1x02: Jigsaw

“I really don’t know how you can be so bubbly.” Evan’s stated irritably as she stirred the thick black liquid in her cup. Conversation between herself and Matthews had been broken and dry since they had finished exchanging pleasantries 5 minutes ago. And it was true, Evans did not understand. With the job they now worked, the jobs they used to do, and all the things they had seen, how on earth could this woman standing before her remain so upbeat? It was infuriating! Not knowing how to reply, the blonde woman remained silently heaping sugar into her milky coffee. She didn’t want to annoy the stern female, but it seemed not to matter what she did or said; Evans’ annoyance was inevitable.

“Well… I don’t see that there is much point in moping around or letting the world’s problems get to you. So I choose to remain optimistic.” That was a civil, democratic answer, right? Apparently not as Evans rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink as though she were an alcoholic in desperate need of a pint. Before either could say another word, they noticed Valkov taking a mug from the cupboard. When he had appeared there neither of them knew.

“Hi, Agent Valkov!” Matthews greeted, a bright smile playing on her lips “Coffee’s made if you want some.”

“Thanks, but I don’t touch the stuff. Excuse me, Evans.” The blonde slipped between the girls, taking a herbal tea bag from a box on the side.

“Agent Evans.” There was a slight growl to the older woman’s voice, as though she was commanding respect from the man. He either didn’t notice; or he just enjoyed pushing people’s buttons.

“Well, Agent, I’m an agent too. So are Matthews, Thompson, Mokuro, Scott, and I’m not so sure about Barker. Is he classed as an agent? I don’t know. I doubt even he knows. My point, however, is that if we keep referring to each other as ‘Agent’ then matters will get very confusing and very tedious very fast.” Evans let out an aggravated snarl before exiting the break room “What’s wrong with her?”

“Are you sure you don’t drink caffeine?” Valkov looked at Matthews with a puzzled frown before smiling and lifting his cup

“Naturally caffeine free.” He stated before breezing out of the room

“…ok. She’s cynical, and he’s mad.”

“Who’s mad?” Matthews jumped and turned to face the mismatched eyes gazing at her. People just seemed to be sneaking up on her today… “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you…We have a new case. We’re all meeting in the conference room.” The timid agent informed before also disappearing, presumably to said room.

“It’s going to be one of those days…” Matthews muttered, making her way to the meeting place, and hoping that this case wouldn’t be too bad...

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“Evil lurks in the heart of man, and anonymity tends to bring it out. Internet flamers would never say the jagged things they do if they had to sign their names.” ~Garrison Keillor

When everybody had finally arrived, Barker began to explain the details of the case.

“Johanna Mitchell, 35, was found dead on the pier at Cromer, Norfolk, after being reported missing just the day before. Her limbs and head had been removed and scattered around the town. Her head was the last part to be found, and had a note attached; ‘Let’s play a game. Find my next target before I kill it. It goes to the beach often’. The police thought they could handle it, and patrolled the beach. But they didn’t patrol the left stretch, as people rarely went down there. That was a week ago. Yesterday the torso of Laura Garner, 32, was found on the left stretch of beach. Fully clothed. Any evidence has been washed away, and the limbs have not yet been found. There was a note attached to the torso; ‘You failed! Let’s try again.’” Barker grimaced as the picture of the torso with blood spattered note came up on the screen behind him. “Grim… very grim…”

“Sexual Sadist?” Scott queried, though he himself seemed unsure of his own surmise

“No sign of sexual outlet… he surrendered all his trophies from the first kill, so I think we can rule out the power seeker.” Matthews interjected “What do you think, Thompson?”

“I’m thinking we may have a thrill killer. His method of killing seems to be very specific, so it doesn’t look as though he’s progressive; he jumped right into contacting the police. He could still be a power seeker, due to the taunting tone. Also- Agent Mokuro?” The young agent looked up from the photograph she was looking at and pursed her lips nervously before asking Barker to pull up the picture of the second note again. When it appeared on the screen they all stared long and hard, wondering what it was they had missed that Agent Mokuro hadn’t.

“The blood spatters across the note…” She explained quietly “It isn’t natural. There is no way that he could have placed the note anywhere that would allow blood to naturally form that pattern.”

“You’re saying that it’s staged? Hmm… Ok, everyone grab your go bags and get to the cars. We’re leaving in 5.” Thompson stated “Barker, I want you to see if you can find any similar murders. Start with the entire United Kingdom, then narrow it down from there.” Barker nodded, gathering his laptop and cables in his arms before making his way to his den. He would love to be out there with the rest of his team, but he was needed where he was. It was safer that way.

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The bitter sea breeze stole the heat of the sun and whisked it away, leaving Mokuro to stand shivering whilst watching various crime scene investigators combing the sand.

“I used to go beach combing.” Valkov mused next to her before dismissing his own conversation and going to talk to the on-looking police officers. Wrapping her long grey cardigan tighter around herself, Mokuro glanced around to pin point the other team members. Evans was helping look for evidence as Thompson spoke to the chief of police, and Matthews and Scott…

“Scott! We’re working, not touring!” The agents turned their attention to the muscular male, whose somewhat hairy legs poked out from knee length forest-camouflage shorts whilst his off-white t-shirt clung to his well sculpted body. Grinning, the casually dressed agent slid off his shades and swaggered over to Mokuro.

“How can you be cold, kid?”

“I’m not a kid…” Sighing, Thompson made his way over to his team to give out instructions. There was nothing left to find at the crime scene, thanks to the sea, but Mrs Garner’s husband was standing at the side lines, tears forming in his angry brown eyes as he snapped at the officers on duty. Matthews was sent to talk him down which, surprisingly, didn’t take long and she soon found herself leading the distraught male to an outdoor seating area a little way away from the crime scene.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Evans glanced at Scott before following his gaze to where their co-worker sat talking to Mr Garner

“What is?”

“How, amongst all this chaos, she can still smile and comfort the victim’s family, even when she knows all the gruesome details.” Evans snorted

“You mean, how she can smile and lie through her teeth? Because that’s all there is to it.” Before Scott could state that that wasn’t the case, or even query the woman’s aggression, she was called away, leaving him wondering where her evident bitterness had come from. Meanwhile, Valkov continued to watch his co-workers out of the corner of his eye, building a picture in his mind of what made them tick…

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Samantha Matthews felt her heart wrench in her chest as she listened to the miserable male before her recount the argument he had with his wife before her disappearance.

“I just didn’t understand why she would choose that day to go for a meal with her friend… it was our day… our anniversary… is it so wrong to want to spend your special day with your wife?”

“Of course not… Mr Garner, when did you first realise your wife was missing?”

“I called her friend, Carla. She told me that Laura never turned up at her house…” Taking down the details of Laura Garner’s friend, Matthews left the man to grieve whilst she reported back to Thompson. The conversation was brief, both agreeing that a female UnSub was unlikely, but Carla could hold important information, and it was best that she and Scott go to interview the woman immediately.

Carla Denham worked in a local shop dealing in antiquities, and she looked like she fit in perfectly, despite being only 30 years of age. The two agents were led out back, politely declining the woman’s offer of tea and coming to the conclusion that she had not yet heard about her friend’s death. This conclusion turned out to be wrong.

“Yes, I heard… news travels fast here, you see.”

“You don’t seem to be despairing much.” Scott stated bluntly, earning him a rebuking glare from his co-worker. Carla looked down before turning her sad smile back to them, stating

“Everyone deals with grief in their own way, Agent Scott. I guess it hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she’s gone…”

“We understand.” The blonde replied before her insensitive partner could do any more damage “We just need to ask you a couple of questions regarding Mr and Mrs Garner.” Following a brief signal of acknowledgement, the agents began their questioning, but it seemed like wasted time as the woman merely reaffirmed what they already knew.

“One last thing, Miss Denham. Around what time did Mr Garner call you last night?” The pair did not miss the way Carla’s eyes flickered, trying their best to blink back any emotion before answering

“Why would he call me?” the two agents glanced at each other, wordlessly discussing how to continue

“Oh, we just thought he may have to make sure his wife got to your house safely?” Matthews watched the woman opposite her carefully as she answered that Mr Garner would have called his wife to make sure she got there – not her, and that she hadn’t received a phone call from him. Thanking her, the pair took their leave to report back to Agent Thompson, who was himself finding pieces of the puzzle that didn’t seem to fit…

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 “You see, there are many different types of serial killers, and distinguishing type can help us to identify suspects,” Thompson explained to the police officers, trying to ignore the shouts of the media that Evans was doing her best to hold back behind the lines “One type of serial killer is the Visionary Serial Killer. People in this category usually hear voices that instruct the killer to execute other human beings. These killers are usually psychotic or schizophrenic. David Berkowitz, also known as the Son of Sam, is an example of a visionary serial killer. A second type of serial killer is the Missionary Serial Killer. This type of killer often feels as if he or she has a responsibility or a special mission to rid the world of a certain specified group of people.”

“Charles Manson would be classified under this category.” Mokuro added

“A third type is the Lust Killer. The lust killer is often driven to kill due to a sexual motivation. The fourth and fifth are known as a Thrill Killers and Power Seekers, thrill killers are those who take lives because they enjoy the experience of killing whilst the power seeker is a person who enjoys having total control over the fate of their victim. One of the last kinds of serial killers is the Gain Serial Killer. A gain killer is one who kills to gain money or items they believe to be valuable.”

“Which do you think we have here?” Thompson turned to the chief of police and began explaining the team’s theories, and how the absence of the limbs prevents them from distinguishing the line between thrill killer and power seeker. Letting out a deep sigh, Valkov sat on one of the rocks protruding from the sand after having cleared a group of on-lookers from the crime scene. It was a pity, he thought, how such a nice, quiet place was to be ruined for one person’s sick psychological gain. Looking down at the sand, he frowned when he saw a discarded shoe jutting out from behind the rock. If the body was found without its limbs, and the UnSub was as meticulous as he seemed, why would there be a lady’s high heel shoe laying around?

“Well, it could be totally unrelated, I suppose.” He murmured, reaching out a gloved hand to lift the shoe from its resting place. Only, the shoe was not by itself. The foot that had once inhabited it wore it still, and that foot remained attached to a long, tight-clad leg, the flesh and bone at the top of the thigh clearly visible where it had been crudely severed from its owner. Jumping to his feet in shock, Valkov dropped the leg and called for Thompson, who was now discussing Scott and Matthews’ findings with the suspicious agents.

“Thompson!! Chief Wilkins!! Over here!” giving a slight growl as his attempts to grab the attention of his colleagues fell through, he called to Mokuro who timidly made her way to his side.

“What’s wrong- oh my…” Kneeling, the young agent pulled on a pair of latex gloves before turning the leg over in her hands, examining it carefully, whilst Valkov picked up the piece of paper that fell from the tattered, blood-stained tights. “What does it say?” Valkov’s eyes darted over the inked words on the page, his jaw set.

“Thompson!! Matthews!!” He yelled, mind reeling for a quick way to gain there attention without leaving Mokuro unguarded “Oi, Scotty!!!” Agent Scott’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing irritably as he, followed by the other team members, made his way over to the blonde male.

“That’s Scott” Agent Scott began, but Valkov paid him no heed and went straight to Thompson, to whom Mokuro had been showing the leg.

“He left us a note. You’d best read it.” He stated, passing the crumpled, stained piece of paper to the unit chief. Mokuro repeated her earlier question as the man’s angry green eyes flickered to her.

“Yes, what does it say?” Matthews echoed, taking the note from Thompsons hand “… ‘I have been browsing for my next victim. ‘Agent Mokuro’ is a pretty little thing, isn’t it?’” she read aloud. Mokuro’s eyes widened

“He could just be messing with us, but I’m not taking any chances. Mokuro, you are not to go anywhere without a member of the team with you. I would also like you to share a room with Matthews or Evans rather than stay on your own.” The brunette nodded, speechless. Even if she had been able to say something, she wouldn’t have argued with the stern look set upon her unit chief’s face at that moment. Despite not knowing her for long, Mokuro was a member of his team, and an attack on her was an attack on him. The UnSub had just made this personal.

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The next morning began quite quietly, but soon became rather hectic. Mr Garner was nowhere to be found for interviewing, and the chief of police had brought in a herd of suspects who had done nothing but chose the wrong two weeks to take a holiday in Cromer. The third thing to go wrong was Chief Wilkins spilling his coffee over the laptop connecting the team with Barker… and Thompson’s white shirt. Agitated, Thompson went to his room to change, shivering as he entered the chilly space. He could have sworn he had closed the window… pulling on a clean shirt, a bang from behind him spurred his hand to his gun, drawing the weapon as he turned to face the source of the intrusive noise. A ginger tom cat mewed hungrily from the top of the dresser, nuzzling the gun barrel affectionately in the hope of obtaining a morsel to satisfy its appetite. Sliding the gun back into its holster, Thompson carefully picked up the animal, holding its hopeful gaze with his own stern glare.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The cat mewed again as if to argue against his statement. “You are a nuisance.” Another mew and Thomson reprimanded himself for wasting time attempting to reason with a cat. He really was exhausted. Placing the cat outside, he quickly pulled the window closed and turned back to his bed to reach for his tie. But instead of his tie, he picked up his phone, hitting speed dial and waiting for Matthews’ voice to answer.

“Matthews! We have a situation…” he stated, trying to keep confusion and annoyance from his voice as he looked down upon the blood-crusted arm that lay upon his once white sheets…

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“He must be watching us.” Evans mused, watching as Mokuro examined the severed limb “He knew Mokuro’s name after we’d only been here a couple of hours. Now he knows where we’re staying…”

“News travels fast in places like this.” Valkov stated, petting the ginger tom that remained sat on the windowsill “Everybody knows everybody else, and everybody knows everybody else’s business.” Thompson rubbed his temples. The UnSub was toying with them.

“The cat was part of the taunt. He attached the note to its collar.” Matthews revised, re reading the note to the team “‘Agent Mokuro’ isn’t my type. I’ve found my next target. The question is: can you find it?’”

“He refers to his targets as ‘it’. He sees them as objects.” Scott identified, to which Valkov added

“Or game.” When asked to clarify, Valkov stated that a hunter wouldn’t refer to their prey by gender or anything else that could give it an identity. In a way, this detaches them from the target as it is classed purely as ‘game’, or an object to be hunted, rather than a living creature or individual.

“What about in ‘Moby Dick’? They name the whale…” Mokuro queries with an embarrassed blush. The blonde male just smiles before clarifying

“Yes, but that is to single it out as a sole target of a vendetta.”  Sighing, Thompson turned back to Matthews

“Have we found Mr Garner yet?” she shook her head “Keep trying. He is now a key suspect. Let’s go back to the station; Barker may be able to find something on the CCTV footage.” The team agreed and, taking the severed arm and the cat with them, quickly made their way back to the station.

-

“Get a load of this.” The tinny voice of Gregory Barker rattled through the old speakers connected to the police computer as the CCTV footage from outside the place they were staying came up on screen, revealing a figure enveloped in a shining white light placing the cat in the room and waiting 10 minutes before throwing the arm in, onto the bed.

“One of your spooks, Valkov?” Scott grinned, to which Matthews rolled her eyes

“He’s obviously wearing reflective clothing.” She stated

“10 points to Matthews!” Barker smiled, popping a malteaser between his lips before continuing “Our UnSub is 5 feet 9 inches, or 69 inches for those of American origins, and of average build. Can’t specify much more than that, I’m afraid.” As the screen went blank Thompson sank slowly down into his chair. The UnSub had been right there…

“Valkov, how many people matched that description at the beach?”

“More than I’d like to think.”

“Did you-… do you have a cat allergy?” the unit chief asked as his eyes rested on part of Valkov’s forearm where an angry red rash had appeared.

“What? No, why- oh…” Valkov frowned as Mokuro took his arm, cleaning it and bandaging it with the first aid box the chief had handed to her “The cat must have had tuna over its paws of something.”

“Right… well, you and Evans can go onto the streets and see what people know. Scott, Matthews, continue trying to find out more about Mr Garner, visit Miss Denham again if you have to. Mokuro, we’re going to the morgue to take a look at these limbs.”

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Evans watched as her colleague drummed his nails against the car door irritably, his aggravated stare gazing out of the open window and into some other world which only he could see into.

“Green Light.” He stated, breaking the frozen wall of silence that had fallen between them. Regaining her concentration on the frustrating, winding roads before her, Evans navigated her way to the main road which would take them back to the police station. Meanwhile, Valkov thought back to their encounter with the fishmonger. Their questions had been perfectly reasonable; the man’s stall was on the street, and he caught his own produce, so surely asking to know if he had seen anything suspicious of late was a rational request? But no, he had been arrogant and rude; treating the agents as if they were stealing his time like it was gold dust being stolen from his treasury! Valkov didn’t particularly care about what strangers thought of him, but there were some comments that just didn’t need to be made. As if insulting him hadn’t been enough, he also insulted Evans by muttering about the ‘inadequacies’ of women – a stupid opinion that there was no need to voice aloud. The meeting was playing in Evans’ mind also, although it had been down to her to guide Valkov away, causing more insults about his masculinity to be thrown his way. Unfortunately, however, it was just rudeness, and there were no real grounds to act upon it.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She stated suddenly, causing him to snap back into reality.

“Really? Don’t tell Thompson. I’ll get fired.” He replied, a faint grin playing on his lips

“I was going to say that you were thinking you want the fishmonger to be the UnSub…”

“It’s probably safer if you think that’s what I’m thinking.” This caused the usually stern female to smile, and Valkov to take a step back from his original opinions and take a good look at her for a moment. She did smile. She was human. She wasn’t always the cold, harsh statue of a woman she liked to portray herself as. Everybody had their reasons for the ways in which they acted – he just needed to spend a little more time trying to figure them out.

“When this case is over, we should all go for drinks.” He announced to no one in particular before adding “Team building.” As way of explanation to Evans, who had been thrown off guard by this random comment.

“Drinks? Team building? Really?” she did not sound convinced “I don’t think everyone would go for that.”

“Would you?”

“You would have to invite Scott.” Although she hadn’t answered his question, Valkov was rethinking his idea, unsure whether spending an evening with Scott would end well. Before he could come up with a witty retort, they had pulled up to the police station, and the afore mentioned male bounded up to them announcing that Rhys Garner had been found and was, at that moment, being questioned in the interrogation room.

Thompson exited the interrogation room as they walked up the corridor, shaking his head.

“He threw up when he saw the pictures. He’s hiding something, but I don’t think he’s our UnSub.” Letting out a ragged breath, Thompson ran a hand over his eyes “It’s getting late. Get some rest, we’ll regroup tomorrow.”

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Valkov gasped as warm water cascaded over his skin, relaxing to the sound of the droplets hitting shower curtain and trickling down into the bath. He had a bad habit of waking up at ungodly hours of the morning, and had just finished reading ‘The Tennant of Wildfell Hall’ before deciding to have a shower before he was needed. His room was next to Thompson’s on the ground floor, and he hadn’t heard Thomson stir yet, so he knew he had plenty of time. Humming to himself, Valkov reached out to change the temperature when a weight slammed into his side, throwing him into the wall and causing him to lose his footing, crashing down and taking the shower curtain and pole down with him…

He wasn’t sure what had awoken him, but a nagging feeling in the back of Thompson’s mind told him something was wrong. He still had half an hour before his alarm was due to go off, but found he couldn’t go back to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. Surrendering to the nagging sensation, he rose from his bed and changed, having showered before he went to sleep. Feeling the groan of his stomach rumble through him, Thompson exited his room with the thought of finding an early breakfast and going over some case details, only to notice Valkov’s door was ajar. At first it meant nothing to him, until Scott and the girls came down the stairs from the second floor.

“What are you doing up so early?” he queried, knowing that the team wouldn’t have to be up for another hour at least.

“I heard a crash…” Matthews frowned, looking Thompson up and down “Mokuro and I got Scott and Evans up to check it out… are you ok?” Thompson nodded, his confusion slowly fading into worry

“What room are you in?”

“18.”

“Right above…” Thompson darted to Valkov’s door, drawing his gun “Valkov?” Pushing the door open with his foot, Thompson darted into the room, his attention snapping to the window that had been pried open from the outside. The others followed him in, guns drawn.

“Be careful, the UnSub may still be in here…” Evans cautioned, looking over the books which lay casually stacked on the bedside table. The bathroom door creaked, but hurriedly snapped shut as Scott’s gun fired prematurely, sending a single bullet exploding into the door frame.

“Shit!! What the hell was that for!?” the team relaxed as Valkov’s shaken yell came from the other side of the door. Scott could feel several glares rest upon his back, and swiftly came to the conclusion that this was one of those situations were an apology was not only acceptable – it was mandatory. As he apologised, Valkov warily edged out from behind the door, bruised and shirtless.

“Matthews heard a crash.” Thompson offered by way of explanation. Seeing the damaged window, Valkov let out a heavy sigh

“So that’s how he got in…” Thompson prompted an explanation, to which Valkov obliged by placing a long, slender, decapitated leg into Mokuro’s arms.

“Our UnSub decided to deliver a little gift whilst I was in the shower. He caught me off guard and I fell, taking half the shower with me…” Expecting to be reprimanded for causing a fuss, let alone letting the UnSub get away, the blonde could only stand in shock when his unit chief laid a hand on his shoulder and, with concern lacing his words, asked if he was alright. “Yes, sir… I’m ok…” Matthews, meanwhile, found herself being slightly jealous of her male co-worker. Whilst she noted that, even though Valkov wasn’t as muscular as Scott or broad-shouldered as Thompson, Matthews was paying attention to his complexion, the fair milky skin that stretched across the expanse of his slender, toned body, with only one or two scars telling of minor scrapes and the more recent bruises blemishing it. That was until he realised he was shirtless and turned to root through one of his drawers, and each member of the group came to rest their eyes upon his lower back, where several aged, dark scars criss-crossed down into the fabric which hid the rest of his body from his team mates’ curious gazes. Despite his curiosity, Thompson knew better than to ask. He barely knew the man, and also knew that he wouldn’t want his own personal life pried into. Courteously, he looked away, noting that Mokuro had done the same, though for the embarrassment of seeing her co-worker shirtless or out of politeness he did not know, whilst Evans and Scott did not show the same courtesy, their eyes fixed upon the marks ingrained upon their co-worker’s back. Matthews tore her eyes away just as Valkov turned back round, pulling his shirt on and fixing Scott and Evans’ inquisitive gazes with a daring glare, to which they quickly backed down. Clearing his throat, Thompson announced that they were to see what Barker could find on CCTV before going any further with their investigation.

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From the images Barker had managed to isolate from the CCTV footage, the team were able to obtain very little. The man had been wearing an over coat and a hat, and the staff weren’t much better, their descriptions amounting to ‘an angry looking man, unshaven between the age of 35 and 50’.

“Maybe we should try questioning some of the locals again?” Matthews suggested, feeling as exasperated as Thompson looked.

“Evans, Valkov, does he look like anyone you interviewed?”

“He seems familiar, but I can’t place him… I apologise.” Evans replied, anger rising at the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that radiated from the situation. She jumped as a hand rest on her shoulder, and violet eyes shot her a reassuring smile. For a moment Evans once again became lost in thought, wondering how the man beside her could be so calm and collected. He had been attacked in the shower – he could have been killed – and yet, here he was, offering comfort to her. It made no sense. She was so caught up in her confusion she didn’t notice as the rest of the team began to file out of the room, and she had been left with Mokuro.

“What’s our task?” the older woman questioned, needing something else to focus her attention on

“First, to look over the forensics reports, then to work on a geographic profile.” Sighing, Evans split the reports, wishing that there was more that she could do.

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Jacob Scott was not a patient man. It was his firm belief that patience was not so much a virtue when you worked the job he did. That and he was a night owl, not an ‘early bird’ like Matthews. He was yearning to wrap up this case and go home, if only so that he could spend one evening winding down in a busy club, knocking down a couple of pints and collecting phone numbers for future meetings. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t look like this was going to happen anytime soon. Out of the handful of locals who were co-operating, very few actually had any useful information, and he could now see why Evans and Valkov had looked so exasperated when they had returned from their around-town interviews.

“Can we go back to the station now?” he asked, barely managing to keep the childish whine from his voice. Not that that mattered, Thompson had picked up on it anyway, and spoke to him as if talking to a tired toddler.

“No, Scott, we can’t. After we’ve spoken to the fisherman, then we’ll go.” Settling for second best, Scott trudged along next to the unit chief, wondering if they had actually gained anything from this excursion, or if it had just been a case of finding a load of people who definitely aren’t the UnSub. As the pair approached the small stall next to the arcades on New Street, Scott couldn’t help liken the man behind the stall to the stereotype of a homeless person. He was messy and unshaven, with a khaki parker jacket that seemed to be two or three sizes too big for him. His boots were caked in wet sand, and his hands were covered in congealed fish blood and guts as he prepared his latest catches for display.

“Excuse me, sir?” Thompson called, polite yet stern, flashing his badge “We’re with the CIU, and we’d like to ask you some questions.” The man looked them up and down as if sizing them up, before shrinking back slightly with a sneer, looking anywhere but the two agents before him

“What about?” his words were rapid, almost melding into each other, before he clamped his mouth shut. If they hadn’t had three or four similar conversations, with men displaying similar behavioural traits, Thompson would have this man marked as a top suspect. But a mixture of feelings of inconvenience and not wanting to be seen talking to these new ‘agents’ caused a number of people to show their disgruntlement with being approached.

“It won’t take long.” Thompson stood back and let Scott take over, watching the old fishmonger carefully as he did so. He found the man oddly suspicious, although logically he knew that the fisherman’s behaviour was no different to other men they had questioned. Marking down his suspicion to a personal dislike, Thompson waited until Scott had finished before walking with him back to the car park by the beach. Desperate to find a lead somewhere in the information they had, the two agents began discussing the suspects they had as they slid into the car.

Rhys Garner was unlikely to be the UnSub. From his reaction to the crime scene photos, Thompson doubted he would be capable of being faced with the actual dismembered limbs.

Mark Pope, the baker, had lost his wife to another man. He had no alibi, and was still a viable suspect, but his past was all they had to go on.

The fisherman, Nicholas Saxxon, was a loner. He had no history with women, and grew up in a poor household.

“But he has the equipment, right?” Scott suggested “He’s allowed to carry knives and nets and restraints, and he’s a well-known local figure. Not to mention he-” Scott stopped dead in front of the car “Hey, Tim, did you open the bonnet?” Thompson shook his head, not caring that Scott had called him by his first name. Frowning, Scott lifted the bonnet, wanting to make sure the car had not been vandalised, only to see a severed arm had been crudely wedged into the left wing, slightly crushed where someone had slammed the bonnet down onto it, crusted blood littering the interior mechanisms. After a moment of stunned silence, Scott turned to Thompson, his eyes reflecting the untainted seriousness he felt about his next comment.

“I am not touching that.”

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‘It will be mine soon. Next time we talk, it will be dead.’

The words were copied from the note and written across the blank space at the top of the whiteboard. Why Valkov had felt the need to do this no one knew, but it seemed spur the police assigned to the case into action.

“Well? What do we have, Agent Thompson?” Chief Wilkins had been growing increasingly agitated as more and more people questioned the effectiveness of the Criminal Investigations Unit. As time goes on doubt seeps into a person’s mind, and Wilkins was no different. Thompson looked at the rest of the team, listing the physical traits they were looking for.

“He taunts the police personally, yet doesn’t try contacting the media. This could suggest he doesn’t trust them, or doesn’t know how.” Matthews suggested, thinking about the personal attacks that could have easily been sold as stories to the local paper.

“He objectifies his targets, they mean nothing to him. This could be his general attitude towards all people.” Scott informs, only for the Chief to throw his hands up in exasperation

“‘Could’? ‘Suggests’? We need definite answers! A woman’s life is at stake!”

“Then how’s about this for a definite answer,” Barker piped in, a wide grin across his round face “Some of the blood found on the dismembered limbs didn’t belong to Laura Garner.” He had everyone’s full attention “It belonged to various species of fish.”

“The fisherman?” Scott looked at Thompson, who felt like kicking himself, whilst Evans shared a secretive glance with Valkov before they all ran out to the cars…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“CLEAR!” Nicholas Saxxon was nowhere to be found at his house, but pictures of his targets littered each room.

“He’s already at the pier!” the unit chief shouted having just received Saxxon’s whereabouts from Barker. Each agent grabbed a picture of the UnSub’s target before tearing towards the seafront.

Caitlyn Grover tossed her glossy black tresses over her shoulder. She felt like she was being watched, but assumed it to be the devilish gazes of various men wandering over her as she wrapped a towel around her body, craving its warmth. A coarse hand rested on her bare shoulder causing her to turn and look upon the unshaven male who had appeared behind her. Something about the way he looked at her was unnerving.

“Can I help you?” Caitlyn glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching, or if anyone would realise something was wrong. She had seen this man out on a fishing boat before, but hadn’t taken much notice – she was on holiday, and had wanted to work on her tan. The male did not reply, but his thin lips crept up his face into a deranged smile as his hands came up around her neck, cutting off her air supply until her head began spinning.

“FREEZE!” A muscular auburn-haired man leapt from the pier, tackling Caitlyn’s attacker into the icy waters. Matthews pulled the woman close, explaining what was going on whilst Thompson dragged the UnSub and his agent from the water, passing Saxxon to the police to deal with whilst he handed Scott a towel.

Meanwhile, Mokuro watched from the side lines trying to tie up the loose ends in her mind.
“Ok, Saxxon I get. He’s an anti-social madman who killed and taunted the police for the thrill of doing so. But what about Rhys Garner and Carla Denham? Did they know? Where they concealing evidence?” Evans shook her head

“The only thing they were concealing was adultery. Miss Denham was afraid of being incriminated, so she denied everything. But Rhys Garner soon spilled when he thought he was going to go to jail for his wife’s murder.” Mokuro merely sighed. Even when they were investigating murder, loved ones still lied to protect their dirty little secrets.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” Chief Wilkins repeated for the umpteenth time, shaking Thompson’s hand firmly. As the stoic male walked towards the cars, he could see there was still a clear rift between his team members. Mokuro, Valkov and Evans stood around one sleek black car whilst Matthews and Scott waited by the other. If not for the lack of practicality and professional appearance, Thompson would be half tempted to ask for a people carrier so that everyone was forced to remain together.

“Only two cases and already grudges are beginning to form.” he muttered “How is this team supposed to survive if it isn’t even coming together as a team?”

“Through understanding.” Thompson jumped and glared at the agent standing in front of him. He had been too busy with his thoughts to notice Valkov approaching. “Understanding takes time and patience, but we’ll get there in the end.”

“Sometimes the end seems to be very far away. Besides, I think I’m the only one on this team who doesn’t dislike any of you.” Valkov laughed at the implications and followed the unit chief’s gaze around the team

“I’m sure that isn’t true. A wise woman once told me that those who find nothing to dislike about each other are blind. Those who acknowledge their dislikes and still accept that person, flaws and all, those people are friends and team mates.” Thompson wondered where Valkov had gotten these words, especially as the agent was much younger than himself. Other than Mokuro, Thompson was sure Valkov was the youngest member of his team.

“Can you accept Scott’s flaws?”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not promising any miracles.” The ghost of a smile played on Thompsons lips at this parting comment. For a moment, the blonde male considered asking the team for drinks. They deserved them, after all, and in their line of work they had to function as a single unit. Yes, it would be a good idea.

“Hey, Valkov! Sure you don’t want to go hunting for the Kraken whilst you’re here?” Or not. He didn’t trust himself not to shoot Scott…

 “Do we really know anybody? Who does not wear one face to hide another?” ~Frances Marion

1x01: Brainstorm

It seemed like only moments ago he had been running through the fresh cut grass, the sun beating down on his back as he kicked a ball around a makeshift court to a couple of his friends. Now all he could feel against his back was hard wood through a sweat soaked shirt. He was bound to the table by several leather straps around his wrists, ankles, torso and head –the latter of which cut into the sides of his mouth as he struggled, sending a warm metallic liquid trickling down his dry throat. It took Nathan a moment to realise it was his own blood he was tasting. There was movement around the room, but everything seemed to be just out of Nathan’s line of vision. The only thing he could see was the ceiling, the tops of grotty walls, and a small tray in the corner of his sight that had various metal objects laid out upon it. A cold, clammy hand ran along Nathan’s hairline, pulling his head roughly as a second hand bore an electric shaver that removed his dirty blonde hair from his scalp and tumbling to the floor, clumps of shaved fluff rolled tauntingly away from him as if trying to make a great escape. He had never so much wished he could be something so small, able to scurry away from this murky, menacing room.

All thoughts ceased as something sharp – a scalpel, maybe? – cut along his hairline and a pair of gloved fingers widened the incision as if to see what was underneath. Nathan could feel his body shutting down, trying to block out the signals of panic, fear, pain, as another object is lifted from the table and placed somewhere along the incision, digging into his skull and-

Out on the grass students laughed and chatted to each other, passing their breaks with casual conversation or friendly competition as the sun beat down happily on the green. None of them noticed that the faint howl on the wind was actually the last desperate screams of someone they had been in a lecture with just an hour earlier…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice” ~Albert Einstein

LONDON

The black Vauxhall Astra wound through the roads of London slowly, but surely, making its way towards the cold stone and glass building that overlooked the River Thames. When it, at last, pulled into the car park it merely sat, unmoving, as if waiting for something spectacular to occur. When it did not, the engine purred into silence and the door slowly opened, giving way to a black polyester clad leg. A well-built male of average height stepped out, surveyed the area with weary green eyes and closed the door. Even when he tried to get away from it all, his job just reeled him back in as if he were on the end of a rope, ready to return to the office with but a tug… letting out a deep sigh, the brunette briskly made his way to the lift, ensuring his suit was immaculate before pushing the button to go up to the 3^rd floor. The building had 9 floors in total: the first, archives, was below ground. The second floor, or ground floor, was the car park and main reception, for public inquiries and the like, whilst the third floor dealt with more important duties still classified by most as ‘receptionist’ duties. Floors four to seven were general offices, bull pens, teams, etc. All specialists in whatever fields they worked in. He had never been up to the 8^th floor, and never heard much about it. Apparently it had spent the past four weeks or so being remodelled. And the final floor, the top floor, was reserved for the upper management, the ones who made all the big decisions, and the section chiefs. The lift chugged to a halt, groaning in annoyance at it’s over use as the steel-trap doors opened out to reveal the busy office. There was a main desk not far from where the man stood as he exited the mobile box, and many more desks lined up behind the first, each with a person or two sitting either on the phone, typing away at keyboards, or chatting about how their weekends had been. He only wished he had actually had a weekend. Taking a deep breath of the familiar air, the man walked forward to the main desk, where a pale woman with deep red hair sat sorting through some papers.

“Good Morning. Timothy Thompson reporting for duty.” The woman looked up from her work and smiled warmly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her horn rimmed glasses.

“Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you. If you could kindly make your way to the waiting area by the office over there,” she pointed to a few worn leather chairs where two people were already sat, a female in a white long sleeve blouse and smart trousers, and a male in a charcoal shirt with the top two buttons undone and black slacks, talking amiably to one another “, you will be seen to in a moment.”

“Of course.” He stated dryly, amazed at how urgent something could sound when you were 1200 miles away, but as soon as you were there in front of them, ready for whatever it is they wanted to throw at you, they suddenly believed that they had all the time in the world. Walking away from the receptionist, Thompson lowered himself into one of the leather seats, gaining the attention of the two sitting opposite him.

“Hey, Tim!” A tanned male with short, dark auburn hair grinned before sarcastically stating “Long time no see!”

“How was your holiday?” the bubbly female asked. Timothy couldn’t think of many occasions in which that happy smile hadn’t been firmly set upon his colleagues face. The pair were, of course, none other than Jacob Scott and Samantha Matthews, the only two other members left of their former team of six. After the unfortunate loss of their ‘second in command’, Mervyn Yates, who fell in the line of duty, their unit chief had decided it was time to walk away and do something else with his life before early retirement. Shortly after that their fellow field agent, and friend, Eva Harewood, decided that the police line of work was not for her, either.

“What holiday?” he answered truthfully “I was at Pra Loup for a grand total of three days, two of which were spent worrying about that paperwork on the Brindely case.”

“Pra Loup?” Samantha frowned, her shining cyan eyes showing how she was trying to figure out what he was talking about, whilst also choosing to ignore his comment about the paperwork.

“Ski resort. Southern Alps.” He clarified, to which his co-worker’s bright smile returned.

“Thompson, Scott, Matthews?” A man who looked to be in his late 50’s beckoned the three of them into his office, shutting the door behind Samantha before taking a seat at desk. “Do you know why you were called here?”

“No, Sir.” platinum haired woman replied, knowing she would be the only one who could reply without any bite to her words.

“Well… the three of you have been chosen to be the base on which we will build a new team. A team of elite agents who will be sent to deal with the most gruesome of crimes around the country, from terrorism to homicide, kidnappings, supernatural encounters, and everything in between. Each member of your team has their own special field, and their own list of reasons as to why they were chosen.” Their minds were reeling with this new information, too surprised to speak, and so the man continued “Agent Scott’s knowledge of mechanics and weaponry, coupled with his experience in the bomb squad and in the field of armed assault makes him an invaluable field agent and a strong team member. Agent Matthews is both socially competent and a good researcher. Her roles will include, but are in no way limited to, dealing with the media as well as utilising her background in the Specialist Crime unit to aid cases in whatever way possible.” As the informant stayed silent for a moment, the agents standing before him began to wonder where Thompson stood in the overall scheme of things. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth to query this that the man continued.

 “Agent Thompson… your references are impeccable.”

“Thank you, sir?” the agent wasn’t sure what to say – he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.

“Which is why, after much deliberation, we have decided to ask you to fill the role of Unit Chief.” Thompson was speechless. He had left the United States and his life as a patrol officer to move to England for this job offer, waited around and worked for the Metropolitan Police Force for a year whilst they ‘finalized’ everything and so he could settle into his new surroundings. He, naturally, had expected great opportunities from this new career path, but he hadn’t expected such a jump in status and rank on his first day. Scott had a goofy grin plastered on his face, whilst Matthews beamed at him encouragingly. Only then did he realise they were waiting to hear his verdict.

“I would be honoured, sir.” The older man smiled, shaking each of the agent’s hands in turn before opening his mouth to speak again

“Good. Now-”

“-Excellent, your all here.” A dark haired woman burst through the door, fatigued yet dangerous eyes surveying each member of the group before her. “I trust Mr Dickenson has gone over everything with you already? Yes? Good. This is Gregory Barker; he will be your Technical Analyst.” All eyes turned to the man stood at the woman’s elbow. He was a little shorter than the other men in the room, with green eyes that peaked out over the top of square framed glasses and ginger hair that was arranged immaculately on top of his head. Podgy fingers wriggled in a friendly greeting before he was pushed aside by the unnamed woman. “You have a case to be on, the rest of your team are already there, here are the files, car keys to the vehicles you will find in the private car park, Agent Barker you may return to your office, and the rest of you can see your workstations upon your return.” And with that, she was gone, leaving the three agents to speculate on her identity, or continue to refer to her in the way Scott burst out the moment the door swung closed;

“Who’s the woman with her head up her ass?” Thompson ran his hand over his face in exasperation as the blue eyed female next to him chided Scott’s use of language.

“That” Mr Dickenson informed with a subtle hint of amusement “Was your new section chief, Jean Weston. I can see you’re all going to get along.” The newly appointed Unit Chief couldn’t help but let a sigh escape his weary lips. So this was how it was going to be…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“‘Shojime Mokuro?’ What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know… an Asian name of some description?” Samantha looked down at the papers in her hands that stated only the names of the team members that would be waiting for them at the station. She sat in the back seat reading the names aloud whilst she and Jacob speculated on the natures of their new co-workers.

“And ‘Valkov’?”the auburn male asked

“Umm… my guess would be either Czech Slovakian or Russian.”

“So what can we expect, a big northern bear and an Asian chick?” Thompson groaned with exasperation, looking up from the case file in his lap and glaring at the man to his right

“Scott, stop being stereotypical and keep your eyes on the road!”

“Are you really not curious?” Truth be told, Thompson was curious. It was his job to be curious – they were officially his agents – but he knew where his priorities lied. They lied with the three dead students of Bournemouth University. The bodies of a girl and two boys had been found at the Talbot campus, all three with heavy ligature marks, all three with their heads shaved and opened up; all three with their brains removed. Police still hadn’t found the missing organ. The three bore no resemblance to each other, but had studied similar subjects at the Bournemouth – Carl Blake, 19, had been studying Outdoor Adventure Management, Anne Roberts, 20, Sports Management and the most recent victim, Nathan Daniels, 19, Sports development and coaching. The bodies were found carelessly dumped within a few meters of each other, tossed away like the trash you find on the side of the street, as if their purpose had been served and they were no longer of use. Unfortunately, this was all the information they had, they were still waiting for the more detailed post mortem results, but at least they had one lead to follow. The three spent the next hour in random intervals of silence and theories, before conversation took an inevitable turn.

“So what were those names again?” Thompson slumped in his seat as Matthews repeated the names

“Alicia Evans, Shojime Mokuro and Tala Valkov.” This time Thompson didn’t stop their discussion: he was too busy lost in the confines of his own thoughts where he himself was wondering about his new team, and what it would be like to lead them…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Tears rolled down heat flushed cheeks as the girl watched her thick ginger locks slump lifelessly to the floor. All she had ever wanted to do was graduate and become a great coach like her father – the driving force behind the amazing athletes she saw on TV every evening. Now all she wanted was to scream, to ask why he was doing this. But she couldn’t. The leather straps chafing her worn and bloodied skin prevented her.

“They’re stupid. Ignorant. By rights, they should be dead!” Her captor growled, aggressively inspecting and choosing one of his many metal implements. She tried to protest; to say something, even if it was something as cliché as ‘you won’t get away with this’, but to no avail. The man next to her muttered under his breath, cursing and insulting the police for their ‘ignorance’ before turning his rage fuelled gaze upon his victim. “Don’t worry,” he reassured, his right hand stroking her newly shaven scalp “You’re doing the world a favour.” The terrified girl’s eyes widened, reflecting the gleaming scalpel her captor brandished in his free hand…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Timothy Thompson had never been so glad to be out of a car in unfamiliar territory as he did when they pulled up outside the police station. Scott and Matthews glanced around in anticipation as their unit chief went forward to greet the chief of police, who stated that the remaining members of their team were already inside, hard at work. They were led to a nice sized room with two boards, a cork board and a white board, at the side and a large conference table at the centre.

“Hey, Chief!” a tinny sounding voice called from a laptop set up amongst the paper bomb on top of the conference table. The woman sitting there with her back to him turned, the wheels of her chair squeaking as she did so.

“You must be Agent Thompson?” Thompson nodded, extending a hand to greet the woman. She looked at the hand for a moment before standing and taking it firmly in her own, her curly light brown hair framing a stern face and hard sea green eyes.

“Alicia Evans. Pleased to meet you, sir.” Matthews went forward to greet her fellow female whilst Scott observed from a distance. This woman seemed the no-nonsense type, so maybe it was for the best that he stood back and watched as Thompson questioned her as to her views on the case at hand. Scott’s thoughts were broken as he felt something light and solid collide with the muscular wall that was his back. Moving to face the offending item, he found himself looking down at a girl, rapidly and quietly apologising as she knelt to gather the papers she had dropped.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t a place for nosy kids.” He snorted – the girl couldn’t be much older than 17 in his opinion. He took a step back as she looked from the floor to regard him, his own deep brown orbs staring into mismatched eyes, one green, and one blue. He had to admit, it unnerved him slightly “Maybe you should just run along?” he stated at nonchalantly as he could, unable to tear his gaze away from her somewhat offended stare.

“I see you have met Agent Mokuro.” Evans stated dryly, to which the addressed male managed to tear his attention away from the girl and reply that he hadn’t seen ‘the Asian chick’ anywhere. Thompson found himself gritting his teeth as he remembered something his father had once told him about first impressions with business associates: they could set you up for life. And Scott certainly wasn’t making a good first impression. The girl picked herself up off the floor, brushing down her pale pink shirt and dark grey trousers before turning to address Thompson and Matthews.

“I am Agent Shojime Mokuro.” She stated, somehow managing to stress the ‘agent’ even though she was obviously very shy and nervous. A muttered curse from the side lines told the other agents that Scott had identified his mistake; even though he wasn’t about to openly acknowledge it to everyone else. Mokuro tucked a few stray mocha brown locks behind her ear, timidly informing them that she was 21 before showing them a map of the Talbot campus, explaining that it was only between 8 and 10 minutes away from the police station.

 ‘21…’ Matthews silently mused ‘She must be damn good at what she does to be here at such a young age…’

It was as the blue eyed woman whispered this to her superior that she noticed there was one more person in the room, leaning against the wall as he listened in. under any other circumstances, she may have found the other man mysteriously captivating, the top layer of his golden mane was cut short and seemed badly in need of brushing, whilst the under layer had been allowed to grow past his shoulders and was restrained by a small leather hair wrap at the base of his neck. Noticing Matthews’ sudden silence, Thompson followed her stare to the object of her distraction

“You must be Agent Valkov.” He stated, causing the others to turn their attention on the final team member.

“That would be me. And these,” he informed, turning the cork board to reveal the happy, smiling faces of 7 students next to the contrasting, disgusting pictured of their corpses and injuries “, are our victims.”

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“Our victim count just jumped from 3, to 7, to 8 in the space of 20 minutes. The first case couldn’t be something simple, could it?” Scott commented irritably as Thompson pulled up to the latest dump site. First they were notified that the police had found another dumpsite where they had found four bodies, hence the sudden jump in body count, and then they had received a call that a new body had been discovered. Agents Matthews and Mokuro had stayed at the station to interview the victim’s family, whilst the remaining agents went to investigate.

“Criminals don’t take breaks or ‘take it easy’, so why should we? Who is she?” Thompson asked, crouching down to the carelessly thrown away carcass. His action was mirrored by Valkov, who seemed to be drinking in the details of the scene with his haunting blue-violet eyes.

“Maria Lawrence.” Evans replied “Studying ‘Sports Development and Coaching Sciences’, she’s 21 years old.”

“The same age as ‘Agent’ Mokuro.” The other agents decided to ignore Scott’s comment, concentrating instead on the stink of sewage and discarded bins and the pitiful scene strewn out before them. The girl’s head was shaven, and you could still see the tear tracks upon her pale cheeks. Her wrists, ankles, mouth, and neck were rubbed raw, giving a pretty clear impression of what her final moments were like. There was not much information to be found other than this kill was exactly the same as the ones preceding it.

Upon returning to the station, Valkov went to join Mokuro at the table, showing her the most recent crime scene photos, to which she laid before him a picture of the first victim, only discovered the day before. She seemed to be explaining something and as Thompson crept closer, he saw how animated she became when she was discussing something within her field of knowledge. She was describing to Valkov the difference in the first kill to the others, how she could tell by closely examining the photographs that the first victim, William Davies, had received blunt force trauma to the head, cracking the skull. She went on to describe how this could have caused internal bleeding, and how there were not any signs of a struggle on his body.

“What is your field of specialty, agent Mokuro?” Thompson enquired, making the young agent jump and return to her previous nervous state whilst rambling to him the details of her degree in the field of Forensic Anthropology and self-researched knowledge in medicine. She had some impressive achievements for such a young age that was for sure. This brought him to wonder about his other agents. He knew of Scott’s speciality, he knew that Matthew’s had earned her merits mostly in the field of trafficking, and he presumed Barker had always been, as Scott had put it, a ‘tech whizz’, but he still knew nothing about Valkov or Evans. As if reading his mind, the unit chief heard Scott echo his question to Evans, who proudly stated her old position in the counter terrorism unit.

“What about you, Valkov?” The blonde looked up from whatever it was Mokuro was showing him “What’s your area of expertise?”

“…I’m the team’s Supernatural Expert.” He stated warily, to which Scott erupted with laughter

“Nice one. But, seriously, what’s your area?” As Matthews and Thompson had feared, Valkov seemed very unimpressed and went back to what he was doing, ignoring further questioning from his fellow agent. He had been serious. They had glazed over what Mr Dickenson had said, and assumed that he had been joking about ‘supernatural’ cases. Matthews now drew the conclusion that the sayings about assumptions were correct, especially when it was Scott doing the assuming. Tension began to swarm the room like a thick fog as the tanned male’s amusement faded into the same realisation, and Thompson began to wonder if this team really would get along.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

The team went to Talbot Campus the next day, where they were greeted by three of the lecturers. Thompson had spent half the night looking over the case details a few more times, and the other half wondering if the tensions would be lifted by the time they got to the campus. The way Mokuro and Valkov chose to drive with Evans rather than Scott spoke volumes, but at least everyone seemed to be tolerating each other… for now.

“Good morning, agents. I am Gareth Lloyd, professor of Forensic Science here.” The team greeted the professor; his kind features a pleasant contrast to the reason for their meeting “Accompanying me is Cecilia Holmes, lecturer of Law and Peter Collins, from the Sports Development and Coaching department.” After greeting each staff member in turn, the team split up. Thomson took Evans with him to interview Peter Collins, whilst he trusted Matthews to keep an eye on Scott and find out what they could from Gareth Lloyd. Meanwhile, Valkov and Mokuro were under instructions to go with Cecilia Holmes and survey the layout of the campus and gather what they could from potential witnesses.

Peter Collins had surprisingly little to say for himself. It seemed as though the deaths had still not completely registered in his mind, he would speak in present tense about the most recent victims, his students, and spoke highly of them.

“And William Davies. He was a strapping young lad. Very smart, chose the wrong subject to study though.”

“What did he study?” Thompson enquired, remembering what Mokuro suggested about the first victim being killed differently to the others.

“Forensic Science. Can’t imagine why, he was a true sportsman at heart. Was running cross-country at county level, in fact! An excellent runner all round. He was even going to leave university to compete in the Olympics. Terrible loss.” The two agents exchanged a glance before excusing themselves to interview the rest of the staff. Each and every one had praise for the students who were their own, and little to say about the others. The competitive atmosphere between staff, and students, was obvious the moment they had set foot in the department, but still Evans felt they were no closer to catching the killer. ~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“The first victim, William Davies, he was one of your students?” Matthews asked gently. She had left Scott to interview the other staff members after seeing a look in Professor Lloyd’s eyes that caused her to believe he needed to get away from the gruesome truth of it all.

“He was… he had a brilliant mind, Agent Matthews. One of the best students I have ever had the honour to teach.” His eyes shone with sadness as he looked to a picture frame propped up against several glass jars, a small one containing a lambs heart, one with some sort of liver, and a large one with a pigs brain suspended in some sort of liquid.

“Were you close?”

“He would often spend extra time in the lab, but he had other passions as well, so he gradually spent less and less time here.” His voice broke as he spoke, and Matthews couldn’t determine the mix of emotions that coated his words. Remorse, most likely, from the sudden loss of someone he saw every day. She continued to talk to the grieving professor until Scott returned, grimly informing her that a girl had gone missing half an hour earlier…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

There were so many suspects, it was unreal. Thompson had had Barker do a background check on every member of staff and every student in each of the victims classes, but there seemed to be no way of narrowing the search. Each team member sat in the canteen, throwing ideas to each other now and then between bites of their chosen food. Scott had said little – he was busy tearing into a meaty burger whilst Matthews asked him if he knew how to chew. Matthews had a salad, whilst Valkov placed a chicken sandwich in front of Evans, who had chosen to get nothing, insisting that he could hear her stomach growling from where he sat across the table with some yoghurt coated concoction he had mixed together. The youngest of the team remained silent, a small platter of sushi satisfying her needs, and Thomson himself, whilst observing and trying his best not to profile each of his team members, had the laptop set up to talk to Barker, having already finished his own lunch of a Ginsters steak slice. Yes, he liked to keep things simple.

“The missing girl is Sarah Price, 19. She’s another Sports Management student.” He informed

“The subjects the victims studied have to have something to do with why they were targeted.” Matthews spoke, disturbing the almost companionable silence “that should narrow down the suspect list, right? Maybe to the sports staff”

“Why would the sports staff kill their own students? According to the records Barker dug up, they were all high grade students.” Evans pointed out before Thompson picked up the conversation

“I think that the key to this case lies with the first victim. He was the only one without ligature marks, the only one with a fractured skull, and-”

“The only one to be buried.” Matthews finished “The UnSub may have held remorse for this victim…” Attention turned to Matthews as everyone thought back to what she had said about her conversation with Professor Lloyd.

“Matthews, take Valkov and Mokuro with you and check out Lloyd and his lab again. Evans, Scott, you two are with me. We’re going to check out the dumpsites again and see if there’s anything we missed.” Each team member nodded, jumping into action, hoping they could wrap this up before another young life was claimed.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Matthews took the seat opposite Lloyd, smiling with unease, now fully aware of every movement he made. But his attention was not on her, it was on Valkov, who moved around the room examining different objects as if to serve his own unknown purpose. Glancing to her left, she was a little frustrated when Mokuro gestured that she didn’t know what their co-worker was doing either.

“Haven’t you asked me enough questions, agents?”

“I’m sorry,” Matthews replied as sincerely as she could manage “But we’ve been asked to come and see you again.” As Matthews began the questioning, the youngest agent’s eyes joined Lloyd’s in following Valkov around the room before she brought them to rest upon the glass jars.

 ‘Lambs heart… cow’s liver… brain… wait… is that…’ Standing, the brunette made her way over to the wandering male and whispered to him as he weighed a sheep skull in his hand.

 “That brain in the jar… I think it may be human… But I can’t tell without getting a closer look. Do you think we have enough for a warrant?” For a moment it seemed as though he wasn’t listening, and she was about to repeat herself before she heard

“Probably not. But if we follow the book to the letter we won’t get anywhere fast. Follow my lead.” She had no time to ask what he meant as he crossed the room with a few confident strides and smiled with what seemed to be genuine care at the supposedly grieving professor.

“I really am sorry for your loss, sir, and for all these questions. No doubt you are wishing we could just hurry up and catch the UnSub?”

“Yes… indeed…” the elder man frowned, confused by the change in person addressing him

“UnSub?”

 “Unknown Subject.”

 “So you still don’t know who it is?” As the banter continued, Mokuro whispered her suspicions to Matthews, who was also picking up on a slight tension in the way the man was sitting.

“I must say I find forensics fascinating. This is a lamb’s heart, correct?” Valkov asked, picking up the jar and examining it before placing it back down “And a horse’s liver?”

 “Cow.” Lloyd corrected, his eyes narrowing as the agent reached for the jar containing the brain “Don’t touch that!” Faking surprise, Valkov jumped, his arm knocking the jar with the brain causing it to slide, almost in slow motion, to the edge of the desk, teetering tauntingly for a brief moment before diving onto the floor sending a rippled wave of glass and liquid crashing in all directions whilst the brain sat in the middle. Valkov was infinitely glad that looks couldn’t literally kill.

“I am so sorry about him…” Matthews began as Mokuro knelt on the floor, picking up the sorry looking organ

“Here, let me help. Do you have a spare jar?” Despite the feeble attempts of the woman to calm the raging professor, the three agents found themselves promptly ushered from the room, the door slamming shut behind them.

“What on earth was that?!” The older of the agents was unimpressed, following the younger agents down the corridor as they exchanged a knowing glance, but her annoyance quickly dissolved as Mokuro answered

“It was a human brain.” Stunned silence was quickly broken as Matthews wasted no time in calling Thompson, who had just left the morgue.

The unit chief held a hand up to excuse himself from the banter going on between Scott and Evans as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket

“Thompson. Matthews, slow down- really? How could you tell? I see. Don’t move, we’ll be right there. Make sure Lloyd doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Lloyd?” Scott frowned, watching the other man hang up, a grim look invading his features. If Lloyd was in his office, chances were that Sarah Price was dead already…

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“Freeze!” Lloyd sat, uncaring, behind his desk, gazing at the brain that had been placed in a new jar.

“Where is Sarah Price?” Thompson demanded, hoping that they were not too late whilst being all too aware of the likelihood she was already dead. But Lloyd just continued to sit there. No admission. No denial. Just an eerie silence that chilled him to the bone and a smile that made his stomach knot. The police searched the office and his lab, and Evans was sent with several officers to Lloyd’s home, but they found nothing. No sign of the missing girl. Thompson knew the presence of a human brain on Lloyd’s desk wouldn’t be enough for a conviction, especially with the crowd slowly accumulating in the corridors that arguing their professor’s innocence.

“Thompson!!” the unit chief turned to look at Scott, whose defiant gaze told him that all was not yet lost “Barker says that Lloyd has a second lab space in the basement!” He thought he heard Valkov mutter something along the lines of ‘How cliché’ as the pair of them, along with Mokuro and a couple of officers, charged down to the basement, leaving Matthews and Scott to deal with the flood of protesting students.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

The room was dark and dismal, the stench of blood and bleach hitting the agents like a brick wall as they entered. To one side of the room was a display cabinet containing 7 jars each with a brain suspended in a clear liquid and labelled with the name of its previous owner. They were all there. Marco Adheo. Diana Lee. Stacey Barnes. Carl Blake. Anne Roberts. Nathan Daniels. Maria Lawrence. Valkov rushed to the centre of the room where a body lay strapped to a wooden workbench, stepping over the hair which littered the floor. Mokuro could have sworn that everybody held their breath as the blonde reached out and pressed his fingers against the girl’s neck.

“She’s alive!” He called, quickly holstering his weapon and unstrapping the girl before scooping her into his arms. Thompson and the officers shielded them as they exited; the girl had been through enough, without all the attention.

The team watched as the ambulance drove away and Lloyd was placed in the back of a police car. He had wanted to create a ‘smarter race’ of humans by killing those he deemed ‘unfit’, those who ‘didn’t use their brains to their full potentials’. William Davies had been an accident, hence the remorse, but also the factor that had left Lloyd with a taste for killing. The rant he had had about sports not being a science had lasted the whole 10 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive for Sarah Price, but it was his parting comment that had stunned the team into silence.
‘They were doing the world a service by dying. People like you and them are hindering our race. They deserved to die.’

Thompson surveyed his team with weary eyes. This was their first case, and things had been pretty tense; eight lives had been lost to that man and the team didn’t exactly see eye to eye at the moment. That would be enough to break most people. But he could already see that his team was not most people. Each one of them was different, and, although they all knew now exactly what they would be getting into, not one of them showed any sign of backing down. Yes, it may take a while before things are settled between them, but there was at least one thing of which he was certain: he was in command of a group of strong and reliable people. And that in itself was an honour…
…Now all he had to do was write up the report.

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” ~Albert Einstein