Author's Note: So this is where I take a moment to plug The Constant Gardener, because it is an absolutely amazing movie. All fan-girling aside, it's definitely one of the best films I've ever seen. If you have time this weekend, I'd definitely recommend it.

Remember-10 reviews, I update next Saturday, less, I update in two weeks. I don't know that I'm going to be able to do one-shots for the next three or so weeks, because of my current show…but I hope you guys will still review, and I promise you'll be rewarded after rehearsals are over.

Chapter 16

Precinct 33

Eugene, OR

8:31 A.M.

October 18, 2005

The office was very small, cramped, and hot despite the cold weather outside. The interior of the building was lined with desks in a maze of cubicles, the muffled sound of voices like monotonous background music. Everyone seemed extremely busy, yet very little work appeared to be getting done. Angela was met at the front by an irritable secretary who demanded to see several forms of identification, then glared at her all the way back to Morton's office. She'd called ahead to make sure the Captain would be in, but he still looked considerably less than pleased to see her. His cubicle was considerably larger than the others, and upon her arrival his large frame was quite wedged into a formidable brown leather office chair. One meaty paw of a hand was jammed against his left ear, almost completely concealing the tiny phone receiver he was currently bellowing into.

Angela suddenly found herself feeling like a schoolgirl entering the principal's office, and decided she didn't like the sensation one bit. Weiss, who had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with the investigation anymore, had remained at the hotel to make a number of "work calls," and Constantine had been nowhere to be found when she'd left. She knew he was probably out trying to sniff down Malone in a place that only he could find, but still she was more than a little resentful that he hadn't even told her where he was off to before leaving. She was also finding, with varying degrees of self-pity and great unease that she missed his presence. As she observed the looking-busy office and Morton's one-sided phone conversation, she continually tried to think of what he would say, what he would do, the little mannerisms that had so irked her upon their first meeting. Angela jumped as Morton finished his conversation with a grunt and slammed the receiver down at last.

"Miss Dobson," he greeted rudely, in the same tone he'd been using with whatever poor soul had been on the other end of that violent phone call.

"Dodson," said Angela politely, clearing her throat. Morton was looking at his desk now, shuffling a stack of papers very officiously. She waited a moment before speaking again, not entirely sure what her purpose here was to be. "Sir?"

"Yes?" He looked up again as though he were the King and she a very perverse fly on his wall. "Sit." One paw was flung at her in a way to indicate the rather pitiful rusted folding chair on the other side of the desk, and Angela was momentarily dismayed at the loss of height advantage sitting would cause her. She decided not to push the Captain's good graces so far as to refuse his offer, however, and after a moment's silent standoff, she obeyed. Morton lent her his attention just long enough to make sure she'd sat firmly in the chair, which creaked quite loudly, then went back to shuffling his papers with the same zeal as before. Angela noticed mutely that he seemed to be making no progress in sorting them, as she'd seen the same ones surface several times without evoking any reaction.

"You wanted my report?" she said at last, wondering what Morton would do if she simply got up and left.

"Yes, yes." Abandoning the papers now, he dumped the entire contents of his quite-full pencil mug onto the desk and began lining the writing utensils up on the surface of his desk according to height. Angela sighed, and wondered whether he was a natural fidgeter (she could have named several of these with very little thought), or whether he simply meant to communicate to her how very little he cared about her attachment to this case.

"Sir," she said firmly, leaning forward and bracing one hand on the front of his desk, "I am going to be quite clear about this. The case so far has been nothing short of difficult and disturbing to the highest degree. If you are to get any benefit from what I am about to tell you, you will need to pay it full attention."

Morton grunted and looked up at last, fixing Angela with beady blue eyes. She steeled herself and resisted the urge to growl at him; there was something so very animal about this man she would not have been surprised had he suddenly tried to bite or scratch her. She thought she would have enjoyed seeing how Constantine would have dealt with this man, but then pushed the idea to the back of her mind, attempting to concentrate on the report she was about to give.

"There have been three confirmed victims so far in this case," she began, feeling like a teacher about to give a very boring lecture to a less-than-attentive class. "Maddie Neese, a patient at Ravenscar; Ben Skinner, a traveling salesman; and Walter Bryce, the owner of a very seedy club called The Red Light."

"The report from your precinct listed four people dead, Miss Dobson," interrupted Morton, as she'd known he would.

"I'll get to that in a moment, sir," said Angela, not bothering to correct his mispronunciation of her name again. She was used to people mucking it up, but 'Dobson' was a new variation, and one she particularly disliked. "The three victims I just mentioned were all killed at night, and all in the same manner. The suspected weapons vary a little, but I think you'll agree that the condition of the bodies indicates the same M.O. for all three." She paused and pulled several photos from the folder she'd brought with her. Morton recoiled slightly at the sight of them, and Angela chided herself for the momentary satisfaction she felt in his discomfort.

"The killer incapacitated all three victims in some form, then cut away the skull just below the nose, removing the brain." Angela paused for effect, watching Morton go slightly green around the gills. "The fourth victim connected to this case, Pablo Fernandez, died in the middle of the day. From a fractured skull. Nothing about that scenario indicates the same killer as the other three."

"But you do, Miss Dobson, have a suspect in this case. A suspect who, I might add, your precinct was quite clear in confirming as the man who murdered Pablo Fernandez." He spoke with the authority of a father chiding a very foolish child. Angela sighed and curled her fingernails into the soft wood of the desk, watching her own knuckles turn white. She'd known this was coming too, and she wasn't entirely sure how to answer. She agreed now with Constantine that Malone was not the right man to suspect, but he was clearly connected and she had no wish to try and explain her real thoughts to this man.

"That's correct, sir," she said at last, looking at the floor. Of course Morton picked this moment to become interested, and grabbed one of the pencils off his desk, making Angela fear for her eyes as he gestured with it.

"But you, Miss Dobson, obviously do not believe that to be the case."

"I believe that Malone did kill Fernandez," said Angela cautiously.

"But you said yourself that the M.O. does not match that of the other killer. You believe there are two killers in at large in this case?"

"I think that is a possibility, sir." Morton stood up as she spoke, towering over her in an obvious attempt at intimidation.

"What makes you think that, Miss Dobson?" he asked.

"Well sir, the um…the way in which the three victims were killed…it points to a sort of mindset of the killer, an attempt to make us…come to certain conclusions." It was a weak response and she knew it, but she still wasn't willing to let this man win.

"And these conclusions—would they have anything to do with the…what did you call him…ah, yes, 'consultant' you have brought into this case?"

"What is your implication, sir?" Angela stood up, giving Morton her coldest glare.

"Your precinct indicated that you have been making some investigations into the occult lately. On a personal level." Morton smirked at her look of surprise, and Angela suddenly felt as if he'd punched her in the stomach. "Oh, yes, Miss Dobson, I am quite well acquainted with your superiors in the Los Angeles office. I was warned ahead of time that you might try to bring this kind of accusation into this case. I can assure you, I will not give it another thought."

"But sir, you have to admit—"

"I don't have to admit anything, Miss Dobson. Make note: I will be giving a full report of your conduct upon the conclusion of this case if you choose to stay. So far it will not be a positive one."

Briskly, Angela took the photos from his desk and carefully placed them back into the folder, holding it in front of her chest like a shield. Morton might very well have the ability to get her fired; she was not in a good place with her superiors as it were. But she was already too invested in this case to drop it, and she had a feeling Morton's crew would do a very bad job were they left to resolve it on their own. As she left, she could practically hear Constantine's voice in her head:

If you intend to make a full report, you'd better learn to spell the lady's name, asshole.

Come join Astral Light: A Constantine Fan Forum.