Detective Trowa Barton returned to his office with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. It was his third night shift in a row-- and there would be more as long as the Catalonia case remained unsolved. He seated himself behind his desk which was covered in paperwork and had a huge pile of folders teetering over the edge.
He took a sip of his drink. He recently received the reports from the coroner. Trowa didn't have to open it, as he knew it by heart. He had studied it intensely, but there was nothing more he could make out of the coroner's conclusion, neatly scribbled below on the form: "Cause of death: broken neck".
He had called the man for more details, but there weren't any. The man had told him, just as his report showed, that there were no signs of violence or sexual assault. There wasn't a single drop of blood on her and her clothes hadn't had any wrinkles. Dorothy Catalonia didn't show any sign of self-defense, she must have been surprised in the dark. She was on her way from a trendy bar to her limousine, courtesy of her grandfather. Her time of death was established at 03:00 am.
Trowa tapped on the file. Dorothy's chauffeur had gone looking for her when she didn't show up on time. Duke Dermail insisted that a chauffeur always picked up his granddaughter, no matter what. The man had discovered her body in the shrubs, two meters away from the limousine, and had called the emergency number. Trowa lifted one of the files from the huge stack.
"Don't bother re-reading it. You should be able to recite them in your sleep." Chang Wufei, detective and his colleague for over four years, stood at the open door. He was one of the few detectives who preferred tea to coffee-- but that could have something to do with his Chinese roots.
Trowa grimaced. "We've had quite the cases, Chang. Serial killers, rapists, the case of that guy who murdered his wife and ate her for dinner-- you name it, we've seen it all. So why is this one so difficult?"
"I'd say 'different'." Wufei took a seat behind his desk and eyed his own pile of files. "We don't have a motive. We don't have a suspect. After all the investigation we have done, we've only learned that Dorothy Catalonia was a typical, temperamental girl in the midst of her puberty, thinking about boys and parties and hating her forced piano lessons."
Trowa heaved a sigh. The office wasn't spacious- it could barely contain the two massive desks and their chairs. A file cabinet, a small side-table bearing the weight of enormous stacks of files, and a little stool for visitors, was all crammed in this mere excuse for a broom closet.
"I've had it up to here with Une," Wufei continued, making a gesture with his hand above his head. "She asks me every day, every night, if we've made some progress." He snorted. "We're the top team, all of the sudden."
"Dermail will have our heads if this case remains unsolved," Trowa answered. He opened the folder. "We can't work with what evidence we have so far."
"Tell me about it." Wufei hated this, this helpless, powerless feeling. He was one of the best detectives in the homicide division. His teaming up with Trowa Barton, also a specialist in his field, had resulted in the highest percentage of solved cases. Other agents lacked the sense of determination, the perseverance to go on with a case and to go beyond. Wufei snorted again.
His wife Meiran wasn't always happy with him, but at least she understood the importance of his work.
"We have interviewed everybody Dorothy had possibly or probably come into contact with," Trowa summarized. "Ex-boyfriends, ex-friends, fellow students, her teachers, nannies, former employees of the Dermail household."
"Face it Barton, we have to leave our usual work method. Nobody had an apparent reason for killing her. We either have to dig deeper, or."
"...she was murdered by a professional."
"A hit contract?"
"Why not?"
Wufei carefully sipped at his hot tea. "The question remains-- what could possibly be accomplished by killing Dorothy Catalonia?"
"Getting back at her grandfather. Revenge."
He shook his head. "We've been over this theory before."
"Dermail was tough as nails in his career as politician. Maybe."
"He retired ten years ago, and even though he received some threats as a politician, they were never executed. I seriously doubt it that someone would want to teach Dermail a lesson when he is a retired politician for a decade."
Trowa shrugged. "You never know."
"I say we concentrate on the method of killing." Wufei leaned forward on his desk. His pager rang-- three high tones. Before he answered, he pointed at the folders on Trowa's desk. "If we compare it to known killing methods, maybe we can find a match for a murderer."
He snatched the pager and checked the display.
"Never mind Barton, we have another murder."
They reached the crime scene in fifteen minutes. Trowa parked the car, while Wufei strode to the site of the murder. An officer handed him a plastic bag.
"This was on the victim, sir. Watch your step."
Wufei followed the officer. He clenched his teeth. As if the Catalonia case wasn't stressing enough, there were enough maniacs loose on this colony to fill his workdays 24/7. No wonder he could always hear Meiran rolling her eyes when he had to phone her for saying he would come in late.
Trowa caught up with them. It was a typical back alley in a suburban neighborhood, complete with dumpsters, a hobo, and fire exits. Wufei held up the yellow plastic for Trowa to duck under and they walked behind the officer towards a pile of cardboard boxes.
"God, not in a box," Trowa muttered. He had seen a lot- and seeing bodies in these... circumstances, always made him cringe.
Wufei dug in the plastic bag to retrieve a wallet. The officer pointed at the woman lying on her back, on a black and red striped plaid blanket, shielded from rain or dirt by the typical stacking of the cardboard boxes.
Trowa kneeled and looked the woman in the face; black hair, a reddish beret, lilac coat. He looked up at Wufei.
"I know her," Trowa said.
"You're right," he confirmed. He showed the ID card he took out of the wallet, but Trowa didn't give it a look.
"Hilde Schbeiker."
Duo stood in the bedroom and stared at the empty bed. The alarm clock indicated the ungodly hour of 03:00 am. He didn't notice the sweat starting to roll down his face.
"Heero. Heero, where are you?"
The sound of the key in the door lock startled him. Duo spun around and quickly ran to the door, his open pajama top waving behind him like a cloak.
"Heero!"
Heero's eyes grew just a bit wider.
"Duo! What are you doing out of bed?"
Duo overlooked the small paper bag Heero held in his left hand and he swung his arm. Heero stopped him before he could even hit him.
"Duo, what are you doing out of bed?" He repeated. He looked confused and concerned. Duo took a step back.
"What are you doing outside at this hour? Don't you know how you scared me? Heero, for Christ's sake, you shouldn't be out there! Who knows what happens. what were you thinking? What were you doing?"
"Calm down, calm down." Heero held up the paper bag and rustled with it. "I had to go to the night pharmacy. You were having a nightmare and we ran out of medicine."
"So you decided to get some on this hour?" Duo screamed.
Heero opened his arms. "You're upset, my love. Come here."
Duo hesitated. "I... I..."
"Come here." His voice sounded a bit more commanding, but still with the care and the love only Heero could show. Duo was almost in tears. This was the tender side of Heero no one got to see, and how he wished Heero would show some of his tenderness towards others. His shell, forged and fortified by horrors of war, came only down in moments like these, where he was so vulnerable that it almost hurt Duo to see him like that.
"God. I'm so sorry, Heero." Without further hesitance, Duo flung himself in Heero's arm. He was almost crushed by Heero's strength, holding them together.
"I would never do something to scare you, Duo," he whispered, showering Duo's face with curt, tender kisses. "I'm so sorry, but I really wanted to get your medicine. I know how tired you get when you don't sleep well. You need your rest, especially in these times."
"It's been so long. but still I can't forget..." Duo whispered.
"No one wants you to forget," Heero's voice soothed him. "You've survived a horrible massacre; you've seen a church burning. I don't want you to forget. I want you to remember."
"Why..." Duo said, sleepy. "I want... to forget... death. I want to... escape death."
"You're safe in my arms. Let me take care of you, Duo. I'll protect you. No one comes close to you. You're safe." Heero repeated. "You're so strong. You've been through so much. I'll be here to protect you. And if anyone comes close..." he wrapped his arms even closer and made sure he heard a soft snoring sound from Duo, "...I'll kill them."
Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 |