October 14 2012, Friday. 1.03 pm.
21st Mason Street.
I knocked on the door once more. There was still no answer. Sighing, I went down the steps and rejoined the FBI agent on the pavement.
"Great, just great. So much for 'interviewing neighbours' huh, Williams?" We'd already knocked on ten households, but only three answered.
"Oh come on, Lieutenant. There are another ten more houses down the street. I'm sure we'll find someone with the answers we need."
"Williams, I'm telling you, this is an utter waste of time."
But we continued on anyway. After six houses down the row, one door finally opened. Standing behind it was a grey-haired woman. She was in her fifties. Her frame was petite - around five-feet-three, and she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. She was bald, and her eyes were dull, listless, void of energy. Only one word could describe her - frail.
"How may I help you?" she asked, a little apprehensively.
"I'm Lieutenant Clayton Grant, and this is Agent Kimberly Williams with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Malcolm Burton."
"Please come in," she said. "It's freezing outside." As we entered the house, I was shocked by the amount the clutter around in the living room. Bottles of pills were scattered around, piles of clothes lying all about. The place was a total shipwreck. It must've shown on my face, because she said, "I'm so sorry about the mess. I used to tidy up the place till it shone, but things haven't been the same ever since I was diagnosed with cancer."
"I'm very sorry to hear that," Williams said.
"Oh, don't be. It's just part and parcel of life. "
"How can we address you, ma'am?" I asked.
"Dawn, Margaret Dawn. Would you care for some tea?"
We declined politely.
"I insist," she said with a kindly smile. Williams offered to help her in the kitchen, so I took the opportunity to check around the house. The first thing I went to was the family portrait. It was probably taken before her health failed. She looked much younger, radiant skin, wavy locks of raven hair. Also in the picture were two brown-haired youngsters, a guy and a girl. Then another thing caught my eye - two pairs of boots, simply discarded on the floor near the door. They were caked in mud - and were of size 8.
Interesting.
As soon as I returned to my seat, so did the two women. I waited for them to be seated before I started the questioning.
"Mrs. Dawn, what can you tell me about the Burtons?"
Her lips curled into a smile. "Oh, what a wonderful family, they were! I used to bake cookies for their family every Thanksgiving."
"You guys were close?"
"Yes, of course. I was there when Claire gave birth to baby Malcolm. It's so hard to believe that was ten years ago."
After a couple of more routine questions, I decided to ask something different.
"So, Mrs. James, do you have any family members?"
"Yes, my two children, Alastair and Alice. They're twins, and they live with together with me."
"What about their father?" Williams asked.
"I split up with their father while I was pregnant with the both of them. We had issues. We were both so young and ignorant. Our relationship was very volatile."
"Does he visit often?"
"No... He didn't know I was pregnant, and the last time we saw each other was when we broke up. That was almost twenty years ago."
"What jobs do your children have, Mrs. Dawn?" I asked.
"Alastair is a law clerk, Alice is a saleswoman."
The door suddenly opened before I could ask another question, and entered Alastair Dawn. At first glance, I already knew he was her son. The green eyes, abet much more energetic than his mother's. He was around six feet tall, probably from his father. The brown hair, too.
Big Al obviously disliked us from the very start. "Who the Hell are you?" he questioned rather fiercely.
"Oh, darling," the senior Dawn said. "They're the police. They just wished to ask me about poor little Malcolm."
"Go away! What, you think my mother did it?" he said. His whole being was just oozing with hostility.
"It's just routine buddy, nothing personal," I said.
"Oh, Alastair-" The old lady suddenly just dropped - but thankfully against her son.
"Listen you two, I'm going upstairs to bring my mother to bed. When I come back down, I want the two of you out of my sight, you got me?"
"Whatever, we're done here anyway."
The man glared at us once more, before carrying his mother upstairs.
"Gee," Williams said dryly. "What's with that guy?"
"Come on, we better leave before King Kong comes back and goes all Alpha-male again."
A sudden thought hit me just as we were exiting the house. I swiftly bent down, took out a piece of tissue paper and wiped a bit of mud off a boot.
"What were you doing?" Williams asked after we were out back on the street. We began walking back to the car.
"Take this for analysis," I said, passing the piece of tissue paper over to her.
"What for?"
"I want to know if he's been to Riverside."
"You think he's our killer?"
We entered the car.
"That's what we're supposed to find out, Williams."
"Do you want him to be the Killer?"
I started the engine.
"What sort of question is that?"
"I just want to know what you think, Lieutenant. What's so wrong with that?"
"You're an FBI profiler, Williams. You're supposed to psyche paedophiles and serial killers, not cops."
"You're very grumpy, you know that?"
"I'm only grumpy when you're around."
"That's a lie. You love me, you think that I'm the best partner a cop can ever have."
"You have issues, you know that? Like major issues. You should check for brain damage."
"How about this: I can be the kettle, and you can be the pot."
I decided to ignore her. My phone rang after a few minutes of blissful driving in silence.
"Hey, Charles, what's up?"
"I got word from our colleagues over at Vice. They've just arrested Andrei Burton."
A/N: So before the clock strikes twelve and we enter 2013 (at least over here anyway), I'd just like to say a big thank you to all you readers for making 2012 such a blast for me (especially Armageddon Coconut - thank you, Louis!). Anyway, I hope you guys have a wonderful new year!