Black Rose IC (Zhoren/PersianVersion)

[Zhoren]

Los Angeles, the City of Angels, the city of dreams. A city where some dreams came true, while others were crushed mercilessly beneath the heel. Four-hundred-sixty-eight square miles of crowds, concrete, and crimes so cold that they’d wither the soul and freeze the blood. Not unlike most cities, the City of Angels was the most dangerous at night; in the cover of darkness, in spite of all the cutting edge technological advancement of present day, somewhere deep inside, the city was still the wild, wild west. Beneath the cover of sparkling lights and the rich entrepreneurs who kept the city shining, there was the inevitable bottom of society, where crimes were commonplace and justice was a rare commodity.

The city needed honest cops like thirst needed water; it was in dire need of more heroes to smite heathens with the sword of justice. For although man had developed, their base sins had remained in place, thus conflict was reborn, over and over; and where there was conflict, there was crime. All parties to a conflict needed an ace up their sleeve after all, and in the City of Angels, every criminal thought themselves the cleverest person in the world. And then there was the media, glorifying every crime like there was no tomorrow, and always to the advantage of those that owned them. Unlike what most thought, the press was not government propaganda, nor was it owned by the government. As an outsider, one always learned quickly not to believe everything they saw in the press; and as an ex-cop, one learned never to trust what he saw. There was always more to everything than met the eye.

For every cop, there's the case that made him: gave him that that leg up, got him recognized as the shining new star on the squad. The case that showed everyone that he had the gumption, the gung-ho, the get-up-and-go to make him stand out from the average rank-and-file patrolman. Often, the same case was also the one that's responsible for breaking him; the one he never solved, the one that kept him awake at night. The case that kept gnawing at his guts and ruined his marriage. The case that kept him propping up at a bar as he relived the what-ifs, the might-have-beens, half-leads and the half-truths. The case that other cops murmured about as he passed by. The case that he never ever discussed.

More importantly, one learned more than most after walking the city in the shoes of an LAPD officer, more so when he has spent seven years as an LAPD detective on the Homicide Desk. After spending such a long time in the same place, one often formed bonds. Bonds that grew rotten with time, like everything else; but even rotten, the bonds remained strong.

Logan Stewart Phelps, age 28, ex-LAPD detective, Homicide Department. Presently working for Red Eagle Ltd. Company as a sales agent; and he found out long ago that fate had a way of laughing in his face at the most appropriate times…

[PersianVersion]

Law enforcement was widely recognized as a glorified, overvalued profession. People were pulled into every overdramatized angle, from the cop dramas that solved murders in an hour’s span (counting commercial breaks), to the cheap mystery novels that were constantly crowding the sales racks at bookstores. For Jamie, it had been the latter that had dragged her into the profession, as she devoured page by page for the cheap thrill of trying to guess ahead. Perhaps she should have known that those books hardly adhered to the truth, seeing as her father was a police officer, but she had always held the notion that her own experiences would be different. She’d held onto this impossible opinion as she learned to fire a gun, pursued her degree in criminal justice, and signed onto the ranks of the LAPD. Unfortunately for Jamie, and the many others who came to Los Angeles blissfully ignorant of reality, the city was more than eager to tell them the truth.

Yet, it hadn’t gotten its name as the City of Angels from disgruntled immigrants. The city was a testament to America’s melting pot, from Filipinotown and little Ethiopia to Tehrangeles and Little Armenia. While some immigrants had remained no better off than the country they came from, other succeeded beyond anything they could imagine, pushing forward the hopes of any who trudged through the city streets and giving Los Angeles a collection of nicknames. Where it gathered its reputation from was just as obvious; crimes and scams replaced fallen dreams in everyone, from the sloppiest thief to the tight-lipped cop.

Among the first things Jamie had to get used to were bribes. She’d expected that a few police officers would be shadier than the rest, but what surprised her were how many were willing to ignore, or flat out lie for a supplement to their paycheck. As honest cops moved up through the ranks, they found that much of their time was going to be devoted to suspicions within their own departments. Even now, her father, who had become a Sergeant, kept a wary eye on all those in his watch shift. Jamie however, differed in that she simply tried to look away. After finally being promoted to the position of a homicide detective, she adhered to the principle that so long as it didn’t interfere with her own cases, it wasn’t hers to worry about. So far, she seemed to be doing well with this; while corruption was rampant among smaller cases, murder seemed to bring about a sense of morality in those who solved it.

Yet being a homicide detective was far from that which her mystery novels had offered her. Many criminals were simply sloppy, and many crimes didn’t seem to move past the victim’s friends or family. A few interviews, a quick sweep of the crime scene, and more paperwork than she could remember eventually ended the case. For someone whose job was to quickly solve these sorts of crimes, Jamie couldn’t help but crave a challenge.

Jamie Sophia Grant- Age 26, LAPD Detective, Homicide Department.

You're more than aware of my problems with pictures, so don't make fun of me on this.

[Zhoren]

He found himself wide awake rather earlier than usual. A sales agent didn't need to wake up as early as a cop did, and Logan had thought that his body had adapted completely to his new job; so this was rather unusual for him. Eventually though, he figured out the reason -- it was the antique model analogue phone he kept in the other room. It was ringing loudly, and had likely been doing so for quite some time. He had no idea as to why anyone would bother calling using that at this hour; after all, his cellphone was much more accessible, and people normally didn't use land phones in this day and age. In fact, he could think of only one person who was perhaps as antique as that phone. Whether he was right or not, Logan decided that he had made the caller wait long enough.

Pulling himself off the bed quickly, he made for the next room, taking a cursory glance at the mirror on his way. The reflection he saw caused him to smirk; in fact, he couldn't help but smirk. Gone was the perfect figure of a cop, and replacing it was that of a half-assed sales agent, but perhaps that was for the best. After all, sometimes, some things were best left behind, and forgotten. Not to mention that his job, if it could be called that, wasn't as simple as one may think...

"Hello..." Logan drawled, after lazily picking up the phone.

There was no answer from the other side.

"...." He attempted to trace who the caller was by listening to the breathing sounds from the other side. Not only was it a futile attempt, he also couldn't actually hear any breathing sounds to trace. Rather, there was the clicking sound of the phone being hung up.

"Heh..." Logan felt a little silly as he put the phone down.

The next moment though, he could hear the sound of his cellphone ringing. Quickly making it back to the other room, he picked it up and could see just the name he was expecting on the LCD. 'Captain James Archer', the display said, and truly he could think of only this person when he thought 'antique'. It was a name he didn't really wish to see; after all, it reminded him a bit too much of the past he wished to forget, and of that case. It was not his business anymore, and he didn't wish to be a part of it any longer; thus he had to seriously consider not picking up. Eventually though, he cleared his throat, and answered the call.

"Hello.." He said, a bit more clearly than the last time.

"Good morning boyo." Replied the voice on the other side of the phone. It was a voice Logan recognized well, and wasn't really sure how to feel hearing from the man after all this time.

"Morning captain... do you need something from me?" Logan replied, as 'business like' as he could, carefully ensuring that his emotions didn't slip into his voice.

"How would you like another chance at smiting heathens with the sword of justice?"

"With all due respect sir..." Logan's face unconsciously hardened as he spoke, "I am no longer part of the...."

"God's mill may grind slowly, but it grinds finely son.." the voice from the other side cut him off, "heathens will be brought to justice, the means are not relevant."

"...and I also know about your new job son, besides pretending to be a sales agent I mean."

"...."

"You find things that other don't want found, and then even keep them a secret, couldn't have found a better deal myself boy."

"My apologies, captain Archer, but I no longer wish to be a part of law enforcement." Logan said firmly, not really surprised that the captain knew about his job, it was to be expected for a man so well connected.

"We believe this case is related to the BD murders boy, the corpse says so anyway."

"Uh..." Logan's firm voice faltered.

BD stood for Black Dahlia. A chain of murders committed with the same MO. Logan was still a detective serving in the homicide desk back then, and he had served in that case along with some of the best detectives of his time; but they could do nothing, and to this day the killer walked free. Logan had resigned not too long afterwards for certain personal reasons; he hadn't received any updates on the case since, and never expected to either, until now.

The MO of the BD murders involved the killing of several young women, mostly about the same age. Of course these weren't related to the original 'Black Dahlia' murder back in 1947, the one involving the gruesome murder of one Elizabeth Short. Sure, that murder was unsolved, but the perpetrator could not have lived for this long. So these were likely copycat murders by someone trying to emulate the original murderer. So after killing the victim in extremely gruesome manner, the perp would use a lipstick or some other like material to write the words 'Black Dahlia' on the victim's mutilated body. The victims would usually also be found lying abused, naked and lifeless in public places where they could easily be found.

"...some copycat or another... you sure you need an outsider for something like this Captain?" Logan asked.

"Who said I needed you boy?" Came the reply. "A corpse bearing the same MO's been left at The Moors."

"...thought you might wish to know... farewell lad."

The phone hung up as abruptly as it had arrived. It wasn't really surprise since that was just the kind of behavior Logan had come to expect from the captain. He was glad to see that at least someone had not changed. Things were easier when he knew what to expect.

Captain Archer was the most respected and feared Officer-in-Charge of the Homicide desk. Logan had found him less concerned with the letter of the law and more with a strong arrest record; the captain was often used to pressing his subordinates into extracting confessions by force rather than relying on evidence. Interrogations under the captain's watch were usually performed after he had 'warmed up' the suspects. His agenda was mostly political though, and he was mainly concerned with strong convictions to generate positive press. Archer professed to be a highly religious man, and spoke frequently in poetic biblical language, referring to criminals as "sons of Cain" or "heathens", but Logan had found it to be a rather useless facade which the captain used to cloak his sadistic nature under a pretense of righteousness. Amongst the LAPD though, this was a man to be feared; after all, careers were made and broken on the captain's words.

That aside though, and whether or not the captain actually intended this, the Black Dahlia being involved changed everything. If the murder the captain spoke of was related, then he needed to take a look at the victim; in fact, it was very important that he took a look.

Logan's eyes traveled quickly to the clock, and he realized that he was in luck. Seeing as the captain had woken him up this early, he would probably be able to take a look at the crime scene before the homicide detectives got there. In fact, back in his time, the Homicide dets weren't even briefed before midday; so the only ones present at the scene should be the patrolmen who answered the 911 call. If he knew the men, getting in would be easy, if not, he should be able to get by a couple of patrolmen by pretending to be from some media or another.

Putting on his white suit rather than the Red Eagle Ltd. uniform, and picking up a camera, Logan quickly left his apartment and headed for his car which was parked just outside.

'So... who was that other caller..' he wondered, as he started up the ride, '... hn probably the cap himself, testing whether I'm home.'

'...tch.. old habits die hard, huh?'

[PersianVersion]

Mornings had never been rough for Jamie. The trick was to convince herself that the day had something special held for her before she even moved to get out of bed. Though it was a lie, and it consistently became harder to repeat after hearing it so often, she managed to utilize it to get dressed and out the door without a cup of coffee. Perhaps even more impressively, she managed to continue this even after taking a job with the LAPD. She could go to bed after having inspected a brutal murder and still convince herself to get up the next morning with the same optimism she had the day before. Jamie was either a fantastic liar, or remarkably gullible.

However, she didn’t take too long to question the matter, instead choosing to accept it instead and move on with her day. Jamie did not take much time in leaving her small apartment, and was as punctual as ever in arriving to the department. She was smartly dressed, thankfully relieved from the typical uniforms many officers had to wear, with her hair pulled back and, unusually enough, a light touch of makeup on her face. Though she rarely wore it, she had read an article the night before that claimed women who wore light makeup went farther in their careers. Jamie wasn’t sure where she was heading with her career, but as the makeup suggested, more than this wouldn’t hurt.

Upon entering the department, Jamie was quick to reach her desk. Unlike what she assumed other workplaces to be like, greetings did not take long there. Considering the line of work she was in, a courtesy smile often seemed inappropriate, and a chat, or even a ‘good morning’ seemed to waste time. Instead, a brief nod acknowledged their existence, and with no care as to whether it ended after that, she moved to her desk. Her desk already seemed swallowed by paperwork mere moments after she had sat down. Typically, this paperwork was consistent with smaller, easily solved cases, such as writing off a death as a suicide or natural death, others in following up a case that she had previously worked on. Her cell phone was set off to the side, barely in her line of sight. However, most everyone who knew her knew that reaching her during work hours was futile. Emergencies were the only exception, but they had to be Jamie’s classification of an emergency, not that of the person calling.

She had buried her head in paperwork for most of the morning, her morning optimism having faded rather quickly. Though it had been difficult to keep it going in the first place, it proved impossible after the first hour. The effects were seen easily, for after getting an email to meet immediately in the conference room for a briefing, Jamie was far more sluggish than usual in entering on time. For once, she hadn’t been the first one there, but everyone had far more important things on their mind to notice.

The LAPD, among many other larger police departments, had a full time homicide staff. Though they all had a general knowledge of which cases were happening where, they were specifically assigned to cases when one arose. They rarely got a break in between cases, for they were created faster than they were solved. It almost made the simple cases look like a blessing.

Upon entering the room, Jamie could see that they had not seen fit to bring forth most of the detectives. There probably wasn’t anything to see yet, and so they were to be assigned to get the first look. Including her, that meant three investigators, and as was typical of the homicide department, the other two were men. It was no secret that men outranked women in such careers, but Jamie had been pleased to see that there were a substantial number of women in the department, but she rarely had the opportunity to be assigned on a case with them. It hardly mattered, for as she sat down at the table, none of the sexism that would have been prevalent in earlier years was seen. Instead, all eyes were trained on the captain, Captain Perez. Though not nearly as intimidating as captain Archer, he was a tall Hispanic man that commanded respect with little effort, and wasted no time in getting to the point.

“There was a body found at The Moors this morning.” The resulting expressions were not shocked, but nonexistent. There might have been the faint raising of an eyebrow, but the gazes that fixed onto the captain betrayed nothing.

“Of course, all of you are familiar with the Black Dahlia case?”

They were. For anyone that chose that field, the case symbolized everything that had dragged them into law enforcement in the first place. Highly sensationalized, it attracted a sense of glamour to it that did not reflect the disgusting reality. And the fact that it was unsolved, that the murderer had never been thrown behind bars to pay for his crime, pulled in the subconscious idea that they could have been the investigator to do it. With a name like the Black Dahlia, the case was all that Jamie could have hoped for in her youth, pouring through mystery novels. And now that it was right in front of her, not even a flicker of emotion crossed her face.

“The corpse bears the same MO.”

“A copycat crime?” The speaker was one of the detectives across the table, a man just past his prime and who was desperate not to show it. Even so, he was a respected investigator, and the captain responded with a nod before he continued.

“Most likely. There are already patrolmen out there, headed by Sergeant Grant.”

At this, the captain glanced over towards Jamie. She was used to this, and responded with a quick nod, as if accepting the fact that he was her father. It was strange to have two family members, especially father and daughter, in the department, but Jamie had never found it as odd. Her father had never said anything of it either; Jamie had always suspected that he approved of the fact that his daughter was under his nose.

“You three will be the only ones directly set on the case, but that is subject to change based on what we find there.”

The briefing ended shortly thereafter, for there was little left to say. It was clear that they had already had their imaginations hooked onto this case, for even though Jamie kept a straight face, her mind was swimming with possibilities.

[Zhoren]

Unlike what it may seem, Logan had done this a few times before, not always on direct order of a captain of course, if that could even be called an order. It was much simpler before -- a whisper in the wind here, a little tip-off there, and he would himself on the beat once more, shoveling through mutilated corpses, so long after he had left the job -- always searching for that one perp. At one time it had been in search of recognition, glory and papers, not much unlike most other men and women who donned the uniform, but now it was for something... different

'Things change... and people are forced to change with them.'

The steering wheel felt different under his hands, perhaps because his hands were shaking. It was not exactly cold inside the car, given the heating system and the sturdy white gloves that protected his fingers, but Logan was definitely cold somewhere, and excited too; the kind of excitement he used to feel just before he had nailed a case. OF course, he was nowhere near enough to nailing anything with the Black Dahlia case, and doing this without the uniform never got easier. For his own sake, Logan hoped that the patrol officer on duty would be someone he knew, or else he might just have to do this the hard way.


'The Moors' was the name given to a hill, and it was just a hill; there was really no other way to explain it. Before the heavy urbanization perhaps, this hill had something of a character. But now, it was just another piece of uninhabitable ground which was not as flat as the others. It'd have been used as a car park if not for wildlife enthusiasts marking the limited number of trees that grew here as important towards maintaining proper environmental balance. When Logan reached the area, he did what he always did when he got to a crime scene -- drive around the entire block a single time -- it was said that a criminal always returned to the scene of the crime; while not very accurate, the proverb sometimes came true, and Logan had dealt with a few cases where it had turned out to be true. This time though, the drive didn't much other than deserted streets and the patrolmen on duty giving his car the 'evil eye'. It was a bit too early after all, even the leeches from the media hadn't gotten to the scene yet; so an unknown car giving the block a once over wasn't exactly normal.

He eventually parked the car near where the other police cars were parked by force of habit, and put his hat on before alighting from the car. The area was cordoned off, but Logan paid little heed to it as he walked over to the patrolmen who had gathered to look at the spectacle. Of course, if there were anyone amongst the crew from his time, they would have recognized him already; while he had become slightly different once he left the job, it wasn't by much.

"Phelps." Logan said, once he reached the others.

At this point, Logan was used to telling the patrolmen his division, or his constable/detective number, and it almost flowed right off his mouth, but he managed to stop himself by gulping.

"Formerly of the LAPD." He added, looking up, his eyes scrutinizing the patrolmen, searching for any known faces and eventually finding one.

"Figured you'd come along Phelps." Said a young looking cop, whose ranked uniform marked him as 'sergeant', and therefore in charge of the patrolmen at the scene. "You're always there when anything resembling the werewolf's involved."

'The werewolf' was just another name given to the Black Dahlia murderer.

"Grant..." Logan smirked, tipping his slightly to the sergeant, "I've come to collect on one of the many favors you owe me."

The sergeant smirked back, and signaled for the other patrolmen to return to their posts.

"Very well," the sergeant smirked back, "just this once."

"In case someone asks... there was a reporter from LA Times, got it?" Logan muttered as he headed past the sergeant towards the body of the victim.

"Yea.. yeah, just don't touch anything, and clear off before the homicide dets show up."

[PersianVersion]

Jamie followed the other two detectives out of the building, having taken up the offer for a ride to the crime scene. Considering that they would all be going and returning to the same place, taking three different cars seemed needless. Besides, Jamie had little doubt that they were as excited to discuss the case as she was, even without any evidence or leads to speak of. To them, and many others in the department, this case hadn't been opened recently. It had opened in 1947, and everything since then was considered relevant. To Jamie, this made the case sensational. To those who had been digging through evidence, attempting to find the original among a midst of fans, this made the case intolerable.

She was quick to take the passenger seat, forcing Elliot, the younger of the two men, to the backseat. As she slid onto the cool leather, she glanced up at Detective Evans. His first name was Dylan, but it was a rare occasion that anyone, especially his colleagues, would call him as such. He was older than the two of them, having entered his early 40's a year or so ago. However, in this field, like many others, age was an asset, for it came with experience. This could be proven with a glance, for though Detective Evans hands were still on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the parking lot, Elliot was having a difficult time steadying his own. Jamie also seemed to have the same problem, for after a few moments of rapidly tapping her fingers against her leg with no rhythm; Detective Evans seemed to notice, glancing over at her.

“Nervous?”

Jamie nodded without looking up at him, even though he could have easily been talking to Elliot. “Never thought I’d get a case like this.” Detective Evans took in her words with a brief nod, though he never responded. She hadn't been looking for a response either, which thankfully relieved the silence in the car from any awkwardness. They were all quiet for a good portion of the drive there, their minds focused on the case in front of them. Jamie’s mind was not focused however, so much as it was moving around in a thousand different directions. Any details on the condition of the body hadn't been given to them yet, but if this were truly a copycat, then Jamie would have to imagine that it was in gruesome condition. What about the MO? How would the killer have left it onto the victim’s body? Had the reporters gotten there yet? If they had, then it could easily become irritating for them to work through. And yet, if they did, then this case had every chance of becoming as sensational as the last. Did she want that? Truthfully, she was too nervous to care.

They reached the Moors rather quickly, for Jamie’s mind had been too distracted to take note of the time it had taken to get there. All three of them were quick in getting out of the car, though Jamie took a glance around. There were more patrolmen than she bothered to count, though Jamie was quick to move her gaze over them. She was looking for a man she saw way too often at crime scenes, and one who would never let her forget it.

“Grant, homicide division, LAPD.” Her introduction to one of the patrolmen was brief, for as they let her and her companions through with little question, the sergeant on the job moved forward to greet them.

“Never gets easier to see you at these” he spoke lightheartedly, though Jamie did not doubt that it was true. Shooting her dad a reassuring smile, she moved her gaze back to the body.

“Don’t you worry about me. How’s this one looking?”

“As gruesome as you’d expect. Go see for yourself.” With that, he moved back to talk to one of the other patrolmen, giving Jamie and the other detective’s free reign as to the scene of the crime.

[Zhoren]

There was once a time perhaps, few ages ago, when investigating a crime scene was a physical thing. Detectives would often be stuck doing the coroner's job as they turned over every grimy bloodstained corpse in order to find evidence. Nowadays, it had turned digital, much like everything else. It had definitely made things much easier for a certain ex-detective, as he sat at a corner table in a cafe, miles away from the scene of the crime. His camera wasn't the best brand, but it provided the required level of excellence; and various features installed in it meant that Logan could study the scene at various different angles without even having to process the photos, and the zoom function definitely made it easier to analyze the corpse without facing the hazards that come with this kind of job. In some ways, Logan found himself glad that he wasn't there at the scene investigating the dead body as per protocol.

'Better make a note to send something over to Sergent Grant later, a token of my gratitude... as it were.'

Of course, the cup of coffee was helping too; the recent lack of discipline had loosened his body somewhat, and he had felt like taking a nap by the time he entered this cafe he had never noticed before a few streets over from The Moors. The place was called the 'Bamba Club' -- silly name, certainly, but Logan sure felt glad now that he had decided to enter...

The corpse itself wasn't much of a sight -- female, naked, heavily mutilated, likely killed with some sort of blunt weapon before being repeatedly stomped. Could be that it was the other way around, it was hard to tell without a coroner, and Logan wasn't likely to have access to one at this time. One side of the face had taken it especially worse, the skin had been ripped off, causing the inner teeth to be revealed, which almost made it seem like the corpse was laughing the mocking devil's smile; well, Logan was relatively certain that this was fate's way of laughing at him for not having caught the new BD yet. Mutilating the face was likely not intentional however, but simply collateral damage from being from being struck with a blunt weapon over and over. The murderer seemed to be too busy mutilating the rest of the body instead.

As usual, there was a message written with lipstick on the chest of the victim -- "FUCK YOU BD - TEX" -- it said. There was a muddy shoe print on the chest, size 7-8 approximately, although he'd need to double check on that later. The victim's purse was on the scene, the only thing of relevance inside was a lipstick, which didn't seem to be the one that was used to write on the victim; the brand didn't seem particularly relevant, but Logan had made a note of it anyway. There was something else in the purse though, it was difficult to tell whether it was relevant but, upon closer inspection of the photo of the purse (i.e. zooming to the maximum size possible), Logan had discovered a new secret.

'...so it turns out that the lighter is a souvenir from..... surprise surprise...... the Bamba Club. It's got the name of the Club on it anyway...'

'Now ain't this a nice turn of events...?' Logan smirked, as he looked around. 'Now who should I start with....'

'Let's see... there's a barman, the owner seems to be in the back... there's some people around, hard to tell if they're regulars... there's the barman, and there's the barman. Guess it's decided.'

'Interrogation time huh....? Tch.. I guess not.'

[PersianVersion]

The detectives were quick to get to work, seemingly having decided upon investigating before talking to any of the patrolmen. Elliot had moved to set up his camera, standing back and changing the lens while Detective Evans and Jamie moved to look at the body. She accepted the pair of disposable latex gloves that Detective Evans offered her, slipping them on her hands as she kneeled down near the body. It was a horrific sight, one that showed in the way her upper lip raised. Even so, she tried her best to push the emotions aside as the scanned the body. Her eyes caught among certain details more than others, specifically, the words scrawled across the victims chest. It was an ambiguous message to say the least, but the words meant nothing. Much like most of the evidence they found, they wouldn’t mean anything until the victim could be identified.

The two of them studied the victim’s body without a word. Jamie found her gaze drifting back towards the victims face multiple times, studying the grotesque manner in which the victim seemed to be smiling. As Elliot came over, his camera ready, Jamie and Detective Evans stepped away from the body to allow him better access.

“What do you make of it?” Jamie asked. It seemed natural to defer to his opinion first, as he was the most experienced of the three. Detective Evans looked over at her, then moved his gaze across the scene as he spoke.

“Awful, really. Whoever he is, the werewolf doesn’t seem to be straying too far from the original M.O. It’s not much of a surprise.”

“Without a name or background on the victim, none of this is going to mean much though. Do you know if the coroner’s on his way?”

“Should be here soon.”

As they spoke, they had moved over towards the other piece of evidence, the only other item in the area that seemed to hold any sort of clues. The pair kneeled down beside the purse, much as they had beside the body, though this was enacted far less delicately. Jamie seemed a little more comfortable when not encountered with the odd sights, and unfortunately, smells, of a dead body.

Some of the contents of the purse had been strewn out, most likely having fallen out, forgotten, when the purse hit the ground. Jamie seemed reluctant to touch any of the evidence, instead delicately rolling over the tube of lipstick. Though the colors were not too far off, the lipstick had retained its original shape. It had been worn down, but from what it seemed, any use came from its intended purpose. Ignoring the lipstick, she looked up at Detective Evans, who was delicately holding a lighter in his hand. Seeing her look up at it, he turned the lighter so that she could see the logo.

“Ever heard of this place?” Jamie shook her head, frowning. Detective Evans set it back down, standing up to allow Elliot to move over and take his pictures. Jamie followed suit, her tone almost bitter as she scanned the scene once more.

“Copycats normally aren’t this hard to catch, are they? Usually you can find something to link them back to the original. Problem is...”

She was cut off as Elliot seemed to finish her sentence for her, a light southern drawl making its way through his words. “There ain’t an original. No fan mail, no creepy shrines, no nothin’. This guy doesn’t even seem to like the BD.” With that, he motioned over to the victim, the movement of his chin indicating the large message on the victim’s chest. “Frankly, it’s hard to tell.” Jamie replied. It was at this point that their conversation, if it could be called such, was cut short by Detective Evans commentary.

“I could always deal with crimes of passion and the like. It’s the psychopaths I can’t stand.”

[Zhoren]

Logan approached the bartender looking around to make sure nobody was listening in before leaning in on the bar.

"You the barman..? He asked, suppressing his usual habit of introducing himself before questioning someone. An etiquette like that was no longer necessary, and often more trouble than it was worth.

"Substitute barman." the other man replied

"Were you here yesterday?"

"This some kinda interrogation?"

"Uh... yeah, I'm uh... a private investigator, looking up the murder of a certain.. uh.... regular" Logan replied, deciding that throwing some stones around in the dark should be harmless at this early stage.

"Regulars huh? The owner would know better, he's just in the back." The barman pointed behind himself in a disinterested manner.

"You got a name?"

'...or just a big mouth?'

"Mason...... Garette Mason." The barman replied, before returning to his work.

'This guy's a serious asshole.' Logan thought, as he proceeded towards the back.

'Right, before I interrogate the owner...'

'From the card in her bag, her name was Celine Henry, she was a ... a, hm interesting I don't remember at all. Well anyway, the important things for the time being are that the owner might know the victim; the victim was missing a ring, someone may have seen that.'

'Souvenirs seem to be gifts from the owner given to the regular clientele... the fact that Ms. Henry happened to have one possibly means two things. Firstly, she was a regular here, secondly, the owner knows her.'

'In other words...'

Logan approached the owner, who happened to be reading a newspaper while reclining back on his chair

'If... she was here yesterday, this guy can put me in the right track.'

Logan leaned authoritatively on the owner's table, thereby getting his attention.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The owner asked, "you should ask the barman if you're looking for any of the services."

'Right... better tell 'im part of the truth if I want some answers.' Logan thought. 'Also, was he trying to imply something by 'services'...?'

'Eh nevermind...'

"I'm investigating the murder of one Celine Henry." Logan said, keeping his voice low so that only the owner could hear him.

"Celine? She's..... d-dead?" The owner murmerd

'Jackpot...'

"I have it on good authority that she was around yesterday." Logan bluffed, "anything you can tell me about her?"

"A-aye she was here yesterday.." The owner muttered, looking crestfallen.

'His facial features show a strong hint of disbelief and dejection...' Logan's eyes narrowed. 'Best time for suggestions.'

"You know her... tell me about her." Logan repeated

"Larger than life... that's really the only way to describe her. Used to be in the air force, now retired. Earned quite a few medals against them terrorists, and in Iraq..."

"Oh yeah? Was she with anyone yesterday?"

"Well.. she was on one of her drinkin' feats again... hell, she does that way too often nowadays, 'tall started when she married that annoying husband of her's..." The owner replied. "Anyway, her drinkin attracted all sorts of people, and then she left with some bloke."

"Can you describe the person she left with?"

"Nah... didn't get a good look on 'im, my eyes were.. eh... elsewhere, but I did get a look at the numberplate of the car they left in. Here, I wrote it down." The owner stooped down to get something from one of the drawers before putting a piece of paper on the table.

The piece of paper had a serial number on it: 2B8899. Logan quickly made a note of it.

'Ah yes... another job for Mr. Grant... or should I get Ray Pinker on this...?'

"So uh... Ms. Henry had problems with her husband?" Logan asked as a delaying tactic while he took notes and tried summing the things up inside his head.

"Hell... 'problems' ain't how I'd put it. They'd have fights all the time. Actually I'm damn sure she had one of them black eyes on her yesterday."

"I see..." Logan smirked slightly, before leaning onto the table further, his eyes narrowed somewhat in an intimidating gesture.

"So.... can you tell me why, out of all the regulars in this place, you paid that much attention to her.... to Mrs. Celine Henry."

"Well.. uhm.. uh, she was uh the larger than life kinda woman, y'know?"

"I'm afraid I cannot believe that's all there is to it." Logan stepped back, his hands going into his pockets.

'Man.. you've got a teardrops trickling down from your eyes for a while now.' He thought. 'Why the hell are you hiding things from me?

"This may not end well for you, if you continue hiding things." Logan tilted his head in a slightly disinterested manner.

"Gah... we dated once alright?" The owner replied, "she's even been wearing that ruby ring I gave 'er in place of her engagement ring. Why she had it yesterday too..."

'Ring?' Logan wondered, 'the ring that was missing from the crime scene?'

"You are sure she had the ring yesterday?" Logan asked.

"Yup.. pretty damned sure, the rings kinda hard to miss. I gave it to her after all.... seein her wear it makes me happy."

"Hmm..." Logan noted down all the relevant points before deciding to change the topic.

"What else can you tell me about her husband?" Logan asked.

'So if its not the Black Dahlia, its gotta be either the 'bloke' she left with, or her husband, right?' Logan thought. 'Unless one of them is BD.'

"Just some no-brain mechanic or some such, what's there to tell?"

"You're not helping..."

"Eh.. well... hm, now that you mention it, I did call their landphone number sometime after she left, near midnight, to check if she was home yet, he picked it up and said she wasn't."

'Hm... so the husband was home during the night, Well, I can't really know until I consult the coroner, but I'm pretty sure the murder happened around that time, that gives him an alibi I guess. I mean... it shouldn't be possible to kill her and drive all the way back home in such short interval, not to mention that all the mutilations on her would take some time...'

"Thanks for all the information Mr... uh.."

"Dick McColl." The owner added.

"...Mr. McColl."

"Hm... incidentally," Logan muttered, "can you tell me your shoe size. Mr McColl?"

"Eh? It's 6... size 6.. why?"

"Nevermind that, thanks Mr. McColl, and good luck with the police." Logan said, before turning to leave.

"Huh? You ain't with the cops?"

"I'm just a private eye Mr McColl... from her insurance company, we're expecting some foul play." Logan said, raising his hand slightly to wave a goodbye as he left the back room.

"Geh... I gotta go through this one more time?" Logan could vaguely here the owner from the back room as he left the Bamba Club.

'So... where to next..' Walking amongst the crowd of LA, Logan soon disappeared amongst them.

[PersianVersion]

They were not at the crime scene for long before the media seemed to have gotten wind of the newest murder. It was always a curiosity for Jamie, who continuously wondered how they managed to hear of such events in the first place, but at this moment, it was nothing but a hindrance. How were they expected to focus when the flash of cameras and the questions reporters tried to throw over took up such a large portion of their senses? Thankful for the line of policemen who pushed the growing crowd back, Jamie did her best to remain focused on the corpse in front of her. The subtle clicks of Elliot’s camera had blended in with that of the media, and so she was startled when he moved to study the corpse beside her, not realizing that he had been done. The contents of the purse had been gently bagged and set aside to be sent off to the lab as soon as they could manage. Though Jamie was often thankful for the technology that they had access to, which could identify a suspect by an unfortunate fingerprint or fluid, she doubted it would do much good with the contents of poor Celine’s purse. The wallet was undisturbed, making it clear that robbery hadn’t been a motive. Anything new would come from interrogations, or more likely, the coroner.

Even without the lab, however, the crime scene itself lended a fair share of evidence. There had been the lighter, which had given them a lead to the Bamba Club. The driver’s license found inside her purse had easily identified the victim as 38 year old Celine Henry. Though she was twice the age the infamous Elizabeth Short had been, it was clear by her license picture that she certainly did not look her age. Her face, however, had been too mutilated to tell for sure.

There had been little else of interest in the purse. The lipstick had been bagged quickly, for once it was determined that it had not been the same lipstick used on her body, it had little value as a clue, unless by some luck, the murderer had touched it. What had proved of interest however was the corpse itself. After managing to draw their eyes away from the horrific mutilations, the detectives scanned over the corpse for other clues. Whereas before, most of them would’ve assumed that without the labs help, the corpse could reveal little; this was disproven by Mrs. Henry’s left hand. Jamie picked up the lifeless hand gently, grazing her eyes over the ring finger. There it was, a little paler than the rest of her hand, indicating that something had protected that sliver of skin from tanning. Likely, an engagement ring. Whether it had been removed by Mrs. Henry before the attack or by the attacker was something they had yet to determine.

Finally, the coroner had arrived. Jamie stepped back from the corpse as the van pulled up as close to the crime scene as it could. A couple of men climbed out, expertly preparing the corpse for transportation, though Jamie could not miss the first expression of horror that flashed across their faces at the sight of the corpse. No matter how professional one tried to be, there was a level of horror that could not be ignored, and this time, the werewolf had exceeded it.

The crime scene held nothing else for them, but the trio of detectives already had their next destination prepared. The logo on the lighter had decided that for them.

When they arrived at the small bar, Jamie was the first to climb out. She walked briskly to the door, only to turn around cross her arms as she waited pointedly for the two men to join her before entering. Her quick motions made it clear that she was nervous; interrogations always had a tendency to run on her nerves. Frankly, so did bars.

As they entered the bar, both Jamie and Elliot seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing around and observing the area, Detective Evans hardly seemed interested in the bar itself, instead making a beeline for the bartender.

Noticing him approach, the bartender leaned over the bar, an eyebrow raised at the detective. The bartender seemed surprised to see them there, for while they weren’t in uniform, it was pretty clear that they weren’t there to drink. Detective Evans solidified this opinion without hesitation, his quick introduction throwing any questions out of their path.

“LAPD. Is the owner here?”

The bartender offered no change of expression, nodding as he pointed towards the back. “He should be in there.”

Detective Evans offered a brisk nod before following the directions and making his way towards the back, while Jamie and Elliot followed quickly. As soon as they stepped into the owner’s office, Jamie and Elliot set about making themselves comfortable, while Detective Evans set about introductions once more.

“I’m Detective Evans, from the LAPD Homicide division. This is Detective Grant and Detective Shaw. We’re here to talk to you about the murder of who we assume to be one of your regulars, a Mrs. Celine Henry.”

“Aye, Celine. I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

At this, Jamie frowned. He didn’t seem surprised at all about the circumstances. He certainly seemed upset, for the grief seemed to weigh down on his voice and actions both. He might have been crying recently, but it was difficult to tell. Either way, he was remarkably cooperative.

It was not long before they’d gotten all the information they could out of him, much of which proved to be incredibly interesting. Mr. McColl, as he introduced himself, was surprisingly open, not only about Mrs. Henry’s relationship with her husband, but after a little further prodding, his own personal relations with her. Jamie paid special attention to his words on the ring she was wearing, though Detective Evans seemed more focused on the man she had left with. Taking the license number, he also asked Mr. McColl to scrawl the landline number below it. Soon afterwards, the click of the voice recorder Elliot had pulled out sounded, signaling an end to the interrogation. Mr. McColl was breathing a little deeper, as if they had opened up fresh wounds, though his voice was firm when he spoke up once more as the trio stood up to leave.

“I did not want to go through this again.”

At this, Jamie turned, frowning. “You spoke to someone before us?”

He nodded, glancing up at her. “Some guy from her insurance company came by not long before you did.”

Jamie’s frown deepened, and it was clear that the other two detectives held the same curiosity about this man. “What did he say his name was?”

“He didn’t.”

“Well, what did he look like?”

“Tall, blonde, white suit.” As he stopped at that short description, Jamie chose to drop it, making her way out of the room and out of the bar before she turned to the other two detectives, the frown returning to her face quickly.

“I didn’t know her insurance company had been notified this quickly. Did you?”

Both detectives shook their heads, though Detective Evans remained silent as Elliot spoke up. “I’ll call and check. I’ll also get the license number out to the department, we need it run through as soon as possible.”

“Fair enough.” She responded, the man easily forgotten. “I’ll call the husband while we’re at it, it’d probably be best to get a hold of him next. From what Mr. Mccoll said, he’s certainly not past suspicion.”