(no subject)
Title: That sound in your heart... 1/4
Chapter: 1
Author: Carmexgirl
Rating: PG-13 for nasty stuff
Summary: Completely AU. New York 2008. Or could it be London, Whitechapel 1888? You know what's coming next...
A//N: Being a Brit, I have virtually no idea about NY or the NYPD apart from what I've read on teh internetz, so apologies for inaccuracies! Artistic license anyone?...
His head hurt. Really hurt. The kind of hurt that starts at the back of your eyes and inches its way to the base of your skull, dragging parts of your brain around with it. He’d taken a few Tylenol, but they hadn’t even touched the surface of it. He worried that he’d taken a little too much, because his right hand was starting to become numb.
Detective Matt Parkman shuffled the mounds of paper out of his way, and rested his head on his desk. He hoped that the day would be quiet and easy, nothing too taxing for his poor, throbbing brain. Of course, when you want a quiet and easy day, you never get it.
He lay there contemplating the grain of the desk, and thought back to the night before. Left alone to work late, he had taken a back street to the nearest bar, where most of the guys from the NYPD went to unwind. He’d thrown back a few beers, and laughed at some stupid prank Evans had been playing with a pack of cards and some matchsticks. Some of them went off to experience the delights that particular part of town had to offer on a Monday night, whereas he stayed drinking until the early hours before finally shuffling off to his dingy first floor flat.
He could have sworn he wasn’t that drunk. Not drunk enough to warrant the size of the hangover he was now experiencing. He was sure he was coming down with something.
Bam! A heavy thud on the desk made him jolt up, and he winced at the sudden light and the vision of Chief Swanson glaring at him.
“Where the hell have you been?” he barked, flecks of warm spit pricking Matt’s face. The harsh tones made his ears tremble, and his headache reached new heights of pain.
“I’ve been sorting through some of my cases, sir.” He tried desperately to look at least slightly busy. “I’m just in the process of archiving the old files.” He rubbed his temples to try and relieve some of the tension building up in his cranium.
“Archiving be damned Parkman! We have work to do. Get yourself down to Buck’s Row immediately. We have a murder on our hands.”
Oh shit. Just what he needed, a murder. He picked up his badge, put on his most official looking jacket, and stepped out into the crisp air, sucking in lungfuls in order to stave off the nausea steadily rising in his stomach.
For once in its seedy, miserable existence, Bucks Row was packed. It was a small street leading to a back courtyard - usually nothing much was there apart from a few dumpsters and a couple of seedy flats. It was the type of place that was constantly damp, and smelt quite strongly of stale urine. The occasional rat broke cover and ran to the Hilton-esque delights of the next dumpster along, making eerie squeaking noises as it did so. Matt shivered. This was doing nothing to stem the flow of nausea gradually making its way up his windpipe.
There were cars, cordons everywhere, and a few curious bystanders being told by a short kid in a fluorescent jacket to ‘get back’. He showed the two waiting officers his badge - it still felt unusual to be crossing that line instead of maintaining it - and walked to where Drucker was standing. A sheet covered the body, which was lying partly concealed behind a dumpster.
“So what we got here then?”
“Female, been here for a couple of hours I’d guess. She’s had the top of her head cut off.” Drucker lifted up the sheet, and Matt instantly felt the need to empty his guts, which he did so into the waiting dumpster.
“Hey man, you never seen one of these before? You want me to go get your momma to bring you some tissues?” Drucker laughed.
Matt smacked his lips, and shook himself out of it. That felt better. A lot better.
“Shut it Drucker, or do you want me to tell your wife about the brunette last night. You know, the one with the interesting take on personal hygiene?” Drucker’s smile left his face instantly, replaced with a narrow-eyed scowl.
“So did we find a murder weapon, or some clothing or something?”
“Nope. It’s all clean. The only stuff we got off her belonged to her. ID says she was called Polly Nichols, but there’s no address. Seems she was just some hooker who ripped someone off and got burned, or in this case, maimed.”
“I think I’ll decide what did or didn’t happen, Drucker. I’m the detective here. You go back to directing traffic.” Jackass.
The body was transported to the mortuary, where Matt and a few others stood around impatiently waiting for the M.E. to arrive. This was his first day, after being hired on special recommendation from the chief, who couldn’t praise his work highly enough. He wasn’t looking so brilliant at the moment, finally bursting through the door over an hour late, flustered and a little unsure.
“Apologies, apologies,” he stammered. “My name is Dr Mohinder Suresh. I’m so sorry - I’m new to this city and I couldn’t find my way to the hospital. I’ll just need a few minutes to set up my instruments.”
The accent was cut-glass, like this man had just stepped off a train in some British Imperial adventure. Dark skin contrasted with the whiteness of his lab coat, and his deep brown eyes looked nervous at making so many important people wait. He was extremely good looking, but had the air of someone who didn’t know it. He fumbled with his instruments until everything was finally ready to begin the examination. He pulled back the cloth to reveal Polly Nichols’s bloodstained face, the top of her head hanging off like a flip lid. He turned a few shades paler, span around, and immediately threw up into the sink.
Great, thought Matt, Another pretty boy M.E. who can’t do his job properly. When will they stop employing these idiots?
“Take your time doc. It’s only a body. We have all the time in the world.”
Dr Suresh had a drink of water and tried to compose himself. His first day really wasn’t going very well at all. Once he’d sorted himself out, he began the examination in a quavering tone, and tried to stop his hands from shaking.
“Victim is female, early to mid forties. There is a bruise… (cough!)...there is a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw on the right side of the face, suggesting a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb. The circular bruise on the left side of face could also indicate pressure from fingers. On the left side of the head, approximately one inch below the hairline…”
Matt could see he was still shaking slightly, but the quavering in his voice had all but disappeared as he methodically examined the body.
“…there is an incision about 4 inches in length, running left to right along the forehead, and penetrating into the skull. The top part of the head has been levered up, to reveal the tissue underneath. It looks as though all of this was done with the same instrument, possibly a butcher’s knife of some sort. There are no injuries to any other part of the body until just about the lower part of the abdomen, where there are bruises which indicate a struggle. I can’t find any semen traces, and it looks as though no sexual intercourse has taken place. I would say that this attack was not sexually motivated.”
That accent. Matt thought he could listen to that voice all day. The guy seemed to know his stuff after all; he just needed to keep his guts in check.
“So Doc. What you’re saying is that she was strangled, and then the killer cut her head open?”
“From the marks on the neck, it would certainly seem that way. The marks are also consistent with someone strangling her with their bare hands, as there are a couple of welts which would indicate a struggle. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any traces of DNA under her fingernails, which one would assume would be the case in this type of killing.
“It was pretty cold last night - could she have been wearing gloves?”
“It’s certainly a possibility.”
“But there were no gloves at the scene, and we searched that damn courtyard for over two hours….. the killer must have taken them off.”
“He could have done - he perhaps took then as a souvenir, something to remember his victim by.”
Matt was suitably impressed. “Thanks doc. That’s been really helpful.”
The examination was finished, and the body zipped up and taken away. Matt’s mind was awash with possibilities - how could the killer have taken the head off? Why wasn’t there more injuries? And why would they take the risk of doing it in Bucks Row, just off a busy street where anyone could see them? And why murder a prostitute is it wasn’t for sex? He got back to his office and thought long and hard, going through the little evidence that had been gathered. Unfortunately, with no more evidence forthcoming, no witnesses and no DNA, it seemed the case would stall before it had even started. He guessed this one would be shelved under ‘unexplained,’ and gradually forgotten about.
He decided to go home and get an early night. He picked up his coat and stepped out of his office, nearly crashing into Dr Suresh on his way.
“Oh, sorry Doc, didn’t see you there.”
“No, no. My fault entirely. I should have looked where I was going.”
The doctor smiled, and started to walk away. Man that smile was golden. Matt suddenly felt sorry for him - he was evidently in a strange city, in a different country, most likely didn’t know anyone, and was thrown in at the deep end on his very first day.
“Hey Dr Suresh?” he called after him.
The doctor stopped and turned around.
“If you’re finishing now, maybe I cold take you out for a drink - show you the sights and smells of New York?”
He smiled again. “I would very much like that. Thanks Detective Parkman.”
“Matt, please. Call me Matt.”
“Then you must call me Mohinder.”
“No probs doc. Mohinder.”
He took Dr Suresh, sorry, Mohinder, to one of the more upmarket bars in town. They steeled themselves away in a corner, away from prying eyes and ears, Matt drinking beer while Mohinder stuck to mineral water.
"So what made you come to New York?” Matt asked.
“Oh, my father came here to work a while ago. He said it was much more exciting than Madras. I came over with the intention of setting up a medical practice with him, but unfortunately he died before we had the chance. I know he was friendly with your Chief I met him at my father’s funeral, and he offered me a job as an M.E. I really wasn’t in a position to refuse.”
“Oh. So how did you find your first day?”
“Apart from annoying everyone by being late, and then throwing up, looking like a complete incompetent and utterly embarrassing myself? Absolutely fine.”
Matt laughed. Mohinder laughed too, happy that at least someone found him amusing instead of annoying. “Well, they say first impressions last” said Matt, “So I don’t think they’ll be forgetting you in a hurry.”
“I think you’re right.”
“If it’s any consolation, I threw up too.”
“Yes. That is a consolation. I guess we’re both a couple of, what’s the word? Wusses.” They laughed again in unison, but were interrupted by Matt’s cell phone. It had been lying on the table, but had suddenly spring into life, flashing and buzzing. The Chief was calling him.
“Dammit Swanson, can’t you leave me alone?” “Hello Parkman.”
“Parkman where are you?”
“I’m just showing the new M.E around the place. I think he quite likes it.” Mohinder smiled at him.
“Well when you’ve quite finished your date, I suggest you both get your asses down to Hanbury Street pronto. We’ve got another one.”
Fin
Next chapter: The killer seems to be following a set course of action. Hmmm....
Chapter: 1
Author: Carmexgirl
Rating: PG-13 for nasty stuff
Summary: Completely AU. New York 2008. Or could it be London, Whitechapel 1888? You know what's coming next...
A//N: Being a Brit, I have virtually no idea about NY or the NYPD apart from what I've read on teh internetz, so apologies for inaccuracies! Artistic license anyone?...
His head hurt. Really hurt. The kind of hurt that starts at the back of your eyes and inches its way to the base of your skull, dragging parts of your brain around with it. He’d taken a few Tylenol, but they hadn’t even touched the surface of it. He worried that he’d taken a little too much, because his right hand was starting to become numb.
Detective Matt Parkman shuffled the mounds of paper out of his way, and rested his head on his desk. He hoped that the day would be quiet and easy, nothing too taxing for his poor, throbbing brain. Of course, when you want a quiet and easy day, you never get it.
He lay there contemplating the grain of the desk, and thought back to the night before. Left alone to work late, he had taken a back street to the nearest bar, where most of the guys from the NYPD went to unwind. He’d thrown back a few beers, and laughed at some stupid prank Evans had been playing with a pack of cards and some matchsticks. Some of them went off to experience the delights that particular part of town had to offer on a Monday night, whereas he stayed drinking until the early hours before finally shuffling off to his dingy first floor flat.
He could have sworn he wasn’t that drunk. Not drunk enough to warrant the size of the hangover he was now experiencing. He was sure he was coming down with something.
Bam! A heavy thud on the desk made him jolt up, and he winced at the sudden light and the vision of Chief Swanson glaring at him.
“Where the hell have you been?” he barked, flecks of warm spit pricking Matt’s face. The harsh tones made his ears tremble, and his headache reached new heights of pain.
“I’ve been sorting through some of my cases, sir.” He tried desperately to look at least slightly busy. “I’m just in the process of archiving the old files.” He rubbed his temples to try and relieve some of the tension building up in his cranium.
“Archiving be damned Parkman! We have work to do. Get yourself down to Buck’s Row immediately. We have a murder on our hands.”
Oh shit. Just what he needed, a murder. He picked up his badge, put on his most official looking jacket, and stepped out into the crisp air, sucking in lungfuls in order to stave off the nausea steadily rising in his stomach.
For once in its seedy, miserable existence, Bucks Row was packed. It was a small street leading to a back courtyard - usually nothing much was there apart from a few dumpsters and a couple of seedy flats. It was the type of place that was constantly damp, and smelt quite strongly of stale urine. The occasional rat broke cover and ran to the Hilton-esque delights of the next dumpster along, making eerie squeaking noises as it did so. Matt shivered. This was doing nothing to stem the flow of nausea gradually making its way up his windpipe.
There were cars, cordons everywhere, and a few curious bystanders being told by a short kid in a fluorescent jacket to ‘get back’. He showed the two waiting officers his badge - it still felt unusual to be crossing that line instead of maintaining it - and walked to where Drucker was standing. A sheet covered the body, which was lying partly concealed behind a dumpster.
“So what we got here then?”
“Female, been here for a couple of hours I’d guess. She’s had the top of her head cut off.” Drucker lifted up the sheet, and Matt instantly felt the need to empty his guts, which he did so into the waiting dumpster.
“Hey man, you never seen one of these before? You want me to go get your momma to bring you some tissues?” Drucker laughed.
Matt smacked his lips, and shook himself out of it. That felt better. A lot better.
“Shut it Drucker, or do you want me to tell your wife about the brunette last night. You know, the one with the interesting take on personal hygiene?” Drucker’s smile left his face instantly, replaced with a narrow-eyed scowl.
“So did we find a murder weapon, or some clothing or something?”
“Nope. It’s all clean. The only stuff we got off her belonged to her. ID says she was called Polly Nichols, but there’s no address. Seems she was just some hooker who ripped someone off and got burned, or in this case, maimed.”
“I think I’ll decide what did or didn’t happen, Drucker. I’m the detective here. You go back to directing traffic.” Jackass.
The body was transported to the mortuary, where Matt and a few others stood around impatiently waiting for the M.E. to arrive. This was his first day, after being hired on special recommendation from the chief, who couldn’t praise his work highly enough. He wasn’t looking so brilliant at the moment, finally bursting through the door over an hour late, flustered and a little unsure.
“Apologies, apologies,” he stammered. “My name is Dr Mohinder Suresh. I’m so sorry - I’m new to this city and I couldn’t find my way to the hospital. I’ll just need a few minutes to set up my instruments.”
The accent was cut-glass, like this man had just stepped off a train in some British Imperial adventure. Dark skin contrasted with the whiteness of his lab coat, and his deep brown eyes looked nervous at making so many important people wait. He was extremely good looking, but had the air of someone who didn’t know it. He fumbled with his instruments until everything was finally ready to begin the examination. He pulled back the cloth to reveal Polly Nichols’s bloodstained face, the top of her head hanging off like a flip lid. He turned a few shades paler, span around, and immediately threw up into the sink.
Great, thought Matt, Another pretty boy M.E. who can’t do his job properly. When will they stop employing these idiots?
“Take your time doc. It’s only a body. We have all the time in the world.”
Dr Suresh had a drink of water and tried to compose himself. His first day really wasn’t going very well at all. Once he’d sorted himself out, he began the examination in a quavering tone, and tried to stop his hands from shaking.
“Victim is female, early to mid forties. There is a bruise… (cough!)...there is a bruise running along the lower part of the jaw on the right side of the face, suggesting a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb. The circular bruise on the left side of face could also indicate pressure from fingers. On the left side of the head, approximately one inch below the hairline…”
Matt could see he was still shaking slightly, but the quavering in his voice had all but disappeared as he methodically examined the body.
“…there is an incision about 4 inches in length, running left to right along the forehead, and penetrating into the skull. The top part of the head has been levered up, to reveal the tissue underneath. It looks as though all of this was done with the same instrument, possibly a butcher’s knife of some sort. There are no injuries to any other part of the body until just about the lower part of the abdomen, where there are bruises which indicate a struggle. I can’t find any semen traces, and it looks as though no sexual intercourse has taken place. I would say that this attack was not sexually motivated.”
That accent. Matt thought he could listen to that voice all day. The guy seemed to know his stuff after all; he just needed to keep his guts in check.
“So Doc. What you’re saying is that she was strangled, and then the killer cut her head open?”
“From the marks on the neck, it would certainly seem that way. The marks are also consistent with someone strangling her with their bare hands, as there are a couple of welts which would indicate a struggle. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any traces of DNA under her fingernails, which one would assume would be the case in this type of killing.
“It was pretty cold last night - could she have been wearing gloves?”
“It’s certainly a possibility.”
“But there were no gloves at the scene, and we searched that damn courtyard for over two hours….. the killer must have taken them off.”
“He could have done - he perhaps took then as a souvenir, something to remember his victim by.”
Matt was suitably impressed. “Thanks doc. That’s been really helpful.”
The examination was finished, and the body zipped up and taken away. Matt’s mind was awash with possibilities - how could the killer have taken the head off? Why wasn’t there more injuries? And why would they take the risk of doing it in Bucks Row, just off a busy street where anyone could see them? And why murder a prostitute is it wasn’t for sex? He got back to his office and thought long and hard, going through the little evidence that had been gathered. Unfortunately, with no more evidence forthcoming, no witnesses and no DNA, it seemed the case would stall before it had even started. He guessed this one would be shelved under ‘unexplained,’ and gradually forgotten about.
He decided to go home and get an early night. He picked up his coat and stepped out of his office, nearly crashing into Dr Suresh on his way.
“Oh, sorry Doc, didn’t see you there.”
“No, no. My fault entirely. I should have looked where I was going.”
The doctor smiled, and started to walk away. Man that smile was golden. Matt suddenly felt sorry for him - he was evidently in a strange city, in a different country, most likely didn’t know anyone, and was thrown in at the deep end on his very first day.
“Hey Dr Suresh?” he called after him.
The doctor stopped and turned around.
“If you’re finishing now, maybe I cold take you out for a drink - show you the sights and smells of New York?”
He smiled again. “I would very much like that. Thanks Detective Parkman.”
“Matt, please. Call me Matt.”
“Then you must call me Mohinder.”
“No probs doc. Mohinder.”
He took Dr Suresh, sorry, Mohinder, to one of the more upmarket bars in town. They steeled themselves away in a corner, away from prying eyes and ears, Matt drinking beer while Mohinder stuck to mineral water.
"So what made you come to New York?” Matt asked.
“Oh, my father came here to work a while ago. He said it was much more exciting than Madras. I came over with the intention of setting up a medical practice with him, but unfortunately he died before we had the chance. I know he was friendly with your Chief I met him at my father’s funeral, and he offered me a job as an M.E. I really wasn’t in a position to refuse.”
“Oh. So how did you find your first day?”
“Apart from annoying everyone by being late, and then throwing up, looking like a complete incompetent and utterly embarrassing myself? Absolutely fine.”
Matt laughed. Mohinder laughed too, happy that at least someone found him amusing instead of annoying. “Well, they say first impressions last” said Matt, “So I don’t think they’ll be forgetting you in a hurry.”
“I think you’re right.”
“If it’s any consolation, I threw up too.”
“Yes. That is a consolation. I guess we’re both a couple of, what’s the word? Wusses.” They laughed again in unison, but were interrupted by Matt’s cell phone. It had been lying on the table, but had suddenly spring into life, flashing and buzzing. The Chief was calling him.
“Dammit Swanson, can’t you leave me alone?” “Hello Parkman.”
“Parkman where are you?”
“I’m just showing the new M.E around the place. I think he quite likes it.” Mohinder smiled at him.
“Well when you’ve quite finished your date, I suggest you both get your asses down to Hanbury Street pronto. We’ve got another one.”
Fin
Next chapter: The killer seems to be following a set course of action. Hmmm....