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Myths of New Haven (private Kyo & Val)

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The rain was coming down so hard it swept the sidewalks clean. Thee figures stood at the exit of a dark alley way, their silhouettes illuminated by the street lamp a few yards down from them. Two of the figures were standing, and the other lay on the floor, with the stillness that only the dead could manage. Her face was obscured but no man ever had a set of pins like that. A crimson liquid flowed down the street, dancing in the light of the street lamp. The two other figures were stark opposites. One of the men was calm, collected, his face obscured by the pulled up collar of his trench coat, and his wide-brimmed porkpie hat tilted forward, obscuring his face in darkness. The other man was dressed in light blue jeans, a black leather jacket, with a white t-shirt underneath. His greased blonde hair was stuck to his head, soaked by the downpour. Unlike his companion, he looked nervous, on edge. "Th-this wasn't what you said would happen!" He said, his voice light and panicked. 


"Sometimes the unexpected happens. It's of no great concern." The other man said in a deep baritone, with no hint of care for the corpse he stood before. "Don't worry Carmichael, I'll make sure you don't take the fall for this."

"But I didn't-" Carmichael began but the other man cut him off. 

"That's right." The calm voice said. "You weren't even here. So there's no need to worry. This won't make the papers anyway. Nobody in New Haven wants to hear about a dead myth."

"She' of those freaks?" Carmichael asked. "I couldn't even tell."

"That's kind of the point." The other man said. "You need to go along home now. If the police do visit you, be cooperative, but remember; you were never here, okay?"

"R-right." Carmichael said hesitantly. "And what about you, Boss?"


"Don't concern yourself with that." His boss said. Despite the circumstances he was down right charming. "Just forget this ever happened. Go on now."

With a nod Carmichael left, and disappeared down the street. His boss took his time, considering the corpse of the young woman, before turning and disappearing in to the darkness of the alley. The girl was left, alone, the rain washing her clean, leaving only a pale, lifeless doll behind. 




The morning sun only barely penetrated the tightly closed blinds of the New Haven Police Department's 13th Precinct. Rows of private offices with brown oak walls, and dust coated glass surrounded a large open space in the centre full of desks, all stacked with paperwork and files, and each with a single black typewriter, a dirty ashtray and old coffee cups. The residents of the bull pen were a lifeless sort this early in the morning. They sipped coffee, and smoked cigarettes, as they lazily scanned the files on their desks, trying to switch on their brains for the day. There were three men currently at their desks. Nearest the door was Lieutenant Michael Maguire, Mickey to his friends. He was on the wrong end of 40, with slicked back silver hair, and a prominent flavour saver. He was dressed in a white shirt and a silver tie, with grey trousers and braces pulled up over his chest. The sleaves of his shirt were pulled up, and the man had enough hair to be mistaken for a well-dressed gorilla. 


Mickey was a tough but fair type. He was old enough to know when to lay down the law, but not so long in the tooth that he'd forgotten what it was liked to be in the trenches. As far as a boss went, he was all right. A good cop, too. The desk to his left was occupied by Sergeant John Rawlins, almost as old as Mickey, but he looked older. He was balding but had rather ungracefully chosen to comes a few remaining strands over his bald spot. He was a chubby fellow, a little red in the face, and his grey three piece suit was a little too small for him, the buttons looking ready to burst at any moment. Rawlins gave a heavy sigh as he sipped from his coffee cup, and then a little rumble came from his chest, his acid reflux acting up again. 

"You need to stop putting sugar in your coffee, John." Mickey said with a soft chuckle. 

"Ah don't you start." Rawlins replied, his voice a southern drawl. "Edith's got me on that sweetener crap at home. Shit tastes like I've got seltzer in my coffee."


"Edith's a good gal, John. She's just looking out for you." Mickey said. "Enjoy it while you have it. Divorce is no picnic. Two kids I only get to see on weekends, and you should see the numbers on my alimony cheques."

"Heh." Rawlins chuckled and shook his head. "That's what you get for bustin' yer ass in this place, hm?"

"Married to the job, as they say." Mickey said with a nod. "Of course it's easier just to not get married like that bum." Mickey inclined his head to the desk in front of him, that was positioned to face his. "How's the single life at 39, eh Ryan?"

The third man looked up from the file on his desk. a half burned cigarette sat loosely in between his index and middle finger. He glanced at Micket and put down the case file in front of the name plate at the front of his desk that read: Sergeant Nick Ryan. He was dressed in a well fitted white shirt and a navy blue pinstripe three-piece, the jacket thrown over the back of his chair, and his waistcoat buttoned up around his white shirt. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back over his head, neat and tidy. He was clean shaven, and smooth skinned, but his eyes were dark from lack of sleep, and he'd been drinking his coffee with a little bourbon to take the edge off. His steely blue eyes, however, looked sharp and strangely observant as he looked at Lieutenant Maguire. 


"Wouldn't you like to know, Mick." He said in a cheeky sort of way, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Which one d'you want to hear about first? Angie? Grace? Jade? That's just this month..."

"One of these days yer gon' fall in shit, and for once, ye ain't gon' come out smellin' o' roses, boy." Rawlins said with a wheezy chuckle. 

"That'll be the same day you lose 30 pounds, Rawlins." Ryan replied with a smirk. 

"Oh, so when hell freezes over!" Mickey added, and the three men fell into a raucous laughter that seemed to go on for a couple of minutes or more. Then a door slammed shut and the laughter was sucked out of the room in the blink of an eye. 


When the door to the department slammed like that, there was only one person coming in. Heels clacked along the corridor in a military fashion, and all three men straightened up and hurried to look busy, rustling papers and pretending to read case files. A woman emerged in the bull pen dressed in the military fitted blue dress suit uniform of the NHPD, complete with the stripes and pins that marked her status within the department. The woman was middle aged, her face a wrinkled frown, her blonde hair tied up in a tight bun. Captain Enid Mayes was a stern, ball-buster of a Captain. Nobody blamed her really, it was tough for a woman in this line of work, and she was the only woman in the city to ever make Captain. Some might have found this quite an achievement, but Mayes found it a bitter insult. 


You see, she was Captain of the 13th Precinct's Special Investigations Department. The only one of it's kind. A special department assigned all manner of cases involving the rarely spoken shame of New Haven. The 13th Precinct S.I dealt only in cases involving Myths. It had only been 8 years since Myths had become common knowledge to human society. Most people liked to pretend they didn't exist, and others made it their duty to actively hate them. It was rare to find people who would be accepting of them. Ryan sort of understood. Vampires, Werewolves, they were the ones people had heard of. But all manner of strange people now lived in New Haven City, part of some Federal initiative to register all Myths and keep them in a controlled space. New Haven just happened to be that space. 


When Mayes had made Captain, she had been placed in control of the S.I department, she thought, as some kind of cruel joke. Everyone in the force had considered the department either a laughing stock, or a kind of embarrassment. Most people didn't care about the Myths, as long as they stayed out of sight. What a fitting reward for New Haven's first female Captain. In time the cops who worked at S.I were called the 'Black Cats', some kind of attempt at a joke. However they had come to own it in their own way, and often laughed about it. All accept the ever-serious Captain Mayes. The chip on her shoulder would probably never wear down. She cast her intense gaze over the bullpen, but said nothing. 

"Good morning, Captain!" Mickey said brightly, being the highest rank aside from the Captain, it was his responsibility to dive in first and save his men from the first onslaught. 


"I daresay that's still to be decided, Lieutenant." Mayes said in a very clear and precise way, her tone just a little shrill. "This office is in a sorry state. What a way to greet our new staff member."

"That's today?" Ryan asked, and then let out a sigh, immediately regretting his action. 

"Perhaps you would have remembered, Sergeant, if you had gotten a decent nights sleep for a change. I can smell the bourbon from here."

"Sorry, Captain." Ryan said meekly, pretending to sip coffee from his now empty cup. 

"Your new partner is just downstairs signing in. She'll be up in a moment, so I suggest you look sharp." Hayes said. 

"I'll be sure to be real presentable for the rookie, Captain." Ryan assured. 


"Sergeant, once again you are mistaken." Mayes said. "Your new partner has been on the force longer than you have. Her record is exemplary compared to your own, although I suppose that's hardly a stretch."

"Uh, great." Ryan said with a forced smile, before muttering. "God help me if this dame is anything like you..."

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The quiet ticking of a bedside clock fought against the distant rumbling of thunder, against the muffled downpour of rain that beat down upon the window of the small apartment. Suddenly the clock stopped ticking and an alarm began that roused a sleeping body. She groaned, a pale hand reaching out to smack the alarm clock into silence. She reached the alarm clock and brought her fist down on it, but caught the edge of it and knocked it over the side of her bedside table. The clock swung from it's cord, back and forth, alarm blaring. Her groan loudened. She grabbed another pillow and pulled it down over her head of long, raven hair. It was too early, and she was too cold. But the alarm told her otherwise. It was time to get up. Yawning, she pulled herself across her bed like a zombie lurching across the ground, until she reached the other side and gingerly reached out to grab the swinging clock. Her fingers grazed it, so she pulled herself further out of bed until she was almost halfway out. She reached again and this time collapsed out onto the cold wood floor.

"What the heck?!" She barked, scuttling back up onto her bed. Just then, her phone rang. Her dark eyes considered the phone, but she decided it'd be better to leave it ring.


The raven-haired woman crossed her main apartment room and walked into the bathroom, turned the shower on and put the heat to high. She took her sleeping clothes, a plain white t-shirt and a set of black boxer shorts off and slipped into the hot water, letting it run over her. She was tall, relatively petite, but attractive. She reached out of the shower and grabbed a toothbrush and started brushing, after a few minutes in the shower she stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel and wiped the mirror of the condensation with the palm of her hand, spat in the sink, gargled and spat again, then inspected her teeth in the mirror. Her teeth looked like they might have belonged more to a shark, than a human. She ran her long tongue over them.
"Squeaky clean." She chimed, and left the bathroom. As she started to get dressed, she noticed a red light blinking on her machine. She finished getting ready, slipping into a pair of black trousers and a white shirt, along with a black tie, over that she pulled on a brown trench coat - after all, she had to look the part of a detective. People practically expected it. Then she leant over and pressed the 'messages' button. 

A loud ringing made her jump. She thought there was a problem with the machine, and then she realised that it was not in fact a machine malfunction. It was the frantic angry barking of her new boss, demanding to know why she was late on the first day of her new transfer. She leapt to her feet, slipped into a pair of black boots and ran for her front door. Grabbing her badge and gun on the way out. 

"--and if you're not here in the next ten minutes, Sergeant Drago--" She slammed shut the door and locked it, letting out a quick sigh. Then she ran. 





When she arrived at the station, she was soaked through and shivering. She couldn't handle the cold. She'd been transferred just a few days ago and she wasn't used to the climate in New Haven. She was from the west coast, where it was warmer. People were different there, they were friendlier, they talked different. New Haven felt cold and unsympathetic.

She walked into the foyer and looked around, feeling a little lost. "Uh, e-excuse--" She tried to stop one of the uniformed officers but they ignored her. Licking her lips, she waited for a moment then saw a plain clothes officer. 
"Hey, can ye tell me--" For a moment, the man registered her, and started to smile. She instinctively smiled back, and the moment he saw her teeth, his expression dropped, his eyes fell to the floor and he stormed past her. She took a step back and thought for a few moments, when she saw the receptionist was answering questions. Crossing the room, she waited in line, watching the officers bringing in perps from all over New Haven. Now she started wondering what she'd see on her first day here. Eventually she made it to the front of the line, and the receptionist pointed her to the right floor. She stepped into the elevator and rode it up. A gentle chime told her she'd reached her floor, and the doors opened to chaos. For a moment, she was unable to leave the elevator, due to shock. Then she shook it off, and walked into the melee.


Few people took notice of her, and those that did quickly dismissed her. Someone passed her, reading out coffee orders and pushed a styrofoam cup of hot coffee into her unwilling hands. She struggled to take it, and almost spilt hot coffee all over herself then whirled to dodge a passing man trying to speak on a corded telephone but was getting himself wrapped up in it. She moved through the crowds until it got quieter and quieter, then at last she turned a corner and saw a door at the far end. She reached the door and read aloud the etched letters on the cloudy glass.

"13th Precinct's Special Investigations Department..." She frowned, then reached for the door handle, grabbed hold of it and mentally prepared herself. Then as she turned the handle, someone on the other side of the door pulled and she fell inwards. She managed to lose the bundle of files she'd been given, and her coffee splashed across the floor as she collapsed in a heap. She blew a few bangs out of her eyes and looked at the stunned faces in the room, "Sergeant Drago, Rosa... reportin' fer duty..."


"Well..." Ryan was the first to speak, a slight smirk spreading across his lips. He stood up and walked the length of the room, until he was stood over her, still smirking. He offered his hand to her. "Nick Ryan. Nice to meet you, partner."
"H-hey..." Rosa smiled at Ryan and took his hand and tried to put her weight on it to stand up. 

Ryan pulled her up, but his grip tightened slightly as he did. "Whoa, you're freezing..." He said as he took his hand away from her once she was up.

"Yeah, it's real cold out, huh?" Rosa patted down her coat and picked up her papers, "Yo!" She nodded at Ryan and looked around the room.

"Pleased to meet you Miss Drago." Mickey called across the room. "Come sit down. There's a free desk next to Ryan's."

"Thanks!" Rosa smiled at Mickey and marched across the room and sat down on a short swivel chair and looked around as she tested the chair itself, then held onto the desk and pushed off, putting her in a chair spin. When she finally came to a stop she looked satisfied, although she was still shivering. "So... what are y'all doin'?" She asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.


"Just a typical morning, Miss Drago." Mickey explained as Ryan returned to his seat. "We're a small department so it's not always very exciting and we do our own paperwork. It's been a slow few days, so we're just checking through our files. Making sure Myth registrations are in order and up to date, filing old case reports. Its dull work but it has to be done."
"If yer lucky ye might get ta take a walk, stop a couple minor altercations. They stay quiet for the most part,  but a lot a tension underneath it all." Rawlins added while going at his gums with a toothpick.
"I'm not very good with paperwork." Rosa replied, looking at the dishevelled stack of paper in her arms, pockmarked by coffee. She set it to one side, and licked her lips thoughtfully, tapping her hands off her knees, "So... yer my partner?" She asked, looking at Ryan.
"Looks like it." Ryan replied as he reached in to the breast pocket of the jacket hanging on his chair and retrieved a packet of Rogues, his cigarette brand of choice. He opened the top of the packet and gave the bottom a little tap, and one of the cigarettes jumped out from the pack, and he retrieved it and placed it in between his lips. He took a silver zippo lighter from his desk and flipped it open, letting the flames lick the end of the cigarette as he took a deep breath and inhaled the toxic smoke. After a pause he blew a ring of smoke in to the air. "And what about you, Rosa? Where have you been bumped from?"
"I'm from the west coast, born an' raised." Rosa replied with a smile, but her cheery demeanour dropped a little, "Lost my partner, got transferred." She let out a short sigh and shrugged, "We gonna hang 'round here all day?" She asked.
"Pretty much, unless something comes up." Ryan said with a smirk. "Better get used to being bored. There's a lot of Myths in New Haven, but the ones who are registered mostly know better than to misbehave. Welcome to the Black Cats, Drago." At this Mickey and Rawlins gave a knowing chuckle and went back to their paperwork. Ryan observed Rosa a little longer, his stare always keen despite the tired eyes. "So you like the action... so that's either narcotics or homicide. Am I right?"
Rosa frowned, watching Mickey and Rawlins give each other a look she didn't understand, "Homicide..." She answered, "Sorry, what's exactly 'Black Cats' and why do ya keep bringin' up Myths? Ain't this homicide...?" She leant back in her chair and looked at each of the men in the room in turn.
"Sometimes, anyway." Mickey said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Special Investigations deal with all criminal offences associated with our Myth population. Homicide, Robbery, Narcotics, we dabble in all of it a little. As for 'Black Cats', that's just a little nickname we've earned from the rest of the brass. Supposed to be funny, I think."
"Y'all only arrest Myths...?" Rosa looked around the room in disbelief, "Why?"
"Because some of them can turn into 15 feet tall wolf men." Ryan said, shaking his head. "We're specialists. We only cuff the criminals, just like everyone else."
"So... how are y'all specialists then...?" Rosa asked, leaning forwards in her chair. She was pleased, maybe some or all of the department were like her? How else could they be specialists? Ryan himself said you'd have to be good enough to deal with 15 feet of wolf man.
"Let me know when ye find the answer, darlin'." Rawlins said with a chuckle. "Take a look aroun' an' ye might figure it out. This department is a dead end, sweetheart. Sorry ta break yer heart."
"I..." Rosa went to speak, but stopped herself. She felt confused, but she'd leave the matter for the time being. Just then, a phone rang at Ryan's desk. She looked at Ryan with pursed lips. She really wanted to be out on the street right now.
Ryan took his sweet time answering the phone. He took another drag of his cigarette and enjoyed it before he finally reached for the receiver and put it next to his ear. "Ryan." He said in to it, "...Really?..." He stroked his chin as he spoke. "Adelaide Main Street... got it. Get the place locked down, I'm on my way." Ryan put down the receiver and Mickey looked at him expectantly. He sighed heavily, before giving a soft smirk. "Looks like the new girl gets her wish."
"What's the situation?" Mickey asked. 
"Homicide." Ryan said gravely. "Down on Adelaide. You want to check it out?"
"And deprive Miss Drago of the privilege?" Mickey said sarcastically, before returning to Rosa. "Congratulations Detective. You have your first case."




"Do ya have a car?" Rosa asked, as they left the building. The rain was coming down in sheets, and she didn't want to get soaked again, she already felt like death warmed up. She smirked at the thought, but wondered for a moment if Ryan had given her a look, so she wiped the smile off her face. "So, do ya? Have a car, I mean?" 

"Yeah, I have a car." Ryan said, raising his brow. "We're NHPD. Did you think we take the bus?" Ryan placed his blue fedora on his head and stepped out in to the pouring rain and in to the parking lot. He made his way to a black Buick Century, opening the passenger door for Rosa. "After you."

Hesitantly, she looked up at the rain, and then burst out into the downpour. She quickly got to the car and got inside, a moment later and Ryan was in the driver's seat. As he started the car, Rosa put her hand on the wheel to pause him, "It's cus its rainin' an' all, and we just met, but i'll get my own door from now on, thanks." She took her hand off the wheel, but a moment later put it back on, "And don't be callin' me 'darlin' or 'sweetheart' or none o' that, neither." Then she took her hand off the wheel for good this time, and looked out the passenger-side window. 


"As you wish, I'll keep the courtesy to an all time low from now on." Ryan said with a smirk. "In that case don't expect me to be fetching you any coffee." He turned the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life, and he drove out of the station car park and carried on down the road. "A murder in Adelaide... now that's just crazy." He said in a conversational tone. "That part of the city is quite nice usually. School district, actually."

"Murderers take all forms, not all of them need to be Myths or monsters to do it." Rosa replied, wiping her hand across the condensation on the glass, as she peered out at the people walking the sidewalk. "So what are you wearing?" She asked, still looking out the window. 

"I...beg your pardon?" Ryan asked, frowning.

"You're wearin' somethin' funny. Cologne or somethin'." Rosa replied, with a sighing breath.

"Uh... just some Old Boy." Ryan said. "It bothering you?"

"No..." Rosa sat in silence for a while, then she had a realisation. "... are ye a Myth, Ryan?"

"No, ma'am." Ryan said, shaking his head. "Irish parents, born here in New Haven. Nothing special."

"Okay, sorry." Rosa replied, but she looked Ryan up and down for a moment, sizing him up. Something wasn't quite right. She was sure of it. At least she thought she was, but she'd been sure about things before and been wrong. Maybe this was just one of those times. Maybe.

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When they pulled up to Adelaide Main Street it was crawling with eager onlookers. The street had been cordoned off and as they pulled over two officers came to the car with umbrellas, handing them to Ryan and Rosa as they stepped out. Ryan thanked the uniform and stepped past the police tape and on to the street. In the light of the, admittedly, gloomy day, the street was quite picturesque. There was a small mom and pop diner on the corner, and many of the buildings has little bushes growing in planters on their window sills. The beat cops and the lab guys were gathered around the alley between a grocery store and a butcher shop. "What have we got?" Ryan asked as he walked alongside one of the uniforms.


"Victim's name is Amy Schultz." The uniform replied. "The medical examiner put's the time of death some time between one and three am this morning."

"How'd it happen?" Ryan asked.

"It's probably better if you just look, Sergeant." The uniform replied.

"All right then." Ryan said and he walked away from the uniform and stepped in to the alleyway.


Amy Schultz, the victim, was lying on the ground like a ragdoll. She had a face like a doll. Dressed in a powder blue dress, her skin was almost white, her face clean of any make up she might have been wearing, the rain had seen to that. Her golden hair was soaked through, but Ryan imagined she was quite the looker in any other situation. Her stillness, however, gave him a horrible sensation in the pit of his stomach. He crouched down next to her, examining her body closely. The dress was stained with blood, but the sidewalk was wiped clean from the downpour. She had single stab wound in her stomach, just under her rib cage. He stroked his chin in consideration. The wound was thin and clean, but went deep. If it had been anywhere else she might have survived. 

"Hughes." He said to the bespectacled and balding man who was crouched over the body near him. Hughes was a medical examiner with the department. A specialist who dealt with Myths, so he was a familiar face in cases like these. "What have you got for me?"


"Detective Ryan." Hughes said in a monotonous tone that suggested he was concentrating. "The rain's cleared up most of it. I'll need to confirm back at the morgue, but it looks like a single stab wound. Punctured lung, and she bled out quickly. Probably dead in minutes."

"No weapon left at the scene?" Ryan asked. 

"No such luck." Hughes replied. "But here, take a look at this..." He said, and he carefully pulled on her dress up, revealing her underwear and most of the rest of her. Ryan gave an awkward shrug to show his discomfort, but he soon saw what Hughes was referring too. All up her right side of her torso were dark purple blotches. 

"She took a few punches." Ryan said, shaking his head. Old fashioned thinking, it might have been, but he didn't like the thought of anyone hitting a lady. 

"Funny thing is, the bruising is already set in." Hughes explained. "This probably happened a few hours before the murder, maybe longer." He added, before his eyes lifted upwards and he stared past Ryan. "Who's this?"

"New partner." Ryan said, inclining his head to Rosa who was standing behind him. "Hughes this is Sergeant Rosa Drago. Rosa, this is Ernest Hughes, S.I's medical examiner."


Rosa leant over the body, momentarily shading what used to be Amy Schultz from the onslaught of the rain. She heard the two men talking, but she only had eyes for Amy. She stared down at the girl and sighed. The loss of life was always sad, but she couldn't help but be hurt by the scene. This could have just as easily been her. Beaten, and left in the cold, bleeding to death, with nobody there to help her. Her jaw involuntarily clenched, as did her fists, and little droplets of blood ran out between her fingers. Rosa took a deep breath and told herself to shake it off.
"The blood hasn't had time to coagulate. It was recent, even in the rain, you can see her puncture wound is fresh. Her body is still pliant, rigor mortis hasn't set in." She lifted the girl's arm to show how easy it was to move, "And this wound, its a kill. The murderer knew where to aim, she didn't just bleed out." Rosa straightened up and then nodded to Hughes.
"Good eye." Ryan said with a nod. "At first I thought it was maybe an accident, but the location of the wound. It's likely the killer knew what they were doing."
"I'll still need to get her on the slab." Hughes said. "The rain and the cold has kept the body fairly fresh. I'll need to look further to get a more accurate time of death."
"Hang on Hughes, I'm not done." Ryan said as he stood up, sweeping his gaze over the scene. The way Amy was positioned, it was clear she had come from the alley. But the wound was at her front, it was clear she locked eyes with her killer. He cast his gaze over the floor, and up the wall closest to her. He leaned across the wall and indicated the a few red specs along it. Blood. He bent down again and lifted the victim's left arm up, and found a graze on her elbow. "Looks like she hit the wall when she tried to struggle." He said. Then he indicated to her wrists. "No bruising, so her attacker didn't hold her. Think about that. The attacker came from the front, and she's tried to back off. Why did she move in to the wall? If it were me I'd back off to my right, where there's more room."
"She was surprised..." Rosa muttered, sadly. 
"What?" Hughes yelled over the rain, unable to hear her.
"She knew the killer!" Rosa yelled back at him, "Look! No defensive wounds on her arms... she didn't run, because she knew them, she didn't think she was in mortal danger so she wasn't tryin' to run, she was backin' away. They pulled a knife on her when she was against the wall, when she couldn't run any more!"
"They is the word, Rosa." Ryan said. "It's just a hunch, but I think there was another walking alongside her, on her right. That's why she hit the wall. They boxed her in."
"You're speculating, Sergeant." Hughes said irritably. "The woman was likely afraid. Perhaps she made a mistake. We can't confirm there is a second suspect just yet."
"You stick with the science, Hughes." Ryan said dismissively. "I know people, and I know fear. Fear saves lives. If I'm right, and we don't do anything about it, we could be overlooking a whole other suspect. It's worth considering."
"Possibly" Hughes sighed. "Now if you don't mind I need to finish here before they take the body away. The locals are getting a bit reckless."
"Right." Ryan said with a nod. "Get the uniforms out canvassing. Talk to the locals, see if anyone saw anything last night. We've got work to do." And with that Ryan and Rosa left the scene and walked back out on to the main road. Before going back to the car Ryan made his way to a phone booth and called the station. After a few rings he heard Mickey's voice on the other end. 
"Mickey, It's Ryan." He said in to the phone. "You got the file for our victim yet?"
"Yeah, I got it." Mickey said. "Amy Schumer, Age 27. She's registered. A Siren, apparently. They're reported to have beautiful singing voices, quite irresistible to men."
"Might be relevant, too early to tell." Ryan said. "Listen, I've got uniforms canvassing. Can you track down her place of work, maybe her family? Anyone suspect, bring them in for questioning."
"Already on it." Mickey said. "Why don't you and Rosa go to her apartment and try and dig up some clues. Speak to the neighbors, see what they know."
"Good idea." Ryan said with a nod. "What's her address?"
"Apartment 29, 221 Bankton Drive." Mickey said. 
"Bankton? That's up on the west side. What the hell was she doing all the way out here?" Ryan said
"Do I look like a crystal ball?" Mickey said. "Go find out." he added, and then he hung up. 
Ryan closed the door after getting in to the car and waited until Rosa was sitting comfortably. "That was some good work. You worked homicide back home, right?"
"Yeah." Rosa replied, and looked at her palms. There were little puncture wounds, but they'd already stopped bleeding. She licked the wounds and pressed her palms together, "So what now?"
"We go to her place and see what we can dig up." Ryan replied. "Long drive, she lives up on the west side. Makes me wonder what she was doing down here in the early hours."
"Right. Well let's get goin' then." Rosa replied. She cleared her throat, "What would she be doin' down here, then..." She thought aloud.
"All sorts." Ryan said. "Although, considering the circumstances, probably nothing good." He turned the key in the ignition and made way to Bankton Drive. Hopefully, they'd find some answers there. 

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