redhead turned to him with a grim smile.
"Nothing good." Nether detectives were expecting the other alternative.
Dr. Willow Rosenberg, Assistant Chief Medical Examiner, had worked with Gunn and Cavanaugh on many cases and knew them rather well, and knew all of the things the pair had dealt with so far in the city.
"When did the dicks get here?" Angel asked, following Dr. Rosenberg up a flight of stairs.
"Before the cops," she said darkly. "They wanted in the room, but the girlfriend locked the door and sat there, screaming her head off. The girl was in hysterics when I got here."
Angel and Gunn shook their heads in disgust. They didn't have much respect for the so-called "journalists" of Los Angeles. All they wanted was a story.
"They take her down to the station?"
"Yeah, a little while ago. I thought they were gonna sedate her!" Rosenberg paused at the door.
"They're calling him the L.A. Ripper. And looking at this mess, I believe it's appropriate." She led them into the apartment bright in the morning light. The trio walked to the back and into a bedroom and the redhead inclined her head towards the sheet-covered corpse on the bed. "See for yourself." She stood where she was, giving the two some space.
Gunn walked over to the bed and yanked the sheet back.
"Awww, fuck." It seemed to be his word of the day.
There lay the mangled body of a young woman. She was in the nude, her highlighted blonde hair matted across her face with dried blood. Her eyes were wide in shock, her body only now starting rigor. Her face was pretty, and had remnants of makeup from the previous night; eyeliner, mascara and smudged lipstick. It did nothing to make her seem peaceful. The two sets of eyes lowered and caught sight of the gaping hole in the girl's stomach. She had been eviscerated. But worst of all, she couldn't be past age twenty.
Gunn's face seemed to be frozen in a look of revulsion. Angel's wasn't too much different. Both had the urge to vomit, even tough they were supposed to deal with this kind of thing almost daily.
"Obviously, she died from disembowelment, just like the others." Willow's sudden comments made them turn their heads back to her. The pretty redhead briskly walked in between the two. "Around three hours ago, the body temp has only lowered three and a half degrees. Her friend came in this morning looking for her and found her. Lockley arrived first on the scene; she took the girl down to the station for questioning."
Angel had yet to say a word. He stood staring at the girl for a long moment, and then asked, "Do we know her name?"
"I don't. I'll run her through missing persons, but I don't know what we'll come up with."
"Try CODIS too," said Gunn, looking away from the empty face of the teenager. The grimace was frozen on his face.
"We need to get some people in here to take pictures." Gunn looked at Angel, still staring intently into the corpse's face. Even though she held no resemblance to his dead sister, Kathy, he could tell that was what was crossing Angel's mind.
Kathy was young, eighteen, her life ahead of her, when she was raped and killed. Every time Angel found about cases similar to his sister's, he became deeply involved in his work, completely focused. Gunn couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose his sister, and respected Angel's silences, making sure his partner always knew he was there for him. This was one of those times.
"I'll call them in," Gunn spoke up again, knowing that Angel had his mind on other things. "Who's the CSI?"
"Levinson," responded Rosenberg.
"Is Walsh still workin' on the case?" Gunn asked, referring to the Chief Medical Examiner of Los Angeles.
"Yeah, she just couldn't be here right now. Sent me."
"Good. I got the two best on my side. Thanks Will." Gunn clapped a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get back to the office. Angel slowly tore his eyes from the body.
"Yeah. Let's go." He looked back once more at the empty face of the teen. "We have work to do." He said forcefully, and strode out of the building.
-0-0-
"Whadja find, girl?" asked Gunn, walking into the morgue a few hours later with Angel in tow. It hadn't taken long for the dead girl's friend to tell the two detectives information concerning her dead friend. They knew her name was Laura and worked at a 7-11, but not much else. When she didn't show for work that day, her friend came in to check on her, thinking she was sick. She wasn't.
Gunn continued speaking to Willow in a casual tone, as if they weren't speaking about the body of a girl that had been found with her innards torn to bits.
"Not much, not that I'm surprised. Just her age. She was seventeen. A lot younger than she looked." She paused, taking a breath for what she was about to say. Angel winced, and Gunn stared at a corner, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. She didn't just look young. She was young. She was just a little girl.
"And she wasn't raped, like I said before but as always there was evidence of sexual intercourse. But, as usual, nothing but spermicide and a little bruising - and that could just be from doing it rough. And of course, no defensive wounds."
"Just like always," Gunn muttered.
"Well, we did find some fibers, maybe this time, this asshole left something for us." Willow scanned the corpse again. "I sent the fibers to trace, straight to Fred; I know you and she are close."
"No doubt," answered Gunn. "We're tight. She'll come through for us ASAP."
"And we ran got a hit on her fingerprints. She was a hooker and a druggie," said Willow. "Arrested on a few counts, first one was about a year ago."
"What?!" Gunn exclaimed; none of the other victims had been prostitutes.
"Yeah, I was surprised too," Willow shrugged, unsure as to what that meant.
"Name?" asked Angel, curious about this new development.
"Laura Ashley. But I'm pretty sure it's fake." Willow responded with a smirk.
"How else would she get into that club," Gunn shrugged. "At least that's the same name we have her as," he muttered, checking his notepad.
"Got an address?"
"Yeah, it's of a halfway house downtown. East Hills." That was funny. Then who did that apartment belong to?
Gunn spoke up again. "I know the owner. Her name's Anne. Cool girl. I'll hit her up."
"You got anything else, Will?" The woman resumed her scan of the corpse.
"She was a heavy drug user. I found copious amounts of heroin in her blood. She has had broken bones before but they healed properly; someone was caring for her. She has old bruises on her arms and vagina. Most likely from johns or her pimp. But, they seemed to have healed well. She's been in good shape lately. The drugs hadn't been in her system for long - she probably shot up that night. Her arms have recent track marks, but only a few. It must have been a while since she last shot up. I guess last night was her first time in a while and her last time forever." Willow pulled the white sheet back over the face of Laura.
She was silent as the two detectives let the grim words sink in.
"Thanks Willow, thanks a lot. We don't trust anyone else with the case." The redhead smiled, quietly enjoying their praise. It was as almost as important as the commendations she received from her mentor, Dr. Maggie Walsh. She admired her more than any other person; it was her standards she worked up to. But compliments from these two were almost as meaningful.
"Come on, Angel, we're gonna go downtown and talk to my friend," said Gunn quietly, gently tugging on his partner's arm, knowing his thoughts.
And Gunn was right. All Angel could think about was how his sister's death was the worst thing that could happen. That she had a life ahead of her. That she shouldn't have died. And somewhere deep inside of him, he wanted to scream that this girl deserved it. Kathy was better - she never should have been the one to go. But he knew that was wrong.
"Yeah," he answered slowly, thoughts still on his sister. "Let's go."
-0-0-
Cordelia Chase is not a pawn. Cordelia Chase will not be bought. Cordelia Chase will not be manipulated. Cordelia Chase is above those petty things. Cordelia Chase will not respond to begging.
"Anne, NO! Are you crazy? I am NOT going on a date with him! He's…he's…NO!" Cordelia Chase will not be swayed.
"Cordy, he's a nice man! And he really likes you, I can tell. He asks about you whenever I get to see him---" Cordelia Chase will not be convinced.
"Anne, I don't care. I could not care LESS! I do NOT want to go on a date with Russell what's-his-face---" Cordelia Chase will not give in. "Besides, why's he always at a law firm? He's not even a LAWYER! He can't be there for a good reason."
Anne snorted in annoyance.
"Cordelia, he's there because--"
"ANNE!!!" 'Saved by the yell,' thought Cordy, running away from her friend and into the next room, attempting to wake-up the sleeping form of a young woman in a bed. "ANNE!!! There's someone here for you!"
The long-haired blonde glared in the direction of her darker-haired friend.
"Coming! I'm coming!" Anne hurried down the stairs and into the lobby of the hotel to see an old friend and a stranger. One was sitting comfortably and one sitting awkwardly respectively in two beat-up chairs.
"Gunn!!" Gunn jumped up into the arms of the willowy blonde and smiled in her embrace. "What's good girl, I haven't seen you in a minute."
Angel looked over the girl, who he assumed was Anne. She was tall and slim, with long blonde hair parted in the center. Her bright blue eyes and full pink lips were smiling brightly. She had on blue jeans and a red short-sleeved shirt, was barefoot and he could read a tattoo on her arm that read, 'Rich' in half of a heart. He was jolted from his careful scrutiny when he heard the voice of his partner.
"And, this is my partner Detective Liam Cavanaugh."
"Hello," Angel said ceremoniously. "Just call me Angel."
"Hi Angel," Anne said, offering her hand. "How'd you get that name?" Gunn snorted and said quickly,
"It's a long story that no one wants to hear."
"Oh," she paused, stifling a giggle. Every time she heard Gunn say 'It's a long story', it was something not to be discussed, whether it was just a story that annoyed him or it really was long. "Okay. Well, what brings you guys to my lovely establishment?" she asked with a wink.
Lovely must have been a word with many connotations, because this place was far from it. It was a huge rundown building that seemed to be a former hotel. But in the lobby were a few comfortable sofas and chairs, a large desk, and an office. Angel had to admit that it looked homey and comfortable as well as far better on the outside than inside, and looked around the lobby. There were women in various stages of dress, some in what appeared to be pajamas, others in regular clothes.
"Business," the Black man answered with a grim smile to match Willow Rosenberg's.
"Oh. I see. Come into my office." She herded the pair into the office behind the large desk in the lobby and closed the glass door behind them. Several eyes peered through. She waved them away. The women cleared off, back to whatever they were doing before.
"Welcome to the vibrant nerve center of our massive corporation. So what's this 'business' you wanted to see me about?" Anne asked with a smile, walking toward her desk.
"A girl got murdered." Charles Gunn was not one to beat around the bush. "Laura Ashley. Do you---" Anne gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Gunn stopped.
"Laura?? She's…she's dead?? How?? When?? What happened to her?? God, I haven't seen her in four days, I thought she went back to Rack! Oh God." Anne collapsed in the chair behind her desk with tears in her eyes. Angel's eyes narrowed.
"That's about the time she died. It was three days ago," Gunn muttered to himself.
"And this 'Rack' guy…who's he? A boyfriend?" Angel asked cautiously. Anne shook her head and laughed bitterly.
"Sure. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend that pimps her out. Her boyfriend that dopes her up."
"That fucker's still ALIVE?" Gunn said, shocked. "Someone hasn't KILLED HIM yet? That's bullshit."
"So Laura's a prostitute?" Angel leaned forward, ignoring Gunn's outburst. Maybe they were getting somewhere. She knew about Laura's former occupation.
"I'm surprised you didn't figure that out. Where did you find her?"
"In an apartment," responded Angel, taking a seat in front of Anne's desk. Gunn walked to Anne and put his hands on her shoulders, trying what he could to comfort his friend.
Anne looked in Angel's eyes quizzically.
"Where?"
"Right off Olympic."
"That doesn't make any sense," she murmured, eyes empty, staring at the wall somewhere next to Angel's face. "Laura didn't have a house. Not unless she went back to hooking. She was pretty high-class for a while. I know she started renting one a while back. Since she was staying here, I didn't think she lived there any more. Coke has the tendency to drain your finances."
"Well, do you think she could've brought someone back? Would she do that to just anyone?" Angel asked carefully.
"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised. But she came here and she was scared. I don't ask many questions, the girls tell me when they are ready. Do-do you think it was someone she brought home?" Anne then paused, her mouth dropped open as the realization hit her in the face with the force of a train. "It was the L.A. Ripper, wasn't it?"
"We need to ask you a few questions, if that's all right," Angel started, reaching into the inside pocket of his leather duster and pulling out a slim notebook.
"Tell me the truth." Anne turned around and looked right into her friend's eye. Gunn rubbed Anne's shoulders. "Gunn, sit down. You don't need to hold my hand; I'm not a little kid. Now tell me. Was it the L.A. Ripper?"
The newspapers didn't shirk from publicizing the sick and cruel ways of the L.A. Ripper. He, or she, would have sex with the victims and then leave them the next day, eviscerated. There was only one connection between the victims -- the cold and cruel form of murder. The victims were male and female, Black and White, gay and straight. And know one knew how to stop it.
At Anne's words, the young man knew better than to protest. Anne had been through a lot; she was a strong woman. He walked in front of the desk and took a seat next to Angel.
"Yes. We think so. Now…when was the last time you saw Laura?" Gunn asked quietly, putting his hand on Anne's.
"Um, four days ago." Anne whispered. "She came in almost two months ago. She said she only wanted to stay for a few days. Said she was scared of Rack. She didn't make enough money that night. She owed him for drugs. A lot of drugs. She-she was scared. Said she wanted to stay here for a while."
"What exactly is this…establishment?" asked Angel curiously. Gunn was too busy playing loud rap music in the car for him to ask.
"It's a halfway house, like a shelter. Basically for homeless or abused women. We get a lot of prostitutes and drug addicts. But sometimes just a woman trying to get away from her asshole husband. They stay here; they can clean-up and make something of themselves. We connect them with business owners, get them jobs. If they have kids, we can keep them here too. We have family and drug counselors here every day. It's a home for women without homes."
If it weren't for the somber moment, Anne would have been proud. She started East Hills eight years before with a grant from a law firm in Los Angeles. It began as a small building on Crenshaw, but when that burned down, she moved across Los Angeles to the Hyperion Hotel.
Before her life with East Hills, she had been living on the streets with her boyfriend. When he was murdered, she realized that she couldn't live that way. She wanted to help out young girls and women on the down-and-out. She started 'Anne's House' in a run-down apartment building.
Two years after that, she was joined by Cordelia Chase, who became one of the hugest assets of the Hyperion. Yes, her charges had died before, been murdered, but none so viciously as Laura Ashley.
"I see." Angel looked at her again. "But she didn't stay a few days. Why was she here so long?"
"She didn't want to go back. She wanted to get cleaned up. She spent a month in rehab. Came out and stayed here. She started working at a convenience store down the street. I mean, she couldn't do much else, she never finished school."
Now the pair understood why the L.A. Ripper chose her. She looked respectable. She fit what he was looking for. He had no idea who or what she really was.
"Do you have any idea what made her leave?" asked Gunn, resuming the questioning.
"I don't know. We had group therapy that day…maybe it upset her. Sometimes she likes to go on walks by herself…she likes to be alone." Anne trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought, and her eyes were brimming with fresh tears.
"When she didn't come back, I thought she went back to Rack."
"Is he…particularly vicious?" questioned Angel tentatively.
"Not really. He's a business man." Anne gave a harsh laugh. "I don't think he would waste his time trying to be cruel. Maybe one of his little lackeys, but I doubt that. They are too stupid to do much more than a quick rape-and-kill."
"Does he rape any of his hookers?" Angel said bluntly.
"He thinks he owns them. He wouldn't consider it rape." She shook her head slowly, sniffing and wiping away tears. "But I said before, Laura was high-class. Yeah, Rack has some of those hookers who stand on corners, but he also has his own brothel. It caters to every type. But the girls have to be clean. He likes to get them young and bring them up. When a little girl is lost and alone in the city, it looks like a great place. Food, shelter, a warm place to sleep at night. Just for a little sex on the side."
"That's when the drugs come in," Gunn interjected. "He has to keep them somehow. All the girls do it. The little ones don't think much of it until it's too late," he finished softly, glancing at Anne. He was born and raised on the streets. He knew how the gig went.
"Yep. That's basically it," Anne nodded in solemn agreement.
"Is there a way to get in touch with him? He sounds like the last person to have seen Laura, if she did go back to him," Angel asked carefully.
"Yeah, a few of the girls here 'work' for him."
"Do you think we can talk to them?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll go get them." Anne left her chair and walked slowly to the door to her office. She turned around to look Gunn in the eye and whispered a simple request. "Can-can we bury her?"
Gunn jumped up and wrapped his arms around Anne just as she burst into tears.
"Shhh, girl, we're gonna find the bastard that did this. Don't worry. Me and Angel are the best."
"She-she was so young!" Anne sobbed into Gunn's shoulder. "She was so goddamn young." Gunn just held Anne while she cried. There was nothing else he could do.
-0-0-
Gunn drove back to the station house, Tupac blaring on the speakers. 'No Manilow this time, bro.' He was taking advantage of driving, since Angel never let him have the wheel. He was tired of Angel's music, anyway. He didn't say anything, knowing that Angel didn't want to think about the case, it brought back to many memories of his sister. No, she wasn't a prostitute, but yes, it was a vicious murder and she was young. She shouldn't have died. Anne's words in her sobs really hit him hard.
"Now lemme welcome everybody to the wild, wild west! A state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest--"
"-Pack a vest for your Jimmy in the city of sex'!!" Angel cut in unconsciously. The Black man turned to his partner in the passenger's seat and burst out laughing.
"You got it, man. I knew that you would get into it one of these days. Tryin' to act like you weren't listening."
"Tupac's hot shit."
Gunn laughed so hard he thought his sides were splitting and for a second, he thought he was going to crash.
"Oh God, oh good Lord."
"What's so damn funny?"
"Nothing white boy. Not a thing."
The pair got out of their cars and walked into the station house.
"CAPTAIN!" Gunn shouted, walking into the station and towards the captain's office.
"Dammit, must you yell that way?" Haviland snapped, opening his door to admit Angel and Gunn.
"Yup." Gunn flopped down unceremoniously into a chair across from the former colonel's desk as Angel took the seat next to him.
"So, what have you learned?" the gray-haired man asked, walking behind hs desk and settling himself into his chair.
"Well, Laura Ashley did live at the address she gave us. At least sometimes. It's a halfway house. Mostly battered women, drug addicts, et cetera. Anne, the owner, didn't know her by any other name and neither did anyone else." Angel looked back down at his notes and resumed speaking. "She's a hooker. Her pimp is--"
"Some asshole named Rack," snapped Gunn, voice dripping with venom. "His specialty is little girls."
"Have you investigated this 'Rack'?"
"Not yet. We're getting to it," replied Gunn. "We gotta talk to Fred down in Trace."
"I presume Miss Burkle will have some significant information."
"Doesn't she always?"
"And we're gonna talk to Rack after that."
"Good. Anything else?" Haviland looked at Angel questioningly.
"No, not yet.
"Alright, I'll check in with you both later." The captain dropped his head to his desk and the two men knew they were dismissed.
"Alright, to the asshole's." Angel looked up Rack's address and ten minutes later they were on their way.