Fourth Chapter: @tsudohnimh/red-doll-science
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"I do not know what humanity will look like in fifty years, only that it will be different. Its no longer a matter of “will it change.” Just a matter of how.”
Human X, The New Human Manifesto, 1994
4
After there decontamination shower, forensics and the DNS had taken over the crime scene; having gathered everything they could for the moment, the DAC return to HQ. It was time to brainstorm.
Upon arrival, Constable Thomas went to work first. He quickly arranged some chairs in a rough semi circle, and pulled a whiteboard into the centre space. Then he moved off to go get coffees.
McNally took centre stage, quickly pulling photos and placing them on the whiteboard. Zlata and the other members of the DAC quickly took their seats; Hogue sat next to her without hesitation, again surprising her. Eun and Wyatt sat on her right, absorbed in what would appear to her (if she didn't no better, thanks to Thomas,) a minor lovers tiff.
“Seriously, where were you?” Eun asked, her tone filled with suspicion.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Eun, again, your not my mum. But if you must know, I was hanging out with Rob, ok?” That surprised Zlata; she wouldn't think Thomas would make a friend in a cyborg.
Eun shook her head. “Again? Wyatt, you'll give the poor boy an aneurysm! You know what his condition is like.” In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow; Eun spoke rather old fashioned for a teenager. She toyed for a moment the idea Eun was a cyborg as well, an older woman in a younger body, but she could see no seems nor hint of prosthetics.
Wyatt waved her off. “He's fine with it! Says it helps, you know, teaches him how to deal with it. Desensitisation, you know?”
Eun looked unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And how much medication does he take while you two are “hanging out?”
Wyatt looked a little sheepish. “Uh, well, he went through at lest a pill bottle last...”
“Ok people, keep it down,” McNally said, cutting the conversation short. He stood to one side, allowing everyone to get a good look at the whiteboard; picture of the murder, the escape route and the previous murders now adorned its surface.
“Ok, I think we can all agree that this is our guy,” McNally began. “First impressions: Vince?”
Flynn cleared his throat. “I agree. MO matches pretty well. Judging by the damage done to the victim, I'm definitely on board with the theory this guy is a rebuild.”
“Jack?”
“I agree with Vince. The killers escape route was to hazardous for a non cyborg to survive without serious protection. And the jump he apparently made is well outside the abilities of biology.”
“Detective?”
In Zlata's mind, her face had the look of deep thought; her doll face remained still. “The killer is extremely strong, no doubt about it, and his ability to survive heavy radiation definitely points towards a cyborg. I would also say that, in light of other information about the missing organs, our killer is not doing this on a whim; he wasn’t frenzied in his attacks, instead he's almost surgeon like. He's put a lot of thought into it; I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching Anders for some time.”
“Possible hints towards motive, like it. Eun, any insights?”
Eun closed her eyes as she spoke. “None of the witnesses report seeing or hearing anything suspicious at the time of the murder. But their was common theme among many of their testimonies: a tall man, wearing a heavy jacket.” she opened her eyes, and Zlata sensed a great deal of intelligence behind them. “They did not know why, but they felt, or sensed, something odd about this man.”
McNally raised an eyebrow. He shot a look at Hogue.
Hogue shrugged. “They never said anything about that to me.”
McNally shrugged himself. “Eun's always been good at this kind of thing.” he gave her a thumbs up. “Keep it up. Wyatt, what's your take.”
Wyatt cocked his head slightly. “If this bloke is a rebuild, he's big tek. At least equal to me. I wanna meet this guy real plokhoy.” Zlata noticed again Wyatts odd use of random Russian.
McNally looked past the group. 'What about you, Rob? Any Ideas?”
“Cameras cover about 90% of the public areas in that place, sir,” Rob shouted from the small coffee room; Zlata could hear a jug boiling. “If he was in the crowd, he would have appeared on at least three of them. We would at least be able to spot Eun's mystery man.”
“Ok,” McNally said. “General consensus is that we're looking for a cyborg;” he wrote “rebuild?” on the board; “Who may be seven foot tall.” he wrote that up there as well.
“But nothing is certain yet,” Zlata said.
McNally nodded. “Correct. So what do we know for certain: Last night, around midnight, Anders Paulson, Mr Atomic world champion, died due to complications that arose after his arm was removed;” McNally smiled at his small dark humour moment. “ Our killer, is apparently very strong, as attributed to his abilities in said arm removing, as well as tearing open rad proof hatches. Also, he can resist high rad levels and can apparently jump 12 foot wall;” he wrote each point on the board.
He turned back to the others. “So what have we got.”
Flynn shook his head. “A monster.”
“A deliberate monster,” Zlata added. “I think, whatever this guys reasons, he's in complete control.”
McNally nodded. He tapped the board. “The reports we got from Brisbane and Sydney never suggested this. Its day one, and I’m already thinking of pulling out Mr. Boys.”
“Mr. Boys only really works if he has a target, sir” Thomas said, returning with a large collection of mugs. He started handing them out.
“Unless your target is a vampire...” Flynn said, taking his cup.
The Vampires again. Zlata was about to ask when Eun cut in. “What about the arm left at the scene?”
“I had a close look,” Flynn replied. “as much as could without touching it. No obvious marks or tattoos. The condition of the arm was consistent with the previous crime scenes: damn thing looked withered, like it was half dead, rotting from the inside.”
“I saw that too,” Zlata added. “Could it suggest transplant rejection? Maybe the body of whomever has been using these organs is rejecting them?”
“That's a lot of body parts,” Flynn said. “Who are we dealing with, Frankenstein's monster?”
“If they body parts are being used,” Hogue responded, “basically, yes.”
“That could suggest a motive,” Zlata continued. “If the transplantee...”
“Lets call him Frank,” McNally cut in, “For simplicities sake.” He winked.
In her mind, Zlata gave him an odd look. “Ok, if Frank's body keeps rejecting the organs and limbs we've been finding, perhaps the Killer is harvesting organs and limbs to replace them.”
Hogue nodded in agreement. “Your going to fit in well here.” He smiled; Zlata sensed he was happy about something.
McNally quickly scribbled down Zlata's suggestion, putting “Theory No. 1” next to it. “That's the best theory on motive I've heard yet,” he explained. “Much better than Flynn's “ghoul” theory.”
“Hey, you considered it at the time,” Flynn shot back. “Besides, after all the things we've seen, is it really that hard to believe?”
“Either way, having a motive is all well and good,” Hogue interrupted. “But we're still missing some vital details we'll need to catch this guy. Like how he picks his targets, for one. None of the data we have on the killings suggest any pattern to the victims, besides the fact their all male.”
“Which might suggest the gender of our possible “Frank”, Zlata added, deciding to run with the whole frank thing; it did make things easier.
“True,” McNally replied. He scribbled “possible male” on the board. “If we are going with the transplantee theory, that could give us some possible leads. The technology required for such a variety of organ and limb transplants suggests at least some level of cybernetics; we might be able to track down the tech used to hold whomever this guy is together.”
“And hopefully, our killer” Flynn added.
“There's another possible lead,” Eun said. “Where ever the arm left at the crime scene came from.”
That reminded Zlata of something that had been bugging her: not all of the organs found at the crime scenes had been linked to any other murders.
“Eun's right,” she said agreeably. “There appears to be a massive hole in the investigation reports we have: namely, the source of several of the organs and limbs left at the scene have never been ascertained.”
“Well, we only know of seven murders,” Flynn said. “ And their have been no reports of anything even remotely similar; this guy kills in a particular way that pretty noticeable. We know the previous investigations keep a close eye on the morgues for any other possible victims that may have slipped the net.”
“Could he have robbed a conversion centre?” Wyatt asked. “They'd be well stocked with limbs and organs left over from rebuilds.”
“Possible,” Hogue said. “I think that was the main theory from the other investigations. Only problem was that none of the organs found matched DNA profiles from the rebuild centres, nor had their been any reported organ thefts.”
“Maybe they covered it up? You know what the corporations are like: they want to appear invincible.”
“Maybe.”
“But if he is raiding rebuild clinics,” Zlata interjected, “why bother killing at all? Why go through all the effort, all the risk, if you have access to an unlimited source of organs?”
In Zlata's mind, she frowned; They were missing something, something obvious. And then it hit her.
“The refugee camps.”
The others all looked at her.
In her mind, Zlata nodded her head: it made sense. “The refugee camps are teeming with people the ANP likes to pretend don't exist...”
“Except when they riot,” Wyatt quipped.
Zlata ignored him. “The camps have their own hospitals, their own systems of records, their own police force, completely separate to ours. Deaths in the camps hardly get noticed by the ANP, outside of major events, like the bombings....” Zlata trailed off. A sudden flash back: the charred bodies; Whites smiling face, just before she hit him...
“But don't the camps report deaths to the federal government?” Thomas asked. “I mean, its in the treaty; they have to report on the population all the time. That includes stuff like deaths and the crime rate.”
McNally coughed. “The data we get from the camps isn't very thorough,” he explained. “Yes, they have to report on deaths, crimes and the like, but not the nature of the deaths. In the end, its just a statistic.”
Hogue rubbed his face. “Shit,” he said. “ Our guy could have killed hundreds in the camps and we wouldn't know. And knowing the “quality” of the security forces in New Pittsburgh, these kinda killing would probably just been brushed off as gang killings or something.” He shook his head. “How the hell did the previous investigators not think of this.”
“I'm not sure,” McNally replied. , looking at the board. “ In hindsight, it seems obvious. But from what I’ve read, they never even considered the Refugee camps.”
“Could it have been a political thing?” Flynn asked.
“Perhaps. It can be pretty hard to get the camps to cooperate, especially the Americans...”
“Unless theirs a riot,” Wyatt added again.
“Did the previous investigators ever share any of the case information with the camp police?” Zlata asked.
“No,” McNally answered. “Details on the case have never been shared or published, to avoid any leaks compromising the case.”
“Well, I think it might be time,” Zlata said. “Our killer is getting those organs from somewhere, and it clearly isn't the Australian cities. I think the possibility he may have killed in the camps should be followed: we need to get the camp police forces on board.”
“Wait,” Flynn said suddenly, “ Doesn’t this suffer from the same issue the Rebuild Clinc theory has? If he's killing people in the camps, why bother killing people outside of them? Its much riskier.”
“We’re still not sure just why this guy kills anyone,” Hogue answered. “I agree with Zlata: we should look into this.” Zlata sensed their was an unspoken question on Hogues part: what makes the refugees so expendable?
Wyatt was nodding. “I've always wanted to see the refugee camps again. Hey, we could go today just about! The days still young, dontcha know!”
“It'll be hard,” McNally said. “we'll have to get permission from the DCV. Plus, most likely, we'll have to deal with the highest authorities in the camps.”
McNally meant the camp leaders. Zlata realised that gave them an opportunity.
“Then we'll have no problems with Novyy Dom 3,” She said, “Since General Berezin is in charge there.”
“An old comrade of yours?” Flynn asked.
“No,” Zlata replied, not liking the insinuation she felt came with that. “He took charge after I came over to the ANP. Berezin's a big supporter of Soviet-Australian cooperation though; he's always cooperated with the government and the ANP whenever its been required. I have no doubt he'll support us any way possible.”
“And having you there will probably help to,” McNally said, nodding his head. “This idea is seeming more and more possible by the minute. How about you, Jack? Do you think you could woo the Yanks?”
“God, its been so long since I lived in Newpee I don't even know who's in charge,” Houge replied. “I wish I had Zlata's confidence in getting them on board, but my former countrymen have usually proven to be stubborn when it comes to cooperating with the ANP.”
“Except when there's a riot,” Wyatt said for the third time, this time much louder. Eun smacked him across the arm.
“Stop that,” she said. She then shook her hand. “Ouch.”
“Either way,” McNally said, ignoring Eun and Wyatt, “We'll need Reedman on board regardless. I see if I can get us some of his time.”
“How early do you think we could see him?” Zlata asked.
“Days still young, and he likes me; I reckon before lunch. When and if we'll receive authorisation is another thing.” McNally walked to his small office. “Give me a sec to make the call. In the meantime, Start going over the evidence.”
With McNally gone, Hogue stood and took his place; Zlata gained the impression Hogue was the senior officer around here.
“Ok, so we have some good theories on who this guy might be, and his motives,” he said, tapping the board. “Not bad for less than a days work. But its all conjecture. Lets look at something we definitely know: Anders Paulson.” he tapped the picture. “Who was he? What was he doing? Who did he know? Errol, you were looking round Paulson's room the most; find anything of interest?”
Zlata was confused for a moment, then Flynn began talking. “Besides the arm, it was basically a dressing room. Few personal items, wallet, beeper; no messages, by the way.” Zlata sensed he was slightly annoyed; maybe because Hogue called him Errol?
Errol Flynn; where had she heard that name before.
“It would be possible to check if he had received any messages on his beeper beforehand,” Thomas spoke up. “Give me a good computer, and I can find the traces on the memory chip.”
“We'll do that,” Hogue said, writing on the board. “We need to build up a picture of his last few days. Where he's been, who he saw. Perhaps someone saw....”
“Jack!” McNally suddenly interrupted, emerging from his office. “Zlata! cut it short; I need you with me.”
Zlata turned to look at him. “Why? What's happened.”
“I just got off the phone with the DCV,” he explained. “He wants to see us now.”
“Absolutely not.”
In Zlatas mind, she looked surprised. Hogue did too; McNally just looked annoyed.
The only one who didn't show any emotion was Reedman; their was a short flash of annoyance, even anger, before his face returned to a neutral state.
“There is no way we could permit the investigation to involve the refugee camps,” Assistant Commissioner Smithton said with finality. “It's to risky to our security.”
“So you believe the killer may be operating within the camps?” Reedman asked, seemingly ignoring Smithton.
“That’s the theory we developed this morning, sir,” McNally explained. “based on evidence we gathered today, and the previous murders, it's apparent the killer is greeting many of these organs from somewhere. We can't discount he may be killing in the camps.”
“Do you believe the soviets may be involved?” Smithton asked.
Zlata frowned; what did that have to do with anything? If anything, the Russian refugees could be falling victim to the killer. And why just the Russians?
“No sir,” McNally answered. “We have nothing to suggest that either of the refugee groups have anything to do with the killings. Only that their may be victims among the refugees that may have gone unnoticed. If we had access to the camps,and shared information with the Camp police, we may gain new evidence which could us closer to our killer.”
Reedman was nodding. “A solid theory; tell me, did the previous investigations look into the camps?”
“From what information we have, sir, no. It was actually Detective Mikhaylov's suggestion ”
“Then why look now?” Smithton asked. “The previous investigations obviously didn't think it important; why do it now?”
“Sir, the previous investigations were all failures,” Zlata replied. “The killer was never identified, let alone tracked. We have to consider new avenues of approach if we wish to find him. That means considering all possibilities; the refugee camps are large, full of millions of people low on documentation. If he isn't killing in the camps, they could still provide excellent cover for him.”
Smithton scowled slightly; Reedman smiled. “Well, you have me convinced,” he said. “Give me some time, and i'll be able to organise a meeting between the DAC and the leaders of the refugee camps.” He looked at Zlata. “Due to the recent situation, I would recommend detective Mikhaylov go to Novvy Dom; I'm sure General Berezin will be glad to meet you.”
Smithton was turning red. “Sir, you can't possibly be considering...”
“Yes, I am, Arnie,” Reedman said, his tone cold. “ I don't want this killer walking round my streets, targeting the people in our care, any longer than we have too. And if he;s killing in the camps, we have a moral obligation to help them.” he rubbed his temple slightly. “If you would all be excused for a moment, I’ll make some calls.” he held up his hand.. “Not you, Arnie; I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Zlata and the others made their way into the lobby, closing the door behind them. Their was the muffled sounds of conversation, a rather animate one, then the door bust suddenly opened; Smithton pushed passed, his face red with anger.
In her mind, Zlata smiled; Smithton was not her biggest fan, and she wasn’t exactly a fan of his, either. The Bastard had been second guessing her since her defection; he seemed convinced she was a soviet spy.
McNally whistled. “Woowee, he looks pissed. Guess old Sir Walt gave him a right dressing down.”
Hogue just shook his head. “I know he's the AC, but who the hell doe's he think he is?”
“He thinks he's the next in line for the throne,” McNally replied. “Reedman's good, but he's getting on in the years, and his daughter just had a kid. The old man's thinking of retiring, and Smithton's in the line for the top spot.”
“He act's like he's already got the job.”
“He;s just throwing round his weight, trying to intimidate any threats.” McNally chuckled. “Funny for him to see us as a threat.”
“I don't know if it's really my place to say this, “Zlata said. “But the idea of him in charge of the ANP does not inspire great confidence in our future.”
The secretary coughed. “Sir Reedman will see you again.”
In her mind, Zlata looked perplexed; that was quick.
The three entered, and Zlata saw Reedman ahd a look similar to how she imagined her own. He sat there, looking at the phone, unsure of something.
'Ok, sir?” Hogue asked.
Reedman snapped out of it. “ah, yes. I just got off the phone with DFAR. Your scheduled into meetings with General Berezin and Representative Flores.”
“That was fast,” McNally said, surprised. “When are we scheduled to see them.”
“This afternoon,” Reedman replied, sounding almost unsure with his words. “the paperworks already on it's way.”
David leant back in his chair with a sigh. This is boring, the thought to himself. And it was the worst kind of boring too: dangerously boring.
David was used to boring; Working as a paper monkey in Interstate Corruption teaches you new definitions of boring. But this stuff, and the stuff the DAC usually worked on, had that dangerous edge to all its boring stuff: this was a plain Jane whodunnit with a killer who could rip your arms off. Sounds exciting, but the grunt work is just the same.
And then you threw in the Red Doll....
Considering his career options, David decided he need a smoke and to make a few calls. But a toilet break was in order first and foremost; anything to burn time.
He's soon whish he'd just kept working; no sooner had he walked in, he heard the door open behind him. “Detective Flynn.”
Shit, David thought, his shoulders drooping. The AS-hole himself. “Smithton. If your looking for a good time, try the third booth over.”
“Very funny,” Smithton replied. 'I have a matter to discuss with you, concerning your previous, indiscretion....”
David stopped mid piss; ah shit, not this again.
“What, did you think I helped you cover it up out of the kindness of my heart?” Smithton chuckled. “No, I have a job for you.”
David felt a creeping sensation in his throat: he was afraid this day would come. “What do you want?”
“Nothing much. Just, information. Id' like to keep in the know about the current case.”
“Can't you read the reports?”
“Oh, I know not everything you do ends up in your reports. No, I want the raw picture of what you find: every detail, every lead, every clue. Most of all, I want you to Watch Mikhaylov.”
David raised an eyebrow. “And why would you want me to do that.”
“None of your business,” Smithton replied. “ Just keep an eye on her. I want to know everything she does, everyone she talks to, everything. Do this, and I might consider our debt partially paid.”
David heard Smithton walk away, the door open and close.
He swore to himself. More shit to deal with; he really needed a new job.