Chapter 9

A creature, of unknown birth and origin, yanked against the steel chain that leashed it to the metal table. Dressed in soiled rags and spittle, it had the look of a man but the mouth of a frothing gloom.

"Where's Baby?" it shouted. "I want to talk to Baby!" His demands shook the walls of the interrogation room.

"The only person you'll be talking to is me," the detective sitting on the opposite side of the table said. He applied a menthol rub under his nose. "So you better get used to it."

Sergeant John Lipton coolly watched the exchange from behind the two way mirror and rubbed a hand down his face. The interrogation wasn't going well and it was only getting worse. What was supposed to be a probing investigation into a potential suspect for the midtown alley murders had escalated into a pissing match between trench coats.

"You can't hold me like this!" the man in the ragged black overcoat shouted, and he wasn't far from the truth. They didn't have any hard evidence to link him to the crimes. At least, not yet, but Sergeant Lipton had a gut feeling that their unfriendly guest wasn't exactly innocent either. A 24 hour holding period wasn't long enough to force a confession out of a strong ill-willed beast such as this, but that didn't stop Detective Morris from trying.

"Witnesses pegged you at, not one, not two, but three different crime scenes. How would you like to explain that?"

The only problem with Morris' report was that there was only one witness and she pleaded the creature's innocence, not his guilt.

"Because I'm the real witness here, jackass!" the man in black shouted. He twisted his wrists outward to reveal the handcuffs cutting off circulation to his clenched fists. "And you're treating me like a god damn suspect!"

Sergeant Lipton didn't like this progression of events. Detective Morris was blatantly obvious in his investigative approach and was riding a dangerously thin line between bending the truth and sheer misinterpretation of the situation. If neighboring tenants hadn't complained about a smelly homeless man disturbing the peace back at the apartment complex, they never would have been able to bring the man in the black overcoat down to the station. Mr. Black squirmed in his restraints like a freshly caught pokemon wearing a collar for the first time.

"I'm the victim here!" he yelled. "Can't you see?!"

"Oh, of course, how could I forget?" Detective Morris drawled. "You're being targeted by a big black cat that could swallow a man whole."

"It's not a cat, you idiot. It's a monster and it's out for blood, my blood!"

Sergeant Lipton noticed a small twitch in the man's eye. He wasn't familiar enough with the suspect to call it a tell but it wasn't the usual spasm or fit either. Mr. Black was either about to have a seizure or he was holding something back. The longer he remained chained, the more uncooperative he became. What if they were approaching this the wrong way?

"Nobody saw a big black pokemon at the apartments," Detective Morris explained. "Only a big man in a black overcoat harassing a floor full of renters, one of which, just so happened to be the very same officer that spotted you out of a crowd at a murder scene. So, what? After she started asking questions, you panicked and realized that your getaway wasn't as clean as you thought?"

"I'm not talking to you," Black declared as he wrestled with his chains.

"Did you realize you were made and followed her home?"

"Shut up!" Black struggled even harder.

"Did you want to kill her too, to keep your secret, or do you just like to play with your victims before ripping their throats out?"

Black slammed his fists down on the table. "I want Baby!" he shouted.

Detective Morris slammed his hands on the table and stood. "You keep saying that, but nobody knows who that is!"

Black growled with an inhuman ferocity and thrashed against his chains harder than a wild pokemon. At this rate, he'd gnaw his arm off.

"Shit," Lipton whispered as he rushed out of the viewing room.

Without access to sedatives or raid gear, Sergeant Lipton did the only thing he could think of just short of pulling the trigger to defuse the situation: he found Officer Cofield and returned to the interrogation room with her at his side. The two parties fell back into their seats when they saw her in uniform instead of her ripped street clothes.

"Thank you, Detective," Sergeant Lipton flatly stated, "but I'll take it from here."

Detective Morris' fingers twitched as the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees. He debated swinging his weight around to stay in place, but the stripes on Lipton's uniform were like the stripes of an arcanine, and he wasn't trained to handle something of that caliber. Maybe after he gained a few more gym badges. Maybe never.

Officer Cofield hopped out of the way to avoid brushing shoulders with the tauros on his way out. When Morris was gone, Sergeant Lipton turned his attention to the black stain creeping over the edge of the table to get a better look at him. Black's scrutinizing gaze only grew narrower the farther he hunched into the table. Officer Cofield stepped forward, ruffled and ready to whip with a spoon.

"You're bleeding," she exclaimed. "You told me you were fine!"

All three looked at the red imprint on the table where Black had slammed his fists.

"I'm fine," Mr. Black muttered through his teeth before he tucked his hands close to his chest.

It was the first sign of retreat Sergeant Lipton had seen all night. "Officer Cofield," he said. She quickly jumped back in line. "See to it that his injuries are taken care of."

Good thing they conveniently kept a first aid kit in the corner. Surprisingly, nobody screamed when the peroxide came out. There was no shouting, kicking, or swearing of vile oaths. Officer Cofield managed to keep all ten fingers as she worked and Mr. Black didn't chew off her field dressing when she was finished. Sergeant Lipton watched from his favorite spot behind the mirror as she worked, fascinated by his officer's ability to chastise and sympathize her opponent into submission without ever realizing what sort of beast she was taming.

In a feeble attempt to maintain his dignity, Mr. Black continued to hiss and spit the whole time, but somehow, Officer Cofield saw through his every bluff. The two had a connection, but how far did her insight go? Sergeant Lipton got his answer when Officer Cofield asked permission to offer Mr. Black a change of clothes she had brought from home. It was against protocol, but people were starting to gag when they walked by the room, and Cofield made the valid point that Black would sooner soil their logo than wear it.

Cleaning the air between them might do both parties some good.

Black immediately refused the offer, but instead of arguing, Officer Cofield twiddled with the bandages on her hands. The garments in question were produced thirty seconds later. Mr. Black was escorted to the bathroom while Cofield waited in the interrogation room for his return. Her forward thinking was as disturbing as it was impressive. Their strange relationship was more complex than Lipton realized. He knew firsthand how people formed bonds after experiencing the same traumas, but Black's attachment to an officer of the law was a disaster in the making. He was a criminal, evidence or no evidence, and would sooner, rather than later, taint those involved with him.

This relationship needed to end as soon as possible.

Mr. Black returned from the restroom a new man. He wore a crisp white collared shirt under a navy blue overcoat. The coat was so deep a color that it almost looked black. Two sets of brass buttons ran down the front and ended at a set of matching trousers. They were the bits and pieces of a policeman's dress blues. Officer Cofield's father's to be exact.

God rest his soul.

If any of the other members of the force knew who she had given them too, they'd lynch her. Mr. Black wasn't thrilled with the outfit either. He moved around like he was in a full body pikachu suit until Officer Cofield produced a gray wool cap from behind her back. He secured it to his head with the reassuring sigh of a space helmet and leaned back in his chair with the brazen confidence of a salty sailor. Given a little more space, he would have put his feet up on the table.

That much arrogance was bound to be loose lipped.

Sergeant Lipton left the viewing room and opened the door to the interrogation room. Officer Cofield stood up, and after a nod from her superior, excused herself from the room. Sergeant Lipton closed the door behind her. He then turned to his guest with fresh eyes, searching for whatever it was Officer Cofield found so captivating. Black licked his teeth under his lips. A distasteful gesture at best. Criminals.

"Can I offer you anything else: food, water, a foot rub, or maybe a condo by the river?" Instead of engaging in playful banter like before with Officer Cofield, Black's face stiffened into a scowl. It couldn't be the sarcasm that annoyed him. Sarcasm was the basis of his entire vocabulary. It was the subtle mockery of Officer Cofield's attentive behavior to his comfort that tweaked a nerve. Just how sensitive was it?

"No? Alright then, I'll just have Officer Cofield bring us some tea."

"You can shuppet your tea right up your ass," Black answered.

It was the first intentionally hostile behavior Lipton had seen all night. The slight against Cofield had been taken personally. Why? No one in their right mind would attach themselves to what they considered their biggest enemy so easily, near death experience or not, but then again, they weren't exactly dealing with someone in their right mind. Black wasn't just obsessed about talking to Officer Cofield. He was possessed. Possessive. She was his "Baby" and nothing else. The looming disaster was closer than Lipton anticipated. All the more reason to cut it off at the head.

"Let's get straight to the point then," he picked up. "What happened back at the apartments?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Let me guess. You want to talk to Baby?"

"And if I don't, you're not getting shit."

Now, he was making demands. It was a mistake letting him see her.

"Officer Cofield is not a detective on this case," Sergeant Lipton explained, "nor is she a lawyer." He tossed the case file on the table. Several items, including a couple of pictures exceptionally grotesque in nature, slid out onto the metal slab. Black kept his scrutinizing eye on the badge floating across the room.

"Let's start with the easy stuff," Lipton began. "What's your real name?" He picked up a sheet of paper from the stack and tilted his head so that he could read it. "Because I sure as hell know it's not Barnaby Jones."

Black would have crossed his arms over his chest if they weren't bound at the wrists.

"I could just call you what everyone else in the precinct does. . ."

Black settled deeper into his frown. The mention of his local nickname hit another nerve, as it should have considering it was a cruel condescending reference to his multifaceted personality.

"Yeah, I heard about you," Lipton prodded as he tapped a finger to his head. "You've got quite the rooftop party going on."

The frown tightened into a glare. Instead of putting up a fight as Lipton hoped, Black recessed into a level headed decision to make this as hard as possible. Continuing down this path would inevitably lead to another fit, only this time, it would be fueled with determination instead of fear and that was a whole different pokemon to catch. Sergeant Lipton back peddled and tried to invoke Officer Cofield's soothing aura without fueling Black's obsession with her.

"You're not going to talk to me, are you?"

Black smiled with a particularly sharp set of canines, like a mightyena just before it bites. Sergeant Lipton put his elbows on the table and ignored the files below him. They were as useful as Detective Morris. What he needed to do was follow his instinct, the same one that warned him about Black's interest in his officer.

"If you're not going to talk, then what are you doing here?" Lipton asked, trying to find the man behind the beast. "You said you had information about the recent murders. You even went so far as to recant the statement you gave me when we first met. I thought you didn't believe in superstitious black cats?"

Frankly, Lipton didn't either, but something changed since then and he wasn't so sure it was for the better. Black continued to stare at him with the underlying resentment of a primeape. He'd sooner stroke out than give up. If his demands were met once, they would be again. That's how desperate the police were to find the midtown murderer. All Black had to do was wait. A rap at the door broke the stalemate. Someone watching behind the glass wasn't happy. Unwilling to say anymore himself, Sergeant Lipton moved for the door. He didn't make it beyond the handle before Black surprisingly broke his silence with a question.

"Hey, Badges," he called.

Great, now he had a nickname too.

"You afraid of the dark?"

Sergeant Lipton looked over his shoulder. The two caught eyes at the corners. It was foolish enough to indulge Black's first request, even more so to stop at his beck and call, but this was possibly Lipton's last chance to communicate with this strange and unsettling creature before the man behind the mirror cut them off completely.

"No," Lipton answered.

Black leaned in low and slow over the table, dropping his hands into his lap so that the movement elongated the reach of his neck, and thus, the size of his teeth. "You should be," he warned.

Sergeant Lipton didn't take kindly to threats, or annoyingly persistent knocks at the door. He snapped down the handle and thrust it open, forcing the knocker back before he lost his nose. It didn't take more than five seconds for Lipton to realize that the knocker was his lieutenant and that he wasn't going to like what was about to happen next. The two entered the dark of the viewing room and left Black alone in the interrogation room.

"He's telling the truth," Lieutenant Blanchard said, "or at least, part of it." He held up a stack of papers. "The DNA results from all three victims came back positive for the same pokemon. Some type of rare Persian subclass called-

-Pantherian Neopardius," Sergeant Lipton finished as he rubbed his face again. He was starting to get a headache.

Lieutenant Blanchard paused in surprise but quickly recovered to spew out the exciting new development. He prattled on about abilities and statistics, hoping to sound as intelligent as possible, but Lipton had already heard it all before. Officer Cofield bombarded him with questions during her impromptu presentation on the subject earlier that night. Now, he had no choice but to believe her.

Sergeant Lipton looked through the glass, past Mr. Black, and beyond the grey soundproof walls into the breakroom where Officer Cofield was patiently waiting for further orders. Out of all the detectives, senior officers, and plaque polishing officials they had on this case, it was the rookie beat cop that got the best of them. Nepotism may have gotten Cofield this job, but she had some damn good instincts. They reminded Lipton not just of her father, but her grandfather.

"Sergeant Lipton," Lieutenant Blanchard called for the second time. "Are you listening? We're moving forward with this whether you like it or not." The lieutenant looked through the glass at Black, searching for some sort of mannerism that would reveal the evil machinations of the killer within.

"We still don't know how he's connected to all of this. Whether he lost control of his pokemon, purposely set it loose on the streets, or was cursed by a gastly, Officer Cofield is the only one he'll talk to. We're bringing her in." Blanchard's eyes widened with the prospects of catching a collar big enough to earn himself a name.

Lipton didn't need to be a detective to figure out the lieutenant's motive. He curled his fingers into a tight fist. "You want to use her as bait," he said.

"She's our best lead," Blanchard explained. "Our only witness. Our only connection."

"Our only rookie."

"Don't get your spinda in a twist," Blanchard growled as he whirled away from the mirror with drool on his chin. "It's not like we're stringing her up on a pole."

"Just a human stake."

"Officer Cofield knows the risks and has already agreed to help in any way she can."

"You approached her without telling me?!" The air between shuddered with a growing chill.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

"My officers aren't pawns to be sacrificed for your gain!"

Lieutenant Blanchard nervously glanced through the mirror to see if Black overheard the statement. He remained as silent as before. "Might I remind you who the commanding officer of this precinct is," Blanchard declared with an icy huff of his breath.

Lipton stepped forward. "If anything happens to her-

-something has already happened!" Blanchard cut in before he started to shiver. "Twice!"

Lipton stopped short of shaking the man by the lapels. His hands quivered with fury but the lieutenant was right.

"It's only a matter of time until that Persian shows up again and I guarantee you that rookie is going to be at the center of it. Let's face it, she's been marked. Put a leash on it now and we might reign in the monster before it kills anyone else."

Anyone else besides Officer Cofield.

Sergeant Lipton wanted to slaughter the grumpig grunting out hypocrisy in front of him, but he wouldn't be able to help his officer if he was suspended for insubordination. Besides, the order had descended from above and would not be disgraced by the opinion of a single sergeant. The voices on the horn wanted the midtown murders solved as soon as possible. When news of this reached the commissioner, there would be no stopping it. Officer Cofield would help catch the midtown murderer, just like she always wanted.

One death to end them all.

Sergeant Lipton stormed out of the dark and marched down the hall into the break room. To no surprise, Officer Cofield sat in the same seat as before, diligently waiting without question to walk headlong into danger. She popped up at attention when she saw him, subsequently spilling her paper cup of coffee onto her uniform. There was so much creamer in it that it might as well have been milk. Ignoring the stain, she stood stern, stout, and determined to fulfill his every request.

God damn it.

Sergeant Lipton stood in the doorway and looked her over. The bandage on her chin was gone, apparently knocked clean off when she fell face first into some cabinetry at her apartment. Replacing it was pointless because a large bruise grew from the far corner of her jaw towards her chin and was too tender to touch. Small cuts dappled her cheek within. Kissing a floor full of broken glass left one helluva hickey.

The bandages around Officer Cofield's hands were loose, tugged and rubbed raw with misplaced anxiety. Her hair was misshapen and fingernails dirty despite washing them three times in the sink. She stood lightly on her feet but her eyelids were heavy, so were the bags underneath, but working overtime after picking up a second shift had that effect on people. Sergeant Lipton would have told her to go home and get some rest if her apartment wasn't currently sectioned off with caution tape.

Maybe it was better this way. If he kept her here at the station, he could keep a watchful eye on her. One shout and an entire armory full of backup would be just around the corner.

"Officer Cofield," Sergeant Lipton said.

"Yes, Sir," she diligently answered.

"Congratulations. You've been assigned one of the most difficult, dangerous, and time sensitive cases to have ever come through this precinct."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Stay in the bunks tonight and get some rest. Tomorrow morning, you'll present your findings on the Pantherian to the task force."

"Sir, if I may?"

"Yes?"

"It's 0500."

"And?"

"Tomorrow morning has already begun."

A smirk tickled the corner of Sergeant Lipton's mouth. Now, she sounded exactly like her grandfather. Lipton quickly adjusted his stance to stand at Officer Cofield's height. "Very well then. Gather your books and let's see if we can't get this bastard to talk."

If her theory was correct, and Mr. Black was as innocent as he was jaded, then there was an entire coliseum worth of pokemon trainers to interrogate. Luckily, Officer Cofield spent her duty free hours in the database cataloguing potential suspects for the midtown murders the moment a pokemon was even remotely considered as a cause of death. It was standard operating procedure in any pokemon related case, but few took the time to categorize, organize, and harmonize the data into groups based on trainer classification, experience, skill, reputation, aspiration, badge count, and criminal history.

With the help of Mr. Black, she even narrowed down her list of potential suspects to three binders of sponsor worthy mug shots. The two continued to flip through pages of photographs even after Lieutenant Blanchard excused himself with a yawn. Sergeant Lipton wasn't so careless. He watched from behind the glass as task force officials came and went, unable to make heads or tails of Black's cooperation.

Lipton narrowed it down to two motives: either Black knew nothing about the murders and was so desperate to get off of the street that he would lie through his teeth, or he was playing them all into thinking he was innocent by setting them on any trail but his own. Officer Cofield was as gullible as she was loyal. She'd never be able to tell if she was being strung along or not, and that's what worried Lipton the most. Not that this whole thing could be a trap, but that they wouldn't be ready for it when it sprung.

It would be her father's death all over again.

Only this time, Lipton wasn't a knuckle headed rookie that needed saving. He was a sergeant and it was his duty to protect his house and all those who dwelled in it. The storm was coming, and if he couldn't stop it, he'd make sure Officer Cofield was ready when it hit.

He owed her father at least that much.

Nobody else had to die because of him.