“So he spotted the purse snatcher before you did? And then took him down?” Peterson asked later that day.
“Yeah, and yeah, he did,” Rassmussen told Peterson and Gorski. “It was a standoff, and looked like it was gonna be a case of who ran outta oomph first. But Nick took the guy out with my baton, without our having to even get close. Damn, though, but the perp is lucky not to have busted a leg or something. Those batons can hurt. And for a split-second, there, he was so tangled up with the baton, he looked like he had three legs!”
“Sounds like Ashton is sharp-eyed and quick-thinking,” Gorski said, shooting a meaningful glance at Peterson.
“He is,” Rassmussen averred. “And I thought he was really easy to get along with, too. He seems like a genuinely nice guy, with a good sense of right and wrong. Not to mention sharp eyes and a lotta brains.”
“I’d have to agree,” Peterson said. “You want him, Stefan?”
“What, Eugene hasn’t called dibs on him yet? He’s got seniority; he’s an inspector. I’m just a lowly detective.”
“Not yet. I think he hasn’t really thought about it this early in the game. He’s still winding up that case over on the north side, after all.”
“Aha! Then yeah, I think I do, Maia,” Gorski agreed with a grin. “Assign him to me. I’ll see he gets those talents honed properly.”
“Great!” Rassmussen enthused. “He’s gonna be part of our team!”
“It’s a plan,” Peterson said. She “checked out” for a moment, entering VR, then came back. “Paperwork implemented. Take him under your wing and train that boy to be a detective, Stefan. Hell, train that boy to become an inspector. He’s got it in him.”
“Consider it done,” Gorski said, pleased.
First Case
Ashton started work under Gorski immediately. The experienced detective took him in hand and ascertained what he already knew about investigation, and how experienced he already was. He took the younger man around with him to his various cases as they occurred, essentially smaller things for the time being – burglaries and petty theft, for the most part, in various areas of Imperial Park.
The crimes were largely near ICPD headquarters, which was in the West quadrant, a few blocks north of the line of the underground commuter train, though many of the investigators lived south of it. Gorski promptly began training Ashton to know what to look for, how to find and interpret clues, how to properly take evidence without contaminating or corrupting it, and how to glean as much information as possible from a victim interview.
Meanwhile, Ashton was growing his hair out, changing its style, and trying to get a bit of a tan by sunning on the roof of his apartment building – whatever he could think of to change his appearance. This included having his barber add heavy blond highlights as his hair grew. And that image of him, enhanced to make his hair even blonder, became the “official” mug shot of one “Nicholas ‘Nick’ Benton,” investigator for the Imperial City Police Department.
It all seemed to be working; no one from the Imperial Police bothered him. And he had inadvertently walked right by a couple of Imperial Police officers just the day before.
The fact that he now had a couple of suits of body armor, one of which he wore each day under his clothing and alternating days, helped him feel a little more confident about the encounter, especially after they failed to recognize him.
Then the call came in.
“Come on, Nick,” Gorski said, coming by the young investigator’s desk. “Let’s go. We’ve got a call. Bad situation.”
“What happened?” Ashton said, grabbing his tweed jacket from the back of his chair as he stood.
“Not quite sure yet,” Gorski responded, already headed for the door. “Definite assault. Judging by what I was shown of the condition of the victim’s clothes, probable sexual assault. Whether it was attempted or successful rape, I’m still waiting on the docs to decide.”
“What does the victim say happened?”
“The victim is unconscious, likely in a coma. Apparently she fought back, and took a nasty knock on the head for her troubles. Her boyfriend found her on the floor of their apartment when he came home from work, and called for emergency help to get her to the hospital. He was afraid to move her.”
“Ooo.”
“Yeah.” By now, they were on the sidewalk outside ICPD headquarters. Gorski stopped dead, holding up a hand. “Wait a minute.”
The pair stood there for several minutes as Gorski “checked out.” When several groups paused beside them, unable to get by without stepping into the street, Ashton grabbed Gorski’s elbow, gently and unobtrusively pulling him out of the flow of pedestrian traffic – there wasn’t a slidewalk here, directly in front of the headquarters building – into an alcove near the door; he figured his new mentor was in VR, likely getting information, and didn’t want to disturb him. But they were blocking the sidewalk; transport traffic was heavy that time of day, so no one dared step into the street proper. Therefore staying well out of the way of the pedestrian traffic was wise. Finally Gorski came up for air and looked around.
“Wha? Oh. Yeah, okay. Thanks for getting me out of the way, Nick. Shoulda thought.”
“No problem. What have you got?”
“That was the emergency physician at the hospital. It was definitely an attempted rape. Her clothing was shredded up, and she has bruises and scratch marks on breasts and external genitals, but no evidence of penetration, or semen.”
“Evidence of pen…?”
“Bruising. Internal or…” Gorski waved a hand, “internal-external,
