"They signed me up with you so that you could keep an eye on my behavior...but I think it's you that needs the babysitting. The fuck's gotten into you?”

“If you have to ask that question you’re more of a shit detective than I thought.” Ashley quipped, having retained his thin veneer of stony composure. He mouthed anxiously at the butt of his cigarette like a testy horse on its bit. “What a waste of my time,” He scoffed. “This case is leading us in circles and all the while people are dying. God forbid I expect some decency from the city’s people to try and stop this reign of evil. Who knew such a beautiful woman could be so ugly.”

He yanked the car door open and stopped, taking a breath to compose himself once more. He seated himself calmly. “I’ve already questioned the girl she spoke of, Emerald. I don’t see the value in doing so again. I’d hate to bring any undue attention to her that might catch the killer’s interest. What do you suggest we do next?” For the first time since the man had joined him outside he looked at Cal, taking his hat off and resting it gently in his lap so that the suns warmth could wash away the pounding between his ears.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a day, pick it up where we left off tomorrow.” He was lying. Even if he did go home he knew his hours would be spent pouring over case files hoping an inebriated mind could catch something his sober one didn’t. Regardless, he doubted he could be much use to the investigation given the state he was in, and wanted to avoid throttling the next person they questioned. Most of all, he just needed mindless sleep.

As the hours passed by with no sign of a foaming at the mouth murderer, Emerald found her fear dissipating and her curiosity swelling. There she sat smack in the middle of an apartment owned by one of the police department’s finest detectives, and she’d wasted so much of the time she could have used for sleuthing.

It wasn’t every day she had a direct tap to free information about an easily manipulated man in an authoritative position— but even as she rummaged about his apartment she found her heart wasn’t truly in it. She was no saint by any means, but the idea of using the man who had been nothing but understanding of her situation left a bad and bitter taste on her tongue. And if she was being completely honest, she had never felt more alone than she felt right now. Was isolating herself by turning her only real connection left into a tool really in her best interest?

It made her sad. A genuine cop was hard to come by these days, and she could tell just by looking at him that the city was eating him alive for it, albeit slowly.

She shook the thoughts out, pulling the blanket she had strewn about her shoulders tighter. A stupid line of thinking. His motivations were purely self serving, that’s all anyone’s were. She had vigilantly taught herself this and cursed herself for forgetting. If it weren’t for her doe eyes and soft skin he would have left her there in the gore. He would have become pathetically blind to her plight, for what even is plight if not belonging to a lovely woman? What was her deformed mother’s plight to the detective who wrote off her assault as an occupational hazard? Emerald clung to her beauty like a child to its mother for it was all she had in this world to keep her head above water and keep air in her lungs. It was all she had to keep herself from disappearing in the muck she surrounded herself with.

She would use him like he no doubt thought of using her. It’s what he deserved. It’s what all men deserved.

She paused, slowly turning with a flick of her hair to examine a reflective glint in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. She gently slid the old thing open, hungry eyes and nosy fingers locking in on the picture frame she found within. A woman’s face smiled back at her, eyes wrinkling at the corners. As she ran her thumb down the woman’s pictured cheek, she looked about the apartment again.

“Detective Gallagher you are my favorite riddle yet.” She declared to the empty space, clutching the picture to her breast thoughtfully.

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

“I’ve already questioned the girl she spoke of, Emerald. I don’t see the value in doing so again. I’d hate to bring any undue attention to her that might catch the killer’s interest. What do you suggest we do next?...I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a day, pick it up where we left off tomorrow.”

Calvin took a long drag from his cigarette and a grimace washed over his face as he stared at the bustling street in front of Danielle Raymonde's apartment.

"Then meet with her somewhere. Discreetly. Short of opening a can of worms with the lovely lady we just tangled with, we don't have many options. This case might run cold if we can't get anything out of this 'Emerald'." The man spoke in half-truth; he truly had not a clue where to continue with his inquiry until another murder came knocking. Cal hated to consider this fact, but the more bodies that piled up, the larger of sample size the detectives would be able to study. Only then could they truly be able to distinguish patterns in the almost immaculate performance the florist had put on thus far.

"I'll tell you now, Ash...It might take a few more murders for us to truly begin to see patterns, and by then, this shindig might get passed down to homicide. Their imaginations are weak. Whoever it is won't be caught."

Cal dropped his cigarette onto the concrete and smothered it to death with his wing-tipped shoe. "Part of me hopes he never kills another soul and this case goes cold. I don't particularly desire to be laying on the coroner's table." He chuckled. "Anyway, see what you can find. Press or use some serious charm if you've gotta. But if you don't want this case to come up cold--and it really looks like it's headed that way--you've got to come up with something."

At that, Cal turned and peered back up at the building. "While you're at the Carousel, I'm going to tail Miss Raymonde. I have a feeling that this has little to do with her, but whoever she runs to with this information is likely connected to all of this." He reached for a dollar bill from his pocket and neatly placed it in Ashley's jacket pocket. "Cab-fare. I'll see you back at the precinct."

The cab ride home was a thoughtful one for Ashley. His temper had simmered, then deflated, and he was left tired and out of ideas. The truth was, he had incredible contempt for the rich and famous and their lifestyles. Sure, it had clouded his judgement while speaking with the wretched starlet, but he felt more at peace having given her a piece of his mind. People like that never had to crawl in the mud and filth they created beneath them, it disgusted him.

He fumbled for his keys in his coat pocket briefly before jiggling them in the archaic, temperamental lock. As the door swung open he was met with the unwavering barrel of a revolver pointed in his direction. Ashley’s hands flew up in surrender and he stilled, a still smoking cigarette dangling loosely between his lips. “Jesus H. Christ, Emerald, it’s just me.”

The woman in question slowly lowered her weapon before setting it on the coffee table with an abrupt clatter. “Never know when a murderer is slinking his way in on a lady, nowadays.” She replied coolly.

Ashley snatched up the gun, eyeing it over. “How’d you even fuckin’ find this thing, anyway? You've been going through my stuff?”

“Yes.” She perched herself prettily on the arm of his dusty old armchair, her expression alight with a glint of amused challenge. Ashley willed away the soft smirk that threatened to curve at the corner of his lips to no avail.

He had been alone for a long time. The novelty of coming home to someone, albeit a complete stranger,was not lost on him. He felt a warm sort of chord strike within him, the cobwebs that had smothered it clearing just a tad. She cleared her throat and folded her arms. “Since I was stuck here in your tiny apartment all day, I had nothing better to do than some cleaning. You truly lead the life of a bachelor, don’t you? This place was and still quite possibly is the filthiest place I have ever seen.”

Ashley took a slow hit from his cigarette, letting the brief headrush pass before responding. “You see a lot of single men’s apartments, do you?”

“Oh hush, you scoundrel.” She smirked. “I’ll have you know I am a -saint-.”

Almost abruptly her expression cooled and turned to something more vulnerable. Her tone was an attempt at nonchalance. “Find anything new about the case?”

With a heavy sigh Ashley dropped himself down on the armchair. She smelled sweet. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Some starlet knows something, but she’s not talking. Cal’s tailing her.” He paused, opening his eyes to observe her.

Emerald had her back to him, but he could see the tension in her posture.”Do you have a particular admirer that frequents your club?”

She finally turned to half-eye him warily, though her tone was teasing. “Why, are you jealous?”

“Clearly, I have no other very prevalent reason to ask you such a question.” He retorted.

“I see lots of men come and go, and they would all be fools to not be entranced by me when I am on stage. Of course I have admirers. To expect me to recognize or name one would be ridiculous.”

A knot of frustration plopped heavy into his chest. He was so damn tired of coy responses and dismissive jokes. Before he could stop himself he was on his feet towering over her. “Damn it, woman! Drop the act. I am trying to -protect- you believe it or not and you’re making that a damn hard thing to do!”

She stood up, getting in his face and meeting him head on with a bout of her own fury. “Never talk to me like that again, Ashley Gallagher, if you value your precious information. I swear I’ll kill you myself, get the killer’s job done for him.”

They stood there for a moment, face to face, will to will before Ashley deflated and softened his posture. “My apologies, Emerald. It has been a long day.”

While a flicker of annoyance remained in her expression, she backed down as well. “Perhaps I know who you are speaking of. I suppose I was just… in denial about the possibility of being in danger.”

“Let’s start from the beginning, then.” He said wearily, but relieved. At least for now it seemed she was being honest with him. “I’ll put on some coffee while you collect your thoughts.”

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

Cal took a seat on a wooden bench in front of the marvelous stone building and watched Detective Gallagher's taxi disappear down the busy street. He plopped another cigarette into his mouth and lit the end. He wasn't going to tail Miss Raymonde. No--he was giving her a final chance to run after him, unless, as he suspected, she was through with him.

As the next hour gradually evaporated in what felt like a span of years, Cal received his answer. Sunset engulfed the outlines of Manhattan's behemoth skyscrapers. He was on his own again. He couldn't return home to Ossining. He'd gotten close enough to the case that it was within the realm of possibility that this sadistic fuck could find his way to Evelyn. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose," Cal mumbled as he stood from the bench and brushed the dust off his coat.

Club Carousel

The lights adorning Club Carousel had turned back on. Cal grimaced. For a day, the lights of the club had shut off out of some vague respect for due police process, and perhaps the brutal deaths within, although the latter was unlikely. He peered inside the window. Business had resumed as usual. He opened the glass doors and stepped inside.

The hostess, an eager but articulate young woman, smiled in Cal's direction. "Are you alone?"

Calvin shot a strange glance toward the red haired--he didn't have the patience to deduce whether it was artificial or not--woman before slowly nodding. "Yes, yes."

The hostess gave a knowing smile. She had clearly worn this pitying face many times before, and would many more times before closing time. Calvin Lovegrove had become one with the hopeless and desperate wave of married men who wandered into this shiny hellscape. She beckoned for Cal to follow her and let him to a single table against the window, a glass canvas of the whirlwind of lights found outside. He took off his coat and dropped into his chair. "Thank you."

The hostess folded her arms and adopted a warm smile. "Is there anything I do for you?"

Calvin furrowed his brow again and snapped out of it. He felt hopelessly on-edge, as if he was a stylish gazelle that had wandered straight into the savanna. "Uh....yeah...I'll take a rum and coke. If you can help it, please don't let me see the bottom of the glass."

The hostess pursed her lips and raised her eyebrow, her visible pity becoming borderline insufferable. "Sure. I'll get that right out for you." As she walked away, Cal gently grasped the sleeve of her outfit and cleared his throat.

"Will...uh...'Emerald'...be performing this evening?"

The hostess grimaced and shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Why? Isn't she the 'belle of the ball', so-to-speak?" asked Cal.

"She's taking a small bit of vacation. Rest-assured, you will be able to enjoy the sights in no time."

Calvin shrugged. "All right. Thank you." He dipped his hat over his eyes and sagged into his chair as the hostess walked away. He surveyed the crowded room, trying to make some bit of sense out of the infinite-combination lock that was the Carousel. It was no use. He hadn't even a thread to hang on. He simply rotted in his chair, waiting for the hostess to return with his medicine.

“Let’s start from the beginning, then.” He said wearily, but relieved. At least for now it seemed she was being honest with him. “I’ll put on some coffee while you collect your thoughts.”

The silence that filled Ashley’s apartment was broken solely by the quick staccato of Emerald’s tapping heel and the hissing of the coffee pot that Ashley dutifully attended to, keeping his back to Emerald. She figured it was his way of relieving the pressure of the situation as she recounted her tale of the mysterious silhouette that had been haunting her for the past couple of weeks.
Admirers were not uncommon, especially with her status as ‘belle of the ball’ so it were. As the clubs dubbed leading lady, she found nothing suspicious about a repeat customer there to see her and only her-- she appreciated it even, and yet…

Something had struck her as odd about the man. He never helped himself to the other services of the club. There was never a drink in his hand nor a seat beneath him. He occupied only the smallest corner of the club, as if he were afraid to take up space. The only times he would make his way into the shining lights was when she was on stage. He’d stand, enamored below her, watching with hooded eyes and a pensive expression.

As soon as her performance ended, he would be gone.

She never spoke to the club about it, figured there was no reason to. If he had malintentions then why act so suspicious? If anything they would have chastised her for potentially scaring off a repeat customer. No… not worth it. She figured she might as well enjoy the attention, however peculiar its form.

In a display of attention that Emerald had never felt so deeply, Ashley listened intently as she spoke of the man, a thoughtful furrow in his brow as he considered. It was one thing to be watched on stage and seen. It was quite another to be actually heard by someone. It was intoxicating. She fancied she would have spoken all night were it appropriate, about anything, if it meant getting to be truly heard just a little longer. Sadly her tale came to an end. She watched him, watched the features of his face tense and relax as the gears of his little detective mind clicked and turned behind that pair of brown eyes.

“Now I can’t say that sounds all too strange or suspicious, but you say it felt strange?”

She nodded gently.

“That’s enough for me, doll. You think he’d be at the club now?”
“I’m not too sure, what interest in the club is there if it’s shining star is absent?” She batted her eyelashes pointedly. “I’d be surprised if it was even drawing half the attention it was before.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, a body is a body.” Even so, she felt his appreciative gaze as she stood, as if he in that moment realized the lie in his words. After her soft scoff and a beat of silence he spoke once more. “That settles it, we’ll go to the club tonight. You’ll be my guest, it wouldn’t be safe for you to perform, too much attention.”

“Oh? What a foolish plan, I would expect better from you, detective. Would it not be horribly suspicious for a dancer to show up on the arm of a detective? Particularly if he is looking for me? And what would the club think?”

“The club will think you’ve brought protection. If he’s there, I want to see his reaction when he sees you offstage.”

“Oh detective,” She bemoaned, “I have not a thing to wear! It wouldn’t do for me to be seen as a guest in my own club in this little old thing.” She gestured to her casualwear, wrinkled from time and movement. In truth she was looking for excuses not to leave her newfound safe haven. She wasn’t sure what being back at the club would feel like, and she couldn’t have anyone, especially not the detective, witnessing her losing her cool.

“Not a thing to wear-- for God’s sake woman.” He gestured exasperatedly at her before disappearing in his bedroom.




“Not a thing to wear…” Ashley mumbled angrily under his breath. Women. What did it matter what she was wearing? If her life was a stake, would it not be all the better to blend in? Regardless, he had thrown open the doors of his dusty old dresser before he even considered what he was doing. He paused, huffing a sigh before shuffling to the very back. A dull ache struck in his chest as his eyes fell upon the soft purple chiffon. How fitting. He pulled the dress out with much more grace and ceremony than he did anything in his life these days, running a calloused hand over the deep plum colored fabric. He could almost see it on her, see her eyes light up as she spun in the mirror all those years ago.

“Oh Ashley, it’s marvelous isn’t it?”

“Yes, I daresay she is.”

“You clown of a husband! Get over here and give me a kiss to match.”

He sighed. Such a beautiful thing should not be doomed to a lifetime in the back of the closet.

Emerald’s eyes widened when she spotted it in his arms, red lips parted in a soft ‘o’. The surprise quickly turned to an inquisitive expression that burned holes into his forehead as he refused to meet her eyes. How odd it must be, that a bachelor such as himself is in possession of such a thing.

Thankfully, no questions were asked. She slowly took it from him as if it were the most delicate piece of china, holding it up to her frame. “This should fit, give me just a moment. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have more where this came from, hm? It would be a crime to not accessorize such a piece.”

“Don’t push your luck with me, woman. Try it on.”

“How defensive of you, detective. I suppose I’ll just have to make do with what I have.” Her tone was distracted as she admired the dress in her hands and disappeared into his room. She emerged moments later. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

“Oh detective, it’s absolutely marvelous. What’s a man lacking taste such as yourself doing with such a lovely thing hidden away, hm?”

In an effort to change the subject he met her gaze once more. Lovely was the word for it, for her, and that, he decided, was all he’d think or say on the matter. “It suits you.”

“A compliment? From you? Perish the thought.”

“Are you quite done? I’d like to make it to the club before it closes.”

She stepped towards him, and he flinched as she looped her arm around his. Damn it, Ashley. “Lead the way, detective.”



Despite the tragedies that had happened within, the club was lit up and boisterous as ever. Emerald seemed stiff and uncharacteristically quiet, though Ashley wasn’t sure he could blame her for that. The hostess had been absolutely delighted to see Emerald, and that seemed to cheer the Emerald up a tad, a genuine smile gracing her features for what Ashley assumed was a friend. The redheaded woman insisted on them having the best seats in the house, and Emerald complied before Ashley could say a word. He shook his head but remained quiet, a hand at the small of her back as if to guide her through the club.

Interesting. Dressed like this, he realized he almost forgot that this was her element. He reminded himself of her origins, of her class… or lack thereof, and it helped cut through the mist that had clouded his mind since she had emerged in the dress.

She was a client, and a dancer, and he was here to catch a perp, nothing more.

Calvin Lovegrove

Club Carousel

Calvin watched silently from the window as his “partner” followed Emerald, whose name was slightly misleading in this moment, as she more heavily resembled a sparkling amethyst.

He let loose a deep sign and a giant plume of smoke escaped his lips. “Ah…so this is your idea of ‘discreet’.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sloppy.”

There was not a chance in hell that Detective Gallagher would be able to deduce Calvin’s features, as the wash of neon light around the window rendered him a pitch-black silhouette in the corner. This was his chance to observe just how close Ashley was to this case.

It was not long before the red-haired hostess returned with Cal’s rum and coke, which in this moment could have been seen as a water pump in the middle of the desert for him. He grabbed the drink and took a light sip. “Perfect. Thank you.”

The hostess gave him a half-smile. “I asked them to make it extra special.”

Cal rolled his eyes. That’s what she tells all of the desperate sods. How fucking special can a rum and coke be, exactly? “Wasn’t that sweet of you.”

She folded her arms. “Somebody hurt you?”

Cal chuckled. “Good guess.”

“Would you like some help with that?”

After smothering the poor woman’s face with smoke and inducing a light cough, Cal jammed his cigarette into the ashtray next to him. The proposition came a bit as a surprise. He eyed her up and down and furrowed his brow before glancing at Ashley and Emerald. It embarrassed him how close he was to giving up on his work for the night and indulging in this woman.

“Maybe later.”

The hostess smirked. “I am easy to find.”

Cal exhaled a hint of a laugh through his nostrils and slowly nodded, though his eyes were now fixated on the jaded detective and fallen angel near the front.

He carefully watched the way Ashley looked at Emerald. It was as if he had no faith in Detective Gallagher at all and was waiting for his cool exterior to crack at any moment.

Emerald would be lying if she said being at the club again didn’t elicit some sort of discomfort. She felt eyes on her, lots of them, like flies on a carcass, and she couldn’t tell if they were real or her imagination. She kept her own focused straight ahead, a tunnel vision to her seat, and then towards the colorful stage. What an odd sensation it was to be on the other side, on the other perspective, looking up onto the stage as opposed to looking out at the enraptured masses that filled the club.

The dancer currently up there was one she barely knew. A new girl, perhaps. Poor soul. Once you stepped into this life, you hardly ever had the chance to step back out. Ashley was quiet beside her, barely sparing her a glance as he scoured the club with his eyes, stroking his scruffed chin thoughtfully.

“Oh, detective.” She cooed flirtatiously, “You’ll scare off any and all suspects with that hard police glare of yours, you should really relax. Pretend you’re here on pleasure, not business.” Hypocritical, she knew. She reached up and took his hat off, setting it on the table. “You look like a real square.” The action granted her some attention as he redirected his gaze to her face, seeming to study her expression. His face softened a little and he reached out to stroke her cheek.

“You mean put on an act? Like you?” His expression deadpanned again and he dropped his hand. “That was never my specialty.”

“Clearly.” She soured. “Perhaps you’re just disappointed it isn’t me up on that stage.”

He spared a brief and disinterested glance towards the girl on stage. “Might as well be, now could you quiet yourself? I’m trying to focus.”

Ouch. Emerald would not let some moody, grizzled cop define her worth as so little. The audacity was unbelievable. After slapping his hat back on his head with a scoff she stood, composing herself. “Suit yourself, I’m going for a drink.” With a huff and a swish of chiffon she spun around and stalked towards the bar. She cursed herself for being so childish, and playing such a child’s game. Perhaps she was just frustrated that she seemed to have no control over the detective at this moment. She hated that. If she was playing a game, she wanted to be in control of all of the players. Any uncertainties rendered it impossible for her to endure.

Or maybe she was simply confused. This was not how Ashley was supposed to respond to her, not how he usually responded to her. Was his eye so fickle? Had she lost his attention so quickly?

Emerald was suddenly aware of how alone she was at the bar, how she could not see the detective through the crowd, how he could not see her. Foolish. She almost forgot a murderer was on the loose and a grave sat empty with her name engraved in the stone above it. She folded her hands uncomfortably on the bar. Mickey, the bartender, appeared in front of her as if by magic or good fortune. “Ah Emerald.” His smile was a friendly one. “I’m glad to see you back, even if it’s not on the stage. Can I get you your usual? On the house.”

“You’re an angel, Mickey. I owe you a kiss for your kindness, I do.” She batted her eyelashes at him and he preened, leaning forward and presenting his cheek. She pressed a quick, crimson painted kiss to his cheek.

“Aw shucks, anything for the leading lady. You pay my bills you know, with all the rich fools you bring in these doors.” He gave her a little mock salute before moving further down the bar to tend to the other patrons.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her heart stopped, then began again with a quick and anxious rhythm that she felt in her fingertips and toes. She swallowed before turning around and eyeing the man that had settled himself next to her without her knowing. She recognized him, recognized the sad cow eyes that now observed her with urgency. It was the man she had spoken of, her silent watcher.

“Why pray tell not? This is my club.” Emerald fought to keep the tremble out of her tone, keeping her eyes on the man instead of letting them flick to her table, wondering if Ashley could even see the exchange.

“It isn’t safe, you’re not safe. If he were smart, he’d be here, if he were here, he’d kill you the moment he caught you alone.”

“Who?”

He shook his head frantically, reaching for the bodice of her dress. “You need to leave. He can’t take you, not you.” She tried to step away but his grasp was a tight one. His expression turned angry. “How could you be so foolish, coming here? I know you. I know you’re smarter than this!”

Emerald’s heart was in her throat as she spoke. “Let me go, you ghoul! It would cost you near a fortune and then some for you to put your disgusting fingers on me, how disrespectful that you think you can do so for free.”

The commotion drew the attention of Mickey who had come back around with her drink. “Hey! Are you giving the lady here some trouble? Don’t make me come around the bar, mister. You won’t like what happens then.”

It was then that she noticed Mickey’s gaze was not the only one she and the man had attracted. Many of the patrons had stopped their indulgences and now looked on with curiosity. This was not good, attention was not good. This was not how this was supposed to go. Finally she sent a frantic glance in the direction of her table, hoping to find Ashley there. To her horror the table was vacated and Ashley was nowhere in sight. Had he truly left her here to the wolves? Bait to draw in the killer while he watched from safety?

Calvin Lovegrove

Club Carousel

Cal lit another cigarette and watched silently as commotion sprung out from the barside.

““Hey! Are you giving the lady here some trouble? Don’t make me come around the bar, mister. You won’t like what happens then.”

Detective Lovegrove rolled his eyes. Any chance Emerald had of reeling in the Florist was over. The bleeding-heart creep before them could never have been the killer. Whomever was out there, lurking in the shadows, was far too careful to let a spectacle like this take place.

He muttered under his breath. “Where the fuck is Gallagher?” The nauseatingly over-earnest detective was nowhere to be found. He sighed and stood up from his seat. It would not do for this mess to continue. He stood up from his chair and shoved his way through the crowd. He lowered the brim of his hat so-to keep his identity relatively vague as he approached the bar.

Calvin instantly grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him to the door, much to the shock of the rest of the onlookers.

Before long, the pair were outside, where a steady drizzle of rain had begun. He tossed the man against the brick wall lining the alleyway and spit out his cigarette. While there was very little for Calvin to go on in order to peg this particular individual as the mystery man described by Danielle, he had decided to indulge anyway. “…What in the fuck are you doing, hovering around the scene of a crime?!”

Cal relinquished his grip on the man’s collar, allowing him to fall to the ground as he turned around and folded his arms. “I know for a fact that you aren’t the man I’m looking for, but I want you to tell me everything you know. Or…” Calvin pushed aside his jacket, which revealed the bejeweled handle of his pistol. It was a method far more intimidating than his badge. He had spent enough time in the jungle to know that his police moniker was next to useless. Ironically, it made him an extremely effective Ad Vice cop.

“So what say you?”

“So what say you?”

The man stammered, clammy hands rubbing insistently at his sides. He eyed the pistol with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Come on now, officer. I-I-I didn’t do nothin’, I swear it.” He moved restlessly foot to foot. “You’re wasting time! You’re wasting her time! You should be in there, protecting her, why aren’t you in there, protecting her?!” He swore, running his hands through his sparse hairline. “I didn’t want to be a part of this, I didn’t want anything to do with this, officer, you hear me? It’s not my fault. It was an accident, I had to protect her!”

He sucked in a shaky breath. “I-I-I I’ll tell you what I know, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for her. I uh… I uh… I guess I was following the lady, ‘escorting’ her back home, you could say. Makin’ sure she made it home safe, okay? But she didn’t go home, not to the home I know her to go to, yeah? She gets in the car with this cop, at the end of the day, she ends up back at his apartment. She… she… she.. Ah fuck.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m no creep, okay, officer? I’m no creep. Just a man in love, alright? Once I got the money, I’m gonna get her out of this life.” He eyed Cal’s piece again, and stuttered back into his story. “But uh…. Uh… I wasn’t the only one watchin’, you see. I was … I was watchin’ the window, I see her in the window,” He gestures emphatically with his hands as he speaks, “I look down, and there’s a man, he’s got a stark white coat on, yeah? A trench coat. He’s lookin’ up at her too. Couldn’t see his face, but I know he was watchin’ her, all intense-like. Was there for a -long- time too. ‘Till the detective came to the window to close it, when I looked back down the guy was gone! I knew. That’s when I knew she was next!”

Calvin Lovegrove

Outside Club Carousel

"But she didn’t go home, not to the home I know her to go to, yeah? She gets in the car with this cop, at the end of the day, she ends up back at his apartment. She… she… she.. Ah fuck.”

Calvin took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “…of course she did.” He concealed his pistol underneath his suit jacket and lit another cigarette. “Thank you. Very helpful. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

The creep seemed bewildered that Detective Lovegrove was letting him go. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you! You won’t regret this.”

Calvin let loose a slight chuckle under his breath. This sorry son-of-a-bitch was truly convinced that he was about to be shot. “If I see you anywhere near this case again, you will not be thanking me. Go.”

With that, the creep disappeared down the murky alleyway and Lovegrove was alone again. He considered waiting for Ash, but evidently, that man was busy playing his own game. Calvin tossed his cigarette into a puddle of water that had formed in a dip in the shitty asphalt lining the perimeter of Club Carousel. He needed a breather.

Ossining General Hospital

[color=9e0039]


“The most exciting case of your life and—” Evelyn coughed. “—you still find time to see little old me.”

“I suspect it will not be long before they defer this thing to a different desk. Gallagher and I aren’t a coherent enough unit to do any half-decent investigation.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” said Evelyn weakly as she outstretched her hand for Calvin to hold it.

Cal smiled and held his wife’s hand, which was now feebly clinging onto his. “Don’t be. I don’t like this case. It’s a fucking mess, and we’re no closer to catching him than when we started.”

“I doubt it is your fault, darling.”

“It is, and it’s also Gallagher’s. I don’t like his white-knight style of police work, and with the death of his partner, he’s so close to this case that I’m appalled the NYPD let him anywhere near it.” Calvin neglected to mention the picture of the affair the creep had painted him. It was almost as if he respected Detective Gallagher’s privacy, though he was far from trusting him.

Evelyn smiled. “Give him a chance. For me. I want you to have friends when I am gone.”

“Don’t talk like that, my love.”

“You’re kidding yourself, Cal.” Evelyn let loose a violent cough that chilled Calvin to his bones. “I don’t have much longer, and I want you to make peace with it.” She chuckled. “You’ve never been any good at making friends – perhaps now is the time to start.”

Calvin sighed. “For you, I’ll refrain from demanding that he is taken off this case. That’s all I have in me at the moment.”

Evelyn nodded. “That’s a start.” She coughed again. “You’re a sweetheart underneath. You simply have to let it show.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“How many big-time fancy detectives take the time out of their day to send a fellow officer to visit their wife to check in on her? Not many, I’ll say,” said Evelyn, grinning ear-to-ear.

“What?” Calvin’s expression immediately became stern and inquisitive.

“Oh…what was his name... Johnny, I think? A swell gentleman from your precinct said you’d sent him to check on me. He was a lovely man. Asked me about how you were holding up.”

A shiver ran down Calvin’s spine. He froze, and for a moment, said absolutely nothing. “Darling…what did he look like?”

“Handsome. Come to think of it, he looked quite a bit like you. I thought it -was- you when he walked in. Got me these, as well.” Evelyn pointed at a vase on the table adjacent to her hospital bed.

Calvin turned toward the bedside table and his heart stopped. Sitting neatly next to his wife was a vase of white roses.

“Why? Is something the matter? You sent him, didn’t you?”

Calvin fought sternly against his breathing pattern, one that had become erratic and shaky. “Yes,” he lied. “I’ve just been so caught up in work that I had forgotten.” He forced a smile. “I’m going to go to the restroom.” With that, he bolted toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Shaking almost violently, Calvin turned on the sink and splashed water onto his face. He slapped his cheeks and desperately fought the pervasive fear that rattled in his bones. He couldn’t reveal to Evelyn what she had just unwittingly witnessed. She was barely clinging to life, and involving her in a case as ugly as this one was the worst thing he could possibly do to her in the final moments of her life.

Central Police Station

Calvin swung open the front door to the precinct, his cigarette quivering along with his lips.

It had to have been midnight by this point. Most of the lights had been turned off. All except one. The desk in front of his office, where one Charlotte Petersen dutifully sifted through Detective Lovegrove’s correspondence, was dimly lit by a single lamp.

Calvin made a beeline toward his secretary. “Get the Florist case file out. Now. And bring it into my office.” He walked by Charlotte’s desk without saying another word and slammed the door to his office behind him.

After a minute, presumably spent by Charlotte to prepare for the temper of Detective Lovegrove, Miss Petersen opened the door, a large file in hand.

“I want you to transcribe a statement.”

Charlotte sat on the opposite side of the desk from the detective, whose face was buried in his hands. “Are you all right?”

“Not important. I need you to take a statement.”

“Okay.” Charlotte retrieved a blank form and prepared her pen.

“The suspect is Caucasian, brown-hair, early thirties, roughly six-foot-four.” As he described himself, he wanted to vomit.

“How—”

“Don’t ask me how I know, Charlotte, just fucking write it down.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” said Charlotte. She shivered as she transcribed what Detective Lovegrove was barking at her. “What else?”

“That is all. You can go home now.”

Charlotte seemed to understand that it was best for her not to pry. She consolidated the contents of the file and stood. “Good night, Detective Lovegrove.”

“Good night. Oh, and when you come in tomorrow, please look into finding me an apartment. Somewhere within a five-block radius of Club Carousel.”

Charlotte knew better than to ask why. “Okay.” She gave a half-smile and gently closed the door behind her.

Calvin jammed his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and kicked up his feet. He was going to sleep here. He couldn’t go back to Ossining. In fact, he has skeptical that anywhere was truly safe. He had never mentioned his wife’s condition to anyone, yet the killer had paid her a visit.

For a moment, it puzzled Cal that his wife was still alive, but the ordeal began to make sense. The Florist was sending a message, one that became abundantly clear. No one within a mile of this case was safe.

“Suit yourself, I’m going for a drink.”

With a huff swish of amethyst tulle, Ashley’s headache dissipated ever so slightly. He lit a cigarette and pinched the bridge of his nose. Pull yourself together, you fool. But it wasn’t that simple. His thoughts were thick and fuzzy, like swimming through honey. The sharpness and wit he relied on normally was failing him spectacularly. This fucking case.

The music flared briefly and drew his eyes to the stage. The jazzy little number the girl was performing did nothing to hide the painful youth of her features. So young, but a prey to the city, as they often were. A shame, there was so much beauty to New York City, if only its shadows weren’t so goddamn oppressive. He cast his gaze out at the crowd, realizing he should be looking for anything out of the ordinary. Though, he figured he’d be hard pressed to find anything ordinary at all about the patrons of a club such as this. One figure in particular caught his eye, and he felt himself stiffen.

A shimmer of rainy grey eyes met his, then looked away. So brief, but he would know them anywhere. Impossible. Before he even realized he was moving he was on his feet, shouldering his way closer to the edge of the club, craning his neck to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, there she was, not a radiant beauty, just a comfortable one, with honey-brown hair and an easy smile. Someone whispered, “Mary.” And a few beats later he realized it must have been him, as he felt the name sweeten his lips.

Something solid slammed into him and he scrambled, gripping the shoulder of the man who he had just collided with. “Hey! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, you maniac.”

Ashley ignored him, frantically searching the back wall once more, but she’d disappeared. No. She had to be here, she was right there. With a newfound sense of urgency he weaved his way through the tables, eyes darting back and forth. She was here, he had to find her. Movement caught his eye. She had her back to him, but it didn’t matter, it had to be her. Somewhere deep down something was screaming at him, begging him to wake up, but it was muffled, suffocated by the clouding of his own damn mind.

He reached out, clumsily grasping at her pale shoulder. “Mary.” She jumped out of her seat, and whirled to face him, and reality hit him like a freight train. The face that stared back at him was a stranger’s, and a horrified one at that.

“Let go of me, you lecherous creep!”

He stumbled backwards, unable to find the words even to comfort this poor girl he had practically accosted.

“Hey pal, what’s the bright idea?” Ashley barely registered the man who had come to her defense, and he shook his head, couldn’t stop shaking his head in fact. He turned, stumbling for a door, any door. Mary.




Emerald wished she could say she was surprised as the man was dragged off by a shady stranger, but with the way this night was going…

She was simply thankful the attention had been directed somewhere else, away from herself. She took a moment, sitting down properly at the bar and fixing her hair. She was in control.

“You alright, Em?” Mickey offered her a genuine smile, albeit a tad uneasy as well. She waved him off.

“Just some desperate freak, takes more than that to ruffle my feathers.” And yet… her heart flip-flopped as she realized she was now completely on her own, and a sitting duck. She squirmed uncomfortably on her seat, the drink in front of her lacking it’s usual appeal.

“You ever going to let me take you away from all this?” It was a joke, one he had told many times, but she could feel the yearning truth behind it all the same.

Even so, “Wouldn’t dream of it, I love this life.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, and she swallowed it with a tiny grimace.




Jacob’s walk home was cold, and wet. Rain sneaking it’s way down the collar of his shirt. He felt defeated, frightened, and most of all humiliated. He had hoped the first time he spoke to Emerald it would have all gone so differently, so much better. But he had ruined everything.

He never had a way with words, never knew how to talk to girls. In school they had laughed at him, taunted him, and he’d become accustomed to the idea that love was not a luxury he was allowed.

The first time he had seen Emerald on stage, the urge to rebel against the cruelty of that notion had consumed him, and in that moment he had loved her with his entire heart and soul.

But yet again, his stupid words had granted him the same look he had always gotten, disgust, fear, horror. All he wanted was for her to be safe. Even if it was in the arms of someone else.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so deep in his thoughts, he might have seen the man in the white trench-coat, matching each path he took, just a few paces behind him. Perhaps he would have heard the wing-toed footsteps or the soft breath. By the time he did, it was too late, and in his final moments of consciousness, he wondered how the world could possibly be so cruel

Danielle

234 Maiden Lane

The Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Dani shivered as the wind pierced her peacoat. She sat alone in the courtyard of a high-rise apartment that was quite beautiful to behold, though it paled in comparison to hers. She shakily opened her purse and retrieved her gold-plated lipstick. She needed to look immaculate. She was meeting someone tonight and could not make any mistakes.

“There she is,” remarked a voice from the shadows.

“You made sit in the cold for thirty minutes when I could be warm in your apartment,” muttered Danielle as she began applying the deep red to her lips.

“And what, meet my wife? Don’t make me laugh, Dani,” said the man, who was now visible in the moonlight.

Danielle huffed and folded her arms but did nothing.

“If you don’t like how I play, you can find yourself another agent,” said the rather ordinary looking man. “…though you know what He will do if you break the rules.”

“What do you want?”

“Relax, my dear. I am not here to tell you that this is your last night on Earth. But I am here to warn you.” The man took a seat on the gilded steel chair across the outdoor table from Dani.

“I get to live another day looking over my shoulder at every turn. What more could I be thankful for?” retorted Danielle.

“You are going to behave, and you are going to treat Him with respect,” said the agent.

Danielle repeated herself. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what you told the two NYPD detectives that paid you a visit.” The agent lit his cigarette and cast a puff of smoke into Dani’s face. “And I want your word that you will never again be stupid enough to use your real name on a ledger in His hunting ground.”

“Word travels fast in Manhattan.”

“It does when you’ve bought the souls of half the NYPD.”

“Yet, for all of your money, your people couldn’t afford Calvin Lovegrove,” said Dani with a smirk now residing on her face.

“Lovegrove… What a joke. If He wasn’t having so much with him, he’d be dead already.”

“...Yet he isn’t.”

The embers of anger began to stir behind the agent’s eyes. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. I gave them a dead lead. It will take them weeks to realize that it is a dud.”

“Good. It is fortunate that you made this choice. He was not happy to hear that you were named a person of interest in this case. Another mistake and it will be your last.”

A shiver ran up Danielle’s spine. She’d used up all the goodwill she’d earned with Him, and now she would spend her days obsessing over every tiny detail as if it could be the one that kills her. “Okay.”

“Do these detectives seem competent? Do we have something to worry about?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Explain.”

“Detective Lovegrove is the only cop in the NYPD with the imagination to catch him.” Danielle gestured vaguely at everything around her. “He’s the only one who knows how all of this works.”

“But?”

“But…like I said, he knows how to play the game. Once he learns the truth—the entire truth—he won’t want to make an arrest.”

The agent chuckled under his breath and took another drag from his cigarette. “Sweetie, even -you- don’t know the entire truth.”

“No. But I know enough.”

“What about the other?”

“Detective Gallagher?” Danielle laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“He’s a stubborn cow of a man. Incorruptible. He'll see it through. Lovegrove may fall into line upon discovering the truth, but Gallagher?” She shook her head. “If they find a way to work together—and that prospect is looking bleak—it will be the closest thing He has to a real adversary.”

“What do you suggest?”

“It’s simple. If you want insurance, kill Gallagher,” said Danielle.

“That simple?”

“Yes. Then He can have all the fun he wants. Calvin may crack the case, but when he truly understands, he will slither back into his hole, and you will have nothing to worry about.”

“You know about his wife, right?”

“I do. How do you?”

“He sent an actor to Ossining General Hospital to pay the detective’s wife a visit. I am sure that wherever Lovegrove is, his mind is not having the best possible time.”

It worried Danielle to hear this. She had used every possible bluff to deflect His interest in removing Calvin Lovegrove, yet what she was hearing was even worse. Evelyn was no adversary of hers. Cal’s wife was the only bit of humanity that he had left, and it wasn’t long for this world. “If you knew enough to pay her a visit, then you know that she is sick. Leave her alone.”

The agent laughed. “Noted, and respectfully declined.”

Furious tears began to well up in Danielle’s eyes. “Fine.”

“We’ll be in touch, my dear. After all, you need a new movie to occupy your time. This work drought has given you too much time to think.” With that, the agent disappeared into the high-rise to his family, one that was blissfully unaware of what was being built here.

The club’s doors slammed shut behind Emerald and she hunched her shoulders, her mink shrug doing nothing to ward off the night’s chill, and the delicate fabric of Ashley’s dress doing even less. Goosebumps prickled at the surface of her skin. She sighed, her fingers trembling as she brought a cigarette to her red lips, cupping a hand around its end as she sparked it up. Stupid plan, stupid night, and a very stupid, stupid detective. She rolled her eyes, groaning audibly and tilting her head back in frustration, searching the night sky for an explanation for her downright foolish behavior. It stared silently back at her, answerless.

Every time she’d bothered to trust someone besides herself, they had let her down. Of course this time had been no different. Now she had nowhere to stay, no way to get out of this part of town. A big, fat ‘murder me’ sign sat above her head in heady neon. She felt her shaking subside as a drag from her cigarette floated sweetly through her.

Emerald squared her shoulders and set down the sidewalk, determined to at least make it a couple blocks before her inevitable end.

It was by chance that she spared a glance into the alleyway parallel to the club, and caught the figure, hunched over himself, breathing so heavy she could see the erratic rise and fall of his shoulders. Perhaps it was also by chance that she recognized the jacket slung over said shoulders. “Detective?!”

The figure didn’t move, and she approached, leaning over and gingerly reaching out to place her hands on either shoulder. “Detective.” She spoke sternly, with more purpose, willing him to answer her. He didn’t, but she got a clearer view of his harrowed expression, his skin white as a sheet, as if he’d seen a ghost. Her tone softened instinctively. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Tell me what’s going on…” She moved to crouch in front of him, ducking so she could meet his gaze. “Ashley, I’m frightened.”

His eyes finally rose to meet hers and he stilled. After a beat, he abruptly stood, and she followed, pulling her shrug tight around her shoulders with one hand, and leaving the other perched on his shoulder. In a rush of motion, he took her face roughly into both hands, almost pulling her off her feet. “Ashley!”

“You… you’re… you’re okay.” The detective murmured, almost tenderly, examining her face closely. Life seemed to snap back into him and he unhanded her, clearing his throat and averting his eyes. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“No thanks to you!” She snapped, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I could have my throat slit upstairs by now and you’d be none the wiser! What could have possibly possessed you to abandon me like that!” Much to her dismay, she sounded more frightened than angry, but she continued, unable to stop herself. “And then I come out here... and find you like this, christ!” She bent and snatched up her shrug that had fallen in the mud amidst the commotion. “No more games, no more elaborate plans, this is my -life- you’re putting on the line!” Emerald couldn’t tell if she was angrier with him, or angrier with herself for placing so much trust in him.

Ashley held his hands out, as if soothing a spooked horse. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Tonight went to shit, that’s all. Ain’t nothing else to say about it. I’ll play it safe from here on out, you have my word, just please…” He gave her an imploring look. “Please don’t go off on your own, let me drive you back.” He was asking her to stay. So be it.

Emerald stepped in close, her face inches from his, and paused a beat before snatching his keys from his trouser pocket. “You’re such a fool. You’re in no state to drive.” She muttered angrily, spinning on a heel and stalking out of the alleyway.




If it weren’t in the middle of the night-- and if he weren’t as sober as a judge, Ashley might have fancied himself hungover. He was dreadfully exhausted, a bit queasy, and nursing quite the headsplitter. The drive back to his apartment had been one of stony silence. He had dropped Emerald off at his apartment, and much to his surprise she offered no complaint when left promptly thereafter. The only way to make up for such laughable, shoddy detective work, was to obsess over the case files until the wee hours of the morning, and that was precisely what he planned on doing. He wondered what Lovegrove would have said if he had witnessed such a messy display as tonight.

Ashley rounded the corner of the dimly lit precinct, and as if a devil summoned by the mere thought of his name, Cal appeared. The man was sprawled out, feet kicked up on the desk, sleeping soundly. Ashley cleared his throat pointedly. “Haven’t you got somewhere better to sleep, Lovegrove? This is a precinct, not your living room.”

Calvin Lovegrove

Central Police Station, Ad Vice

Ashley rounded the corner of the dimly lit precinct, and as if a devil summoned by the mere thought of his name, Cal appeared. The man was sprawled out, feet kicked up on the desk, sleeping soundly. Ashley cleared his throat pointedly. “Haven’t you got somewhere better to sleep, Lovegrove? This is a precinct, not your living room.”

Calvin slowly opened his eyes. Through the thin morning light that pierced the blinds, he could see Detective Gallagher standing before him, arms crossed. “Good morning.”

At that, Detective Lovegrove slid his feet off the desk, stood up, stretched, and sighed. “Coffee?” He sauntered over to the middle of the office where an espresso machine—the dividing line between Cal’s half of the office and Ash’s—awaited him. “Eh, no matter. I’ll make you one anyway. We have a lot to talk about.” Sweat stains had accumulated under the suspenders he had fallen asleep in. He looked a mess.

Calvin haphazardly filled two cups of black coffee, spilling some of it onto the floor as he poured. He seemed alarmingly unaffected as he handed Ashley a mug, one that dripped some of its contents onto the floor as it was handed off. Cal sat on his desk and took a deep swig.

“I have always come to understand that you are thorough and don’t make many mistakes.” Detective Lovegrove sighed. “Yet, last night was a disaster of your own making. You left our most valuable witness alone like a fancy piece of bait, and I had to be her knight-in-shining-armor myself. That is not the kind of police work they brought me to do. That’s your game.”

“…And that’s not even the beginning of it. The Florist knows where you live. I interrogated a witness last night who saw him watching you…and…her…in your apartment. You’re being sloppy, and it’s going to get both you and she killed.”

Cal sighed “Evidently, he also knows that I live in Ossining. He paid my wife a visit in the hospital. She thought he was me, Ash. That does mean that we have a mild physical description. Brown hair, early 30s, six-foot-four.”

A pervasive fog of terror lingered in Calvin Lovegrove’s head, but he could just barely see through it enough to know that Ashley had become a liability. In many ways, so had he, but the enigma of Danielle Raymonde would have to wait. He set down his mug of coffee and replaced it with a glass of scotch.

“So, here is what is going to happen. You are going to get your shit together and be of some use to me before more people get killed, or I am going to formally recommend that you be removed from this case. Between the death of Detective Smith and your brazen lovefests with our biggest witness, you are way too close to all of this.”

Lovegrove sighed and took a hearty sip of his scotch, a content yet unnerving hum escaping his lips from the taste. “Vacate your apartment until this case is closed or you’re willingly killing yourself. Judging by what happened to Detective Smith, I am astonished that you are alive at all.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath before continuing. “Then, go back to Club Carousel, find ‘Emerald’, and either keep her in police custody for her own protection, or implore her to hotel-hop under a fake name.” Calvin noticed that Ashley’s eyes had continually wandered toward the case files. “I presume you are here to look at these, but they are of no use to you if our only sane witness is dead.”

“If you can do all of this, then we might have a chance of getting this case restarted. As of now, it is in limbo, and half the fuckin’ Manhattan underworld is laughing at the NYPD.” Calvin’s true form started to shift into focus. “There’s more at stake here than the lives of a few shiny whores at Club Carousel. If the underworld cannot respect the abilities of Ad Vice, then we have nothing to bargain with and this gig is meaningless.”

Calvin stood up from his desk and tossed the case file onto an armchair. “While you are out saving that poor girl’s life, I’m going to go find the other witness. Perhaps with a bit more motivation, I might be able to find out something interesting.” He smirked down at the handle of his pistol. “…And then I’m finding a place in the city to live. Off the record.”

Ashley sighed, grimacing as his partner tore into both him and his shoddy police work. The man was right, there was no doubt about that. He knew better than to ask what the hell Cal was doing at the club in the first place, the answer would undoubtedly be picking up his slack, but something Cal had said suddenly hit him like a blow. “My… my apartment? He saw us in my apartment?” The rest of the lecture was all but lost on him in a sudden moment as he sat, gears whirring in his brain almost visibly. “Cal, she’s there now, by herself. I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed himself for being so stupid. “I thought it would be safe. Safer than the club.” Ashley took a moment to collect himself, this was his job. He had let his emotions run most of the evening, it was time for his logic to take over, if he had any left. He felt the nights of sleeplessness buzz at the edge of his vision. “We need to go over there now, get her out of there. I know what it must look like to you, but I assure you my interest is strictly professional, and we need to go make sure the witness is safe.” He swallowed the lie like bitter coffee and met Cal’s gaze. How could he be so foolish? Of course his apartment wasn’t safe, he was one of the detectives tracking the damn monster. “I’ll take her into police custody for official questioning, she’ll be safe here for now. The rest…” He sighed. “The rest will be up to her, I suppose.” He swept up the jacket he had discarded and headed for the door.

A shrill tone rang out into the room and Ashley whipped around, eyeing the phone that sat at his desk. He snapped it up. “Detective Gallagher speaking.” His blood ran cold, and he watched his knuckles whiten on the edge of the desk. He hooked the phone and turned to Cal. “They found a body– outside the Carousel.”

The street, normally alive with the city's deviant nightlife, was jarring in the daylight. Nothing but a picked carcass remained. Ashley fancied he could almost hear its death rattle in the exhaust of passing cars and the general hubbub of its busybody occupants, so different from the painted characters of the night.

He strode with an uncharacteristically hurried gait, hand clenching and unclenching at his side, running the logic through his mind over, and over, and over, and over again. It couldn’t be her. If it were, the scene would be at his apartment. Unless… unless she’d gotten it in her head to pay the club a visit again– no. That would be foolish. And she didn’t have a car. He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it smarted in protest.

Ashley might have just tread straight through the crime scene had the crowd he bumped into not pulled him from his thoughts. He weaved around well-dressed vultures, ignoring their pleas for information, the incessant click and flash of cameras.

The case and its strange and grisly nature had naturally attracted the general public and their morbid curiosity. He couldn’t blame them, but he could definitely grumble obscenities in their direction. He slowed at the crime scene tape, ducking under it in a smooth and effortless movement that had become second nature at this point, and observed the scene before him.

The involuntary relief that flooded his chest sickened him, truly. It wasn’t her.

Rather, it was a man that lay sprawled face-down in the yellow patch of grass in clear view of the street. Ashley flashed his badge to the beat cops keeping the vultures at bay and continued on, crouching next to the body. Careful not to disturb the crime scene just yet, he took note of the tufts of grass worked into the fabric of the man’s jacket, the missing fingernail on a hand with fingers bent at unnatural angles. He had put up a fight, no doubt about it.

Ashley craned his neck to peer into the man’s face, reaching out and turning his head just enough that he might identify the poor sod. Smith stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

Ashley fell backwards with a startled exclamation, just barely stopping himself from landing ass to grass. Not possible, it wasn’t possible.

He was right, it wasn’t. As clear as he’d seen his friend, when he took a second look the face was a stranger’s. Ashley quickly straightened and collected himself, brushing off the lapels of his jacket. He shot what he hoped was a smirk at Cal, though it probably looked more unsettled than anything. “The bees this time of year, trying to crawl up my nose I tell ya.” He grimaced and went back to work, trying to shake off the sense of uneasiness that had sunk its claws into the back of his neck.

Calvin Lovegrove

Outside Club Carousel

Ashley quickly straightened and collected himself, brushing off the lapels of his jacket. He shot what he hoped was a smirk at Cal, though it probably looked more unsettled than anything. “The bees this time of year, trying to crawl up my nose I tell ya.” He grimaced and went back to work, trying to shake off the sense of uneasiness that had sank its claws into the back of his neck.

Cal folded his arms and took a drag from his cigarette. "I should have taken him into custody." He sighed and cursed under his breath. "Stupid." It was a rare moment of self-criticism on Lovegrove's part, who tended to slyly project his failures onto those around him. He knelt down next to the body and peered at the man's face. A leaf was protruding from the man's mouth. Cal pulled on it, which gruesomely brought forth the long stem of a rose, one that had been inserted backwards down the man's throat. He tossed the flower on the ground and scoffed.

"It's unlikely that this sorry sack of shit was going to be of any use to us, but we have learned something."

Calvin noticed Ashley shooting a puzzled look toward him. He nodded, acknowledging the confusion. "This was reckless, killing a man out in the open like this. It means that we're getting closer. But we have to be extremely careful of who we talk to, and how discreetly we do it." He pointed at the body. "This is willy-nilly murdering anyone who talks to us."

Tossing his cigarette onto the asphalt and suffocating it with his heel, Cal sighed. "We need to regroup. Go get our only living witness into police custody and find a new place to stay. I'm going to find a new apartment and move Evelyn to a different hospital." It was becoming clear in the tone of Detective Lovegrove's voice that this case was starting to gnaw at him, and that he feared for not only his own life, but for the consequence of failing to get to the center of the case.

Calvin witnessed another inquisitive look from his partner, but waved his finger to dismiss it. "I know there's probably more procedural work we can do here, but it will have to wait. We cannot move any further if wee are priming ourselves to be this psychopath's next target. I'd rather his attention move to another lowlife like this."

As much as it itched at Ashley’s skin to leave a crime scene without a full evaluation, the urgency of protecting their only living witness, Emerald or otherwise, far outweighed whatever information this scene could offer them. “Are you suggesting we lie low and wait to see where he strikes next, hoping it’s not at us? That could prove as useless as this killing, plus an extra splash of blood on our hands.” Despite his protest, he could see the logic of the plan. As it was, the only progress they had made thus far were a few questionable sightings and the knowledge that anyone they spoke to had a giant target on their back.

Something gnawed at him. “I’ve never seen this man in my life, you spoke to him?”

Progress being made on the case without him set him on edge. His case. Smith’s case. He searched within himself for the shame over how he’d conducted himself throughout this entire ordeal, and came up empty. His tactics thus far had been rife with unprofessionalism, outbursts, and worse, emotion. Having always been a straight-laced, by the book individual, he reckoned even just one of these words should horrify him, and yet… A deep sense of sickening satisfaction crept over his bones at this taste of freedom, of ugly and underhanded justice for Smith. Had his morals always been such dead weight?

Regardless of the man’s reply, Ashley silently peered at Cal with a narrowed-eye gaze, imagining himself in the man’s shoes. A bringer of justice, by any means necessary. He looked down on Cal for it once, but was that not what he should be for someone like Smith? For someone as innocent as the poor, brutalized girl above the Carousel?

Deep within him, buried somewhere beneath his heart, something seemed to be rattling its chains, testing him.