Chapter Text
Oh boy.
It’s a good one.
A neat little trail of blood spots like a macabre dot-to-dot treasure hunt, ending in a firework explosion of red, painting the perfect storyboard of how this late night encounter concluded. The who and why don’t matter to me, not really, but finding the neat order in the apparent disorder, is what I seek, what I enjoy. I twist my head side to side, gauging different impact angles as I crouch beside the blood spots one-by-one, noticing the way they have slight tails. Direction. Our victim was moving during the first few blows, alive and feeling every moment. Three bloodied shoe scuffs on the stained carpet, backwards heel prints in the direction of travel make the moment come alive in my imagination. The victim, confused and injured, stumbling backwards, facing their attacker.
There’s definitely something to be said about watching the realisation of imminent death cross the face of the soon-to-be dearly departed.
I should know.
‘Why are you fucking smiling at a crime scene, creep.’
I’m startled into standing and turning on the spot, to face the stone cold stare of Sergeant James Doakes. I would have jumped back in surprise, let out a gasping ‘oh I didn’t see you there’, maybe even pressed a dramatic hand to my chest to complete the look, to disguise my complete lack of ability to experience the emotion I should have in that moment. As it is, Doakes never falls for my little trying-to-be-normal acts, so I rarely put too much effort into it around him these days. I did, however, feel slightly perturbed by the turn of events. He had managed to sneak up on me un-noticed. And I’m not easy to sneak up on, far more used to being the one doing the sneaking, which goes to show just how enthralled I was in the moment.
‘I’m not.’ I say defensively, but it sounds petulant, even to my own ears. Like a kid caught denying eating the candy with chocolate smeared all over his face.
‘You look like the goddam cheshire cat got the cream.’
‘This is good solid evidence. Will really help with building the case.’ I say, sweeping my hand vaguely across the scene in front of us, hoping the promise of an easy win might lead Doakes’ thoughts away from those about me.
I should be so lucky.
‘You’re still smiling.’
Oops.
I school my face, force my cheeks to relax.
Aim for nonchalance.
‘I can see that freak robot brain of yours ticking away, playing at being human. You’re worse than Masuka, the sick little fuck.’ He spits.
‘That sick little fuck is stood riiiiight heeeere.’ Vince Masuka says in his sing song voice from the far corner, next to the smashed window, pausing in his ministrations to clean the camera lens with a single gloved finger.
‘At least he doesn’t pretend to be a normal human-‘
‘Don’t think I won’t go to HR for harassment… especially if it’s that little blonde cutie Delilah-’
‘Shut up you sex pest creep.’ Doakes barks without looking at him, eyes fixed solely on mine, apparently we have entered a staring contest. Hopefully not, don’t they say eyes are the windows into your soul? Doakes might spot there’s an empty cavern behind mine.
Masuka starts clicking away again, the flash of the camera reflecting off the white wash walls, illuminating the dark irises of Doakes’ eyes. Not much behind his either, I notice, stood this close to him.
‘Whereas you wear this… human suit, and play pretend.’
Doakes really ought to get a pay rise, he’s an excellent detective.
Spot on, in fact.
A few silent moments pass, broken only by more camera clicks.
‘The window was broken from the inside, so our vic probably knew her attacker as there wasn’t any sign of forced entry at the front door.’ Masuka says conversationally, as though Doakes and I aren’t stood almost toe to toe, staring deep into each eyes in the middle of an active crime scene like a pair of star crossed lovers donned in white coveralls and blue plastic shoe covers, surrounded by blood splats laid out like scattered rose petals.
‘Put it in the report.’ Doakes says, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘You’re a lizard, Morgan. And I’m gonna suss you out sooner or later, mark my words.’ He finally looks away and steps back minutely before fixing me with another harsh glare. ‘I hate lizards.’
The visual of Doakes stomping on lizards like a cartoon whack-a-mole is proffered by my own reptilian brain, and despite the somewhat serious topic of conversation, something in me bubbles up.
‘Don’t use that fake-ass laugh with me.’
I cut it off mid sound.
The funny thing is, I think, as Doakes shoulders past me out the room, that was actually my real laugh.