Boston, MA

June 20th 2013

16:03PM

It was a long shot but he thought he could make it. When Lucy King entered the room and looked across the room at her partner she saw him teeing up the shot and knew instantly that he would miss. He flicked his arm forward and released the ball of paper only for it to hit the wall to the left of the trash can, next to the window, and land on the floor.

“You messed up your angles,” began King.

She placed two folders on her desk and picked up a mug of coffee.

“You do it then,” replied Lancaster.

“I would but I’m trying to solve a murder,” she began as Lancaster balled up another piece of paper, “the toxicology report came back on Danielle Gordon.”

“Why do you always refer to them by their full name?”

He teed up another shot. He looked directly at the can, cracked his knuckles before adjusting his angle ever so slightly to the left and releasing.

“I fucking did it!” he exclaimed as the ball of paper landed in the trash like a basketball swishing through a hoop.

“Congratulations.”

Lucy sat at her desk and took a sip of her coffee.

“Cold,” she said, screwing up her face, before placing it back on her desk.

“How am I supposed to know how much milk to put in it?” he bit.

“I like a tiny bit of milk, we’ve been working together for how long now?”

She opened the file.

“Oh, and I call her by her first name so we don’t forget who we’re doing this for,” she added.

Harlan Lancaster turned in his chair too look at her, his dogged blue eyes piercing through the black rings that surrounded them.

“Right, what did the report say?” he asked.

“She had traces of silver in her throat and high levels of alcohol in her system,” she replied.

“So she was drunk when she was killed.”

Lucy looked over a photo of the body that sat in the file. A pale faced, brown haired girl looked back at her through closed eyes.

“Possibly,” she began, “so we know she was dead when she got to the church and we know she was likely drunk before she got there, maybe she was taken outside a bar.”

“Great, finding a bar in Boston, that really narrows things down” replied Lancaster.

King stood from her chair and walked over to a whiteboard that sat on the wall opposite. She passed her slight blue eyes over the timeline written large in front of her before rolling a bobble over her hand and tieing her blonde hair up in a bun on her head.

“We might have already narrowed things down,” she began, “look, the body was found in Old Saints Church yesterday morning right? We’ve seen the CCTV for the Church and there are no vehicles coming in or out which must mean the killer carried the body there so we’re looking for a bar near the Church.”

“CCTV could have been doctored,” replied Lancaster.

King sat back behind her desk, deflated.

“What about the silver?” he asked.

“The post mortem showed signs of a small metal object of around two inches inside the throat though no such object was found.”

“Silver, two inches, could be jewellery,” he continued.

“Could be, most likely a ring or a necklace from the shape of the cuts in her throat,” she added.

“I’m not an expert here but isn’t two inches a bit big for a ring?”

“Yeah, it’s more likely to be a necklace,” she replied.

“Right, and what kind of neckless are around two inches and are pointed?”

She lit up brightly.

“A cross,” she wanted to smile but thought it might be in bad taste so she stifled her delight.

“So our guy is force feeding victims crosses?” asked Lancaster, “is it ritualistic?”

“I don’t know.”

King turned to the door at the sound of a knock.

“Come in,” she said as the door opened revealing a smaller man with thin hair on top.

“We’ve got a phone call from Philippa Police Department,” said the man.

“What?” replied Lancaster.

“They think they might have something relating to your case.”

“What do they have?” pressed King.

“I don’t know, they didn’t say, they just told you to go to their morgue, something about a body relating to your case.”

Lancaster smiled.

“That’s all they said? It’s a fucking forty minute drive and we’ve not exactly got an abundance of time!”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” said the man before disappearing around behind the door.

“We might as well check it out, it’s not like we’ve got much else to go on.”

Lancaster looked at her, put out by her stare and took his keys without saying a word.

Philippa, MA

June 20th 2013

17:10

“I’m driving,” said King as Lancaster stepped back into the car.

“Why?” he replied.

She took a breath and looked at him, she could smell it.

“You know why Harlan.”

He sighed and walked around the car and sat in the passengers. He was never one to moan about not getting his way, which isn’t to say it happened often because it didn’t. In fact, Lucy King possessed the singular ability to persuade Harlan Lancaster to do something in the way that nobody before her had.

“What you think they got there?” he asked as they passed the sign that read “Welcome to Philippa, The Quietest Place on Earth”.

“Hopefully, our killer in a body bag.”

She turned into the parking lot of the police station, which was a small building with rounded white edges and an art deco entrance.

“Fuck, how many guys they keep in this closet?” he said as they stepped out of the car and walked into the police station.

A younger man stood up from the front desk and walked towards them with an uncomfortable smile on his face that unsettled Lancaster in a way few things did.

“Hey, you must be Detective’s Lancaster and King,” he said.

“Actually, we prefer to go by King and Lancaster, it has a better ring to it,” replied Lancaster.

“Would you mind telling us why we were called here?” asked King.

The deputy offered his hand to Lancaster and King in turn by neither were in the mood to shake it, although King did out of curtesy.

“Right, the Sheriff has had to step out for a moment to deal with some urgent business but would you can take a seat in our…”

“…if the next words out of your mouth are waiting and room then you’ll be reading me my rights,” said Lancaster.

The deputy smiled, nervously.

“I you wouldn’t mind taking a seat in the foyer,” replied the deputy with a wry smile.

Lancaster clenched his fist slowly but a deep breath and King’s usual ‘trust me’ look set about calming him down and they took a seat opposite two others in the foyer.

Lancaster took a water bottle out of his pocket and had a sip as King pretended not to see. He looked over at the two others that sat opposite. A man and a woman, both with visitors badges clipped to them. The man wearing sweats and the woman a pants suit. The man with brown, gelled hair and the woman with perfectly curled ringlets sitting on her shoulders.

“What you in for,” asked Lancaster of the pair with a smile.

The other man sat up in his chair and looked at Lancaster, trying to puzzle him out.

“We’re waiting for the Sheriff,” replied the woman.

“Evidently there’s a queue,” added King, “can I asked why you’re waiting for him.”

“We just found a body, we’re waiting to give statements.”

Lancaster and the other man engaged in a stare off. King sat up in her chair.

“That’s not water,” said the man opposite Carver as he took down the hood on his sweater.

“What did you say?” asked Lancaster.

“I said, that’s not water.”

“Yes it is. Its fucking Evan still water,” he replied.

“Aside from the fact that I can smell it from here, I can tell by the way you walked in here that what you’re drinking isn’t water.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

King looked at Lancaster.

“It’s water,” he said to her.

“Just get rid of it,” she replied looking away from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, my name is Detective…”

“…Detective’s King and Lancaster,” said a booming voice from the corridor.

A plump man wearing a brown hat and uniform walked down the corridor towards the foyer. King and Lancaster stood up.

“I see you’ve met the most popular people in Philippa, James Carver and Emma Langston.”

Langston and Carver stood up and the four approached the Sheriff.

King began, “With all due respect Sheriff…”

“…stop wasting our fucking time,” interrupted Lancaster.

The Sheriff smiled at Lancaster.

“I’m sure by now you’re aware that Langston and Carver have found a body out in the woods,” he began, “well there’s something not quite right with it and we thought it might be of interest to you.”

“Who thought?” asked King.

“I did,” replied Carver, “I think it might be connected to your body in Boston.”

“When did you find the body?” she asked.

“This morning.”

“Then why aren’t we at the crime scene?” asked Lancaster.

“At the request of Langston and Carver, they wanted to meet here to,” he began, “to go over an old case file before you saw the crime scene.”

“I’m sorry, who the fuck are they?”

Carver looked irate.

“My name is Professor Emma Langston and this is James Carver and we were former investigators on the “Cold Cross Case”,” replied Langston.

Lancaster smiled as he recognised the names and placed the faces.

“You’re the couple who botched the case right? And weren’t you nearly bought up on…”

King rested her hand on Lancaster’s arm.

“Why were you out here?” she asked.

“Truth is, Carver had a hunch that your case might be connected to the Cold Cross Case and I thought it might be a good idea to come back to the crime scene where it all started,” replied Langston, “that’s why I wanted us to meet here, so we could show you the Cold Cross Case files.”

“Which is what I’ve been looking for,” added the Sheriff who handed King a brown file.

She opened the file and saw a picture of a small metal cross sitting on top next to a picture of the body.

“Jesus Lancaster, look,” she said pointing towards the cross on the page.

“Let’s take a look at this crime scene then,” replied Lancaster.