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Ficlet: Nemesis
Oct. 13th, 2006 09:21 pm"It's going to be a year, now, tomorrow," Kathleen said to her partner while they were waiting. "I can't believe it took us so long to get enough to make the arrest. That sick fuck must be so sure he got away with it."
"Temper, Kath," Jim Yoon replied. "Play it cool, remember? A clean arrest. Otherwise we have the bloody media here in no time flat."
No kidding. Still, she had waited for so long, and it had only served to make her more angry. Kathleen had been the one to take over what had been classified as a horrible accident by the original investigators: Colleen, Lawrence and Mere Riley all dying in the fire that consumed their house, probably started by old cables going haywire. Bullshit. Kathleen recognized arson when she saw it, and more careful investigation of the photos made confirmed her theory. There wasn't enough left of the bodies for the pathologist to say whether they had died through violent means before the fire struck, but either way, she knew she had a triple homicide on her hand. It had taken her ages to convince Lt. Yoon, mostly because the obvious suspect, the son, had something of a stellar record: school files describing him as a completely non-violent, helpful kid, neighbours and former classmates who swore he was basically Little Lord Fountleroy, Stanford. Then Kath dug a little deeper, and lo and behold, the picture didn't look quite so pretty anymore. There had been an estrangement during the months before the Rileys died. Some arguments. Not so many visits. He'd lost his place at Stanford. When she found out he had ended up in New York with Harry Osborn in what was obviously a gay relationship, she had a moment of uncertainty, admittedly. Maybe that had been all about some belated coming-out, with spectacular bad timing, and the fire had been set by someone else, some thief who had been surprised by the Rileys and wanted to cover his tracks. She didn't think so, but she made herself investigate other angles as well. She was a good cop.
It had been Yoon, surprisingly, who had brought the investigation back on track. Following a hunch, he had checked out Harry Osborn's record. The usual rich kid crap, and then some. What was important, though, was that Osborn was another fairly recent orphan, inheriting one of America's largest fortune after his father had been found with some ghastly wounds at the Osborn penthouse. No murder had ever been arrested, Harry Osborn was the only witness, and he claimed the vigilante Spider-man had been responsible. Who, of course, never was brought in for questioning. Nobody had ever asked Harry Osborn for an alibi, despite the fact all sources described relations between him and Osborn Senior as strained.
"And they let him get away with that?" Kathleen exclaimed in disgust when Yoon told her. Yoon shrugged, but she saw the anger in his eyes. "Money talks."
After that, the clues dropped in thick and fast. Osborn had a drug record. He and Connor Riley had met some weeks before the Rileys' death, and had been spotted at a New York club taking ecstasy. There was some hushed up business in New York in January during which Osborn had spent time in one of those fancy hospitals designed to give alibis to rich psychos who belonged in jail, and then there was another homicide, a New York restaurant owner, with the Riley kid all but caught with blood on his hand and another hospital stay for the rich boy. Apparently, the duo had thought it wiser to move to Savannah after that one, but the pattern was clear: thrill seekers, a pair of serial killers in the making.
In between, there was a P.I. investigating the case as well, on behalf of some guy in Gotham, and when his client told him to drop it, he showed enough decency to hand over his notes to Kathleen and Jim Yoon. Thus, they had been finally able to find the lacking piece: a witness who had spotted Connor Riley near his parents' house on that day, with a parcel in hand. "I thought it was pizza at the time," said witness defended herself. "And I didn't realize it was that day. But now I've checked, and it was."
As this case involved several states, they had to bring in the FBI as well as the NYPD, but Kathleen and her partner were allowed to make the actual arrest themselves, with two New York cops waiting to take Osborn off their hands. It was clear the two needed to be seperated anyway.
Their waiting was rewarded when Connor Riley and his boyfriend finally showed up walking towards the loft serving as their current address, with the Osborn boy holding a dog's leash in hand. A St. Bernard, Kathleen thought; well, Hitler had loved his German shephard. She waited till they had reached the entrance of the building and had opened the door to go in, which removed them from the crowd, then stepped towards them, presenting herself as Sgt. Fitzgerald and her partner as Lt. Yoon in a calm voice.
"There has been a new lead in your family's deaths, and we need to ask you some questions," she told Connor, still calm and polite. "Would you be willing to come to the local precint to talk about them? We'd be happy to drive you there."
Any cop had to develop a gut feeling. It wasn't infallible, sure, but she didn't even need it in this case. The boy looked at her, his face going very still. He didn't ask her what the hell she was talking about it. He just looked at her. Kathleen was forty-two years old; she had talked with a lot of killers in her time, with innocents, with guilt-ridden people, with amoral freaks, and with debatables. Those eyes did not belong to a confused kid out of his depth. She'd investigated a homicide involving a girl who killed her father once, not in a fight, not spontanously, but calculated, and that girl had shown the same stillness and far too old eyes. Guilty, Kath thought, and forced herself to remain calm and pleasant while the Osborn boy said something about coming with them.
"Absolutely, Mr. Osborn," Jim Yoon said amiably. "We have a car for you as well."
You knew, Kathleen thought, not taking her eyes from Connor Riley. You always knew this would happen. Well, time's up, boyo.
Once she had him on the plane to California, she would start by showing him the photos made of what pitiable remains had been there for the autopsy, a year ago. It was no less than he deserved.
"Temper, Kath," Jim Yoon replied. "Play it cool, remember? A clean arrest. Otherwise we have the bloody media here in no time flat."
No kidding. Still, she had waited for so long, and it had only served to make her more angry. Kathleen had been the one to take over what had been classified as a horrible accident by the original investigators: Colleen, Lawrence and Mere Riley all dying in the fire that consumed their house, probably started by old cables going haywire. Bullshit. Kathleen recognized arson when she saw it, and more careful investigation of the photos made confirmed her theory. There wasn't enough left of the bodies for the pathologist to say whether they had died through violent means before the fire struck, but either way, she knew she had a triple homicide on her hand. It had taken her ages to convince Lt. Yoon, mostly because the obvious suspect, the son, had something of a stellar record: school files describing him as a completely non-violent, helpful kid, neighbours and former classmates who swore he was basically Little Lord Fountleroy, Stanford. Then Kath dug a little deeper, and lo and behold, the picture didn't look quite so pretty anymore. There had been an estrangement during the months before the Rileys died. Some arguments. Not so many visits. He'd lost his place at Stanford. When she found out he had ended up in New York with Harry Osborn in what was obviously a gay relationship, she had a moment of uncertainty, admittedly. Maybe that had been all about some belated coming-out, with spectacular bad timing, and the fire had been set by someone else, some thief who had been surprised by the Rileys and wanted to cover his tracks. She didn't think so, but she made herself investigate other angles as well. She was a good cop.
It had been Yoon, surprisingly, who had brought the investigation back on track. Following a hunch, he had checked out Harry Osborn's record. The usual rich kid crap, and then some. What was important, though, was that Osborn was another fairly recent orphan, inheriting one of America's largest fortune after his father had been found with some ghastly wounds at the Osborn penthouse. No murder had ever been arrested, Harry Osborn was the only witness, and he claimed the vigilante Spider-man had been responsible. Who, of course, never was brought in for questioning. Nobody had ever asked Harry Osborn for an alibi, despite the fact all sources described relations between him and Osborn Senior as strained.
"And they let him get away with that?" Kathleen exclaimed in disgust when Yoon told her. Yoon shrugged, but she saw the anger in his eyes. "Money talks."
After that, the clues dropped in thick and fast. Osborn had a drug record. He and Connor Riley had met some weeks before the Rileys' death, and had been spotted at a New York club taking ecstasy. There was some hushed up business in New York in January during which Osborn had spent time in one of those fancy hospitals designed to give alibis to rich psychos who belonged in jail, and then there was another homicide, a New York restaurant owner, with the Riley kid all but caught with blood on his hand and another hospital stay for the rich boy. Apparently, the duo had thought it wiser to move to Savannah after that one, but the pattern was clear: thrill seekers, a pair of serial killers in the making.
In between, there was a P.I. investigating the case as well, on behalf of some guy in Gotham, and when his client told him to drop it, he showed enough decency to hand over his notes to Kathleen and Jim Yoon. Thus, they had been finally able to find the lacking piece: a witness who had spotted Connor Riley near his parents' house on that day, with a parcel in hand. "I thought it was pizza at the time," said witness defended herself. "And I didn't realize it was that day. But now I've checked, and it was."
As this case involved several states, they had to bring in the FBI as well as the NYPD, but Kathleen and her partner were allowed to make the actual arrest themselves, with two New York cops waiting to take Osborn off their hands. It was clear the two needed to be seperated anyway.
Their waiting was rewarded when Connor Riley and his boyfriend finally showed up walking towards the loft serving as their current address, with the Osborn boy holding a dog's leash in hand. A St. Bernard, Kathleen thought; well, Hitler had loved his German shephard. She waited till they had reached the entrance of the building and had opened the door to go in, which removed them from the crowd, then stepped towards them, presenting herself as Sgt. Fitzgerald and her partner as Lt. Yoon in a calm voice.
"There has been a new lead in your family's deaths, and we need to ask you some questions," she told Connor, still calm and polite. "Would you be willing to come to the local precint to talk about them? We'd be happy to drive you there."
Any cop had to develop a gut feeling. It wasn't infallible, sure, but she didn't even need it in this case. The boy looked at her, his face going very still. He didn't ask her what the hell she was talking about it. He just looked at her. Kathleen was forty-two years old; she had talked with a lot of killers in her time, with innocents, with guilt-ridden people, with amoral freaks, and with debatables. Those eyes did not belong to a confused kid out of his depth. She'd investigated a homicide involving a girl who killed her father once, not in a fight, not spontanously, but calculated, and that girl had shown the same stillness and far too old eyes. Guilty, Kath thought, and forced herself to remain calm and pleasant while the Osborn boy said something about coming with them.
"Absolutely, Mr. Osborn," Jim Yoon said amiably. "We have a car for you as well."
You knew, Kathleen thought, not taking her eyes from Connor Riley. You always knew this would happen. Well, time's up, boyo.
Once she had him on the plane to California, she would start by showing him the photos made of what pitiable remains had been there for the autopsy, a year ago. It was no less than he deserved.
