MMP&S : The Murder
Rated.... what, PG-13? Murder most foul, for the most part. Some cursing; more later on. And blatant defilement of childhood staples, of course.
MARQUEZ, MEMBRANE, PELEKAI & SON : Private Investigations and Antiquities
Part One
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day to be neighbors...
Dibney Membrane unlocked the door to his shared office building before seven in the morning, stepping inside with the whisper of his ill-fitting suit. No one else bothered with business attire. Isadora always managed to look chic and classy, but the other two partners seemed to live in their pajamas. Dibney didn't really mind Ten's track pants and wifebeaters, but he distinctly loathed Lilo's muumuus. He felt, privately, that she only wore them to play into stereotype. As a reasonably privileged white male, he strongly suspected that he was a bit racist for thinking that about her, and kept his opinions to himself.
Whatever else, he really could not afford to alienate these people the way he'd done to past coworkers, to old friends, even to his family. He did little things around the office, partly to endear himself to them and partly because he genuinely liked them. Coming in early to the office to make coffee and tea was one of those little things.
He was surprised, but only a little, to see Isadora hunched over her desk, her head cradled in her hands. She was the boss in everything but name, and put in more hours than anyone but Dibney himself. He silently placed a mug of scalding hot coffee at her elbow, lingering until she raised her eyes to study his face. She took in his loose shirt, the slim black tie. She studied his thick glasses and the watery brown eyes behind them.
“You missed a button, Dibney,” she said kindly, tilting her head at him with a gentle, weary smile. “Listen, we've got a case. I'd like you to call the others in right now- time is of the essence and I want to get a head start on this investigation.” That was the thing about Isadora. Even when she was all business- which, actually, was most of the time- she was gracious and unfailingly kind to Dibney. He wondered if his mother had been like that; he knew his sister had not been.
“Oh? What's the case?” he asked, fumbling at the buttonless hole on his shirt and wincing. She probably- no, definitely- saw the faded t-shirt he wore underneath, and only prayed she didn't watch enough TV to recognise what she saw of the program logo. Isadora pursed her lips, warm brown eyes blazing momentarily.
“A friend of mine is a suspect in a murder.” She met his gaze, sipping at her coffee. “And I guess I think she might have done it.”
*-*-*
“You have ten minutes, Ms. Marquez,” the officer told her, and Isadora strode into the small room, seating herself at the even smaller table, across from the woman in cuffs.
“Tell me,” Isadora said without preamble, the moment the cop left her alone. “Tell me what possessed you to contact me for help, after how things ended before.” The woman snorted, and Isadora sighed. “Okay, poor choice of words, I know. But- Kailan, I just don't know what to think about all of this. They're saying the victim was torn apart-”
“-careful, 'Dora,” the suspect smiled. “You really shouldn't be feeding me any information.” Isadora stopped, taking in the sight before her. So much had changed in the years since she'd last seen Kailan. The Chinese woman had cut her hair boyishly short, her fingernails were cracking and a little dirty, and that jade pendant she'd never been seen without-
“The cops took your amulet?” Isadora asked, and Kailan shook her head.
“It was stolen from me a week ago, 'Dora. Someone broke into my house, took some of my files, a few relics, and... the necklace.”
“I can't believe you'd just... leave it out where someone could find it,” Isadora blurted, trying to stifle her imagination before it showed her a home strewn apart by careless hands, a home she'd been welcome in. Kailan shook her head, smiling sadly at her.
“I didn't. I kept it in the urn, buried in my grandfather's ashes. It... he... was everywhere.” Horrified, Isadora leaned back, fingertips drumming on the table.
“...I don't know if I can help you,” she finally admitted. “My new crew doesn't have the experience the old one had. I don't even think they believe in this occult stuff.”
“Everyone believes at some point,” Kailan pointed out. “Just have to remind 'em.” Isadora sighed at that, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
“Kailan... why me? Why really?”
“Who do we ask for help,” Kailan replied, her voice a singsong, “when we don't know which way to go?”
Isadora shot her old friend a filthy look as she stood up to leave.
“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. I've grown up since then.” She moved toward the door, pausing briefly. “I'll look into it. But... I'll do it for the truth. Not for you or us or anything between us.”
Kailan lowered her head, flinching slightly when the door slammed.
“She's got it, she got it, it's really, really true,” she sang under her breath. “She knows just what to do.”
*-*-*
Isadora almost made it out of the building before a woman in a white lab coat stopped her. A nametag sewn onto the coat's front pocket read “ARCANE, Y.”
“You're working on the Rogers case?” she asked abruptly, her stance aggressive. Oddly, Isadora was reminded of Dibney- which couldn't possibly be accurate, because the shy, geeky man she worked with was nowhere as hard as this stranger.
“That I am, Ms.-”
“Doctor Yasmìn Arcane,” the woman snapped, holding out a hand gloved in slick latex. Isadora gingerly shook it, taking note of the odd pronunciation- “AHR-ken.”
“Isadora Marquez. What were you saying about the Rogers case...?” she prompted, surreptitiously wiping her newly moistened hand on her purse the instant Arcane released it.
“I'm not sure why they've given you clearance to see this stuff,” Dr. Arcane muttered, producing a slim file. “I'm the medical examiner who performed the autopsy on Steven Rogers. I'm not sure if it'll be any help in your investigations, at all,” she added bitterly.
“Why's that?” Isadora resisted the urge to peek at the file, the irritated mood that stemmed from Kailan's thoughtless words listing out of sheer curiosity. This Dr. Arcane had to be one of the gruffest women she'd ever met.
“Because none of it makes any. Damn. Sense,” was the angry reply. “Victim found with a single kitchen knife in his chest, but every single stab wound is consistent with an animal mauling. And several of his other injuries are defensive-”
“Like how?” Isadora pressed, and the doctor gave her a sour look.
“Like as if this ninety year old man punched his assailant hard enough to shatter his own knuckles,” she said sharply. Isadora raised an eyebrow, but the doctor raised a gloved hand to silence her.
“Just read the autopsy report, Ms. Marquez. I'm actually very busy today.”
*-*-*
Isadora put Ten and Dibney on paperwork while she took Lilo to check out where the murder victim lived. Lilo could get on anyone's nerves, but she was better than either of the guys at spotting minute details. After grabbing her trusty old Nikon, Lilo had piled into Isadora's violently pink Camry and changed the radio to a Golden Oldies station. The drive, so far, had been reasonably pleasant.
Lilo shifted in the passenger seat, clearing her throat. “This area... I used to live here.”
Isadora shot Lilo a surprised glance, amazed that the woman had shared this information. Despite her chatterbox nature, Isadora could probably count on one hand the number of times Lilo had actually offered any information about herself. She knew Lilo had an older sister and a couple of gay uncles over in Hawai'i, but everything else she knew about the woman had come from her resume. “I thought you were from Hawai'i,” Isadora said after a minute, turning down a residential street that had been rather nice, once upon a time.
“I got sent to this... school. For, you know, weird kids,” Lilo murmured distantly. “When I was a teenager. Anyway, one of the counselors there, one who really helped me in some... bad times, he lived in this neighborhood.”
Dread circled Isadora's gut, and she knew, instinctively, what Lilo would say to her next question. She also knew, with exact certainty, that she would feel like an utter bitch the moment the words left her lips, but she asked anyways.
“Lilo... this counselor you knew. Was... was his name Steven Rogers?”
Lilo turned sharply to look at her, eyes perfectly round, and Isadora felt sick.
“...Lilo, you don't have to do this,” she said simply, pulling over and parking at the curb in front of a random house. “I mean it.”
“We're in a hurry,” Lilo whispered in a ghost of her normal voice.
“We're not in that much of a hurry that I can't go back and pull Ten off of his desk. Lilo, you're not going to want to see this-”
“I've got to see it. You said he was killed downtown, and this...” Lilo shook her head, looking out the window. “I had lunch with him last month. We were close. I have to see it.”
Isadora frowned, out of concern for her friend's emotional well-being, but Lilo had a right to her moment of grief. Sighing, she pulled back onto the street and continued into the neighborhood that had been home to the late Mr. Rogers.