Fae Noir- the Murderer in Blue

by Katelynn Alexandrea

  "Well, I'm a lady, and I happen to care about my appearance." I retorted. "Do me a favor. If you don't see me in two minutes, call for backup."

  Frank nodded.

  Barefoot, across the hot pavement was not the cleverest of plans I'd had this week, for certain. The little pebbles burned, while getting stuck to my feet.

  I carefully crawled over to the back of the truck, and held up my hand to Frank in a stop motion, then withdrew my radio.

  "This is officer Noir, dispatch, we're at Lincoln's Lincolns, and there appears to be a heavily armed man inside, holding the sales staff hostage. I need backup, and possibly medical. No sirens. Do not alarm the suspects on approach." I said into the radio.

  There was static.

  I looked down, and frowned, flipping through the channels. Nothing. All the frequencies.

  I hastily climbed out of the back of the truck, and that's when all hell broke loose.

  Three gunshots went off, before a fourth one blew out the windows of the Chevy.

  "They know we're here." I told Frank.

  "The sky is blue." Frank added. "My shorts might be a little brown."

  "Gross." I retorted.

  "That bullet missed you by like three inches." Frank pointed out.

  "Well, I've got more bad news for your shorts." I added.

  "Of course you do, Noir. It would be a bright, sunshiny day, and you would complain about the pollution in your lungs or bird shit-" Frank was interrupted by a shot at the SUV he was hiding behind. "Jesus CHRIST, this guy is pissed."

  "He interrupted your Noir pun." I pointed out.

  "Damn him." Frank nodded.

  "Looks like he's got a radio jammer running." I added.

  There was a revving sound, and a black car, with dealers plates drove past us before either of us grasped what was happening.

  "Radio jamming. Haste getaway planned." Frank furrowed his brows. "What the hell have we stumbled across?"

  "Triple homicide?" I asked, looking into the building, with a frown. "Frank. Call 911 on the landline."

  Frank hastily scrambled into the shop, grabbing the desk phone, and calling. He sounded frantic, and out of breath.

  While Frank wasn't paying attention to the fact that we were possibly still in mortal danger, I cleared the sales floor, with both my gun, and wand out.

  There were two people dead, and one person almost dead.

  "Who was it?" I asked. "What did he want?"

  The woman faded out of consciousness.

  My wand had next to no charge in it, but I used it anyway. Just a little hint of magic. A tiny little adjustment to the wheel of fortune and fate. In typically renegade fashion, I had not filled out any paperwork beforehand. Fate would not approve. I didn't really care.

  When the paramedics arrived, she was almost dead. A very minor, but important deviation from what should have happened.

  Nobody watched me carefully hide my wand inside my jacket pocket. I was not the center of anyone's attention in this mess. Sometimes, in plain sight was the best place to hide, because people tended to ignore the obvious. This was, to the creatures of veil, what was called a filtered reality perception. Doing things, like hiding my wand simply did not attract attention unless you were specifically looking for it, because the observer's brain did not wish to observe it, having no context, nor understanding as to why a grown woman had a 1.5 foot long black crystal wand in her jacket.

  "What the hell happened?" Captain Channing asked, walking into the scene, with other officers in tow. "Noir! Where the hell are your shoes?"

  "That's a bit of a long story." Frank said, quietly. "But we got a lead that the missing girl had a really heated conversation with her father. We arrived, and Sergeant Noir noticed there was a gunman in the store. She shoved me out of sight, and went barefoot, to try and get a better angle, without drawing attention with her loud shoes. Once she was sure of what she saw, she tried radioing for backup. That's when she noticed the radios being jammed."

  "The suspect noticed me, while I was trying to relay this to Frank." I nodded, deciding I liked the slightly more plausible 'adjusted facts' over the truth about magical forewarning, and went with it. Maintaining a cover story that alleviated suspicions that I might be a super, extra, or abnormally natural entity was still a very important thing. "He hastily shot the staff, then at us, before stealing a car, and getting away."

  "You're sure it was a man?" Channing asked.

  "Brownish hair? 5'10? 5'11?" I nodded. I was fairly certain information like He's a Capricorn, and his fondest wish is for Vancouver to win the Stanley cup were both of little use, and would be construed as making light of the situation. There would also be the awkward explanation of how Fae could sense people's ages and wishes. Given the disturbing pornographic choices of three of the officers on hand, Frank included, that wasn't information anyone needed to be privy to at exactly this second. Hell, it was information I wish I was not privy to, if we're going to be honest. It's quite honestly distressing to just KNOW that somebody likes staring at hedgehogs.

  "Semi-automatic gun." Frank added. "Guy was a pro. Only wasted bullet was the one to cause Noir to jump to safety between cars."

  "Handgun. Semi-automatic handgun." I added.

  "Any make or models?" Channing asked.

  "From 120 feet? Under live fire?" I retorted.

  "120 feet? Accurate shooter? I don't think that bullet was intended to distract Noir. I think Noir is lucky to be alive." Channing pointed out.

  "Like the woman." I added, looking over the names on the business cards on the sales desk. "Either Lucy or Jennifer." I looked around the shop, focusing on salesman of the month posters. "Looks like Lincoln wasn't here." I pointed at the posters. "We've got our victim ID posters." Pictures depicting most of the sales staff, and their best sales months.

  "Man, Lucy wasn't even on the board. Ouch." Frank winced. "In this line of work, being the worst sales person is a firing offense. Still. I guess she wins by default, now. Hell of a way to keep your job, though."

  "We need to track down Lincoln." I added. "Is it okay if we leave the site to uniform and the crime scene people?"

  "Stop wasting time. If you're looking for Lincoln, maybe this guy was, too." Channing gestured. "Get going."

  I paused exactly long enough to recover my shoes from the car lot, before we drove off. It was a quiet pause, with pulses racing, and a deep breath, before I started the car.

  "Where would Lincoln be?" Frank asked.

  "I've got an idea, but we need to split up. I want you to APB that car, and try and get it on traffic cameras. The crime scene guys might get DNA off of-" I began.

  "Reports of a car on fire, no plates, at the corner of First and Commercial." The radio noted.

  "We have radio back." Frank pointed out.

  "And we're not getting DNA off the car." I groaned.

  "That's like 7 blocks from here, isn't it?" Frank asked.

  "You guessed it without a map. Frank, I'm impressed." I said, dryly. "Go, get that car towed to evidence anyway. I'll check in on Lincoln's house."

  "How do I get there?" Frank asked.

  "Buy a car." I joked.

  Frank gave me a frown.

  "Grab one of the uniformed officers cars, or catch a lift, genius." I said, when it was clear the joke failed to land.

  "Oh. Right." Frank nodded.

  I smirked.

  Frank wandered off to commandeer a vehicle.

  I still couldn’t believe he didn’t realize I was screwing with him. For just a second there, he was in so much shock, that he thought I was serious.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but he was a good guy. That didn’t mean I liked him. I didn’t tend to like people.

  But he was a good guy. As guys went.

  Alone in the Noir.

  It was a long drive, to get to the kind of house you could own, if you ran a skeevy car lot in downtown Vancouver. 50 kilometers of slow traffic brought me well out of jurisdiction, to the
town of Maple Ridge.

  The sun was setting. By now, you're aware of my fondness for dramatic effect, and I solemnly swear I'll attempt to refrain.

  The air began to cool off, as the sun set, and yet, the house didn't have a single light on. The garage had an automated light that blinked on, when I cautiously walked up the drive.

  Fortunately, with no one around, I didn't have to explain how I knew the house was empty of anything alive. That didn't mean it was empty. There was just nothing believing, wishing, or hoping inside, except some particularly happy fruit and mayflies, and a plant that was unimpressed with it's level of neglect.

  I walked around the house, carefully, trying to deduce any signs of not living things.

  That's when I noticed something curious.

  The alarm wasn't activated.

  In spite of the fact that I knew, full stop, that this house was vacant, I couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of my neck stick up, when I tried the door, and it opened, without any lock preventing my entry.

  I didn't dare enter. Instead, I retreated to my car, and called for local backup. This was the kind of thing that became a jurisdictional nightmare in no time, and the relationship between the VPD, RCMP, and other departments in the lower mainland was good, at present. There was no need to go doing anything that might screw that up.

  Frank probably would have entered. He probably would have made a mess of a good crime scene blundering around in the dark.

  It was my first day on the job. That's how you earn a reputation.

  Minutes clicked past. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty.

  The hairs on the back of my neck returned to attention, at the 45 minute mark. Apparently my request was not worth noting, but there could be something time sensitive in the house.

  Finally, though, a single squad car pulled up.

  One petite blonde woman stepped out of her car. Her hair was done in a uniform ponytail, and her green eyes were vaguely reminiscent of the Faewoods. In spite of my irritation at the lack of response, I did have to admit that her appearance was calming.

  "Really? 45 minutes later, I get a single uniform to deal with a potential homicide?" I asked maybe a bit too harshly.

  "We're swamped. There was a big shooting at a nearby convenience store. Mugger made off with $500." The woman said. "I'm what they can spare."

  "Ouch. I remember how it felt to be what they can spare." I winced. Not a great first impression with someone I had to admittedly trust with my life. "Sorry, it's been one bad juju day."

  "What have we got?" The officer asked, looking noticeably relieved.

  "The guy's business was shot up earlier. Three employees hit. I came here to question him. No lights on. Alarm is off." I told her.

  "Alarm is… off?" She blinked. "Why would he leave his alarm off?"

  "That's why I came back and asked for backup." I nodded.

  "Clever. You don't want to trip across a crime scene, and mess it up, when you're not in your jurisdiction." The woman nodded. "I'm Bailey. Errr. Sergeant LeBlanc."

  "Azura Noir." I nodded. "LeBlanc Noir. That's got a pun-y sound to it."

  "Do you always hit on random strangers while possibly investigating crime scenes?" Bailey asked.

  "No, I'm usually the one scolding people for their lack of professionalism." Second yellow card.

  "Well, don't stop now. I really appreciate the attempt to cut the tension." Bailey retorted.

  "Which floor do you want to take?" I asked.

  "We both clear the main floor, I clear the upstairs, you clear the down?" Bailey asked.

  "Secure the exits first. I like your strategy." I nodded.

  Slowly walking through the darkened house, illuminated only by two flashlights, clearing rooms, as we went, I had to wonder if this was how the kids in that stupid Blair whatever it was called movie felt, in the woods. Scared silly, only to find the house in perfect order.

  Too perfect, in fact. Nothing seemed out of place.

  Bailey slowly moved upstairs, while I opened the basement.

  The stairs creaked, and groaned, and the cold air from the exposed concrete walls added to the chilling effect. I know, I know. I'm sorry, but the dramatics really are necessary.

  My flashlight walked across the dark, and I froze in place.

  The stairs creaked behind me.

  "Upstairs is clear." Bailey said, quietly. "What is that god awful smell?"

  She looked between me, and the flashlight beam, then froze.

  A body.

  "Lincoln?" She asked, quietly.

  I nodded, which was missed in the dark.

  "Is that him?" She added.

  "Yeah. That's him." I paused. "Except, he's been dead for at least a week."

  "Yeah, the smell says decomposing. That's probably why they left him down here." Bailey nodded.

  "Except nobody reported a public figure and business owner missing." I pointed out. "And a witness claims to have overheard his daughter having a distraught call with him four to five days ago."

  "That… seems unlikely." Bailey pointed out. "I should call this in."

  "I should call this in." I corrected. "That way it stays a joint investigation, and they can't just dump it off on some knucklehead detective who is more interested in a convenience store getting shot up. If I keep the lead, you get to stay on the case. It'll look better on your record."

  "You actually care?" Bailey asked. "About my career. Right now?"

  "Hey, if it had been you and me, alone, and there had been a murderer in this house, it would have been you and me, trying not to die. You deserve the credit for risking your life, kid." I shrugged. That last part slipped out.

  "Kid? I'm 27." Bailey frowned.

  "And I'm a lot older than I look." I added, dryly, to diffuse the conversation. Admitting that I had blinked into existence during the cold war, when I looked younger than her was likely quite rude. "Let's get the crime scene guys in here."

  It took thirty five minutes for the crime scene technicians to arrive. We patrolled the site in quiet thought about the morbid scene we had witnessed. It was very valuable time needed to process.

  Bailey talked to them, briefly, before returning to me, with a worried look.

  "Uhm. Do you know a Frank Gillard?" Bailey asked.

  "Yeah, he's my partner. Why?" I frowned.

  "I was told to pass on the message that he's in critical condition. Supposedly, he stopped by his house to get some clean clothes, and was attacked." Bailey was quiet.

  "Bailey, I need you car." One of the detectives noted. "I've got to get home."

  Bailey frowned. "Yeah. I'll catch a lift."

  "Hey." I put a hand on her shoulder. "This is a blessing."

  "It is?" She asked.

  "Yeah. Get in my car. You're still on this case, remember?" I gestured.

  "Oh! Yeah! Convenient excuse. The nice VPD lady offered me a ride, but got an unintentional call out to a location 50 kilometers out of the way." Bailey grinned.

  "I like you, Bailey LeBlanc. You've got a good sparkle."

  "A good what?" Bailey asked.

  "Sparkle." I reiterated.

  "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Bailey asked.

  "Glitter is bad, but sparkle is good." I shrugged.

  "Fair enough."

  Man down

  Arriving at the hospital a little past midnight, with the sparkly LeBlanc in tow, I rushed to find out where Frank was.

  It took a bit of running around, and nobody seemed to have a good answer, until we tripped across the Captain, staring at a vending machine.

  "No almond milk." Channing grumbled.

  "Drink it black, you pansy." LeBlanc retorted.

  Channing turned around, surprised.

  Bailey's eyes widened when she recognized him from public announcements.

  "Sergeant Noir." Channing said, nodding. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  "Captain Channing. This is-" I began.

 
"Sergeant somebody I don't give two shits about." Channing said, quietly.

  "Constable somebody you don't give two shuts about, sir." Bailey corrected.

  "I don't give a shit." Channing retorted. "Thought that was obvious when I said that I don't give a shit."

  "Why?" I asked, attention drawn immediately from Bailey’s faux pas.

  "Your witness and Frank died within half an hour of each other." Channing said, quietly. "That was an hour ago."

  "There's something you're not mentioning." I frowned.

  "Yeah, an hour and twenty minutes ago, I was told he was in critical condition." Bailey added.

  Channing pulled us both into a storage closet. Very convenient thing, storage closets. Always conveniently unlocked when you need a conference room. It wasn’t particularly roomy. This was more a conference cramp. The three of us inside it adequately violated its maximum capacity by two and one half people. The scent of leaking cleansers suggested that the janitorial staff wasn’t necessarily qualified to be cleaning a hospital, but that’s what you get with governmental budget cuts, and the decision to offer the contract for such duties to the lowest bidder available.

  "They died of asphyxiation. Not gunshot or stabbing wounds." Channing whispered. "They were both recovering, mostly. They had stopped the bleeding. Someone didn't want either one waking up."

  "We found Lincoln. Dead. Has been for a while, by the smell of it." I added.

  "Six. Corpses." Channing blinked. "SIX! Your first day on the job, and I unintentionally dumped you with six bodies. I'm sorry, Noir."

  "Be sorry to his family." I replied. "Barely knew the guy. I don’t need apologies. I need answers for him, so I can get justice for him."

  "That's good, because I have another big concern to point out." Bailey said, quietly. Something about her tone made me realize she was focused on something outside the immediate trauma of Frank’s passing. It was sobering to have someone logical on hand, in the face of the raw shock, and it dispelled some of my own.

  "Standard protocol. She keeps up." Channing nodded.

  "With what?" I asked.

  "When a person is a victim of a violent crime, they're put under police protection while in hospital." Bailey explained. "Which means, our suspect pool involves members of the hospital medical staff, hospital security-"