Canvassing for witnesses was a bust, not that Lionel was honestly expecting anything else. No one ever saw anything in New York, and those who did, saw too much. The guy who discovered the mess, the church's pastor opening up for morning mass, knew nothing useful, despite his desire to help. They probably wouldn't get anything useful from the tipline, either, just the normal assortment of nuts and dead ends. No Wesen in their right mind wanted to go up against a feral Blutbad.
For the most part, Prettyboy seemed content to sit back and watch Lionel and Carter, only occasionally interjecting or asking a question. He somehow managed to fade away into the background, a trait which, once Lionel realized it was happening, annoyed him even more.
It reminded him all too much of Mr. Happy, whose habit of appearing and disappearing at will was almost ghost-like. And Lionel didn't believe in ghosts. If he did, he'd have a few clawing at his own doorstep at night. Instead, he had a guy in a suit and his gimpy, glasses-wearing partner in crime (prevention) keeping him up.
In any event, if Lionel and Carter had been hoping for a break in the case, it seemed to be eluding them. A Wesen had done this, he was sure. But in his gut, he was more certain by the moment that this was a copycat killing made to look like a Blutbad attack. That left the question of motive. Why would someone go through all the trouble? It wasn't actually easy tearing apart a person, after all. The canine scent he caught at the crime scene was important, but there were a number of different canid Wesen, Blutbaden among them.
Of course, it would probably help if they knew the identity of the victim. They couldn't exactly pass around a photo of the guy's face with his eyes all gouged out. Fortunately, most of his fingerprints were still intact, so if the vic had a record, they'd find it. Of course, fingerprint matches took hours, if not days, even when the servers weren't already on overload.
It was getting late by the time they returned to the precinct to review the security camera footage from the church. The view from the post office was obscured by the corner of the church, unfortunately, so that was no good. Their best hope was from the footage from the NYPD traffic camera, which they were promised they'd get later that night, and the church's own security cameras. Fusco wasn't holding his breath, though; he'd seen better cameras in mom-and-pop convenience stores.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Carter complained, her frustration palpable as she stared at her computer screen. The grainy footage showed the front door of the church - and nothing more than shadowplay in five second intervals.
"Well, so much for that," groused Lionel in agreement. Part of him, though, was relieved there wasn't more to be seen on the footage. Mostly his stomach.
Prettyboy frowned in thought, his brow creasing so that Lionel could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. "How'd the victim or the perpetrator getto the church? And furthermore, how' the perpetrator get away after tearing the other guy apart? He'd've been covered in blood. He couldn't exactly have hailed a cab."
Lionel snorted derisively. "You'd be surprised." Some cabbies weren't at all particular about who they picked up, especially the ones who were driving illegal cabs or were just desperate for the cash.
"Yeah, but it's worth a look at the camera footage from down the street, see if we can catch them coming and going," Carter sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, Detective Burkhardt-"
"Nick, please," Prettyboy said with a quick smile.
"Nick." Carter smiled back briefly. "We aren't going to get any more surveillance footage for a while, and the autopsy won't be done by tomorrow at the earliest. You can go get dinner, we'll call you if anything comes up."
"Thanks, I'm starving. Still running on Portland time." He was either even hungrier than he let on or just anxious to get out, because he took off in a greater hurry than he likely realized.
Carter chuckled lightly under her breath. "Remember when we were like that?"
"I was never like that, Carter," Lionel grumbled as he grabbed his jacket and follow in Prettyboy's wake.
It wasn't too hard to tail the cab the Portland detective climbed into. After all, neither Prettyboy nor his cabbie had any idea someone was following them. Their route took them not to any nearby eatery but leaving Manhattan completely. "What're you up to?" Lionel muttered as the cab finally pulled over at a strangely familiar address.
Huh. Lionel recognized the building Prettyboy walked into; on the surface, it sold vitamins, herbs, teas, all that natural supplement junk that Lionel pretty much ignored - normally. But it also sold a few rather more unusual items, especially for Wesen. Back when he was in uniform at the 18th, Lionel had busted the place for selling Jay. Despite its highly-addictive, opiate-like effect on Wesen, Jay wasn't illegal, which made keeping it off the street difficult, if not impossible. Lionel had done a little creative evidence discovery and the Jay suddenly "became" cocaine.
That, plus a little ear-twisting, and the Reinegen who ran the place cleaned up his act in a hurry. Lionel had made a point to stop by every so often to check up on him until his transfer to the homicide task force.
Maybe Prettyboy was a health freak, but a million red flags shot up in Lionel's mind. Could he be Wesen after all, despite his human scent? There were some hominid Wesen, like the Wildermann, though he'd never once heard of a Wildermann becoming a cop.
"Move, and you die," said a thickly-accented voice coming from outside the car window. Lionel froze, feeling the instinctive woge come over him. "A Fuchsbau?" the voice laughed coldly. "I do not know why you follow this man, but if you value your life, stay out of the business of the Verrat!"
"The Verrat?" Lionel scoffed in disbelief as his woge faded, turning to face the man threatening him. "What're European dinosaurs doing in New York?"
The man scowled, and his face twisted, reshaping into a vicious-looking muzzle filled with sharp teeth. "This is your one warning, Fuchsbau. Leave now." The woge faded, but his expression still promised murder as he returned to his own vehicle, a dark-colored SUV with at least one other occupant. Probably more, if Lionel were right.
Swallowing nervously, Lionel grabbed for his phone and dialed quickly.
The line picked up in moments. "This had better be important, Lionel," came a soft, familiar voice.
"That depends, how important's a pack of Hundjäger to you?"
A/N: Things are picking up! For those not overly-familiar with Grimm, Hundjäger are dog-like Wesen, excellent trackers, tenacious and vicious and definitely willing to kill innocent people if it leads them to their goal. They are found as enforcers, assassins, and bounty hunters, and are often associated with the Verrat. The Verrat is a Wesen-world organization of seven royal houses, very powerful in Europe, but generally less interested in America. Wildermänner are better known as Bigfoot, Sasquatch, and the Abominable Snowman and are generally friendly, nature-loving hermits and philosophers. Reinegens are rat-like Wesen that are, rightly or wrongly, often considered the dregs of society.
