Dearest Detective · ONC

·2·

"That was a waste of time," Barrett said as the door to the Smith residence closed behind them.

"We'll go over our notes and see if anything catches our attention," Harold said. "We've probably just missed something. We'll get this case."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, kid."

Harold pursed his lips and sent a glance to Barrett. Barrett groaned. "What now?" he said, slapping the top of the car.

"Why are you being so negative about this case?" Harold asked. "I heard you're one of the best detectives in the precinct. You crack all the cases."

"Yeah, well sometimes you get a feeling in your gut about a case and you just know."

"Know that this is a tough case? Or that you can't solve it? Because I'm not getting any of those feelings. Sir."

Barrett rolled his eyes. "Because you just got done bein' a beat cop. Don't expect you to get those gut feelings until you've actually solved a case." He ducked into the car.

Barrett was impervious to the awkward and tense feeling in the car. Due to Harold's shifting and not looking at his partner, it was clear his feelings were the opposite.

They had just spent the last two days talking to members of the ten victims' families, hoping something tie them all together. A business or a friend. But there was nothing. To Barrett, these murders were looking like random hits more and more.

"So, I don't know much about you," Harold said in the car, breaking the silence.

Barrett was surprised the kid opened his mouth. Maybe he was a bit more immune to the strained mood than he thought. "No, you don't" Barrett said shortly.

"Do you have family around here?"

"Not anymore." And trying to be at least cordial, Barrett asked, "You?"

Harold beamed. "Yes, my whole family. Both sides. My grandma emigrated from Ireland when she was a kid and my grandpa came here from Spain. They met and fell in love. My wife's family has lived here as long as America's been here. We've got a son, named Harry. Actually, he's called Harold but we call him Harry. To keep things clear."

Barrett grunted. Harold kept talking. "We just got an apartment closer to the station. And closer to my parents and the wife's parents. We're having a baby in July; did I tell you that? We hope it's a girl. We're gonna call her Marjorie, after my wife's sister who died years ago. They were best friends. It was a sad deal..."

Harold continued talking but Barrett stopped listening long ago. Family was not his favorite subject to talk or listen to. Yes, he can try to be friendly. Sometimes. But his level of caring was lower than most.

They pulled into the station and Harold was still talking. In public, the kid was quiet but when it was one on one, he could filibuster.

"We want to try and take Harry to the Statue of Liberty next weekend, that is if we get some time off this case. He shouldn't be one of those kids that can see the statue from his window but never get to see it up close."

"I've never been to the statue and I turned out fine," Barrett said, climbing out of the car. Harold followed, continuing to talk.

On a mental list in his head, Barrett added, 'Won't shut up,' to his list of things that made him want smack Harold.

Harold suddenly shuddered. "On a second thought, I think I'm going to have a problem with statues for a while now. Maybe Harry doesn't need to see Lady Liberty yet."

"Good for you," Barrett said, holding open the door for him. Harold nodded his head and walked in. Barrett followed, a pile of reports in hand. They had to find a new lead now. Some of the victims had priors but they were all different, no same arresting officer or even arrests in the same state!

"How did it go?" Sergeant Barker was standing in the doorway to his office. Barrett shook his head and dropped the files on the desk. Harold answered, "Nothing. We're back to square one. Any suggestions?"

The Sergeant snorted. "Are you kidding? I was on the first three murders. I've been passing along those cases for months. You're the last detectives in the precinct to get it. After this, I'm pulling in the FBI."

Barrett moaned and covered his eyes. "Please, do not pull the FBI into this. They'll only get in the way. Trust me, you don't want Hoover breathing down our necks. They think we're a bunch of ninnies here."

"If you can't get this solved in a week," Barker said, "I'm calling someone in. It might not be the FBI but it will be someone. And all their collars will be theirs, not yours by the way."

Barrett nodded and opened up the file from the latest murder again. Barker backed into to his office. Harold pushed his chair closer to Barrett and picked up a report. "Where do you reckon we go now?"

"I don't know. Usually I wouldn't back out so soon but we have literally nothing to go off of. We're stuck."

"What if we profile the victims? Trace them back to the killer?"

Barrett looked slowly at his partner. "You want us to jump into that hokey stuff? Have you flipped your wig? No."

"What else do we have?"

"Okay, I'll just head over to that medium's house while we're at it. Maybe she can tell us where the unrestful spirits of the victims are."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harold said. He was quiet for several minutes while Barrett looked at the reports for the thousandth time.

"What are the options with this vast array of people?" Harold said. Barrett looked up wearily. "Random hits from a serial killer," he said. "Which is honestly our worst-case scenario."

"What if they were killed by an assassin?" Harold asked. Barrett shook his head. "I highly doubt that. If they were, the bodies would have been at least tucked out of public view. These victims are meant to be seen by everyone. I would assume political or hate crimes."

"There's nothing linked to them for that theory to work," Harold said. "All different morals, races, political ideas, religion. What if the bodies aren't being displayed for the general public? What if they're supposed to be a warning?"

Barrett sat up straighter. "For the other people working with the murderer. They knew their killer." Barrett jumped to his feet. "We got it!"

"Well, maybe," Harold said, trying to be polite, "I was thinking more-"

"Listen kid," Barrett said, putting on his jacket. "You'll get this intuition once you've been on the job long enough. I know what to do now."

"What?"

"We've got to go talk to some of the Mafia."