A Case For Conners

Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Lawrence

Over time, Conners turned out to have a natural flair for his new job. He could even find the smallest pieces of evidence that a year of nature and man had tried hide. When Bill took him along for interrogation, he could see every nervous twitch of a liar. It was the rushes of adrenaline that Conners got that made these tricks so easy for him.

A suspect might show a flash of concern for a tenth of second, but he had what felt like a minute to examine and pick apart every inch of the man's face.

Bill, with his bad eyes and body, couldn't do what Conners could. However, he had power and a name that he could use like a scalpel to get information from people several offices above them. The old man even got them into the White House once. Above all else though, Bill had experience.

Conners had instinct but not true knowledge. Bill could solve entire cases without ever seeing the crime scene. Over time, Bill taught Conners tricks of investigation.

He learned to read faces, pick locks, fence and how bait a trap for suspects. Bill even taught him how to fight with improvised weapons and to use his surroundings.

The pair would compile their information and crack cases as a team.

Conners had spent over a year working for Bill. For the first time since the hospital, he truly felt like he belonged somewhere. Both Bill and he were of a similar mind; their work was all that mattered. The more they worked, the more Conners started to understand about Bill's faith in God.

To Bill, all that he did was homage to God. He took credit for nothing, wanted nothing and bragged about nothing. If Bill was smart, it was because God gave him intellect. Bill even counted Conners among his blessings, saying that he was an instrument even if he didn't know it.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. It was only two months into his new job before Conners had to actually use a gun again, but he found something was different this time. Instead of having a nervous twitch, or shaking hands, his aim was steady. The gun didn't waver a centimeter. His aim was accurate, so much so that he felt he could hit a man and leave him very much alive if needed. He was never a crack shot, but was starting to think he could hold his own.

On the morning of his second-year anniversary with Knighthawk, Conners head downstairs to see Bill already at his desk, coffee in hand.

"What we have today boss-man?" he asked, sitting across from Bill.

"You'll like this one, apparent suicide in an alleyway. Man was found with a knife wound across his own throat."

"But..."

"But what?"

"We wouldn't have a case if it was as cut and dry as you're saying."

Bill smiled and explained, "There's one little hole in the police theory, and the dead man owed several thousand dollars to the mob. The cops think he just gave up, and that's not impossible."

"But you think otherwise," Conners said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I do."

"And we're going to go and crack their theory like a piata?"

"Close," said Bill, raising his chin. "We aren't going, because you are going alone."

"Alone?"

"Yes, you know enough to be on your own and you'll need to set up your own practice sooner or later. Best get used to doing things in your own way. Call me or throw my name out if you get stuck; it still carries a bit of weight."

Conners felt a small wave of panic, but fought it down. After all, Bill had trained him well for exactly this type of thing.

"All right then, give me an address and I'll do right by you."

"I know you will Conners, see you soon."

Conners nodded and grabbed the address from Bill before hailing a cab to the crime scene. He could feel the usual elation flood through his system. It was mostly involuntary, but he'd also honed his body to flood his brain with adrenaline while studying evidence, and it helped him think so much quicker.

He arrived at the scene, and after flashing his badge and giving his name, the patrolman let him through.

He saw two officers around the body, one male and one female. His brain took a snapshot of them.

The man was old, and must've been in the force for many years or they would never have put him in a team. Conners slowly realized he was the man Bill had referred to as his old partner in their first case. The woman was young, around his own age, but from her lack of reaction she was already used to death. Both wore badges around their necks, but neither had the standard police uniform.

The woman, with brown-shoulder length hair wore a tan jacket and jeans tucked into black combat boots. The old man still wore a long overcoat with a dark three-piece suit beneath it. Most likely these two were a leading homicide team for the central station.

"Doesn't make sense to me," the woman was saying. "It's a painful way to kill yourself. Why not just use a gun?"

"Probably didn't know where to get one, or didn't want to cause a racket. Lots of these freaks are like that."

Conners grew tired of being ignored and called out to them.

"Private detective Michael Conners, Knighthawk Investigations."

"Dammit," the old man muttered. "Can't you damn wannabes give the big boys five minutes to do their job?"

Conners' dislike for the man grew.

"You prepared to start actually doing your job?" he retorted.

Ok, so maybe Bill's crass disrespect had rubbed off on him a bit. The woman's eyes flew to him, and he could tell she was analyzing him. He smirked at her.

"Bit of a loudmouth aren't you?" she asked.

"Take it all in, sweetheart."

She moved towards him. He saw her hand flash forward to hit him, and he dodged the attack. He knew she wasn't aiming to actually hurt him, just shut him up. Still, his world slowed as the adrenaline hit him and he grabbed and twisted her wrist firmly, but without causing pain.

"I'm not your average, smartass, good-looking private detective," Conners said, smirking.

"No, but you do gloat too much."

He felt her boot hook his leg and knock him onto the ground. Conners let go of her and did a backwards roll to get to his feet, ready for another move. Oddly, he was enjoying this woman. She didn't put up with bullshit.

"Enough!" said the old man. "Jessica, I don't like this prick anymore than you do, but upstairs says to bring him along so he stays."

Jessica looked at him sternly.

"Just don't ruin anything."

"Oh yes ma'am," he said sarcastically. "I'll do my best not to ruin your pretty toys."

For a moment he thought she was going to kick him, but she walked back to the body. Conners looked at it too and was trying to see things from afar when the girl spoke to him.

"Well, private detective. Why don't you get a better look and see if you're any good?"

"Sure thing sweetheart, and the name is Conners."

"And mine is Lawrence. Call me sweetheart again, and I'll break your face."

She tapped her boot against the wall to emphasize her point.

"Well that would be a shame," he said, determined not to let a cop get the best of him.

He knelt next to the body and slipped on a latex glove to examine the wound. It was a knife wound, that much was easy to tell, but the cut wasn't a stabbing wound, it was a long, slow cut. Conners had seen enough to know the difference. There was no way this was a suicide. Cutters made it quick, and usually used their arms. He examined the blade and noticed it was a switchblade.

The problem was switchblades were illegal. So, it was clean off the street. He thought through his old list of contacts and had a pretty good idea of who might've sold it. It wasn't much to go on, but it would have to do. He picked up the knife and carefully placed it in a bag.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lawrence asked him.

"Solving a case, if you're done examining me that is."

"I don't need more than a few seconds to know a jerk off."

"Oh but there's so much more when you get to know me, baby."

"Like what?" she asked, leaning in.

"Well, for starters: I know this is murder made by illegal blade over gambling debt. Fitting, usually it's gangsters who use these types of blade, and I know exactly where they get their blades-they love their things fine and expensive. So, I'm off to shake down a salesman if you wanna tag along."

Her eyes widened.

"How did you... that was pretty impressive."

"Thanks, so you want to see how the other half does things?"

The old man stepped in.

"Enough private detective. I think you've overstayed your welcome. That knife is evidence, hand it over."

Conners gave the man the bag without argument and the detective put it his in his long coat pocket. It was only after he turned his back that Conners bumped into him and pick-pocketed the knife back. Lawrence was staring at him in disbelief.

"Watch where the hell you're going, boy."

"So sorry about that, sir. I'll be on my way now, sir. If that's ok with you."

The old man got into a police car and motioned for Lawrence to follow him. However, she refused.

"I'll going to follow this one," she said, pointing to Conners. "Need to make sure he stays out of trouble."

The other detective shrugged and drove off. Lawrence waited a full ten seconds before rounding on Conners.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You just stole police evidence in plain sight of a cop! Are you trying to get put away?"

"Easy," he said, pulling out the knife. "I knew you wouldn't rat me out."

"Won't I?"

"Because you want to see how I do what I do."

She glared at him for another few seconds before letting her face relax.

"You're right… asshole. Still, remember that I've already put you on your ass once, and I have no problem using cuffs on you. So, what do you do now?"

"There's a black market salesman not far from here that deals specially in knives and short blades. He can probably give me some lead to follow. I'll need you to stay back though, he won't trust me unless I'm alone."

"How do you know this guy?"

"Probably best if you don't ask."

Conners made her wait in the street and walked back in the alleyway.

"Yo Mel," he called out. "It's Michael... You in?"

"Ah," said Mel, coming out where Conners could see him. "It's been a while. I heard you ditched your old gang."

A creeping idea came into Conners' brain. It was possible Hunter had told Mel to kill him. Maybe coming back wasn't such a good idea… but he couldn't just leave the case unsolved and Mel had likely sold the blade or knew who did.

"Yeah, wasn't working for me."

"You turning states on us?"

'Turning states' was a street term for either becoming a street informant or going to witness protection in exchange for selling out your gang. Conners smiled, knowing he could answer honestly.

"Not states, private work. You and your boys are safe... from me at any rate."

"I only take you for your word because you've been good business in the past, Michael. What do you need?"

"Information."

"On what?"

"This," Conners said slipping on a glove and taking out the knife. "You know who sold it?"

"I did," Mel said, getting excited as he always did when talking about weapons. "Stainless, and a nice solid click. Seven inches, one of my favorites. I sold it to a guinea cocksucker. He was an ass but paid well."

"I need a name, Mel."

"Don't think I have one for you."

Conners swung, catching Mel in the jaw and knocking him down.

"I'm not f*****g around Mel. I won't bring you to the pigs, but I will beat the s**t out of you if you don't help me. Who bought it?"

Mel's face paled considerably, and he breathed in deeply before giving in.

"Lucas Viggo; he bought it off me. He was in a hurry, I could tell. He wanted it for a job; didn't even try to talk me out of my price or anything."

Conners nodded and pocketed the knife again. He nodded at Mel, putting two twenty dollar bills on the ground in front the salesman. Walking out of the ally, Conners pulled out his phone and looked up a list of local criminals that had a history of suspected murder. Sure enough, Viggo's name was on the list. Lawrence came running up to him.

The homicide detective amused him. Moments ago, she was trying to punch him, but once she learned he wasn't just a punk, she eagerly listened to him.

"Our man in Lucas Viggo, local Italian goomba. He's suspected for over ten murders on behalf of Don Devanaro. I'm going to get some intel and stake out his place for a day or two. With any luck I can get him and some more evidence."

"Not bad," Lawrence said. "But I have a better plan."

"And what might that be, wee lass?" he asked, adding the chauvinistic term just to push her buttons a little.

Lawrence grabbed her radio and spoke into it, "This is sergeant Jessica Lawrence, homicide, badge number 1-3-1-6, I need suspect Lucas Viggo brought to central station for questioning A.S.A.P, please respond."

A moment later a voice came over the speaker, "Roger that detective, cars 13-Bravo and 8-Foxtrot are on route to suspect's house now."

"Copy that, Lawrence out."

Conners smiled at her.

"Nice one," he said.

"There are some perks to the force. You should think about joining yourself. After all, you're not bad, just a bit of a smartass."

Instead of his predicted two days, Conners had to wait a mere twenty minutes and Viggo was in cuffs, going off to a cell. He had agreed to go willingly, and even let them search the place, cocky bastard. They both walked into the Italian man's apartment.

"Thought you lot needed a warrant for this kind of stuff," Conners said.

"Not if we have permission to enter," she said winking. "Besides, you want to know how we do what we do."

Conners smiled back at her. Whatever else she may turn out to be in the future, right now Lawrence was his friend.

The apartment was hardly anything surprising. It was cheap, hardly nicer than his own flat and just had one bedroom and a simple bathroom. After searching through several piles of dirty clothes, Michael found a bloody shirt, and called for an evidence bag.

After an hour in the apartment the pair had all that was needed, and Conners shook hands with Lawrence before heading back to Bill to give his report. While the cabbie took him along a winding and confusing route, Conners let his mind sort out Lawrence.

She was certainly puzzling. She was young and attractive, but unmarried. She wasn't even divorced with children because she bore none of the mother's tired stance. She woke herself up and exercised every morning, probably because she wanted to keep in shape for her job.

So, her job was extremely important to her, but that couldn't be for its own sake because she readily broke protocol to get results. Was she one of the people that hated criminals and was willing to sink to their level to bring them down? It was possible, but somehow he didn't think that was her style.

Conners was jerked out of his musings when the cab came to a sudden stop and his face smashed into the back of the driver's seat.

"What the hell's going on?'

"f*****g place is on fire!" the cabbie shouted back.

Conners looked out the front window and his heart froze. They had arrived at Bill's office all right, and the entire building had been set ablaze.