Undercover Babe

02- starting somewhere

IT WAS A PERFECT CRIME. Messy, yet impeccably clean, a no-strings-attached kind of case. It took a lot of heart to kill that way –or no heart at all. No detective could ever settle on one, there was always more meaning to everything. To kill so elegantly indicated intelligence only masters in their art could acquire. The delicate planning and clever calculations invested into it were things every homicide detective dreaded. Maysa knew it from the start: this wasn't the first crime he'd committed. Probably, not the last either.

Maysa was standing watching the suspect, Franco Agne, slouch lazily on a chair. It's been a day since the crime happened, and he has remained the same. Shrunken into the chair, trying his best to disappear. He appeared cold and unaffected, with his ribs poking out from beneath his frayed sweater. His eyes were bloodshot, mostly concealed with shut eyelids, except for the few times he would sweep the room with them. He was hard to read, but the slight systematic shaking of his leg gave his fear away. He was scared.

She looked at Alayla and asked, "Alayla, do you think he did it?

Alayla watched him too and decided "Nah, kid's just probably in shock. She was stabbed multiple times, doubt he'd have the power to do that."

Maysa doubted it too, but he was the only lead they had at the moment. In their practice, every detail mattered. She looked towards James Perez, their other partner, and watched him roll his eyes. Drug addicts repulsed him.

"What about you James?" She asked.

He slowly dragged his eyes away from the suspect, placing them on her. Handing over the crime scene's report he said, "We both know how that'll end Maysa. You'll say James said it, ten times out of ten it's the druggies."

James had a rough upbringing. His neighborhood was synonymous with some of the worst underground activities in Manhattan. His family comprised of him, his older brother, and his young mother. James worked hard to bring himself out of that place, but his older brother wasn't as lucky. Died overdosing on a combination of heroin and cocaine last year, James didn't attend his funeral. He'd told Maysa once that his mother had left him for a man she'd met at their local bar. He still didn't know where she was or whether she was still alive. His job was all he had left, and sometimes his past clouded his judgment.

"James, the killer was too sophisticated to be a 19-year-old drug addict. An unsub like that would've done a sloppy job killing, and an even worse attempt cleaning up."

James didn't have a chance to respond, as Alayla spoke this time, pointing at the other report he held, "Found anything in the suspect's apartment?"

"We retrieved two handguns, and a couple packets of heroin. His place looked trashed. He pretty much lives up to his appearance, quite literally." James said, handing Alayla the home search report.

"Two handguns? What was the kid thinking?" Maysa asked in disbelief.

James came to stand next to her, pointing to the suspect, he said, "he's 19, by New York state law underage to own the handguns. Somebody gave them to him alongside the drugs, I'll try and ask him, see if that leads us somewhere."

"Actually James, Alayla, and I will go in. We need you to stay here and fact-check everything."

Maysa didn't trust James yet when it came down to cases involving substance abuse, he seemed to take it personally. In a previous homicide case, he nearly got into a physical fight with the offender. If she hadn't intervened, he could've been suspended. She knew he didn't have ill intentions, and often knew how to control his emotions. This was one thing he didn't control.

James sighed in annoyance and agreed. Opening the door for them, he gave Maysa a pointed look. They were going to discuss this later on, and she knew it.