Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.
Summary: L is almost 17, investigating a serial murder case near Toronto University. Undercover as a student prodigy, L will have to find a balance between education, investigation, and (ye gods) a social life. Rated T for language/nudity/gore.
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The Worst Feeling Ever
Chapter 8: Undertow
Humming from the fluorescent lights no longer registered and even the occasional flicker had no impact – it was all background now, easily filtered. Meditation was better accomplished when one's eyes were closed, to be sure, but L could not risk becoming inattentive, so he stared at his own reflection in the one-way mirror, expending no thought for who might be watching from the other side. The cold metal chair had since warmed from his body heat, but he still itched with resentment at having to sit with his feet touching the floor. He'd lost track of the exact hour, but by his estimation, it was at least mid-afternoon, and he'd therefore missed all of his classes for the day. L didn't spare any real concern for that. Education, valuable as it could be, was not the primary purpose in his presence here, though information-gathering was.
A fervent wish for the door to swing open once more flitted across L's mind, a wish to hear yet another snippet of conversation, intonation as important as content. He recalled the eyes upon him as he was paraded through the police station, sharp stares and knowing glances. L knew they had been thinking, and were still thinking, 'This could be him – this could be the Butcher.' The discomfort at being the subject of such unspoken accusation was interesting, but not as much as the bits of information he'd heard, just enough to tease him. It is intriguing that rubber tubing was found at the site of the hand drop, L thought; perhaps this means that the Butcher is working alone after all, if he is rigging body parts to fall from trees. I do wonder, however, who placed the anonymous call to the police to ensure that they arrived when I did. The Butcher could have been watching Gellie's residence, in which case I was a convenient patsy for him.
He stared at the mirror, bringing his own image in and out of focus, his face blurring out under harsh bluish light, taking the shape of a diffuse skull being swallowed by a black cloud before the return of clarity, over and over as he waited.
The door clicked and swung open, and L held his breath, but he heard only the sound of footsteps before it closed again. He breathed again, silently. Three steps, and the detective had moved in front of him on the other side of the scuffed grey table, a white cup to L's left marring the space between them. L waited for the man whose name and background he already knew to begin the inevitable ritual. I am only a student, I am only a student . . .
"You are Ezekiel Penn."
"Yes." L continued to stare straight ahead, noting the threadbare cuffs of a yellow shirt poking from the detective's tan suit.
"Do you know why you are here?"
"Officer Maulty dislikes me."
"Officer Maulty dislikes everyone. He wouldn't have wasted my time bringing you in for no reason. Try again." The baritone was firm but not unkind. A hand gripped the chair back opposite L, a jagged scar on the left fore-knuckle, a pale indentation at the base of the ring finger.
"Because I had the bad timing to discover that my friend was missing right before the police arrived to investigate."
"How long were you friends with Angelica Fragaria?"
"Not long." L sighed, dropping his eyes to the tabletop. "I see that you have determined her fate."
"Excuse me?"
"Past tense." L met the detective's eyes, having no trouble mustering an expression of sadness for once. "You have found her body, then?"
"And where would that be?" The man stared back, expression betraying nothing.
"I would not know. Despite the appearance of her home, I had hoped that she would be found alive." L dropped his eyes again, trying to let some emotion show without letting it take over. "So I take it your use of the past tense is based on conjecture that she has not survived rather than on proof."
"All of her belongings were there, including her purse, her ID, and her keys. Her car was still parked outside. With evidence of a struggle at the scene, it doesn't look good for her."
"I agree, but that is insufficient proof that she has died."
"Why do you say that?"
"I suppose . . . I would simply prefer to believe that she has survived." L kept his eyes downcast. I would prefer to believe that, he thought, but the likelihood is low indeed – 8%.
The scrape of metal on linoleum preceded the detective dropping into the chair opposite L. A file slapped the space between them. "I've read through Maulty's report from the scene, and listened to Harnett's interview with you from earlier today. I'm not going to re-ask their questions."
"I appreciate that." L's tone was dry.
The scarred finger pushed the corner of the still-closed file around like a cold porkchop on a child's plate. "Did she give you anything . . . herbal?"
L sneered. "'Herbal' remedies are no better than placebos – potentially worse, in fact. Had she offered me anything like that, I would certainly have declined."
"Hm. OK, nevermind." The detective stopped pushing the file around. "Diversion or statement?"
L blinked and looked up. "You are . . . referring to my conjecture regarding the cat?"
Intelligence sparked in the warm brown eyes staring into L's "That's right. Which scenario do you think is more likely?"
Lifting his metal-linked hands from his lap, L pressed a thumb to his lip. "Hm. Gellie's disappearance on its own is not enough to be construed as a statement, and what it might divert attention from would depend on which events were concurrent with her going missing, but I do not possess enough information on that to make an assessment. Based on what I saw at the scene, any presumed statement made by the perpetrator was unclear – the state of the kitchen was too haphazard, as if it was incidental rather than intentional, with nothing left within the home to draw the eye to the back door and the yard beyond. Had I seen the backyard itself . . ."
The detective slipped a photo from the file, flashing a glimpse of the top of the report, and slid it toward L.
"That's . . ." L leaned forward, using a knuckle to drag the photo closer and turn it. L frowned. "I hope that Lucy was no longer alive when this was done to her."
"Cats run."
Eyebrows raised, L stared at the detective.
"I worked an arson once – got there before the fire went out." The detective seemed to stare at a point just over L's shoulder, as if the past was literally hovering there just out of reach. "The couple . . . they had a lot of cats. Some of them died of smoke inhalation, some of them made it, but . . . having witnessed it first-hand, a cat on fire is going to run. Ms. Fragaria's yard wasn't disturbed, nothing else was singed –"
"Therefore the cat was dead before being set ablaze. Good point." Head tilting, L continued to examine the photo of the charred pet as he spoke. "Nothing was taken from the house or the yard?"
"No, not as far as we can tell."
"Then the likelihood of the scene being staged as a statement by the perpetrator is considerably lower than it being left as a diversion. In fact, the only element bolstering the possibility of it being a statement is you." L used a fingernail to push the photo back toward the now frowning detective.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a longshot, but . . . if the person who committed this crime knows your background well enough to have been aware of the arson case you just described to me, it is possible that he or she might have left a burned cat as a kind of message to you personally."
"What kind of message do you think that would send?"
"I do not know." L licked his lips, resisting the urge to sip water from the cup that had been placed there hours before, preferring to be thirsty rather than tortured by a full bladder. "It would likely depend on the details of the arson case – perhaps it is simply meant to point you in the direction of where the arson occurred or who was involved. Of course, there is also the possibility that it is both a message and a diversion, if the message is intended to mislead you. In fact, I would say it is even possible that killing the cat was done to make it seem as though Gellie was harmed or killed, when in fact she was not, though it is difficult to determine the likelihood of that from the evidence you've presented to me."
The detective regarded L with narrowed eyes as he slipped the photo back into the folder, giving L one more glimpse of its contents. The words "Full Workup" were circled at the top of the report. "You're a med student?"
"Correct."
"Ever consider detective work?"
L gave a lopsided smile. "My parents were rather insistent that I apply myself in a more 'respectable' field."
The detective laughed softly. "So were mine."
"Ah. So you defied them."
Unmoving, the detective stared at the closed file. "They died. I did what I wanted."
"I see." L wondered what the detective's purpose was in diverting the conversation. "Do you believe that Gellie's disappearance is connected to the 'Missing Parts' case?"
Lifting the file from the table in a sweeping motion, the detective stood, face blank, chair grating as he pushed it back. "I can't discuss an ongoing case, especially with a suspect."
"You consider me a suspect?" L forced himself to sound surprised. I need him to tell me something useful, L thought, something that is not in the reports Watari regularly acquires from the police files.
"I'll level with you." The detective leaned in, pressing a hand to the table, staring directly into L's eyes. "You don't seem like a likely candidate to me, based on the evidence of the case and, quite frankly, my gut feeling. But I can't rule you out. We don't have anything solid on you, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time, so we're letting you go. Just . . . don't do anything stupid." He pushed off the table, standing tall, light glinting off the skin exposed by his receding hairline.
"What exactly would you consider stupid in this context?"
"Well, maybe something like walking directly into and disrupting a crime scene, for example." His eyes flashed.
"I had no way of knowing it was a crime scene –"
"Based on everything you've said, you're definitely perceptive enough to have known something was wrong as soon as you discovered Ms. Fragaria's front door was open, and you know enough about detective work to have realized that entering her home and looking around would compromise evidence." Taking a few steps toward the exit and glaring over his shoulder, the detective reached for the doorknob. "Next time you 'discover' something, take two steps back and call the police. Deductive skills or not, you need to leave the investigating to us."
"Then catch him."
"What?"
"My friend is missing, people are dying, and more are likely to follow." L injected as much outrage into the low growl of his voice as he could. "It seems as though the murderer is targeting people whose identities wouldn't be in any criminal or law enforcement database, unless the news reports are mistaken about the found remains being unidentified. Meanwhile, the media cheerfully theorizes that a medical student is behind the murders when it is patently clear to all of us that that could not be the case. We are studying medicine to save lives, our own lives are in danger, and we are being singled out with baseless accusations as innocents die around us. So please, catch this murderer, and I will be happy to stay out of your way." Pleased yet disquieted by his own performance, L leaned back in the chair, wishing his feet were comfortably upon it.
The detective regarded L thoughtfully from the still-closed door before sauntering over to L's side of the table, fishing in his shirt pocket. "Here." With two fingers, he proffered a card to L. "We'll find your friend, and we'll catch this guy. If you think of anything we need to know, you call me directly."
L took the card, noting that the name matched the one he had on file for the man, and moved his cuffed hands to stow it in his pocket. "Thank you, Detective Devall."
"You're welcome."
"By the way, I mentioned to Officer Harnett that Gellie had an ex-boyfriend, though I do not his name, but I neglected to mention that he was a fan of the band Sloan and that, according to Gellie, he was larger than me, possibly in height and certainly in girth. I do not know if this information helps you or not."
"I'll add it to the file. Anything else you need to tell me?" Devall raised an eyebrow.
"Just . . . why do you think the Missing Parts murders are being committed?"
"Look, I told you, I can't –"
"I understand – you cannot tell me about any evidence you've gathered for the case because I am technically a suspect. Based on what you said earlier, you've already decided that the killer is male, but you must have theories on the killer's motivations."
"What are your theories on those?" Devall placed a hand on his hip.
"That is the problem. I cannot think of a single theory that makes sense." L wondered if Devall could tell that he was mostly lying. "I am reasonably adept at deductive reasoning, but these crimes seem irrational to me."
"Most crimes seem irrational to me." Shrugging, Devall tucked the file under his arm. "The trick is to find the irrational pattern the criminal is following."
"Hm. Yes, because rational or not, all human behavior falls into patterns of some kind." L pulled at his lip, staring at the ceiling. "I suppose it is less a matter of discovering if the killer is, for example, setting out assorted body parts with the intention of presenting puzzle pieces to be assembled but why this person would find such an act significant and what meaning we are intended to derive from it."
"So . . . you think the killer's leaving the parts out as a puzzle?"
"Not necessarily – it was simply the first half-baked theory that sprung to mind, although I do think that the killer wants to sow confusion and fear. But why those parts, and why this sequence . . ." L sighed, dropping his hands back into his lap with a jingle. "It's all very frustrating. Murdering people for any reason is already horrific enough, but the needy attention-grabbing behavior of such serial killers is especially bothersome."
"Bothersome?" Devall scowled.
"On the other hand, it is such self-aggrandizing behavior that makes them easier to catch – or at least, I hope it will." Unflinching, L met the detective's eye. "Promise me something?"
"I'm not sure that's –"
"When you catch this murderer, let the public know what he did, but please do not let the murderer bask in fame from it. Too many criminals are rewarded for their crimes by being turned into celebrities. It is easy to tell that the killer intends to gain notoriety and is likely watching the news, enjoying the effect that his crimes are having on people. Deny him the pleasure of infamy, please."
Several moments passed as they stared at each other, almost but not quite seeing clearly who the other was. Devall sighed. "I can't actually promise you anything, but I'll do my damnedest to make sure this guy doesn't get off easy."
L nodded, face blank. "Fair enough."
"I'll send someone in to uncuff you. But seriously, like I said before, stay out of this mess. It's too dangerous. If you really want to help, stay in school – the world needs more doctors." Devall exited, entering the quiet hallway and closing the door behind him.
To some extent, L wished that he could simply reveal himself as L and take over the investigation directly, but he knew such a move would be foolhardy. Even if his present student alter ego possessed the credibility to be believed outright, it would put him in jeopardy by possibly exposing his true identity to the public and certainly tipping his hand to Coil. It could also have the consequence of causing the murderer to go into hiding. At least he now had a plausible excuse for calling the lead detective on the case directly, should the need arise, all while keeping his cover identity in place. Despite derailing his schedule, the results of his being brought in for questioning gave L some traction with the case that he did not have before, along with a bit of insight into the lead detective working it. He hoped it would be enough.
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Author's Note: This chapter was originally longer, too long really, so I split it in two. Consequently, I should be able to get the next chapter up within the week. *knocks wood* And despite trying out a different section break in my first attempt to load this, it disappeared anyway, so I'm sorry but it seems we're stuck with this one for now.
Fragaria is a genus of flowering plants – specifically, the kind that produce strawberries. Names are fun! You will probably be able to detect a couple of 'easter egg'-ish name uses in this fic.
Thanks for reading!