2021-12-07 - Finding Sal Goo

Alexander doesn't know much about why Sal might have been killed, or who could be a suspect, so when he narrows it down, he doesn't call the cops to search, or even let the owner know there might be a dead body in one of his storage sheds. In this part of town, the guy might be working for some group that'd be more inclined to make an inconvenient corpse go away rather than turn it in. So here he is, in the darkening evening, coming to look for himself. He's dressed as Alexanders tend to dress, with the addition of thin, black leather gloves...and a heavy bandage on his right wrist that's making that arm stiff. The way he moves suggests that there are more wounds under the oversized, ugly sweater and jacket.

He considers the selection of storage sheds, then reaches out with his mind. He calls to local rats and mice, asking them to sniff and search, pick up the smells of old blood that Alexander himself might miss.

"I didn't need that," Alexander tells a rat who very hopefully drags one of those sanitary products towards him. It doesn't understand the words, but somewhere in its dim rodent mind, maybe it dreams of Princesses singing to it and telling it what a good rat it is. Instead, here's Alexander, who steps away from the dirty thing...but he does send a little burst of happy/pleased/good job to the rat before moving on. It tried.

Eventually, he comes to the suspicious shed. He stares down at the combination lock. "One day, I'll learn how to pick locks," he mutters, and never mind that it's a combination lock. He crouches down by it, and looks the lock over, carefully trying to see if he can pick up on any wear or tear that suggests the right combination - it's possible that in a place like this, combinations aren't reset with each new tenant, and maybe the lock is an old one. Maybe.

Alexander stares mournfully at the lock. Oh, well, that expression says. He does brush away a few of the leaves, looking for recent signs of use. The sight of those small, dark droplets decides him. He stands up and looks around, hunting for something that's suitably Blunt Object like. That lock is going to get smashed to bits.

Probably.

Maybe.

It's not the first time in his life that Alexander wished he had the telekinetic talents.

And it hurts. It hurts like hell, particularly on his wounded wrist. Alexander curses quietly to himself, and quickly yanks up the door and jumps inside, closing it behind him. He reaches for the mind of the person coming closer, and does his best to weave an illusion for the man - an illusion of the door he just went through being whole and undamaged...as well as the sound of a couple of voices, teenage boys, saying, "Fuck! Someone's coming!" "Shit, man, let's go!" And then the sound of running feet down another group of sheds and away.

Alexander holds his breath until the footsteps recede. Then lets it out in a relieved sigh. He waits just a moment longer before pulling out his smartphone and its handy flashlight app. He doesn't move any further into the shed until he has a look around. His eyes flick back and forth, and then settles on the trash bags. "...fuck," he says, quietly. He moves carefully to one bag and reaches to the small of his back for his knife. He'll make just a small incision in the bag, just enough to confirm what he already suspects.

Let's be honest. One whiff should do it.

Alexander could call it in. He could. The police would come...and, as Sal's a homeless guy, make a report, and go 'oh how sad' and not do anything much. Or Alexander could...meddle a little more. He shuffles back from the bags, over to the corner with the least amount of smell penetration, and turns his phone to another purpose.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : Bennie. Are you there?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Just getting off shift, what's up?

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : I could use your technical expertise. And discretion. Dead bodies don't bother you, right?

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : ...

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Just send me the address.

(TXT to Bennie) Alexander : <<Address>> There's a caretaker. Be careful and quiet. Also, if you have any vaporub, bring it.

It takes Bennie fifteen minutes to get en route, time enough to clear her shift and grab a kit with a few supplements made to the supplies to allow for 'dead bodies'. It takes less to get to the address of the storage lockers.

Parking the jeep around the block, she heads the rest of the way on foot, careful per Alexander's instructions to watch out for the caretaker on her way to find him. When she's sure-ish she's near, she texts Alexander instead of calling out for him or reaching out with her limited mental juju, assuming she'll need her energy for whatever the investigator is getting her into.

(TXT to Alexander) Bennie : Here. Let me in.

Alexander doesn't text back. Instead, he just sidles to the door, trying not to step any further on the blood stains, and lets her in. There's a brief, bright smile. "Hi. Thanks for coming. I know you're not a medical examiner, but...I figure they won't let me look at the autopsy. The coroners keep leaving or dying." It's not a joke; he looks a little sad, since he liked those people. He waves at the bags. "Likely a homeless man named Sal. I've tried not to disturb anything from when I found it. Um. I read a jacket that had the guy splayed out. I guess he was dismembered after."

It's very clinical, his tone a little detached, despite the sorrow in his face.

That smell, once released, is not something that stays nicely contained. Bennie can smell it the minute she's within the space and she makes a Face, not of disgust per se, but of 'what the heck are we doing here'. She holds out a tube of menthol camphor, offering it over to the man who's been suffering with the smell longer. "Stronger than Vicks." She pulls some blue surgical footie covers out of her bag and balances on one leg as she snaps the protective covering over her shoe. "And so you want a physical examination or a..." Twiddle of fingers, "Juju one?"

Alexander applies the menthol under his nose with a couple of quick swipes, but really, the smell doesn't go away. It just takes on new, funky, terrible dimensions. "Thanks." He frowns at the bags. "I'm going to call the cops after we're done, turn this in; his family deserves to be informed, if he has any. I don't want to fuck up any investigation they do," his tone is a bit dry at the idea that they're going to go very far out of their way for a homeless guy, "but if there's physical evidence, I want it. I can move the bodies as you need, but...you're closer to a doctor than I am. And a healer. There's stuff I might miss." He gives her a sidelong look, to see her reaction to this very unauthorized body tampering.

Bennie pulls out gloves and foot coverings for Alexander as well, then takes back the rub and adds it beneath her nostrils as well. "You're going to want to shower with lemon juice and vinegar when this is over. Burn your clothes. The smell...will linger and you don't want that in your wash machine. Trust me. I think I broke several at the laundromat." She flickers a smile but this is 'work mode' Bennie, and she's attempting to focus. Instead of thinking about the consequences. Or what happened a few days ago. Or being any shade of her normal sunshiny self.

"Okay, so I can probably determine cause of death so long as it wasn't something that overlapped dismemberment with my ability. Look for any foreign objects and such if they are inside the body. But if you looking for trace evidence: anything under the nails, fibers, that sort of thing we're going to have to go traditional."

Alexander nods, and dons the extra protection without hesitation - although he winces when he has to pull the glove over his wounded hand. "Yes. I've found bodies before. Although usually not dismembered. Why dismember the body and then not bury it?" he wonders, more to himself than her. Otherwise, he listens carefully, expression solemn. "I would like trace evidence, if we find some." He pulls some small baggies out of one of the jacket's big pockets, before putting that as far away from the smell as possible. He's not giving up his jacket.

Then, he starts to carefully go through the bags - opening each one enough to identify what parts are involved. One might think he's a veteran detective with the care he shows in treating the crime scene - doing as much as possible to gain evidence without fouling the scene any more than absolutely necessary for the cops who will follow him. He even takes careful photographs of the scene, and each bag, before opening it and beginning his examinations.

"Likely they meant to come back for later, rushed maybe and had to ditch it instead of bury it. Either way, a few more days and those bags would've leaked and gotten noticed. I'd really love to lay this all out, but I'm guessing that's not an option? Like the world's worst jigsaw puzzle." Bennie sets her kit bag out of the way as she crouches down and starts rummaging through it for instruments she can use to scrape nail beds and remove evidence. She lays a pair of tweezers on her thigh and pauses, tilting back her head slightly and closing her eyes. It's not long before the storage unit starts to get warmer (which doesn't help the stench) and she starts to scan the pieces parts from where she's crouched.

Alexander goes through each piece of evidence he can find delicately, carefully, his expression set in thoughtful furrows. One might think that the gore doesn't affect him at all, so complete is his interest, his focus in trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle. "I don't suppose you have access to the labs?" he asks, a little wistfully, as he notes those traces under the nails. He only takes one sample, delicately scraping the leavings of one nail into one of his sterile baggies. The rest are for the cops, although he takes a moment to put the hand back where those nails are facing dead on to whoever looks into the bag next - nobody should be able to miss that unless they're trying.

"Stan and McByte." The letter, he takes several pictures of. "Bait. Which suggests someone not trusted, but someone who did some research or knows the victim, not a random or impulsive grab. Which reduces the advantage of taking a homeless victim. Head, hand, foot - things commonly used to identify people. Dental records, prints. But why not both hands and feet? All that would fit into a single bag." He glances at Bennie. "Thoughts?"

Bennie stretches back up, her body noticeably aching by how slow she moves and the hand on her back and taxing herself just amplified it. "Not personally, but I could maybe flirt my way into a favor or two? Of course that means bringing in someone else that I wouldn't completely trust." There's a shrug, somewhat dismissive of the idea unless Alexander is really intent on it. Something draws her to the bag that the investigator determined was the torso in decomp.

"Identifying the kill to someone who wanted him killed? But that would require just the head. Biometrics? He needed a fingerprint? But that leaves the foot. Maybe he just likes trophies." She's frowning at something, picking through the shredded flesh at the neck with her tweezers. "So your guy was strangled, and it looks like we've got some fibers from the rope..."

"Our killer appears to be an amateur, but he killed the victim badly, and he took trophies." There's a long, slow sigh from Alexander. "Suggests budding serial killer, or someone who really, really fucking hated this guy. But full flesh trophies are a bit unusual, unless you, uh, consume them. He could be flensing them to keep the bones, though." Alexander could be talking about a rousing game of chess; his eyes bright with interest. He takes out another baggie to get one of those fibers." Then he sighs.

"I think I'm going to have to read some of this shit. The rope fiber, I think. It's most likely to still be considered the killer's--so I might even get a read on the guy..."

And then there's the sound of those wheels. Alexander douses his light, immediately. He whispers, "Put yourself against the wall. I'm going to put this place into an illusion, if they're coming here. Not a sound."

Alexander takes up position behind the door - covering the interior with a look of how it was when he found it, in all five senses? Relatively simple. But an illusion that replicates how the lock should look and act will tax even Alexander's abilities, so he does his best to center himself before pushing outward with the force of his mind.

Bennie can just imagine the phone call to Easton now, 'Hi honey, yeah, I was knee deep in a decomposing body and got caught red handed, can you save me?' Alternatively, 'Bail me out of jail' or 'help me hide another murder?' The possibilities are endless! So all she can do is trust Alexander, and trust she does as she moves away from the plastic bag and flattens herself against the wall, willing even her breathing to be quiet.

A throbbing pain has started in Alexander's temple, and somewhere, there's a Dark Man feasting on the power he's giving off, surrounded by death. He probably can't hold an illusion this detailed for long - he's never really tried. But luckily, he can be a very direct thinker. With a quick look to Bennie to make sure she's okay, he moves forward, intending to give the guy a back alley goodnight.

Of course, if the guy senses something off...

Bennie just gives Alexander, the barest of nods as she sees the glance her way. She's holding out just fine, even if her nose is starting to tickle and she's worried there is a sneeze coming. Oh, and when is the last time she peed? Because her bladder is suddenly starting to feel really full. It's like flash backs to childhood hide and seek nightmares all over again.

She sees Alexander starting to creep forward and her hand instinctually comes up in effort to help him from afar, but she freezes halfway through the movement. Her hand is whipped back away, tucked behind her back as fingers start to tremble. Everything is FIIIIINE. No gun shyness here. Nope.

Alexander lets the illusion drop once the guy hits the wall, because...well. It's hard to fool a mind that is seeing nothing but stars. And why bother? They're pretty stars. He does scowl at the mess he's made of the crime scene, though. "Inconsiderate," he murmurs. And it sounds like he's serious. He glances at Bennie. "Well. Bright side, we don't have to find this asshole, now. Can you...make a new rope from one of those fibers? We can tie him up and gift wrap him."

That said, he's moving forward to make sure the guy is down for the count, and frisk him (carefully, avoiding body goo as he can) for identification and anything else interesting.

"Better than my idea of IV tubing." Bennie concedes, easing away the wall and back to the bag she so recently abandoned when they were so rudely interrupted. Instead of using tweezers this time to dig out a rope fiber, she merely roots around with her gloved fingers to find one to stretch out on the concrete floor. "This is still one of my favorite magic tricks..." Murmured as she spreads out her hands above the little piece and suddenly it starts to sprout and multiply, the strands twirling around each other until there is a hefty length of rope where just a speck was prior.

Alexander studies the killer for a moment, reverses the knife in his hand so that the blade is pointed at the guy as he considers the punishments suitable for someone who walks off the path of righteousness. His expression is empty and serene; the same expression that Bennie's seen quite recently.

Luckily, the guy who stumbles on the horror is an excellent distraction from any further vigilantism. Alexander jumps and whirls around, his eyes widening. "No, wait, we just..." found the guy, with a bunch of body parts, and Alexander himself holding a knife. Yeah. Even he can see that isn't going to run. "Go, Bennie," he says, quietly. "I'm going to blur the guy's memory. So he just found the killer and the bodies. Not us."

Or, well. He's going to try, even though his own head is pounding like he's been on a bender. Again, the thought flicks through his mind that twenty minutes with the killer, alone, and the Dark Men would leave him alone for weeks. He sucks in a breath, shakes his head, tries to ignore the throbbing of his head and his healing wounds.

Bennie hesitates just a beat before she's moving to collect her things, pausing to snap off her gloves and roll them up into the inverted shoe covers. "Only if you promise to see me when all this is over. Don't think I didn't notice that you're injured." She couldn't help but pick up on Alexander's injury as well when she did her scan. "And remember what I said about your clothing. And your hair... and for God's sake, Alexander. Be careful. Breathe." She pauses one more time before leaving the storage locker. "Promise."

"I'm fine," Alexander murmurs, even as the tiny blood vessels in his eyes pop, and leave his eyes red; picture of Nasty Hangover, complete. But it works. He grabs his coat, and adds, "I promise, anyway. Just go go go." And he suits action to words, staggering away from the death-smell and out into the night. He'll follow Bennie to her car, but then circle around back towards his own home, where he can shower for days, and listen to the police radio, and take an entire cabinet full of painkillers.