[nWoD] The Sleepwalkers IC

[Trodon]

Angus

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"Captain Borden this is Michael Norton from the 23rd precinct, Susan gave me your number and I'd like to talk to you about the murder near the corner of 8th Avenue, and the warehouse that he burnt.

[-Sentinel-]

Angus

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Brief but heavy silence.

"Hmph. Yeah, nasty murder... and none of your precinct's business, as far as I know. What's this about the warehouse, anyway? I thought it was a homeless man who burned it."

[Trodon]

OOC: Sorry, didn't have an internet connection.

Angus

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"Yeah he burnt it, then was found dead a couple of blocks away. I think he was paid to burn it down so the we would find the cocaine, then killed him so he can't testify." Angus rubbed his neck, then glanced around, seeing who was there.

[-Sentinel-]

Angus

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"Maybe," conceded the captain noncommittally. "I take it your precinct sent you to lend a hand in this investigation, then?"

Only three cops were still at the crime scene. One was the young, dark-haired Susan, apparently the one giving the orders and not looking too comfortable doing it. Another was a thirtysomething Indian or Pakistani with a moustache, busily taking pictures of the blood-spattered blue Audi that had been Foster's car. The third was a short, stout man with receding brown hair who leaned idly against a lamppost with a cigarette between his teeth.

[Trodon]

Angus

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"Yeah, I need to look at your precinct's files can you get them to me?"

[-Sentinel-]

Angus

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The captain grunted a bit sourly.

"Listen, I'm one of the two men with the authority to let you see our files, but I must supervise you. Thing is, my shift's almost over and the other guy's on summer vacation." To Angus it sounded like an excuse to keep officers from other precincts out of this investigation. "Tomorrow morning would be much more convenient. If you need your info so badly, how about you call lieutenant Mason? He's the one working on the case."

OOC: I'm asking everyone to be patient. I'm trying to coordinate all players so we can move on to the next day at the same time. There's not much more left to do tonight, but tomorrow will bring new elements.

[Trodon]

Angus

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"Okay, thank you." Angus hangs up the phone. I'll call lieutenant Mason in the morning.

[-Sentinel-]

Harry, Josh and Alexander

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Harry carefully put the suspicious container of powder in a Ziploc bag and decided that the apartment held little of interest. Perhaps the killer's friends and family would reveal something interesting, but it was getting a bit late to call them.

The two officers and the student wordlessly left the room, walked back to the car and drove away. Watching the Christmas decorations and cheerful shoppers everywhere, it was hard for Alexander to accept that the world went on, uncaring.

Angus

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Angus took a taxi back home. The young con artist was starting to have a mild headache and was thankful that this driver, at least, was considerate enough to keep his radio down. He needed to think: tomorrow the real work would begin.

He would have to do it fast, and he would have to do it well. Brancati did not tolerate failure.

Gary

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Thankful to still be alive, Gary walked out of the Blue Room through the back door the scarred man had probably used, perhaps hoping against all hope to find some sort of clue to work with. There were tracks in the muddy snow of the backstreet, some of them recent, but they could belong to anyone. Many people must have come and gone over the last hour.

With a sigh, Gary called a taxi. Enough stress for tonight.

[hr]

December 21st, 8:11 AM


Harry

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Taking breakfast alone was not fun when you were in your forties. As a general rule Harry did not like to be home. It felt empty, lonely. Perhaps that was why he insisted on working over sixty hours a week: he had nothing to go home to, except silence and regret.

This morning, the New York Times did not have much to say about Nathan Foster's murder, thanks to the police's efforts to downplay the crime and keep journalists from finding out too much. No mention was made of the lawyer's connection with the Sicilian mafia. The PR people at the NYPD were well aware that criminals were like sharks: if they smelled blood, they went into a frenzy. And God knew things were bad enough in everyday Manhattan without rumors of a new gang war.

Harry's cellphone rang.

“Borden,” came the captain's voice. “I need you at the post-surgery wing of Bellevue Hospital Center ten minutes ago. Yesterday's killer, Charles Henderson, was... murdered in his bed.” Something in his tone sounded strange, as if there was something he did not let on. “I left a message on Josh's phone. He'll be here too, if he knows what's good for him.”

Josh

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When Josh sleepily walked into his kitchen for some Mini Wheats and coffee, there was a blinking red dot on his phone indicating that he had a new message.

“This is Borden,” came the captain's tense-sounding voice when Josh picked up the phone. “Get your ass to Bellevue Hospital Center, post-surgery wing, as quickly as you can. Foster's killer, Charles Henderson, has been murdered. Gonna call Mason now. Bye.”

Alexander

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Alexander woke up on his couch with a start, a book still open in his lap, and sat there for a moment wondering just what had drawn him from his sleep so suddenly. Then he heard a polite but rather insistant rap on his apartment door. He got up, answered the door and found himself facing a bald, middle-aged cop who nervously held his cap in his hands.

“Mornin', sir, my name's Patrick,” he introduced himself, his voice grave. No title, no last name. Just Patrick. “Are you Mr. Alexander Henderson?”

He did not seem at ease to be here.

@ the others: I'm afraid Angus and Gary will have to wait for a bit, as I'm running out of time right now and I don't want to keep the others waiting. An update for you will come soon enough, possibly tomorrow. Assume that your characters sleep late.

[Wargor]

Harry

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"Damn. I'll be there asap." Harry clicks off the phone and hastily wipes his mouth, hoping he hadn't left any sign of the bacon and egg's he'd just eaten. He grabs his suit jacked, slipping it on, as well as his scarf which he wraps round his neck, before pulling on his coat and donning his hat. With a quick scan round for anything forgotten, Harry slips out of the silent, soulless apartment and locks the door.

He hurries down the stairs and out into the freezing Winter morning, shivering as the cold air hits his face. He hurries to his beaten up old car and gets in, praying silently for the heater to work. He pulls away, heading for the hospital.

OOC:

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Btw, did I drop the substance at the police lap in the downtime or do I still have it? Oh, and I took the liberty of giving myself a car as I wasn't sure how to handle getting there otherwise. If you have a suggestion that works better let me know.

[Exthalion]

Alexander

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The chain was still on the door so that it couldn't be thrown open.

"Full name, badge number, and precinct."

His cell was in his hand, the number for the station already dialing. He hated texting, but one handed dialing was a useful skill at times.

[-Sentinel-]

Harry and Josh

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It was hard to put police tape and control movement in a hospital, where space was limited and employees constantly had to hurry left and right. As a result, the crime scene was cramped and rather chaotic, but they had at least managed to keep journalists out. The half dozen officers worked in awed, horror-struck silence, talking only in whispers. Captain Borden himself, far from a faint-hearted rookie, looked like a shell-shocked Vietnam veteran. He greeted Harry and Josh with no more than a distracted nod, preferring to let them see the murder for themselves.

Charles Henderson had been assigned a small room for post-surgery care following the extraction of the bullet in his brain. He was plugged to all sorts of machines to keep him alive on the off-chance that he one day woke up. Of course, he never would now, not with his throat crudely slit to the spine. His blood was all over the bedsheets and floor.

He was not the only corpse in the room, though.

A young woman with violet-dyed hair, who could not have been more than twenty, was sprawled on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, right next to the bed. Her abdomen had been carved open savagely, exposing her intestines and several of her ribs. Her intense green eyes still stared at the ceiling, and... there was an unmistakeable smile on her face. She held a bloody kitchen knife in her hand.

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Btw, did I drop the substance at the police lap in the downtime or do I still have it? Oh, and I took the liberty of giving myself a car as I wasn't sure how to handle getting there otherwise. If you have a suggestion that works better let me know.

You still have the substance. It was too late to go back to the station last night.

Yes, you can have a car.

Angus

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Angus woke up a bit later than he had intended to: with the kind of money involved in this current job, he could not afford to waste too much time. What was he supposed to do, again? Oh yes, there was this 'colleague' from 23rd precinct, Harry Mason, who was working on the case of the murdered lawyer...

Alexander

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The officer showed his badge. "Patrick Cooper. 23rd precinct." The same precinct as Harry and Josh. "Listen. It's about your brother Charles. He's been... murdered at the hospital, shortly after surgery."

Gary

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The Blue Room would not open until 8 PM, so Gary had to knock at one of the back doors to go to his meeting with Luca Brancati. Tony, manager of the nightclub and one of the boss's money-launderers, answered him. He was an overweight, balding man with a short black beard and eyes that narrowed suspiciously at just about everyone.

"Ah. You," he said flatly, recognizing the young bouncer he had hired yesterday. "You here to get hired for another night, I'd wager? Can you come back later?"

[Wargor]

Harry

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A look of utter revulsion crosses Harry's face as he takes in the vicious murder, and the young woman's disturbing death. "Jesus Christ." The profanity slips out uncontrollably, and he immediately feels guilty, almost as if his words were breaking some kind of solemn vow of silence that had befallen the crime scene.

He turns to the Captain, gathering his wits as best he can. "How the hell did this happen sir? And the woman, it couldn't be self inflicted, surely not."

[Samfool]

Gary

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"Nah man, the boss wants to see me in private. Tell him the 'White Haired Kid' is here. He knows I am coming.." Gary muttered.

[Trodon]

Angus

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Angus gets dressed and pull out his phone, calling Harry Mason.

[Exthalion]

Alexander

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Please come in, and tell me everything.

Once you have done that, please tell me if there is anything I can do to help.

Forgive me if I seem cold, but this is how I deal with emotional trauma. Or not deal with it as my therapist tells me.

[-Sentinel-]

Harry and Josh

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Borden jerked his thumb at a surveillance camera in the corridor, just outside the room.

"We watched the tapes. Mr Henderson was brought here after surgery at about 2:17 AM. The woman came in, alone, at 5:49. Less than a minute later, the alarm on Henderson's life support went off. When help arrived, Henderson was dead and the woman was dying. She's the only one who came in and did not come out. But... the suicide is strange, I'll grant you that. I've seen a lot of them, but never one like that. Usually they prefer quick, clean, painless ways."

"Her name was Michelle Logan, twenty-one. Was kicked out of New York University two months ago for cocaine possession. She worked part-time as a waitress. No known ties with Charles Henderson. I sent officers to tell her parents, her roommate and the Hendersons."

Harry's cellphone rang. The detective did not recognize the number appearing on the screen.


OOC: It's Angus, by the way, so you can include him in the spoiler tag for the conversation.

Alexander

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"Right." Patrick Cooper entered the room and took a deep breath. Something in his stance showed that he did not intend to stay long. "It's, um, kind of strange. They extracted the bullet from your brother's head and put him on life support. A few hours ago, a young woman called Michelle Logan, aged about twenty, came in and... just cut your brother's throat with a kitchen knife. Then she committed suicide on the spot with the same knife. No one knows the motive. There's no link we can see between Charles Henderson, Michelle Logan and Nathan Foster, the man your brother killed yesterday."

"Do you wish to come to the hospital? Maybe you can help the officers."

Gary

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Tony moodily closed the door, and locked it as noisily as possible as if to make a point. He came back a few minutes later.

"Right, get in," he said curtly.

The fat Sicilian escorted Gary through the seldom-seen back rooms of the nightclub. They looked much shabbier than the Blue Room itself; from here, it was hard to believe that this building was considered the trendiest place this side of Manhattan. Gary was led to a small, windowless room with unpainted concrete walls, exposed pipes and only a bare bulb for lighting. The only furniture was a table and two chairs. Luca Brancati already sat on one chair, drinking coffee. With a gesture, the mob boss invited Gary to sit down (there was another steaming cup of black coffee ready for him) and dismissed Tony.

"So," said the boss as soon as they were alone, "you ready for your first true job?"

His tone was soft, but something in his eyes told Gary that whether or not he was ready hardly mattered.

[Wargor]

Harry (+Angus)

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"My god. What could drive a girl to do that to herself. Or do that to him either." Hearing his phone ring, Harry fumbles it out of his pocket, looking abashed. "Sorry Captain." Stepping out of the room he answers the phone, putting on his 'official' voice. "Harry Mason, who is this?"

[Exthalion]

Alex

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"Yes, that would most likely be for the best. I'll get my coat. May I ask how she got into his room? I would assume he would have been under guard."

[Samfool]

Gary

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"Lets hear it." Gary said, sitting down cautiously.

[Trodon]

Angus (& Harry)

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"This is Michael Norton from the 20th precinct, Susan gave me your number, I'd like to talk to you about the warehouse burning and the suicide a block from that if you have a minute." Angus pulled out his NYPB badge checking "his" rank, just in case he needed to know.

[Wargor]

Harry (& Angus)

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Harry's eyes narrow suspiciously, he had heard nothing of these crimes, and it always made him jumpy when someone he didn't know called claiming to be another officer. "20th Precinct eh? Can I have your badge number? Just to be thorough. Why don't you tell me what you know about the arson and the suicide, then I'll fill in anything as best I can."