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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope y'all have read Riddle in Death, for any of this to make sense killer wise! 
-------------------
Without a doubt, you could look up Eve Dallas in the dictionary and idiot would be written beside it in big bold letters. How in Gods name had she missed it? Apart from being thoroughly preoccupied, she should’ve seen it coming! Cursing herself to oblivion and back, flinging in a few choice words in Irish—courtesy of Roarke when his mood was less then pleasant—Eve booted up her systems, got a jumbo mug of coffee and ran a search, her eyes on her murder board, where she had hastily set up Ellie Quigg’s murder and next to the Chaos added the recently received image of almost two years dead, Kelly Sanchez.
Dallas wound never forget that murder, the small child nailed to her mother’s living-room wall like a freaky crucifix, the head missing—that is till it was sent to Eve in a package, with a bow and card.
Ellie’s murder had never had anything to do with hate, or passion. It had been simply used to get the Lieutenant’s attention. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, Eve started a search on Jackson Reed and was stunned by what her computer came up with. According to a file that had been sent to Cop central, Jackson had committed suicide. After dousing himself in petrol, the man had lit a match and let himself go up in flames. Before anyone could do anything, he was already done and crisply cooked, a DNA test was done and confirmed.
Alarm bells went off in Eve’s head. She had a feeling something a lot more sinister had gone down and well believed Reed was walking free right this minute. That he would be crazy enough to have undergone surgeries to make him the image of Charles just to mess with Dallas’ head.
“Holy fuck,” The Lieutenant breathed angrily, dragging her hands through her hair.
“Problem,” Roarke voiced curiously, stepping from his own office.
“I know who the killer is,” Eve said quickly getting her husband up to date.
“So, it’s all just a twisted game?” Roarke asked, looking at Kelly’s picture, arms folded, “Obviously you’re the finishing line.”
“It seems that way, this freak wants my head on a platter, he told me enough times when I busted his ass and as off his head nuts as he is, Jackson’s smart.”
“You believe the suicide was staged? That he’s most likely been planning this for months?”
“Probably since his ass was landed in that mental institution,” Eve responded with a nod of her head, “I’ll need access to the Criminal Asylum. If Jackson escaped, then he had help.”
Hearing a commotion outside in the hall, Eve looked up frowning just as Peabody and Baxter burst in. And despite the fact she was breathing erratically, Peabody blurted out.
“Jackson did it!”
Before collapsing into Eve’s sleep chair. Eve let the Detective catch her breath before asking the how-do-you-knows.
“And how did you come by this information?”
“The report came back, on the blood and skin beneath Ellie’s nails,” Peabody informed her, producing a disc, “It all matches to Jackson Reed.”
“We did a quick check though,” Baxter put in, “According to the folks at the nuthouse Jackson offed himself, but after getting the DNA of the same man claimed to be dead the last four months off a body, I think we better double check…”
Damn straight, was all Eve could think, the sooner they nipped this in the bud the better it would be for everyone involved.
***
The walls of the secure facility were all white and grey, lacking completely in colour. The odd strip of grey pierced the creamy stone, and up and down the eerie corridors glided uniformed men and women. Peabody followed after a stoic woman in her early fifties. Her nutmeg hair was pulled tight, up in a neat bun and a crisp white suit emphasised her tawny complexion.
Producing a jangle of keys, the head of the facility let them through barrier after barrier, until they rounded a corner and emerged in a voluptuous office. All bright colours and mahogany wood, it was a nice change from the dreariness just passed the door.
“Alright, so you’re looking for information on Jackson Reed?” Asked the facility head, Cameron Alexander according to her name plate, her blue irises locked on Peabody’s face.
She looked sublimely pissed, but the Detective didn’t care in the slightest, “That’s right…we need information on his supposed suicide.”
Cameron frowned, taking a seat and gesturing Peabody to do the same she produced a pair of glasses and after a bit of rummaging produced a file. Slamming her desk drawer shut, the regal woman opened it up and began looking through several sheets of paper.
“Well, Jackson was a nightmare since the day he was brought here. Spent most of his time in solitary for one infraction or another, final straw was breaking an orderly’s arm. We stuck him in solitary confinement for a period of three months, when he was let out he was a changed man…if still crazy.”
“And the suicide,” Peabody prompted.
“He somehow got his hands on a bottle of lighter fluid, drowned himself in the stuff and lit a match, our Physician took a DNA sample gave it to an investigating cop and it was confirmed,” closing the file, Cameron linked her hands, “Detective what is this about?”
“We have reason to believe Jackson never killed himself and that he somehow walked out of this facility alive.”
Cameron blinked, thoroughly horrified, “How is that possible? H-He’s dead!”
“Suicide’s can often be faked ma’am,” Peabody said evenly and taking a breath, “especially if Jackson had help.”
Cameron’s electric blue eyes went wide and she surged to her feet, splotches of colour appearing on her high boned cheeks.
“Are you accusing me and my staff of something Detective?”
“Listen,” Peabody began firmly, standing up, “Jackson had help and one or more of your people were involved. Now, I can get a warrant and arrest every damn attendant in this building, or you can tell me, aside from the physician…who had access to Jackson Reed?”
Cameron visibly trembled, she’d be damned if anyone was coming in to make such accusations in her well run establishment, but unfortunately the Detective was right. Collapsing into her chair, a balloon deflated, Cameron dragged a hand over her face, a deep sigh resonating through her entire body.
“Are facilities are well funded, each patient has their own guard, psychiatrist and attendant. Other then the Physician, they’re the only others apart from myself who would’ve been near Jackson.”
“I need names, now. Are any of them here right now?”
“Eh, yes all four actually,” Cameron said, procuring the list and handing it over, “Each has a locator device on their cell phones and an emergency button in case a patient gets physical.”
“Has that happened before?” Peabody asked taking the offered record.
“A few times unfortunately, this is why the precautions are necessary,” Cameron replied her fingers tapping over her computer keyboard, “All four are in the Canteen it’s their lunch hour.”
Handy, Peabody thought. Ensuring Cameron she could find the Canteen without her assistance, the Detective met up with Baxter and gave him a quick update.
“What’s the likely-hood we’ll have to arrest at least one of them?” Baxter mused.
Very likely as it turned out.
The Guard, Psychiatrist and attendant were quite willing to help, the Physician however was reluctant, to the point he overturned the canteen table in temper and was immediately put in cuffs.
“Let go!” He half howled, struggling against Baxter’s grip, “You’ve no right—“
“We’ve every right idiot,” Baxter snapped, “Had you just answered our questions, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
The Physician, Christian Macalister, cursed the whole way from the Asylum and kept it up all the way back to cop central.
***
“This is Bullshit!” Christian yelled for the umpteenth time, “I did not mess with the DNA samples! What the hell would I gain from such a stunt?”
Peabody leaned back in her seat, brown eyes narrowed in annoyance as she glared across the table at the Doctor. He really didn’t see that it was obvious he was lying. He couldn’t meet the Detective in the eye, he was sweating profusely and he had bitten his nails right down to the nubs.
“Well, you see that’s where you’re wrong Mr Macalister,” Peabody told him, flicking through a few papers before her, “We have a signed statement here saying otherwise.”
“W-what,” Christian stammered, green eyes wide with fear, “Who told you that? I-It’s a lie!”
Baxter tisked, joining Peabody at the table, “You don’t sound so confidant anymore Macalister.”
“You’re making this all up,” The Physician hissed, “You’re trying to trick me!”
“Into doing what,” Peabody demanded, “Don’t be a fool; we don’t say these things for kicks. Here’s how it went down. You didn’t have anything to gain accept protecting your sorry ass. You had been having an affair with one of the inmates; Reed caught you and so struck a deal. Between you, you lit up the corpse of Kyle Jones, an inmate who had died the week before and then you faked the DNA, and helped Jackson escape.”
The more Peabody spoke, the whiter Christian went, till he was nearly transparent and even then he tried to cover his sorry self.
“I-I didn’t, it’s a lie!”
“Give it up Macalister;” Baxter spat acidly, “We have enough proof to prove otherwise and you’re technically an accomplice to murder.”
Christian went ashen; his eyes big and dilated with abject terror, “M-m-murder?! Are you insane?!”
Slapping down a photo of Ellie’s dead body, Peabody stood getting right in Macalister’s face.
“Take a good look, Ellen Quigg a twenty-one year old woman died because of you helping Reed escape, you might as well have been the one who did it!”
“N-no, I-I-I…” Christian spluttered and finally he broke, “Okay! I helped him, I would’ve lost my job had Cameron found out I was messing around with a patient I took the only option I had!”
“And cost the life of an innocent woman,” Peabody snapped.
Wrung dry, Christian dissolved, great hacking sobs enveloping his person. Expression icy, Peabody didn’t give the man a drop of sympathy as he was taken away.
***
After a quick call from Peabody, Eve’s fears were realised. Jackson, a diagnosed sociopath, was on the loose and all because one idiot Doctor couldn’t keep his hands to himself. With confirmation, a warning was put out. It meant Charles was stuck in doors for the time being, since Jackson currently possessed his face, but it was necessary.
Roarke was working late dealing with a problem with some shipment, leaving just Eve, Summerset and Saoirse in the big old mansion.
Dog tired, the Lieutenant finished up in her office. Saoirse would wake soon for a feed and Eve liked having the bottle ready, considering the kid had a cry to rival a banshee. Stretching her aching limbs, Dallas yawned and stepped out of her office and into her bedroom. It was then she noticed something was amiss, a feeling licked across her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Slow and steady, Eve removed her stunner from its holster by the door and inched out into the hall. A quick scan of the area made her heart all but stop when she found Summerset unconscious. Crouching, she pressed her fingers to his throat and found a steady pulse, and also a mark just below his ear suggesting the elderly man was tranqed.
Biting off a silent curse, the Lieutenant moved cautiously towards Saoirse’s nursery, heart thundering in her chest. Nudging the door wide, she held her stunner out, and stopped dead.
It appeared to be a crazed version of Charles Monroe sat in the rocking chair, green eyes wild and feral, lips curled back in the most menacing grin and in his arms he held Saoirse’s sleeping form.
Automatically Dallas stepped forward.
“Oh no Lieutenant,” Jackson said calmly, revealing the small blade he had pressed against Saoirse’s jugular, “Not another step.”
-------------------
Without a doubt, you could look up Eve Dallas in the dictionary and idiot would be written beside it in big bold letters. How in Gods name had she missed it? Apart from being thoroughly preoccupied, she should’ve seen it coming! Cursing herself to oblivion and back, flinging in a few choice words in Irish—courtesy of Roarke when his mood was less then pleasant—Eve booted up her systems, got a jumbo mug of coffee and ran a search, her eyes on her murder board, where she had hastily set up Ellie Quigg’s murder and next to the Chaos added the recently received image of almost two years dead, Kelly Sanchez.
Dallas wound never forget that murder, the small child nailed to her mother’s living-room wall like a freaky crucifix, the head missing—that is till it was sent to Eve in a package, with a bow and card.
Ellie’s murder had never had anything to do with hate, or passion. It had been simply used to get the Lieutenant’s attention. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, Eve started a search on Jackson Reed and was stunned by what her computer came up with. According to a file that had been sent to Cop central, Jackson had committed suicide. After dousing himself in petrol, the man had lit a match and let himself go up in flames. Before anyone could do anything, he was already done and crisply cooked, a DNA test was done and confirmed.
Alarm bells went off in Eve’s head. She had a feeling something a lot more sinister had gone down and well believed Reed was walking free right this minute. That he would be crazy enough to have undergone surgeries to make him the image of Charles just to mess with Dallas’ head.
“Holy fuck,” The Lieutenant breathed angrily, dragging her hands through her hair.
“Problem,” Roarke voiced curiously, stepping from his own office.
“I know who the killer is,” Eve said quickly getting her husband up to date.
“So, it’s all just a twisted game?” Roarke asked, looking at Kelly’s picture, arms folded, “Obviously you’re the finishing line.”
“It seems that way, this freak wants my head on a platter, he told me enough times when I busted his ass and as off his head nuts as he is, Jackson’s smart.”
“You believe the suicide was staged? That he’s most likely been planning this for months?”
“Probably since his ass was landed in that mental institution,” Eve responded with a nod of her head, “I’ll need access to the Criminal Asylum. If Jackson escaped, then he had help.”
Hearing a commotion outside in the hall, Eve looked up frowning just as Peabody and Baxter burst in. And despite the fact she was breathing erratically, Peabody blurted out.
“Jackson did it!”
Before collapsing into Eve’s sleep chair. Eve let the Detective catch her breath before asking the how-do-you-knows.
“And how did you come by this information?”
“The report came back, on the blood and skin beneath Ellie’s nails,” Peabody informed her, producing a disc, “It all matches to Jackson Reed.”
“We did a quick check though,” Baxter put in, “According to the folks at the nuthouse Jackson offed himself, but after getting the DNA of the same man claimed to be dead the last four months off a body, I think we better double check…”
Damn straight, was all Eve could think, the sooner they nipped this in the bud the better it would be for everyone involved.
***
The walls of the secure facility were all white and grey, lacking completely in colour. The odd strip of grey pierced the creamy stone, and up and down the eerie corridors glided uniformed men and women. Peabody followed after a stoic woman in her early fifties. Her nutmeg hair was pulled tight, up in a neat bun and a crisp white suit emphasised her tawny complexion.
Producing a jangle of keys, the head of the facility let them through barrier after barrier, until they rounded a corner and emerged in a voluptuous office. All bright colours and mahogany wood, it was a nice change from the dreariness just passed the door.
“Alright, so you’re looking for information on Jackson Reed?” Asked the facility head, Cameron Alexander according to her name plate, her blue irises locked on Peabody’s face.
She looked sublimely pissed, but the Detective didn’t care in the slightest, “That’s right…we need information on his supposed suicide.”
Cameron frowned, taking a seat and gesturing Peabody to do the same she produced a pair of glasses and after a bit of rummaging produced a file. Slamming her desk drawer shut, the regal woman opened it up and began looking through several sheets of paper.
“Well, Jackson was a nightmare since the day he was brought here. Spent most of his time in solitary for one infraction or another, final straw was breaking an orderly’s arm. We stuck him in solitary confinement for a period of three months, when he was let out he was a changed man…if still crazy.”
“And the suicide,” Peabody prompted.
“He somehow got his hands on a bottle of lighter fluid, drowned himself in the stuff and lit a match, our Physician took a DNA sample gave it to an investigating cop and it was confirmed,” closing the file, Cameron linked her hands, “Detective what is this about?”
“We have reason to believe Jackson never killed himself and that he somehow walked out of this facility alive.”
Cameron blinked, thoroughly horrified, “How is that possible? H-He’s dead!”
“Suicide’s can often be faked ma’am,” Peabody said evenly and taking a breath, “especially if Jackson had help.”
Cameron’s electric blue eyes went wide and she surged to her feet, splotches of colour appearing on her high boned cheeks.
“Are you accusing me and my staff of something Detective?”
“Listen,” Peabody began firmly, standing up, “Jackson had help and one or more of your people were involved. Now, I can get a warrant and arrest every damn attendant in this building, or you can tell me, aside from the physician…who had access to Jackson Reed?”
Cameron visibly trembled, she’d be damned if anyone was coming in to make such accusations in her well run establishment, but unfortunately the Detective was right. Collapsing into her chair, a balloon deflated, Cameron dragged a hand over her face, a deep sigh resonating through her entire body.
“Are facilities are well funded, each patient has their own guard, psychiatrist and attendant. Other then the Physician, they’re the only others apart from myself who would’ve been near Jackson.”
“I need names, now. Are any of them here right now?”
“Eh, yes all four actually,” Cameron said, procuring the list and handing it over, “Each has a locator device on their cell phones and an emergency button in case a patient gets physical.”
“Has that happened before?” Peabody asked taking the offered record.
“A few times unfortunately, this is why the precautions are necessary,” Cameron replied her fingers tapping over her computer keyboard, “All four are in the Canteen it’s their lunch hour.”
Handy, Peabody thought. Ensuring Cameron she could find the Canteen without her assistance, the Detective met up with Baxter and gave him a quick update.
“What’s the likely-hood we’ll have to arrest at least one of them?” Baxter mused.
Very likely as it turned out.
The Guard, Psychiatrist and attendant were quite willing to help, the Physician however was reluctant, to the point he overturned the canteen table in temper and was immediately put in cuffs.
“Let go!” He half howled, struggling against Baxter’s grip, “You’ve no right—“
“We’ve every right idiot,” Baxter snapped, “Had you just answered our questions, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
The Physician, Christian Macalister, cursed the whole way from the Asylum and kept it up all the way back to cop central.
***
“This is Bullshit!” Christian yelled for the umpteenth time, “I did not mess with the DNA samples! What the hell would I gain from such a stunt?”
Peabody leaned back in her seat, brown eyes narrowed in annoyance as she glared across the table at the Doctor. He really didn’t see that it was obvious he was lying. He couldn’t meet the Detective in the eye, he was sweating profusely and he had bitten his nails right down to the nubs.
“Well, you see that’s where you’re wrong Mr Macalister,” Peabody told him, flicking through a few papers before her, “We have a signed statement here saying otherwise.”
“W-what,” Christian stammered, green eyes wide with fear, “Who told you that? I-It’s a lie!”
Baxter tisked, joining Peabody at the table, “You don’t sound so confidant anymore Macalister.”
“You’re making this all up,” The Physician hissed, “You’re trying to trick me!”
“Into doing what,” Peabody demanded, “Don’t be a fool; we don’t say these things for kicks. Here’s how it went down. You didn’t have anything to gain accept protecting your sorry ass. You had been having an affair with one of the inmates; Reed caught you and so struck a deal. Between you, you lit up the corpse of Kyle Jones, an inmate who had died the week before and then you faked the DNA, and helped Jackson escape.”
The more Peabody spoke, the whiter Christian went, till he was nearly transparent and even then he tried to cover his sorry self.
“I-I didn’t, it’s a lie!”
“Give it up Macalister;” Baxter spat acidly, “We have enough proof to prove otherwise and you’re technically an accomplice to murder.”
Christian went ashen; his eyes big and dilated with abject terror, “M-m-murder?! Are you insane?!”
Slapping down a photo of Ellie’s dead body, Peabody stood getting right in Macalister’s face.
“Take a good look, Ellen Quigg a twenty-one year old woman died because of you helping Reed escape, you might as well have been the one who did it!”
“N-no, I-I-I…” Christian spluttered and finally he broke, “Okay! I helped him, I would’ve lost my job had Cameron found out I was messing around with a patient I took the only option I had!”
“And cost the life of an innocent woman,” Peabody snapped.
Wrung dry, Christian dissolved, great hacking sobs enveloping his person. Expression icy, Peabody didn’t give the man a drop of sympathy as he was taken away.
***
After a quick call from Peabody, Eve’s fears were realised. Jackson, a diagnosed sociopath, was on the loose and all because one idiot Doctor couldn’t keep his hands to himself. With confirmation, a warning was put out. It meant Charles was stuck in doors for the time being, since Jackson currently possessed his face, but it was necessary.
Roarke was working late dealing with a problem with some shipment, leaving just Eve, Summerset and Saoirse in the big old mansion.
Dog tired, the Lieutenant finished up in her office. Saoirse would wake soon for a feed and Eve liked having the bottle ready, considering the kid had a cry to rival a banshee. Stretching her aching limbs, Dallas yawned and stepped out of her office and into her bedroom. It was then she noticed something was amiss, a feeling licked across her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Slow and steady, Eve removed her stunner from its holster by the door and inched out into the hall. A quick scan of the area made her heart all but stop when she found Summerset unconscious. Crouching, she pressed her fingers to his throat and found a steady pulse, and also a mark just below his ear suggesting the elderly man was tranqed.
Biting off a silent curse, the Lieutenant moved cautiously towards Saoirse’s nursery, heart thundering in her chest. Nudging the door wide, she held her stunner out, and stopped dead.
It appeared to be a crazed version of Charles Monroe sat in the rocking chair, green eyes wild and feral, lips curled back in the most menacing grin and in his arms he held Saoirse’s sleeping form.
Automatically Dallas stepped forward.
“Oh no Lieutenant,” Jackson said calmly, revealing the small blade he had pressed against Saoirse’s jugular, “Not another step.”
