Notes: Hey readers! I just wanted to let you all know that I am currently re-writing Partners! I have gone over this story so many times and found some mistakes that I really want to fix. So, without further delay... here is chapter three! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Transformers. Hasbro owns them. Not me.
All the other tables were empty but certainly did not mean that the morgue itself was empty. Locked away in the coolers were several other bodies but the one of primary focus was the recent murder victim. And there in the middle of the morgue was their murder victim, Jillian Monaghan, who lay on the cool, metal slab with a sheet covering her body. The pair walked over to the table and waited until Ryan's office door opened with him grumbling under his breath. A string of "hell", "damn", "stupid son of a bitch" followed the examiner as he stalked into his morgue. Lacey quirked a brow as the medical examiner slipped off his coat and continued to mutter as he walked towards them.
"If I had known you two were coming I would have tidied up the place," Ryan muttered as he approached the table.
"I know, I should've called," Orion replied with a sigh. Lacey held back a smile in response.
Ryan huffed. "There is a reason why I prefer talking to the dead rather than the living," he grumbled. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and gestured to the covered body in front of them. "They don't complain."
Orion sighed again, patience wearing thin. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Do you have anything for us?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said with a smirk. "I wanted to exam the body before I did the autopsy and I found something very interesting on her lower back." He pulled down the sheet to where it would rest just below the victim's lower back while still being discreet.
Lacey quirked a brow. "A tattoo?" the inspector asked.
And sure enough, there on her lower back was a tattoo or a "tramp stamp" to some. At first look, there was no true design of the ink. In fact, most would probably say that it was either just a bunch of lines that twirled around her lower back or something akin to a tribal tattoo with no significance but neither was the case.
"That's what I thought at first. Then I decided to take a closer look; it's not just a tattoo," Ryan said as he pulled out a magnifying glass. He handed it to Lacey who eyed it warily. "Take a look." The blonde woman took it and peered through the glass; her face twisted into confusion. Suddenly zoomed in there was something else. Hidden within the lines of the tattoo was a pair of initials.
"M.T.?" she read aloud. She handed the magnifying glass to Orion to see before he handed it back to Ryan.
"Could be her boyfriend's initials," Ryan suggested with a shrug.
Lacey snorted. "Even I'm not that stupid to have my boyfriend's initials tattooed near my arse," the inspector muttered. She looked over to the medical examiner and captain who shared the same look of confusion mixed with curiosity.
"Did I walk in at a bad time?" a voice said. All eyes turned to see Hector Esposito, a muscular man of Latino heritage, poking his head in the morgue. He wore a dark green t-shirt, jeans, and boots.
"Sorry, couldn't help but overhear you guys. But according to her friends, your vic wasn't dating anyone," Hector said. The man waved a manila folder in his left hand. "I had Brendan call the university and had them fax over her records. Just got them a few minutes ago."
The man approached the trio and handed the folder to Orion who opened it and began to skim through it. The captain then handed it to Lacey who began to read the file.
"Well, she was incredibly bright," she said. She handed the folder back to Hector. "She had perfect marks in all of her classes, several scholarships from both her high school and anonymous donors when she was accepted into the university and had a few appearances in local art galleries. If I didn't know any better, she was your typical striving art student."
Orion folded his arms over his chest and looked to Hector. "Have you been to her apartment?"
The other man shook his head. "Not yet, I was about to head out after I gave you her records. Apparently, she lives in the Devonshire apartments and has been for little over a year." He shook his head and let out a low whistle. "I'd have to give up my salary to get into one of those places."
Ryan was the first to cut in. "Then she must have had help pay for her apartment. The scholarships alone would only pay for her schooling."
The captain then glanced over to Hector. "Did she have a job?" he asked.
"Yeah, she worked as a Starbucks barista on Summer Street. Brendan said he would go and talk to her manager and come back when he was finished," Hector said, leaning against one of the autopsy tables. "I'm hoping he's nice enough to bring me coffee."
Ryan immediately turned on the detective and sent him a narrowed look. Hector held up his hands in surrender and stepped away from the metal slab with a murmured apology. Orion shook his head with a chuckle and then his phone began to vibrate from his pocket. He fished it out and excused himself from the group. When Orion exited out of the morgue, Hector leaned forward and extended a hand for Lacey to shake.
"Hector Esposito," he said. "But my friends call me Espo, except for the captain and Novak who insist on calling me, Hector or Esposito."
The inspector laughed and shook his hand. "Lacey Barton," she replied. "It's nice to meet you, detective."
Hector's lips turned up into a grin as the captain strode into the morgue again.
"Novak just brought in our suspect and has asked me to help with questioning him," Orion said as he slipped his phone into his trouser pocket. He looked up at Lacey and then shifted his gaze to Hector.
"Inspector, would you like to accompany Detective Esposito to the victim's apartment?"
The blonde woman was caught by surprise; her eyes widened. Wait, what? She was quick to compose herself and straightened her posture. "Uhm, are you sure, sir? You don't need any help in the interrogation room?" Lacey asked, slightly flustered.
The captain turned to her. "Detective Novak and I can handle the interrogation. Go with Esposito and see what you can find," Orion looked to Hector who was hiding a smile. The captain quirked a brow to the detective and said, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company, right detective?"
Lacey gave Hector a suspicious side glance; was what he said a good thing or a bad thing? The Latino detective shrugged and replied with, "If you say so, sir."
Orion nodded and then looked to Ryan who held his hands up in surrender and walked away from the autopsy table. The captain forced himself not to smirk and turned his attention to Lacey.
"Call if you two need anything." And just like that, Orion turned on his heel, walked out of autopsy and from their sight.
"So, how long is the drive?" Lacey asked offhandedly.
"I was thinking we walk; the apartments are just a few blocks away. 'Sides might as well get to know each other," Hector said with a grin. He started making his way towards the exit. "Plus, it's a waste of gas anyway."
She raised an eyebrow as she went to grab her jacket off the hook. "Is this your way of charming a lady?" The woman observed, throwing it on, careful of her hand.
Hector shrugged. "I get that a lot, ma'am," he said glancing at her before the two made their way out of autopsy and down the hall.
"Please, don't call me ma'am," Lacey muttered. She sent Hector a narrowed look who in return laughed and nodded in compliance. They went into the elevators and exited on the main floor of the building. Right out into the crowded street, and was off to their victim's apartment.
When they arrived at Devonshire Apartments, Lacey couldn't help but stand in awe. The building towered over them and skyrocketed to stand a height of 42 floors. Dozens of apartments and not to mention the luxurious penthouses on the 41st and 42nd floor and like the outside of the building, the inside was just as elegant. The blonde couldn't help but marvel at all the marble floors, sculptures, water fountains; the works. Hector and Lacey approached the main desk where the receptionist sat talking on the main landline. The Latino leaned across the marble counter and flashed the young woman a grin that just screamed flirtation. Lacey held back a laugh and ran a hand through her hair. This was going to be interesting. The receptionist smiled back before she finished up her conversation and hung up the phone. She steepled her fingers and leaned forward.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
The detective fished out his badge and held it out for the woman to see. "Detective Esposito and this is Inspector Barton; Boston PD. Could you look up the room number for Jillian Monaghan?"
The receptionist tilted her head. "Is Miss Monaghan in some kind of trouble?"
"She was murdered," Lacey cut in bluntly. The receptionist gasped. Hector slowly turned to the inspector with a look of, "Really?" written over his face; the blonde inspector ignored the gawking man. "Could you take us to her room, please?"
The receptionist nodded and stood up from behind the counter. "Of course, would you care if I grabbed my manager?"
Hector shook his head and watched as the young woman walked through a door with a plaque over the door that read, Manager. It was not long before she returned with a man, in his late 40s with graying hair and a trimmed beard.
The man extended his hand and shook it with Hector. "I'm Victor Blanc, the manager of Devonshire Apartments. Now, what is this about a murder?" the manager asked.
Before Hector could speak, Lacey was the one to cut in.
"One of your residents, Jillian Monaghan, was found dead this morning and we need to search her apartment for any evidence." she said.
"Very well, if you two will please follow me."
The manager motioned for his receptionist to go back to her desk and continue working. He turned to the detective and inspector before gesturing for them to follow him. The pair followed Mr. Blanc to the elevators where they were taken to the 42nd floor of the building. The manager led the pair to one of the rooms that read PH302 and unlocked the door for them.
"It's a shame she's dead; she was a really nice girl. She even had the first three months of rent paid for when she moved in and was always on time with her payments. I even bought one of her paintings; she was incredibly talented," the manager said with a shake of his head. "If there is anything else you need, do not hesitate to call the front desk; Monica will patch you to me."
Lacey smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Blanc," she said. "That'll be all."
The manager closed the door behind him and was gone. The two ventured deeper into the penthouse. Lacey heard her combat boots tapping on the tiled floors as she walked ahead. When they entered the kitchen and dining area, Lacey felt she had stepped through a time machine and was taken back to Italy. The kitchen had a low, cove-vaulted brick ceiling, hex terra-cotta flooring and rustic sage cabinetry. Copper pots and pans were hung on the walls. And a wine rack sat on the marble counter top of the island.
"She certainly had good taste," Lacey murmured as Hector walked over to the kitchen and began to look through some of the drawers. Her eyes caught onto one of the wine bottles in the wine rack. A Louis Roederer, a very expensive bottle of rose wine sat proudly on the top rack. "And a very good taste in wine too. Most of these bottles run for €1,300..."
"Mind convertin' that for me?" asked Hector from the fridge.
The inspector smiled. "Well, if my calculation is correct about $1,400." Hector slowly turned to Lacey who had her arms folded over her chest with a look of "Are you serious?" written over his face. The woman nodded and then began to look around the apartment some more. She looked to her left and found a set of stairs that led the lower level of the penthouse.
The inspector turned to Hector and gestured to the stairs. "I'll take the downstairs, you take the kitchen and living room?" she asked.
"Call if you need anything." The man said, continuing his search.
Lacey turned towards the stairs and made her way down to the lower level of the penthouse, coming to a small hallway at the bottom of them. She pulled out her latex gloves, slipped them on her fingers, and opened the first door she saw that was on her right. She poked her head through the door and then walked fully into what appeared to be the victim's art studio. The inspector was almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of color that filled the room.
Reds, yellows, blues, and pinks were dashed over the walls in a frenzy. There was no true design to the walls just splattered paint. Dozens of tarps (all covered in dried paint) were thrown onto the floor, covering up the elegant ash wood flooring. Several portraits hid in one corner of the room while other canvases were blank. Dark wood French doors opened to a private balcony, providing sweeping views of the Boston Harbor.
The inspector walked over to the one easel in the room and found herself staring at the brightly colored canvas. The victim had painted a picture of swirling lines that ranged in color, from orange to white, to green, to even coral. Thankfully for Lacey, it was dry. She looked at the date in the corner of the canvas: 6/9/16.
"She must've painted it yesterday." the inspector murmured.
She strode past the canvas and began to search through the victim's table where most of her supplies lay. A few paintbrushes cleaned from yesterday's painting session, and a sketchpad lying on the table. Curious, Lacey flipped through some of the pages. Most were of the Boston Harbor with some sketches of boats heading out to the water. Some were of people walking together. A few birds nestled in the trees. As Lacey continued her search, something else caught the inspector by surprise.
It was a sketch of a man. Much older than the victim, though. Most likely in his late twenties or early thirties. A strong jaw, stern expression, and furrowed brows; he was scowling. Lacey flipped to another page and saw the man again. But this time, his expression was relaxed. His eyes were gentle half-lidded as if he had just woken up, his lips quirked into a smile. A more intimate expression. A boyfriend? Again, the inspector flipped through some of the pages and the same man appeared at least once on each page. Alright, I'm starting to lean to the idea this bloke is her boyfriend... She closed the sketchpad and strode out of the studio.
When she entered the hallway again, she peered into the open door next to her and found Hector searching through the bedroom. Again, Lacey was impressed. The room was fixed with a wood-beamed ceiling, reclaimed larch hardwood floors, and a neutral color palette. The white walls and linens allowed the Old World-inspired furnishings to provide visual interest in the room. With an ebony finish and detailed hand carvings, the antique four-poster queen sized bed tempted anyone who wished for a good night's sleep.
"Find anything?" Hector asked from his spot by the closet.
"I did actually, a sketchpad," she replied, waving the sketchpad in her hand. "I was looking through it when a man began to pop up in some of the pages; I'm thinking this bloke could be her boyfriend."
She handed the sketchpad to Hector who began to go through it.
"I see what you mean," muttered Hector. "Something was going on between them."
"Did you find anything?" she asked.
Hector shook his head, his eyes glued to the sketchpad's pages. "Nothing important upstairs," he answered. "Just the usual. Had some bills on the coffee table, magazines in the bathroom, you get the picture. I figured most of her stuff would be in her room so I came down to check."
Lacey allowed the detective to continue flipping through the pages and walked over to the nightstand and grabbed a few of the envelopes sitting there. She went through them, most of them bills and invitations to galleries. The inspector huffed when nothing much of interest caught her eye, before placing them back on the nightstand, walking over to the victim's second closet. The blonde woman quirked a brow when she noticed that this closet had a lock on it. Taking it into her hands, she turned to the detective.
"Espo, why would someone need a lock on their closet?"
Still looking through the sketchpad, he just shrugged. "They wouldn't unless they're trying to hide something."
"So, why does our victim have a lock on her closet?"
Hector stopped his skimming, looked up, and closed the sketchbook. He walked over to Lacey and looked down at the lock, his gaze shifted to hers. He tossed the sketchbook onto the bed and knelt down in front of the lock and began to inspect it. Piece of cake, he thought. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lock-picking kit. Lacey's hand shot out and grabbed Hector by the shoulder.
"You're not thinking of picking the lock, are you?" she asked.
The detective's lips curled into a grin. "You can turn around if you want. I won't be offended."
Lacey rolled her eyes and released her grip on his shoulder. Hector chuckled as the inspector turned away with her arms folded over her chest. He opened up the kit and picked out one of his many tools and began to work on picking the lock. Lacey waited several moments before a resounding click was heard. She turned and Hector was now standing, tucking his kit away and waving the lock in front of his face.
"Now, why don't we see what our vic was hiding?"
Hector opened the closet door and both the inspector and detective were taken by surprise. Upon entering, they were shocked to see dozens of hangers that were holding blouses, jackets, sweaters, dresses, skirts, slacks, and handbags. All were in a variety of color and names like Prada, Gucci, Vera Wang, even Louis Vuitton. Lacey felt a sting of jealousy surge through her veins seeing the designer names; she was lucky to have a Vera Wang cashmere sweater in her wardrobe, given to her by her mother.
"How the bloody hell did she afford this?" Lacey questioned in amazement.
"Her Johns," came Hector's flat toned reply. "I think our vic was a prostitute."
Lacey turned to Hector, a blonde brow raised. "With these clothes? I find that hard to believe."
He jerked his head over. "Don't believe me? Come take a look at this."
The blonde inspector approached the detective who was kneeling down and bent over a black duffel bag, opening it to reveal the contents to her. Lacey's green eyes widened in shock as the detective beside her shook his head and let out a low whistle. Inside were stacks upon stacks of cold hard cash. By estimate, there had to be close to over a hundred thousand inside the duffel bag. Hector glanced up at Lacey stood stunned, mouth agape.
"I think we just found ourselves a motive for murder."
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Character List:
Hector Esposito: Hound
Brendan Underwood: Bumblebee