Chapter Four

Nick expected the mood at work the next day to be awkward, but not quite like this.

The bullpen seemed to be more crowded than usual, though no one else seemed to notice. No one appeared to be out of place; no new faces among the cops, no one who wasn't usually there, and civilians all accounted for by the cops with them. Nick tried to shake off the sense of being watched as part of his imagination, but his instincts- Grimm or cop, Nick couldn't tell which- screamed at him to remain alert.

As for Renard, Nick had barely caught a single glimpse of him as the captain had left for a meeting with the police chief and the other precinct captains. Despite his cover having been blown the night before, Renard was acting like he normally did.

Nick didn't know if he was relieved or frustrated about that.

Hank walked into the bullpen and headed for his desk. He took in his partner's nearly empty coffee cup and the files opened across his desk as he shed his jacket. "Any new leads?" he asked, dropping his coat onto the back of his chair and sitting down.

Nick set down the pen that he'd been twirling in his fingers. "No," he answered. "Fortunately, that also means no new victims. I grabbed the latest preliminary results that came in last night, but thought I'd wait for you to head to the conference room."

"No time like the present," Hank stated, standing once more. "So why the early start? I can't imagine you were all that excited to get back to work on this case."

Nick stood and joined Hank as they strode through the bullpen. "I didn't sleep all that well last night."

Sympathy crossed Hank's features. "Juliette?" he guessed. "You know you're welcome to crash at mine if you need some space. First days after the break up are always the toughest."

Nick felt a rush of warmth for his partner. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "It's . . . well, I won't say it's better, but I'm doing okay. No, I . . . I got a letter from my Aunt Marie in the mail yesterday, and I guess it shook me a little more than I realized."

"This long after the funeral?" Hank shook his head and pushed open the door to the conference room. "Was there a delay in the post office or something?"

"Something like that, yeah." Nick followed Hank into the room and stopped, taking in the scene.

Woods' picture from the DMV was pinned to the top of the whiteboard by a magnet. Underneath were the images of the people who were a part of Woods' life, including his wife, his mother, his friends, coworkers, and his boss.

Boxes were stacked against the wall underneath the whiteboard, meticulously labeled with their contents. On the table in the center of the room were several stacks of file folders, most of them thinner than either Hank or Nick liked.

"You know, the more I learn about this guy, the more I start to wonder if this is just a case of him being in the wrong place at a really bad time," Hank commented.

Nick moved closer to the whiteboard, his eyes tracing the features of each face displayed and committing them to memory. "I wonder if Wu ever pinned down that alibi for Woods' buddy Conlin," he said, pausing at the startled face on the board that belonged to their victim's friend. "He didn't strike me as lying, but it didn't exactly sound like he was being entirely honest, either."

"Guys like him and Woods don't have a lot of encounters with the law," Hank said. "He was probably more nervous about having to talk to us than anything else."

Nick knew that Hank was most likely right about Conlin, but, "Still, I'd like to be sure. You never know what people might be hiding."

Unbidden, his thoughts shifted to Renard and the rather earth-shattering secret the older man had been keeping to himself. As angry as Nick was with him and his involvement in his aunt's death, the inquisitive side of him couldn't help wanting to pepper Renard with questions. How long had he known about Nick? Was he a wesen himself? Why was he just a police captain and not someone with more power and authority?

Did he even try and talk Marie out of her request for him to have her killed?

Nick physically shook himself back into the present. Fortunately, Hank hadn't noticed his partner's wandering attention, too focused on shuffling through the reports on the table.

"Did the coroner finish with the body last night?" Hank asked.

"I didn't see her report," Nick replied, glancing around the limited space in the room. "I can't imagine it taking too long; not with the nature of Woods' death."

A brisk knock on the door to the room drew their attention. Wu stepped inside, dropping a couple more folders on the table. "This is the last of the reports until Trace finishes running their samples. I should warn you, though, that there isn't a whole lot to go on."

"Thanks, Wu," Nick said as Hank pulled the folders closer. Wu nodded and slipped back out.

Hank found the folder from their medical examiner and flipped it open, scanning the contents. "Looks like you called it, Nick," he said. "Single slice, no hesitation, took the head clean off." He grimaced. "Harper says that it had to have been made with an exceptionally sharpened blade, and that Woods might not have realized what happened. At least it was quick, but God; could you imagine?"

"Think I'll pass, thanks," Nick replied. "Anything else in her report that we can use?"

Hank scanned the rest of the report, then shook his head. "Other than his head being cleanly severed, the body was clean. Unremarkable, really."

"So all that to say that we're back to square one," Nick concluded.

"Not necessarily," Hank replied, closing the folder. "Now we know that if we see a machete-wielding weirdo walking down the street, he's probably our guy."

Nick let out a bark of laughter. "'Probably'?" he echoed.

Hank shrugged. "Innocent until proven guilty, man."

Another knock grabbed their attention. Wu poked his head around the door, the expression on his face drawing the levity out of the room.

"Don't say it," Hank said with a groan.

"Sorry," Wu replied, not apologetic in the least. "We've got another one."


Rachel Holliday had been a middle-aged teacher, unmarried, and well-known and loved by the children at the youth center where she volunteered.

And where her body had been left, propped up near the back door with her severed head braced on her lap.

"Who discovered her?" Nick asked, not taking his eyes off of the unfortunate woman.

"One of the teenagers working off his community service." The uniformed officer who had responded first to the scene, Loyola, flipped through his notepad. "Jason Colbert."

Nick's head snapped over to Loyola, startled. "Jason?"

"You know him?" Loyola asked, surprised.

Beside Nick, Hank dragged his hand down his face. "What are the odds it's a different Jason Colbert?"

"I wouldn't bet on it." Nick turned back to Loyola. "Yeah, we ran into him and his brother a few months back. Is he still here?"

"Yeah, inside." Loyola pocketed his notepad. "He's with some of his friends and one of the adult volunteers. Seemed really shook up, but he was coherent enough to answer questions last I saw."

"Thanks." Nick nodded at Hank, the two heading into the building.

"A mechanic and a teacher," Hank stated as they navigated the hallways, looking for their witness. "Married and unmarried. A man and a woman. Why do I get the feeling that this latest victim is going to have nothing in common with the last one?"

"That's the least of our problems," Nick stated, glancing into another room as they walked by.

"What could be worse than someone going around cutting the heads off of random people?" Hank demanded.

Nick spied Jason in the next room they came across but paused before entering, turning to meet Hank's eyes.

"Being pushed out of the way when the Feds show up to take over?" he suggested.

Hank's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Bite your tongue."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Pushing the door open, he led Hank into the room.

Jason Colbert was sitting in an armchair, leaning forward and resting his forehead on his arms folded across his knees. On one side, his brother T.B. was gently rubbing his back. Barry Rabe sat on Jason's other side, his expression sick. An older woman was sitting in another chair looking rather shell-shocked herself. As the two detectives stepped into the room, all four looked up at them.

"Nick?" Barry asked, surprised.

"Hi, Barry." Nick's eyes swept over the three boys. "Are you all doing okay?"

Jason's eyes swam with tears, the devastated boy a far cry from the one Nick and Hank had met only several short months before. "M-Ms. Holliday is dead."

"I know." Nick crouched down before Jason, compassion on his face. "I'm sorry that you had to see her like that."

"Who would do something like that?" T.B. demanded fiercely. "We all liked her. She was so cool; no one here would have done something so awful!"

"That's what we want to talk to you about," Hank spoke up, moving to stand behind Nick. "Anything you know could help us. Anything; people who have been hanging around lately, anyone who might have gotten into an argument with Ms. Holliday, anything like that."

"Everyone loved Rachel," the woman spoke up, her voice shaky. "I've never seen anybody say an unkind word to her, or about her for that matter. She dedicated her life to the kids in this city. The person who did this deserves to rot in hell for eternity."

Nick glanced back at Hank, who nodded back.

"Ma'am?" the older detective said. "Do you mind stepping into the hall with me to answer some questions?"

The woman looked over at the three boys in her charge, uncertainty plain in her eyes. When she shifted her gaze to Nick, he did his best to paint a reassuring look on his face. After a heartbeat, she finally nodded and stood.

Hank smiled reassuringly, holding out his hand to gesture for the woman to lead the way. Her first couple of steps were hesitant, but by the time she had reached the door, she was moving with more confidence.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the mood in the room seemed to shift. T.B. glowered accusingly at Nick, moving his hands to grip his brother's arms.

"He didn't do it, Detective!" he snapped. "He wouldn't."

"I know." Knees beginning to protest, Nick stood and moved to sit in the recently vacated chair.

T.B. blinked, stunned, at the casual agreement. He glanced at his brother, who looked equally surprised. Only Barry appeared unaffected by Nick's statement.

"I told you," he said to the brothers. "Nick's not like that."

"'Nick', huh?" T.B. said. "When did you two get so chummy?"

"When Nick spoke at our sentencing and told the judge not to send us to prison," Barry shot back. "I told you, he's not like the Grimms in the stories."

"How do you know that?" T.B. seemed to be having a difficult time letting go of his distrust. "For all we know, he could have been the one responsible for Ms. H! Cutting off her head? That's what Grimms do!"

"Not this one," Nick spoke up. "Look, I'm not asking you to trust me right now, but believe me when I say that I want to find the person responsible for Ms. Holliday's death. Do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against her? Former student, maybe, or a disgruntled parent? A stranger suddenly hanging out around the center?"

Barry and T.B. frowned in thought, clearly searching their memories for anything that stuck out. The grief was a thick cloud around Jason, swallowing him whole. Nick knew he wouldn't get much information out of him.

Barry slowly began to shake his head. "I can't think of anything like that," he finally said.

"Me neither," T.B. added. "Plenty of kids who first get here are angry." He shifted in his chair, an abashed look crossing his face. "Me included. But Ms. H. is the one who helps us quit being so angry. All the guys I met when I got here all told me that she was cool." Sorrow suddenly settled over him like a blanket. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he swiped angrily at them.

Barry turned pleading eyes to Nick. "She didn't deserve this, Nick. She didn't."

"I know." Sensing that there wasn't anything more the three boys could tell him for now, Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card with his contact information.

"Listen, grief has a way of clouding our thoughts," he told the boys gently. He passed his card to T.B. who took it. "If you remember something later, call me. No matter what time it is. I promise, I won't stop looking until I find out who did this to Ms. Holliday."

A vulnerable look entered T.B.'s eyes at the conviction pouring from the Grimm, and he nodded.

Shouting from somewhere down the hall reached them through the closed door. Nick surged to his feet and planted himself in front of the three teenagers just as the door swung open to reveal two frantic men and a woman. It took half a minute for his memory to click into place before Nick recognized Jason and T.B.'s parents, along with-.

"Barry!" Frank Rabe darted forward, his eyes only for his son. Nick quickly moved out of the way as Frank and the Colberts rushed to their children, grabbing them and holding them tight.

Hank entered the room and moved to stand by Nick, who noticed that the woman he'd been speaking with was gone.

"Anything?" Nick murmured quietly.

"Not anything pertinent to the case, no," Hank answered, pitching his voice to match Nick's. "You?"

Nick shook his head.

With the need to reassure themselves that their sons were safe, the parents in the room turned to the cops for answers.

"We were told someone died," Frank stated, eyes zeroing in on Nick.

T.B. spoke up. "It was Ms. H." He turned watery eyes to his parents. "Jason saw her. He said . . . he said someone cut off her head."

His father made a strangled noise as the boys' mother clutched at both of her sons.

"Who would do something like this?" Frank asked, more bewildered than angry.

"That's what we intend to find out," Hank stated.

"Could they come back?" Mr. Colbert asked. "Are the boys in danger?"

"We can't say," Hank replied. "But we'll make sure to have some police officers posted here during working hours to keep an eye on things."

"And we can have someone come out and speak to the kids about situational awareness," Nick added. "Buddy system, what to do about strangers; things like that."

"Can you do it?"

The eyes of the adults in the room all shifted to T.B., who was looking earnestly at Nick. "You could do that, right?"

Nick's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Uh, yeah," he answered. "Sure, I can be the one. I'll arrange something soon with the director."

"Thank you," Mrs. Colbert said tearfully.

"Why don't you get these boys home?" Hank suggested gently. "I'm sure that they'd appreciate some time to process what happened and deal with their grief."

"I'll call the boys' therapist," Mr. Colbert told Frank. "Maybe he can get them an emergency session today."

Frank nodded and turned to Barry. "Do you want to go with Jason and T.B., or come home with me?"

Barry glanced over at his friends, then turned back to his father. "You?"

Frank nodded, wrapping his arm around his son and leading him out of the room. The Colberts weren't far behind, ushering their sons between them.

Hank nudged Nick. "C'mon; we need to get back to the precinct. Ten bucks says the captain will be waiting for us right in the lobby."

Dread rose in Nick's stomach at the thought of confronting Renard, and it had nothing to do with the newest murder.


As it turned out, Renard had not been waiting for them in the lobby, but he had been passing through the lobby when they arrived and had immediately summoned them to his office. On the way, Hank told Nick that since Renard had been in the lobby, he technically had won the bet.

Nick had promptly informed Hank that technicalities didn't count in bets.

Hank's response to that had been less polite and not at all verbal.

The two partners followed Renard into his office, coming to a stop before his desk and standing stiffly.

Renard circled around his desk, settling into his chair and folding his hands on top of the files resting there. "Report."

Hank cleared his throat. "A second victim was discovered a few hours ago at the youth center on McLoughlin. Same MO, but as far as we can tell right now, that's the only thing they have in common."

Renard's eyes slipped over to Nick. "Any witnesses? Who discovered the body?"

Nick stared back at Renard, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. Hank turned his head, giving his partner a confused look. When Nick looked as if he wasn't going to answer, Hank spoke for him.

"Uh, one of the kids working off his community service found her," he told Renard. "No one saw anything; all accounts so far seem to point to this woman being randomly selected by the killer. No one we spoke to had any grudges against her."

Renard nodded, his eyes not leaving Nick. "What are your next steps?" he asked.

Strained silence stretched between Nick and Renard before Hank answered.

"We need to drop by the school where the victim worked and speak with her colleagues," he said. "And get with Wu on cross-checking backgrounds to see if there is any connection between our victims."

Renard's gaze finally returned to Hank, then down in thought for a moment.

"Two victims in two days," he stated, looking back up at his detectives. "Has the press gotten wind of this?"

"Not yet," Hank answered.

"We need to prepare for when this hits the air waves," Renard decided. "When you're finished interviewing the victim's friends and coworkers, go to PR and find Vanessa Madison. She'll help you pull a statement together; I'll give her the heads up to expect you."

"Yes sir," Hank replied. He glanced at Nick, then elbowed him.

"Yes, sir," Nick choked out.

Renard considered Nick for a moment, then looked at Hank. "Hank, can you give me a few minutes with Nick?"

Alarm flashed across Hank's face briefly, but he suppressed it and nodded. With one final look of concern directed at Nick, the older detective obeyed.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Hank was as loud as a gunshot to Nick's ears. Nick felt tension begin to thrum in his body, preparing itself to react to whatever threat Renard might pose.

Renard's green eyes missed nothing, taking note of Nick's stance and nervous energy. He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.

"I know you had a rough shock last night," he started.

The words seemed to shake something loose in Nick. "A 'rough shock'?" he echoed, incredulous. "You had my aunt killed!"

Renard's eyes glanced over to his closed door, then back to Nick. "At her request," he stated patiently. "And I know that it's hard to understand, especially for someone who hasn't grown up in our world, but what I did is not the issue here."

"Then what is the issue?" Nick demanded.

"Despite your feelings about me personally, you are still one of my subordinates," Renard reminded him. "I expect you to still be able to do your job; that includes following orders and reporting on updates to your cases."

"How am I supposed to trust that your orders are given without some ulterior motive?" Nick shot back. "That they aren't some sort of means to an end in whatever political game you're playing?"

Real anger flared to life in Renard's eyes, but to his credit it stayed off of his face. "My reasons behind my decisions are none of your concern, neither as a detective or as a Grimm."

"They are if you're willing to sacrifice others to serve some higher purpose!" Nick knew he was trodding on shaky ground, but he was unable to leash his anger.

"Careful, Detective." Renard's tone was low and razor-sharp. "I can forgive a lot owing to your grief and anger, but I won't tolerate blatant insubordination. I have never made a decision that wasn't carefully considered, this one included. Your aunt pled her case to me, and it wasn't easy to do." He took a deep breath. "It's easy to blame the gun; easier than blaming the one who pulled the trigger, in cases like this."

The rational side of Nick knew Renard was right, that Marie should share the brunt of his anger, but he couldn't drum up any rancor against her. She was dead, but Renard was right here in front of him.

"I . . . Then I want to request a transfer," Nick suddenly said.

The words surprised him; transferring hadn't even been on his mind, but suddenly it seemed like the only option left to him. By the raised eyebrows on Renard's face, the request had caught him off guard as well.

"I don't think I can work for you," Nick continued, ignoring the pang of hurt in his chest his words caused. "I need to be able to trust the person behind the orders, and I don't know if I can get past this."

Renard frowned slightly, eyes sliding past Nick and out into the bullpen. Nick resisted the urge to turn and see what the captain was staring at.

"Give it two weeks," Renard finally said, his gaze returning to Nick. "Regardless of your feelings on this matter, you're still the best person to work on these beheadings. I need you on this. Can you do that?"

"I . . . yes," Nick relented. "But . . . I can't promise that two weeks is going to change my mind."

"Then if, after two weeks, you still want to go through with the transfer, I won't stand in your way," Renard promised quietly.

Nick nodded, feeling oddly subdued.

"Go ahead and join Hank," Renard continued. "I'm sure he's waiting at your desk with plenty of questions."

The attempt at humor fell flat, but a small part of Nick appreciated the try. He headed to the door, his hand just falling on the knob when Renard spoke again.

"Oh, and Nick?"

Nick paused, eyes lifting to meet Renard's.

"For what it's worth, I did not take this agreement with Marie lightly," the captain said. "I knew, as did she, that the truth of this would hurt you badly."

"And you still went through with it." The pain was clear in Nick's voice.

Renard dipped his head slightly. "We did."

Nick's hand tightened on the doorknob at the confirmation, but he didn't turn it. His eyes fell to his whitening knuckles, a fresh wave of grief threatening to consume him.

"Nick."

Nick looked back at Renard.

"You are one of the most gifted observers I have seen pass through these halls," Renard told him. Not flattering, just matter-of-fact. "And while you didn't know your aunt's Grimm side, you probably knew the real person behind that. Try to look at this as a detective and not as family. You said she wouldn't do something like this? Then ask yourself: what did she know that would prompt her into making this decision?"

Almost against his will, the analytical part of Nick's brain kicked into gear to consider Renard's words. Nick swallowed back his response, choosing instead to nod. Turning the doorknob, he pushed the door open and strode out of the office.

Hank was sitting at his desk, doing a poor impression of someone filling out paperwork. His attention was focused on Nick, and the instant Nick was within earshot, he turned to the younger man.

"What the hell was that all about?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Nick muttered.

"That was not nothing," Hank countered. "Come on, Nick. You didn't answer the captain in there, and you looked like an animal that had been cornered. What's going on?"

Nick hesitated, unable to tell Hank the truth but unwilling to just come out and lie. "I . . . I found something out that I'm still trying to work through," he finally said, settling for something in the middle. "I'm not really ready to talk about it just yet, but when I am, I promise you'll be the first one I call."

"Mmm-hmm." Hank eyed him in concern, then stood. "Okay then. In the meantime, we've got interviews to do. Feel like catching lunch first?"

Nick smiled faintly. "My treat?"

"Damn right your treat. I won that bet fair and square. Let's go."


end chapter 4