His phone rang once next to his head and he picked it up almost immediately, bringing it to his ear as he turned the page. “Tim White’s office. Offic -- Agent White speaking.”
There was a sound of ruffled fabric and a loud puff of air that hurt Tim’s ear, making him cringe, and then a voice came that was fast and low, the accent had just a slight hint of New York twang on the end of the sentence. “Jeez, what were you, sitting on the phone?” The man on the other end of the receiver seemed annoyed and a little amused at how fast Tim had picked up, letting out another puff of air that made Tim’s phone gargle with static.
“Next to it, actually,” Tim corrected, his eyes going wide and then frowning as he saw the picture of Julie Peterson, her smile almost as vibrant as her eyes. “Who is this?”
“Duncan. Agent Duncan Taggart,” he said, and somehow Tim knew that he was smiling. There was a honk in the distance, and he assumed that the man was driving. “I’m from the Bureau. They’ve assigned you to help me out with a case I’ve been working on for a few months now. Great job on the Genblade capture, by the way. Top-notch stuff, I hear. I’d really like to meet that guy before they stick him in a hole for the rest of his days. Really rare to catch a serial alive.”
“Believe me, you wouldn’t,” Tim said as he rolled his eyes, trying his best to focus on what he was reading. There was a photo of the scene where the rape had actually taken place. One of the officers involved had circled the upstairs window of the house across the street with a red felt-tip marker and written the words ‘Julie’s Room.’ It made him want to throw up just thinking about her having a view of that spot for the rest of her time living in her parent’s house.
“Ooookay,” Duncan drawled, clearing his throat. “Well listen, I don’t want to brief you now, but we really have to get started as soon as possible. I’ve put a lot of work into this case over the last few months and I don’t mind taking on someone new, but you’re going to have to pick it up fast or get left behind like a high-school prom date.”
Tim balked at the comment, flipping to the medical report that had been written up on Julie Peterson. He shook his head and sighed when he got to the part about her refusing the rape test, cursing to himself. There were pictures of the bruises that had been left on her arms and legs, as well as scrapes across her back and breasts that he imaged would make it impossible to sleep for at least the next month. There were worse injuries, but most were described rather than photographed.
“You still there? We’ve gotta get started quick, or else--”
“Sorry,” Tim interrupted, closing the folder shut and tucking it under his arm. “I’ve already got a case.” He gently placed the receiver down on its hook, then started walking toward the door, leaving his jacket draped over his cubicle wall.
Mike brushed a pile of cigarette butts out from beneath him as he sat down against the solid brick wall of the school’s smoking section. The air around that corner of the building smelt stale and toxic, like a sock left to soak in its owner’s sweat for thirty years or so. He checked behind him once more to make sure that there were none left, then finally rested his back against the warm wall, absorbing all the heat of the sun shining down on him. “So, what should we look for?” he asked, staring at the envelope in his friend’s hands.
“I’m thinking your basic couch shots. You know, Tommy running around and just taking pics of people chilling out and shit. If we pay attention to the group shots, it could be easy to go off the wrong way,” Xander reasoned, flipping open the bright yellow paper and taking out the stack of photos. “Aw, God.”
“What?”
Xander flipped the first photo around. It was a bedroom window taken from inside another bedroom window, most likely Tommy’s. It was blurry, but it looked like he was trying to get some shots of a girl changing. “Never miss a trick, do they?”
“Dude, is that your Mom?”
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
Xander grumbled something about Robin being a better sidekick, but he trailed off and moved on, flipping to the next set of photos. “And the sick-o gets sicker.”
Mike leaned in and looked at the picture, a full-zoom shot of Cathy’s breasts. “So, we’re not giving any of these back, right?”
“Burn the negatives?”
“Uh-huh,” Mike nodded, taking the negatives out of the yellow envelope and bringing a lighter to them.
Xander flipped to the next picture, a full-body shot of Sara, yelling and smiling and generally having a good time. He shoved that one into his coat pocket without another word to Mike, who was watching the negatives burn. “Those chemicals are poison, man,” he said absent mindedly. “Don’t breathe them in.”
Mike nodded, bringing the smouldering black filmstrip over to an empty metal garbage can and tossing it in, closing the lid behind it. “Any actual photos yet?”
“Two of Grendel we can burn. One of him alone and another of him heading into the bedroom...” he trailed off.
Mike grabbed those two and ripped them
