Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fixation ❯ Chapter Thirteen ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: TemptingTemptation 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Thriller / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.12.2011 | Updated On: 01.12.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.7K | Visits: 2.7K | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Thriller / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.12.2011 | Updated On: 01.12.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.7K | Visits: 2.7K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don’t own or profit from Dragon Ball Z.
A/N: Does anyone know why Mediaminer won't let me upload word docs anymore?
Fixation
Chapter 13
Senior Detective Jon Wong hunched over his desk, dusting the ash from his cigarette off the open file in front of him. Sincerely Yours had been killing for five years, and not once had they ever gotten a lead. Now thanks to Bulma Briefs they were one step closer to catching him. Yet, that did nothing to alleviate the heavy weight of disappointment that rounded his shoulders. By years of experience he knew the broken pottery sent to the Briefs’ residence wasn’t likely to turn up anything useful. Sincerely Yours was too smart to be caught by a rookie mistake. Finding him was going to take good old fashioned police work and not some fancy smancy lab work.
Junior Detective Ray Chatree crossed the crowded squad room with quick, efficient strides. Four years out of the academy and the young man had climbed the ranks quickly. Life had yet to disappoint him often enough to kill his can do attitude. Detective Wong watched him, his jaundice eyes narrowing as the young man skipped up to him. Wong smoothed the wispy hairs over the balding plate of his scalp, grimacing at the greasy sensation of sweat on his palm. The florescent lights, burning cigarettes and packed bodies made the squad room overly warm and rank. He loosened his thin, straggly tie, tugging the shirt collar away from his reddening neck.
Detective Chatree dropped more files onto his desk, a pained look shadowing his young face. Wong briefly wondered if he was catching a glimpse of the man he would be in twenty-five years. It was like looking at himself through a time-warped mirror.
“The lab tested the shards and the box. There was plenty of DNA on the outside, but no hits in CODIS. More than likely it’s from the people who handled the package during transport. The shards themselves were clean. He must have worn gloves when he handled them.”
Wong picked up the files to give them a cursory look. “Sincerely Yours is too smart to leave something like that behind.”
Chatree retained one file which he waved at his partner. “That may be, but he wasn’t so careful when he was making the pot. Probably thought it would never leave his sick clutches. Forensics was able to find a single fingerprint imprinted on one of the shards. So far no matches have turned up in the local databases, and it’s going to be several days before we hear something back from Interpol. You know how backed up they are.”
Wong snatched the folder from Chatree’s hands and leafed through it, a momentary twinge of excitement in his gut before it was quickly squashed by reality. “More than likely they won’t find anything. This guy isn’t in the system.”
“You never know. These sickos have to start somewhere. He might have gotten popped for peeping when he was a kid.”
Wong ignored the pup’s less than insightful commentary. “Any leads from where the package was shipped?”
Chatree frowned at his senior partner, but didn’t comment on his pessimism. Instead he fished out his pocket notepad and flipped through the pages. “It was shipped from the mail room of Nigiri Enterprises. The security is pretty lax in there. Anyone could have waltzed right in and dropped off the package to be mailed. Regardless, we are checking out all five hundred employees.” Chatree grimaced at the thought of all the background checks he would have to read through in the next couple of days. “The pot itself was made from high temperature Grolleg porcelain which is readily available anywhere, however the glaze itself was unique. Debbie from forensics has to do some more research, but she’s positive it was hand mixed using some sort of organic compound. She muttered something about exotic beetles. One other oddity she noted. The pottery was porous, structurally unsound almost like a sponge.” Chatree closed his notebook with a defeated sigh. “Looks like it’s going to be a couple of days before we can do anything.”
Wong leaned back, taking a puff from his cigarette. As he exhaled he watched the lazy twine of smoke drift towards the blue painted ceiling.
“I guess we are going to have to do some good old fashioned pavement pounding.”
Chatree stared at his partner aghast. He shoved his notes into the breast pocket of his pinstriped suit before responding. “And where are we going to canvas? Sincerely Yours’ hunting ground is eight hundred miles. He could be anywhere.”
Wong drew the folder he had been looking at towards him. Inside was a photo of the azure shards neatly nestled in the silver tissue paper.
“No. This guy is an artist. The real deal, not just a part-timer. He has to have his own set up and kilns aren’t cheap. He’s going to be part of the community.”
“What community?”
Wong looked up at Chatree, shaking his head at just how young the kid really was.
“Our best bet is to ask around in Cobbler’s Square.”
“That’s six square blocks of galleries and boutiques. And what are we supposed to say? Seen a guy carrying a head around?”
Wong took a leisurely puff off his cigarette. His rummy eyes running over the young pup.
“People are more intuitive than you think. There is no lab test in the word that compares to a person’s gut feeling about someone. If we ask the right questions, they’ll point us to him.”
Chatree wilted and Wong smiled inwardly. Two days later, Chatree was still wilted, and Wong was still pleased at the man’s misery. Although his misery was just as keen. His feet hurt, an old knee injury ached something fierce, and they weren’t any closer to a lead. Chatree was just finishing up his twelfth phone call to the lab, in hopes they were closer to the results on the Interpol search and the organic component in the glaze. By the crushed expression on the young man’s face, Wong deduced that they were not.
“This is a waste of time.”
“Not really.” Wong took a sip of the black coffee he had gotten at the last bakery they stopped at. Regardless of whether or not they came up with a lead, Wong did not count it as a loss. After all, he was able to find some of that pretty brick-a-brack his wife always gushed over. Even better, he had no occasion to give it to her. She would love that. Wong may personally feel that artists were just lay about hippies who needed to get a real job, but their shops made for great marriage counseling.
“How do you figure?”
“Like I said. It’s a close knit community. By now he’s heard that we are on to him.”
“How is that going to help us?” Chatree flung his hand up in frustration. “Now he’s just going to go into hiding.”
Wong calmly looked at his partner from over the rim of his Styrofoam cup. “This man murdered Ms. Briefs and he is one of the few people in the world who knows it. When he realized she had been resurrected he didn’t go into hiding. He chose to taunt her with the broken urn he created from her remains. He must know that eventually she’s going to be able to identify him, and yet instead of running, he’s toying her. He’s hunting her again.” Wong turned away to watch the couples as they toured the shops hand in hand. “He won’t run. But he just might get sloppy.”
He gulped the last of his coffee, tossing the cup into a rubbish bin before leading his partner into a small out of the way gallery. The cold air hit him instantly drying the rank sweat on his skin. He looked around at the abstract art hanging on the walls, sure that one piece would cost more than six months of his salary. He yanked on his tie, and slicked down the wispy black hairs on his sweat-shiny head. A young woman saw them from across the room. He noticed right off how her red lips pinched as she looked them over, rightly assessing their lack of funds. She plastered on a fake smile before walking over to them, her high heels clacking smartly on the painted mosaic floor.
When she was a few feet away, he flashed his badge, enjoying how her eyes widened.
“We would like to see the owner please.”
Her demeanor instantly subservient, she nodded.
“Of course, wait here.”
A few moments later a blowsy woman waltzed out from the back room. Her smile was radiant, enhancing her laugh lines, transforming her into an engaging rather than dower forty year old woman. She wore a bright yellow broom skirt topped with a gauzy green blouse that was nearly transparent in the right light. She floated to a stop in front of them, her grin becoming slightly hungry as she caught sight of Chatree. The young detective blushed and shifted nervously. Wong almost laughed aloud.
“My name is Diana. How can I help you gentlemen?” She directed her question at Wong, but her eyes flirted with the pup.
“We have some questions,” Chatree answered forcefully, and Wong had to suppress the urge to sigh.
The gallery owner giggled like a debutante, her eyes inviting Wong to laugh with her. “Is he always so serious?”
“This is a serious matter,” Chatree interceded.
Wong rolled his eyes. “Is there a place we can speak, Ma’am?”
“Of course.” She motioned them towards the back and led them into a snug office. The antique rosewood desk was littered with crystals and small figurines. The hardback chair was cushioned with colorfully printed pillows and the hardwood floor was covered with braided rugs.
She sat behind the desk, smiling at them to follow suit. Wong sank into the plush armchair with a sigh of relief. Chatree eyed the second chair with disdain and choose to stand. Wong harrumphed at his youthful stupidity, while silently wishing for a footstool to rest his aching feet.
Diana pertly folded her hands on the desk, her eyes sparkling at the pup. “Now, what questions can I answer for you?”
Chatree jumped right in, and Wong was content to let him do so. The benefit of having an eager beaver partner is that while they were garnering all the attention it allowed him to sit back and watch reactions.
“We were wondering if you’ve come into contact with any artists who use this particular shade of blue? We are told that it’s quite rare.”
Chatree handed Diana a picture of one of the recovered shards. She took it gracefully, her smile slightly askew as she laid it down in front of her so she could put on a pair of glasses. Picking up the photo, she studied it carefully.
“Yes, the shade is unique; however I don’t believe I’ve handled anything like it here.”
Chatree sighed and took the photo back. Wong could see that he had already given up. “Have you noticed anyone peculiar hanging about. Someone not quite right?”
Diana quirked an ironic smile and Wong had to hide his own behind his hand.
“Peculiar how? Can you be more specific? After all, Sidney who owns the boutique down the street likes honey in her coffee, and I find that quite peculiar.”
Chatree’s upper lip curled. “Someone who’s on the fringes of society. Noticed any real wack jobs lately?”
Diana’s frown was like thunderclouds over the sun. “I don’t judge people,” she snapped.
Chatree stiffened.
“Detective,” Wong barked. “Go get me some more coffee from that bakery we passed.”
Chatree rounded on him, ready to argue, but he soon deflated when he saw the angry line of his superior’s mouth. “Yes, sir.”
The door closed behind him with a sharp clip. Wong waited a few heartbeats, before he shot Diana a wan smile.
“Pups, they don’t know how good they got it.”
Diana smiled back, her laugh lines crinkling. Encouraged, Wong leaned forward in his seat, applying his concerned, protective face that usually worked well with the ladies.
“His questions were inappropriate, but he wasn’t trying to offend you. Have you heard of the serial killer Sincerely Yours?”
Diana paled a little, before nodding.
“We think he’s an artist. Do you know someone who might unsettle you? Someone that you don’t want to be alone with?”
Diana leaned back in her chair, her mouth set into a considering frown.
“No. I don’t think I’ve met any artists like that. Of course, most of them are eccentric, but I wouldn’t consider them dangerous.”
“He wouldn’t seem to be. He would be fairly unassuming. Quiet, possibly a little socially awkward around women. It might seem endearing. I’m a great believer in instinct though, especially female intuition. He wouldn’t fool you. You would know something wasn’t right.”
Diana smiled, and tapped her finger on her chin before shaking her head.
Wong sighed and nodded. “Well thank you for your time, Ma’am.”
“Diana, please.” She rose with him, and he shook her hand.
“Here’s my card. If you think of anything, call me.”
She took it, placing in the top drawer of her desk.
He was about to open the door when she called out to him.
“Detective?”
He turned to face her. “Yes?”
“Does it have to be an artist?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well about a year ago a young man worked for me as a purchaser. He would go around to artists and assess their art or buy pottery collections to sell here in the gallery.”
“And?”
She shifted, glancing away uneasily.
“Well, he was always very polite, but I always got the impression that he didn’t enjoy the fact that he worked for a woman.”
Wong nodded. “Unfortunately if that was our only criteria we would pull in half the country for questioning.
“Yes, that is unfortunate, only---.”
“Yes?”
“I had to let him go.”
“Why is that?”
“One day he unloaded a shipment of oil paintings for an unknown artist in the storeroom. Their content was…I don’t usually judge, but as a woman I was uncomfortable.”
“Do you know the artist’s name?”
“No, but Mr. Genzo was very enamored with his work. He insisted we show it, and I refused. When he became insolent I had to fire him.”
“Do you have the artwork still?”
“No, Mr. Genzo paid me and took the pieces with him.”
“Well then, I suppose we’ll have to pay Mr. Genzo a visit.”
“Yes, of course. Let me get you his contact information.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Diana.”
He nodded, his thoughts already on his new lead. This mystery artist could very well be Sincerely Yours. If Mr. Genzo could provide them with his address they just might finally catch the bastard.
A/N: Does anyone know why Mediaminer won't let me upload word docs anymore?
Fixation
Chapter 13
Senior Detective Jon Wong hunched over his desk, dusting the ash from his cigarette off the open file in front of him. Sincerely Yours had been killing for five years, and not once had they ever gotten a lead. Now thanks to Bulma Briefs they were one step closer to catching him. Yet, that did nothing to alleviate the heavy weight of disappointment that rounded his shoulders. By years of experience he knew the broken pottery sent to the Briefs’ residence wasn’t likely to turn up anything useful. Sincerely Yours was too smart to be caught by a rookie mistake. Finding him was going to take good old fashioned police work and not some fancy smancy lab work.
Junior Detective Ray Chatree crossed the crowded squad room with quick, efficient strides. Four years out of the academy and the young man had climbed the ranks quickly. Life had yet to disappoint him often enough to kill his can do attitude. Detective Wong watched him, his jaundice eyes narrowing as the young man skipped up to him. Wong smoothed the wispy hairs over the balding plate of his scalp, grimacing at the greasy sensation of sweat on his palm. The florescent lights, burning cigarettes and packed bodies made the squad room overly warm and rank. He loosened his thin, straggly tie, tugging the shirt collar away from his reddening neck.
Detective Chatree dropped more files onto his desk, a pained look shadowing his young face. Wong briefly wondered if he was catching a glimpse of the man he would be in twenty-five years. It was like looking at himself through a time-warped mirror.
“The lab tested the shards and the box. There was plenty of DNA on the outside, but no hits in CODIS. More than likely it’s from the people who handled the package during transport. The shards themselves were clean. He must have worn gloves when he handled them.”
Wong picked up the files to give them a cursory look. “Sincerely Yours is too smart to leave something like that behind.”
Chatree retained one file which he waved at his partner. “That may be, but he wasn’t so careful when he was making the pot. Probably thought it would never leave his sick clutches. Forensics was able to find a single fingerprint imprinted on one of the shards. So far no matches have turned up in the local databases, and it’s going to be several days before we hear something back from Interpol. You know how backed up they are.”
Wong snatched the folder from Chatree’s hands and leafed through it, a momentary twinge of excitement in his gut before it was quickly squashed by reality. “More than likely they won’t find anything. This guy isn’t in the system.”
“You never know. These sickos have to start somewhere. He might have gotten popped for peeping when he was a kid.”
Wong ignored the pup’s less than insightful commentary. “Any leads from where the package was shipped?”
Chatree frowned at his senior partner, but didn’t comment on his pessimism. Instead he fished out his pocket notepad and flipped through the pages. “It was shipped from the mail room of Nigiri Enterprises. The security is pretty lax in there. Anyone could have waltzed right in and dropped off the package to be mailed. Regardless, we are checking out all five hundred employees.” Chatree grimaced at the thought of all the background checks he would have to read through in the next couple of days. “The pot itself was made from high temperature Grolleg porcelain which is readily available anywhere, however the glaze itself was unique. Debbie from forensics has to do some more research, but she’s positive it was hand mixed using some sort of organic compound. She muttered something about exotic beetles. One other oddity she noted. The pottery was porous, structurally unsound almost like a sponge.” Chatree closed his notebook with a defeated sigh. “Looks like it’s going to be a couple of days before we can do anything.”
Wong leaned back, taking a puff from his cigarette. As he exhaled he watched the lazy twine of smoke drift towards the blue painted ceiling.
“I guess we are going to have to do some good old fashioned pavement pounding.”
Chatree stared at his partner aghast. He shoved his notes into the breast pocket of his pinstriped suit before responding. “And where are we going to canvas? Sincerely Yours’ hunting ground is eight hundred miles. He could be anywhere.”
Wong drew the folder he had been looking at towards him. Inside was a photo of the azure shards neatly nestled in the silver tissue paper.
“No. This guy is an artist. The real deal, not just a part-timer. He has to have his own set up and kilns aren’t cheap. He’s going to be part of the community.”
“What community?”
Wong looked up at Chatree, shaking his head at just how young the kid really was.
“Our best bet is to ask around in Cobbler’s Square.”
“That’s six square blocks of galleries and boutiques. And what are we supposed to say? Seen a guy carrying a head around?”
Wong took a leisurely puff off his cigarette. His rummy eyes running over the young pup.
“People are more intuitive than you think. There is no lab test in the word that compares to a person’s gut feeling about someone. If we ask the right questions, they’ll point us to him.”
Chatree wilted and Wong smiled inwardly. Two days later, Chatree was still wilted, and Wong was still pleased at the man’s misery. Although his misery was just as keen. His feet hurt, an old knee injury ached something fierce, and they weren’t any closer to a lead. Chatree was just finishing up his twelfth phone call to the lab, in hopes they were closer to the results on the Interpol search and the organic component in the glaze. By the crushed expression on the young man’s face, Wong deduced that they were not.
“This is a waste of time.”
“Not really.” Wong took a sip of the black coffee he had gotten at the last bakery they stopped at. Regardless of whether or not they came up with a lead, Wong did not count it as a loss. After all, he was able to find some of that pretty brick-a-brack his wife always gushed over. Even better, he had no occasion to give it to her. She would love that. Wong may personally feel that artists were just lay about hippies who needed to get a real job, but their shops made for great marriage counseling.
“How do you figure?”
“Like I said. It’s a close knit community. By now he’s heard that we are on to him.”
“How is that going to help us?” Chatree flung his hand up in frustration. “Now he’s just going to go into hiding.”
Wong calmly looked at his partner from over the rim of his Styrofoam cup. “This man murdered Ms. Briefs and he is one of the few people in the world who knows it. When he realized she had been resurrected he didn’t go into hiding. He chose to taunt her with the broken urn he created from her remains. He must know that eventually she’s going to be able to identify him, and yet instead of running, he’s toying her. He’s hunting her again.” Wong turned away to watch the couples as they toured the shops hand in hand. “He won’t run. But he just might get sloppy.”
He gulped the last of his coffee, tossing the cup into a rubbish bin before leading his partner into a small out of the way gallery. The cold air hit him instantly drying the rank sweat on his skin. He looked around at the abstract art hanging on the walls, sure that one piece would cost more than six months of his salary. He yanked on his tie, and slicked down the wispy black hairs on his sweat-shiny head. A young woman saw them from across the room. He noticed right off how her red lips pinched as she looked them over, rightly assessing their lack of funds. She plastered on a fake smile before walking over to them, her high heels clacking smartly on the painted mosaic floor.
When she was a few feet away, he flashed his badge, enjoying how her eyes widened.
“We would like to see the owner please.”
Her demeanor instantly subservient, she nodded.
“Of course, wait here.”
A few moments later a blowsy woman waltzed out from the back room. Her smile was radiant, enhancing her laugh lines, transforming her into an engaging rather than dower forty year old woman. She wore a bright yellow broom skirt topped with a gauzy green blouse that was nearly transparent in the right light. She floated to a stop in front of them, her grin becoming slightly hungry as she caught sight of Chatree. The young detective blushed and shifted nervously. Wong almost laughed aloud.
“My name is Diana. How can I help you gentlemen?” She directed her question at Wong, but her eyes flirted with the pup.
“We have some questions,” Chatree answered forcefully, and Wong had to suppress the urge to sigh.
The gallery owner giggled like a debutante, her eyes inviting Wong to laugh with her. “Is he always so serious?”
“This is a serious matter,” Chatree interceded.
Wong rolled his eyes. “Is there a place we can speak, Ma’am?”
“Of course.” She motioned them towards the back and led them into a snug office. The antique rosewood desk was littered with crystals and small figurines. The hardback chair was cushioned with colorfully printed pillows and the hardwood floor was covered with braided rugs.
She sat behind the desk, smiling at them to follow suit. Wong sank into the plush armchair with a sigh of relief. Chatree eyed the second chair with disdain and choose to stand. Wong harrumphed at his youthful stupidity, while silently wishing for a footstool to rest his aching feet.
Diana pertly folded her hands on the desk, her eyes sparkling at the pup. “Now, what questions can I answer for you?”
Chatree jumped right in, and Wong was content to let him do so. The benefit of having an eager beaver partner is that while they were garnering all the attention it allowed him to sit back and watch reactions.
“We were wondering if you’ve come into contact with any artists who use this particular shade of blue? We are told that it’s quite rare.”
Chatree handed Diana a picture of one of the recovered shards. She took it gracefully, her smile slightly askew as she laid it down in front of her so she could put on a pair of glasses. Picking up the photo, she studied it carefully.
“Yes, the shade is unique; however I don’t believe I’ve handled anything like it here.”
Chatree sighed and took the photo back. Wong could see that he had already given up. “Have you noticed anyone peculiar hanging about. Someone not quite right?”
Diana quirked an ironic smile and Wong had to hide his own behind his hand.
“Peculiar how? Can you be more specific? After all, Sidney who owns the boutique down the street likes honey in her coffee, and I find that quite peculiar.”
Chatree’s upper lip curled. “Someone who’s on the fringes of society. Noticed any real wack jobs lately?”
Diana’s frown was like thunderclouds over the sun. “I don’t judge people,” she snapped.
Chatree stiffened.
“Detective,” Wong barked. “Go get me some more coffee from that bakery we passed.”
Chatree rounded on him, ready to argue, but he soon deflated when he saw the angry line of his superior’s mouth. “Yes, sir.”
The door closed behind him with a sharp clip. Wong waited a few heartbeats, before he shot Diana a wan smile.
“Pups, they don’t know how good they got it.”
Diana smiled back, her laugh lines crinkling. Encouraged, Wong leaned forward in his seat, applying his concerned, protective face that usually worked well with the ladies.
“His questions were inappropriate, but he wasn’t trying to offend you. Have you heard of the serial killer Sincerely Yours?”
Diana paled a little, before nodding.
“We think he’s an artist. Do you know someone who might unsettle you? Someone that you don’t want to be alone with?”
Diana leaned back in her chair, her mouth set into a considering frown.
“No. I don’t think I’ve met any artists like that. Of course, most of them are eccentric, but I wouldn’t consider them dangerous.”
“He wouldn’t seem to be. He would be fairly unassuming. Quiet, possibly a little socially awkward around women. It might seem endearing. I’m a great believer in instinct though, especially female intuition. He wouldn’t fool you. You would know something wasn’t right.”
Diana smiled, and tapped her finger on her chin before shaking her head.
Wong sighed and nodded. “Well thank you for your time, Ma’am.”
“Diana, please.” She rose with him, and he shook her hand.
“Here’s my card. If you think of anything, call me.”
She took it, placing in the top drawer of her desk.
He was about to open the door when she called out to him.
“Detective?”
He turned to face her. “Yes?”
“Does it have to be an artist?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well about a year ago a young man worked for me as a purchaser. He would go around to artists and assess their art or buy pottery collections to sell here in the gallery.”
“And?”
She shifted, glancing away uneasily.
“Well, he was always very polite, but I always got the impression that he didn’t enjoy the fact that he worked for a woman.”
Wong nodded. “Unfortunately if that was our only criteria we would pull in half the country for questioning.
“Yes, that is unfortunate, only---.”
“Yes?”
“I had to let him go.”
“Why is that?”
“One day he unloaded a shipment of oil paintings for an unknown artist in the storeroom. Their content was…I don’t usually judge, but as a woman I was uncomfortable.”
“Do you know the artist’s name?”
“No, but Mr. Genzo was very enamored with his work. He insisted we show it, and I refused. When he became insolent I had to fire him.”
“Do you have the artwork still?”
“No, Mr. Genzo paid me and took the pieces with him.”
“Well then, I suppose we’ll have to pay Mr. Genzo a visit.”
“Yes, of course. Let me get you his contact information.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Diana.”
He nodded, his thoughts already on his new lead. This mystery artist could very well be Sincerely Yours. If Mr. Genzo could provide them with his address they just might finally catch the bastard.