Chapter Text
Date: 03/02/20XX, Friday
Time: 7:40 PM
Location: Chorus Café Supplies Warehouse, Pier 636
Wash snapped out of his daze when he saw Caboose go down. He was quick to catch Caboose before the poor man’s head could hit the ground. They definitely didn’t need any more dead bodies around here. He slowly laid Caboose down on the ground behind him – he would deal with him later – and began to assess the situation.
The large metal gate was wide open now, the shutters locking with a large click. The pier was right past the gate, and a few workers carrying crates stood in shock. The loud creaking of the gate must’ve caught their attention then it would’ve been hard to miss the body that was slowly being uncovered as the gate rose. A few workers rushed towards it to get a better view
“Stay away from the body! Don’t come too close.” Wash called out and held his arms out. They immediately stopped, forming a perimeter around the dead body. “Hurry, one of you call the police!”
A particulary shocked worker dropped the bucket he held and brought out her cellphone, dialing 911. “Hello, is this 911?” She spoke with a heavy lisp. “Yeth, it’th an emergency. A-a dead body. Warehouse 20, Pier 636. Thwenty. I thaid Warehouse 20, if you tell me to repeat that again I thwear to God…”
Washington kneeled down to examine the body; the person was clearly dead. Several small stab wounds littered the chest area but the biggest one with the most blood caked around it was right on the heart. The knife in the throat was probably just for show. God, criminals are such fucking creeps.
The pool of blood around it seemed to be almost dry; Wash assumed the murder must’ve happened quite a while ago, even before he and Caboose arrived at the Warehouse. A trail of blood lead from the pool of blood to a wall to the right and up some metal stairs leading to a room with glass windows on the upper part of the warehouse. He would check that out later.
He reached out to pull the hood down and uncover the face but just as he did, police sirens blared from outside the warehouse and he could hear more people rushing in through the gate. A flashlight shone right on his face.
“Well, well, well, look what we have here!”
Washington looked up. He recognized that asshole’s voice anywhere.
“For a detective, you seem to know nothing about crime scene courtesy.” A man stood smugly before him, dressed in a dark grey polo with a bright orange tie and black dress slacks. A few uniformed police officers also joined him inside the warehouse, shooing away the workers that stood around (‘Hey, you’re that athhole who couldn’t understand me aren’t you? Don’t you dare touch me!’). “Oops, I meant former detective. Sorry.”
“Felix.” Wash hissed.
“Brr, that was cold, Wash. Cold.” Felix pretended to look offended, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to a friend you haven’t met in a long time, David?” Felix smug smile grew even wider as Wash winced at the mention of his name. He knew exactly what buttons to push with Washington.
“You’re not my friend, not even close.” Wash shook his head and stood up to look him straight in the face. Well not exactly, as Wash was a head taller than him. “What are you even doing here?”
“And, uh, it’s kind of my job as the highest-ranking detective in the police force to be here? I’d imagine you of all people wouldknow what responsibilities lie on my shoulders.” He emphasized his last sentence, looking up at Wash with a smirk.
“Fuck you.” Wash practically snarled, anger boiling inside of him, and took a step forward with his hands clenched into fists.
“Easy, tiger!” Felix laughed and put his hands in front of him as if to ward off the other from attacking him. Wash stepped back, folding his arms and not breaking his stare. “In all seriousness, though, I’d probably step away from that crime scene if I were you.” Felix’s voice dropped back into a serious tone. “You don’t want to get into any more trouble.”
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Date: 03/02/20XX, Friday
Time: 8:30 PM
Location: Bloodgulch Police Station-A, Pier 636
“You’re in where because of what!?” Wash winced leaned his head away from the telephone as North’s usually-calm voice pierced through the speaker in a shout.
“Look, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Wash spoke quietly. “They just took me in to ask me some questions about the crime scene.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you continue the investigation.” Wash could hear North pacing back and forth from the other line and shifted uncomfortably with guilt.
“I didn’t do anything, North. I swear.”
Silence filled the phone booth for a few seconds before North finally spoke up.
“Yes, I know.” North replied after taking a deep breath. “I believe in you.”
“I don’t!” Another voice came from somewhere on North’s end. “I always knew y’had it in you! I’m proud of you, Washo!”
“South, you’re not helping.” North sternly reprimanded his sister away from the mouthpiece and sighed heavily before turning back to talk to Wash. “Listen, Wash, you’ll be fine. You know how these things work, just listen to Felix and do as you’re told.”
“They wouldn’t let me even touch the crime scene!” Wash argued.
“You’re not a detective anymore, Wash. You have to remember that.”
He had to admit, North was right. He always had that urge to run towards trouble, forgetting that it was no longer his duty to, causing him a lot of trouble (and earning him a few more scars).
Wash leaned against the wall with a sigh and brought his other hand to his head. His head started to throb as the memories flashed through his mind. “I-I do know that.”
The police officer waiting outside the phone booth tapped against the glass, motioning for Wash to hurry.
“I have to go now, they’re calling me.”
“Ok, Wash. Just call me back when you’re done.” North paused. “Is Theta alright?”
“Yeah, he’s with Caboose right now in the infirmary.” The police had wanted to question Caboose as well as soon as he woke up. He was still currently passed out in the infirmary the last Wash had heard. He was just glad he was still okay even after that fall. It was probably the first time the poor guy witnessed something as grisly as a crime scene.
“Thank you, Wash. I’m really happy you found him.” Washington could hear the sincerity in his voice. It’s been a while ever since he’s done anything other than disappoint his best friend; he wasn’t exactly sure how to react.
“Don’t mention it.” He muttered then hung up. Did most best friends end phone calls like this?
He walked out of the phone booth and allowed the police officer assigned to him (“Bitters”) to (reluctantly) lead him to the interrogation room. The inside was all too familiar to Wash. Dark grey plastered on the walls and ceiling with a table with a single folding chair in the middle with a door opposite the one he entered in. Usually, though, Wash wasn’t the one sitting down.
Felix entered through the other door with a folder in hand after a few seconds and dismissed Bitters (He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”)
“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Felix smirked. He placed both hands flat on the table and leaned down, staring straight at Washington.
“I didn’t do anything and I’m not saying anything.” Wash folded his arms and leaned back on his chair to glare back at him.
“Please, you don’t even have to.” Felix shrugged. “You’re not even a suspect.”
“Wait, what?” Wash stared in disbelief.
“Nope! The victim died hours before you even arrived at the Pier according to the autopsy.” Felix opened the folder, flipping through the pages inside and reading off them. “’Estimated time of death – 5:30 PM. Cause of death – excess bleeding in the chest area. Multiple stab wounds were found around the chest area- Blah blah blah boring. Read it yourself.” Felix closed the file and slid it across the table. Wash raised an eyebrow and looked suspiciously at Felix as he stopped it with his hand. “Stop giving me that look, jeez, it’s fine! I’m completely authorizing this.”
Wash was reluctant to trust Felix but he flipped open the file, curiousity getting the better of him. The victim was a man named Gary Minamimoto, an employee of the Knock Knock Coffee Shop that also ordered from the Chorus Café Supplies group. He’d died from several stab wounds to the chest, according to the autopsy, and the knife to his neck was post mortem.
He mostly skimmed through the profile and the case files, gathering only the details. At the very end of the last page, the name of the main suspect was carefully typed out. Wash nearly fell out of his chair when he read who it was.
“Tucker!?”