A Study In Rosewood {Ele}
Jun 4, 2013 23:40:16 GMT -5
Post by charade on Jun 4, 2013 23:40:16 GMT -5
"Now then Detective Taverson, would you like to explain why your district, the jewel of the capitol, still has the highest rate of gang violence, treasonous gatherings and unsolved murders? Really. It's quite embarrassing."
The other man wilts beneath my gaze, but makes no reply. Wilson clears his throat as if to say something, but I wave him away. "No, No. I don't want to hear your excuses. Just count yourselves lucky the capitol know of your difficulties." I suppose the pair are decent members of the peacekeeper force we have here, but its hard not to believe that they might be inept, especially when the aforementioned problems continue to persist. Of course, this might have to do with a wealth of criminals that happen to very good at covering their tracks. Or someone covering the tracks for them. The bad apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so to speak. I rub at my temples with my free hand and throw the sheaf of papers onto the table. I've been sifting through every report and case from the last year and a half, hoping to find something of interest. A clapping noise erupts from somewhere else in the precinct and the three of us turn as one.
On the screen in the lounge nearby, words flash by, naming Cricket Antoinette of district two as the victor of the sixty-third annual hunger games. It's been a good few years for the career districts lately. Game wise at least. Shaking my head, I pull out a report marked exactly one year and four days ago. At first glance, I'm sure it looked like the usual. Five robberies, for two of which the perps still haven't been found. One count of arson; the fire starter was found inside the building. Decidedly char coaled. Four bodies found. The second has nothing to do with the rest, not when the person clearly jumped. The other three, with stab wounds? The first report tells of a purple haired woman discovered in the back room of a dance club. Knife wound to the chest. One stab then a twist. Serena Clifton. Age twenty-two. Her three month old baby is a ward of the district now.
Two blocks and twenty minutes later a blonde girl was discovered in a dive bar bathroom with her throat slit. Karolyn Tiwers, two siblings and a mother. Age seventeen. Must have lied about her age, looking for fun. She still had acne for crying out loud. About a half hour away, according to the coroners report, another murder. Punctured lung belonging to a Gregory Helms, only child. Age nineteen. Found in a private room of a flophouse. Serena was written off as a drunken soiree gone wrong. The other two as random acts of violence. But three knife victims? Within a mile of each other? There are no such thing as coincidences. I pull of records, looking for other significant events of that day. I find nothing. Not until I overhear one of peacekeepers comparing last years finale to this one, saying it would have been much more impressive if Kiera Dempsey had had to kill the boy from nine.
Could it be? After rummaging through old discs I find the highlight reel from last year and begin to watch. The girl in question dies on the fourth day. The same as the three murders. Kaelen Dempsey is dead. As far as we know. But his M.O. is poison. We've had trouble with the family for years though, all the way back to those three brothers and that gang. Of course, I read the files on those, as Ambrose and the dead ones are twice my age. But it only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch, and they have plenty of rotten ones.
If I never hear that last name again, it'll be too soon.
I gather up the papers and my circular tin and tuck them under my arm as I rise from my seat, catching sight of my reflection as I do so. I look older, far older than I should for my age, but that's to be expected. I've taken to dying my hair grey in streaks.
It makes me look distinguished.
"Gentlemen. The Capitol thanks you for your service. Return to your duties as normal. I have to pay a visit to someone."
"If you mean the Dempseys, they haven't given us trouble in months."
"No, you blithering nitwit, apparently, I am referring to the only capable member of your force, And if I wasn't in a hurry I'd stop and roll my eyes at you. Tell me, do you know where the detective currently resides?"
Before either of the men reply, I'm already out of the door. I know how to find him.
At this time of day, he'll be at home.
I find his rather inconspicuous dwelling soon enough, and it looks the same as it always has. Pulling my key ring out, I fit the copy I made into the door and twist. It doesn't open. He must have changed the locks again. Good thing I visited the locksmith last week and made a master key. The door clicks open with ease and I move inside.
He's right there. As if he expected me. But we've danced this dance the entire time we grew up together. I doubt he's forgotten the moves.
"Hello, Brother mine. It's been a few years hasn't it? I trust you recieved the jammy dodgers I mailed you last year? I suspect you may have needed something sweet to take the edge of off losing your chickie."
I take a seat as I say this, stretching my legs and placing my things on my lap.
"Mother baked them you know. She always does."
Its unlikely that he knows exactly why I'm here yet.
And that's part of game itself.
Your move little brother.