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Casey Jones · (10-17-2013)

This was it. The biggest case of his career. He had finally done it.

He had been following the activity of the woman known currently as Kathi Foster for months. No one had been able to link her to the disappearances. Everyone had said that he was stupid for even trying it. They had called it a pot-shot, a stab in the dark. But he had known all along. And now, this was the best result he could possibly have hoped for. He sipped his coffee carefully, savouring the moment. This for a policeman was like a star striker scoring a 30 yard volley in the World Cup Final, or a writer writing the final sentence of his masterpiece. As Kathi Foster sat alone in one interrogation room, her male accomplice in the other, and another man found on the scene in the third, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of victory wash over him. One had escaped, but he was just some hired thug anyway. The real trophies were currently sat opposite him.

Since the case that had crippled his career a year or so ago, Michael Reeves had been doing everything to re-establish his name as a reliable and competent police officer. He had aided detectives painfully less experienced than him in an attempt to be re-promoted to taking on cases of his own. This would be his ticket back to the top. He took one last sip of the coffee and swilled it around his mouth like a bottle of Listerine before he stood up and walked into the interrogation room to speak to Kathi Foster. The room was cold as he sat opposite her, but she didn’t even flinch as he glared at her without saying a word, trying to establish dominance over her.

“Are you too fucking dumb to speak?” she said before he had a chance to even ask her a question. “I’m not getting any younger sitting here watching you trying to figure out how not to make a prick of yourself, so hurry it up would you please?”

So much for establishing dominance.

“You have a right to a brief, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you…”

“I don’t want a brief, I want you to hurry the fuck up”

Silence descended upon the room again. Reeves fixed her with a steely glare, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Okay Miss Foster” he said at last. “You are here in relation to the disappearances of multiple people across the country, more than I care to read out…”

“You badass”

“…if you tell me what you did, and where they are, it may reflect more favourably upon you in a court of law”

The frosty temperature in the interrogation cell matched the atmosphere as she remained silent, not even looking tempted to say a word.

“I’ve got all night to spend with you” Reeves said confidently, lifting his briefcase to the table, not letting the apparent resolve of Foster get the better of him.

“In your wildest dreams” she replied arrogantly, a cocky smile appearing on her face.

---

In the interrogation room directly to the left of that, Casey Jones sat opposite a hard faced, middle aged detective. The creased lines on his forehead were enough demonstration of the tough life he had obviously led. Needless to say, gruesome case after gruesome case had not done wonders for the man’s complexion. His cheeks were rosy red, his breath stank of scotch. Jones watched him carefully. The Children each knew what to do. There was no proof, no reason for holding them there. If Kathi was discovered, then that would be a great shame, but one that they could work around.

“May you turn off the air conditioning?” asked Jones politely. “It’s rather cold in here”

“Do you think you’re in a position to make demands?” came the slow, slurred response from the officer. He sat back in his chair, apparently satisfied by his own response. Jones merely nodded his head gently, leaning back in his chair and watching the cold look that the clearly inebriated officer was giving him.

“May you explain to me once again why exactly it is that I have been forced into this room?” enquired Jones, watching the man opposite him, looking for any lapses in concentration or signs of weakness.

“You know why”

“If I knew why, I wouldn’t have…”

“SHUT UP” came the yell from the detective, cutting Jones off before he could finish his sentence. “You’re in here because of the people going missing”

Jones smiled, giving off a mysterious aura of satisfaction at the man’s drunken answer. He looked at his watch carefully. A solitary crack ran down the length of the clock face. He stared intently down at it. The crack was perfectly straight, as if intentional.

“Your wallet is falling out of your pocket” Jones said gently.

Sure enough, the detective looked down and scrambled his wallet back into his pocket, causing various paper notes to fall out onto the table, including a picture of what was presumably the man’s family. It was a picture with multiple stains on it, a cigarette burn marking out the face of the woman on it.

“When did she leave you?” asked Jones carefully. The man looked at him in surprise.

“What the fucking hell did you just say to me?” he growled. His voice wobbled, perhaps due to the anger, more likely due to the effects of the alcohol.

“Did she take your children? I know people like you, Detective. You worked so hard because you wanted the best for them. You worked so hard to push her out of your mind. It’s fully understandable…” Jones began to say.

“You cunt…” began the detective, and with an almost feral growl he rose to his feet and leapt across the table, more like a wounded bear than anything graceful, and took a swing at Jones. The blow was a glancing one, but it was enough to send him crashing to the floor. The detective pulled back for another blow, but before he could he was seized from behind by several uniformed police officers. Jones glanced up, the faintest trace of amusement on his face, as the detective was carried away and the blood trickled down into his mouth.

---

Detective Reeves looked across the table. The feeling of happiness was still there, but it had undeniably diminished. They had had to release the other man, River, with a lack of evidence. Detective McMichael had assaulted a suspect, something that, unless concrete evidence was found, would work against the DA in a court of law. Kathi Foster sat beside Casey Jones, breathing in the dank air of the interrogation room gently. He had had to go against usual procedure and place two suspects together; there was no other way of dealing with the pair. They both refused to speak, but he knew it was a matter of time. They couldn’t deny the disappearances that had occurred, conveniently in the same places as they themselves had travelled. They couldn’t deny that they had been the causes of multiple counts of violence in all the places that they had travelled.

He was close.

He looked at the two of them carefully. Jones’ record interested him on a personal level. He, like the suspect that had escaped that fateful day last year, had established a working relationship with a certain company. It intrigued him, and further convinced him that he was about to right all wrongs and firmly gain retribution for the event that had haunted him and his career for over a year. It was of this sweet incoming victory that he thought as the door opened loudly behind him. Sure enough, as he turned around his receptionist, Deborah, ushered him out of the cell frantically. He followed, and breathlessly she recounted to him what he so desperately needed to know.

Once she had finished, he kissed her on the cheek. She deserved this almost as much as he did. He walked back into the cell. He felt like a virgin on a date with the prom queen. It was about to happen. He sat opposite the pair, unable to stop a victorious smile from appearing on his face.

“You’ll never guess what just happened” he began. The two stared at him blankly, so he continued. “We’ve just found the remains of the previous owners of Old Joe’s Motel. You two, quite frankly sicken me, and it gives me great pleasure to do this. Casey Jones and Kathi Foster. I am charging you with…”

He didn’t say another word before the lights in the building went out, as if struck by a sudden blackout. There were shouts to activate the backup generator, but soon they were all hit by the realisation that it too was powerless. The noise of people scrambling around filled the ears of the three inside the interrogation cell, and as they listened carefully they heard the door slam open. Scrambling for the flashlight attached to his uniform, Reeves swore under his breath. Eventually, he managed to flick the on switch and was met by the sight of a moderately tall man, his face covered by a balaclava.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Reeves, unable to keep the tone of intimidation out of his voice.

The man in the balaclava said nothing, but put something under his arm and reached for the black cotton covering his head. As he pulled it off and revealed his sweat drenched head, Detective Reeves’ face blanched white, as if having seen a ghost.

“No…” he stammered, unable to take his eyes off of the man. “Hysell…”

Zachary Hysell stared back at the man, reaching for the object under his arm.

“My name…” he began, raising the object. “…is Tyler Decker”

He brought the heavy object down onto the head of Detective Reeves with a heavy and sickening thud. The police officer dropped to the floor, motionless, as Jones, using broken glass to pick the lock on his cuffs, rose along with Foster. The three silently left the station as the police officers struggled to restore order and light.

“What do we do now?” muttered Hysell to Jones.

“You did well, Z, my son” said Jones, beaming. “But now we must prepare”

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Interrogation (LL RP Numero Three)
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