(no subject)
Title: That sound in your heart... 2/4
Chapter: 2
Author: Carmexgirl
Rating: PG-13 for nasty stuff and a minky bit of swearing
Summary: Completely AU. New York 2008. Or could it be London, Whitechapel 1888? The killer strikes again.
A//N: This part is a bit of a beast (sorry!) but stick with it...
Previous Chapter(s): Chapter one
There was no point in calling a cab to Hanbury Street - they could run there in the ten minutes it would take to call one up. Matt found it difficult to keep up with Mohinder, who was leaner, more athletic and a lot fitter than he was. He would have been ok with that, except Mohinder had no idea where he was going, so Matt had to shout “Left!” and “Right!” at regular intervals, making him even more breathless.
When they finally got there, a quiet industrial street with poor lighting, a number of officers were swarming around, combing the area for clues. Matt pulled out his badge and thrust it into the face of the nearest officer. He pointed to Mohinder who was catching his breath, and panted a breathless “He’s with me.” They both walked over to where the body lay, pools of thick, clotting blood surrounding it. Matt saw the familiar cut across the forehead, and instantly knew it was the same killer.
Mohinder looked at the body and gasped, his stomach lurching. “Are you ok Mohinder?” Matt asked, concerned that there was nothing near to catch any vomit.
Mohinder gulped down some air. “I’m fine, I’m fine. This gets easier, right?”
“Hell no. You never get used to seeing this.” He gave the best smile he could under the circumstances.
Mohinder bent down, and started to examine the body. “Victim is female, mid to late forties. There are marks around the throat, similar to the body this morning, consistent with strangulation. The tongue is also very swollen, corroborating this theory. The body has been mutilated this time - there are cuts to the forearms, abdomen and breast tissue. I would say the blade used was very sharp, but quite narrow. It looks as thought the same instrument which attacked the abdomen has been used on the forehead. There is a long, deep cut running left to right, again penetrating the skull. The top of the head has been levered off.”
“Sick bastard” said Matt.
“I would say this victim has been dead for at least two hours - probably more, given that this evening is quite cold, and the amount of blood lost would make the body cool more rapidly. Again there is evidence of a struggle.”
“So you’re saying she entered the yard alive?”
“Yes, then killer struck and left her to bleed to death, prizing open her head in the mean time. But there’s something about this Matt, something familiar. It’s like I’ve seen this somewhere before, but I can’t think where, or why…” his voice tailed off, lost in thought.
Matt couldn’t think straight. Why strangle them first? Why was the head cut open, and the skull levered off? There must be a connection, somewhere? He was usually so good with things like this - usually good at getting into people’s heads and figuring out what their motives were. This case has him baffled, and yet he was sure there was some connection. Something to do with names…place names…victim names…
Suddenly there was a cry, and Matt wheeled around to see a young woman being restrained by two officers, sobbing and crying hysterically. “Lily! Oh Lily what have they done to you!!”
In an instant Matt was there. “Calm down, calm down,” he said, waving his hands in front of her face. “What’s your name?”
“Jenny.”
“So you knew this woman?”
Jenny tried hard to compose herself, but succeeded in bursting into tears once more. Matt handed her a tissue, and took her to sit in a waiting police van. Once she had stopped sobbing and could form a coherent sentence, he set about questioning her.
“So her name was Lily?”
“Yes. Yes. Lily Chapman. Well, the girls called her Lily, but I think her name was really Angela.”
“The girls? Who are the girls?” At this she went silent, and looked away. Matt sensed she was hiding something. “Come on,” he said, “Look. I’ll do you a deal. I’ll take whatever you tell me in the strictest confidence, OK? Your friend has been murdered, and we want to do our best to catch her killer, so as soon as you tell me what you know, the sooner I can get closer to nailing this sick bastard.”
She coughed, and Matt could see fear in her eyes. She hiccoughed, and then began to speak. “Lily was a Madame. She runs...ran… a brothel a few doors down. Me and the girls… we do a bit of work to earn some extra money when things get tough.” She turned away from Matt, tears pricking her eyes once more.
“And when was the last time you saw Lily?”
“About four hours ago. She was taking with a new client and…and….” She started sobbing again.
Matt had had enough of this. He pulled her to him and looked straight into her eyes. “Jenny listen to me. This is very serious - I need you to remember everything you can about what you saw. What did this new client look like?”
“He was….about 6 foot and quite slim. He had… short brown hair, and he spoke softly. I think he had stubble.”
“What was he wearing?”
“He wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a dark coat. I think he had glasses on, but I didn’t see that much. Him and Lily left and…and… that was the last I saw of her.” Tears started flowing again. Matt handed her another tissue and thought about the description she had given. It all sounded too familiar, and yet there must have been thousands of people in New York matching those details. And it wasn’t a given that the person Angela Chapman was talking to could have been her killer….
There was a sharp knock on the back of the van, which made them both jump. Matt opened the door, to see Mohinder standing there with wide eyes. “You have to come and see this. Now.”
Mohinder led him to a piece of derelict wall behind one of the factory units, just yards from where the body lay. Half way up it, in three foot high characters, was a red ‘S’ shape, bisected by two horizontal slashes.
“What the hell is that?” Matt asked, a nervous tone rising in his voice. This was starting to freak him out.
“I don’t know. I would say the symbol resembles the DNA double-helix, only this is a single strand, with two slashes across the middle. I’m sure I’ve seen the symbol before, but I don’t know where.”
“What’s it written in? Is that blood?”
“No, the blood would have clotted and become impossible to use” he said, matter-of-factly, “I would say that was paint.”
Matt stared at the symbol and shuddered. Who ever was doing this was now leaving clues. It had all the arrogance of a serial killer, of someone who thought he was cleverer than most, and was so callous he could brutally murder someone and in the same instant, daub graffiti onto the nearest wall. There was a low rumbling in his stomach, only it wasn’t hunger, it was anger. Anger at the thought that innocent lives were being toyed with for some sicko’s amusement. Anger that although he now had the description of a suspect, he was still nowhere nearer to finding out why those women were killed.
The body was taken away, and Matt decided to call it a night. There was nothing more that could be done. He thanked Mohinder and told him to get to bed, giving him his cell phone number just in case. Even though he had only known him for a day, it had felt good to have someone there; someone to talk things through with, to mull over ideas, someone who was just as baffled and confused as he was.
He got back to the dingy flat and fell on his bed, too tired to get changed. Two minutes later he was locked in a deep sleep. He dreamed. Red helixes were flying around him, circling him, engulfing him. He tried to cry out, but his cries were caught in mid air. One helix wrapped itself around his next and got tighter, tighter, so tight he couldn’t breathe. He grasped at it, desperately trying to unwrap it from his neck, slowly losing consciousness. Tighter, tighter…. Suddenly another pair of hands were on his neck, frantically ripping the helixes away. He opened his eyes, and saw Mohinder Suresh standing in front of him, torn helixes hanging from his fingers…
He awoke with a start to the buzzing of his cell phone. It was an unfamiliar number, and he was in two minds whether to answer it or just let it ring out. He fumbled around, before picking up.
“Parkman.”
“Matt? Matt it’s Mohinder Suresh.”
“Hey Mohinder. Something wrong?”
“No I’m fine. Matt I need you to come to the library - I think I may have found some answers.”
He rushed to get changed, not giving any thought to his strange dream, and headed off to the library.
He found Mohinder in the history section, surrounded by piles and piles of books.
“Someone’s been up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about names and places, and the symbol on the wall. I knew I’d seen it all somewhere before, but couldn’t put my finger on what.”
“And now?”
Mohinder pushed a book over to him.
“Jack the Ripper? Oh come on Mohinder, that’s a little far fetched.”
“No, no it isn’t.” His eyes were wide and insistent. “Look at the details.”
Matt tried, but the words seemed to jumble up on the page. He couldn’t concentrate.
“You see?” said Mohinder.
“No I don’t. I can’t read this stuff Mohinder, I’m dyslexic.” He suddenly felt extremely embarrassed, and could feel his face glowing. Mohinder looked at him, and smiled.
“No matter. Look.” He pointed to a few words of text. “His first victim was a prostitute, Mary Nicholls, She was 43 when she died. She was strangled, and had her throat cut. The second victim was Annie Chapman, 47, who also had her throat cut, but sustained stab wounds to her abdomen.”
“Could be a coincidence - the names aren’t that uncommon, and there’s not an exact match there. Also, our guy is cutting their heads off, not slitting the throat.”
“He may want to distinguish his crimes from the originals - draw attention to his own deeds. Besides, there are other similarities. Look at where the women were found - Mary Nicholls was found in Bucks Row, while Annie Chapman was in Hanbury Street.”
“Holy shit.” Matt’s stomach rose.
And look, it says that after Annie’s murder, graffiti was found nearby, but got rubbed off before anything could be investigated.”
“We have to get down there. Get in the car.”
Matt sped his way down to Hanbury Street. On the way, Mohinder told him more about the Ripper case. “There were letters sent to the local news agency, detailing the crimes and mocking the investigation. Of course, most people now believe they were hoaxes, but it all added to the mystery of the killer.”
“So how do you know about this? Have you studied these murders?”
“Yes, well kind of.”
“Wait, wait, hold on a second.” Something clicked in Matt’s brain. “It was a movie wasn’t it? From Hell. I remember that movie. That’s why the places and the names seem so familiar!”
Mohinder went quiet. Matt laughed. “Busted” he said, chuckling.
“Shut up.”
***
They reached pulled in to Hanbury Street, and Matt was horrified to see two officers washing off the helix. He leapt out of his car. “What are you doing you assholes! That’s evidence!!”
“They’re doing what I told them to, Parkman.” He hadn’t expected to see Chief Swanson at the crime scene, but evidently he thought it serious enough to warrant his presence.
“But it’s evidence!”
“It’s a nonsense and we need to get rid of it!! I won’t have the general public getting frightened by some idiot’s scrawl. It’s not even connected with the crime.”
“But sir….”
“Shut up Parkman.” He turned round to the two officers, who had stopped scrubbing and were staring at the him. “Well what are you waiting for? Get rid of it, NOW!”
Matt watched in disbelief as the last part of the graffiti dripped down the wall and down the drain.
Swanson had noticed Mohinder sitting in the car, and was looking at Matt strangely. “Now what brings the two of you down here.”
Matt ran through Mohinder’s theory. He told him everything - the similarities with names, the places, even the graffiti. He could see Swanson’s nose wrinkle tighter and tighter as he went on. When he finished, the Chief gave a loud snort and burst into hysterical laughter.
“So let me get this straight. You truly believe some madman is running around murdering hookers copying a film? You truly believe that?”
“But those events really happened…”
“Over 120 years ago, in another country. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” His eyes were suddenly wide, and a red flush had taken over his face. “You’re an idiot Parkman. I don’t know how you made detective, but I will be asking some very serious questions about your status.”
“But…”
“Get back in your car, Parkman, and go home. Leave me to get on with the real police work.”
“But…”
“I said goodbye Parkman!”
Matt got back in his car, and slammed the door. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to calm down. Mohinder had heard everything.
“He’s wrong you know…”
“Shut up Mohinder.”
“But you know we’re on the right track…”
“I said shut it! You have just made me look a complete asshole in front of my boss, with your stupid theory.”
“It’s not a stupid theory.”
“Mohinder do me a favour. Go back to throwing up in your lab, and leave the real police work to people with common sense.”
“How dare you! I have helped you…”
Matt felt angry, and, if truth were told, a little emasculated at the dressing down he’d received from the Chief. “You have done nothing!” He shouted. “Nothing except hinder me and make me look like a complete idiot. I could lose my job, all because you couldn’t get a fucking film out of your head!”
Mohinder was visibly shaking. “Screw you! I thought we were friends! I was trying to help because I could see you were in a hole…” He stopped abruptly when he caught side of the anger pulsing over Matt’s face.
Matt’s eyes were wild, and he was taking deep gulps of air, still clenching and unclenching his fists. He didn’t know what to do. He had listened to this man, this person who he had only known for two days, and now felt his whole career was in jeopardy because of his theory. He wanted to throw him out the car, and yet, there was still a little something inside him that told him he was right.
Mohinder stared at Matt, still shaking. After a few moments silence, he calmly opened the car door and walked out. Matt sat there, massaging his temples, still trying to calm down.
He got back to the office - at least he could feel like he was doing something constructive by being there, and was confronted with a mound of paperwork. On top of the paper lay a letter, postmarked from the day before. He opened it, and pulled out a tatty scrap of paper, covered in red ink. It took a while for his eyes to focus on the letters and make out words. Once he’d read and re-read the whole thing through, he started shaking.
Dear Boss,
It is really good to finally catch up with you again. I hope you have been enjoying my little games - I certainly have. Last time you stopped me, but now I plan to continue.
Some people in this life are destined to be ordinary-never striving for more, never achieving anything in their sad little lives except resentment and regret. I am extraordinary, I transcend greatness. You, Parkman, are merely a pawn in my little game, and I love seeing you squirm. You beat me once Parkman, but it is I who will end up victorious. Good luck in finding me - I’ll be watching you. Yours truly,
Sylar
P.S. Don’t mind me giving the trade name.
Matt read the letter over and over again. The killer knew him. He knew him, and he was taunting him. But the name - Sylar? He didn’t know anyone called Sylar? But the tone of the letter, the arrogance - it seemed familiar. He needed help, but the only person who could help him was probably packing his bags right now and getting ready to leave because he’d been a stupid idiot. He knew he shouldn’t, but he called up Dr Suresh’s personal file and found the address of his apartment downtown.
Mohinder opened the door to his flat, unsure of who would be calling on him. He didn’t know anyone in this city except those at the precinct, and he was pretty sure none of them knew his address. Matt stood before him, tense, with eyes full of apology.
“Mohinder I’m really sorry. I’m a stupid asshole who has no right to expect help from you.”
“How did you get my address?” Mohinder stared at him.
“I’m a detective. Look I know I’ve been stupid, and arrogant, and ungrateful, but I really need your help. This just got a whole lot worse Mohinder, and I’m scared,”
Mohinder was about to say something, but then he saw the anxious look on Matt’s face. His eyes were drawn to his hands, which were holding a piece of paper and trembling.
“What’s going on?” He asked.
Matt showed him the letter. He studied it and looked up, face pale. “Who’s Sylar?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
“Well whoever it is, he obviously knows you, and he seems to be following the Ripper story almost to the letter, if you’ll pardon the pun. We have to move quickly.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, three more women’s lives are in danger.”
Fin
Next Chapter: Things go from bad to worse...