Devils & Gods 3/12
Title: Devils & Gods
Fandom: Nikki & Nora
Pairing: Nikki & Nora
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nikki & Nora are not mine, but it kinda feels like they are. The characters from the pilot aren't either. BUT - there's a whole lot of original ones that are in this little story so...*yay* for me.
Author’s Note: I could have sworn that the week just started…although I’ve been fog like since Monday - side note: if any of you get the chance and you like punk rock or y’know good effing music - go see Rise Against, you’ll thank me for that or when Missy Higgins’ new album drops in June go see her when she tours like I will be tonight. Remember new album the first of June and she’s releasing a new single the 23rd of this month which sort of explains why she’s opening for Gotye tonight, but really, why isn’t she headlining? =0/ My coffee’s done so I need to go, but read and enjoy the chapter. =0)
Ch. 3 - Feel the Tide
I watch John and Ann look around the scene of where the case that they’ve been working off and on for near a year took a giant leap into the Mississippi. The one guy that they had for the series of murders winding up dead killed the case quicker than you can blink.
The alley responsible has seen better days. The rain that we had recently is creating quite the smell and I sort of wish they’d hurry up. I’m not sure if it’s the rotting food, stale puke or the over powering smell of fusty piss that’s churning my stomach, but there’s only so much a girl like me can take.
Nora watches them too, hanging back with me to rest against Bruce’s front end. We’re hip to hip, arms folded across our chests as John and Ann bicker or point things out to the other. I tilt my head towards my lover and whisper, “Any idea what they’re thinking or talking about?”
Nora tears her eyes away from our friends and she shrugs at me, canting her head in my direction. “Probably the same thing I’m thinking.”
“Which is?” I encourage her thought process.
“Look around, Nik.” Her hand waves around the alley we were called to early this morning. “Think about the review we did on the L.A. killing. We went over that crime scene just like Ann. We know the signature…”
“That doesn’t fit. None of this fits,” I finish for her.
“Exactly,” she picks up again. “So now we have to start thinking, did Addison have a partner? Why didn’t any of that pop up before in the scenes? Usually, killing duo’s are easier to see than this. The alternative is that what if Addison was lured here? What if he was set up and not responsible for a damn thing?” The lines around her mouth deepen as her frown turns into a scowl. “I mean really, these killing have caused Ann too many problems. Now, what, they’re primary suspect ends up dead, in our city, and they, we have to start from the ground up.”
“Mighty fine way to start a day good and pissed off,” I groan. Unfolding my arms, I plant them behind me and chew the right corner of my lower lip.
Nora rights herself and jams her hands in her coat pocket. “I’m going to tell the uni he’s clear to leave the scene.” I watch her saunter off towards the patrol car parked at the end of the alley we put there until Ann and her team made it into town. No reason the poor kid needs to wait around for anything anymore. We’re here.
I push off the car and decide to join Ann and John. I approach the two federal agents. They’re leaning close together, hands planted on their hips, looking around and lost in their own thoughts. Twin bunches of muscles on their respective jaws flex.
“We need to reevaluate,” Ann states simply as I stop in front of them.
“I know,” I say. “Nora and I were just saying the same thing.”
I look around and down to where Addison’s body was laying this morning. Markers are still indicating position and bits of forensic evidence that was collected. The blood that had pooled and ran off probably won’t be cleaned up. “We know this was the kill site,” I offer them and they grunt.
“Which is just one of the many issues that this…” Ann’s clipped voice trails off. Her lips are a thin white line. Her head gives a few rapid shakes. Her finger tips drum across her hips.
“We’re going to work off the assumption that Addison was a decoy. He was set up and lured here,” John’s states.
“I don’t think…” Ann starts to argue, spinning his way.
“What that this was a partnership?” His voice climbs a little at the rhetorical question. “Addison didn’t have any close associates. He had no one, Ann. The poor bastard wasn’t in cahoots with someone for this. He was duped.”
Ann shakes her head. “I still think dismissing the possibility…”
“That what? His partner finally got tired of him and decided to bring him down here and kill him in an alley for what?” John barks back.
I back up a little.
This is a partner argument. Having been in enough and witness to just as many, I know better than to get in the way.
“They’re going to snap at each other a lot,” Nora whispers behind me.
“It happens,” I wave them off and spin around towards her.
“Look Flemming, until we can prove otherwise, Addison’s a victim of this unsub just like the others. The killings were too consistent for us to even consider that there were two sets of hands doing the job,” John’s voice softens a little as Ann’s shoulders slump.
Her eyes clench shut and she huffs. “Okay,” she breathes and pops her eyes open. “Then if anyone wants to chime in with answers to these questions, I’d be appreciative.”
“How appreciative?” John’s question is just this side of lewd and his eyebrows dance under a lock of his hair.
“Seven Minutes in Heaven.” she says and his cheeks flush.
I won’t ask, nor do I want to know.
“Shoot,” Nora says from my left.
“We assume Addison was lured here, why the departure in M.O.?” Ann starts asking. “Why not kill in the vehicle and dump the body? There’s too much blood here to assume this isn’t the kill site? How did the unsub remove the face this time? We know from prior cases they like to take their time. Would he have taken his time in such an exposed area?”
“Is the new M.O. a different message?” I ask aloud.
“What kind?” John follows up.
“Yes it is,” Nora speaks up and attempts to answer the questions. “He doesn’t fit the victimology. He’s male for one, older for another. The unsub wanted to let us know that the wrong man was getting the attention for the killings. His death was for us.”
“We already pegged him for a narcissistic asshat, so that fits,” John says.
“Asshat?” Ann questions.
John shrugs. “A new term of endearment my daughter taught me.”
“Oh-kay…” Ann lets it go. “Then why lead us to Addison if he didn’t want us to peg him with the killings?”
“Ya’all just said he was a ‘narcissistic asshat’,” I provide a little contribution, “as such maybe that’s what he wanted. You guys weren’t shy though. You flashed Addison’s picture on every major news channel like he was Bin Laden. Could have been too much for him to handle? Obviously, he’s not above being a petulant asshat.”
John’s index finger wiggles at me and he grins. “I like the way you think, Beaumont. I like the way you think.”
“Second that,” Ann adds.
“Well, then take her,” Nora jokes.
“Don’t tempt us,” John says throwing an arm around Ann’s shoulders. “May just decide to keep her.” He points between Ann and himself. “We make a cute couple, don’t cha think? We could make it a threesome and blow this Popsicle stand. Chile is beautiful is the time of year.”
Ann shoves him away and warns, “Keep it up Malone and I’m telling Jill and then I’m telling Becca.”
The grin drops. “Fine. Spoil an old man’s fun.”
“Are we done trying to steal my partner?” Nora snips. I thread my arm around her waist and nuzzle her neck.
“It’s okay, sug,” I purr, “I’d only consider it if you got to watch.”
Her lips pucker briefly before the smile breaks out. “You’re insufferable,” she gripes half-heartedly.
I look over the selection of donuts that we picked up on our way back from the crime scene. By the silence pervading the group behind me, it’s a good sign that they appreciated the stop off too.
“Nik,” Nora calls out from behind me, “can you bring me a maple bar when you come back?”
“Yes, sug,” I answer and pluck a sugar twist up and the maple bar to take back to Nora. I make a note to do an extra ten on the stair master at the gym as I approach the table. She has my coffee waiting and slides it towards me as I settle in next to her.
Everyone’s back from their assignments. My guess is that they either didn’t find anything or they were just spreading the word. Both sets of our coworkers have great contacts throughout the city, but it still might take a day or two for them to get anything back.
“We’re…” John starts up, stops and sucks on the pad of his sugar coated thumb.
“Seriously, partner?” Ann scoffs around a mouthful of the jelly donut she snagged.
The man offers a sheepish grin. “Couldn’t let that go to waste.”
Ann rolls her eyes but lets it go. “Anyhow, what tubbers was going to say is it’s time for some show and tell.” Spencer pops up from the end of the conference table and starts handing out thick manila folders with the F.B.I. logo on them. “Spence took some time on the plane ride down to put this together for those of you that aren’t familiar with all the particulars of the case.” Ann cuts a gaze to John and asks, “Can you refrain from sucking your thumb like a toddler or do you want me to kick us off?”
The man pops his thumb in his mouth and grins around the digit.
“Okay, so the first body, if you’ll turn your attention to the report on the top left of the inside folder is the report on Margaret Talbert. She was found in July of Oh-eight in Duluth, Minnesota by Robert Scott and his son, Robert Scott Junior on a hunting expedition. The condition of the body was severely decomped. It had been sitting in a hunting shack about four clicks off a main hunting trial. Duluth PD did the best with what they had, which wasn’t much.” Ann skips through a few pages and says, “If you look at the crime scene photos provided by the State police, you’ll see locale and area was highly secluded.”
She stands and starts to walk a slow pace behind her chair. “Victimology is as such, she was born February Twenty-two, Nineteen-seventy-eight. Caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes, survived by a son and mother and father. No husband.
“The next report is for victim two, Maria Sheridan, age thirty-six, D.O.B. May Seventeenth, Seventy-two. Hispanic, brown hair, brown eyes, found by her husband in their home in Los Angeles, California on September Thirtieth of Oh-eight.” Ann pauses and waits for anyone that may have questions. I look around the conference room and my coworkers are all focused on the cases in their hands.
“Next case was picked up in St. Clairsville, Ohio. Vic was Jennifer Denbow, Caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes. She was found by her father, John Denbow, in her apartment that she shared with her son. D.O.B Six Twenty-two, Seventy-seven.” Ann pauses and tosses the folder back on the table. “The last vic was Barbara Seevers from Stafford, Virginia. She was brown haired, green eyed and Caucasian. She lived alone and was found by her neighbor. She was thirty-six.”
Spencer steps up then and takes the lead, “The M.O. on all of these has been as close to the same as any two murders can be. The victims were unaccounted for from anywhere between three to five days. They’re facial epidermis was removed in strips, using a cocktail of drugs, such as cocaine, epinephrine and antibiotics; they were kept awake as well. The bleed out of each vic was stunted by what Dr. Malone thinks to be an on-field med patch called D-stat Dry. It uses bovine thrombin to staunch blood flow and allow a slightly higher than normal healing rate.”
Spencer tosses her own file on the table and laces her hands on top. “I left Bamby and Dr. Ophoven to finalize the post and join the meeting. Catching up on everything seemed like a good thing. Bamby should be back soon to give the prelim findings on the autopsy, but needless to say, what I saw wasn’t pretty and matched the M.O. of your unsub.” She looks to her dad and asks, “I said that right, right?”
“Yeah, kiddo.” John just grins and laces his hands behind his head.
“You’ll have to pardon me if I get some of the terminology jumbled, this isn’t my usual forte,” she amends for the rest of the group.
The group shrugs.
I don’t think they care that much.
“So,” Ann picks back up, “that means that we now look at Dennis Addison, who was our primary unsub.”
“Well, we put some feelers out,” Jesse speaks up for his group. “We’ll hear a bit more within the next day or so. I need to give it time for the information to circulate. We did hit up some of the hotels and motels in the area, but nothing from any of them.”
“Same on this end,” Benny pipes in. “Cat wasn’t in town long if my guy was right. I got the word out with a few contacts. Dom put in a few words with his. We’ll see if anything pops that way. Right now, I got one of the prosecutors securing warrants for financials and phone records, but his wallet wasn’t on him and he didn’t have a cell phone either.”
“Nothing?” Lucy asks flipping through the chart in front of her.
“Nada,” Dom confirms. “It was either taken from him or he left it wherever he was staying. Dr. Ophoven only pulled the D.L. from the body. Presumably left for easy identification.”
“So are we thinking that Addison was an accomplice or a herring in all of this?” Travis asks looking between Ann and John.
“I don…” Ann tries.
“We will be operating under the assumption that Addison was a herring…”
“Which I think it’s too soon to tell…” Ann tries again.
“And to keep us all focused on finding our suspect, we will continue to operate under the assumption that Addison was nothing more than a patsy. We were led his way to draw the focus off the unsub. They may have known each other, hell they may not have. We’re not sure right now and we’ll be operating under that assumption until someone here can prove me wrong.” John’s gaze sweeps across the table and ends up glaring down at Ann.
Her jaw’s set, but she does concede with a dip of her chin.
“What I’d like everyone to do, with a nice fresh set of eyes is have each group take a case and start breaking it down again; I want a new set of suspects for each killing. I don’t care how far-fetched at this point. Someone links these women together. I want to know who.”
There are general grumbles of agreement given all around before Nora leans into me and we start on Barbara Seevers.
A few hours, fewer ideas and way more than a few donuts and no one has much more than when we started. I shouldn’t be shocked. One of the better investigative units in the country hasn’t cracked this mess of a case yet, I’m not really sure what they’re expecting.
Sighing, I reach for my mug and realize that it’s empty. Nora was supposed… I look right and see she’s not back. I glance down at my watch. Dan came and snagged her a little over a half hour ago.
She should be…
I shake my head.
That’s been happening with more frequency over the past two months or so. Dan’ll say he needs to see her and then they go off.
Hmm, I’m sure he’s got her working on something ridiculous.
She’ll get back here and until then I need more coffee. I push back from the table and head over to the credenza holding the empty donut boxes and the empty coffee pot. I set my cup down, open the top of the maker and dump the grinds and filter in the trash.
Guess it’s time for some new sludge.
I prep the maker and swap out the pot for my cup. The empty boxes from earlier today get dumped in the trash and I wonder when we’re going to break for lunch. I’m not hungry, but a general break wouldn’t hurt.
I turn my head as the conference room door opens and Nora comes shuffling in. She’s missing her shirt. The tank top she had on underneath the V-neck green t-shirt she was wearing is half untucked.
She takes a look around the room before sliding behind me and resting her hands on my hips. I lean back briefly before I have to swap out my now full cup of coffee for the pot. “Hmm, is there a reason for the wardrobe change?” I ask quietly.
“Dan’s idea of a practical joke,” she mumbles and leaves it at that.
It’s Dan and that’s enough to make me not question any further. She does take the opportunity to press up against me, sweep my hair to the side and press a kiss to my neck. I turn around as she dances away to take up her empty seat.
Following her, I sip at the hot liquid and wonder where I should start. I don’t think anyone’s began looking over Addison’s file at length and I think we should really start looking at that a little closer. Even if the unsub didn’t personally know him, Addison was chosen as the patsy for a reason.
I’d like to know why.
I set my cup down on one of the N.O.P.D. coasters at the table and settle back down. I was looking over Seevers’ last few bank transactions to see if there was a pattern, but nothing popped. Addison’s information is the last batch that needs to be gone through.
I flip the page and begin reading the little bit of intel that we have. All standard information is laid bare; Dennis Shawn Addison was born to Joanne Howard-Addison and Eric Addison on May Seventeenth, of Sixty-six. No brothers or sisters. He grew up in Jefferson City, Missouri, attending Patton Elementary, Gilliam Middle School and graduating with a ‘B’ average from Calvin Coolidge High School in Nineteen-eighty-four. A few odd jobs and then he signed up for the U.S. Army. He was an active member with two tours in the mid-East as an emergency medical technician. Honorably discharged in late November in Ninety-four. Immediately went back home and began working for American Medical Response until Oh-one. Married Shirley Cook in Ninety-six and had a son, Joseph, in Oh-five.
There was a workman’s comp suit filed in Two-thousand, an accident that gave him a bum right leg and some scarring long the neck and part of his left cheek. He and his family were living off the decent settlement, a bit of Army pay, and S.S.I for the most part. His file says that his wife worked part-time as a nail technician in a salon in downtown.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing even remotely out of line either.
Ann’s notes from the case tell me that he and his wife were on the outs and he hadn’t been home in a good long while. “Lying, cheating bastard” were the exact words used by the missus. An interview conducted with one of his co-workers left little to like about the man either. He was lazy and did the barest to keep his job.
The profile that S.I.U. drafted mostly fit Addison’s profile. Add on to the fact that he purchased that U.P.S. van and did the interior modifications and I’d have gone after him myself.
I run my hand down my face and gently rub my eyes.
They didn’t have enough to put him in any of the states the murders took place though. Of course the wife couldn’t corroborate whereabouts for her husband either for any of the deaths that occurred.
Doesn’t seem like she’s all that interested in doing so either given the interview notes.
Well ain’t this just peachy.
No close friends in town, but he was in the military for eight years. He had to have made some friends.
I look at the back of the folder Spencer passed out and John’s managed to include the man’s sealed military records.
There has to be a link somewhere.
The military record is sparse. A few commendations and a few citations for insubordination, but nothing too damaging one way or the other. Just enough to fly under the radar and end up being completely forgettable.
That bugs me.
With all that we have, the only thing these files tell me is that Addison wasn’t smart enough to pull off these killings. I know John wants to think of him as the patsy, but I can’t. You don’t set someone up like this unless you know them.
You would have to to do what they did to Addison and lead the F.B.I. to his doorstep.
The question is, where’s the connection? No close friends, family is all but dead except for the wife and the son. The wife isn’t a viable suspect.
I flip over to the profile of the unsub and look at the tick marks that I’ve made that fit Addison: male, Caucasian, between the ages of thirty-five to fifty, medical background, controlled, blends and disfigured. It’s the ones that aren’t checked that I focus on. If I saw this guy - just on paper - on my list of suspects, he wouldn’t pique my interest, he wouldn’t come across as a narcissist, meticulous would be debatable, organized, maybe ten years ago, patient - don’t have enough information to say one way or the other and sadistic…?
I’m not really sold there either.
It seems as though he enjoyed making the last few years of his wife’s life miserable, about the time she got pregnant and had their son…
Maybe the child’s not his.
It’s something to look at further. They waited an awful long time to have a child. That’s not usually how that works, especially with a man like Addison.
There’s another side to this as well…
I tap the tip of my chin and lose focus on the pages below me. What if Addison met the killer in the Army? It wouldn’t be a far reach. Someone willing to go to the lengths this unsub has definitely fits the ‘patient’ category.
I wonder how much it would take to find out who Addison worked with?
Could we even?
I lean back and lace my hands behind my head and look around. John and Ann are shoulder to shoulder but not saying anything. Their looking at a laptop screen and scanning the information. Never hurts to ask. “I have a request,” I announce to the group at large.
Next>>>
Fandom: Nikki & Nora
Pairing: Nikki & Nora
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nikki & Nora are not mine, but it kinda feels like they are. The characters from the pilot aren't either. BUT - there's a whole lot of original ones that are in this little story so...*yay* for me.
Author’s Note: I could have sworn that the week just started…although I’ve been fog like since Monday - side note: if any of you get the chance and you like punk rock or y’know good effing music - go see Rise Against, you’ll thank me for that or when Missy Higgins’ new album drops in June go see her when she tours like I will be tonight. Remember new album the first of June and she’s releasing a new single the 23rd of this month which sort of explains why she’s opening for Gotye tonight, but really, why isn’t she headlining? =0/ My coffee’s done so I need to go, but read and enjoy the chapter. =0)
Ch. 3 - Feel the Tide
I watch John and Ann look around the scene of where the case that they’ve been working off and on for near a year took a giant leap into the Mississippi. The one guy that they had for the series of murders winding up dead killed the case quicker than you can blink.
The alley responsible has seen better days. The rain that we had recently is creating quite the smell and I sort of wish they’d hurry up. I’m not sure if it’s the rotting food, stale puke or the over powering smell of fusty piss that’s churning my stomach, but there’s only so much a girl like me can take.
Nora watches them too, hanging back with me to rest against Bruce’s front end. We’re hip to hip, arms folded across our chests as John and Ann bicker or point things out to the other. I tilt my head towards my lover and whisper, “Any idea what they’re thinking or talking about?”
Nora tears her eyes away from our friends and she shrugs at me, canting her head in my direction. “Probably the same thing I’m thinking.”
“Which is?” I encourage her thought process.
“Look around, Nik.” Her hand waves around the alley we were called to early this morning. “Think about the review we did on the L.A. killing. We went over that crime scene just like Ann. We know the signature…”
“That doesn’t fit. None of this fits,” I finish for her.
“Exactly,” she picks up again. “So now we have to start thinking, did Addison have a partner? Why didn’t any of that pop up before in the scenes? Usually, killing duo’s are easier to see than this. The alternative is that what if Addison was lured here? What if he was set up and not responsible for a damn thing?” The lines around her mouth deepen as her frown turns into a scowl. “I mean really, these killing have caused Ann too many problems. Now, what, they’re primary suspect ends up dead, in our city, and they, we have to start from the ground up.”
“Mighty fine way to start a day good and pissed off,” I groan. Unfolding my arms, I plant them behind me and chew the right corner of my lower lip.
Nora rights herself and jams her hands in her coat pocket. “I’m going to tell the uni he’s clear to leave the scene.” I watch her saunter off towards the patrol car parked at the end of the alley we put there until Ann and her team made it into town. No reason the poor kid needs to wait around for anything anymore. We’re here.
I push off the car and decide to join Ann and John. I approach the two federal agents. They’re leaning close together, hands planted on their hips, looking around and lost in their own thoughts. Twin bunches of muscles on their respective jaws flex.
“We need to reevaluate,” Ann states simply as I stop in front of them.
“I know,” I say. “Nora and I were just saying the same thing.”
I look around and down to where Addison’s body was laying this morning. Markers are still indicating position and bits of forensic evidence that was collected. The blood that had pooled and ran off probably won’t be cleaned up. “We know this was the kill site,” I offer them and they grunt.
“Which is just one of the many issues that this…” Ann’s clipped voice trails off. Her lips are a thin white line. Her head gives a few rapid shakes. Her finger tips drum across her hips.
“We’re going to work off the assumption that Addison was a decoy. He was set up and lured here,” John’s states.
“I don’t think…” Ann starts to argue, spinning his way.
“What that this was a partnership?” His voice climbs a little at the rhetorical question. “Addison didn’t have any close associates. He had no one, Ann. The poor bastard wasn’t in cahoots with someone for this. He was duped.”
Ann shakes her head. “I still think dismissing the possibility…”
“That what? His partner finally got tired of him and decided to bring him down here and kill him in an alley for what?” John barks back.
I back up a little.
This is a partner argument. Having been in enough and witness to just as many, I know better than to get in the way.
“They’re going to snap at each other a lot,” Nora whispers behind me.
“It happens,” I wave them off and spin around towards her.
“Look Flemming, until we can prove otherwise, Addison’s a victim of this unsub just like the others. The killings were too consistent for us to even consider that there were two sets of hands doing the job,” John’s voice softens a little as Ann’s shoulders slump.
Her eyes clench shut and she huffs. “Okay,” she breathes and pops her eyes open. “Then if anyone wants to chime in with answers to these questions, I’d be appreciative.”
“How appreciative?” John’s question is just this side of lewd and his eyebrows dance under a lock of his hair.
“Seven Minutes in Heaven.” she says and his cheeks flush.
I won’t ask, nor do I want to know.
“Shoot,” Nora says from my left.
“We assume Addison was lured here, why the departure in M.O.?” Ann starts asking. “Why not kill in the vehicle and dump the body? There’s too much blood here to assume this isn’t the kill site? How did the unsub remove the face this time? We know from prior cases they like to take their time. Would he have taken his time in such an exposed area?”
“Is the new M.O. a different message?” I ask aloud.
“What kind?” John follows up.
“Yes it is,” Nora speaks up and attempts to answer the questions. “He doesn’t fit the victimology. He’s male for one, older for another. The unsub wanted to let us know that the wrong man was getting the attention for the killings. His death was for us.”
“We already pegged him for a narcissistic asshat, so that fits,” John says.
“Asshat?” Ann questions.
John shrugs. “A new term of endearment my daughter taught me.”
“Oh-kay…” Ann lets it go. “Then why lead us to Addison if he didn’t want us to peg him with the killings?”
“Ya’all just said he was a ‘narcissistic asshat’,” I provide a little contribution, “as such maybe that’s what he wanted. You guys weren’t shy though. You flashed Addison’s picture on every major news channel like he was Bin Laden. Could have been too much for him to handle? Obviously, he’s not above being a petulant asshat.”
John’s index finger wiggles at me and he grins. “I like the way you think, Beaumont. I like the way you think.”
“Second that,” Ann adds.
“Well, then take her,” Nora jokes.
“Don’t tempt us,” John says throwing an arm around Ann’s shoulders. “May just decide to keep her.” He points between Ann and himself. “We make a cute couple, don’t cha think? We could make it a threesome and blow this Popsicle stand. Chile is beautiful is the time of year.”
Ann shoves him away and warns, “Keep it up Malone and I’m telling Jill and then I’m telling Becca.”
The grin drops. “Fine. Spoil an old man’s fun.”
“Are we done trying to steal my partner?” Nora snips. I thread my arm around her waist and nuzzle her neck.
“It’s okay, sug,” I purr, “I’d only consider it if you got to watch.”
Her lips pucker briefly before the smile breaks out. “You’re insufferable,” she gripes half-heartedly.
I look over the selection of donuts that we picked up on our way back from the crime scene. By the silence pervading the group behind me, it’s a good sign that they appreciated the stop off too.
“Nik,” Nora calls out from behind me, “can you bring me a maple bar when you come back?”
“Yes, sug,” I answer and pluck a sugar twist up and the maple bar to take back to Nora. I make a note to do an extra ten on the stair master at the gym as I approach the table. She has my coffee waiting and slides it towards me as I settle in next to her.
Everyone’s back from their assignments. My guess is that they either didn’t find anything or they were just spreading the word. Both sets of our coworkers have great contacts throughout the city, but it still might take a day or two for them to get anything back.
“We’re…” John starts up, stops and sucks on the pad of his sugar coated thumb.
“Seriously, partner?” Ann scoffs around a mouthful of the jelly donut she snagged.
The man offers a sheepish grin. “Couldn’t let that go to waste.”
Ann rolls her eyes but lets it go. “Anyhow, what tubbers was going to say is it’s time for some show and tell.” Spencer pops up from the end of the conference table and starts handing out thick manila folders with the F.B.I. logo on them. “Spence took some time on the plane ride down to put this together for those of you that aren’t familiar with all the particulars of the case.” Ann cuts a gaze to John and asks, “Can you refrain from sucking your thumb like a toddler or do you want me to kick us off?”
The man pops his thumb in his mouth and grins around the digit.
“Okay, so the first body, if you’ll turn your attention to the report on the top left of the inside folder is the report on Margaret Talbert. She was found in July of Oh-eight in Duluth, Minnesota by Robert Scott and his son, Robert Scott Junior on a hunting expedition. The condition of the body was severely decomped. It had been sitting in a hunting shack about four clicks off a main hunting trial. Duluth PD did the best with what they had, which wasn’t much.” Ann skips through a few pages and says, “If you look at the crime scene photos provided by the State police, you’ll see locale and area was highly secluded.”
She stands and starts to walk a slow pace behind her chair. “Victimology is as such, she was born February Twenty-two, Nineteen-seventy-eight. Caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes, survived by a son and mother and father. No husband.
“The next report is for victim two, Maria Sheridan, age thirty-six, D.O.B. May Seventeenth, Seventy-two. Hispanic, brown hair, brown eyes, found by her husband in their home in Los Angeles, California on September Thirtieth of Oh-eight.” Ann pauses and waits for anyone that may have questions. I look around the conference room and my coworkers are all focused on the cases in their hands.
“Next case was picked up in St. Clairsville, Ohio. Vic was Jennifer Denbow, Caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes. She was found by her father, John Denbow, in her apartment that she shared with her son. D.O.B Six Twenty-two, Seventy-seven.” Ann pauses and tosses the folder back on the table. “The last vic was Barbara Seevers from Stafford, Virginia. She was brown haired, green eyed and Caucasian. She lived alone and was found by her neighbor. She was thirty-six.”
Spencer steps up then and takes the lead, “The M.O. on all of these has been as close to the same as any two murders can be. The victims were unaccounted for from anywhere between three to five days. They’re facial epidermis was removed in strips, using a cocktail of drugs, such as cocaine, epinephrine and antibiotics; they were kept awake as well. The bleed out of each vic was stunted by what Dr. Malone thinks to be an on-field med patch called D-stat Dry. It uses bovine thrombin to staunch blood flow and allow a slightly higher than normal healing rate.”
Spencer tosses her own file on the table and laces her hands on top. “I left Bamby and Dr. Ophoven to finalize the post and join the meeting. Catching up on everything seemed like a good thing. Bamby should be back soon to give the prelim findings on the autopsy, but needless to say, what I saw wasn’t pretty and matched the M.O. of your unsub.” She looks to her dad and asks, “I said that right, right?”
“Yeah, kiddo.” John just grins and laces his hands behind his head.
“You’ll have to pardon me if I get some of the terminology jumbled, this isn’t my usual forte,” she amends for the rest of the group.
The group shrugs.
I don’t think they care that much.
“So,” Ann picks back up, “that means that we now look at Dennis Addison, who was our primary unsub.”
“Well, we put some feelers out,” Jesse speaks up for his group. “We’ll hear a bit more within the next day or so. I need to give it time for the information to circulate. We did hit up some of the hotels and motels in the area, but nothing from any of them.”
“Same on this end,” Benny pipes in. “Cat wasn’t in town long if my guy was right. I got the word out with a few contacts. Dom put in a few words with his. We’ll see if anything pops that way. Right now, I got one of the prosecutors securing warrants for financials and phone records, but his wallet wasn’t on him and he didn’t have a cell phone either.”
“Nothing?” Lucy asks flipping through the chart in front of her.
“Nada,” Dom confirms. “It was either taken from him or he left it wherever he was staying. Dr. Ophoven only pulled the D.L. from the body. Presumably left for easy identification.”
“So are we thinking that Addison was an accomplice or a herring in all of this?” Travis asks looking between Ann and John.
“I don…” Ann tries.
“We will be operating under the assumption that Addison was a herring…”
“Which I think it’s too soon to tell…” Ann tries again.
“And to keep us all focused on finding our suspect, we will continue to operate under the assumption that Addison was nothing more than a patsy. We were led his way to draw the focus off the unsub. They may have known each other, hell they may not have. We’re not sure right now and we’ll be operating under that assumption until someone here can prove me wrong.” John’s gaze sweeps across the table and ends up glaring down at Ann.
Her jaw’s set, but she does concede with a dip of her chin.
“What I’d like everyone to do, with a nice fresh set of eyes is have each group take a case and start breaking it down again; I want a new set of suspects for each killing. I don’t care how far-fetched at this point. Someone links these women together. I want to know who.”
There are general grumbles of agreement given all around before Nora leans into me and we start on Barbara Seevers.
A few hours, fewer ideas and way more than a few donuts and no one has much more than when we started. I shouldn’t be shocked. One of the better investigative units in the country hasn’t cracked this mess of a case yet, I’m not really sure what they’re expecting.
Sighing, I reach for my mug and realize that it’s empty. Nora was supposed… I look right and see she’s not back. I glance down at my watch. Dan came and snagged her a little over a half hour ago.
She should be…
I shake my head.
That’s been happening with more frequency over the past two months or so. Dan’ll say he needs to see her and then they go off.
Hmm, I’m sure he’s got her working on something ridiculous.
She’ll get back here and until then I need more coffee. I push back from the table and head over to the credenza holding the empty donut boxes and the empty coffee pot. I set my cup down, open the top of the maker and dump the grinds and filter in the trash.
Guess it’s time for some new sludge.
I prep the maker and swap out the pot for my cup. The empty boxes from earlier today get dumped in the trash and I wonder when we’re going to break for lunch. I’m not hungry, but a general break wouldn’t hurt.
I turn my head as the conference room door opens and Nora comes shuffling in. She’s missing her shirt. The tank top she had on underneath the V-neck green t-shirt she was wearing is half untucked.
She takes a look around the room before sliding behind me and resting her hands on my hips. I lean back briefly before I have to swap out my now full cup of coffee for the pot. “Hmm, is there a reason for the wardrobe change?” I ask quietly.
“Dan’s idea of a practical joke,” she mumbles and leaves it at that.
It’s Dan and that’s enough to make me not question any further. She does take the opportunity to press up against me, sweep my hair to the side and press a kiss to my neck. I turn around as she dances away to take up her empty seat.
Following her, I sip at the hot liquid and wonder where I should start. I don’t think anyone’s began looking over Addison’s file at length and I think we should really start looking at that a little closer. Even if the unsub didn’t personally know him, Addison was chosen as the patsy for a reason.
I’d like to know why.
I set my cup down on one of the N.O.P.D. coasters at the table and settle back down. I was looking over Seevers’ last few bank transactions to see if there was a pattern, but nothing popped. Addison’s information is the last batch that needs to be gone through.
I flip the page and begin reading the little bit of intel that we have. All standard information is laid bare; Dennis Shawn Addison was born to Joanne Howard-Addison and Eric Addison on May Seventeenth, of Sixty-six. No brothers or sisters. He grew up in Jefferson City, Missouri, attending Patton Elementary, Gilliam Middle School and graduating with a ‘B’ average from Calvin Coolidge High School in Nineteen-eighty-four. A few odd jobs and then he signed up for the U.S. Army. He was an active member with two tours in the mid-East as an emergency medical technician. Honorably discharged in late November in Ninety-four. Immediately went back home and began working for American Medical Response until Oh-one. Married Shirley Cook in Ninety-six and had a son, Joseph, in Oh-five.
There was a workman’s comp suit filed in Two-thousand, an accident that gave him a bum right leg and some scarring long the neck and part of his left cheek. He and his family were living off the decent settlement, a bit of Army pay, and S.S.I for the most part. His file says that his wife worked part-time as a nail technician in a salon in downtown.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing even remotely out of line either.
Ann’s notes from the case tell me that he and his wife were on the outs and he hadn’t been home in a good long while. “Lying, cheating bastard” were the exact words used by the missus. An interview conducted with one of his co-workers left little to like about the man either. He was lazy and did the barest to keep his job.
The profile that S.I.U. drafted mostly fit Addison’s profile. Add on to the fact that he purchased that U.P.S. van and did the interior modifications and I’d have gone after him myself.
I run my hand down my face and gently rub my eyes.
They didn’t have enough to put him in any of the states the murders took place though. Of course the wife couldn’t corroborate whereabouts for her husband either for any of the deaths that occurred.
Doesn’t seem like she’s all that interested in doing so either given the interview notes.
Well ain’t this just peachy.
No close friends in town, but he was in the military for eight years. He had to have made some friends.
I look at the back of the folder Spencer passed out and John’s managed to include the man’s sealed military records.
There has to be a link somewhere.
The military record is sparse. A few commendations and a few citations for insubordination, but nothing too damaging one way or the other. Just enough to fly under the radar and end up being completely forgettable.
That bugs me.
With all that we have, the only thing these files tell me is that Addison wasn’t smart enough to pull off these killings. I know John wants to think of him as the patsy, but I can’t. You don’t set someone up like this unless you know them.
You would have to to do what they did to Addison and lead the F.B.I. to his doorstep.
The question is, where’s the connection? No close friends, family is all but dead except for the wife and the son. The wife isn’t a viable suspect.
I flip over to the profile of the unsub and look at the tick marks that I’ve made that fit Addison: male, Caucasian, between the ages of thirty-five to fifty, medical background, controlled, blends and disfigured. It’s the ones that aren’t checked that I focus on. If I saw this guy - just on paper - on my list of suspects, he wouldn’t pique my interest, he wouldn’t come across as a narcissist, meticulous would be debatable, organized, maybe ten years ago, patient - don’t have enough information to say one way or the other and sadistic…?
I’m not really sold there either.
It seems as though he enjoyed making the last few years of his wife’s life miserable, about the time she got pregnant and had their son…
Maybe the child’s not his.
It’s something to look at further. They waited an awful long time to have a child. That’s not usually how that works, especially with a man like Addison.
There’s another side to this as well…
I tap the tip of my chin and lose focus on the pages below me. What if Addison met the killer in the Army? It wouldn’t be a far reach. Someone willing to go to the lengths this unsub has definitely fits the ‘patient’ category.
I wonder how much it would take to find out who Addison worked with?
Could we even?
I lean back and lace my hands behind my head and look around. John and Ann are shoulder to shoulder but not saying anything. Their looking at a laptop screen and scanning the information. Never hurts to ask. “I have a request,” I announce to the group at large.
Next>>>