LemonTarts

Carousel

Ashley Gallagher

Smith Residence

Ashley had to admit, the way his mind instantly snapped into its analytical state as if this crime scene were any other twisted his gut, the villainy of perfunctory routine mixed with heart-deep horror he supposed. He tried not to think about the cold face under the white sheet and occupied his thoughts only with small choices, things he could break down, focus on.

Something lead him to the bedroom, bet it the investigation or simple sentiment. The room was untouched, clearly, the bedspread left disheveled from what was no doubt a sleeping Richard at some point. Ashley moved forward with a shuffled gait, listening to the brush of his shoe soles against the soft, beige carpet. It was soothing in a way, the rhythm of it. He moved until he felt the gentle bump of the bedside table against his upper thighs and reached out, cradling a picture frame in his hand.

The photo was not a display picture of a dog in a cowboy hat, it was not a false representation of happy suburban living, it was proof of it. The faces of a happy family stared back at him, taunted him.

“Describe what we are dealing with, and I will help you with this case. I want to know everything.”

It was with a shaking hand that Ashley set the photo back down, turning to look the very devil in the eye. “You look good, Calvin.” He offered, albeit satirically, though it was clear his heart wasn’t in the mockery. “You’re getting old.” He folded his arms, looking the man over. “You who they sent me to work with? They’re quick with replacements.”

Carousel

Ashley Gallagher

Morning - Club Carousel

Ashley watched as the Coroner wheeled the body off, thinking on the small, frightened girl he had spoken to earlier that day. Now she was yet another speck of dust building on the windowsill of the city, to sit and forever be forgotten. He needed a cigarette.

The hall had since cleared, regardless of how shellshocked they were, the people of Manhattan still needed their sleep. Ashley didn’t blame them. He lit his cigarette, reveling in the familiar taste of smoke on his tongue soothing him into something of normalcy. Emerald had gone quiet, for once in her life, her expression still unreadable. He fancied those few moments when she had first seen the body were the only few moments he had ever truly seen her.

After a moment of smoke-filled silence, Ashley finally spoke. “You can’t stay here, you know.”

“Oh really? I hadn’t considered that, I frequently sleep in the company of blood and gore.” The humor felt hollow. Ashley didn’t point it out. They went quiet again and Emerald rejected his offer of a cigarette, her green eyes focused somewhere in the distance. It was minutes before she spoke again, so soft he almost didn’t hear her. “Why her, Ashley?” She whispered, voice wavering. “Was he covering his tracks? Was it only because of her closeness to his first victim?” She didn’t voice the last question, the most important. By that logic, did that make her a target as well?

“You’ll stay with me, in my apartment, until some other arrangements are made.” He muttered.

She took a step back, eyeing him. “I don’t need your charity, Detective. I can stay with one of the other girls.”

“You’re smarter than that.” He grumbled around his cigarette. “Quit being stubborn. I have a car downstairs.”

“Say, where’s your partner?”

“My partner?”

“The young, strapping fellow who was on your heels when you came in the club earlier this morning.”

She raised a fair point, where was Smith? The fool raised such a muck about having nothing to do this evening, and then he goes and finds himself something important enough to ignore a call from the station? Ashley worked his lips pensively around the cigarette. Now because of that dick Ashley had to drive his tired ass all the way out to Brooklyn to fill him in on the new murder. “I gotta make a damn stop before we head to my apartment.” Marvelous.

Noon - 1520 Thornton Avenue, Brooklyn

He had been to Smith’s house many times before, for various frivolous things that a young couple new to the city partake in. He’d been there for almost all of Joey’s birthdays, he was too drunk to go to his third. He’d been there for anniversary parties, barbecues, dinners, promotion celebrations. Nicole had been there for some, too. He remembered those looks she’d always give him, the knowing look, as they both thought nostalgically on their days as foolish young lovebirds.

The neighborhood was a nice one, quiet, with green lawns and kids on bikes. Something Ashley had always seen himself settling in. It was too late for that now, but he still enjoyed them, enjoyed the contained sort of contentment they represented. As they drove by houses, Emerald gracefully consumed french fries from the crinkly, brown paper bag on her lap, seemingly apathetic to their surroundings.

“Ever think you’ll have this sort of life?” Ashley asked after a moment.

“What sort of life?” She countered through a mouthful of french fries.

“One of these houses, a husband, a kid, a dog.”

“I don’t like dogs, hon, they slobber on everything.”

“You know what I mean.” He sighed exasperatedly.

She shrugged. “Never really did see myself in that sort of setting. Perhaps when I first moved here. Why? You offering?”

His response was interrupted by their arrival at their destination.

The first thing he really registered was confusion. Police cars lined the street in front of his partner’s home. Had the station beat him to informing his partner? But no, there were too many. “Stay in the car.”

“But—.”

“Damn it, stay in the car, Emerald!” He barked, slamming the door shut behind him. There were people, lots of people, a crowd huddled around the door, concerned faces. He didn’t understand. Once again he found himself pushing through a thick of people, nothing in mind but his destination.

His eyes calmly searched the center of the crowd for Smith, perhaps there was a break in. Each second he couldn’t find him he became more and more aware of his own heavy heartbeat.

Beat.

Red and blue washed over the sea of faces, only vaguely familiar, none of them donning the charming grin he was looking for.

Beat.

The front door, splayed open, was wrapped neatly in crime scene tape, tape he had seen so many times before, tape he had overlooked so many times before.

Beat.

He felt his surrounding slow down, as if he were examining a scene, as if he were poised over a lifeless corpse. It made his stomach curl tight like a snake wrapping around its prey.

Beat.

Two faces, two faces he recognized. Michelle, Michelle Smith, her pale face tearstained and contorted, hands clutched to her chest. Joey at her side, hands wrapped grubbily around her skirt.

Beat.

“Michelle!” Ashley called, stumbling over to her. “Michelle, what’s going on?”

The redheaded woman wailed, screamed at him, reaching for him. Her claw-like fingers tangled into the collar of his shirt, her face a painting of grief. “You did this to him!” She shrieked, “This is your fault!” Her hands formed fists and she began to beat against his chest as if it were a cage she could break. “Your fault! How could you, Ashley? How could you?!” She collapsed into his arms, burying her wet face in the crook of his neck. He felt it all, like sick, cruel puzzle pieces, slip into place. It felt an awful lot like a noose tightening around his neck.

He was smart. He knew, of course he did, the moment he left his car. That was his job to know. And yet… He pulled away from Michelle, aggressively scrubbing the back of his hand against his face. Anything to not see her look of pure hatred. His hands found his hair, let the locks slip between the fingers, gripped them tight, any pain to bring him back to the moment as he stumbled to the door.

The patrolmen guarding the entrance stopped him with heavy hands. “Sir, we’re going to have to stop you.”

“I’m a cop, you idiots!” Ashley spat, trying again.

“Detective Gallagher,” The other patrolman corrected, his kind eyes vaguely familiar to Ashley. “Ashley, you don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see it.”

Ashley stopped, staring them down, letting the words sink in. You don’t want to see it. Like hell. “Let me in!” He snarled, “Let me in! Let me in! This is my case, damn it!” He threw his weight against the both of them. “Let me see him! Let me see him!” His eyes burned, “That’s my partner!”

There was a break in defense, or maybe the men just stopped fighting him, but he managed to shoulder his way in. He stumbled, a drunken step through the hallway, the familiar patterned wallpaper swaying around him. He ignored the busted lock on the front door, it didn’t matter now he needed to find Smith.

The first thing he saw was a rose, a gentle pink rose tucked neatly underneath an unhooked phone, splayed carelessly on the table. He turned the corner and that’s when he found him, them. Smith’s bare body as if it was on fucking display, covered in an array of pink roses, as if the horrific scene was something to be celebrated.

Ashley slapped a hand over his mouth, choking out a sob. “Oh… Oh no.” He slid to his knees beside the body, reaching to caress the petals of one of the neatly placed flowers with his fingertips. “Oh Richard, no.” The last word came out in a hissed whimper. “Please.”

Carousel

Ashley Gallagher

Late Evening - Gilded Heights Apartment Complex, Room #67

He was drinking, as he so often was. Seated in his old, dusty chair and watching his whiskey twirl around in his glass like an elusive dancer. He considered the wall opposite of him, decorated with nothing but a simple, small black and white photo of a dog that was not even his. It had come with the frame, the display photo that the store slips in for show.

The dog was large and scruffy, decorated with what appeared to be a cowboy hat. It stared back out of the photo, tongue lolling to the side, with an expression of suburban contentment. Ashley fancied on the other side of the camera stood a smiling woman with blonde hair, cooing for the dogs attention. At her side were two kids, two girls with twin braids and checkered dresses.

This is what he had seen when he first saw the display photo in the frame on the shelf. So he purchased it.

He took a long, savoring drink of the whiskey.

Suddenly there was a shrill ring from the phone. There had been a few, about an hour earlier, in rapid succession, but he had ignored them all in favor of the sweet embrace of alcohol. This one, however, he found the incentive to answer, lifting himself from the chair with a groan and stumbling over to the small desk.

He fumbled with the phone for a moment before bringing it to his ear and mumbling out a grouchy, “Hello?”

A small feminine voice that he recognized as one of the station’s secretaries spoke. “Detective Gallagher? There has been a development in your case, you are needed immediately.”

“My case?”

“The double homicide above the club? There has been another murder.”

He let out a very percussive and exasperated iteration of, “Shit.”

“Detective Gallagher, you are needed at Club Carousel on Manhattan, room number 17.”

Ashley had put pencil to pad, scrawling down the location, when it hit him. “Did you say room 17?”

“That is correct, detective.”

The pencil’s tip snapped, spraying fine graphite over the now dented pad. He slammed the phone down into its socket with an abrupt jingle, abandoning it for his coat and hat. Room 17. He knew room 17.

“If you ever want a private audience, Detective. I’m number 17, above the club.” Those red lips smiling at him in their amusement.

He slammed the door shut behind him, feet in a hurried shuffle. Emerald.

Late Evening - Club Carousel

Time slowed down as he ascended the stairs. He pictured her, pale skin slashed with crimson, lips parted in a supple O around the petals of a bloodstained flower. He saw her ebony hair fanned out around her from a struggle. Even in death, she was a beautiful smudge on a hideous backdrop. It felt like a splinter, a shard of wood beneath his skin that set him on edge.

The hall was packed with onlookers, the noise a drowning array of concerned whispers and murmurs. He pushed through, ignoring the hallowed eyes that all seemed to seek his own. They were all meaningless, selfish people looking for comfort, except one. Wide green eyes washed over him and he felt his voice catch in his throat.

She was speaking to the patrolman, a coat, borrowed probably as it was much too big for her small shoulders, clutched tightly around her. Her expression was calm, serene almost, though her knuckles were white, and her eyes met his with a strange sort of intensity. He couldn’t help but roughly shove through the remaining crowd, putting himself before her and startling the officer she was speaking to.

“Emerald,” He addressed hoarsely before clearing his throat and nodding. “What can you tell me about what happened?”

“My roommate,” She stated softly, pointing towards the door with a single, hesitating finger. “I heard her scream.”

“You heard her scream?” Who called in a murder based off of a scream? All of that worrying for— “Nothing, you’re calling in nothing, then?” He felt something of frustration. Whether it was at her for wasting his time or himself for letting her he wasn’t sure.

She shook her head, dark waves bouncing with the action. “She screamed ‘help me’, detective, if you would have heard it…” She trailed off, something of a glaze drifting over her eyes.

“And you didn’t go in? You didn’t try to help her?”

“I knew it was already too late.” She stated, almost as if she was convincing herself. “I couldn’t…” She cut off, before repeating in a softer voice. “I couldn’t open the door.”

The coroner interjected. “No one has been on the scene, Detective, would you like to take a look?”

Ashley nodded roughly, “Wait out here, I need to get an idea of the scene before you get your hands on the body.” He pushed the door open.

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to wait out here.” The patrolman stated behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to find Emerald close behind.

He stopped, meeting her eyes for a moment and expecting to find some sort of pleading within them. There was nothing. Even so, “Let her in, it’s her apartment. I’ll need some information about it anyway.” And with that he slipped in, Emerald on his heels clicking the door shut behind them.

It was dark inside, too dark to see anything, really. There was the sound of some shuffling before a faint, golden light illuminated the room.

The first and only thing he noticed was the broken window, the cool summer breeze filtering in and ruffling the sweaty hair at his forehead. The rest of the room seemed untouched. “Anything out of the ordinary besides the broken window?” He called back. He started when the response came closer than he expected. She had moved to stand by him.

“No.”

He milled over to the window, peeking his head out of it to eye the outside surroundings. A fire escape, that must have been how the intruder left. No blood on the broken glass— that would have been too damn easy. He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair pensively.

A small but sharp exhalation drew him out of his thoughts and he turned to find Emerald, haunting over a doorway with wide, watery eyes and folded arms, the fingers grasped tight around her bicep. “Emerald?” He tried, but she did not turn, just kept… staring.

Ashley moved to her side, and would have reached to comfort her had the sight not caught his immediate attention. There, lying amidst a pool of her own blood, barely recognizable was Alison Fitzpatrick. She had eyes, but they were not her own, for one was a bright, gleaming machete, stuck brutally through the side of her face, and the other was a red, red rose, set gently over the tears of blood that spilled over her cheek.

Carousel

"Emerald"

Late Evening - Club Carousel

It had been a long night. Longer than usual. The crowds were slow and the musical noise was somehow duller than its usual lively gush. She ached from head to toe, her feet tired of the extravagant shoes she tapped around in, now tapping up the stairs to the apartments above the club. Even her eyes felt a dull soreness from hours of a glittery, picturesque scene.

She selfishly hoped that the girl, Alison, was already asleep by the time she got back. As much as she would like to help the poor thing feel more at home, she was much too tired to entertain trivial conversation. She almost cursed herself for allowing the girl to stay. It was a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness. But now, she could see the idea of sharing her apartment with somebody else for what it was— she was being robbed of those precious hours where she could be nothing and no one.

Emerald supposed looking back on it that something had felt wrong, the air had shifted somehow ever so slightly. In the moment she had felt nothing, simply the groan of tired bones as she hefted herself up the last stretch of stairs and into the long hallway where her home and bed resided. Even when she heard it, that sound, it was as if it was traveling through water, a slow and thick path.

And then it hit her. Like a wave slapping her across her entire body. The wail slid down the halls, a desperate and horrific, “Help me!”

Emerald clattered to the floor, pitching herself over the last step and tumbling onto her hands and knees. It was suddenly a race, a race of body and mind to get there first as she struggled to her feet once more, breaking out into a piercing sprint. All she could hear was the erratic beating of her shoes down the hallway— or perhaps it was the beating of her heart. Doors open as she passed, curious neighbors perhaps, concerned or angry. Deep down she knew the scream, and that was all she could think. She knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew this would happen, she knew.

She caught herself on her own doorway, fiddling frantically with her keys, fucking keys, god damn keys, she dropped them, in desperation she tried the knob. Unlocked, of course, she should have known.

Emerald stopped.

She felt the knob in her hand, the solid metal, turned downward. She heard the click of the door itself as it allowed her entry. She knew somehow what was on the other side. She couldn’t open it. She couldn’t open it. So she didn’t. She clicked it shut once more, stepped away from the door, and looked down the hall of awakened neighbors.

“Someone call the police.” She finally said, the words slicing through the silence like butter, her voice steady, soft, and calm.

Carousel

Ashley Gallagher

Afternoon - Outside of the Police Station

"So uh, Ashley, buddy," Smith had something akin to bemusement written all over his face. Like a child, wanting in on the joke. "You kind of left me hanging there, you know? Storming out of the crime scene with a grin like a modern Sherlock Holmes."

"I didn't take you for the bookish type, Smith." Ashley began, speaking around puffs of his cigarette and gazing out over the road at the collection of cars puttering to and fro. "Or the metaphor type for that matter."

Smith shrugged, that charming grin returning to him. The boy was a heartbreaker, with those pretty eyes and that boyish smile. It was no surprise to Ashley that he had managed to settle down early with a beautiful wife and a steady career-- the pretty people always did find life a tad easier. "The Missus thinks its good for the mind, you know? You uh, you gonna tell me where you ran off to?"

Ashley splayed his hands in a mockery of exasperation. "Do I ever?"

"I suppose not." Smith lit his own cigarette, tapping it gently against the side of his finger to shed some of the excess ash from the tip. "You always were a dick."

“You’re breaking my heart, Smith. Here I thought I was a charmer.”

“The Missus is out for the night, drinking with the girls, left Joey with a friend. I got nothing to do, you could make it up to me by buying me a drink, old man.”

“As riveting as that sounds, I have a prior engagement.”

“What, brooding over a whiskey alone?”

Ashley didn’t even honor that with a response, simply took a drag from his cigarette.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little pouting sessions, Ashley. We’re practically married. I know when you’re ignoring me for another woman.”

“That woman being whiskey?”

“That woman being feeling sorry for yourself, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, well.” Ashley dropped the cigarette to the floor, flattening it with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Smith. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Evening - A Brooklyn Home

“Come on Gallagher, pick up.”

Smith maintained the steadiness of his hand as he spun the phone dial around, the abrasive noise cutting through the thick silence. He held his pistol up, ready. The phone rang, nothing. Damn it, Ashley. He readied his gun, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, the creak of floorboards, and dialed again.

Carousel

"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

Emerald almost guffawed. She managed to reduce it into a small, musical chuckle. "Oh hon, you're so intense, so serious. It's not like I'm saving your life or anything." She drummed her painted fingertips on the bar, watching the rhythmic movement with an amused smile curling her lips.

There was something itching at the back of her mind, a small concern. "Tell you what, doll," She mulled the idea around for a moment, not sure if she could truly trust the girl before her. "You can pay me back by keeping my secrets, hm? Every accomplished lady has a few. You will no doubt become acquainted with a few of mine if we are to be sharing a residence." Her amused smile widened into a charming one, displaying her pearly whites in an attempt to sugar coat the darker undertones of her request. "Deal?"

Carousel

"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

So the girl needed a place to stay. Emerald thought on her apartment, thought on the hollow shell that looked completely and utterly abandoned in its mess. She supposed it could use some company, if only for a little while. "The floor? Nonsense." She poured herself another glass of the alcoholic beverage, swirling its contents thoughtfully before taking a drink. "The floor is for rats and dust, you may sleep in the chair." She inhaled abruptly. "It extends, an old bat, but comfy as hell." Her painted red lips wrapped into what she hoped was a friendly smile, accompanied by a sweet batting of dark eyelashes.

"Its a good thing you were out soaking on that bench last night, wasn't it? Say, did you need anything, any of your possessions from your apartment? I could easily get brief access to it if needed."

Carousel

"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

Emerald’s silent reverie was interrupted by the hoarse cry behind her. She swung around from her dancing sway with the abrupt and erratic tap of her heels, lofting a brow as she beheld the girl before her, the girl from last night.

She was a wreck, worse than a wreck, with worn out eyes and still garbed in the same nightgown now wrinkled from drying through dirty rainwater. Emerald pulled the cigarette from her lips and cast the girl in a sympathetic gaze. “Oh honey, you’re a mess.” She shrugged out of her thick trench coat, moving to drape it over the girl’s shoulders. “Let me get you a drink.” She then ushered the girl over to the bar, if possible, and beckoned her to sit as she brought her own drink in front of her. “Have some of this, my favorite.”

Ashley had mentioned an Alison. With the stricken look on the girl’s face they must have met the same one. So this girl was involved in the murder somehow. Poor thing. “This city just won’t let you alone will it?” She moved to stroke some of the hair out of her face as a soothing gesture. “What can I do you for, dear?”

Carousel

"Emerald"

8:45 AM - Club Carousel

Emerald had seen the commotion, or some of it at least. She’d shown up to the club under the light of day to have a drink in peace. Instead, the sidewalk had been crowded with bystanders, streets blocked off with the red and blue flash and glare of police. Naturally, she snuck in the back way and seated herself at the bar, waiting calmly to see what riot pranced on in.

She must admit she hadn’t expected Detective Gallagher in all of his professional huff and puff to swing through the doors, but now that she had seen him, she supposed it was only a matter of time before he had questions for her. And so she waited more, gently turning the contents of her glass round and round and taking a small sort of pleasure in the soft clink of ice against glass.

It wasn’t long as she didn’t expect it to be. She pretended to be ignorant of his presence until he seated himself beside her, curious eyes boring into her despite her attempts to avoid eye contact. “A horrible thing, really.” She commented after a moment.”Murder.” She took a sip from her drink.

Finally his gaze relented and he expelled an exasperated sigh. “Have an particular affinity for roses, Miss Emerald?”

The question caught her off guard, but she answered it nonetheless, figuring it had something to do with the investigation. “Roses? No.” She paused, dragging the silence on with a stalling drink. “Truly I’m more of a tulip girl. Why, you buying me flowers, baby?”

He seemingly ignored her, a fact which she found wholly unsurprising. “You were obviously here last night, did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

“Mm, no, nothing. We get all sorts of shady types in and out of the club— its basically in the job description.”

“Emerald, please, you were in the club, you didn’t see anything to cause suspicion?”

She rolled her eyes. He was grasping at straws. So many people filtered in from the streets and he knew that. Nonetheless, “What time did the murder take place?” Emerald asked in a weary tone.

“Early morning, no later than three no earlier than midnight.”

She nodded. “Right, I was outside, in the rain, chatting up some poor slip of a girl. Alison I think it was?”

“Alison Fitzpatrick?”

“Who knows?”

Ashley pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not making my job any easier, you know that?”

“Not my job to— all you need to know is I didn’t do it, and I didn’t see who did it. Now leave me alone, I’ve had enough of the NYPD for the day. For a lifetime even. Can’t a girl just have a drink?”

“Two people are dead, Emerald. Is this a game to you?”

“I don’t play games, Detective. Not my style.”

She felt rather than saw his eye roll, and had to restrain her laughter.

“You promised me information,” He leaned in close, threateningly close as his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “I intend to collect.”

For the first time in the conversation she turned her eyes on him, searching his face. He was angry, uncharacteristically angry. The grimace she was faced with seemed only a facade, a poorly played television role and yet… “You’re breaking my heart, Gallagher. Truly. I suppose I can ask around, ask some of the girls, see if they saw anything.”

He retreated with a relieved breath, seating himself once more. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, sure. Rat me out to the entire mob why don’t you? Lay me bare in front of a thousand hungry tigers? I probably shouldn’t even be seen with you.” She donned a teasing tone, turning her attentions back to the drink she so heavily coveted just a few hours ago. It now seemed unappealing.

He stood, tucking his shucked coat over a bent forearm. “Now you’re just being dramatic, doll. Keep an ear out, I’m coming back tomorrow.” Ashley paused, turning back one last time. “Oh and Emerald? Don’t call me baby.”

Emerald offered no response, simply waited for the click of the doors behind him before standing and meandering to the center of the club, swaying a little to an imaginary beat. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to care that two innocent city-goers had been brutally murdered just above her, it was simply that she didn’t have the capacity to care. One could only sincerely care about a few things without damaging themselves, taking on everything that crossed ones path would be a waste of mind and a waste of compassion.

She just hoped whatever idiot was killing people would get it out of their system soon and stop drawing attention to the club, it was bad for business to have on-duty officers lingering around like hungry animals.

And that was the horrible thing, murder was bad for business.

Carousel

Ashley Gallagher

8:30 AM - Above Club Carousel

Ashley could tell the woman was nearly hysterical. Hell, anyone could probably tell the woman was nearly hysterical. He kept his face straight and neutral, but couldn’t help inwardly releasing a heavy sigh. Was it so wrong to hope that maybe just once he would question someone fully competent and emotionally stable?

But she was young, so Ashley by some distant connection could loosely understand. She looked scared to death. He briefly considered patting her shoulder as support but ultimately decided against it given the context, a stranger touching her was probably the last thing in the world that she wanted.

As frustrating as it was, the woman’s information was useless, nothing he couldn’t find out with a few minutes of running his eyes over the crime scene, but at least the victims were identified, as were their last known… activities. He offered a curt nod. “I appreciate your time Miss Fitzpatrick. Is there someone you can call?” He paused, considering the apartment thoughtfully, “Somewhere you can stay?” He doubted she would hang around long, not with the look she had in her eyes.

Ashley’s thought process was interrupted. “Hey, Gallagher, get over here.” Smith called from across the apartment.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He passed her, his shoulder brushing hers as he made his way to his partner who was crouched over the dead woman. Julia.

“Gallagher, get a load of this.” With his fingers at her jaw, Smith turned the woman’s face to the side, fully baring the extent of her injuries. Her head was completely, violently bashed in— as in, half of her skull was simply missing.

“Jesus,” Ashley muttered, shoving at Smith’s shoulder until he moved and sliding in to his previous position, crouched over the body. “No basic robbery would end up in this, they’d go for something more perfunctory less… messy.” He pinched her chin, pushing it up to examine her neck and the rest of her body. “Not gratuitous though, no eh…” He gestured to the rest of the body. “Unnecessary wounding.”

“Definitely not a robbery,” Smith murmured, almost to himself. Ashley turned his gaze to what Smith’s attention was focused on. A shiny watch laid neatly on the table. “They’d have pocketed this stuff, it’d get a pretty penny.”

“If they had thought it was a robbery they wouldn’t have called us.”

“Why did they call us? Isn’t this homicide territory?”

“Proximity to the club, probably figured it was gang-related violence…” Ashley began to respond, but trailed off as he noticed something. A faint slip of pure white beneath the blood-painted lips of the victim. “Hey uh, doc?”

The Coroner lofted a brow, stepping away from the other body. “Shoot, Gallagher.”

“Did you by any chance look in her mouth?”

“Not yet, why, you see something?”

Ashley spoke through gritted teeth as he stuck two thumbs into her mouth and attempted to pry it open against the rigor mortis. “Yeah, maybe.” With some effort and a sickening crack her jaw finally popped wide for him. He stuck a gloved finger into the now-dry depths of her mouth. A rose. It was a white rose that he pulled from her red lips, dripping with hours old blood-hinted saliva trapped within the petals. Behind it, slipping from the throat, trailed a long, thorny stem— the spines bloodied and catching on her lips as he gently tugged.

“Jesus, Ashley!” Smith exclaimed. “What the fuck is that?” He quickly knelt down beside the male victim, repeating the process of prying open the jaw, though the masculine bone structure proved significantly harder to crack. Sure enough, Smith pulled out an almost identical rose, with somewhat less care.

Ashley almost grinned. The thrill of it, of the challenge placed before him. This was someone taunting him, this was a mystery laid at his feet and he loved it. He kept his tone monotonous and professional. “Bag them both, see if we can pull prints— anything else? Check the jacket.”

Smith did as instructed, rifling through the various pockets of the suit jacket before patting down the bulge in the breast. Yet again, a rose was revealed from the breast pocket, also white, and also fully intact.

“That’s all I need,” Ashley decided, sharing a nod with Smith for confirmation. “—Wait. Wait.” He jabbed a finger towards the counter in the corner. A single glass of wine sat, half-finished. “A single glass. No lipstick. No, if it was one of them, there would be two. There’s only one.” He leapt from the body and was across the room in an instant, fingers hovering over the curve of the glass. “Blood right here, on the stem, see? This was after the murder. Check this for prints too.” He glanced at Smith, who had appeared beside him. “Get the girl a ride somewhere, she shouldn’t stay here— Make sure those dogs at Homicide don’t take my damn case, and make sure all of this evidence makes it to the station. I have someone I need to see.”

And with that he was out of the apartment in a flurry, headed towards the club and a pair of green eyes that might have seen something that the girl didn’t.