2020-08-25 - Allies Where You Can Find Them

Cecil's lab is cluttered, but it's controlled chaos. There are papers here and there, photos scattered about depicting everything from body parts to fibers. There's a desk under more papers, with a computer and a tea mug stained with tannins. Cecil is at a work bench where there is a microscope. He has a white lab coat on over his khakis and button-up shirt. His glasses are tucked atop his head. Whatever he's looking at, it must be terribly interesting, because it has all of his attention.

A wild Alexander appears! He doesn't so much 'sneak' past the front desk as make the poor guy think that it's someone who really, truly belongs here in a way that Alexander definitely does not. Not in his worn Metallic t-shirt and jeans. His right arm is a mass of fading bruises, which have turned fascinating shades of green and purple, and he's favoring it slightly as he ducks into Cecil's lab before someone comes along with the mental power to see through his bullshit. He notices the scientist at the microscope and drifts in that direction, looking shamelessly at the photos. He doesn't touch anything, at least, and he tries not to startle Cecil until he's finished.

Which, unfortunately, means that when Cecil eventually looks up, he'll see Alexander just...standing there. A couple feet away, staring at him like he's trying to figure out whether he could fit into a fridge as a whole body, or if there would have to be some cutting up, first.

Cecil looks up, and he doesn't startle, he just blinke slowly at Alexander, then lowers his glasses down so he can see who's standing there watching him." He stands up straight and says, "Mr. Clayton." He dispenses with 'you're not supposed to be here' and 'are you lost' and gets right to, "What can I do for you?" Efficient, that's Cecil.

"Mr. Harvey," Alexander returns quietly. He doesn't look disappointed with Cecil's reaction; he actually looks a little relieved when Cecil doesn't...scream or flinch. "Hello. Are you well?" The pleasantries sound like they're being read off of a cue card that only he can see. He does pause to listen to the answer, though, before saying, "Has the autopsy on the park ranger been done, yet?"

Cecil smiles a small smile at the pleasantries. "I'm well enough," he says. "Thank you." As for the park ranger, Cecil nods, leaning against his workbench, arms folded across his chest. "I had a chance to examine the body, briefly." With a wry twitch of his lips, he adds, "It would seem the cause of death is decapitation. Why, have you heard anything?

Alexander returns the smile, equally small. His dark eyes never waver from Cecil, though, and there's something reptilian about the focus. "The mutilation marks. Were they pre- or post-mortem?" As if realizing that's a...terribly abrupt question, he says, "I'm sorry. For asking. But I feel like we have more than enough problems in Gray Harbor without adding someone who enjoys ritual murder. I would like to be of help. If I can."

Cecil admits, "I didn't get as close of a look at them as I wanted to, but if pressed to guess, I would say post-mortem. Unfortunately they're obscured by the onset of decay, but... let me see..." He glances around, going through photos. Eventually he finds some that show the marks on dead flesh. "I've recorded what I can." He pauses, then says, "He was well-regarded, the victim, I mean. I doubt whoever did this to him had a bone to pick."

"How long was the victim deceased, do you think?" Alexander moves to get a good angle on the photos as he peers down on them. "Are they cuneiform? There was cuneiform in a card in his wallet, which apparently referenced the Sumerian underworld. I can write down the symbols if that hasn't gotten its way to you, yet." He gives Cecil a side eye. "Why are you here?"

"Yes, it's cuneiform," Cecil says. "I'm afraid I'm unaware of the occult significance." Because he is a scientist. This is a place for science! He adjusts his glasses and peers at Alexander. "I work here," he says. "Or do you mean Gray Harbor?" He pauses, then answers, "I work here. " He offers the pictures over for Alexander to peruse. The man has already broken in, maybe he has some sort of expertise Cecil can make use of.

"There are more marks like these in the Firefly Forest. I haven't seen them myself, first-hand, but you said you had an interest in forensic entomology, right?" A long pause. "Gray Harbor, yes. You sound...British? It's not usual for someone to come all the way out here to work in a small police station in a logging town that hasn't been famous for a very long time." He takes the offered pictures, and looks them over carefully, his eyes finally dropping from Cecil. "Usually there's a reason."

"I'm English," Cecil confirms. "But I've lived in the United States for awhile. I wanted to get out of Texas, and the position opened up, so..." He glances around the place. "Gray Harbor seemed to call to me. A little town in the Pacific Northwest, far away from Texas, a place with actual weather. It appealed to me." He admits in a low tone, "I've thought about leaving, but the idea feels empty. Like if I left, I would leave a piece of me here. A piece I wouldn't get back."

"That happens," Alexander says, sounding sympathetic. "The town grabs you, if you stand out. Doesn't like to let go. Doesn't mean you shouldn't. Go. But," he glances up from the photos, "you probably won't. Sorry." He looks through the photos, one by one, and then divides them out, limbs in one pile, and the back in another pile. "Here." He points to the extensive text on the back. "Is there a translation for this? It's definitely post-mortem. You don't get knife marks like that if someone can twitch and the muscles aren't starting to firm up." He glances sidelong, then gestures to the arms and legs. "These, though. Could they have been done while the victim was alive?"

Cecil hesitates, but then he relents and says, "An offering to Abzu, Primordial Master of the Deep. That's the translation." He glances at the pictures and says, "I doubt it was done while he was alive, but I can't confirm. He... he was terrified when he died. It came quickly, but he saw it coming. I didn't sense any physical pain, but I don't know if I would have. I'm not, er, as well versed in that ability as others." He glances at Alexander. "I have a sense you know what I'm talking about."

"You read the body," Alexander says, flatly. He jerks his head in a nod. "It's unpleasant. Murder. Being there. I'm sorry. I usually...try. To do that. So other people don't have to." A shrug, and then he says, "Is that just the back? What about the arms and legs? They were pre-mortem. I'd wager money on it." His smile is thin and sharp. "I'm good at knives. Generally." Another pause. "And the head was replaced with an octopus, wasn't it? Local? Or something someone might have raised in a tank?"

"I do it all the time," Cecil says. "It wouldn't be a thorough investigation if I didn't use everything at my disposal." He pauses, then admits, "It takes a toll, but it brings people to justice. Perhaps I can get you some face time with the body if you want to give it a try. I don't recommend it. It's horrifying. There was the scent of motor oil, sudden terror. But before that, he was in the woods. I think he was taken from there, so I was going to go to some of his favorite spots and read them." He waves a hand vaguely. "As for the octopus, it's a native species, but it sticks to deeper waters, so it was probably acquired from a fishmonger or one of the fish shops."

"Motor oil. So a garage, or auto shop?" He looks down at the photos again, and Alexander frowns. "Not a bad place to torture and murder. Easy to obscure the stains, what you can't clean, not likely to get blood on fabric." There's a hesitation, then shakes his head. "If you already did, I don't need to." Ignore the hint of wistfulness in his voice. "Be careful, though. Reading random places. Especially in the Firefly Woods. It's...well, a lot of shit happens there, Mr. Harvey. Little of it makes pleasant reading." A faint smile. "And you know it lights you up, right? Draws the Shadows to you. Be careful."

Cecil's brow furrows. "No, I smelled old books first. It was vague. I'm sorry. I'm not very good at it. Maybe they moved him to a garage, though." He smiles softly, and there's a heavy sadness about him when he does. "I'm small potatoes," he says, "and it's a risk I'm willing to take. People like Henry deserve justice, and if it costs me, it costs me. If the send me a Dream? My sleep is already riddled with nightmares." He shrugs a shoulder. "Collateral damage."

"Old books. Hm." Alexander frowns and rubs at his face. "Whoever did this certainly thinks they're something of a scholar; learning cuneiform isn't something you necessarily do by Google Translate," he adds, with a quick little smile towards Cecil. The other, about the cost, is just accepted with a nod. He thinks much the same way, so it doesn't surprise him. "Abzu. I don't suppose you know anything about Sumerian mythology off the top of your head? Like why someone would make an offering to Abzu?"

Cecil shakes his head. "I'm clueless when it comes to that sort of thing. Give me bugs, chemical analysis, and biological residue. Once you bring the occult into it, I have no idea. I know it's Babylonian cuneiform, but Sumerian mythology?" He shakes his head. "Off the cuff, I would say an offering might be made to placate or ask for favor. It could be anything from begging for calm seas to trying to raise some dread god. I don't know why mad people do what they do. I was going to hit the books about Abzu to see what I can find, though."

"The runes on the business card were for 'Kur', the Sumerian underworld. Maybe the killer was trying to secure passage, in their mind, for someone else. Someone they lost. Either safe passage to the beyond or," Alexander shrugs, "to bring them back. Since not even Gray Harbor brings back the dead as anything other than ghosts, if the latter...could be more bodies coming as whoever it is tries again." He looks down at his feet. "I was going to go out with a botanist to find the marks in the trees. You wanna come? Could use a forensic scientist."

Cecil glances around his lab, then shrugs and says, "All right. I'm not finding anything useful here at the moment anyway." He packs up his laptop in a computer bag that is bursting with papers and whatnot. He pauses, then says, "Sod it, I'm not taking that to the woods. I'll come back for it." So he grabs his keys instead. "Is the botanist Roen? He's a good man. Never really figured out what a botanist does in his day to day."

"Trees try to kill August, as far as I can tell," Alexander says, so deadpan that it has to be what passes for his sense of humor. Then again, it's Gray Harbor...so maybe trees do regularly try to kill the botanist. He looks amused, though, as Cecil glances around his lab. "I wasn't...going right this second. August has work. You have work." Alexander leaves himself off of that list of people with gainful employment.

Cecil pauses to think about this for a moment. "Trees try to kill him? That's got to be bloody inconvenient for a botanist." He'll believe that trees in Gray Harbor are murderous. Why not? He goes back to leaning against his workbench since they're not leaving right this moment. "I'm just comparing some hair samples. It's not a match. They're not even the same species. I have a human Caucasian and what I would venture to say is some kind of poodle mix. It's easier to just read them, but even if you do, you have to backtrack to make sure the evidence tells the story. The DA doesn't care about my psychic impressions."

Alexander nods, and smiles. "The fact that the justice system requires actual evidence is one of the more frustrating things about it," he says, with the slightest of chuckles. "Is the case murder? Or a kidnapping?" His expression visibly perks up at the idea of either of them. "I understand the science of hair matching, in theory, and I've done a lot of reading on the subject, but I confess that I haven't had much opportunity to practice it."

"Missing person," Cecil says. "Perhaps a missing dog, too. Or at least whoever took her has a dog with wiry hair. Head's up, if you see someone with a black poodle. Though I'm inclined to think this missing person wanted to go missing. People do it all the time, you know. They decide they've had enough of their life and they want another one. There's no sign of foul play, just an overbearing husband who can't believe his wife would leave him." He glances at the microscope with a frown. "Still, we owe it to her to make sure she's alive and well."

"Mmm. At least she took the dog. Standard poodle? That's a good, strong dog." Alexander clearly approves. He goes a little more relaxed - and maybe a little disappointed - when there's no sign of foul play. "There's only one bus station in town. If she didn't take the car, you could probably ask about her picture there." His lips twitch. "She probably wore dark glasses and a hat, decided that was brilliant."

"The current theory is she ran off with someone," Cecil says. "That's where the dog comes in. They'd never allow one on the bus, not that big. Anyway, the hairs aren't a match for each other, which happens far more often than it doesn't." He half-smiles. "Maybe the dog nabbed her. Who knows. All I know is they were in the same place, possibly at the same time." He tilts his head. "Do you read bodies, too? Is that how you stay on top of things? I think the stupidest read I did was of a torture crate on the Harbor. Necessary, but mildly traumatizing."

Alexander nods, slowly. "Makes sense. Might be able to disguise the dog as a service animal...although that's probably getting more elaborate than a simple abandoment needs." He clears his throat. "Boring." Then smiles. "I read bodies, sometimes. I don't always. If there's other evidence, I prefer to follow it, first. People don't really pay attention if you say 'my psychic powers tell me that he was killed by a large man who apologies a lot'. In fact, it often gets you barred from crime scenes." Voice of experience here. "So. Investigation. Research. Evidence. Those my preferred methodology. The reading is for when I don't have access to any other likely evidence."

"I gather every scrap I can," Cecil says. "Most of the time, it's enough. Murderers are stupid, sloppy people. Thank God. When you've screwed up your life to a point where you're in a position of taking someone else's life, you're usually dumb enough to forget some detail. If you bother to hide your tracks at all. An actual criminal mastermind is rare. Most criminals are idiots." Thus does Cecil reveal his thoughts on his natural adversaries. "It's just that sometimes there are pieces missing, and in order to find them, you have to go digging. You need just a little more. A name, a face. Something the crime scene can't give you. And if you have the boost, why not use it, I say."

Alexander chuckles, quietly. "Yes," he agrees. "Six times out of ten, you either find the murderer standing over the body, holding the murder weapon, and screaming about how so-and-so shouldn't have said what they did, or you find them a day later, piss-drunk or tearfully confessing to their significant other. Most murders that don't get solved are simply because no one cares enough to do the work." A pause. "Gray Harbor's a bit different. We get animal attacks. Lots of disappearances. Murders and suicides from people don't present the usual signals. We don't usually get serial killers. Gohl aside." He glances back at the photos, and his lips thin. "One murder isn't a serial killer. But. I'll do research on similar MOs across the Northwest. This doesn't really look like a first-timer. Takes practice to get comfortable with carving a knife into human flesh, much less taking off a head." A pause. "What instrument was used, do you know?"

"I don't know for sure," Cecil says. "I didn't perform the autopsy, I just got to take a look at the body, and it was a bit of a brief one. Given the scent of engine oil and the sudden shock of pure terror? My gut tells me chainsaw. The evidence tells me I need to take a closer look. Chainsaws are messy and not really fitting with the cult atmosphere. Whatever took his head off, he knew with utter certainty he was going to die." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I could narrow it down if I had something to compare it to, like taking off a pig's head with a chainsaw and comparing the cuts. " Not something he seems overly eager to do for some reason.

Alexander thinks about it. "I could find a farmer. People think I'm their favorite teacher for some fucking reason. Might as well take advantage of it, if the department will foot the bill for the pig. I bet August could cook it. Maybe have a pig roast." He grins at the idea - he, at least, seems to have no particular problem with the idea of taking a chainsaw to a pig's neck for SCIENCE. "Chainsaw's pretty damned messy, though. Also points to not the first time for the killer. It's fast, sure, but it takes a special sort of person to get that right the first time."

Cecil eyes Alexander. "Maybe the killer started out on pigs," he says blandly. "All right, let me find out what I can tromping through the woods. The connection between the engine oil and the terror could be spurious. The impressions were vague. Let's not go all slasher-film on Peppa just yet. We'll put a pin in it for now. My next step is a guided tour with Henry's friend, and then going to look for the marks with you and August."

"Maybe," Alexander says, just as blandly. He listens, and there's just a twinkle of amusement deep in his dark eyes. "Fine. We'll spare the porker. For now." A nod at the plan, although he pauses, and looks down at his shoes, before he adds, "Thank you. For not freaking out. Or telling me to go away. I appreciate it, Mr. Harvey. If I find anything of interest, I'll let you know." He takes out his phone. "May I have your number? You can call me, too. If anything--if I can do anything to be of help."

Cecil takes out his phone and says, "I'm not going to dismiss a possible ally, Mr. Clayton. You know this town. Your abilities quite likely surpass my own in some areas, and honestly, I'm not in this for the glory. I want killers to be stopped, and if that means sharing the credit, then by all means." He offers his phone to Alexander so he can put his number in. The wallpaper is a picture of two adorable cats, a ginger and a torbie.

"I like your cats," Alexander says, quietly, as he takes the phone - he's careful as he does not to make any contact, however fleeting, with Cecil's fingers. He puts in his number and his name (Alexander Clayton, no abbreviations at all), before he hands it back, just as carefully. "I check my phone often. I don't need credit. I like murders." A pause. "Solving. I like solving. I don't commit them." Even if he looks like the guy who was elected Most Likely To Be America's Most Wanted in high school. "It was nice to meet you properly. Stay away from the carousel. Don't die. And if you want to talk." A long pause, again. "I know a lot about the town's history. I don't mind. If you wanted to talk about that. Or anything." Then he turns and starts to leave, without anything like a goodbye.

Cecil arches a brow and just looks at Alexander as the man explains his feelings on murders. "Mm hmm," he says. He takes his phone back and says, "I have no idea what the carousel is but it sounds horrifying, staying alive is the plan, and perhaps we can grab coffee sometime, maybe at Espresso Yourself." He mentions not the place they met, the barrel of crackers. The first rule of going to Cracker Barrel is you don't admit you go to Cracker Barrel. As Alexander turns to leave, Cecil says, "Good talk. See you around."