Fae Noir- the Murderer in Blue

by Katelynn Alexandrea

  “A valid point.” Azura acknowledged. “I’m the fairy godmother to human cruelty, after all.”

  “Can’t forget that.” Frank chuckled.

  I looked around the flat one more time, then frowned, as I walked towards her bathroom. Through the medicine cabinet. Through the collected hygiene items. My interest was piqued, however, when I looked between two bottles of shampoo. The left one was cheap store brand. The right was a more finesse one for dyed hair.

  I looked from one to the other, and back again.

  “Something bugging you?” Bailey asked.

  “Aabirah said that Frank lived like a pig.” I nodded, looking around the bathroom. Still holding the shampoo bottles, as I led them throughout the apartment.

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” Frank grumbled.

  I tilted my head, then looked between Bailey, and Frank. Then, I looked around the apartment again.

  “WHAT IS IT?” Bailey asked.

  “I can’t find a single magical or physical trace of a man living here anywhere in this house.” I said, quietly.

  “Yeah, so maybe he just was super careful?” Frank suggested.

  “No, that’s just it.” Bailey said, recognition dawning. “Different soaps. Different hand creams. Expensive hand creams you couldn’t easily afford.”

  “It would take some masterful effort to hid their existence from me, within a place they felt comfortable, or safe. I can feel Tracy here. Memories of her dead mom. That's not all, though. Different shampoo. There WAS someone else living here, but neither the magical nor physical leftovers imply it was a man.” I added, holding up the bottles. “Store brand. Anti-dandruff. The kind of stuff that you buy when you both need to keep your dandruff under control, but you’re also terrifyingly underpaid.” I held up the other bottle. “Salon brand, designed to be safe on salon dyed hair. Expensive. Designed for hair that gets frizzy too often.”

  “Are you implying that the other person who stays here overnight is a woman?” Frank asked. "Because of anti-dandruff shampoo? Men get dandruff."

  "Men are stupid. They assume they need fancy name brand dandruff shampoo." Bailey pointed out. "I feel spoiled that I can enjoy my berry blend."

  "Men also work minimum wage." Frank retorted.

  "Men who work minimum wage and have dandruff go bald because it's more cost effective than anti-dandruff shampoo." I shrugged.

  "There's more, too, now that I look at it." Bailey said, looking through the house, thoughtfully. “She might be onto something.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank asked.

  “There was no shaving traces on the sink. No evidence of any man being here in the kitchen or bathroom garbage cans. Only wine in the fridge. No beers, or anything of the like. Wine glasses are kept cleaner than anything else in the house, implying that the host, Tracy, is accustomed to a guest who is attentive enough to care about visible splotches on wine glasses. No stray men’s clothes. No men’s style shoe stains by the door. Even the movie selection screams there has never been a man in this apartment.” Bailey gestured. “Though the absolutely most diagnostic thing is the bedroom.”

  “What about the bedroom?” Frank looked bewildered.

  “Come with me.” I was amused at how well Bailey caught on.

  Bailey gestured around the bedroom. “Would you sleep in there?”

  Frank looked around, perplexed.

  “Really look.” Bailey said.

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “Floral patterns. Everywhere. Stupid floral lamps. Stupid floral wall paper.” He paused. “Do you honestly think a guy wouldn’t bang a girl who looked like Tracy in this room?”

  “No contraceptives.” Bailey pointed out.

  “But there is, however, lubricant on that nightstand.” I retorted.

  Frank blanked. “So she-” He stopped. “Wait. You’re serious about all this.”

  “Damn straight we are.” I nodded. “But the big teller? The obvious one?”

  “What’s that?” Frank asked.

  “Prenatal vitamins in the bathroom.” I said, shrugging.

  “So?” Frank laughed.

  “You don’t think that’s something that might come up in say, oh, I don't know? A post-mortem report? Pregnancy?” Bailey asked.

  “Oh.” Frank said, quietly. “That does bring your initial intrigue about the bathroom in a better light.”

  “And you thought I couldn’t do actual cop stuff.” I scoffed.

  Frank gave me a look.

  Bailey gave me a look.

  “I’m waiting for an apology.” I crossed my arms.

  “You called me shithead.” Frank retorted.

  “That’s a fair-” Bailey began.

  And then Frank froze, looking towards me.

  My face was contorted in to an unpleasant look.

  “What is it?” Bailey asked.

  “There’s… something… coming.” Frank said.

  Intent.

  “Oh. Fuck.” I whispered.

  “What?” Bailey asked.

  “We’re in trouble.” I said, looking at Frank. “Big. Trouble.”

  “Fairy-dar?” Bailey asked.

  “We need to get out of here. Now.” I nodded.

  Black dartwing

  It's difficult to explain exactly how it feels, as a fairy, to feel someone wishing to kill you.

  Fae were more or less forged out of magic and belief to grant wishes. The intent, desire, and sincere wish to kill a fairy would be akin to food poisoning, were it not for a nearby source of strong belief that I could get us out of this.

  Part of me felt like I would already be dead, were it not for her. Part of me was painfully aware that that might be an incredibly temporary and short lived point, if we didn't come up with a plan.

  "A plan. I'm usually good at those." I muttered.

  "Right now, I'd appreciate anything you've got." Bailey said, quietly.

  "Don't die." Frank suggested.

  "Is it him?" Bailey asked.

  I shook my head. "Colder." I said, quietly.

  "Great." Bailey said, before looking up at the ceiling. "I've got an idea."

  "Thank magic for that." Relief flooded through my brain faster than I could comprehend it.

  Bailey grabbed a candle, and held it out to me. "Light it."

  "Your plan is lavender scented candles?" Frank asked.

  I lit it, in spite of Frank's criticisms.

  Bailey set the candle down, then grabbed a chair, and hastily held the candle under the smoke detector.

  I blinked, trying not to laugh at the simplicity of it.

  Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.

  There was a sudden shift in the world around us. Panic set in, in the people around the apartment, as neither of us turned the alarm off.

  We stayed silent.

  The fire alarm continued it's screaming.

  And then, there. Subtle, but there.

  A shift in the intent, from offense to the realization that as people evacuated, they'd be seen.

  The person's intent vanished.

  Then, a hasty retreat.

  I took a breath. "Let's get out of here. We've got everything we need."

  "We do?" Bailey asked.

  I smirked, and nodded. "I know why Willcox is angry. I think he's got the last piece of the puzzle."

  Disabling the alarm, and taking our leave of the apartment, I was relieved we managed to avoid the confrontation, and as we got in to the car, I took a breath.

  "What's our move?" Bailey asked.

  "We arrest Wilcox." I said, after a moment.

  "WHY? ON WHAT EVIDENCE?" Bailey asked.

  "We don't have any." Frank laughed. "But, it grants us access to questioning him without outside interference, and the sudden decision to do so, so soon after searching Tracy's apartment is going to imply to everyone, except the killer, or at least their accomplice, that we're not pursuing other suspects."

  "Why not the killer?" Bailey frowned.

  "Because t
hey are both attentive to detail, and one of them resided at least part time in Tracy's house. The odds that they'd think anything was there to incriminate Willcox is very small, as far as they're concerned." I pointed out.

  "Then. WHY?" Bailey asked.

  I gave Frank a side-eye.

  "Chum in the water." Frank nodded.

  "What?" Bailey asked.

  "It's a masking trick, when hunting squid, or vicious fish." My smug look was high. “You make them wild with hunger by filling the water with food. They don’t notice the hooks.”

  Bailey took a moment. "Wait. You're deliberately dying the pool of belief in the office towards the idea that he did it." She blinked. "SO YOU CAN MORE EASILY PICK OUT ANYONE WHO DOESN'T BELIEVE IT!"

  "You're getting used to this." Frank chuckled. "That's good. The better you two work together, the harder it is for people to catch you both flatfooted."

  "You're the flatfoot, crocodile." I teased.

  "You wear crocs to work one day-" Frank groaned.

  "Oh, dude. That's rough." Bailey laughed. "This one time, I had a sock stuck on the back of my pants, from the dryer, and made it through half the day being called Socksy, and let me tell you, that was 6 months ago, and nobody has dropped it."

  "Sounds like cop humor." Frank agreed. "Smart thinking with the fire alarm, by the way."

  "Kevin's friend gave me the idea. Remember?" Bailey asked.

  "The fire alarm caused the assailant to bolt last time. Clever." I actually felt a bit daft, not having thought of it, myself. "Probably won't work next time, though. We're about to show that hand is played out."

  "Yeah, if they figure out we triggered that smoke alarm, they'll suspect we know who they are and where they were." Bailey agreed.

  The three of us got out of the car, and I took a minute to compose myself in to serious business mode face. "Bailey, I need you to look your absolute most pissed off for the next two minutes."

  "Can do." Bailey said, and after just a few moments, her own face took a serious look.

  The elevator dinged, and I walked purposefully towards Wilcox.

  I hastily disarmed him, while he was busy talking with someone else, and aimed his gun at him.

  "Sergeant Lawrence Wilcox." Bailey said, calmly, but with an irate tone. "I'm arresting you under suspicion of the murders of Tracy and Frederick Lincoln, Sergeant Frank Gillard, Timothy Maxwell, Kevin LeForge, Lucy Williams, Thomas Brackwell, and Jennifer Prentis. I'm also arresting you under the suspicion of the attempted murders of Constable Bailey LeBlanc, Sergeant Azura Noir, and Captain Derek Channing. You have the right to remain silent, retain and instruct counsel without delay. You also have the right to free and immediate legal advice from duty counsel by making free telephone calls to lawyers during business hours and the legal advice and assistance hotlines during non-business hours. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?"

  The entire room was silent.

  "Do. You. Understand?" I demanded, as Bailey handcuffed him.

  Wilcox gave me a glare and for just a single second, I thought he might have actually been guilty.

  "Yeah." Wilcox grumbled.

  "You should probably call that lawyer. I'll dial." Bailey added.

  "Unless you need to call the legal aid hotline." I added.

  "Fuck public defenders." Wilcox grumbled.

  "Rightio." Bailey shrugged. "Have it your way. Let's go."

  The entire tone of the room shifted. It wasn't subtle. You didn't even need to be a fairy to pick out how quickly people put together Wilcox and the murder of his ex wife as a logical progression of the case, which solidified, in their minds, the concept that by extrapolation, he must also be guilty of the other crimes, which included assaults and the murder of a police officer.

  Wilcox looked to his partner. "Stacy, can you call Altair and associates for me? Remind Tom Franklin that he owes me a favor."

  His partner gave him a quiet nod, before picking up the phone.

  Yet, there it was.

  Disbelief.

  I gave Bailey a side glance.

  She nodded.

  Now, we just had to prove it.

  Snake eyes

  It was a boring room. Interrogation rooms are. Sensory deprivation was a common enough strategy for interrogating people.

  1 door. 1 two way window. 1 camera. 1 table. 4 chairs.

  It was chilled. Intentionally. Not quite enough to be uncomfortable, but not sufficient to be comfortable, either.

  I stepped in to this bleak room, and sat opposite Wilcox.

  "I didn't do it, and that's all I'm saying until I get a lawyer." Wilcox grumbled.

  "I know." I said in an even, measured tone.

  He was not expecting this. He was visibly jarred.

  "Don't speak until your lawyer gets here." I added, calmly. "Just listen. We know you were married to Tracy. We know your relationship turned ugly. I even know why."

  He gave me a glare. It didn't pierce any layer of emotional armor.

  "Your wife cheated on you with other women, and when you found out, you acted out, and someone else rescued her right out of your arms." I added.

  "My god damned partner." Wilcox nodded. "Said someone tipped him off."

  "Your new partner. Stacy." I nodded. "Is she pregnant?"

  Wilcox gave me a strange look. "Yeah. She had to do sperm donation. Her and her spouse can't conceive."

  Pieces. Puzzle. Complete.

  "Benham was tipped off by the only person who could know about the affair." I said, quietly. "Stacy Chavez."

  "Bullshit." Wilcox frowned.

  "I have reason to believe they were dating." I took a breath. "And that the original intention was to set you up for this murder."

  Wilcox turned stone faced.

  "She's not working alone." I added.

  He looked down. "Why?"

  "I need help filling in the blanks. Was…Tracy's father interfering or controlling?"

  The room was silent. Wilcox looked down, and furrowed his brows.

  "He hired a PI." Wilcox said, quietly. "Name of Sparrow, I think. Investigated every inch of my life and made me come clean about my father being in jail to Tracy. Hated him for that. I've been pretending he's dead."

  "Sparrow." I echoed. "Do you think her father would do the same for any other potential spouse?"

  "Probably. Guy had a serious control problem. Investigated most of his employees, too." Wilcox shrugged.

  "And… If Tracy were to end up with someone equally controlling, who felt threatened by this, and by extension, him?" I asked.

  "Like Stacy?" Wilcox furrowed his brows. "She's cold, controlling, and manipulative, sure."

  "I just need a simple question answered, and then I'll let you go, for now." I said. "While Bailey is handling something else."

  Wilcox tilted his head.

  "Did you kill any of those people?" I asked, intently.

  "No." He said, with a scrunched up face.

  Grief rose to the surface of his mind.

  "Oh. My. Goodness." I blinked,looking him over. "She was the last person you could hurt."

  "I love her." Wilcox nodded, quietly.

  And there was no mistaking this. It was true. There was regret associated with the fight with Tracy. Pain at her leaving. Resentment at Benham, for getting her away.

  I had measured him entirely wrong.

  This man was angry because he had no light left.

  It had been taken.

  "I will catch the people who did this." I promised him.

  He looked relieved.

  "I promise."

  And, there.

  Just a twinge of belief.

  And hope.

  He didn't quite smile.

  Hook, line, and stinker

  We headed back to the Captain's office. There was an annoyed man there.

  "This is Sergeant Foster. Internal Affairs." The Captain began.

  "We cut Wilcox loose. His lawyer riddled our circums
tantial evidence in to swiss cheese." I said, quietly.

  "Ah." The internal affairs officer looked slightly relieved. "So. In other words. You bungled it, jumped the gun, and saved me getting egged by a high priced lawyer."

  "In short." Bailey agreed. "We do have other lines of inquiry."

  "It was just the most promising. He had an abusive relationship with Ms. Lincoln in the past." I added.

  Channing blinked. "SON OF A-"

  "What?" I asked.

  "Tracy Lincoln is Tracy Wilcox? Fuck, I should have caught that." Channing groaned. "Guys, my bad. That's on me. I should have known."

  "You didn't realize-?" Bailey blinked.

  "Nope." Channing shook his head.

  "Step up your game, Captain. An actual attempt on your life was made." Bailey grumbled.

  "You two make a really good team." Channing said, quietly.

  "If there's… Nothing else?" The internal affairs officer asked.

  I rose an eyebrow, as I took the man in. Taller. Nice hair. Blue eyes. There was something agitated about him. As though he was waiting for something.

  Click. Click. Click.

  "No." I said, eyes drifting to his arm. "Nothing."

  The man nodded, and left.

  "Azura, if we suspect another-" Bailey said, quietly, after he left.

  "Brown hair. Blue eyes." I tilted my head towards the door. "And a recent injury. I can't be sure he wasn't involved"

  Bailey gave me an uncertain look.

  "On his arm." I added. "Looked quite painful, though he was hiding it well. Can't tell if it's a gunshot."

  Channing looked between us.

  I gave Channing a pointed look. "You handed us the news article."

  Channing's eyes went wide. "You think-?"

  "I suspect." I said, quietly. "But cannot prove."

  "Why would he-?" Bailey paused. "What would be his motive?"

  "No idea." I sighed. "We should go talk to Fred Lincoln's PI though. Sparrow."

  "Ugh." Channing groaned.

  "You know him?" Bailey asked.

  "Her." Channing corrected. "Some sleaze private investigator. No morals. Good luck with that. She works out of Sparrow Spsychics. On Granville Island."

  "Spsychics." Bailey repeated.

  "Tarot cards, future telling, and a private detective license, all in one shop." Channing nodded.