Who watches...
The corpse was still warm. The fire probably had something to do with that. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was the same vigilante serial killer that had been touring the country. I could see the writing on the wall as well as anyone.
"Oh, gods. Boss. Whew. Um. We've got a tentative ID on the victim..."
"Right, the Fire Chief? Caught taking bribes to gloss over safety regs last month... charges dropped, of course."
"Uh, yeah. How'd... how'd you know?"
I stared at the kid. I pointed to the wall, where the motive was written... possibly with the victim's blood, or the killer's bile. I'd later find out it was trace amounts of naptha, so the words would scar themselves in the wall when the fire started. The kid was better than average. He didn't move his lips too much as he worked through it.
"You, uh... you think it was the same killer as... as the police chief?"
"Yep. Doesn't take a genius kid. Same guy or group. I'm still not sure it's just one guy. It's like some kind of a movement... or organization. Big on poetic justice, hoisting by their own petard." I saw the kid's eyes glazing at the advanced concepts. "They kill the corrupt with the things they're corrupt about."
"Huh. So... how'd they find out the guy was corrupt?"
You have to love nepotism. If this guy didn't share genes with someone in city hall, he'd have to study to ask people if they wanted fries too. "Watching the news." Hmm. I wonder... "If you think that's a way to narrow the field, better start working that angle. How many people could there be who pay attention to the news?" I didn't bother holding the edge of irony out of my voice. If he caught it at all, he'd think I meant it the other way.
"Oooh. Good idea. I'll get right on that." And the kid took off. Ahh, the silence. If he didn't give up hope... he might just finish that errand sometime after I retire.
I toasted the CSI flaks with my coffee and surveyed our handiwork. I wasn't too worried about catching the guy responsible for this death. A really careful vigilante that targets white-collar crime? Nah, I had bigger fish to fry.
Like arranging for this little pissant aide of mine to shoot his uncle the mayor. Poetic justice is a lot more fun than procedure.
"Oh, gods. Boss. Whew. Um. We've got a tentative ID on the victim..."
"Right, the Fire Chief? Caught taking bribes to gloss over safety regs last month... charges dropped, of course."
"Uh, yeah. How'd... how'd you know?"
I stared at the kid. I pointed to the wall, where the motive was written... possibly with the victim's blood, or the killer's bile. I'd later find out it was trace amounts of naptha, so the words would scar themselves in the wall when the fire started. The kid was better than average. He didn't move his lips too much as he worked through it.
"You, uh... you think it was the same killer as... as the police chief?"
"Yep. Doesn't take a genius kid. Same guy or group. I'm still not sure it's just one guy. It's like some kind of a movement... or organization. Big on poetic justice, hoisting by their own petard." I saw the kid's eyes glazing at the advanced concepts. "They kill the corrupt with the things they're corrupt about."
"Huh. So... how'd they find out the guy was corrupt?"
You have to love nepotism. If this guy didn't share genes with someone in city hall, he'd have to study to ask people if they wanted fries too. "Watching the news." Hmm. I wonder... "If you think that's a way to narrow the field, better start working that angle. How many people could there be who pay attention to the news?" I didn't bother holding the edge of irony out of my voice. If he caught it at all, he'd think I meant it the other way.
"Oooh. Good idea. I'll get right on that." And the kid took off. Ahh, the silence. If he didn't give up hope... he might just finish that errand sometime after I retire.
I toasted the CSI flaks with my coffee and surveyed our handiwork. I wasn't too worried about catching the guy responsible for this death. A really careful vigilante that targets white-collar crime? Nah, I had bigger fish to fry.
Like arranging for this little pissant aide of mine to shoot his uncle the mayor. Poetic justice is a lot more fun than procedure.
posted by DannyboyO1 at
12:23 AM
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