Irene Adler is of dubious & questionable memory. (notonyourlevel) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-07-29 23:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, irene adler, kirsty cotton |
Who: Dr. Irene Adler and Det. Kirsty Cotton
When: 7/28
Where: Irvine PD headquarters, then a bar in Tustin
What: Professional consulting
Rating/Warning: PG13 for violent imagery
Status: Complete
Irene was headed on a field trip today. Normally, the sheriff’s department didn’t interfere with the individual police forces, but the big boys were thinking that a serial killer might be loose. And when a serial killer was loose, inter-agency cooperation suddenly became paramount.
She walked into the Irvine PD’s headquarters, looking around for someone in authority or at least someone who can direct her to homicide. The bored desk sergeant took her name and promised to come back with a homicide detective, so Irene sat down to wait. How long it would take for said homicide detective to appear, Irene hadn’t a clue.
Kirsty was told that someone from the sheriff’s department was there to see homicide about the possible serial killer, and that she was to be the liaison. She didn’t know why, exactly, seeing as she wasn’t really known for her people skills, but she figured there was probably a reason for it. It became clear when she saw the guest was a woman and she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t you love when they stick us together just because we have vaginas? I’m Detective Cotton, good to meet you.” Kirsty stuck out a hand.
Irene smiled faintly. “Same shit, different day?” She shook the woman’s hand. “Dr. Irene Adler. I’m one of the deputy coroners over in the sheriff’s department. They sent me, I think, because I did the autopsies on two of five. Good to meet you, Detective Cotton.”
“Eh, the guys are probably scared of a female doctor.” Kirsty grinned, motioning for the other woman to follow her. “This way, Dr. Adler. The task force room is probably empty.” Most of the people would prefer to work at their own workstations instead, so it had become Kirsty’s impromptu office.
Irene followed, heading into the room. “I caught the two from Irvine and Tustin; the other three are scattered over the rest of the county, obviously, but at least the two I did are definitely the same knife, if not the same perp.” She took a seat, starting to open up the folders she’d brought along.
Kirsty nodded. “I thought so about the two that I’ve seen. They’re just really unique cuts - almost like the guy’s done this before.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“Me, neither.” Irene shook her head. “When I did the autopsies, I could tell one thing that might help, though. This guy’s using a weird-ass knife.”
“Oh?” Kirsty cocked her head to the side. “How so?”
“It’s a knife that was filed down.” Irene took out the first victim’s autopsy report. “One side is super sharp, but the other side is thicker. The only thing I can think of is like, taking apart a pair of scissors and using one side as a knife, but most scissors would bend or break under that kind of strain, and this didn’t.”
“Could it be an antique?” Kirsty sighed, rubbing her temples. “I know, it’s a fuckin’ reach.” She hated killers that wanted to be original.
“Possible, I guess.” Irene looked over sympathetically. “A really old pair of scissors? Or like, maybe a butcher’s cleaver that broke and got filed down further? Unfortunately this really is weird.” She did have to smile a little, though. “I do remember one I did that was an accident; a wife was handling one of her husband’s collection of shark teeth and it slipped out of her hand and landed in his eye.”
“Oh, fuck, that sounds like it’d hurt.” Kirsty winced, then looked at the scenes again on the whiteboard where she’d taped them up. “So if they’re using a special, weird killing tool, it’s gotta be special to them. Or at least they’re using it to think we’ll miss it, fuck up, chase our tails. Gotta find the other commonalities,” she muttered to herself.
“Unfortunately, he bled out and she got involuntary manslaughter charges.” Irene quirked a brow cynically. “But yeah, with this one, on the two I handled, both had cause of death as exsanguination from the stomach wounds. The throat wound wasn’t COD, which means it had to come after the stomach. The knife’s too sharp - if the throat slash was first, the victims would have died from the airway being cut. Um.” Irene belatedly realized she was talking to a cop, not a layman. “Sorry. I’m used to having to go into detail; I don’t think you’re stupid or something.”
Kirsty chuckled. “No, no, it’s good you do, that way if I have a brain fart or something, I won’t miss it. Gut wounds hurt more too. He wanted these girls to suffer. Was the throat slashed postmortem?” Kirsty cocked her head to the side.
“Looks like it, yes.” Irene nodded. “I mean, that’s my professional expertise. I know you guys will probably get a second opinion, but the edges didn’t bleed like the stomach wounds did.”
“So he’s a little more scornful of women than I’d thought.” Kirsty ran fingers through her hair.
“That’s my guess.” Irene sighed. “I mean, this is more Ripper type stuff than anything. I don’t think this guy has any anatomical expertise, he’s not taking organs, but it looks Ripper style, except that Jack the Ripper’s victims died from the throat wounds, not the gut.”
“If our guy’s a fan of the Ripper, you think he might be using a similar weapon? Or be trying to?” Kirsty went to her computer, trying to pull up any information from reliable sources on Jack the Ripper.
“Possible. They never really found out what he used, though. So it’d be a guess at best. I’m sure some of the books went into detail.” Irene made a note. “I can get some from my library at home? I’m a medical examiner,” she said hurriedly, in case Detective Cotton looked at her funny. “I have a healthy interest in historical crime.”
“Oh, who doesn’t?” Kirsty looked up and grinned. “Anything would help at this point.” She rubbed her temples. “Fuck me, I need a beer.”
“I could use that myself.” Irene managed a smile. “But I’ll write you a note about the books. Are you out of headquarters here in Irvine?”
“Yeah, this is my office for the time being. And I live in Irvine too. Hell, wanna go get that beer now?” She was supposed to take time to sleep and recover every now and then, and she hadn’t in a while.
“Sure, why not.” Irene chuckled. “I’m actually off shift in” - she checked her watch - “ten minutes, so I can cut out, I figure.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Kirsty smiled, taking the file with her in the leather carryall she always had with her. “Do you wanna go somewhere nice? Less chance of other cops that way.” Sometimes it was nice to avoid other cops.
“I know a good place.” Irene figured it wouldn’t be a big deal if she took a cop to the ghouls’ bar uptown. She was a homicide dick; close enough, right?
She packed up her stuff, following the detective out to the car. “You ever heard of the Gridlock, in Tustin?”
“I know it. Meet you there, or do you want a ride?” Kirsty smiled.
“I’ll take my car. I can just head home after that, unless we get a red ball.” Red balls were murders that mattered to the media - a retired clergyman, a little child, an all-State athlete. “I’ll meet you there, Detective.”
Nodding, Kirsty went to get her car, walking and backing out, on her way to the bar where all the morgue employees went to.
Irene made it there in about fifteen minutes, waiting for Detective Cotton just inside, having bought a round for them. “Hey.” She waved, trying to get the woman’s attention.
Kirsty smiled, waving back and sitting down across from Irene. “Thanks. Sorry, ran into traffic.” She wasn’t comfortable using her lights to get past traffic when she was off work.
“No worry. I took a guess on the beer.” It was still cold and looked good, not flat. “No one will give you any grief, by the way; you’re homicide, you’re close enough to be one of us.” Irene smiled a little.
“Oh, as long as it’s beer, it won’t matter too much.” Kirsty smiled and looked around, recognizing a few of the bonesaws from previous cases. “Well, I’m pretty new to Homicide. I only got transferred over this year.” It was flattering that people thought she’d been there forever.
“But you are now.” Irene smiled. “I know it sounds cliquish, but having cops in here who don’t know anything about what we do is kind of annoying. You know what you’re doing around bodies, so it’s okay.” She took a pull of beer. “You can call me Irene, by the way. I’m Dr. Adler at the office.”
“Lots of people think that the job ends when the vic becomes a stiff, but hell, you guys are detectives just like we are.” Kirsty held up her glass in a toast. “Well, Irene, I hope we can be friends too.” She didn’t have any girlfriends.
“Your job’s just starting when you have a body.” Irene shrugged, toasting back. “It is nice to meet a woman in this business, especially one who knows what she’s doing. There’s another female deputy in the morgue who I swear was ... whatever the equivalent of an affirmative action hire is for gender. She doesn’t know the difference between an entrance wound and an exit wound.”
“I think I know who you’re talking about.” Kirsty wrinkled her nose. “I wanted to be a cop when I was ... fuck, ten? My uncle got popped for pedo charges and I wanted to make sure that things like that never happened to another kid ever again.” She’d been fanatical as a kid, reading every fictional detective story she could get her hands on.
“Ugh.” Irene felt vaguely ill, hearing those kinds of things. “That’s disgusting. I’m sorry, I know you’ve probably heard it a thousand times before, but still.”
Kirsty shrugged. “It is, but hell. I’m just glad I could deal with it in a constructive way.” She bit her lower lip, smiling as she gave a wry chuckle. “My arrest record is pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.”
“Good.” Irene chuckled, too. “My parents were diplomats, and were gone most of the time. I passed the time with a nanny who looooved pulp fiction and mysteries, so I grew up reading all that. I was hooked by the time I was a teenager.”
“Oh, me too! I read everything by every mystery or thriller writer ever.” Kirsty chuckled and looked down. “It’s always been my saddest secret that I don’t get to be a hardboiled noir hero at work every day.”
“Aww.” Irene laughed. “That’s so sad, Detective.”
“Right? I’m never going to be Sam Spade, and that makes me really weepy.”
“Well, you can still be a good cop, or a great one. And maybe we’ll bring this sick fuck down,” Irene said, thinking of the serial killer they likely had on the loose.
“Here’s fucking hoping.” Kirsty shook her head, trying not to think of the pictures of the victims while she was drinking her beer.
“What do you do off the job, can I ask?” Irene was curious, if only because some cops seemed to bring the job home. “I cosplay, and I sing sometimes, but nobody at the office knows that last one.” She smiled.
“Oh, I read a little, I box a lot. I adopted one of the cadaver dogs, so I go running with Duke. My fiancé and I just sort of hang out. I try to cook?” Kirsty didn’t have any official Hobbies, but she did a lot of little things she enjoyed dabbling in.
“Congratulations on the fiancé,” Irene said. “Out of curiosity, is he a cop? Guys don’t last long with me because of my job. For some reason, cadavers aren’t good dinner conversation.” She smiled; it was mostly cynical amusement, at this point.
Kirsty shook her head. “Nope, he’s a bouncer. But he was in lockup for a while himself, so he kind of likes my war stories.” She smiled sheepishly. “But he’s a really sweet guy. And I don’t know, I’d listen to cadaver stories.” But Kirsty was special.
“I’m glad you found one. If you were single and had a penis - assuming you don’t - I’d ask you out. But oh, well.” Irene grinned a little. “I just wish this PI I know would quit flirting with me. He’s in law enforcement, yeah, and he has a nice voice, but that’s about it. He’s a professional pervert.”
“I’ve been accused of having a huge cock, but nah. That’s all Giles.” Kirsty laughed loudly. “Which PI? Please don’t tell me it’s that short furry one. McSpade or something. He always asks if my legs are insured.”
“God, yeah, that’s Harry.” Irene sighed. “He keeps yogurt in my evidence fridge. I’ve threatened him with everything from his license to his balls getting removed, and he keeps doing it.”
Kirsty just stared at Irene. “You know that means he has a crush on you, right?” She sipped her beer, grinning. “He’s pulling on your pigtails. He’s kinda cute in a ... short and in need of a wax way.”
“He does not. I’m just another pair of boobs to ogle and annoy.” Irene rolled her eyes. “I mean, he’s good at his job, believe it or not - but he has to know he’s annoying.”
“He does so, he seeks you out more often to ogle and annoy. That means something.” Kirsty giggled at Irene’s misfortune.
“God forbid,” Irene said fervently.
“Mark my words, he secretly has feelings for you. He may not even know them himself, but he does.” Kirsty shook her head.
“Detective Cotton, you are going to curse me with Harry McGlade?” Irene looked up at the other woman, making her eyes big and plaintive.
“Hmm? Oh, no. Your life is your own, Irene.” Kirsty laughed, patting Irene’s hand.
“Well, thank you for that.” Irene pretended to brush sweat off her brow, smiling.
“But if you two get married, can I come?” Kirsty grinned to herself.
“Not for all the beer in the world.” Irene raised one eyebrow, drinking the rest of hers.