Sometimes, one needs a little help Who: Andrew and Conor When: Thursday Evening/August 7th Where: Barking Irish Summary: Conor has a murder to solve and is banging head against brick wall. Decided Supernatural Task Force needs Supernatural help… >.> Warnings/Rating: Possible Language Status: Closed/complete
Sitting, legs propped up on desk, Andrew leaned back into his chair and flipped through the case file he held in his lap. Page after page of pictures, autopsy report, interviews with neighbors, but nothing that gave him any idea of who the damn killer was.
This guy was good; Andrew was supposed to be better.
The man who had murdered the poor teacher, and yes he was sure it was a man, had been good at concealing his identity. At first, Andrew had thought it was a one-time kill; now though he was thinking this guy had done it before, though he wasn’t finding any evidence to it. Whoever this was, he knew how to get away with murder.
There were pieces missing. Big pieces. Growling, he closed the file and tossed it to land with a light thump on his very organized desk. Kicking his feet off, he rubbed at the spot his shoes had rested and then reached or organize his pencils. Organization was a must; everything had a place, and everything needed to be in its place.
“Boss?” Daniels, a young man who had just joined the STF stood at his desk. “Here are the victim’s belongings you asked for. The family is asking for them, you sure you don’t want them to just come get them?”
Andrew reached for the bag, placing it on his desk on top of the file. “No, I’ll deliver it myself. Thanks, Daniels,” he made a movement with his hand to dismiss the man then lifted the clear bag that held Avery Munoz’s belongings. It was everything the woman had been wearing when she had been murdered and it had been picked over clean. He flipped the bag, over and over, looking at it from every angle. What he was going to do next, it wasn’t going to sit well with him but he needed help. A killer was on the loose, and it was his job to protect the public from said killer. Right? Right!
Standing, he grabbed the file along with the bag and headed out. He didn’t say anything to his team; if they needed him, they’d call him. They didn’t need to know what he was going to do, other than that he planned on taking the belongings to the family. He would, too, but he had to make another stop first.
Thirty minutes later he was parking his SUV outside of The Barking Irish. He knew Conor, knew the man was a werewolf, knew he had his pack had helped with the zombies, and he knew that Conor wanted to do his best to put a good face on the supernatural’s so that humans and them could coexist. Conor didn’t want to use the wolfmans help, but he had no other alternative. It was cheating, but maybe there would be a way they could catch the killer and make it all look legal…
He strode inside, going straight to the bar, the file and bag under his arm which he laid on the bar top. “Guinness, please,” he ordered a drink from the man behind the counter. “I’d like to talk to Conor if he’s around…” he then stated as the man put his drink in front of him.