Case #1789

Chapter 2

Eliza Andrews' P.O.V

"Sorry, I would have made it here sooner, but I bumped into the witness, and spilled your coffee." I explain to my new partner, Agent Sandra Brookfield. Today is my first day working for the FBI. I previously had police training, but that police job didn't work out too good.

"You bumped into the witness, spilling coffee?" She repeats. I nod as response, while she tries to hold back a laugh.

"Well that must have brought back bad memories."

"What?" I question. She shakes her head and replies with a simple, "Never mind."

Sandra grabs her bag, and keys, and struts out the door. She stops and turns around, "You coming, newbie?"
"Oh, uh yeah." I mutter, following her out.

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"So we're going to the crime scene?" I question.

"You talk too much." Agent Brookfield replies.

I prop my elbow up on the window and rest my chin on my hand. Seeing a blur of lush, green trees whiz by. The murder was in a beautiful quiet little neighbourhood just a little outside of New Orleans' French Quarter.

Passing old Victorian era houses, we finally arrive at a blue Victorian house. Outside the beautiful house stood neighbours, police, detectives and many more people behind a yellow tape that says "police line do not cross"

Stepping out of Agent Brookfield's black Volkswagen, I scan the area.
Reverting my gaze up towards the house I notice Agent Brookfield already making her way inside. I hurry my way over and as I step into the house, the place is filled with all types of high authorities.

"Don't touch anything without gloves." Agent Brookfield informs. Nodding I follow her up the winding stair cases, examining everything closed off as evidence. We come to a halt at a small door way. Emerging into the room, I see it is fairly large. A giant oak book shelf stands against the left wall, with about a hundred books lined inside of it. On the right wall is the door to the washroom, and an oak cabinet.

In the middle of the room is Jim Benson's desk, and his torn apart corpse sprawled on the ground descending from the middle of the room, to the washroom. Agent Brookfield hands me a pair of white gloves, and I slip them on my hands. Before we could step any further a man in a white suite covering from him from head to toe stops us from doing so.

Showing him our badges, he then further informs us that we must slip on a plastic shoe covering.

"It's so we don't mix your tracks with the criminal's." He adds before turning away to resume his investigation. Now that we are ready to enter the crime scene, we can conduct our own investigation.

Shuffling over to Jim Benson's upper body, I see that on top of his chest where his heart is, is a stamp of some sort burned onto his flesh. It seems to be a 'C' transformed into a star of some sort. Pulling out my notepad and pen, I sketch down the logo.

"What kind of stamp do you think can do this is?" I ask Agent Brookfield.

"Don't know." She replies walking away. Something tells me she doesn't really like me.

As I stand staring at the corpse, I then realize how the stamp could leave such an impression. It appeared to be burnt on like someone had used a hot piece of metal. A welder. Thinking of all the possible welding places in this out of date town, I scribble down two locations.

Stepping around the marked off areas, I strut towards the window. Looking out of the shattered framework, I see that the drop down is pretty far. I glance and see that the tree beside the window has a broken branch.

Calling Agent Brookfield over I mention to her my observation. "I think that the criminal might've climbed the tree to get in, and swung off the branch to get back down."

She nods and writes something down in her notepad, and walks away. This is going to be a long investigation.

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"You get anything?" Agent Brookfield questions, slamming shut the drivers door.

"Um, well, I think that a welder could be a suspect, or somehow involved." I answer, fastening my seatbelt. "The mark burned on the victim's chest seems like a work done by a welder."

"Let's check that out now. Got any locations?" She mutters, pulling out of the street.

Nodding, I pull out my notepad. "There's one on Queen and there's also one on Carver street. That's all I know of."

Processing the information, she drives down to the first place on Queen street. Parking the vehicle in the lot, we step out and head into the tiny shop. Pushing the door, the sounds of chimes fill the stuffy air. A man around his 30s with dark hair emerges from the back room, covered in dust. Removing his gloves, he shoves them in the pocket of his apron tied around his waist.

"What can I help you two ladies with?" His deep voice questions.

"FBI." Agent Brookfield states, showing her badge. She glances over to me, knowing what she was staring at me for, I show my badge as well.

"Oh." The man murmurs.

"Do you mind if we ask a few questions?"

"No not at all. I'm Alex. Alex Orion." He mentions.

Pulling a photo that one of the photographers paid for this case gave me, I show it to him.

"Have you seen this mark before?" I ask.

"Yes I have actually."

- MrsHemmings5SOS and Megan2422