Role Play Board: The Body Pt.2

The Body Pt.2

Posted by The Spectre (Spectre) on 6/20/2008, 8:45 pm
68.53.234.134

Scott adjusted his glasses as he turned his attention to the irritated officer. "Not to my knowledge, but Gorge Gonzales is also James Anderson."

"So, what, the guy faked an I.D.?" Jessie offered.

"Not just that," Officer Corrigan corrected. "this man had to be pretty spooked to change his I.D. so well that it confuses a DNA test."

"Well, this is all interesting, but so is a good night's sleep. I'll see you gentlemen tomorrow." Scott had just locked the lab up behind him and became the first of the three members of New York's Police Department to begin his long journey home.

"He's right, Jessie. Maybe it'd do some good to sleep on this little mystery. We'll come back tomorrow, with a clear head, and figure out what was going on with this Gorge-James-Gonzales-Anderson character."

"Sounds like a plan, see you tomorrow. Same bat-place, same bat-time."

As Jessie Harper left through the front corridor, Jim scribbled down the two names onto a bright yellow post-it sticky, and stuck it on a neighboring desk. A desk belonging to one Cynthia Jones, long time friend, and one of the best people to go to when you need info on any one person. Or in this case, two persons. By now, she didn't need any more than the two names on a little yellow square of paper to know what Jim was requesting of her. After the note, all that was left for Jim to do was grab his hat, a forties style fedora that he wore while it was popular back then and beyond, and still wore as it saw it's return to popularity. After his hat had taken it's seat upon his head, officer Corrigan was on his way home.

The next morning Jim sat at his desk, scanning it for the customarily returned post-it, and found it along side a clear cup of coffee. The coffee had became another custom of Cynthia's, she was a coffee nut, and often nagged Jim about being the non-drinker in the whole building. She'd constantly have him try this blend and that, mocha-vente-almond twists that Corrigan knew only one thing about, they don't agree with my taste buds.

Jim took the note in one hand, and the cup of Joe in the other, headed on over to Cynthia's desk. He leaned against the solid oak construct, and took in a breath of early morning air. "So, nothing on the Gonzales character, at all?" He could feel her eyes watching his coffee wielding hand, and could sense her anticipation of his first sip, pity that this cup would have to be file-thirteened like so many others.

"Just parents and a sibling, along with a job at Morphus Technologies, a small but quite profitable business. James Anderson though, has a wife, kid and a house out in the suburbs, Haven Crest. Wife's name is Angela, the daughter's Kala" Her eyes lifted and widened in one motion as Jim took a fateful sip of coffee. "Well?"

"Well,..." Jim's eyes shifted to the hardwood floors, then back to Cynthia's gaze of anticipation. "I think I can get a few leads from this information, thanks!" Cynthia set back in her chair, with a slight look of distaste on her face.

"The coffee if what I meant." She said while shaking her head.

"Oh, well never had the Iced stuff, but...." Adding the magic word 'but' in there made her set forward again with anticipation. "this is some good stuff"

"Ah-hah, yeah I knew I'd get you hooked somehow..."

Jim walked away as Cynthia lost herself in her impromptu victory speech, smiling to himself while taking a seat at his desk. Within minutes he found the Haven Crest gated community, found the exact address and phone number of the recently widowed Angela Anderson/Gonzalez. Informing a person of a family member's death, especially one so gruesome as this one had never came naturally to Jim, but with more experience in the matter than most anyone else, he qualified himself for the dread call.

The phone's tone rang through once, then twice, and a partial third ring when the click of someone picking up replaced the dull tone. "Hullo?" Came a voice that sounded like the owner just rolled out of bed from a terrible night's sleep.

Jim took one last silent deep breath. "Ms. Anderson?...Yes, this is Detective Jim Corrigan with the NYPD.... Oh, no you haven't done anything wrong, but Mr. Anderson was found in the streets last night...dead." Her end of the phone went silent momentarily. "I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your husband, Ma-"

She quickly cut him off... "Oh he wasn't my husband... Yeah, I know you're files may say that we are, but he just lives with me... Well, yeah I can come down to identify the body.... I understand, procedures have to be followed.... Eleven this morning's fine with me, thank you officer." The rustle of the plastic phone trying to find it's resting space filled Jim's ear next, followed by a click of finality.

-11:15 A.M., morgue-

Jim leaned into the door frame that lead into the room that housed the most recent murder victim, along with surgical steel operation utensils, cold metal boxes that were temporary holding cells of even colder dead bodies. Something had nagged at the back of Corrigan's mind. The lady, Angela didn't sound upset, or worried, even shocked at this horrific news. Her tone sounded more like that of a woman who was waiting to hear that one project had been completed, and was ready, albeit somewhat reluctantly to start the next 'project'.

-11:38 A.M.-

Strange how Jim could 'read' people, now that he thought about it. It probably had more to do with the Spectre force, than his many years of honing his skills as a detective. He found himself seemingly out of nowhere, being able to tell if someone was lying, nervous, expectant, guilty, and so on. The talent had as much to do with reading a person's body language as it did hearing subtle changes in their speech, patterns or tone or anything else.

Jim kept checking his watch as he headed back up stairs, it was 12:54 at last check. Their was no doubt that this was curious behavior, warranting well... a warrant. And for that he needed to talk to the ranking commissioner, Jim Davis.