The Investigation of Mr. Who

[red_hare]

So here is my attempt to create an awesome fic, this is not my first attempt, but it is my first attempt to mesh two different types of shows. Although it does not begin as a Willow and Tara-centric story, give it a chance to unravel, Ive been working on this bad puppy for over a year now and have finally decided to let it peak into public view... I have a few chapters done and will post them slowly as it will give me time to continue to write without delay when a writers road block rears its little head.

Suggestions are appriciated as well.

So with out further a do...

[center]The Investigation of Mr. Who?
Written By: Red_Hare
Nov 03, 2007

Disclaimer: Under no circumstance do we claim these characters as our own; they all belong to Mutant Enemy and CBS… All concepts are created with the twist of preexisting concepts. Besides we are bored so don’t sue.


Fingering Mr. Who

Chapter 1[/center]

Night fall set on the small California town of Sunnydale. It was an unusual night the homicide rate alone sky rocketed from a whopping 5 percent into the high teens. For a generally quiet town, this reeked of a serial killers beginning.

“This makes for the third one tonight.” CSI Rosenberg stated as she stood from the body, she had just analyzed the positioning while waiting for the coroner to exam and determine the Time of Death.

Wells was standing in the entry way dusting for prints. “My count was fourth. All victims were bled to death.” He continued to twirl the brush as he hoped to catch something that none of the other crime scenes had. They needed a print. Concluding there were no prints on the entry point, Wells worked his way over the valuables knowing that anything was up for evidence.

“Bloody Wanks!” Captain Pratt walked through the front door in a huff. “Bloody Bint needs to remove that stick from her ass she does.” He pulled a stogie from the inner pocket of his duster and stuck the butt in his mouth; he looked up at Rosenberg while rifling his hands in pockets. “She’s a… a….” He found the lighter flicked it and lit the cigarette.

Willow chuckled. “Someone has lusty wrong feelings.” Swinging the camera up from her hip where it rested on the neck strap Willow Rosenberg began to take pictures of the crime scene from the puncture wounds in the Vic’s neck to the broken wine bottle laying just under the coffee table.

William Pratt took a long and hearty drag off his cigarette and cleared his throat. “There are no lusty wrong feelings here Red, It’s just she” he growled in frustration. “She is just so…” He took another drag trying to think of the word he was looking for.

“Cute? Hot? Looks good enough to eat?” Willow continued to tease the Homicide Captain. “Oh c’mon Spike just spit it out, we all know you have the Jones for her, at least admit it.”

Just in time to hear Willow’s reply the woman in question walked right into the crime scene. “Whose the Who and what’s the what? Oh and gossip I want in.” She was like a beauty queen with a gun, all she needed next was to plop down on the vic’s couch and wait as if a school girl about to dish on some hottie.

“Vic’s name is Amy Madison, 25 works at the Magic Box off Main.” Pratt rattled off from his notes. “Her co-worker is unavailable and they have no contact number, apparently this girl and she had a beef but no one really ever knew why. That’s what I got from the owner, Anya Jenkins-Harris.”

Wells perked up from his corner of silence. “If you ask me this all sounds like the beginning of one of those Crime dramas’s you know where they solve everything in under an hour, still having time to give little bits of detail into the investigator’s lives.”

All three sighed at the same time. Elizabeth or Buffy as most of her friends called her was the only one to speak up. “Andrew, you watch too much T.V.”

“That’s not true; I listen to music and read books too.” He shot back.

“Comics all though followed by the word book do not signify the definition of a book.” CSI Rosenberg jumped in.

“Exactly.” The blond added. “Thanks Willz, I was just about to say that. Just not in so many words.” What she meant to say was her response was more like ‘so is not!’

Andrew gave a disgusted look to all three of them as he walked off to the Vic’s bedroom. “Stupid technicalities.” He muttered to himself. Pushing the door open with his flashlight he shined the beam in gasping as his light shed over the walls. “Uhm guys you might want to take a look in here. I think I know why our Vic and the co-worker didn’t get along.”

Stepping into the room he felt as if he had just entered the mind of a psychopathic killer... at the very least a stalker. Pratt, Rosenberg and Summers followed in moments after he hollered to them. “I think we might have another case on our hands.” Rosenberg stated as she looked around the room. Written in red script over the walls “My love” and “Tara”.

“Real piece of work this one.” Summers stated as she held up a lined piece of notebook paper. “This is pretty creepy, listen to this. My love, I know you told me I needed to stop calling and this is not what you meant by ‘we should hang and have coffee sometime’ but I know you love me, I could see it in your eyes the other day when I surprised you at the movie theater when you were jogging to your car… okay jogging isn’t the right word, you were running. Were you okay? Did something bad happen, I called your name so many times and it looked like you looked at me but then you shut your phone and ran to your car. Was it a bad phone call, did something horrible happen? When I got to your car you seemed a little annoyed I mean I know after all you said to me. I just really think there is something between you and I and I wanted to express that.

Tara I don’t think you understand what I am trying to tell you. I am in love with you and I want to be with you forever.

In life we are separated in death we remain forever.

All my love,

Amy.”

Pratt took the letter and looked at it himself, while bagging it in an evidence envelope. “Yeah, real piece of work this girl was s'right. It’s dated for yesterday.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “The target of the Vic’s attraction might be a good place to start. I’ll call Judge Anderson and get a warrant straight away. Summers are you comin’ or stayin’?” His blue eyes piercing as he waited.

The newest Detective on the force stood there for a moment looking at the room, something wasn’t adding up. This didn’t look like a crime stemming from passion, or fear. It didn’t even look like a burglary gone wrong. She concluded in her mind that this room hadn’t even been touched. Everything went down from the Point of Entry (POE) then into the living room. Nothing was out of place in the entire house. This was done with precision and exact timing. This Vic had been watched, targeted and killed with finesse. Elizabeth Summers retreated into an introspective thought process, the motions of the faceless killer perhaps knocking on the door, the Vic opening it and then a struggle. It may have gone down; the facts still remain without a connection.

“Summers!” Pratt called again, this time with a slight annoyed tone. “Were you going to stay here and bake cookies for the CSI’s or ya comin with me?”

“Huh?” she snapped out of her trance. “Yeah Captain, precinct abound.” She took a last glance and followed her superior out of the room leaving Wells and Rosenberg to do their job.

[Zampsa1975]

Interesting beginning... update-y goodness soon please

[red_hare]

Thank you for the comment, I know it is an odd start, but it was something that struck my fancy to try and expand on.

welp, here we go, next update...

[center]Chapter 2[/center]

Captain William Pratt and Detective Elizabeth Summers had just left the court house with a signed warrant in their hands. It had been a feat to get Judge Anderson to sign it with only a few pieces of physical evidence. The only piece they were working with was motive, and all though it was grounds for a warrant they generally requested more than was necessary.

“Can you believe that guy?” Pratt exclaimed as they took the court steps two at a time. “I can’t bloody believe he had the nerve to tell me that.” The peroxide blond complained. “Who does he bloody well think he is… tryin’ to tell me I’m doin’ it all wrong. I’ve been doin’ this bloody job since he was in diapers.” An exaggeration of course. William felt the vibration on his hip and popped the cell from his belt clip, flipping it open and reading the text message.

“Bollocks!” He flipped the phone shut and picked up his pace. “Come on Summers we’ve got another 187, off Fifth and Crawford.” Taking the back way the two Detectives encroached on the cruiser, Pratt taking the wheel, Summers left to man the radio and siren.

“What’s the sitch boss?” She questioned while buckling up.

“Looks like the perp has struck again, different body same M.O.”

“Denver2 to Dispatch.” The blond barked over the band.

“This is Dispatch Detective Summers go ahead.”

“Dispatch please show Captain Pratt and me 10-8 we are in route to the Crawford Street Mansion.”

“10-4 Denver2 I have you in route.”

Summers placed the radio back in its cradle then proceeded to flick on the switch for the flashing blues and reds. “So we got another Vic, a suspect and a warrant, I’ll take Scarlett in the Library with the candle stick for the win.” She chuckled at her own horrible joke.

“Even all that still gives us squat. We need to tie this all together and fast; with the rate this guy is going we might have to borrow space from another city morgue.” He chuckled and sped up the driveway gravel kicking up behind the tires.

Kicking the cruiser into park Pratt and Summers stepped out of the car, CSI’s as well as the coroner were on scene. CSI Supervisor Rupert Giles was inside the Mansion documenting a few pieces of evidence from the body before it left for the morgue; Doc Price had finally released the body with a Time of Death (TOD) at almost 8 hours ago. That would make this Vic number 4 in the string of Homicides littering the community. His camera was poised over the right ankle snapping three pictures at each angle.

“Hey Giles whatcha got?” Captain Pratt took stance looming over the Supervisor.

“We’ve got what looks to be burn marks, I would assume from some kind of binding, like a rope.” His tone laced with sarcasm as he continued to investigate the body looking for clues or anything that would give them a lead. “The puncture wounds are exactly 5cm by 2.5cm. Each Vic has had the same. Personal effects tell us his name is Riley Finn. The only difference between this one and the others is right here.” Giles leaned down pulling the collar away to share his findings. “See these scars? They are a perfect fit to the secondary incisor. He has multiple scar tissues ranging from various sizes of mouths.

“Okay so we have 2 dead bodies all within a short time span of one another, we have a flimsy suspect and a warrant. Captain, I think maybe it’s time we start poking around here. Getting a list of the Vic’s last known whereabouts maybe a friend or something saw them with someone. Maybe that someone will match up to each of the Vic’s and then presto primary suspecto.” Summers smiled proudly and looked at William as if to say ‘tada! So where is my cookie?’

“Alright then Summers being the new guy... ehem I mean the new person on the force where would you say we start first.” He was testing her knowledge and how her brain processed.

“I say lets head over to Suspect número uno and see what she has to say to all of this.” Again Summers smiled as if she was waiting for a cooking and all Pratt could do to keep from kissing her was to bite the inside of his lip.

“Good job Summers. Let’s head on over and see where this gets us.” The two Detectives left leaving Giles alone with the body and solitude of a quiet place to arrange his thoughts.

The British gentleman looked around the mansion. Everything in the home was perfectly neat except where the body had been found. The funny thing was not a shed of blood had been left behind. Who ever this was he or she was pretty neat. No blood spatters what so ever, and all they had left behind was a burn from a commonly sold rope.

Giles began to tour the elegant and oldest home in Sunnydale. It was the first time he had actually ever been in it. Many times he had driven passed the abandoned building and thought how lovely it would be to own something so beautiful. Although it needed a ton of work, he thought it was worth all the pennies it would take to fix up. But that was beside the point; Giles concluded his personal tour back in the foyer where the body had been found.

Other CSI’s were coming in, Police officers were scavenging the building for a POE, since the place had been abandoned there was no locking mechanisms and it was basically a free for all to the homeless, druggies and teens hot to trot.

As Giles looked around the foyer for the one piece that was missing the Pathologist walked in, his lean exterior scrunched with the days stress. His face tired and full of frustration. “Hello Wes.” Giles greeted.

“Hello Rupert.” His mind was clearly on his work. “Second time here today, finally catching up with all of my pick ups. Had the one off Revello, and then the one off Schillenger.” Wesley concluded.

“Good Lord man! Where is your assistant? I thought you hired someone to take Jacobs’ place.”

“I did. She was out too. It’s been a busy day we’ve had to double up just to release the bodies. It’s like we just all of a sudden had a flash flood of Homicides.” The Pathologist continued. “I mean seriously, these delays are just going to hurt the Investigation process, if we are backed up then it’s going to take longer for us to release the prelim reports, as well the autopsy.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Are you all finished up with the loose evidence?”

Giles nodded, his mind had run off again with trying to piece this entire thing together. Looked like they would all be working double maybe triple shifts until this guy was caught.

As Doc Price was bent over the body getting him prepared for transport, his 2 way pager went off for the 12th time today. “For fucks sake!” He cursed forgetting where he was. Slipping the little black plastic casing out from his belt holster Wes pressed a couple buttons and he read ‘187 in need of TOD and pickup.’ He zipped the bag and slid it on to the stretcher. Sighing he had help from an officer to lift the gurney. “Another page. Another body.” He said with a sigh. Not that he hated his job, but after 36 hours of being on the clock a man gets a little restless.

“Meet you there?” Wes questioned.

“Actually I still have more to do here; I’ll be around the lab later if you want to drop by with the preliminaries of the first two Vic’s.”

“If I can get back to even start them sure thing.” Wes wheeled the gurney out through the front door, the sound of his 2 way going off again screamed in the silence of the night.

TBC... next chapter is my favorite... [/center]