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Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Detective · #2035880
Blackbird series, episode 1 #youlikeit - chapter 2
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crime scene


Gillian got in the car saying, as back in the old days when they worked together, “Give me the short tour.”

“Roger Johnson, junior at RC high school…” started Banks, handing her a folder with the first pictures from the crime scene.

“That’s money.”

Banks nodded as he drove away from the federal building. “Yep. Last night he went out to the Theatre District with some friends. He went out of the bar for a smoke and ended up dead in the side alley.”

“So he was already of age?”

“C’mon, Reg, the Inquisition was over a couple of years ago, you know?”

“I see, fake IDs.”

“That’s my girl. He was hit with a blunt object from behind, then stabbed about a dozen times, but he still had his wallet, with all his money and credit cards, as well as his car keys.”

“So it wasn’t about robbing him. Connor knew the boy, and looks like  he wasn’t much of a charmer. Let me call T, she’ll find us who this boy really was.”

“Oh yeah, your little hacker will dig out all his dirty secrets.”

The alley was still roped off, so they had to make their way past TV crews, and people trying to peep on something morbid to comment on over lunch. The Crime Lab Unit was still working, but the agents gave them room as soon as they got to the end of the alley. They all stayed around anyway. Banks and Gillian had been partners for eight years, and they used to have the best rate of solved cases of the whole PD. Back then, they were the watch-and-learn team for green-shots. So the older Lab agents wouldn’t miss the chance of seeing them in action together again, after six years. And the younger agents had heard so much about them, that now they wanted to see if what they were told was nearly close to being true.

Banks and Gillian stood side by side at the spot where the body had been, and they opened the folder to study and compare the pictures with the scene. The alley was but a narrow dead-end passage between old buildings, one-hundred yards long. Garbage overflowed the metallic containers against the wall on the right, one near the access, one near the end of it. It was just like any other alley—wet, grim, stinky.

Banks started to think aloud as they used to do. “So you’re a quarterback, Connor-big, out for a bender with your buddies and your fake ID. You come to the alley to smoke and…” They looked up and around. “You wouldn’t come this far into the alley at night.”

“Not for just a smoke, this side must be pretty dark. Did he go out of the bar alone?”

“That’s what his friends said.”

They walked back to the corner slowly, still looking up. Gillian pointed at a door. “There, a camera.” She was already making a call.

“Kurt, take on T’s search and tell her we need the feeds from the cameras in this alley. And keep the music down, dammit.”

Banks turned a picture upside down and showed it to her. “He fell facing that wall,” he said, pointing at the end of the alley.

“So he was coming and somebody hit him from behind. In the head?”

“And behind his knees.”

They traded a suspicious look.

Gillian arched her eyebrows. “We’re talking about a team here.”

Banks nodded, studying the place. “One to lure him, one to knock him down.”

“Or more. Head, then legs. He didn’t have time to turn around.”

“Or he’d be alive.”

“Yep.”

They went back to the spot where the body was found, put on latex gloves and started to inspect the area.

“Jeez… Three…?” Banks muttered.

“At least. And all of them smaller than him—which means nothing, since the boy was huge. We need the autopsy report.”

“Let Riley take his time. We have about a dozen people to interview, counting the boy’s family and his friends.”

Gillian smirked. Banks snorted.

“So you’re leaving me all alone to listen to all of them mumbling in tears about what a nice, bighearted boy he was, how he cared for others and how everybody loved him,” he grumbled.

“Hey, I already did my share of interviews back in our days.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, forgot you’re elite now.”

“Bite me.”

“Name the day, hun.”

“C’mon, Bob, you’re a sergeant, don’t you have a detective smart enough to help you with that?”

“Taylor’s okay, but you know he’s still a little green.”

“Oh, yes.”

Banks looked up at her, scowling. “C’mon, Reg, he’s hardly thirty.”

“Oh, yes.”

“That’s fifteen years younger than you!”

“Then pray I don’t catch you checking an under-forty rear.”

“Hey, I’m a married man!”

“Oh, yeah, my bad. By the way, how old is Carmen? Isn’t she thirty-five? Isn’t that twelve years younger than you?”

Banks didn’t answer and Gillian gifted him with her best mocking smile.

Then he pointed at the metallic container at the end of the alley. “Here. Footprints.”

“And now you’re a bloodhound.”

“Oh, shut up and call a tech to take a model of this!”

“Still missing me, Belly-Banks?” she taunted, waving at one of the Lab agents waiting a few yards away, all of them swallowing giggles at their conversation. “Let’s see, what’s so special about that footprint?”

“You mean, other than the fact that it’s got dry blood?”





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