Chapter Text
The crime scene was incredibly bloody. Despite his years of experience, Hank was surprised enough to raise an eyebrow when he descended the steps into the basement. The forensic team was already tagging evidence and samples by the time he and Connor arrived—fashionably late as always. Their tardiness wasn’t Hank’s fault this time. Sure, he accidentally left his car keys on the driver seat and didn’t realize it until they were called to the scene, but Connor was the one who locked the car that morning (‘Lieutenant Anderson, there has been a statistically significant increase in the frequency of petty theft from cars over the last week. Leaving your vehicle unlocked, even in close proximity to the police station, is unwise.’ ‘Jesus, Connor, don’t call me lieutenant before I’m on duty!’ ‘Technically, our shift started 37.2 seconds ago.’).
“Thought we’d been forgotten!” A woman in white coveralls joked when she saw the two detectives. “You’re lucky we haven’t packed everything away yet.”
Hank rolled his eyes, glancing over at his partner. Connor tilted his head to the side, LED cycling a few times before he set off to survey the carnage, reconstructing the most likely sequence of events. Hank sighed. Sometimes, going to crime scenes with Connor made him feel redundant and just a little outdated. Not that he ever wanted to be partnered with anyone else, but just once he’d like to have time to form his own theory before the eager android reported his findings, looking hopefully at the older detective for confirmation.
Hank stepped over to the knife discarded next to the three bound bodies. A shimmering holomarker identified the knife as evidence number 12. The blade was long and glistened with red and blue blood. The blade was chipped and didn’t look particularly sharp, though Hank supposed any knife would be worse for wear after hacking apart two humans and one android.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the murder weapon or at least one of them.” The woman in coveralls supplied from behind his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were multiple assailants and weapons, given the state of things.”
Connor joined them, crouching to inspect the wounds on the three bodies.
“Possibly,” Hank grumbled. Apparently, nobody was going to let him examine the scene. “Odd for only one murder weapon to get left behind though.”
“All wounds were inflicted with a single knife,” Connor stated, standing again. “Most probably wielded by a single assailant.”
“Alright Connor,” Hank said, stepping back from the bodies. “Tell us what happened.”
“The victims entered the basement one at a time. They did not struggle when the assailant bound them, suggesting they knew each other and were, initially, willing participants.”
Hank shook his head. “If you’re going to say this was some kind of kinky game that got out of hand, I’m gonna need a drink.” It was mostly a joke. Hank had been sober for the past two months, thanks in part to a weekly support group and Connor’s ability to look like a kicked puppy whenever he sensed alcohol on Hank’s breath.
Connor paused, LED flashing briefly yellow as he thought. “I did not consider that possibility. The evidence does not directly confirm or refute your theory.”
“Wasn’t really a theory,” Hank said, waving his hand dismissively. “Continue.”
“Once bound, the victims’ ability to defend themselves was severely limited. They were forced to kneel in their current positions as their assailant administered an average of 73 slices and 45 stabs to each. The assailant used a single knife,” he indicated the tagged evidence near Hank’s foot. “And paused halfway through to re-sharpen the blade, indicated by decreased trauma to surrounding tissues and bio-components. At this time, the assailant also spread the victims’ blood across the walls using discarded underwear.”
Hank glanced over at the blood-soaked fabric next to holomarker number 6. The woman from the forensic team grimaced.
“The placement of the wounds allowed for maximum blood loss while ensuring the victims remained alive for approximately two hours. The HW800 expired last, three minutes before dispatch received an emergency call from this location, suggesting the perpetrator made the call. That was an hour ago, giving the assailant significant time to flee the area; however, given the nature of the crime, it is possible the assailant remained close by to observe.” Connor finished.
“Makes sense.” Hank agreed, pulling out his phone. “I’ll tell the officers outside to be on the lookout for any loiterers.”
The woman in forensic coveralls looked queasy. “And you know that all just from looking?” She managed to ask as Connor crouched by the knife.
“Yes.” He replied, glancing up at her before reaching for the weapon.
“Jesus, Connor!” Hank exclaimed. “We talked about this!”
Connor paused, bloody fingers inches away from his open mouth.
“Forensic runs all the samples, that’s their job.” Hank glared at his partner.
The woman fidgeted, obviously confused but nodded in agreement.
“But Hank, that will take hours. Assailants often cut themselves when using knives. If that occurred here, I will have results in seconds.” Connor stuck his fingers in his mouth.
“You’re disgusting,” Hank grumbled.
“Holy cow,” the woman said. “He actually does that?”
“Unfortunately.” Hank watched Connor, whose expression became vaguely unfocused as he analyzed the mixed-blood sample.
Connor’s LED flashed several times. “We’re looking for a GJ500 named Jonathan, serial number 588 588 125. I will alert New Jericho to his involvement.”
Officially, New Jericho was under no obligation to work with the DPD or turnover residents to police unless they had an arrest warrant. Unofficially, Markus (or more often his advisors, like North or Simon) would work with the DPD on serious criminal charges provided Connor and Hank were the go-between.
Hank relayed the information to the officers outside the old house. “Guess we’re done here.” He said, turning back toward the stairs. “I’ll file an APB at the station. With any luck, this jackass will be off the streets by morning.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Anderson.” Connor made to follow him.
“You’d better wash that goddamn filthy hand before getting in my car.”
“Of course, Lieutenant Anderson.”
“You’re the most disgusting android sometimes, you know that Connor?”
“I know, Lieutenant Anderson.”
Hank’s beard hid his grin.