Fractured Mirth
part 10
Rachel's eyes fell dimly over the still form that lay facedown upon the pavement, arms sprawled straight out at either side, the wrists tainted at a rather uncomfortable angle, as the palms raised themselves up to the dismal sky. It almost struck her as a kind of beckoning gesture, one that would have a tired soul pleading to be let into the heavens above- an ounce of hope for all of the torment another innocent victim had to once again endure against the tactics of a madman. The woman was young. Her long blonde hair lay spilled down the small of her back, and was parted just enough to reveal the all too familiar symbol inscribed into her naked skin. The bottom half of her had already been covered with a white sheet, spread out to shield her from the pbulic, closing off yet another unsolved case. A brief vision crackled deeply into her mind, as she saw a shadowed figure light a candle, his shrouded lips mumbling incoherent words, as he bent over an unconsciousness body with a thin, but sharp object, his hand shaking as he bent to transcribe his everlasting message in blood. She once again willed herself to see the reality of it, as she quietly bit her lower lip, folding her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Were there are traces of a syringe?" she asked the detective who greeted her with a somber air, her eyes finding his ever so faintly.
The older man ran a hand through his graying hair, shrugging respectfully, as he nervously cracked his knuckles rather tiredly, shrugging out of his duster. "My guess is it happened so fast, whoever did it didn't have time to preserve her the way they wanted."
"Preserve?" she questioned.
He nodded. "Seeing as you've brought your case here with all the trimmings, Miss Burke, we took it upon ourselves to become well acquainted. We're calling it preservation, if only for the fact that the triquetra stands for peace, and whatever they were injected with, must have somehow given them that peace. She probably hasn't been dead more than an hour, at best."
"He's getting impatient because we're not catching on fast enough," she murmured. "His trails have become messy....more brutal, if only to save time."
"That's your professional opinion?" he mused, mindlessly scratching his chin.
"It's as close as you're going to get to one as things stand," she offered plainly. "I wish I could say this was the work of Duane Robertson, but I just don't-"
"Think it's his style anymore?" John Grant spoke up, as he hauled over a striking man in handcuffs, abruptly shoving him forward with rapid, unwilling movement, as the culprit angrily met face to face with Rachel, his rough visage hitting a chord she now wished had stay good and buried to the farthest place in her mind, never breaking loose to wreak havoc, despite the impending consequences it provoked. "You'd be right. The bastard's gone cheap. A couple of uniforms caught our guy trying to rob a corner store not even two blocks from here. Probably ran short on cash and needed a quick transfer route. Looks like his tools are causing some big bucks to manufacture. Thought you might like to have a word with him before we haul him off to a nice little cell with his name on it."
She considered the situation a moment, arching a finely shaped brow in his direction. Everything in her gut was now sending her mixed signals, and the fact that she was unlikely to get him to talk anytime soon, was even worse. But in the end, it didn't matter. Whoever was killing these girls...these young women...wouldn't stop until someone like her had carved a fine piece of justice right above their mantle, putting them dead center in their place. But that wasn't going to happen tonight. "Stupid move, Duane."
"Why, Miss Burke, so we meet again. How wonderful it is to see you when murder's so ripe in the air. If it's any consolation, you were always my favorite."
"What do you know about Paulina Dobson?" she stated calmly, ignoring his remarks, as John protectively shifted him back a few steps, tugging at his restraints, as the metal pained his wrists with great intensity.
"Never heard of her, but she sounds really pretty, you know? I mean, you can kind of just tell that from a name. Whether it's got a kind of....ring to it." He stopped, showing her a mouth full of white teeth. "Your name sends bells singing and church choirs rejoicing. It's such a beautiful sound, if I don't say so myself."
"She's lying facedown in her own blood to your right. Now answer the question."
"Oh, but I did. Matter of fact, I guess you could even say I wanted to be caught. My time is up, and Satan's taken over my ways."
John's eyes widened, as he rolled them, playing a finger around one ear. "Something tells me our boy has been spending just a little too much time in hiding, don't you think? Hey, uh, Robby? Just out of curiousity, how many fingers am I holding up?"
Robertson only shot him a cruel grimace and bared his teeth, trying hard to supress the low growl in his throat.
"Satan?" she repeated.
He immediately turned back to her, his face coated with amusement. "Maybe Miss Paulina was asking for it. Contrary to popular belief, you don't really know a person until you've been to hell and back. I'd say she was just calling out his name, begging to stray from the path of the weary."
The gray-haired detective merely frowned, as he proceeded to get a good grip on the assailant, taking him swiftly out of John's reach, Robertson's head falling into the squad car. He muttered a few silent curses to himself, when the suspect nearly purposely hit his hand upon the roof, his eyes never leaving Rachel's, as the door was shut in front of him, his face drawn up close and personal to the length of the wide window. "You're free to grill him tomorrow morning, if you'd like, Agent Burke. The choice is yours."
She sighed. "And it's a choice I'll need to comply with if I expect to find out who's destroying these lives, isn't it?"
John looked at her, the pain seeping into his blues, as he truly felt for her, wincing slightly as he chanced to place a single hand upon her cheek. She shuddered just a bit from his touch, refusing to meet his gaze, as she simply found her own falling down to the victim once again, knowing in her heart that another family's way of life would be turned upside the minute they heard about Paulina's fate and what exactly had been done to her to reach that point of death. "You can't blame yourself."
"No?"
"Rachel, even if there is-"
"Someone was doing his dirty work for him," she sided, nodding. "Someone was increasing the total, while he was....admiring...praising...he was giving some sick bastard the praise to hurt these women, John. I can't even fathom what kind of person it takes to just wait and watch, to know what's coming like that."
"You don't know that he was telling the truth. He's messed up. Half of these guys just say whatever it is that springs to mind. They're delusional."
"But he said he wanted us to find him. He almost made it seem like he showed us gratitude, because he looked forward to it."
"The search is over, but....the case can't be closed," he reminded her. "Not until we know why."
"And that's what's been bothering me since it all started."
"The why..."
"Right. Now....we know he came from a broken home. That's an obvious fact that's been shifted through the investigation and probed 'til its heart's content. But I really thought it would mean he was saving them, not connecting them to the devil."
He tilted his head slightly. "Does this mean we have to give that witch woman a call again?"
"Witch woman?"
"Phoebe? Maybe she'd be more up to date with this Satanic worshipping of the weary path stuff."
"Witch woman," she emphasized, raising an eyebrow, as she gave him a look.
"You know what I mean."
"No. I'm afraid I really don't."
"Look, maybe if we give her something this latest victim owned, it'll trigger some...pictures for her."
"Mmm...but a bigger step would be to just go straight to that location we got before. I'll bet he's got victims stashed there, floor to ceiling."
"And where is Bailey when you really need him?"
"We are the chosen," she murmured dryly. "But I would say it's probably all for the best if Cole takes your place on this one."
"Wait. What?"
"The two of us will scope out the location, and give you a heads up. You'll stay with the sisters, get to know them better, and have George run a broader background check on Turner."
"Still not convinced he's too good to be true?"
She smiled rather sarcastically. "Oh, the ones with the records always are, aren't they?"
"Hate to break it to you, but I think he's clean all the way around. Weird....but clean, in any case."
"And I don't want you limping your way out of something, should we get ourselves in a bind. You're not in any position to do it, John, and you know that if Bailey were here right now, he'd be agreeing with me."
He had to choke back a laugh. "Considering that, maybe it's actually a good idea he left."
"Still, it would've been nice to have an extra pair of eyes on this."
"Can't agrue there."
"Any idea where we should start next?" the detective had approached her again, his face grave, as he once again sought a glance over Paulina, now fully adorned in a body bag, as two men slowly began to load her onto a stretcher, zipping her up, as one jotted down a handful of random notes upon the clipboard he held in his hand.
Rachel quickly shot John a knowing gaze, as she gently shook her head. "It's late," she managed. "I think we all could use some rest right about now. But if I can get something out of him, we might have some new leads by morning."
"Yeah, that was my take on it too," he sided. "Well....if there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know. As always, our services remain open to the VCTF's investigation."
"It's gonna make news," she breathed. "Front page, no doubt."
He smiled. "But if he's got an accomplice, it might just bring him out of hiding." He absentmindedly rapped a fist against the hood of the squad car. "So I guess this calls it a night. Take care, Agent Burke. Terribly sorry there isn't more you can do here. But...now that we've got him, we don't want to lose him, you know?"
She only nodded. "Good night, Dectective Henderson."
"Have a good one," he offered, and proceeded to the uniforms who were still assisting him, as she resisted a glance at the man they still held in their grasp behind the locked door, knowing all too well that his eyes hadn't shifted for a minute, still transfixed upon her pretty face.
She quietly shifted, as she pulled her jacket tighter to her. "He's got rules to follow, and yet he kills them at random."
"And we can only go on what the families give us," he responded lightly. "Moreover, if you would have filled Henderson in on what you're doing on your own time, behind his back, he might've been more receptive in providing us with another source of info."
She only shrugged. "I want to do this on my own time, without-"
"And who's going to know where you are, if you and Cole move up and out, hot on this guy's trail?"
"Well, someone was obviously looking to have fun out here tonight, and the fact that Robertson conveniently plants himself into the picture on so short a notice, only makes it more confusing and somewhat out of our league."
"Yeah. For starters, our guy could be female."
"What?"
"Think about it," he reasoned. "She's got this personal vendetta against a lot of other females, because she's not as beautiful or successful as she'd like to be. Her life's taken a turn for the worst and she wants to go on a little killing spree to show them all who's boss."
"That's your take?" She blinked, her face unreadable.
"It's plausible, isn't it?"
She laughed. "You're definitely not a profiler."
"And why not?" he playfully tossed back. "I mean, I've got killer instincts, for one. No pun intended, of course."
"And your instincts are what are eventually going to get you killed," she surmised.
"We've been assuming that he's gotta be strong, well built, right?"
"And the guys who took a shot at you, are most likely not-"
"No, but see...had I been a vulnerable woman with change in my purse and a smile on my face...great pair of legs, they would've injected, carved, and ran."
"Still, it doesn't even begin to account for the little girls yet- great legs?"
"Hypothetically speaking."
"Unbelievable," she murmured.
"Okay...what?"
"Why don't you just ask her out? You know you want to. I mean, it sure beats hiding out in a maintenance closet, doesn't it?"
"Yes, and that was for a very good cause," he began, as he slowly followed her to the new rental they'd picked up, his hand lightly fingering his ribs, as he winced ever so briefly.
"Oh, I'll bet it was. Very professional on your part."
"Can I help it if some women just find a certain irresistibility about me?"
"You exude it," she quipped, as she threw open the door.
"Yeah, and if you have something else you want to say, you might as well say it."
"What do I have to say?" she countered.
"Look. I know this case is tearing you apart. And I know we seem to be hitting dead end after dead end. But Duane'll talk." He studied her, as he settled into the passenger side, trying hard to get comfortable in the seat. "Rachel, this guy may be a little gone right now, but I know you can get him to spill. Maybe after awhile, he'll actually be glad to."
"You really think I'm that good?"
"I know you're that good."
She defeatedly leaned her head down upon the steering wheel, tightly shutting her eyes. "A missing ring of keys, the triquetra, a syringe, and Robertson in custody."
"Yes, I've got that. I can count just fine, thank you."
"No...no, that's not what I meant. I just...we have to be leaving something out."
"See, this is exactly my point. If we spent half as much time sleeping, as we do racking our brains against this thing, maybe we'd have something concrete."
"No, we need George."
"Do you think it'd be easier if he was actually out here with us?" he suggested.
"John, this guy's been all over. He's trying to piss us off, and he's damn good at it."
"Yes, I already gathered you're really pissed off," he noted.
"How'd you figure it out?" she returned, a smile finally creeping over her features once again.
"And I suppose it wouldn't exactly look good for me if I did try to become involved with someone like Phoebe, considering this stuff stinks of witchcraft, would it?"
"You were being serious about her?"
"Get some rest," he urged her. "We'll start out first thing tomorrow morning."
"There's no time. I have to-"
"Phoebe and Cole."
"I don't understand."
"Both of them."
"Both of them doing what?"
"Out on the job? Posing as FBI agents? It could work. All we'd need to do is fill them in on the basics. She can get visions more vividly than you can, and we could get a break if they find something."
"You're willing to risk another civilian at a location we haven't even been to yet?"
"You wanted to save time. I'm proposing a solution."
"Yeah, and I've already got Cole. We don't need Phoebe for this."
"And I just think we might."
"You don't even buy this whole magic thing," she roughly accused.
"No, I really don't."
"So then why are you agreeing to this without any gripes?"
"Because there are no gripes when you decide you're going to agree," he filled in simply, and calmly laid his head back upon the seat, offering a prolonged sigh of relief.
She frowned, rolling her eyes at him. "We should also find time to dig up some things about Paulina while we're at it."
"Like...."
"Family history, who her parents were, what kind of place she came from...if she's actually lived her in San Francisco all her life."
"George," he volunteered.
"Might be a good route to pursue."
"And what you're really thinking, is that she might even lead us back to Atlanta," he sided.
"Possibly. I still think this is just a clever way of tossing us a damn bone and expecting us to just drop everything and play catch."
"Interesting concept."
"It could mean what Duane said when he mentioned she strayed from her path."
"You think the path required a move into more trouble?"
"I don't know. But while she may have appeared vulnerable, I have no doubt she was probably driven...extremely motivated as a person."
"There was a ring on her finger," he offered, his lids still remaining closed.
"A what?"
"A wedding ring," he mused. "Which means Miss Dobson is in actuality-"
"Mrs. Dobson," she finished, as she suddenly became alert, feeling the energy course about through her veins, as she revved up the engine, putting the car into drive. "Dammit."
"It's probably nothing, which is why I didn't say anything sooner. Chances are, the husband was at work, while his wife went out for a nightly stroll."
"Either way, he may be something if we can get him to talk to us."
"I'm afraid the only thing you'll get out of him is a grieving widow."
"No, he'll know her. He'll know her well enough to decipher her past for us. If she's ever run into any trouble...had any enemies...he would be an easy way in, as opposed to the parents- this saying they're even still alive to begin with."
"Why do I get the feeling I'll be the only one falling alseep in the comfort of a hotel bed tonight?"
She smiled. "Because it's not feeling. It's fact."