Good Cop, Bad Cop
Apr. 4th, 2012 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feredarTitle: Good Cop, Bad Cop
Year: 984 FY
Characters: Chief Inspector Deshell, Selmid
Warnings: Torture and graphic murder with mutilation witnessed by a ten-year-old, eye scream, references to brutal but not physically violent interrogation techniques
Deshell had never liked Asendar. Not the metaphorical structure--the government, general societal rules, and so on--the city itself. It was too dirty, too crowded--and on a permanent basis, unlike the medium-sized port of Lester. He avoided going whenever possible. But the Mayor couldn't make his yearly report to the Grand Duke, and had picked Deshell to go in his stead.
But now the report had been successfully delivered, and he was settled into a tavern frequented by police. The one disadvantage to being in a small town was very few others in your profession with whom you could speak, and everyone there already knew your stories. It was hard to compare interesting cases. (Of course, Deshell's most interesting case was the one he never shared. He didn't like to admit that the butcher had gotten away with it.)
He had just gotten his drink when someone came bursting in. The bar went quiet. "We've got another one."
The investigator next to him swore. "You're sure?"
"The hand's gone."
Deshell froze. "Sorry to interrupt--this is a victim who's been gutted and had their right hand removed?"
He turned to him, eyeing him suspiciously. "Yeah."
"I had three like that in Lester, five years ago," Deshell said. "Killed over about eight days, then nothing. They were all living alone, all metal-mages..."
"We haven't identified the first one yet." The older man considered a minute. "You should come, you might have insights onto this bastard that we don't."
"With pleasure," Deshell said. He tossed a few coins onto the table and followed the other two out.
They led him to a boarded-up building a few streets away, then down into the cellar. The victim was strung up from the ceiling, a thick rope twisted around his arms to the elbows. The right hand was missing, as with his victims, but the eyes had been removed as well. The amount of blood pouring from the mouth indicated that the tongue had been taken as well.
Deshell swore. "He's escalated."
The inspector--Netor--looked back at him. "Yeah?"
Deshell nodded. "The bodies in Lester...all he took was the right hand. And they were all found lying down."
"He doesn't take the eyes or tongue," Netor told him, then called to his assistant. "Have you found them yet?"
"Found one eye and the tongue, still looking for the other," the younger man called back. "...hey!"
"What is it?" Netor turned away from the body, but Deshell carefully approached, to see if there were any other differences.
"He must not've noticed before he started," Netor was saying, which caught Deshell's attention.
"Noticed what?"
Netor held up a blanket. "There's a lot of homeless kids in this neighborhood. Looks like one of them was sleeping here."
Deshell stood in front of the body. "Back up to where you found it?"
Netor did so. Deshell couldn't see him anymore. "If the kid was still here and didn't bolt 'til after..."
"No blood here," Netor said.
Deshell scanned the warehouse. "There's a bit of a trail going to the exit, but I don't see any other big puddles." Or another body.
Netor stepped out of the alcove. "Keshir, see if you can ask around and find the kid." The assistant nodded and slipped out.
The two inspectors then went over every inch of the cellar again. Deshell found the other eye, but, as with the Lester scenes, no weapons, and nothing to directly identify the victim from the scene.
"I think we're done here," Netor said, eventually. "I'm going to go ask around after missing metal-mages. Was there anything else that connected your three victims?"
Deshell shook his head. "Two men, one woman. One in his mid-twenties, the other early thirties, the woman was in her forties. She was gagged, the men weren't. The younger of the two had bruising on his left knuckles, had more luck fighting back." He paused. "Could I look at the report of your first victim? I might be able to tell you more if I can compare to both of yours."
Netor nodded. "Come by the station tomorrow morning, I'll make sure it's available to you."
He inclined his head. "Thank you."
He didn't sleep much that night, and paced back and forth in his room until about two hours after dawn, which he deemed reasonable to go to the station to look at the report. When he arrived, Netor's assistant Keshir was waiting for him. "The reports locked in Chief Inspector Netor's desk, so you're going to have to wait a bit, I'm sorry."
Deshell blinked. "Did something happen?"
Keshir nodded. "We found the kid. Netor's interviewing him now."
"Can I listen?"
"He said you'd probably ask," Keshir said, with a faint smile. "Follow me, please."
Deshell followed Keshir through a door and down a narrow hallway to the cells for keeping rowdy drunks and the like overnight. Netor was standing in one at the end of the row, facing a boy who was pressed against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.
"...Why is the kid in a cell?" Deshell asked.
"He thought he'd be more willing to talk if we scared him a little bit," Keshir answered promptly. "He thought it'd go faster, which is in everyone's best interests, yeah?"
Remind me to never let Netor interview one of my sons if they witness something, Deshell thought. "How often do you interview children as witnesses?"
"Not that often, I guess. We try to find adults."
"Scaring the kid is going to shut him down." Deshell pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go talk to Netor; ask if I can have a chance to try a different tactic." Playing from different angles like this sometimes makes things go faster with adults, maybe he'll let me in on that justification. Idiot.
Netor looked annoyed at the interruption, but he did step out. "Kid's not giving me anything. If you think you can get through to him, be my guest."
Deshell nodded. "Thank you," he said, then went the rest of the way down the hallway. He left the door open, and sat down on the floor with as much distance as he could manage from both the kid and the door. Netor or Keshir would catch him if he tried to bolt, and hopefully this would make him feel less threatened. "Hi."
The boy didn't answer, just watched him.
"My name's Deshell," he said. "My older son's about your age, I think, but he's a bit bigger. His name's Ledam."
Still no answer, but he seemed a little less stiff.
"I'm sorry about the other inspector," Deshell said, with a wry smile. "He goes a little too far sometimes. All he really wants to do is catch bad guys, but sometimes he forgets and talks to good guys like they aren't. Does that make sense?"
He bit his lip, and shrugged.
Encouraged, Deshell went on. "But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with, does it?"
The boy shook his head emphatically and hugged his knees a little tighter.
"I don't blame you if you don't like him very much," Deshell said thoughtfully, then smiled again. "Want to know a secret?"
He blinked, and slowly nodded.
"I don't like him very much, either," Deshell whispered. Which was entirely true--as grateful as he was for the chance to get more information on the butcher, it was sort of telling that Netor let him in on the investigation so quickly and with so few questions asked. Plus, he'd bullied a kid.
The kid smiled a little at that, and Deshell decided to change the subject. He spent roughly the next hour talking aimlessly about his wife and sons, watching the kid's reactions and waiting for him to calm down enough to bring the conversation back over towards what he'd seen, ignoring when he caught Keshir trying to signal him out of the corner of his eye.
After the kid had given his name and been answering verbally for a solid five minutes or so, he finally decided they couldn't wait any longer. Whatever problems Netor might have had with his approach, he was right in realizing that time was a major factor in this investigation. "I'm sorry to do this, Selmid, but...I do need to ask about what you saw yesterday."
Selmid visibly recoiled, and glanced at the open door.
Deshell held up a hand. "It's okay. You're not in trouble, no one's angry with you. Even if you can't tell us anything. But...the man you saw was a very, very bad man. He's hurt at least five people, that I know of, and if we don't stop him, he'll probably keep doing that. If you help us catch him, you'd be saving those people he might hurt. You'd be a hero."
He still didn't look entirely convinced. He shook his head mutely.
"I promise you, whatever happens, I won't let him hurt you. I'll make sure you end up somewhere he can't even find you." Even if that means I have to take you home myself. ...Fesha will kill me for not consulting her first, but it'll be worth it. "Please, Selmid? Help me with this?"
The kid stared at him for a long moment, then finally, finally nodded.
Deshell smiled, and got his notepad ready. "I'm going to ask you some specific questions, okay? I just need you to answer them. If there's anything you know that I don't think to ask, you can add that, too, if you want."
Selmid nodded again.
"Can you tell me what he looked like?
He shook his head. "W-was dark. And I t-tried not to look."
And I can't blame you. "Can you tell me if he was short or tall?"
Selmid swallowed. "Tall. Bigger'n you."
"Okay. Is there anything else you saw?"
Selmid hesitated. "He had...he had long hair. A-and there was a clear knife, a-and a bigger, not-clear knife."
...so he's not from Feredar, Deshell thought. Men from Feredar never wore their hair long, at least not by Asendar's standards. He wasn't sure whether or not he was surprised. He'd never really felt that the butcher being a bigot out of Feredar made much sense; the victims were too specific. On the other hand, he didn't have any other possible motive. The detail about the knives didn't add much, though--he'd suspected, the last few times he'd gone over his reports, that there were two knives involved, since killing with a metal one would be too risky, but a glass or stone one wouldn't've gone through the bones quickly enough to sever the hands without being caught. "Did he say anything?"
Selmid shivered. "He...th-the other guy was screaming, and he said...he said 'Shh, it'll all be over soon.' Th-then there was a bigger scream and s-something...r-rolled over, n-next to my blanket."
"Did you see what it was?" Deshell had a suspicion, but needed to confirm it.
Selmid nodded. "Eye."
Deshell winced. Poor kid... "Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"He had a accent."
Deshell blinked. "Do you know what kind? Can you imitate it?"
The kid shook his head, and Deshell fought hard to keep his disappointment off his face. "That's okay. Would you recognize it if you heard it again?"
Selmid shivered again, and nodded.
"Okay," Deshell said, and closed his notepad. He smiled. "You did good, kid. Really good." He paused for a minute, before getting up. "Do you like ice cream?" He felt like he owed Selmid something special, after forcing him to go back through the murder again. At the very least, giving him ice cream was a start. Then he could see about trying to take him home. And how to explain all of this to Fesha.
The kid blinked, and slowly nodded.
"Would you like to go get some?" And Fesha would kill me for this, too. Gods alone know if he's had a proper meal today. He smiled. "I know a place."
He hesitated, then nodded again. Deshell offered him a hand, which he took after much consideration.
Deshell led him out. Fortunately, Netor wasn't immediately present--he might've stopped this little outing, which would've undone all the good will Deshell had built with Selmid. He tossed his notebook at Keshir as they left. "I want that back after you've copied it. I'm taking Selmid to get some ice cream. We'll be at the Green Horse and should be back in an hour."
Keshir nodded, clearly uncertain whether or not he should object.
Deshell just smiled at him, and pulled Selmid out of the station. "So, what kind of ice cream do you like? Ledam always asks for strawberry..."
Year: 984 FY
Characters: Chief Inspector Deshell, Selmid
Warnings: Torture and graphic murder with mutilation witnessed by a ten-year-old, eye scream, references to brutal but not physically violent interrogation techniques
Deshell had never liked Asendar. Not the metaphorical structure--the government, general societal rules, and so on--the city itself. It was too dirty, too crowded--and on a permanent basis, unlike the medium-sized port of Lester. He avoided going whenever possible. But the Mayor couldn't make his yearly report to the Grand Duke, and had picked Deshell to go in his stead.
But now the report had been successfully delivered, and he was settled into a tavern frequented by police. The one disadvantage to being in a small town was very few others in your profession with whom you could speak, and everyone there already knew your stories. It was hard to compare interesting cases. (Of course, Deshell's most interesting case was the one he never shared. He didn't like to admit that the butcher had gotten away with it.)
He had just gotten his drink when someone came bursting in. The bar went quiet. "We've got another one."
The investigator next to him swore. "You're sure?"
"The hand's gone."
Deshell froze. "Sorry to interrupt--this is a victim who's been gutted and had their right hand removed?"
He turned to him, eyeing him suspiciously. "Yeah."
"I had three like that in Lester, five years ago," Deshell said. "Killed over about eight days, then nothing. They were all living alone, all metal-mages..."
"We haven't identified the first one yet." The older man considered a minute. "You should come, you might have insights onto this bastard that we don't."
"With pleasure," Deshell said. He tossed a few coins onto the table and followed the other two out.
They led him to a boarded-up building a few streets away, then down into the cellar. The victim was strung up from the ceiling, a thick rope twisted around his arms to the elbows. The right hand was missing, as with his victims, but the eyes had been removed as well. The amount of blood pouring from the mouth indicated that the tongue had been taken as well.
Deshell swore. "He's escalated."
The inspector--Netor--looked back at him. "Yeah?"
Deshell nodded. "The bodies in Lester...all he took was the right hand. And they were all found lying down."
"He doesn't take the eyes or tongue," Netor told him, then called to his assistant. "Have you found them yet?"
"Found one eye and the tongue, still looking for the other," the younger man called back. "...hey!"
"What is it?" Netor turned away from the body, but Deshell carefully approached, to see if there were any other differences.
"He must not've noticed before he started," Netor was saying, which caught Deshell's attention.
"Noticed what?"
Netor held up a blanket. "There's a lot of homeless kids in this neighborhood. Looks like one of them was sleeping here."
Deshell stood in front of the body. "Back up to where you found it?"
Netor did so. Deshell couldn't see him anymore. "If the kid was still here and didn't bolt 'til after..."
"No blood here," Netor said.
Deshell scanned the warehouse. "There's a bit of a trail going to the exit, but I don't see any other big puddles." Or another body.
Netor stepped out of the alcove. "Keshir, see if you can ask around and find the kid." The assistant nodded and slipped out.
The two inspectors then went over every inch of the cellar again. Deshell found the other eye, but, as with the Lester scenes, no weapons, and nothing to directly identify the victim from the scene.
"I think we're done here," Netor said, eventually. "I'm going to go ask around after missing metal-mages. Was there anything else that connected your three victims?"
Deshell shook his head. "Two men, one woman. One in his mid-twenties, the other early thirties, the woman was in her forties. She was gagged, the men weren't. The younger of the two had bruising on his left knuckles, had more luck fighting back." He paused. "Could I look at the report of your first victim? I might be able to tell you more if I can compare to both of yours."
Netor nodded. "Come by the station tomorrow morning, I'll make sure it's available to you."
He inclined his head. "Thank you."
He didn't sleep much that night, and paced back and forth in his room until about two hours after dawn, which he deemed reasonable to go to the station to look at the report. When he arrived, Netor's assistant Keshir was waiting for him. "The reports locked in Chief Inspector Netor's desk, so you're going to have to wait a bit, I'm sorry."
Deshell blinked. "Did something happen?"
Keshir nodded. "We found the kid. Netor's interviewing him now."
"Can I listen?"
"He said you'd probably ask," Keshir said, with a faint smile. "Follow me, please."
Deshell followed Keshir through a door and down a narrow hallway to the cells for keeping rowdy drunks and the like overnight. Netor was standing in one at the end of the row, facing a boy who was pressed against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.
"...Why is the kid in a cell?" Deshell asked.
"He thought he'd be more willing to talk if we scared him a little bit," Keshir answered promptly. "He thought it'd go faster, which is in everyone's best interests, yeah?"
Remind me to never let Netor interview one of my sons if they witness something, Deshell thought. "How often do you interview children as witnesses?"
"Not that often, I guess. We try to find adults."
"Scaring the kid is going to shut him down." Deshell pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go talk to Netor; ask if I can have a chance to try a different tactic." Playing from different angles like this sometimes makes things go faster with adults, maybe he'll let me in on that justification. Idiot.
Netor looked annoyed at the interruption, but he did step out. "Kid's not giving me anything. If you think you can get through to him, be my guest."
Deshell nodded. "Thank you," he said, then went the rest of the way down the hallway. He left the door open, and sat down on the floor with as much distance as he could manage from both the kid and the door. Netor or Keshir would catch him if he tried to bolt, and hopefully this would make him feel less threatened. "Hi."
The boy didn't answer, just watched him.
"My name's Deshell," he said. "My older son's about your age, I think, but he's a bit bigger. His name's Ledam."
Still no answer, but he seemed a little less stiff.
"I'm sorry about the other inspector," Deshell said, with a wry smile. "He goes a little too far sometimes. All he really wants to do is catch bad guys, but sometimes he forgets and talks to good guys like they aren't. Does that make sense?"
He bit his lip, and shrugged.
Encouraged, Deshell went on. "But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with, does it?"
The boy shook his head emphatically and hugged his knees a little tighter.
"I don't blame you if you don't like him very much," Deshell said thoughtfully, then smiled again. "Want to know a secret?"
He blinked, and slowly nodded.
"I don't like him very much, either," Deshell whispered. Which was entirely true--as grateful as he was for the chance to get more information on the butcher, it was sort of telling that Netor let him in on the investigation so quickly and with so few questions asked. Plus, he'd bullied a kid.
The kid smiled a little at that, and Deshell decided to change the subject. He spent roughly the next hour talking aimlessly about his wife and sons, watching the kid's reactions and waiting for him to calm down enough to bring the conversation back over towards what he'd seen, ignoring when he caught Keshir trying to signal him out of the corner of his eye.
After the kid had given his name and been answering verbally for a solid five minutes or so, he finally decided they couldn't wait any longer. Whatever problems Netor might have had with his approach, he was right in realizing that time was a major factor in this investigation. "I'm sorry to do this, Selmid, but...I do need to ask about what you saw yesterday."
Selmid visibly recoiled, and glanced at the open door.
Deshell held up a hand. "It's okay. You're not in trouble, no one's angry with you. Even if you can't tell us anything. But...the man you saw was a very, very bad man. He's hurt at least five people, that I know of, and if we don't stop him, he'll probably keep doing that. If you help us catch him, you'd be saving those people he might hurt. You'd be a hero."
He still didn't look entirely convinced. He shook his head mutely.
"I promise you, whatever happens, I won't let him hurt you. I'll make sure you end up somewhere he can't even find you." Even if that means I have to take you home myself. ...Fesha will kill me for not consulting her first, but it'll be worth it. "Please, Selmid? Help me with this?"
The kid stared at him for a long moment, then finally, finally nodded.
Deshell smiled, and got his notepad ready. "I'm going to ask you some specific questions, okay? I just need you to answer them. If there's anything you know that I don't think to ask, you can add that, too, if you want."
Selmid nodded again.
"Can you tell me what he looked like?
He shook his head. "W-was dark. And I t-tried not to look."
And I can't blame you. "Can you tell me if he was short or tall?"
Selmid swallowed. "Tall. Bigger'n you."
"Okay. Is there anything else you saw?"
Selmid hesitated. "He had...he had long hair. A-and there was a clear knife, a-and a bigger, not-clear knife."
...so he's not from Feredar, Deshell thought. Men from Feredar never wore their hair long, at least not by Asendar's standards. He wasn't sure whether or not he was surprised. He'd never really felt that the butcher being a bigot out of Feredar made much sense; the victims were too specific. On the other hand, he didn't have any other possible motive. The detail about the knives didn't add much, though--he'd suspected, the last few times he'd gone over his reports, that there were two knives involved, since killing with a metal one would be too risky, but a glass or stone one wouldn't've gone through the bones quickly enough to sever the hands without being caught. "Did he say anything?"
Selmid shivered. "He...th-the other guy was screaming, and he said...he said 'Shh, it'll all be over soon.' Th-then there was a bigger scream and s-something...r-rolled over, n-next to my blanket."
"Did you see what it was?" Deshell had a suspicion, but needed to confirm it.
Selmid nodded. "Eye."
Deshell winced. Poor kid... "Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"He had a accent."
Deshell blinked. "Do you know what kind? Can you imitate it?"
The kid shook his head, and Deshell fought hard to keep his disappointment off his face. "That's okay. Would you recognize it if you heard it again?"
Selmid shivered again, and nodded.
"Okay," Deshell said, and closed his notepad. He smiled. "You did good, kid. Really good." He paused for a minute, before getting up. "Do you like ice cream?" He felt like he owed Selmid something special, after forcing him to go back through the murder again. At the very least, giving him ice cream was a start. Then he could see about trying to take him home. And how to explain all of this to Fesha.
The kid blinked, and slowly nodded.
"Would you like to go get some?" And Fesha would kill me for this, too. Gods alone know if he's had a proper meal today. He smiled. "I know a place."
He hesitated, then nodded again. Deshell offered him a hand, which he took after much consideration.
Deshell led him out. Fortunately, Netor wasn't immediately present--he might've stopped this little outing, which would've undone all the good will Deshell had built with Selmid. He tossed his notebook at Keshir as they left. "I want that back after you've copied it. I'm taking Selmid to get some ice cream. We'll be at the Green Horse and should be back in an hour."
Keshir nodded, clearly uncertain whether or not he should object.
Deshell just smiled at him, and pulled Selmid out of the station. "So, what kind of ice cream do you like? Ledam always asks for strawberry..."