Behind Blue Eyes - chapter 6 / 9
Title Behind Blue Eyes
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey Smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Beta jooles34
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note Another chapter! Hope you all enjoy this - the response I've been getting for this is immense, and I'm completely beside myself. Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
He sat in the back of the bar, in a corner where light seemed to shrink away and darkness engulfed it - that, or the bulb had burnt out. He was alone, and no one dared to approach him. Despite the bar having table service, the waitresses let him walk to the bar if he wanted a refill or something to eat. He was hunched over his glass, his fingers slowly making their way around it as if they were mapping out every atom. His head was stooped over, his jacket never taken off. At a glance, he was a no-one wallowing in his sorrows. If one was to take a moment and really look at him, they would notice several things.
This first, and the most odd of them all, was the fact that the man was not drinking anything alcoholic. His glass was half full of cranberry juice, minus any spirits that one may usually add. The second thing - which wasn’t the most odd, but definitely the most important - was that he had the most beautiful, albeit startling, blue eyes that one would ever see. And those blue eyes were watching a certain man at the center of the room.
This other man, unlike the strange one in the corner, wasn’t there to be by himself or nurse whatever it was that had befallen him. He was definitely drinking, and he was definitely looking for someone to take home with him. His eyes were already slightly red, but it didn’t cause him to slur his words; if anything, it made him more boisterous and snarky. Every woman and man in the joint got a wink as they walked by, and about one in every three was given an offer of a free drink. Those who were propositioned would stare at him for several seconds, taking in his red hair, chiseled cheekbones and the fact that he claimed he was a detective working on a dangerous case looking for a release. Pretty much everyone gave John a look that told him they thought it was a little more than creepy and then would walk away quite quickly, but some would accept.
Ianto watched all of this from his little corner of hell. He watched this as his thumb rubbed perfect circles into the glass, and his lips moved, silently counting, ever counting. He counted the number of people that John winked at, and the number who accepted his offer of a drink. He counted the seconds that went by between the encounters, and he kept time of how much longer he could go without making his move, without doing anything. He was on a very tight schedule. His stopwatch sat in his pocket, but he dared not touch it. It still unnerved him - a traitor in his jacket - how such a perfect thing could betray him by doing a thing such as skipping a second.
His cheeks were still streaked them his tears, and he hadn’t yet been able to get his fingers to stop shaking. He needed a release - but not the kind that John was searching for. No, he needed something that would calm him, let him regain control, allow the darkness within him out before it tore him apart from the inside.
His hands shook even more at the prospect, and Ianto had to talk himself. Breathing in and out, counting as he did so. Always counting. His eyes never leaving John. Then - there was his chance.
He stood up and downed the rest of the sour drink, using it as his excuse. He carefully made his way around the private detective, in case the man suddenly found the urge to turn around. Everything would be lost if John saw him there.
Ianto made it to the bar undetected, and ordered the most complicated drink from the menu in order to buy himself some time. He slipped out his wallet and took the precious seconds to count out the exact amount his drink was,. That taken care of, he turned to position himself at the perfect angle; he was able to see John out of the corner of his eye, but sure that the man wouldn’t see him unless he was purposefully looking for him.
John had ordered a drink when Ianto had decided to get up, and he watched it being prepared. Nothing difficult - beer with a chaser. Once finished, it was sat on the counter an arms length away from Ianto, waiting for the waitress to come and pick it up. They didn’t make John get his own drinks.
Ianto dug his hand into his pocket, fingering the little pill that sat between the fabrics. It was a small thing - a weaker dose of Jack’s medicine, only over the counter and not recommended with alcohol. John would start feeling dizzy, and then about an hour later, he would be knocked out wherever he decided to sit down until the spell passed. If everything worked, John would go back to his own apartment, out of commission until the next day.
He shifted several inches over, stretched, and in one fluid motion the pill sank to the bottom of John’s beer bottle. With the bartender’s back still turned towards him, Ianto turned and made his leave, not wanting to wait any longer in case John saw him. The door slammed on the way out.
--xXx--
Ianto sat in a large, overstuffed chair in the lobby of the Hilton Cardiff hotel, located in the city centre. He sat amongst a large family that had just arrived for vacation - they all looked extremely tired, some of it probably having to do with the fact that it was around nine o’clock at night, and from the sound of their voices, they were Americans. Add that to the jetlag, and Ianto found himself wasting time wondering how it was they were all still awake. The majority of the party was under twenty, and Ianto shivered. Not exactly the best age to be, in his book. At least they weren’t loud.
Next to his overstuffed chair that looked extremely comfortable, but really wasn’t, Ianto had brought with him a briefcase and a small suitcase. The briefcase had been in the back of his rented car since the morning that he had bought it at a general store. The suitcase had been a new addition, and the supplies that were inside of it had been purchased within the last hour - all from predetermined stores stretched across the Cardiff area. He’d made sure everything was a popular brand that could be found in half of the stores that were in the city. He was virtually untraceable.
He was waiting for a certain person to enter the front doors. They lived in Cardiff, but were coming to the hotel for a meeting of a personal nature. Ianto picked up his briefcase and unhooked the latches, opening it laptop style on his knees. He glanced at the plain manila folder and his thoughts shot back to earlier that evening. What was Jack doing now, he wondered? Would the man take his farewell as the end to their relationship? Ianto wasn’t sure, but he would bet - no, he knew - that he had most likely moped for a bit before calling Gwen. Either that, or cleaned the house and set himself up on the couch incase Ianto came back that night. Like he was punishing himself. Ianto wondered how badly he had hurt Jack - if the man would ever forgive himself.
Ianto tore himself away from that train of thought and flipped open the folder to find a smug face looking back at him. Huw Sherman. The man had stood by as his sister was raped by his father over and over again, but didn’t say anything. When it came to the courtroom, he wouldn’t testify, and watched as his father talked his way out of it. She had been attacked, he said. The little girl was eight - her brother twelve.
Now, it was time for him to take the stand again, only Ianto wouldn’t be as kind as the judge.
The man walked through the front door, Ianto’s eyes following him. The Welshman closed his briefcase and stood up, grabbing his suitcase and extending the handle. For all intents and purpose, Ianto was just another one of the many who had arrived late at the hotel for an early business meeting. He walked slowly, timing himself so that he would walk by the front desk at the right moment to be able to hear the room number Huw was allocated. Ianto had found out, in his intensive research, that the man enjoyed monthly visits to expensive hotels, where he would hire a rent boy for the night. No wife who’s life would be ruined by Ianto’s quest - Huw had already screwed that up, with an ex who took almost half of his monthly earnings. Money, which he earned as a pencil pusher who looked at porn on his computer more than actually doing his work. Ianto knew that too.
He caught the room number - floor four, room fifty-six. He continued to walk at a normal pace and stepped into the lift. He pressed the button for floor four, and allowed the door to close all the way before leaning against the wall. His brow furrowed in concentration as the thought through the next phase of his plan. Ianto didn’t like bringing other people into his plans. Normally it would be just him and his victim, and that was all. No witnesses made for a clean getaway. He already found himself missing the safety of his warehouse - but even that wasn’t safe now. It never would be again. The moment the police thought something was wrong, that would be the first place they went, and Ianto couldn’t be caught in the middle of everything. Not yet, anyway.
He needed to get a key card without confronting anyone - which was a difficult task. The lift dinged and he stepped out, pulling the suitcase behind him. He glanced down both hallways, looking for a chambermaid’s trolly. When he saw none, he cursed gently under his breath, then headed toward the room.
There.
At the end of the hallway, several rooms past the one he was aiming for, a cleaner’s trolly sat in the middle of the corridor. He took a breath, counted two seconds to steady himself, and approached it. Getting there, Ianto glanced inside the open room. The maid had her back to the door, and Ianto took advantage of this. The all access pass was hanging off the side of the trolly and he quickly plucked it before turning and heading back to room 456.
He stood in front of the room for twelve seconds, calming himself down, preparing himself for what was about to come. Then he unlock the door with the stolen keycard, and let himself in.
He glanced at the clock and subtracted time away from when he first stepped into the lift. He had anywhere from five to ten minutes, but he was going to pace himself for the five.
Ianto walked straight over to the bed, having spent time earlier studying the layout of the hotel. It was so nice of then to put up virtual room tours on their website. He got his supplies ready first, setting his suitcase down on the floor and unzipping it. He took out a set of handcuffs and threw them onto the bed, and grabbing a pair of thing plastic gloves as well. He stuffed those into the back pocket of his jeans, before closing the suitcase. The rest of the stuff inside was for later. He slipped it under the bed, determined to keep it out of sight until its need arose. Then he reached inside of his pocket and pulled out his stopwatch. He stared at it, needing to trust it, needing it to do its job. Then he placed it carefully on the bedside table, positioned just right so that he could touch the start button on top without having to exert any un-needed effort.
His preparations complete, Ianto switched his focus to his appearance. He took off his jacket and placed it neatly on the back of a chair, making sure to touch as little in the hotel room as possible. When morning came, there would be a swarm of forensic technicians scouting every inch of the room, and he wanted to make sure he left them absolutely nothing.
He walked back over to the bed in time to hear footsteps outside in the corridor, followed closely by the sound of a keycard slipping into the lock. His victim had arrived. Ianto climbed onto the bed and crossed his legs, lying back against the metal framework of the headboard. His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of his shirt without wasting a second on fumbling. He ran a hand through his hair to mess it up as Huw entered the room, and had his arms hooked over the top of the frame and a lazy look on his face by the time the man came into visual range.
“How’d you get in here?” Huw asked, not caring about the answer. Ianto stayed silent, using the time to soak in the appearance of his next victim. The man was skinny and blonde and looked for the entire world like a tramp. The cheap suit didn’t hide the awkward way he walked in it, his tie looking more like a noose than a fashion accessory. Ianto couldn’t help but smile a little at that as his fingers started their twitching. It was a god-awful tie, the color of green and yellow vomit and that in no way matched his dark blue ill-fitted suit. It made Ianto appreciate Jack’s love for fashion and sharp dressing all the more. He watched as Huw set down his briefcase, not noticing how there was another lying behind the chair where Ianto’s coat was hanging.
Ianto was out of his comfort zone, never having to trick his victim into restraints before. He always had them unconscious before driving to the warehouse, where they would be tied up and prepared for him before they even awoke. He was weary and a little on edge, but his calm exterior gave nothing away. His fingers itched to grab that ugly tie and use it as the death device that it symbolized. His mind yearned and his body lusted for the sounds that came from a body when it was being emptied of oxygen. The primal need for unspilled blood almost drove him out of control. But Ianto held on.
Huw Sherman wasn’t one for much foreplay. Most people who hire rent boys in expensive places like this liked to pretend. Go out for dinner maybe, a drink or two. Make it feel like an actual date where one was only paying for the sustenance and hotel room instead of the significant other. But Huw had been doing these monthly meetings so long that he didn’t care for that kind of pretense anymore - he knew exactly what the situation pertained to, and he would be damned if he didn’t get his money’s worth.
He slid onto the bed and Ianto met him halfway, avoiding Huw’s lips, instead going for the soft skin that made up the neck. Ianto worked his way down, stopping and nibbling or sucking on the flesh, going slowly as his hands worked double time, unbuttoning the man’s greasy shirt. He tried to ignore the feeling of boney hands groping at his ass and crotch, the moans that drifted into his ears and the taste of a strange man’s flesh on his tongue. When he got the shirt unbuttoned he broke away from Huw’s neck and pushed him down on the bed, his head mere inches away from the headboard. The man chuckled and tried to sit back up, wanting more skin contact, but Ianto stopped him by using his knees and straddling the man. He leaned forward and grabbed both of Huw’s wrists with his hands, using his left to hold them both above his head. Ianto started to kiss down the man’s chest, stopping at his right nipple and playing with it with his tongue. He bit and sucked and nibbled at it, almost rolling his eyes at how easily the man was pleasured. He and Jack would play games some times - control games. He remembered one night when they weren’t allowed to make a single sound. They also weren’t allowed to enter one another until a sound was made, and the one who stayed silent the longest got the honours. It had been a long night - but Ianto won. He always won. Unlss he chose to lose.
The thought distracted Ianto and his lips quirked into a soft smile at the memory. Then Huw moved underneath him and he was brought back to the present. He continued his ministrations, moving on to the other nipple as he used his free hand to reach for the handcuffs that were still lying innocently on the bed. He brought them up and used the fact that Huw was distracted to click the cold metal restraints around his wrists and onto the poles that made up the headboard. As soon as they were closed Ianto sat up from what he was doing, no longer needing to continue.
“Kinky - I like it.” Huw said in a breathless tone, wiggling his hands in the cuffs. The sharp edges bit into his skin and he cried out. “What the hell?”
But Ianto ignored him; pushing up off of the man and slipping off of the bed, taking time to button back up his shirt. He had plenty of time now.
“Hey! Come back here! What the hell - let me go!” Huw demanded, but Ianto ignored it. The man looked pathetic, shirt unbuttoned, eyes wide with arousal that was slowly turning into fear, half hard and handcuffed to the bed. There were thin lines of blood that were inching their way down his arm, and Ianto winced. He hated the sight of the stuff - it was too messy, unclean, and very good at picking up trace evidence. Ianto pulled the gloves from his back pocket and snapped them onto his hands, walking over to the dresser and clicking the button on the top of the stopwatch. This was his time now.
Ianto leaned over and dragged his suitcase from under the bed. He pulled out a roll of duck tape first, which he ripped using his fingers and slapped it over Huw’s mouth. Ianto loved listening to his victims blubber and cry, trying to defend something that they didn’t have - innocence. Sometimes he would write what they said in the margins of their file, like a cruel punch line to a joke that only he knew. Other times, he would write down how long they begged before realizing that they wouldn’t be allowed to live. But he would be robbed of that tonight, along with several of his other rituals. It would be worth it though.
Then he grabbed some disinfectant wipes and quickly went over everything - Huw’s body where Ianto had touched him, the entire framework of the bed, and the handcuffs. He cleaned up the blood at the same time, feeling better when he could no longer see the mess it was making. Ianto spent exactly thirty minutes methodically cleaning the places that he had touched, knowing that Huw’s eyes were frantically watching him, mentally counting the times that the man whimpered from behind the tape. Then Ianto wiped himself down, not because it was essential, but because he needed to. He scrubbed at his lips, desperately trying to get the man’s taste out of his mouth. It was disgusting. He would have spit, but spit had DNA in it.
When Ianto was finished, he turned to Huw, briefcase in hand. He opened it and took out the files, sat on the edge of the bed, and began to read. He told Huw the story of his sister’s trial, and her hardships afterwards. He went into detail about how Huw’s life had unfolded from there, and the evils he had committed.
He finished, looking up from the file, watching as tears streamed down Huw’s face. But they weren’t tears of regret or remorse. No. He wasn’t crying for his sister he was crying for himself. These were tears that were shed when someone realized that they were about to die, and there was absolutely nothing that they could do about it. That secret smile of Ianto’s crept across his face; the genuine one that would only confirm Huw’s theory. Ianto got up from the bed and reaching for his stopwatch pressed the button on top, recording the time in his journal before resetting the watch. Then he reached into his suitcase once more and pulled out a tie. It was a nicer one that what Huw had been wearing - pure silk, with a rich purple colour that would go with the rest of the man’s outfit nicely. Ianto didn’t do second rate when it came to his tools.
This time, when he straddled Huw, the man didn’t make a sound. Ianto wrapped the tie around his neck and slowly tied it, his crystal blue eyes staring holes into Huw’s ugly brown ones the whole time.
“I’m going to take the tape off now.” Ianto said calmly when he finished doing up the tie. “And you’re not going to scream, or yell, or try anything. Because that would just make me angry, ok?”
The man nodded frantically, and Ianto ripped the tape off. True to his nod, Huw stayed silent, letting out only the slightest whimper and sniffle. Ianto rolled his eyes, his fingers dancing along the silk noose of their own accord. His heart rate sped up, and his breathing quickened in anticipation of what was to come. Slowly, he started to tighten the knot. He wanted to make a new record tonight - longest death. He wanted it to be special, to signify something.
“P-please.” Huw choked out as the knot slowly cut off his air supply. He gasped, but only a miniscule amount of oxygen entered his lungs.
“That’s what your sister said to you.” Ianto said, his own words uneven and husky, his tone unnaturally low and thick. “You didn’t listen. Why should I?”
Then Ianto allowed his control to be swept away by the desire to complete what he had started, and there were no more words spoken.
--xXx--
“You look like shit.” Gwen Cooper said to Jack seconds after he had stepped out of his large black SUV. And, like most times when Gwen made observations, they were true. The bags that had been under his eyes the night before had grown, and his skin was as pale as Gwen had ever seen it. Even in the winter months the man kept a tan, but now it looked like all the blood had been drained from his body. He was limping harder than usual too, but she didn’t say anything about that.
“Haven’t you heard? Shit is the new fabulous.” Jack retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was worried about what his stupidity had done to his relationship, and had a gut feeling that the body found in the hotel that they were currently standing in front of was a result of their serial killer. It was a few days early according to their estimates, but people could be fickle sometimes. Of course, that’s not what Jack thought of this killer. He had spent the last month studying what little they knew of the man, and he was nothing if not thorough. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would let urges get the best of him; step outside his usual pattern on a whim. No, it was more than likely a statement in retaliation of the newspaper article. Gwen had called him that morning at a more reasonable hour then the last time, but Jack hadn’t been asleep anyway. She told him to meet her at the Hilton Cardiff hotel, and was all through her voice that another body had been found. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with John, and neither had Jack. He had probably gone on a binge somewhere last night after giving Jack the information against Ianto. Jack wished him the hangover from hell.
“Did you get some sleep? Doesn’t look like it.” Gwen was saying, trying to keep the tone light and prevent talking about what lay in wait on the fourth floor. They were still standing outside the hotel, waiting for the forensics team to finish before they could enter. Gwen had requested that nothing be touched or moved until they had a look around, but the forensics team was already looking - very carefully and meticulously - for prints.
“I had more important things to do.” Jack said, leaving out the fact that those important things consisted of reading into Ianto’s personal history and then hating himself for hurting the younger man.
Gwen raised an eyebrow at this. “Did you talk to Ianto about the news article?” Then her eyes grew wide with mischief as she misinterpreted Jack’s earlier statement. “Important, my arse. You were just shagging the night away, weren’t you? Did you at least find out who published it?”
Jack’s face grew dark with guilt when Gwen brought up his lover, and looked away, leaning on his walking stick for support. “Owen went through a different editor. Ianto didn’t know.” His voice was a mumble.
Gwen picked up on the change of mood in an instant, knowing all the different looks that were Jack Harkness. This was one that she had seen many times before, but not a lot lately. It worried her. “Jack, are you and Ianto ok?”
Jack was spared from answering, the ringing of Gwen’s phone saving him. She gave him a look that told him their chat wasn’t over, and then glanced at the screen. “Ready or not, here we come.” she said, and slipping arm through Jack’s, the two of them headed up to the crime scene.
“Huw Sherman, thirty three.” Gwen started as they waited for the lift. She was in full cop mode now, and Jack slipped into his professional mask as well. “Found at around six this morning. Wasn’t answering his wake-up call, and hotel policy states that a employee has to knock on the door when there isn’t an answer to make sure their guests don’t oversleep. Hotel sells itself on its personal service. Guy knocked on the door, no one answered.”
The lift dinged, and they stepped inside. Gwen pressed the button for floor number four. “He had a bad feeling, so he used his key to open the door. Found him like he is now. Didn’t touch anything, just turned and threw up in the hall.”
Jack rolled his eyes. He remembered the first time he had seen a dead body. It had been a gruesome one too. He had been fortunate enough to have skipped breakfast, and ended up just dry heaving. Maintained some of his dignity, seeing that he was one of the only ones without chunks of their breakfast on their shirts. The lift doors opened. “You looked inside yet?”
Gwen shook her head. “Nope. I just quoted word for word what I was told. Wanted to share the moment with you.”
Despite the situation, Jack chuckled. “I’m honoured.”
They arrived outside of the door labeled 456 and Gwen knocked. They had to wait a couple seconds, then it opened and the grim face of Andy Davidson greeted them. “Come on in, then.”
He stepped out of the way to allow the two entrance to the crime scene. Gwen went straight in, heading for the bed, where the murder had occurred. Jack stayed in the mini lobby, glancing around, setting the stage for what was to come. He could imagine it, the killer touching the same door handle that he had just grabbed moments ago. Slipping into the room, standing where he was now, nothing but malicious and twisted thoughts in his mind, preparing to have a pleasure-filled night, because that was how men like that got off. Then he stepped around the corner.
It wasn’t the most gruesome crime scene that Jack had ever seen, but it was one of the most unsettling. Chills went down his back in waves as he looked at the scene in front of him. He had a terrible feeling that this macabre display had been put on as a show just for him.
The body of Huw Sherman was stretched out on the bed. His legs were straight and clad in his suit trousers and dress shoes. The rest of him was completely dressed as well; save for the sleeves of the man’s dress shirt and jacket. They had been cut off so it looked as though he was wearing a vest. His arms had been positioned so that they made a cross over his chest, each hand gripping the opposite shoulder, like they did with the deceased in coffins. The man’s eyes were open, eternally damned to stare at the ugly colour painted on the ceiling. His mouth was twisted into a choked scream, and Jack could almost hear the man’s pleadings bounce around the walls, unheard by the killer as he did the deed. The man’s tie was wrapped around his neck so tight that it looked like it had been fused to his skin. Jack had a horrid image flash into his head of the coroner untying the tie, the skin under it peeling off with it. He shuddered, then walked closer, looking for any telltale sign of evidence. When he got close enough, he realised why it was that the sleeves had been ripped off of the man’s suit. Carved into both arms was a number.
13:58.
The cuts were precise, and when Jack knelt on the floor to get a closer look, he didn’t see any jagged edges that would tell him the type of knife that was used. The edges were smooth and precise - someone who knew how to handle that particular piece of weaponry. There were no hesitation marks, the killer was confident ad decisive. There were also no thin lines of dried blood that should have dripped down from the cuts - the body must have been wiped clean. That was interesting.
Jack stood up and glanced over the body again, his eyes stopping at Sherman’s wrists. There were cuts along those too, this time jagged and uneven. He had seen those kinds of marks before. Handcuffs. And the man had clearly struggled to get wouds like those. But still, there was no blood around the wrists.
“He doesn’t like blood.” Jack said out loud, turning to Gwen. “He spent time cleaning the blood from the arms and wrists when he could have just left it there. And his killing method is clean and meticulous.”
Gwen nodded. “This is our guy.” She glanced at the tie around Sherman’s neck, and then shifted her gaze to the headboard. Lying draped over the top were several articles of clothing. Four of them were the sleeves from the shirt and jacket that the victim was wearing. The other was an ugly yellow-green tie. Gwen raised her eyebrow at this, and gestured toward one of the policemen in the room. “Anyone explain this?”
Andy stepped up. “Clerk who works downstairs claimed he was wearing that last night when he checked in. The murder weapon must have been one of the killer’s own.”
It was strange, looking at a silk tie and classifying it as a murder weapon. Jack got as close to the ugly tie as he could and peered at it before chuckling. “The killer has taste - that is about the cheapest tie you could buy - I don’t think I’d even talk to a guy wearing polyester. The one on the body looks to be silk.”
Unnoticed by both Gwen and Jack, Andy blushed a little and quickly undid his cheap polyester tie, stuffing it in his pocket before attracting attention once again. “The forensics team says that they looked for prints on almost every available surface, but didn’t find any. The whole room has been completely wiped down. Even the floor had been vacuumed. The skin on the victim had been wiped too. Smelt a little like household disinfectant wipes.”
“Wait.” Jack said, holding up a hand to stop Andy from going any further. “So you’re telling me that we have a whole crime scene right in front of us, complete with the murder weapon and everything and we have no physical evidence on this guy?”
“Well - not yet, no.” Andy said, giving a weak smile. “But we will. Mickey’s coming in as soon as he can to do a more thorough sweep of the place, and Suzie will more than likely find a hair or something on the body.”
“I don’t think so, mate.” came a voice from the behind them. Everyone turned to see Private Detective John Hart leaning on the wall, a smirk on his face while his eyes roamed the room, drinking in the details.
“John - we’ve been trying to call you for ages - where were you!” Gwen said angrily, crossing her arms and giving him a look that even the strongest men wilted under.
His smirk went down a notch, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “Honestly, love, I can’t seem to remember.”
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “We don’t have time for this - you’re hung over, aren’t you? Damn it, John! You’re on a case!”
John rolled his eyes and waved off Jack. “I’m not drunk, Jackie boy. Just last night’s a bit hazy…must have had some fun.” A lecherous grin grew on John’s face, then turned serious as he scoped the crime seen. He took a few steps forward, silent for the longest of times. Then, he started to laugh. “Oh, brilliant, this is. Bloody brilliant. The sick bastard’s playing with us. You aren’t gonna find anything - he’s pissed at the article, and is showing how he can’t be touched. All this evidence, but none of it useful. Brilliant.”
“He’s not pissed.” Jack said, frowning. “No - this is too calculated to be pissed. How long do you think it would take to clean an entire hotel room? Or to choke someone without leaving evidence? He’s not pissed - he’s showing off.”
“Tired of playin’ in the dark, yeah?” John said, the remnants of laughter still in his voice.
“Probably amused that we’re trying.” Jack put in, picking up where John had left off.
“Showing that even though we’re looking --”
“-- he’s not going to stop.”
“No reason to.”
The boys finished and glanced at each other, a small smile playing at both of their mouths. Gwen watched this as a bystander, unsettled by how easily their issues with each other were forgotten and how perfectly they seemed to mesh. She got flashbacks of all those years ago, for the short two weeks that they were partners in every way. Even before that, they had worked a few cases together, and they were always an unstoppable team. Better than her and Jack together, Gwen hated to admit. But their tendency to kick ass in the field couldn’t in any way make what happened between the two of them better.
“Boys, you’re missing something.” Gwen spoke up, breaking their concentration. She pointed over to the small coffee table, where there was a single manila file sitting on top of the old magazines. For a second, something flashed in John’s eyes, but it was too quick for anyone to see.
“What is that?” Jack asked, moving closer.
Gwen reached into her pocket and pulled out a glove, getting the ‘ok’ from Andy before flipping open the file.
Silence.
Gwen hurriedly flipped through the papers; shocked at the information she was seeing. Inside there were at least fifty sheets of paper. Each sheet had a photograph attached to it and the rest of the page was covered front and back, from margin to margin in small writing, detailing every single piece of that person’s life.
“Huw Sherman, Mark Lyndon, Lisa Hallet, John Ellis, Jasmine Pierce…” Gwen’s voice trailed off.
“Ok - definitely showing off.” John said.
Next Chapter
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey Smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Beta jooles34
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note Another chapter! Hope you all enjoy this - the response I've been getting for this is immense, and I'm completely beside myself. Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
He sat in the back of the bar, in a corner where light seemed to shrink away and darkness engulfed it - that, or the bulb had burnt out. He was alone, and no one dared to approach him. Despite the bar having table service, the waitresses let him walk to the bar if he wanted a refill or something to eat. He was hunched over his glass, his fingers slowly making their way around it as if they were mapping out every atom. His head was stooped over, his jacket never taken off. At a glance, he was a no-one wallowing in his sorrows. If one was to take a moment and really look at him, they would notice several things.
This first, and the most odd of them all, was the fact that the man was not drinking anything alcoholic. His glass was half full of cranberry juice, minus any spirits that one may usually add. The second thing - which wasn’t the most odd, but definitely the most important - was that he had the most beautiful, albeit startling, blue eyes that one would ever see. And those blue eyes were watching a certain man at the center of the room.
This other man, unlike the strange one in the corner, wasn’t there to be by himself or nurse whatever it was that had befallen him. He was definitely drinking, and he was definitely looking for someone to take home with him. His eyes were already slightly red, but it didn’t cause him to slur his words; if anything, it made him more boisterous and snarky. Every woman and man in the joint got a wink as they walked by, and about one in every three was given an offer of a free drink. Those who were propositioned would stare at him for several seconds, taking in his red hair, chiseled cheekbones and the fact that he claimed he was a detective working on a dangerous case looking for a release. Pretty much everyone gave John a look that told him they thought it was a little more than creepy and then would walk away quite quickly, but some would accept.
Ianto watched all of this from his little corner of hell. He watched this as his thumb rubbed perfect circles into the glass, and his lips moved, silently counting, ever counting. He counted the number of people that John winked at, and the number who accepted his offer of a drink. He counted the seconds that went by between the encounters, and he kept time of how much longer he could go without making his move, without doing anything. He was on a very tight schedule. His stopwatch sat in his pocket, but he dared not touch it. It still unnerved him - a traitor in his jacket - how such a perfect thing could betray him by doing a thing such as skipping a second.
His cheeks were still streaked them his tears, and he hadn’t yet been able to get his fingers to stop shaking. He needed a release - but not the kind that John was searching for. No, he needed something that would calm him, let him regain control, allow the darkness within him out before it tore him apart from the inside.
His hands shook even more at the prospect, and Ianto had to talk himself. Breathing in and out, counting as he did so. Always counting. His eyes never leaving John. Then - there was his chance.
He stood up and downed the rest of the sour drink, using it as his excuse. He carefully made his way around the private detective, in case the man suddenly found the urge to turn around. Everything would be lost if John saw him there.
Ianto made it to the bar undetected, and ordered the most complicated drink from the menu in order to buy himself some time. He slipped out his wallet and took the precious seconds to count out the exact amount his drink was,. That taken care of, he turned to position himself at the perfect angle; he was able to see John out of the corner of his eye, but sure that the man wouldn’t see him unless he was purposefully looking for him.
John had ordered a drink when Ianto had decided to get up, and he watched it being prepared. Nothing difficult - beer with a chaser. Once finished, it was sat on the counter an arms length away from Ianto, waiting for the waitress to come and pick it up. They didn’t make John get his own drinks.
Ianto dug his hand into his pocket, fingering the little pill that sat between the fabrics. It was a small thing - a weaker dose of Jack’s medicine, only over the counter and not recommended with alcohol. John would start feeling dizzy, and then about an hour later, he would be knocked out wherever he decided to sit down until the spell passed. If everything worked, John would go back to his own apartment, out of commission until the next day.
He shifted several inches over, stretched, and in one fluid motion the pill sank to the bottom of John’s beer bottle. With the bartender’s back still turned towards him, Ianto turned and made his leave, not wanting to wait any longer in case John saw him. The door slammed on the way out.
--xXx--
Ianto sat in a large, overstuffed chair in the lobby of the Hilton Cardiff hotel, located in the city centre. He sat amongst a large family that had just arrived for vacation - they all looked extremely tired, some of it probably having to do with the fact that it was around nine o’clock at night, and from the sound of their voices, they were Americans. Add that to the jetlag, and Ianto found himself wasting time wondering how it was they were all still awake. The majority of the party was under twenty, and Ianto shivered. Not exactly the best age to be, in his book. At least they weren’t loud.
Next to his overstuffed chair that looked extremely comfortable, but really wasn’t, Ianto had brought with him a briefcase and a small suitcase. The briefcase had been in the back of his rented car since the morning that he had bought it at a general store. The suitcase had been a new addition, and the supplies that were inside of it had been purchased within the last hour - all from predetermined stores stretched across the Cardiff area. He’d made sure everything was a popular brand that could be found in half of the stores that were in the city. He was virtually untraceable.
He was waiting for a certain person to enter the front doors. They lived in Cardiff, but were coming to the hotel for a meeting of a personal nature. Ianto picked up his briefcase and unhooked the latches, opening it laptop style on his knees. He glanced at the plain manila folder and his thoughts shot back to earlier that evening. What was Jack doing now, he wondered? Would the man take his farewell as the end to their relationship? Ianto wasn’t sure, but he would bet - no, he knew - that he had most likely moped for a bit before calling Gwen. Either that, or cleaned the house and set himself up on the couch incase Ianto came back that night. Like he was punishing himself. Ianto wondered how badly he had hurt Jack - if the man would ever forgive himself.
Ianto tore himself away from that train of thought and flipped open the folder to find a smug face looking back at him. Huw Sherman. The man had stood by as his sister was raped by his father over and over again, but didn’t say anything. When it came to the courtroom, he wouldn’t testify, and watched as his father talked his way out of it. She had been attacked, he said. The little girl was eight - her brother twelve.
Now, it was time for him to take the stand again, only Ianto wouldn’t be as kind as the judge.
The man walked through the front door, Ianto’s eyes following him. The Welshman closed his briefcase and stood up, grabbing his suitcase and extending the handle. For all intents and purpose, Ianto was just another one of the many who had arrived late at the hotel for an early business meeting. He walked slowly, timing himself so that he would walk by the front desk at the right moment to be able to hear the room number Huw was allocated. Ianto had found out, in his intensive research, that the man enjoyed monthly visits to expensive hotels, where he would hire a rent boy for the night. No wife who’s life would be ruined by Ianto’s quest - Huw had already screwed that up, with an ex who took almost half of his monthly earnings. Money, which he earned as a pencil pusher who looked at porn on his computer more than actually doing his work. Ianto knew that too.
He caught the room number - floor four, room fifty-six. He continued to walk at a normal pace and stepped into the lift. He pressed the button for floor four, and allowed the door to close all the way before leaning against the wall. His brow furrowed in concentration as the thought through the next phase of his plan. Ianto didn’t like bringing other people into his plans. Normally it would be just him and his victim, and that was all. No witnesses made for a clean getaway. He already found himself missing the safety of his warehouse - but even that wasn’t safe now. It never would be again. The moment the police thought something was wrong, that would be the first place they went, and Ianto couldn’t be caught in the middle of everything. Not yet, anyway.
He needed to get a key card without confronting anyone - which was a difficult task. The lift dinged and he stepped out, pulling the suitcase behind him. He glanced down both hallways, looking for a chambermaid’s trolly. When he saw none, he cursed gently under his breath, then headed toward the room.
There.
At the end of the hallway, several rooms past the one he was aiming for, a cleaner’s trolly sat in the middle of the corridor. He took a breath, counted two seconds to steady himself, and approached it. Getting there, Ianto glanced inside the open room. The maid had her back to the door, and Ianto took advantage of this. The all access pass was hanging off the side of the trolly and he quickly plucked it before turning and heading back to room 456.
He stood in front of the room for twelve seconds, calming himself down, preparing himself for what was about to come. Then he unlock the door with the stolen keycard, and let himself in.
He glanced at the clock and subtracted time away from when he first stepped into the lift. He had anywhere from five to ten minutes, but he was going to pace himself for the five.
Ianto walked straight over to the bed, having spent time earlier studying the layout of the hotel. It was so nice of then to put up virtual room tours on their website. He got his supplies ready first, setting his suitcase down on the floor and unzipping it. He took out a set of handcuffs and threw them onto the bed, and grabbing a pair of thing plastic gloves as well. He stuffed those into the back pocket of his jeans, before closing the suitcase. The rest of the stuff inside was for later. He slipped it under the bed, determined to keep it out of sight until its need arose. Then he reached inside of his pocket and pulled out his stopwatch. He stared at it, needing to trust it, needing it to do its job. Then he placed it carefully on the bedside table, positioned just right so that he could touch the start button on top without having to exert any un-needed effort.
His preparations complete, Ianto switched his focus to his appearance. He took off his jacket and placed it neatly on the back of a chair, making sure to touch as little in the hotel room as possible. When morning came, there would be a swarm of forensic technicians scouting every inch of the room, and he wanted to make sure he left them absolutely nothing.
He walked back over to the bed in time to hear footsteps outside in the corridor, followed closely by the sound of a keycard slipping into the lock. His victim had arrived. Ianto climbed onto the bed and crossed his legs, lying back against the metal framework of the headboard. His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of his shirt without wasting a second on fumbling. He ran a hand through his hair to mess it up as Huw entered the room, and had his arms hooked over the top of the frame and a lazy look on his face by the time the man came into visual range.
“How’d you get in here?” Huw asked, not caring about the answer. Ianto stayed silent, using the time to soak in the appearance of his next victim. The man was skinny and blonde and looked for the entire world like a tramp. The cheap suit didn’t hide the awkward way he walked in it, his tie looking more like a noose than a fashion accessory. Ianto couldn’t help but smile a little at that as his fingers started their twitching. It was a god-awful tie, the color of green and yellow vomit and that in no way matched his dark blue ill-fitted suit. It made Ianto appreciate Jack’s love for fashion and sharp dressing all the more. He watched as Huw set down his briefcase, not noticing how there was another lying behind the chair where Ianto’s coat was hanging.
Ianto was out of his comfort zone, never having to trick his victim into restraints before. He always had them unconscious before driving to the warehouse, where they would be tied up and prepared for him before they even awoke. He was weary and a little on edge, but his calm exterior gave nothing away. His fingers itched to grab that ugly tie and use it as the death device that it symbolized. His mind yearned and his body lusted for the sounds that came from a body when it was being emptied of oxygen. The primal need for unspilled blood almost drove him out of control. But Ianto held on.
Huw Sherman wasn’t one for much foreplay. Most people who hire rent boys in expensive places like this liked to pretend. Go out for dinner maybe, a drink or two. Make it feel like an actual date where one was only paying for the sustenance and hotel room instead of the significant other. But Huw had been doing these monthly meetings so long that he didn’t care for that kind of pretense anymore - he knew exactly what the situation pertained to, and he would be damned if he didn’t get his money’s worth.
He slid onto the bed and Ianto met him halfway, avoiding Huw’s lips, instead going for the soft skin that made up the neck. Ianto worked his way down, stopping and nibbling or sucking on the flesh, going slowly as his hands worked double time, unbuttoning the man’s greasy shirt. He tried to ignore the feeling of boney hands groping at his ass and crotch, the moans that drifted into his ears and the taste of a strange man’s flesh on his tongue. When he got the shirt unbuttoned he broke away from Huw’s neck and pushed him down on the bed, his head mere inches away from the headboard. The man chuckled and tried to sit back up, wanting more skin contact, but Ianto stopped him by using his knees and straddling the man. He leaned forward and grabbed both of Huw’s wrists with his hands, using his left to hold them both above his head. Ianto started to kiss down the man’s chest, stopping at his right nipple and playing with it with his tongue. He bit and sucked and nibbled at it, almost rolling his eyes at how easily the man was pleasured. He and Jack would play games some times - control games. He remembered one night when they weren’t allowed to make a single sound. They also weren’t allowed to enter one another until a sound was made, and the one who stayed silent the longest got the honours. It had been a long night - but Ianto won. He always won. Unlss he chose to lose.
The thought distracted Ianto and his lips quirked into a soft smile at the memory. Then Huw moved underneath him and he was brought back to the present. He continued his ministrations, moving on to the other nipple as he used his free hand to reach for the handcuffs that were still lying innocently on the bed. He brought them up and used the fact that Huw was distracted to click the cold metal restraints around his wrists and onto the poles that made up the headboard. As soon as they were closed Ianto sat up from what he was doing, no longer needing to continue.
“Kinky - I like it.” Huw said in a breathless tone, wiggling his hands in the cuffs. The sharp edges bit into his skin and he cried out. “What the hell?”
But Ianto ignored him; pushing up off of the man and slipping off of the bed, taking time to button back up his shirt. He had plenty of time now.
“Hey! Come back here! What the hell - let me go!” Huw demanded, but Ianto ignored it. The man looked pathetic, shirt unbuttoned, eyes wide with arousal that was slowly turning into fear, half hard and handcuffed to the bed. There were thin lines of blood that were inching their way down his arm, and Ianto winced. He hated the sight of the stuff - it was too messy, unclean, and very good at picking up trace evidence. Ianto pulled the gloves from his back pocket and snapped them onto his hands, walking over to the dresser and clicking the button on the top of the stopwatch. This was his time now.
Ianto leaned over and dragged his suitcase from under the bed. He pulled out a roll of duck tape first, which he ripped using his fingers and slapped it over Huw’s mouth. Ianto loved listening to his victims blubber and cry, trying to defend something that they didn’t have - innocence. Sometimes he would write what they said in the margins of their file, like a cruel punch line to a joke that only he knew. Other times, he would write down how long they begged before realizing that they wouldn’t be allowed to live. But he would be robbed of that tonight, along with several of his other rituals. It would be worth it though.
Then he grabbed some disinfectant wipes and quickly went over everything - Huw’s body where Ianto had touched him, the entire framework of the bed, and the handcuffs. He cleaned up the blood at the same time, feeling better when he could no longer see the mess it was making. Ianto spent exactly thirty minutes methodically cleaning the places that he had touched, knowing that Huw’s eyes were frantically watching him, mentally counting the times that the man whimpered from behind the tape. Then Ianto wiped himself down, not because it was essential, but because he needed to. He scrubbed at his lips, desperately trying to get the man’s taste out of his mouth. It was disgusting. He would have spit, but spit had DNA in it.
When Ianto was finished, he turned to Huw, briefcase in hand. He opened it and took out the files, sat on the edge of the bed, and began to read. He told Huw the story of his sister’s trial, and her hardships afterwards. He went into detail about how Huw’s life had unfolded from there, and the evils he had committed.
He finished, looking up from the file, watching as tears streamed down Huw’s face. But they weren’t tears of regret or remorse. No. He wasn’t crying for his sister he was crying for himself. These were tears that were shed when someone realized that they were about to die, and there was absolutely nothing that they could do about it. That secret smile of Ianto’s crept across his face; the genuine one that would only confirm Huw’s theory. Ianto got up from the bed and reaching for his stopwatch pressed the button on top, recording the time in his journal before resetting the watch. Then he reached into his suitcase once more and pulled out a tie. It was a nicer one that what Huw had been wearing - pure silk, with a rich purple colour that would go with the rest of the man’s outfit nicely. Ianto didn’t do second rate when it came to his tools.
This time, when he straddled Huw, the man didn’t make a sound. Ianto wrapped the tie around his neck and slowly tied it, his crystal blue eyes staring holes into Huw’s ugly brown ones the whole time.
“I’m going to take the tape off now.” Ianto said calmly when he finished doing up the tie. “And you’re not going to scream, or yell, or try anything. Because that would just make me angry, ok?”
The man nodded frantically, and Ianto ripped the tape off. True to his nod, Huw stayed silent, letting out only the slightest whimper and sniffle. Ianto rolled his eyes, his fingers dancing along the silk noose of their own accord. His heart rate sped up, and his breathing quickened in anticipation of what was to come. Slowly, he started to tighten the knot. He wanted to make a new record tonight - longest death. He wanted it to be special, to signify something.
“P-please.” Huw choked out as the knot slowly cut off his air supply. He gasped, but only a miniscule amount of oxygen entered his lungs.
“That’s what your sister said to you.” Ianto said, his own words uneven and husky, his tone unnaturally low and thick. “You didn’t listen. Why should I?”
Then Ianto allowed his control to be swept away by the desire to complete what he had started, and there were no more words spoken.
--xXx--
“You look like shit.” Gwen Cooper said to Jack seconds after he had stepped out of his large black SUV. And, like most times when Gwen made observations, they were true. The bags that had been under his eyes the night before had grown, and his skin was as pale as Gwen had ever seen it. Even in the winter months the man kept a tan, but now it looked like all the blood had been drained from his body. He was limping harder than usual too, but she didn’t say anything about that.
“Haven’t you heard? Shit is the new fabulous.” Jack retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was worried about what his stupidity had done to his relationship, and had a gut feeling that the body found in the hotel that they were currently standing in front of was a result of their serial killer. It was a few days early according to their estimates, but people could be fickle sometimes. Of course, that’s not what Jack thought of this killer. He had spent the last month studying what little they knew of the man, and he was nothing if not thorough. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would let urges get the best of him; step outside his usual pattern on a whim. No, it was more than likely a statement in retaliation of the newspaper article. Gwen had called him that morning at a more reasonable hour then the last time, but Jack hadn’t been asleep anyway. She told him to meet her at the Hilton Cardiff hotel, and was all through her voice that another body had been found. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with John, and neither had Jack. He had probably gone on a binge somewhere last night after giving Jack the information against Ianto. Jack wished him the hangover from hell.
“Did you get some sleep? Doesn’t look like it.” Gwen was saying, trying to keep the tone light and prevent talking about what lay in wait on the fourth floor. They were still standing outside the hotel, waiting for the forensics team to finish before they could enter. Gwen had requested that nothing be touched or moved until they had a look around, but the forensics team was already looking - very carefully and meticulously - for prints.
“I had more important things to do.” Jack said, leaving out the fact that those important things consisted of reading into Ianto’s personal history and then hating himself for hurting the younger man.
Gwen raised an eyebrow at this. “Did you talk to Ianto about the news article?” Then her eyes grew wide with mischief as she misinterpreted Jack’s earlier statement. “Important, my arse. You were just shagging the night away, weren’t you? Did you at least find out who published it?”
Jack’s face grew dark with guilt when Gwen brought up his lover, and looked away, leaning on his walking stick for support. “Owen went through a different editor. Ianto didn’t know.” His voice was a mumble.
Gwen picked up on the change of mood in an instant, knowing all the different looks that were Jack Harkness. This was one that she had seen many times before, but not a lot lately. It worried her. “Jack, are you and Ianto ok?”
Jack was spared from answering, the ringing of Gwen’s phone saving him. She gave him a look that told him their chat wasn’t over, and then glanced at the screen. “Ready or not, here we come.” she said, and slipping arm through Jack’s, the two of them headed up to the crime scene.
“Huw Sherman, thirty three.” Gwen started as they waited for the lift. She was in full cop mode now, and Jack slipped into his professional mask as well. “Found at around six this morning. Wasn’t answering his wake-up call, and hotel policy states that a employee has to knock on the door when there isn’t an answer to make sure their guests don’t oversleep. Hotel sells itself on its personal service. Guy knocked on the door, no one answered.”
The lift dinged, and they stepped inside. Gwen pressed the button for floor number four. “He had a bad feeling, so he used his key to open the door. Found him like he is now. Didn’t touch anything, just turned and threw up in the hall.”
Jack rolled his eyes. He remembered the first time he had seen a dead body. It had been a gruesome one too. He had been fortunate enough to have skipped breakfast, and ended up just dry heaving. Maintained some of his dignity, seeing that he was one of the only ones without chunks of their breakfast on their shirts. The lift doors opened. “You looked inside yet?”
Gwen shook her head. “Nope. I just quoted word for word what I was told. Wanted to share the moment with you.”
Despite the situation, Jack chuckled. “I’m honoured.”
They arrived outside of the door labeled 456 and Gwen knocked. They had to wait a couple seconds, then it opened and the grim face of Andy Davidson greeted them. “Come on in, then.”
He stepped out of the way to allow the two entrance to the crime scene. Gwen went straight in, heading for the bed, where the murder had occurred. Jack stayed in the mini lobby, glancing around, setting the stage for what was to come. He could imagine it, the killer touching the same door handle that he had just grabbed moments ago. Slipping into the room, standing where he was now, nothing but malicious and twisted thoughts in his mind, preparing to have a pleasure-filled night, because that was how men like that got off. Then he stepped around the corner.
It wasn’t the most gruesome crime scene that Jack had ever seen, but it was one of the most unsettling. Chills went down his back in waves as he looked at the scene in front of him. He had a terrible feeling that this macabre display had been put on as a show just for him.
The body of Huw Sherman was stretched out on the bed. His legs were straight and clad in his suit trousers and dress shoes. The rest of him was completely dressed as well; save for the sleeves of the man’s dress shirt and jacket. They had been cut off so it looked as though he was wearing a vest. His arms had been positioned so that they made a cross over his chest, each hand gripping the opposite shoulder, like they did with the deceased in coffins. The man’s eyes were open, eternally damned to stare at the ugly colour painted on the ceiling. His mouth was twisted into a choked scream, and Jack could almost hear the man’s pleadings bounce around the walls, unheard by the killer as he did the deed. The man’s tie was wrapped around his neck so tight that it looked like it had been fused to his skin. Jack had a horrid image flash into his head of the coroner untying the tie, the skin under it peeling off with it. He shuddered, then walked closer, looking for any telltale sign of evidence. When he got close enough, he realised why it was that the sleeves had been ripped off of the man’s suit. Carved into both arms was a number.
13:58.
The cuts were precise, and when Jack knelt on the floor to get a closer look, he didn’t see any jagged edges that would tell him the type of knife that was used. The edges were smooth and precise - someone who knew how to handle that particular piece of weaponry. There were no hesitation marks, the killer was confident ad decisive. There were also no thin lines of dried blood that should have dripped down from the cuts - the body must have been wiped clean. That was interesting.
Jack stood up and glanced over the body again, his eyes stopping at Sherman’s wrists. There were cuts along those too, this time jagged and uneven. He had seen those kinds of marks before. Handcuffs. And the man had clearly struggled to get wouds like those. But still, there was no blood around the wrists.
“He doesn’t like blood.” Jack said out loud, turning to Gwen. “He spent time cleaning the blood from the arms and wrists when he could have just left it there. And his killing method is clean and meticulous.”
Gwen nodded. “This is our guy.” She glanced at the tie around Sherman’s neck, and then shifted her gaze to the headboard. Lying draped over the top were several articles of clothing. Four of them were the sleeves from the shirt and jacket that the victim was wearing. The other was an ugly yellow-green tie. Gwen raised her eyebrow at this, and gestured toward one of the policemen in the room. “Anyone explain this?”
Andy stepped up. “Clerk who works downstairs claimed he was wearing that last night when he checked in. The murder weapon must have been one of the killer’s own.”
It was strange, looking at a silk tie and classifying it as a murder weapon. Jack got as close to the ugly tie as he could and peered at it before chuckling. “The killer has taste - that is about the cheapest tie you could buy - I don’t think I’d even talk to a guy wearing polyester. The one on the body looks to be silk.”
Unnoticed by both Gwen and Jack, Andy blushed a little and quickly undid his cheap polyester tie, stuffing it in his pocket before attracting attention once again. “The forensics team says that they looked for prints on almost every available surface, but didn’t find any. The whole room has been completely wiped down. Even the floor had been vacuumed. The skin on the victim had been wiped too. Smelt a little like household disinfectant wipes.”
“Wait.” Jack said, holding up a hand to stop Andy from going any further. “So you’re telling me that we have a whole crime scene right in front of us, complete with the murder weapon and everything and we have no physical evidence on this guy?”
“Well - not yet, no.” Andy said, giving a weak smile. “But we will. Mickey’s coming in as soon as he can to do a more thorough sweep of the place, and Suzie will more than likely find a hair or something on the body.”
“I don’t think so, mate.” came a voice from the behind them. Everyone turned to see Private Detective John Hart leaning on the wall, a smirk on his face while his eyes roamed the room, drinking in the details.
“John - we’ve been trying to call you for ages - where were you!” Gwen said angrily, crossing her arms and giving him a look that even the strongest men wilted under.
His smirk went down a notch, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “Honestly, love, I can’t seem to remember.”
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “We don’t have time for this - you’re hung over, aren’t you? Damn it, John! You’re on a case!”
John rolled his eyes and waved off Jack. “I’m not drunk, Jackie boy. Just last night’s a bit hazy…must have had some fun.” A lecherous grin grew on John’s face, then turned serious as he scoped the crime seen. He took a few steps forward, silent for the longest of times. Then, he started to laugh. “Oh, brilliant, this is. Bloody brilliant. The sick bastard’s playing with us. You aren’t gonna find anything - he’s pissed at the article, and is showing how he can’t be touched. All this evidence, but none of it useful. Brilliant.”
“He’s not pissed.” Jack said, frowning. “No - this is too calculated to be pissed. How long do you think it would take to clean an entire hotel room? Or to choke someone without leaving evidence? He’s not pissed - he’s showing off.”
“Tired of playin’ in the dark, yeah?” John said, the remnants of laughter still in his voice.
“Probably amused that we’re trying.” Jack put in, picking up where John had left off.
“Showing that even though we’re looking --”
“-- he’s not going to stop.”
“No reason to.”
The boys finished and glanced at each other, a small smile playing at both of their mouths. Gwen watched this as a bystander, unsettled by how easily their issues with each other were forgotten and how perfectly they seemed to mesh. She got flashbacks of all those years ago, for the short two weeks that they were partners in every way. Even before that, they had worked a few cases together, and they were always an unstoppable team. Better than her and Jack together, Gwen hated to admit. But their tendency to kick ass in the field couldn’t in any way make what happened between the two of them better.
“Boys, you’re missing something.” Gwen spoke up, breaking their concentration. She pointed over to the small coffee table, where there was a single manila file sitting on top of the old magazines. For a second, something flashed in John’s eyes, but it was too quick for anyone to see.
“What is that?” Jack asked, moving closer.
Gwen reached into her pocket and pulled out a glove, getting the ‘ok’ from Andy before flipping open the file.
Silence.
Gwen hurriedly flipped through the papers; shocked at the information she was seeing. Inside there were at least fifty sheets of paper. Each sheet had a photograph attached to it and the rest of the page was covered front and back, from margin to margin in small writing, detailing every single piece of that person’s life.
“Huw Sherman, Mark Lyndon, Lisa Hallet, John Ellis, Jasmine Pierce…” Gwen’s voice trailed off.
“Ok - definitely showing off.” John said.
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