Chapter Text
10:00 PM, Wednesday, 18 April 2012
“Tell me, DS Keating, why is it we're never called out to one of these events when the sun is shinin' and the weather is pleasant?" mused Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle as he strode across the damp pavement towards the crime scene tape draped decorously about the narrow alley. “Could someone no suggest to the criminal element of this city that shady business need no be taken care of exclusively in the shade?" Detective Sergeant Ian Keating raised an eyebrow at his partner's flippant remarks but otherwise refrained from comment.
In response, one of the Constables milling about the forensics team broke away from the group and moved to address the arriving Detectives. “Detective Inspector, Detective Sergeant," the younger officer said tersely by way of greeting, and at Peter's answering nod, he continued. “This is what we know so far. The victim is male, mid to late 20's, Caucasian, reported to the High Road station approximately two hours ago as lying prone in the alley by an anonymous caller."
“Ah, the good folk of Chiswick are keen to uphold their civic duties, eh, Keating?" Peter cut in. “Warms the heart, does it no?" DS Keating rolled his eyes and grimaced slightly before pointedly returning his attention to the PC before them. The PC's face betrayed nothing and, if anything, his posture stiffened as he waited to continue. Peter glanced at his partner who merely lowered his eyes and ran his tongue along the front of his top teeth in an effort to suppress a faint smile. Chastened slightly, Peter returned his attention to the PC with strained patience, accepting the blue booties and gloves the man extended to him without further comment. “The ERU arrived at about half past and have been diligently," the PC imbued the word with special emphasis, “processing the scene."
“Thank you for the precise and informative nature of your report," Peter replied, without a hint of irony as he stood from covering his shoes. “We'll survey the scene and then begin lookin' for witnesses." The PC fixed Peter with a hard stare, then nodded, first to him and then to his partner before moving back to the clump of uniforms at the periphery of the alley. DI Carlisle regarded the retreating figure for a few moments before inhaling deeply and sauntering over to the Evidence Recovery Unit. “No sense of humor a'tall, that one," he threw over his shoulder for the benefit of Ian.
DS Keating seized the opportunity and responded, “About that, and I have wondered- what precisely do you find amusing about a murder scene?" Peter stopped and regarded his colleague seriously. In the nearly six months they had been partnered, it wasn't the first time Keating had asked him a personal question, but, as this one might clarify their working relationship, it was the first time Peter felt obliged to offer a serious answer.
“Long ago, I decided there were only two sane responses to the inhumanity that mankind insists on visitin' upon itself- laugh or cry. In this job, you make that choice every day," Peter replied. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and paused, considering his next words carefully. “Those who choose to feel every prick of this mortal coil donae last long."
Keating listened and then nodded before continuing their progress. “Fine, but it does you- no, no, us- no favors to antagonize the Uniforms, you know." Shrugging his apology, Peter followed. He smiled as he caught snatches of the banter that flew between the members of the ERU amidst sober observations and exact measurements. He had respect for these men and women, both for their demonstrated competence and obvious sense of humor. He preferred the company of those who had considered their options and had come down on the side of laughter. In his experience, crying led to madness, so laughing was the only sane and enduring response. Granted, his was a dry wit, and like the forensics techs, filled with gallows humor, but it was what kept them all clinging tenuously to sanity.
“Friends, Colleagues, Countrymen," Peter paraphrased by way of greeting, “lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.“ In response, someone called out, “The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones." It had become something of a game between Peter and the more literate members of the team to trade Shakespearean quotes at crime scenes and several people murmured their approval and admiration to the tech who had answered. Peter also smiled and offered a slight bow to the man who had replied before turning gracefully to the tableau before him.
It was not a pretty sight. The slim body lying amongst the refuse might have once worn a handsome face, but there was no evidence of that now. Peter's demeanor turned grim and he recited softly to himself, "Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity." Hearing footsteps behind him, he looked up to see Alec Turner, the Blood Spatter Tech who had answered his earlier quote and decided to continue the game.
"Speak; I am bound to hear," Peter said, cocking his head and pulling absently at his ear.
Clearly delighted, Alec smirked and shot back, "So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear."
"What?" asked Ian as he wandered over, catching the end of their exchange. Peter turned, surprised to find Ian finally participating in their game. His amusement morphed into a full grin he shared with Alec when, based on his blank stare, it became apparent that Ian had no idea of what they were quoting. Peter took pity on his partner and turned back to Alec to continue the discussion. "So, what findings do you have for us?"
"Not much to tell as of yet, DI. Signs of blunt force trauma, he was obviously on the losing side of a fight, as evidenced by cuts and contusions on the face and hands, but as to my guess as to what killed him? Stiletto, up through the ribs and straight to the heart." Alec mimed a violent upward stabbing motion. "Pretty much bled out before he could so much as fall."
Peter nodded, surveying the large, dark stain dried around the body before them. "Which accounts for all the blood poolin' about."
"When did it happen?" Ian interjected. Alec blinked and turned back to the DS as if just remembering he was there. "Uhm, based on the condition of the body and the activity in the neighborhood- trash was collected yesterday morning- I'd hazard a guess of 24 to 36 hours at most.” The technician blinked a few times before turning his attention back to Peter.
“Anythin' else we should know, Turner?” Peter asked, rocking back on his heels slightly.
“No, not ‘til we get him back and run Toxicology reports,” Turner said, frowning. “But I promise, you'll be the first to know, Detective Inspector,” he finished, favoring him with a dark smile.
Peter nodded, hand tugging absently at his ear again, face scrunched up in thought. He took two backward steps away, inclining his head toward the technician, quoting once more, “Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you,” before turning back towards the crowd gathered across the street.
Alec Turner, evidently delighted, countered with, “Murder most foul, as in the best it is.”
In response, Peter threw over his shoulder, “Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift, as meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep to my revenge.”
“I find thee apt,” Alec called after the DI’s retreating form, watching him rejoin the officers on the perimeter. DS Keating stood by, watching the exchange before shrugging and following Peter to the edge of the street. At his partner’s approach, DI Carlisle suggested, “You go see what else you can find out from the Uniforms and I'll go address the millin' throngs.”
**************
As he fumbled in his overcoat pocket for a lolly, Peter turned casually to survey the crowd of onlookers who had gathered in response to the flashing police lights. He unwrapped the sweet, put it in his mouth and started worrying it about with his tongue as he pocketed the wrapper. It was an important part of his investigations and served a dual purpose- having something in his mouth focused him, helped him to think and the incongruous image of a policeman with a child’s treat unconsciously put others at ease. It was hard to be intimidated by a man with a lollypop in hand and oftentimes, people would warm to him and tell him more information than they’d first intended to as a result. That, and he quite liked sweets. He rarely had time and had even less inclination to sit and eat a proper meal. He knew his eating habits were crap and he’d pay the price eventually, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as though he had to mind his weight, and there was no one at home to scold him about it.
Turning his attention back to the crowd, he scanned the faces before him, looking for those tell-tale signs seasoned detectives recognized instinctively. In his experience, the perpetrators themselves rarely were considerate enough to actually return to the scene of the crime, thus making his job infinitely easier: this was London, after all, not Hollywood, but that didn’t mean there weren’t clues to be found in the assembly before him. As in any mediocre drama, there was a cast of stock characters ready to take the stage. You had your Passers-By, slowing down to take a curious glance before deciding they had better places to be and better things to be doing. Next were the Nattering Nans who were naturally shocked- Shocked!- that such a thing would happen in their own neighborhood. They’d never had any trouble here at all before those awful fill-in-the-blanks moved in. Then there were the Neighborhood Watchdogs. They were the ones who would be standing around in little clumps, gesturing about, nodding sagely to each other and putting forth their own personal theories concerning the crime. Every now and then, they actually knew something useful. Peter nodded to his partner in unspoken agreement before he made to cross the street, intending to insinuate himself into their conversation when a flash of color in the grey evening mist caught his attention.
At first glance, he’d put her firmly in the Passers-By category. She’d been walking along, clearly lost in thought, barely glancing at the tumult around her when something made her start, her ginger ponytail swinging wildly in response. She stiffened slightly in shock and turned toward the crime scene before taking two careful steps away. The brick wall at her back halted her retreat. He saw her blink rapidly and cock her head to the side as something in the alley behind him drew her attention. As he ambled over towards the assembled throng, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat, he glanced about in an effort to determine what exactly was the cause of the woman's reaction. As he approached, she flinched back and it was Peter's turn to be startled as he realized the ginger's reaction was in response to him and had nothing to do with the commotion of the crime scene behind him.
Curiouser and curiouser, Peter thought as he conspicuously altered course towards the neighborhood watch. He glanced her way, eyes darting to make mental note of her face before addressing the self-appointed head of the Watch. “Gentlemen, if I might trouble you on this fine evenin',” he announced, by way of introduction. “Can any of you shed some light onto the dark deed that occurred last night, the result of which we’re currently investigatin' over yonder?” He gestured to the alley across the street with his sweet and carefully angled his body so that he could observe both the man before him and the woman beyond.
“Well, now, officer” answered the the man, pursing his lips and regarding Peter with an appraising eye, “there's always a bit of a dust-up on a Saturday night around the corner from the pubs, never paid it no mind.”
"Be that as it may, we're lookin' more into the neighborhood activities of this past Monday mornin' to Tuesday night," Peter responded, smiling amiably and pointing across the street with his lolly.
“There is sometimes aggro in the neighborhood, lads tussling about after last call, but last night seemed no different,” said the smaller man to his right, who turned and nodded his agreement to the crowd. “But this is a safe place. We’ve not had serious trouble in years.”
Peter sucked thoughtfully on his lolly and glanced about as the men spoke. Ostensibly, he was looking for signs in the crowd, people who wanted to contribute but didn’t have the credibility or status that would enable them to speak out of turn. In reality, he was curious about the woman openly staring at his profile. It was his turn to be the perpetrator now, he thought, as he stole glances in her direction.
She noticed him watching her over the head of the man talking, and the ginger ducked her head, embarrassed to have been caught looking. She bit her lower lip, shook her head slightly and made to retreat, but slowly, no longer afraid. Peter turned slightly to follow her movement and their eyes met, just for a second, and she smiled at him. No, not at me, Peter corrected himself, but in my direction, and he knew she had been unaware of it. She was wistful and sad and now there was a new mystery to investigate; he decided he wanted to know why.
Peter turned his attention back to the head of the Watch, both to get further information and to put the ginger at ease. “So no one heard or saw anythin' out of the ordinary in the last two days, then?” As the crowd nodded and murmured their assent to each other, Peter sighed and thought ruefully, Of course not; that might actually be helpful. Nodding slowly, lips curving into a resigned smile, he addressed the crowd, “Well, if anyone remembers anythin' or hears anythin', anythin' a'tall, please contact us. Any information is appreciated.”
DI Carlisle hazarded a glance back at the ginger, but she was gone. He spun slowly, surveying the crowd and looking again for a telltale flash of red, but she was nowhere to be seen. DS Keating joined him and misinterpreting his partner's dark expression, remarked, “Let me guess, no one heard or saw anything, right? It's a complete mystery.”
“Och, aye,’” Peter answered, taking a step backward and giving the crowd one last going-over before turning and following his partner back across the street. “A complete mystery- that it is,” he finished, thinking instead of the bigger conundrum, the one with red hair that had melted away into the night.