'Tis the Season for Murder: A Christmas Caper, 3/7
Title: 'Tis the Season for Murder: A Christmas Caper
Author: tripatch
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: A mall Santa is murdered and Nick is on the case. The problem? Monroe seems to think it might be a real Santa.
Notes: Thanks to be_merry for the quick beta and my brother for indulging me when I ask about police procedure for my fics. ♥!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Author’s Notes
Teaser
“No, I’m not saying Santa is real,” Monroe sniped. “I’m saying that there are creatures we call ‘santas’. Again, a bastardization by humans from sinterklaas. Seriously, do you guys just not know how to pronounce foreign words or what?”
“Back to Santa,” Nick said, waving him on. If he let Monroe get started on a rant about linguistics and proper pronunciation, he would be here all night without anything useful to show for it except a deeper understanding of umlauts and vowel syncopation-which, surprisingly, rarely showed up in any practical application.
“Fine, refuse to be educated. It’s people like you who-”
“Santa,” Nick repeated firmly.
Monroe sighed and stood, stretching his back as he grabbed Nick’s cup of coffee with his own to refill them. He tinkered with the machine and talked over the noise as it started gurgling. “There’s not much to say. You know how everyone asks, ‘But how can one guy deliver presents to the entire globe in one night!’, or if they’re smart, ‘How can one guy deliver presents to half the globe in one night!’?”
“Yeaaah,” Nick said.
“One guy can’t. But you get a whole set of creatures working on it, and boom, you have Christmas.”
“Do they have any enemies?” Nick said, aware of how absurd it sounded to his own ears. Who didn’t love Santa? Even if people didn’t believe in the fundamentals of the Christian Christmas story, or the saccharine atmosphere that pervaded during this time of year, not many would disagree with a jolly old guy who brought gifts to good little children-and he didn’t know any kid who didn’t eagerly await waking up on a cold Christmas morning to run down the stairs in their socks to find the presents waiting under the tree.
Monroe wrinkled his nose. “Not that I know of. Hell, even our family loved them. They’re just really nice creatures, period. I guess you could get them for a B&E charge, but that’d be pushing it.”
He paused and looked at Nick, who was trying very hard to keep his face as blank as possible.
It wasn’t working.
“Oh my god, you’re excited about this, aren’t you?” Monroe asked, his eyes wide. “You’re seriously a little kid.”
“I love Christmas,” Nick finally confessed. “The calls are awful, but you also get to read about the heartwarming stories, the smell of pine and fir, the decorations-”
“You probably have one of those inflatable Santas on your yard, don’t you?” Monroe accused.
“Shut up,” Nick said. He sighed and grabbed his mug of coffee, rolling it between his hands on the tablecloth. “If they’re really as nice as you say, then I can’t see one threatening the nest of our cinomolgus, which means I’m back to no viable suspect.”
“Unless it wasn’t thinking straight,” Monroe pointed out, blowing over his coffee to cool it. “Parents are rarely rational when it comes to the protection of their kids.”
“True,” Nick turned it over in his head. “I guess it’s time to bring in Mr. Spicer and see what’s really going on.”
“Spicer? Really?”
“Yeah,” Nick said ruefully as he shrugged on his jacket. “I know.”
“Whatever. Let me know how it goes.”
Nick paused with his hand on the doorknob, staring at Monroe shrewdly, who fidgeted under his gaze.
“What?”
“You’ve never asked me to let you know how a case will turn out.”
Monroe looked trapped. “I always assume you’ll show up and tell me anyway,” he tried.
Nick shook his head. “No, that’s not it. There’s something else…You love Christmas, too!” Nick said with a sudden burst of triumph.
“What?” Monroe made a scoffing noise. “You’ve been hitting the Grimm-sauce too hard. I’m too old for that stuff.”
“No, no,” Nick walked closer, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You want to know who did it. Something in you is getting really angry at the thought of someone killing a poor, defenseless santa whose only joy in life is making children happy-”
“Oh, shut up already! Yes, I love santas. When I was a kid, I begged my parents for a train set and they said it was too expensive. And then Christmas came and the guy just knew somehow and it annoys me that someone went and killed one.” Monroe had a disgruntled expression on his face. He threw up his arms and stared at the ceiling. “Who does that? Who kills a santa?”
Nick was still grinning as he waved goodbye and left.
The next day dawned bright and cold and far too early for Nick, who had spent his night researching pages upon pages of information about santas in the trailer. The Grimms before him were apparently a suspicious lot, because everything hinted at something nefarious going on that they could never prove. From all appearances, they really were likeable creatures that spent their extended lifespan doing good. There were records of them being toymakers, tree growers, anything to do with the Christmas season, in particular. Some of the modern notes were more generously disposed to them, referencing several famous philanthropists, though most santas donated their time and resources to charities anonymously. Nick had copied a brief note about one natural enemy, but there was only a brief description next to a picture of a tall, pear-shaped humanoid with sickly eyes and crooked teeth. Even its name was a mystery, as the ink had smudged and he could only make out what looked like a “G” somewhere in the mess. Not for the first time, Nick thought about creating a Grimm database on a computer to cross-index the haphazardly put together book of resources.
With two cups of coffee warming his insides and his leather jacket wrapped around him, he made his way to the station.
“We’ve got a runner,” Hank greeted him as he walked in.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Spicer was picked up this morning trying to leave town.” Hank nodded toward the detainment room. “Without a formal charge, we’re just holding him as a person of interest, but so far he hasn’t said anything. I thought I’d wait for you to finally show up, see if we can shake something out of him.”
“Sorry to detain your fun,” Nick grinned, holding the door open for Hank to enter. Mr. Spicer sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, drumming his fingers nervously on the surface of the table. There was a Starbucks cup in front of him and Nick could smell the cinnamon wafting from its open top. He looked up when they entered.
“My wife!” he squawked. “She’s coming down here. She’s a lawyer!”
“Good for her," Hank praised, pulling out a chair opposite and slouching in it. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Why were you trying to leave town, Mr. Spicer?” Nick asked casually. Unlike cop shows they showed on television, ninety percent of confessions were usually found by a sympathetic face saying they just wanted to understand what happened. If Mr. Spicer was expecting a bad cop, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
Mr. Spicer’s fingers paused in their rhythmic tapping on the table. He buried his face in his hands. “I told you, it’s Christmas. We’re going to visit my wife’s family in Ohio, that’s it.”
“A little short notice for work, wasn’t it?” Hank asked.
“I called them up this morning. There’s been a bit of an emergency. It doesn’t look like her mother has that much longer to live and this might be her last Christmas.” Mr. Spicer fidgeted, which wasn’t a sign of guilt, as most people tended to be nervous when being held by the police for questioning in a homicide case. Nick watched him closely anyway.
“Okay, Mr. Spicer,” he said. “That’s fine, we just-”
There was a commotion outside, then Wu poked his head in through the gap in the door. “Got a woman here claiming to be his wife. She says she’s a lawyer.”
Hank and Nick exchanged looks. “Let her in,” Nick nodded.
Wu disappeared behind the door frame and they heard a murmured conversation before a striking woman walked in with confident strides. She had shiny amber hair that brushed the tips of her shoulders, pulled back part-way into a silver clip. Her face was clear, with the lightest brushes of make-up and the faint rose of lipstick. The suit she wore was professional and fitting, clearly tailored to highlight her slender limbs and the effect made her appear impossibly taller.
“Ava,” Mr. Spicer said, standing to embrace his wife.
“Darling,” she said, catching him in a hug. She glared at the two detectives with piercing blue eyes.
“I'm Ava Spicer, his wife and attorney. I’ll assume you weren’t questioning my client without his lawyer present?” she asked. Her voice, though sharp, had a melodious quality, and her accent sounded vaguely song-like. Nick surreptitiously watched her, surprised to see that her face momentarily flickered into the same features he had seen in Mr. Spicer the previous morning.
“We were asking what he was doing leaving town, Mrs. Spicer,” Nick said, still watching her carefully. “He verified that he understood his rights.”
Her voice was clipped. “Is be he being charged with anything?”
“No, Mrs. Spicer,” Hank said respectfully. “He’s being detained as a person of interest in a homicide case.”
“Ava,” Mr. Spicer said. She instantly turned, eyes turning warm. “Please, we have nothing to hide.”
“Alright, Corbin,” she said with a sigh. “Please continue with your questioning, detectives.”
“Thank you. We were asking why Mr. Spicer was attempting to leave town this morning.”
“He was coming to pick me up before we left to visit my mother in Ohio,” the lawyer said primly. She hesitated, then continued, “We don’t have much family left. My father died years ago and I have no siblings or other relatives. My mother has been very sick lately and we’re not-”
She broke off, one manicured hand covering her mouth. Mr. Spicer touched his hand to her shoulder, offering his silent support. She nodded in thanks and straightened her face again, though her voice still sounded rough. “It was unexpected, but she called and asked us to come. The doctors don’t think she has very long. We couldn’t very well say no.”
“No, I suppose not,” Hank said. He looked at Nick askance, arching one eyebrow, clearly asking if he thought they were on the level. Nick gave a subtle nod. They appeared devoted to each other, and he was starting to see the fierceness of a mother hen in the woman’s demeanor. They didn’t appear to be lying about anything so far, however, and their story about her mother fit in with what Monroe had told him about cinomolgi.
“Mrs. Spicer,” Nick began, “do you have any children?”
Her hands fluttered around her throat before settling, but the drape of her jacket turned briefly into feathers and the undershirt she wore looked more like the color markings of a bird than a blouse.
“No,” she said carefully. She was lying, Nick could tell. The brief show of her true form, the attempts to keep her voice calm and not let her fluster show all told the truth. As he watched, her blue eyes turned furious. “I don’t see what that has to do with this investigation.”
“Just curious,” Nick said with a tight smile. “We like to cover everything. Were you familiar with Mr. Stan A. Alcuse, Mrs. Spicer?”
She nodded, a trifle sad. “Yes. I had met him when picking Corbin up from work. He seemed like a very nice man. I’m sorry to hear about his passing.”
“Did you know him very well?”
“Just a conversation here and there, and of course, Corbin always spoke very highly of him.” She smiled wistfully. “He didn’t have much, but he offered to help us should we ever need it.”
There was another rap on the glass, and Nick felt a flicker of irritation for the second interruption of a session, but the annoyance fled when he saw that it was his Captain, standing in the small pane. When the man saw that he had their attention, he gestured for them to leave the room. They both stood and told the couple they would be right back.
Nick shut the door gently behind him and looked at the Captain with interest. “Sir?” he asked.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Captain Renard grimaced. “But I need an update.”
“They seem to be telling the truth. We can verify their story about visiting her mother and call to check his story about calling this morning to let his work know he wouldn’t be able to make it. Other than that, we really don’t have anything to hold him on, and no leads.”
“What about the woman who found the body?”
“Her background check was clean,” Hank shrugged. “We took her statement and released her pending our investigation.”
“Well, you might as well cut him loose,” Captain Renard sighed. He handed them another folder. “There’s been another Santa murdered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need you boys to find who’s behind this quickly. The last thing we need is a media frenzy during this time of year about Santa being killed.” Captain Renard scrubbed his face with one hand and the two detectives winced sympathetically. As long as they did their jobs and found the murderer, they were fine, but Captain Renard had to deal with the Chief breathing down his neck about bad publicity.
“Will do, sir,” Hank promised.
They entered the room again. Mrs. Spicer looked up, one arm held around her husband’s shoulders. “Detectives, as I understand it, you are allowed to hold my husband for forty-eight hours before you must charge him or release him. Were you planning on holding him the full time?”
Nick shook his head. “No, Mrs. Spicer, you and your husband are free to go. Please leave the officer who escorted you in an address and phone number we can reach you at before you leave.”
She nodded crisply. “Understood.”
They left the couple to gather their things and headed out to the new crime scene. Nick pressed his face against the window-glass and exhaled, watching his breath steam up the window. He idly drew a sprig of holly on it.
Hank looked at him slyly, "Long night?"
Nick forced a grin. "Man, you have no idea."
Author: tripatch
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: A mall Santa is murdered and Nick is on the case. The problem? Monroe seems to think it might be a real Santa.
Notes: Thanks to be_merry for the quick beta and my brother for indulging me when I ask about police procedure for my fics. ♥!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Author’s Notes
Teaser
“No, I’m not saying Santa is real,” Monroe sniped. “I’m saying that there are creatures we call ‘santas’. Again, a bastardization by humans from sinterklaas. Seriously, do you guys just not know how to pronounce foreign words or what?”
“Back to Santa,” Nick said, waving him on. If he let Monroe get started on a rant about linguistics and proper pronunciation, he would be here all night without anything useful to show for it except a deeper understanding of umlauts and vowel syncopation-which, surprisingly, rarely showed up in any practical application.
“Fine, refuse to be educated. It’s people like you who-”
“Santa,” Nick repeated firmly.
Monroe sighed and stood, stretching his back as he grabbed Nick’s cup of coffee with his own to refill them. He tinkered with the machine and talked over the noise as it started gurgling. “There’s not much to say. You know how everyone asks, ‘But how can one guy deliver presents to the entire globe in one night!’, or if they’re smart, ‘How can one guy deliver presents to half the globe in one night!’?”
“Yeaaah,” Nick said.
“One guy can’t. But you get a whole set of creatures working on it, and boom, you have Christmas.”
“Do they have any enemies?” Nick said, aware of how absurd it sounded to his own ears. Who didn’t love Santa? Even if people didn’t believe in the fundamentals of the Christian Christmas story, or the saccharine atmosphere that pervaded during this time of year, not many would disagree with a jolly old guy who brought gifts to good little children-and he didn’t know any kid who didn’t eagerly await waking up on a cold Christmas morning to run down the stairs in their socks to find the presents waiting under the tree.
Monroe wrinkled his nose. “Not that I know of. Hell, even our family loved them. They’re just really nice creatures, period. I guess you could get them for a B&E charge, but that’d be pushing it.”
He paused and looked at Nick, who was trying very hard to keep his face as blank as possible.
It wasn’t working.
“Oh my god, you’re excited about this, aren’t you?” Monroe asked, his eyes wide. “You’re seriously a little kid.”
“I love Christmas,” Nick finally confessed. “The calls are awful, but you also get to read about the heartwarming stories, the smell of pine and fir, the decorations-”
“You probably have one of those inflatable Santas on your yard, don’t you?” Monroe accused.
“Shut up,” Nick said. He sighed and grabbed his mug of coffee, rolling it between his hands on the tablecloth. “If they’re really as nice as you say, then I can’t see one threatening the nest of our cinomolgus, which means I’m back to no viable suspect.”
“Unless it wasn’t thinking straight,” Monroe pointed out, blowing over his coffee to cool it. “Parents are rarely rational when it comes to the protection of their kids.”
“True,” Nick turned it over in his head. “I guess it’s time to bring in Mr. Spicer and see what’s really going on.”
“Spicer? Really?”
“Yeah,” Nick said ruefully as he shrugged on his jacket. “I know.”
“Whatever. Let me know how it goes.”
Nick paused with his hand on the doorknob, staring at Monroe shrewdly, who fidgeted under his gaze.
“What?”
“You’ve never asked me to let you know how a case will turn out.”
Monroe looked trapped. “I always assume you’ll show up and tell me anyway,” he tried.
Nick shook his head. “No, that’s not it. There’s something else…You love Christmas, too!” Nick said with a sudden burst of triumph.
“What?” Monroe made a scoffing noise. “You’ve been hitting the Grimm-sauce too hard. I’m too old for that stuff.”
“No, no,” Nick walked closer, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You want to know who did it. Something in you is getting really angry at the thought of someone killing a poor, defenseless santa whose only joy in life is making children happy-”
“Oh, shut up already! Yes, I love santas. When I was a kid, I begged my parents for a train set and they said it was too expensive. And then Christmas came and the guy just knew somehow and it annoys me that someone went and killed one.” Monroe had a disgruntled expression on his face. He threw up his arms and stared at the ceiling. “Who does that? Who kills a santa?”
Nick was still grinning as he waved goodbye and left.
The next day dawned bright and cold and far too early for Nick, who had spent his night researching pages upon pages of information about santas in the trailer. The Grimms before him were apparently a suspicious lot, because everything hinted at something nefarious going on that they could never prove. From all appearances, they really were likeable creatures that spent their extended lifespan doing good. There were records of them being toymakers, tree growers, anything to do with the Christmas season, in particular. Some of the modern notes were more generously disposed to them, referencing several famous philanthropists, though most santas donated their time and resources to charities anonymously. Nick had copied a brief note about one natural enemy, but there was only a brief description next to a picture of a tall, pear-shaped humanoid with sickly eyes and crooked teeth. Even its name was a mystery, as the ink had smudged and he could only make out what looked like a “G” somewhere in the mess. Not for the first time, Nick thought about creating a Grimm database on a computer to cross-index the haphazardly put together book of resources.
With two cups of coffee warming his insides and his leather jacket wrapped around him, he made his way to the station.
“We’ve got a runner,” Hank greeted him as he walked in.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Spicer was picked up this morning trying to leave town.” Hank nodded toward the detainment room. “Without a formal charge, we’re just holding him as a person of interest, but so far he hasn’t said anything. I thought I’d wait for you to finally show up, see if we can shake something out of him.”
“Sorry to detain your fun,” Nick grinned, holding the door open for Hank to enter. Mr. Spicer sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, drumming his fingers nervously on the surface of the table. There was a Starbucks cup in front of him and Nick could smell the cinnamon wafting from its open top. He looked up when they entered.
“My wife!” he squawked. “She’s coming down here. She’s a lawyer!”
“Good for her," Hank praised, pulling out a chair opposite and slouching in it. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Why were you trying to leave town, Mr. Spicer?” Nick asked casually. Unlike cop shows they showed on television, ninety percent of confessions were usually found by a sympathetic face saying they just wanted to understand what happened. If Mr. Spicer was expecting a bad cop, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
Mr. Spicer’s fingers paused in their rhythmic tapping on the table. He buried his face in his hands. “I told you, it’s Christmas. We’re going to visit my wife’s family in Ohio, that’s it.”
“A little short notice for work, wasn’t it?” Hank asked.
“I called them up this morning. There’s been a bit of an emergency. It doesn’t look like her mother has that much longer to live and this might be her last Christmas.” Mr. Spicer fidgeted, which wasn’t a sign of guilt, as most people tended to be nervous when being held by the police for questioning in a homicide case. Nick watched him closely anyway.
“Okay, Mr. Spicer,” he said. “That’s fine, we just-”
There was a commotion outside, then Wu poked his head in through the gap in the door. “Got a woman here claiming to be his wife. She says she’s a lawyer.”
Hank and Nick exchanged looks. “Let her in,” Nick nodded.
Wu disappeared behind the door frame and they heard a murmured conversation before a striking woman walked in with confident strides. She had shiny amber hair that brushed the tips of her shoulders, pulled back part-way into a silver clip. Her face was clear, with the lightest brushes of make-up and the faint rose of lipstick. The suit she wore was professional and fitting, clearly tailored to highlight her slender limbs and the effect made her appear impossibly taller.
“Ava,” Mr. Spicer said, standing to embrace his wife.
“Darling,” she said, catching him in a hug. She glared at the two detectives with piercing blue eyes.
“I'm Ava Spicer, his wife and attorney. I’ll assume you weren’t questioning my client without his lawyer present?” she asked. Her voice, though sharp, had a melodious quality, and her accent sounded vaguely song-like. Nick surreptitiously watched her, surprised to see that her face momentarily flickered into the same features he had seen in Mr. Spicer the previous morning.
“We were asking what he was doing leaving town, Mrs. Spicer,” Nick said, still watching her carefully. “He verified that he understood his rights.”
Her voice was clipped. “Is be he being charged with anything?”
“No, Mrs. Spicer,” Hank said respectfully. “He’s being detained as a person of interest in a homicide case.”
“Ava,” Mr. Spicer said. She instantly turned, eyes turning warm. “Please, we have nothing to hide.”
“Alright, Corbin,” she said with a sigh. “Please continue with your questioning, detectives.”
“Thank you. We were asking why Mr. Spicer was attempting to leave town this morning.”
“He was coming to pick me up before we left to visit my mother in Ohio,” the lawyer said primly. She hesitated, then continued, “We don’t have much family left. My father died years ago and I have no siblings or other relatives. My mother has been very sick lately and we’re not-”
She broke off, one manicured hand covering her mouth. Mr. Spicer touched his hand to her shoulder, offering his silent support. She nodded in thanks and straightened her face again, though her voice still sounded rough. “It was unexpected, but she called and asked us to come. The doctors don’t think she has very long. We couldn’t very well say no.”
“No, I suppose not,” Hank said. He looked at Nick askance, arching one eyebrow, clearly asking if he thought they were on the level. Nick gave a subtle nod. They appeared devoted to each other, and he was starting to see the fierceness of a mother hen in the woman’s demeanor. They didn’t appear to be lying about anything so far, however, and their story about her mother fit in with what Monroe had told him about cinomolgi.
“Mrs. Spicer,” Nick began, “do you have any children?”
Her hands fluttered around her throat before settling, but the drape of her jacket turned briefly into feathers and the undershirt she wore looked more like the color markings of a bird than a blouse.
“No,” she said carefully. She was lying, Nick could tell. The brief show of her true form, the attempts to keep her voice calm and not let her fluster show all told the truth. As he watched, her blue eyes turned furious. “I don’t see what that has to do with this investigation.”
“Just curious,” Nick said with a tight smile. “We like to cover everything. Were you familiar with Mr. Stan A. Alcuse, Mrs. Spicer?”
She nodded, a trifle sad. “Yes. I had met him when picking Corbin up from work. He seemed like a very nice man. I’m sorry to hear about his passing.”
“Did you know him very well?”
“Just a conversation here and there, and of course, Corbin always spoke very highly of him.” She smiled wistfully. “He didn’t have much, but he offered to help us should we ever need it.”
There was another rap on the glass, and Nick felt a flicker of irritation for the second interruption of a session, but the annoyance fled when he saw that it was his Captain, standing in the small pane. When the man saw that he had their attention, he gestured for them to leave the room. They both stood and told the couple they would be right back.
Nick shut the door gently behind him and looked at the Captain with interest. “Sir?” he asked.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Captain Renard grimaced. “But I need an update.”
“They seem to be telling the truth. We can verify their story about visiting her mother and call to check his story about calling this morning to let his work know he wouldn’t be able to make it. Other than that, we really don’t have anything to hold him on, and no leads.”
“What about the woman who found the body?”
“Her background check was clean,” Hank shrugged. “We took her statement and released her pending our investigation.”
“Well, you might as well cut him loose,” Captain Renard sighed. He handed them another folder. “There’s been another Santa murdered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need you boys to find who’s behind this quickly. The last thing we need is a media frenzy during this time of year about Santa being killed.” Captain Renard scrubbed his face with one hand and the two detectives winced sympathetically. As long as they did their jobs and found the murderer, they were fine, but Captain Renard had to deal with the Chief breathing down his neck about bad publicity.
“Will do, sir,” Hank promised.
They entered the room again. Mrs. Spicer looked up, one arm held around her husband’s shoulders. “Detectives, as I understand it, you are allowed to hold my husband for forty-eight hours before you must charge him or release him. Were you planning on holding him the full time?”
Nick shook his head. “No, Mrs. Spicer, you and your husband are free to go. Please leave the officer who escorted you in an address and phone number we can reach you at before you leave.”
She nodded crisply. “Understood.”
They left the couple to gather their things and headed out to the new crime scene. Nick pressed his face against the window-glass and exhaled, watching his breath steam up the window. He idly drew a sprig of holly on it.
Hank looked at him slyly, "Long night?"
Nick forced a grin. "Man, you have no idea."