Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

The Van Leugen Chronicles - Empire - (R0NIN x Jolie)

Patrick nodded. "Yeah, the beat cops have gathered statements from the victims and knocked on doors trying to find additional witnesses." He pulled out from under his own desk a box filled with the files of the cases and the evidence gathered to date." He sighed. "It's not really enough. I'm also sent out an inquiry to other large cities trying to find out if this pattern has taken place anywhere else. But my gut tells me, someone's seen something and I've got a list of the grifters, dealers, and pickpockets working the area. We pressure them and maybe we get a lead. It's a roll of the dice, but one I think makes sense."

*****​

Hannah stared helpless at Sam. "He's going to kill someone," she said plaintively. She quickly recapped what had happened that evening, including the copy. "I can't stand by and watch Nero murder someone, never again. And I'm sick at what I'm doing with this monster. I want out. I've done this long enough Sam. What if that cop had been murdered tonight? What if I hadn't seen Nero's assassin in time?"
 
"Sounds like a plan," Michael nodded, taking a seat on his desk and swiping up the phone, "give me one moment."

He pinned the phone to his ear and straightened his tie like he always did when he was nervous. He wasn't happy about having to stay late. He'd promised Alexa a night-in. Though Michael knew his girlfriend was incredibly understanding and empathetic to his work, it still pained him to disappoint her.

"Alexa? Hey, it's Michael. Got a second?"

---

"He is murdering people, Hannah," Sam frowned, "everyday." He sighed and came to a shuffling halt in his jog. He looked left and right before motioning for Hannah to follow him.

"Hannah, I'm not gonna pretend I know what's it like. Being as deep undercover for as long as you have ... it's gotta be hell." He led her over to a nearby park bench and motioned for her to sit down. "I'm not going to force you to keep cover if you don't think you can handle it anymore, but you have to know..." his eyes glimmered, "...you have to know how CLOSE we are, Hannah! I've been tracking his manufacturing lines across the city for months now. I'm already getting the authorization to begin a city-wide raid of his assets." He smiled widely, full of excitement. "The evidence we get from those busts coupled with your testimony ... it's gonna bring him down. That bastard is going to go away from the rest of his life." For a moment, he was lost in his own dream, eyes glazing into the background as he envisioned the resolution of his crusade.

But then he forced himself back to earth. He looked at Hannah, saw the helplessness in her face, the pain in her eyes. He reached forward and took one of her hands. "But I don't want to see you destroyed because of this either," he nodded firmly, "Nero already ruined your life once. I swore I would bring him to justice for what he did to you. You and the countless other people he's stepped on in his rise." He looked at her pensively. "It's up to you. If you can't do it, you can't do it. I'll extract you here and now." His hands squeezed her own. "But if you can last one more month - just one month, Hannah - then I swear, we will bring this bastard down together." His smile was warm and genuine. "Your call, sarge."

Sam was one of the few people who knew of Hannah's military history. Army Ranger. Sergeant. Though she'd been court martialed and discharged, he still called her 'sarge' occasionally, both in jest and out of respect.
 
Alexa was unpacking when Michael called. She'd felt nervous about moving to the much larger city of Van Leugen, but she wanted to support Michael. And finding a job teaching elementary school had proven surprisingly easy. Oh, the school wasn't located in the best neighborhood, but Alexa really wanted to make a difference and she knew that she could make a difference in the lives of her new students at Jefferson Elementary School.

"Hey Michael," she said brightly as soon as she picked up the phone. "Any chance you'll be home early tonight? I picked up a bottle of wine and was thinking lasanga tonight, my mom's recipe. You always liked that?"
As Michael spoke on the phone with Alexa, Patrick was on the phone himself talking very quietly to his booky. "Look, I'll pay," he told the man. "Just give me a week." Patrick didn't think he had a problem gambling. It was just his team's players had had too many injuries this year and that was throwing his system off. He was only down a few thousand anyway, nothing to get worried about. He looked over at his partner, saw he was still talking, and told his bookie one more time. "Seven days; you'll get paid. I gotta go."

*****​

Hannah wanted to cry. But she was strong. "Thirty days and then you pull me out and clear my record, like you promised." This was why she loved Sam, but also why he could so easily manipulate her. She could still feel Nero driving inside her, she could feel her body spasming as he wrought every inch of pleasure from her. She hated herself for loving what Nero could do to her, hated herself for craving his cruelty. It felt like she was betraying everything inside her that remained good. Or was her soul entirely black now?

"But one month from now, it's over," she said firmly. "No more extensions." Reaching out, she squeezed Sam's hand, glanced around, and then stood and walked away.
 
"I'm ... gonna be a bit later than I thought," Michael winced and glanced back over his shoulder, "new partner. There's a lead on this case ..." He shook his head. He never liked giving excuses, noble as they usually were. Working late or no, Michael had made Alexa a promise.

Police work was hell on a marriage, Michael knew that. Nearly half the force traded divorce tall tales by the water cooler. When she'd first agreed to move out with him, Michael had promised Alexa that he wouldn't let the job ruin them. He'd meant it.

"Look, I won't be too late, alright?" he tried to sound reassuring, "keep the lasagna warm. We're just checking out a few leads."
 
Patrick nodded to Michael and politely waited for him to finish his call. Giving a grin, he said, "Being a cop is hell on relationships." He then led the way down to the car assigned to them today. It was a plain marked covert police cruiser, a GT Ford Mustang. While it wasn't overtly a police car, the official official municipal license plate with an "X" in the middle, the short police radio antennas on the trunk lid, and the blue and red flashers in the rear window meant that anyone really looking would be able to identify this vehicle as an undercover police cruiser.

Patrick took the wheel. "We've got a list of people working the park when the last rape took place," he told Michael. "I also thought we could hit the nearby gas stations, liquor stores, etc., and pull any security tapes. We might not be able to use them now, but if we wait, they'll end up getting taped over. The description we have says a white or light skinned Latino between 5'9" tall and 6"1" weighing between 150 and 200 pounds with a tattoo on his left arm of a anchor or Japanese symbol or barbed wire running around his wrist. He either talks low in a husky whisper or perhaps has a Boston accent. He wore a black Hoodie, track pants or sweats, and tennis shoes. So I'm thinking he might run in the park in the mornings trying to spot his victims."

Patrick smiled. "I'll let you run lead on this investigation. Get to know your style. What do you want to do first?"
 
"So I've heard," Michael half-grumbled and followed his new partner out into the garage. He perked a brow at the lavish Mustang but made no outward comment. Clearly Patrick wasn't one for subtlety.

He reviewed the case file as Patrick drove, listening to the debriefing intently. The city blurred past them in shades of black and grey, interlaced with brief but bright flashes of color. "Looks like he keeps striking in the same area ... there's a good chance he lives close to this park that he keeps stalking." He wore a black Hoodie, track pants or sweats, and tennis shoes. So I'm thinking he might run in the park in the mornings trying to spot his victims."

"I think you're right about that," Michael nodded, "he blends in and observes before striking. If this guy is loitering around like this, we shouldn't have a hard time IDing him from one of the locals."

The car pulled up to the intended area. "I'll let you run lead on this investigation. Get to know your style. What do you want to do first?"

Michael thought for a moment. "I think your gut instinct is right," he nodded, "let's talk to the locals and see if we can get a clearer picture of who we're dealing with." He briefly looked out the window, scanning down the nearest sidewalk. The good thing about Van Leugen was that it wasn't hard to find a bum. Every street had a resident panhandler. Michael saw one squatted between two buildings, half-asleep, a crude cardboard sign in his lap.

"Give me a second," Michael exited the vehicle and walked toward a nearby hotdog stand, ordering a large coney and a tall coke. Food and drink in hand, Michael walked over to the mendicant and squatted down beside him.

"Evenin'," he offered him a small smile, "hungry?"
 
Patrick stayed back and cautiously observed as his new partner spoke to the panhandler. As he glanced up and down the street, his left hand rested on his service revolver. Despite the "unmarked" Mustang and their civilian clothes, no one who observed the two men would have any real doubt that these were cops.

Patrick frankly liked it that way. He didn't put a lot of stock in subtlety. He preferred people know when cops were on the street and his instinct was developed enough that he could spot someone tensing or trying to flee when he approached. But he had to admit, his new partner seemed to have a way with the street people.

For the next two hours, they spoke to the homeless and street people and Patrick tried not to object at Michael bought coffee and meals for those he spoke to and generally made himself known as someone who cared. He was about to give up when Michael connected with the tenth person he'd interviewed, a homeless veteran who turned down the food, but told Michael,

"Yeah. I saw a guy following a girl yesterday. I didn't really think much of it, until later, I heard cops found that girl and she'd been raped. But I don't know if it was that guy." The vet gave his name as Billy and didn't have a lot of hard details. "But you know I think I've seen him in the mornings before. He comes in a business suit and changes at one of the restrooms. I check the trashcans in the mornings and have run into him once or twice. That's why I remember him following the girl. Nice guy actually, gave me a ten dollar bill once."

Patrick listened as Michael interviewed the man. He was thinking that this information gave them a start. Did Billy know how he got to the park? What kind of car did the guy drive? But he let Michael direct the conversation. While he was the lead detective, he was almost more interested in getting a sense of his partner than merely solving this case.
 
Michael listened intently. "Do you remember what he looked like? Skin tone, build, distinguishing marks?" He jotted down notes in a small pad. After the eighth interview had turned up nothing, Michael had gotten slightly frustrated. Keeping a smile was difficult, and paying for the dinners of every panhandler he laid eyes on was rapidly lightening his wallet.

He knew he didn't have to play it nice. He was a cop. Nobody would have thought twice if he played it a little rough with some of the mendicants and held an arrest over their heads to squeeze information out of them, especially in a city like Van Leugen. Most officers would.

Of course, Michael wasn't like most officers. Trust, he believed, was far more effective at getting results than fear. Besides - even if nine out of ten interviewees didn't have anything to offer, they would remember his kindness and would maybe be useful to him in the future.

...and utilitarianism aside, Michael preferred it this way. Helping people. Getting a few down-on-your-lucks a bite to eat. Maybe they were only a handful of vagrants, but Michael felt glad that he could do some good that night, even if it was just in a few desperate lives.

"You don't happen to know how he gets around, by chance?" Michael continued, "ever laid eyes on his car?"
 
The homeless man had said his name was Danny Rogers. He seemed eager to help, especially after Michael had bought him a hot, real meal. As he ate, he seemed almost frustrated with himself as he tried to answer the detective's questions. "White? Thin? Taller than me so I guess somewhere between 5'10" and six feet. I didn't really notice anything special about him other than he was relatively lean as far as I could tell. You know, a runner's build I guess you'd say. Oh and his hair was dark, brown or black." It was only when Michael mentioned how he got around or if he has seen the man's car, the Danny's weathered face lit up.

"Yeah, yeah. It was a black 60s muscle car. Looked Mopar, but I couldn't say for sure whether it was a Dodge, Plymouth or Chrysler. The other guy who dropped him off always pulled out of the lot right after the guy got out and I guess would circle around the park, because if I stayed any length of time, I'd see the car circling around. Never saw him pick up the other guy though.

Patrick watching Michael interview the bum was mildly impressed. He didn't put much stock in the description, but from the way the man's face had lit up when he mentioned the car, he tended to believe that account more. Guys remembered what excited their interest and even though this guy was homeless now, he'd obvious at some point had an interest in hot muscle cars.

"Did you notice from which the direction the black car would arrive at the park lot?" Patrick interrupted Michael's interrogation to ask.

"No," Danny shook his head. "To be honest, the only reason I remember the guy at all was he would get dropped off in that hot car. I mean it was a sweet ride, the kind of car you might see in a car show. Waxed, black, beautiful. I always wanted to get a closer look, but the driver would barely stop to drop off the other guy before pulling out. I kind of think it was a Dodge though if I had to guess, early 60s, big cubic inch block engine."

"Thanks," Patrick said glancing over at Michael as he wondered whether this was even the right guy. What rapist got dropped off by someone? Or could there be two men involved. It was a puzzle.
 
Michael puzzled a bit. So the suspect was picked up and dropped off by someone else in a flashy-looking car...

He mentally reviewed the notes he had thus far. Suspect was dropped off at the park in the morning dressed in a suit. He changed in the restroom, presumably jogged and was then picked up by the same car later in the day. White. Medium build. On the taller side. Those last three fit the descriptions the victims had given.

"One last question Danny," he nodded, "around what time of the morning is he usually dropped off, and when does he most frequently stop by? Weekdays or weekends?"

He looked back to Patrick. "When did the victims report they were assaulted? In the morning and afternoon, or in the evening and night?"
 
A full meal combined with the fact that these two detectives were paying attention to him had Danny eager to help. Although he suffered from depression and diagnosed bi-polar conditions that he self-medicated whenever he could, his memory was actually rather sharp. He focused for a moment. The dude is usually dropped off real early. Around six in the morning, it's before you get many cars or really anyone there. The reason I'm up then is I like to go through the trash and collect anything I can use, recycle or sell before there's a crowd out. The other guy isn't wearing a suit though. It's during the weekday. Never on the weekends. At least I've never seen him on the weekends. But I don't see him every day."

Patrick nodded as he listened to his new partner develop this surprisingly effective source of information. "The assaults have all been in the morning between nine and ten except this last one, which was at approximately 5:45 in the evening." He thought a moment. "You know there's a subway station at the north end of the park. Maybe he gets dropped off in the mornings."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom