Fic: Jabberwocky: Part 13a/?
Chris slowly pulled open the door to CID, clutching the tape of his interrogation of Myers tightly in his hand, suddenly afraid to let Annie hear it. He saw her stand, picking up a notepad, pen, and folder of notes as she did, and he nodded at her. He felt his heart drumming madly in his ears as she walked up to him, and then took a deep breath. It couldn’t be that bad. He still wasn’t sure what was on the tape himself; that part of the past had gone completely blank in his mind, but it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Maybe he’d just beaten Myers to a pulp without saying anything. Chris wasn’t sure if the idea of that scared him more than the idea of him saying what he thought he might have said would.
Annie paused at Sam’s desk and picked up the tape recorder sitting there, pausing to straighten a pile of papers, keeping everything incredibly neat and tidy, just the way that Sam always had. She balanced the machine under the notepad and file, holding both close to her chest, and then met Chris at the door. “I thought we should listen to it in Lost Property, to keep prying ears out,” she said, and Chris nodded, still unable to find his voice.
“Before you ask, I didn’t get her phone number,” Annie said as they made their way to the door to the dimly lit corridor, and then through the shelves, to the table in the back. She set the tape recorder down and gave Chris a mildly chastening look, then frowned at him. “Chris?”
Chris’ head snapped up and he stared at Annie for a moment, then set the tape down on the table, next to the tape recorder and pile of papers. Annie gave him a questioning look as she started to line up the recorder, the file, and her notepad, sitting in the chair that the suspects usually sat in, directly across the table from Chris, who was still standing.
“What was that? Phone number?” Chris tried to think of what Annie had said, and she shook her head, an exasperated look on her face.
“Yeah. I didn’t get it, so don’t bother asking for it,” Annie said, and then pointed at the seat across from her. “Are you going to sit down?”
Chris swallowed again, then slowly slid into the chair, his hands sliding up and down his forearms, then clutching at one another in his lap. “Okay if I smoke? I know you don’t.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Annie stared at Chris again, trying to make a judgment call on his odd behavior. “I’m a police officer, too, Chris. I know what can happen back here. It’s not going to scare me.”
Chris pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and slowly drew one out, then stared at it for a moment, twisting it between his fingers. “It’s just… I don’t…” He looked at the floor for a few seconds, then pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, inhaling heavily and blowing the smoke to the side, trying not to let it float into Annie’s face.
“I’m serious, Chris. Whatever the Gov and Ray did, I’ll be fine.” Chris’ head snapped up as Annie said this, his eyes widening further. Annie frowned at him, again trying to read him, and wondering what was scaring him so much.
“They didn’t tell you?” Chris’ voice was small, and Annie thought back to the way he had behaved after the Kemble incident, still trying to be goofy little Chris most of the time, but spending more time shrinking back in corners, jumpier than a drug addict and looking over his shoulder as he handed her the tape that he had made then.
“Tell me what?” She asked, and Chris stared at the ashtray, refusing to meet her eyes.
“It’s not them. On the tape. It were just me,” Chris said, and Annie let her frown deepen as he said this.
“But they brought Myers back to the hospital, said he was beaten, said… Chris…” Annie moved her head downwards and tried to look him in the face, and Chris sat upright, still jittery and nearly shaking.
“I… I’m not sure what happened, Annie,” the use of her first name scared her a bit; the only other time that Chris had ever used it had been the time that Ray had been caught in the bomb blast. She stared into his eyes, and he moved his gaze away again, looking back at the tape recorder, as if he could see through it. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what could have caused Chris to dole out a beating that she was sure had to have come from Gene or Ray, and then she reached forward, placing her hand on the table.
“Chris, here, hold my hand,” Chris obeyed, lifting his free hand up to the table and grasping hers, not sure what she was doing. Annie grasped his hand firmly and gave him a small smile.
“We’re all really upset about what happened to Sam, Chris. If you did something you normally wouldn’t have done, it’s understandable. You wanted revenge for what happened to someone you cared about, and maybe you got a little carried away. Ray and the Gov do it all the time, it’s just normal for them, and they don’t ever get into trouble for it. And if you want to know what I think, I think the fact that you’re a little ashamed, and yes, I can tell that you are, well, I think that says something good about you. The whole thing does. You got carried away because you care about Sam, because he’s your friend, and you’re ashamed because you’re a good man, and you wouldn’t normally treat someone else that way. I understand completely, Chris. It’s okay,” she tried to smile at him, more widely this time, slightly proud of herself for reaching an understanding of the situation. Sam really was right, her psychology background did come in amazingly helpful.
Chris stared at Annie, his eyes even wider, and he pulled his hand out of hers. “It wasn’t… Just…” Chris shook his head and stubbed out his cigarette, turning in the chair so that he wasn’t looking at her. “Just listen to the tape,” he said, staring at the floor again. Annie pulled away, frowning, and slid the tape into the recorder. She slowly lowered her finger onto the play button, and the sound of Chris’ voice, announcing the date and time, as well as his name and Myers’ came on. She gave Chris an odd look as his conversation with Myers began to play, and then stared at the recorder, not sure if what she was hearing was correct.
By the time the tape was finished, Annie’s elbows were resting on the table, her hands covering her mouth. She stared at Chris, wide-eyed, not sure of what to say. Chris lifted a shaking hand to his pocket and brought out another cigarette, which he lit and started to smoke, still staring at the floor, occasionally glancing up at her. They stayed like that for minutes, Annie eventually leaning back, still staring at Chris, Chris smoking his cigarette and staring at the floor. Eventually, Annie moved her hand back to the tape recorder, pressed rewind, and then moved to press the play button again. Chris’ head jerked up and he stared at her, a look of absolute terror contorting his features.
“Don’t!” He said, the fear streaming through his voice, and Annie moved her hand away from the tape recorder. She still wasn’t sure what to say to him, wasn’t sure where the words he’d spoken had come from, and wasn’t sure if she should ask him about them. Instead, she decided to concentrate on the job at hand.
“We need to listen to the bit where you asked Myers about the body parts again, Chris. Just that one part, all right? What he said - he didn’t know what happened to the body parts, he hadn’t gotten that far yet… It means that whoever killed the first and fourth victim, they were not only in close contact with Myers, they picked up the organs from him. So someone, out there, still has the organs, and the flesh, that were removed from the bodies. We need to memorize every little detail here, Chris. Just that part. We don’t have to listen to any of the other bits, all right?” Chris was still staring at her, and silence enshrouded the room. Annie wished that he would speak, that something would fall on one of the shelves, that anything would happen to make noise in the room.
Eventually, Chris nodded at her, his eyes still wide and blank. He turned away and looked at the floor again, and Annie pushed play, and then fast forward, struggling to keep from playing any part of the tape other than the one she had mentioned, listening to Myers screaming out that he was becoming human, reaching reality… There was something about what he was saying that struck her, but she just wasn’t sure what. She knew that the killer had to see himself as human and the victims as objects, in order to get over the idea of what he was doing to them, but she wasn’t sure about Myers wanting to become human. It just didn’t match… But there was something that it did match. She just wasn’t sure what.
Annie leaned forward and rested her head in her hands, wondering if Chris would snap to if she started to question him about her ideas. “So, we know that he was seeing them as objects, that was probably the reason that he blinded them - they can’t see, they can’t speak, they can’t really move because of the injuries - they’re just objects. But if he says that everyone’s an object, and this is the only way to become humans, why is he only going after a certain type of man?”
Chris looked up at Annie, suddenly incredibly grateful that she wasn’t asking him any other questions about the tape. “I don’t… A certain type?”
“He only goes after men that fit a certain description - every single one of them was between five foot, eight inches and five foot, eleven inches. Light brown hair, hazel eyes. Slim. Every single one of them. So why is he doing that, if he sees everyone as objects? Why wouldn’t any man work? Or any person, for that matter?” Annie was thinking out loud just as much as she was talking to Chris, and she bit the end of her pen as she did so, staring at her notepad.
“I didn’t even think of that. Maybe someone he knew? What if the bloke that was… What if the other killer looks like them all?” Chris wasn’t sure where the idea had come from, but he was glad that he had something else to think about. He lit another cigarette and turned to face Annie, his eyes still cast down to the table, but his body language much more open than it had been before. Annie took this as a good sign and continued.
“But then why wouldn’t Myers have gone after men that looked like him, if the first killer is going after people that resemble him? What if they all look like someone else, someone that they both knew?” Annie scribbled down notes on what Myers had said, and then turned to look at the notes that she had made on the description of the other artist, the one that had gone to visit Myers so often.
“Maybe they all just had to look like the first bloke that he killed?” Chris offered, not sure if he was being helpful or not.
“Maybe… The description of the other artist doesn’t match the victims, so that’s a possibility; do you think the other artist really could be the one we’re looking for?” Annie asked this out loud, not sure if she could really go off of anything that she had gotten from the receptionist. There was something that she was missing, something that she was overlooking, but what? She mentally kicked herself as she tried to think of what Sam would do, her mind speeding through the facts of the case.
“So what if it was someone that they both knew, like you said? Maybe another artist?” Chris tried to read what Annie was writing, but found that her handwriting, combined with the upside down angle, made it impossible.
“That would make sense. There has to be a reason that all of the victims met the same description; if we only knew what it was, then, maybe that could be another lead,” Annie chewed on the end of her pen again.
“What about the sculptures?” Chris asked, rubbing the butt of his spent fag into the ashtray. “Do you reckon they have something to do with it all?”
“Myers was a known artist long before he would have started killing, unless he’s killed before, and considering that he had to find this teacher before he did that, it’s not very likely. We could send out word to London, ask if they had any similar killings.”
“Gov already did that, after we caught Myers. They didn’t,” Chris said, suddenly glad that he’d been able to remember at least one fact on the case.
“So Myers was already making sculptures before he met this other killer, and started learning from him… Do we have any photos of Myers’ old work?” Annie suddenly jumped to her feet, shuffling her papers and notepad together and grabbing the tape machine.
Chris stared up at her, a confused look on his face. “No. Don’t have any. Why?”
“What if his style changed dramatically after he met the other killer? What if there really is some influence over his art?”
“Does that matter? Is that going to help us to find the killer? His stuff did look like that other sculpture, the one that the Gov and I found at the museum…” Chris climbed to his feet, still trying hard to think.
“What other sculpture? Chris, no one told me about any other sculpture. Are you saying there’s another artist with work that looks like Myers?”
“There was, yeah - at the museum. They had this thing, looked just like Myers’ stuff, only it were smaller, a lot smaller. And there was, there were other sorts of things in it, like, besides wires and cloth and wood. Like things were melted into it. They don’t know who did it, though; it came from a house fire in Hyde, man said the museum bought it and sent the money to their charity fund.”
Annie stopped in her tracks at the door, then whirled around on her heels. “Wait a minute - the sculpture came from Hyde?”
“That’s what he said, yeah. Found it in a house fire there, no one knows who the artist is, the signature on the bottom was just an initial.”
“Chris, do you remember what the signature looked like?” Annie’s eyes were wide and she started to fumble for the door handle around the bundle of papers and tape machine that were still in her arms. Chris reached past her and opened the door, pulling it past her and letting her walk out of Lost Property ahead of him. Annie started walking quickly back towards CID, Chris following.
“I think I do, yeah. You should see it, you might think of something that the Gov and I didn’t,” Chris said, and Annie led them both to her desk, where she dropped the bundle she was carrying and then pushed her notepad, flipped to a fresh page, and pen towards Chris.
“I think I should, too. They’ll have closed by now, it’s almost six, but we can go tomorrow. Right now, I need you to draw the signature here.”
Chris reached down and tried to remember exactly what the marking on the bottom of the sculpture had looked like, eventually ending up with the W, strange lines curving through it. Annie took it and started to look at it from all angles, then turned to Chris. “Do we know what direction it should be facing? Is it a W, or an M?”
Chris shook his head, “It weren’t near the title, that was carved on the underside of the thing, too. But it weren’t near it, so we don’t know. Don’t even know if that’s the first or last initial. Or even an initial at all.”
“But it could be. Do you remember the title of the sculpture?” Annie looked hopefully up at Chris, who shook his head. “Well, like you said, we’ll both go there tomorrow. And I want to get PC Mallows in, to talk to that girl - Julie. She said she was still answering the phones at the studio.” Annie’s mind was racing as she stared at the marking, turning it back and forth, wondering how close Chris’ drawing was to the original mark.
“PC Mallows?” Chris asked, and then it dawned on him, “To have him make a drawing of the bloke that kept visiting Myers! Like the boss did with Ted Bannister at the factory murder! Well, the factory almost murder.”
“Exactly!” Annie offered Chris a big smile, and Chris felt his own mouth start to twitch upwards in return.
“Skelton, Annie, sorry, Skelton and Cartwright,” Phyllis came into the room, holding a folder out to them. “I wanted to take this to you personally - we need to get this one now, don’t we? Don’t trust none of them other fools with it.” Annie took the folder from Phyllis and looked into it, her smile widening.
“What is it?” Chris asked, trying to look into the folder and failing.
“The forensics report from the hospital room, where Myers was killed,” Annie looked up, her smile now stretching from ear to ear. “They managed to get prints off of the tubing, and the prints match the ones they pulled off of Sam’s jacket!”
“Forensics lad said they’d already sent the prints over to Scotty Yard for a match, so we’ll hear back soon. Let me know if you need someone to call up and screech at them to hurry, all right, Love?” Phyllis told Annie as she left the room.
“This could be it, Chris; how long do you think they’re going to take?”
“Usually a fortnight, sometimes later, sometimes sooner. Ten days, best I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, it’s something, isn’t it? And they’ve had the jacket prints for four days already; it might be less than a week before we hear back from them.” Annie added the folder to the pile on her desk, then sat down and started to look through the papers again.
“So, museum tomorrow, then? Anything that I can do now?” Chris was looking around the room, watching the last of the other detectives start to slowly meander out towards the door.
“You can leave now, if you want to get some drinks in, Chris. I’m going to grab dinner in the canteen with the second shift, then head over for my…” The smile faded from Annie’s face. “For my shift with Sam.”
“Don’t feel much like drinking,” Chris muttered, and sat down on the edge of Annie’s desk, his eyes going to the files. “He’s right, you know. You’re good.”
“I’m good?” Annie gave Chris a confused look, and Chris stared at the floor again.
“You’re a good detective, Annie. Better than me. The boss is right,” Chris said, his eyes glued to a scuff mark on the tile floor.
“Hey,” Annie stood and placed a hand on Chris’ shoulder, but he pulled away, jumping off of the edge of the desk. “You’re all right, too,” Annie pulled back her hand, surprised at how quickly Chris had jumped away from her, and again trying to piece together his strange behavior, which was becoming just as big an enigma to her as the case. “Are you okay?”
Chris gave Annie an odd look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason. You’re just… You’re not quite yourself, is all. You worried about Sam, then?” Annie asked, sitting back down and trying not to think of Sam, lying on the bed, muttering about all manner of strange things. “He’ll be okay, Chris. He will be,” she wasn’t sure if it was Chris or herself that she was trying to convince, and she shook her head as she stared at the papers again, the words blurring and bleeding together as her eyes failed to focus on them. He would be all right, he had to be.
“Annie,” Chris said her name softly, and Annie noticed that he had moved closer to her, although he was still staring at the floor. “What if…” Annie let her face harden as she cut him off.
“He’ll be all right, Chris,” her tone didn’t leave any room for argument, and Chris nodded as he went back to his desk, sitting down and lighting another cigarette, staring at his copy of the case file.
Ray chose that moment to come sauntering into the room, the door to CID banging closed behind him. He quickly marched over to Chris and Annie, lighting up a fag as he did so, and then pulled a chair over from DC Turner’s desk, sitting backwards on it, his arms resting on the back of it. He blew out a long stream of smoke, then looked hopefully at Chris and Annie. “Any news, then? You two come up with somethin’?”
Annie nodded, “There’s something about the description of the other artist, I swear it matches another description that I’ve seen before. I’m going to have PC Mallows come down to the studio with me tomorrow, see if he can’t knock up a drawing of the man with that silly little receptionist girl’s help. And then Chris and I are going back to the museum, to look at a sculpture there that Chris and the Gov found,” Annie offered a small, hopeful smile to Ray.
“Good show, Cartwright, and not just the one we get when you walk away,” Ray gave Annie a teasing little leer, and she rolled her eyes in response. “So, you’re at the studio tomorrow morning during Chris’ shift, then I come on and the two of you head down the museum like, and then we meet up again during the Gov’s shift with the boss. You got sommat for me to do while you’re chasin’ that little tart around with Mallows, Cartwright? Already been through most of the butcher boys in town, been through most of their faces, still got shite for information. Need a good lead, good head to bang on,” Ray asked, and Annie shook her head at the idea of him needing someone to beat on, although, she had to admit, she wanted to punch someone in the face over the whole situation as well.
A thought suddenly hit Annie, and she looked up at Ray, “The sculpture, the one that Chris and I are going to go look at - it came from Hyde.” Ray started at this, leaning back slightly and stubbing out his fag end in the ashtray on Turner’s nearby desk.
“Hyde? You serious?” Annie and Chris both nodded at this, and a confused look came over Ray’s features. “So there’s a chance that whoever this twisted bastard is, he came from there?”
Annie nodded again, and Ray swallowed, hard. “So there’s a chance that’s the reason all them other blokes look like the boss? Maybe someone he banged up before?” Annie and Chris both stared at Ray, and he looked back at them, his look of confusion deepening. “What, you daft tarts?”
Annie started to scribble frantically on her notepad, her eyes wide as saucers, “Ray, you’re a genius,” she said, and Ray almost choked on the end of the new cigarette he was lighting.
“Say again, Cartwright? You mean you two never even thought of that?” Ray stood and flipped the chair around, sitting back down in it the proper way, and leaning back with a smug expression. “No, really, say it again. Possibly record it.”
“That’s it then, isn’t it? The sculpture came from Hyde police; what if it were sommat that they dished out of an old killer’s home, or near one? What if they’ve had killings like these there before? No one ever thought to ask outside of London and Manchester,” Chris’ eyes were wide, and he forced himself to meet Annie’s gaze for the first time.
“So there is a possibility that the first killer was choosing his victims because they look like Sam; there’s even a possibility that they didn’t know exactly what he looked like, and that’s why all the men merely fit a rough description. So if the killer already had this great, grand plan to ‘ascend into reality,’ or whatever it was, then the victims don’t have to look alike! I was right! The killer’s just trying to meet two goals: one, complete his project, his plan, whatever it is, and two, to get back at Sam,” Annie felt her heart thrumming in her ears as she rambled it off.
“That’s my job for tomorrow then, yeah? Spend all day on the horn, letting those poncey arseholes know what’s what, finding out what they know, what’s happened there. Might even get more information on the boss, maybe drag up sommat real embarrassing to throw at him once he’s better,” Ray smiled at Annie and Chris as he said this, and Annie nodded back at him.
“Find out anything about any murder sprees they’ve had, even animal mutilation, and find out anything about any unsolved cases that Sam was on. And even any solved ones; we would’ve heard if there was a prison break, so it can’t be someone that escaped, but what if this killer was caught and placed in psychiatric care instead, somewhere in Hyde? See if there’ve been any break outs from mental institutions up there,” Annie turned her notepad over to a fresh page and started to write out a list of things for Ray to look for, trying to make her handwriting as neat as possible.
“Might get some good information out of them dozy gits, if they get a real police officer breathing hard down their necks, and I’ll breath hard on ‘em, I promise,” a slightly devilish glint had appeared in Ray’s eye, and Annie paused for a moment, wondering if this particular assignment was the best thing for Ray. She shook her head at herself and dismissed her reservations - he was still a copper, the most experienced of them all, and he had been the one to even think of the lead. She finished her list and tore it out of the pad, then handed it over to Ray.
“That’s it then, we’ve all got our work for tomorrow. You gonna tell the Gov our plan when you take your shift tonight, Annie?” Chris asked, and Annie nodded.
“We’re going to bring him in, together, as a team,” Annie held out her hands, and was almost shocked when Chris and Ray took them; she’d half expected them to look at her as if she’d just said she was running for Prime Minister.
“A team, that’s right, and no one hurts one of ours without the whole team coming back and stamping on his arse, and then handing it to him, like,” Ray said, the belligerent gleam still in his eyes as he grasped Annie’s hand, hard.
“We’re gonna bring him in. For the boss,” Chris said, gripping Annie’s hand, and Annie was surprised to find that Chris’ hand was shaking. The three of them stopped for a moment, a silent understanding passing between each of them, and then Ray pulled back, followed by Chris.
“Right little fancy shite detective, eh, Cartwright? Just so long as you don’t tell us all to roar like lions, I think you’ve done good,” Ray said, and Annie gave him a strange look.
“Roar like lions?” She asked, and Chris shook his head.
“Don’t ask; it’s a long story,” he turned and looked at Ray, “Get a ride home, then?”
Ray nodded, then turned to Annie, “You coming down the pub, Cartwright? If you’re keen on getting your first ever shot of real liquor down, I’ll buy you a whiskey chaser, really turn you into a real detective,” Ray gave her his leer again, and Annie shook her head.
“Maybe some other time,” she said, and then looked at her watch. “I’m off for dinner; my shift starts at eight. You just get down there and wait for the Gov,” she gave Chris a small smile, hoping that he’d accept that as her encouragement of him going to the pub with Ray, but he only gave her a dazed expression in return. She started to gather her things, and then headed for the door.
“Down the ‘Arms, then?” Ray asked, and Chris found himself nodding, and then following Ray out of CID, nearly on Annie’s heels. They stopped behind her as she paused, dead in her tracks, at Phyllis’ desk.
“Annie, Love, are you all right?” Phyllis’ dour features were twisted into a look of concern, and the color was slowly draining out of Annie’s face.
“Blimey, Cartwright, you okay? See, I told you all this would be too much for a bird, even one who’s good at it,” Ray’s voice was a distant echo as Annie’s eyes poured over the front page of the evening edition of the Manchester Gazette, a copy set atop the piles of folders on Phyllis’ desk. She slowly pulled the paper off of the desk and held the front page up to Ray and Chris, her eyes wide and her hands shaking.
“Shit,” Annie said, and Ray and Chris stared at her.
“Did you just swear, Cartwright? Chris, go get your tape recorder,” Ray said, a confused look on his face. Chris didn’t hear him, though; he was too busy staring at the front page. He held up a finger and pointed at it, and Ray suddenly realized what they were so worried about. The front page of the Gazette read, ‘Hunt for Serial Killer Continues,’ but the byline underneath it was what had caught their attention. ‘Police Officer in Critical Condition After Torture by Pair of Murderers.’
Annie’s voice was hard and small as she bit back tears, icy fear filling every inch of her body. “If they didn’t know that Sam was their fourth capture, they know now.”
Chris felt his knees go soft, and he reached out, clinging to Ray’s shoulder with one hand to keep himself from falling to the ground. Ray wrapped an arm around Chris’ waist, the idea that someone might see and find it odd banished the second that he saw it. He had to struggle to keep from squeezing so tightly that he injured Chris, and his voice was a low growl when he spoke, “So if we’re right, the bastard’ll be after him now.”
All comments and criticsm are highly encouraged and appreciated!