[the blackwood detective agency is always a hub of activity, regardless of the hour. researchers, field agents, curators all working on their own or in tandem to the myriad of cases that fall into their purview. a perfect reflection of the hustle and bustle of san fran -- or the city, as felix's finally come to call it, a whole year since he's found himself in the agency. in this entity wholly unto itself -- tall, black spires so at odds with the bright sunshine of san francisco -- occupied with all sorts united in purpose: to do the work, and to do it well. a concept so foreign to the felix of a year ago, when the surname faustus had been knit deep into his flesh, that he'd doubted he could do it at all. but he had stood there in front of that towering desk anyway, and had chosen to accept the old man's offer despite his prevailing doubts, and now here he is.
here, being the agency. more specifically, in the parking garage, apparently also a recent addition by the agency's standards, where felix is now waiting after being assigned his newest case. there had been a few other hunters around when the case had come in, which had made him wonder why exactly it'd fallen to him, but the answer had been obvious after a quick skim-through. two suspicious deaths, causes officially unknown but leaning towards something clearly supernatural, with the grisly state of the bodies and the head-scratching circumstances of how exactly they died. a case of violence and mystery, which meant it needed a hunter and an investigator.
the hunters of the blackwood detective agency live up to their reputation: grizzled, solitary figures, scarred by violence and at the same time a living, breathing epitome. men and women skilled in the talents of showing up and shooting it dead. no-nonsense, ham-fisted types, who would rather kill the thing than have to babysit an investigator through it. and then there's felix, who sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the machismo, the newest addition who is still not quite set in the agency's ways, and most importantly, someone who's already crossed the interdepartmental borders in previous cases.
it doesn't take long for felix to find the bmw. he knows the car agent alexei lyubovich niktovsky drives as well as his own, partly because it's a rich boy habit to be so obsessed with cars and partly because he's been in it before. the car is as sleek as a 2018 bmw model can be. absurdly clean on the outside and the inside, which, felix feels, is an accurate reflection of alexei's character. this is a man who values his space, and the cases felix has worked on with him haven't changed that impression. he's not the uptight, stone-faced detective stereotype that felix assumed he'd be, especially after hearing about his preference to work solo. but neither is he as easily broached as some of the others at the agency -- which is a sticking point for felix, who's lived so much of his life relying on the opinions of others. still, he does not dislike alexei, though he still gets into petty squabbles with him, and probably annoys him incessantly with his cheer and impertinence, but they work together well -- in that they haven't killed each other yet, and what more does a duo need?]
Morning, partner.
[felix exaggerates the twang of his greeting the moment he sees alexei, his smile too wide and bright for the hour (a bracing seven am on a tuesday morning). and maybe therein lies the answer to their relationship -- that felix is extremely annoying, and alexei has had the misfortune of firsthand experience.
he leans on the hood of alexei's beloved car, legs crossed at the ankle, adorned in rich boy boots to go along with his rich boy outfit. a paper coffee cup from some bougie cafe in his hand. the only non-rich thing about him is the large worn duffel bag at his feet, filled with his hunter's kit.]
What do you think -- [here he drops the affected southern accent, slipping back into his mid-atlantic] shall I chauffeur the both of us to Nob Hill?
[all the horrors that await them in the future and yet felix is adamant at adding one more -- finally getting to drive alexei's beloved car...]
( it's not often that alexei has a partner, and even rarer when it's his decision. but it took him less than a minute after the file came across his desk to realize that a hunter would be necessary to complete this case. brawn to his brains, and a weapon he can point and shoot if the time comes. but selecting which hunter will accompany him is like choosing which grenade to use to remove a splinter. their methods are blunt, violent, physical, and usually messy, a direct contrast to alexei's more cerebral and peaceful (though no less direct) approach.
their presence is necessary, however, if alexei wants to return to san francisco alive with the case completed. but he frowns when he glances across the bullpen at the hunters. it's what's called "slim pickings" in english: nothing good from not much. it would be easier to take along a werewolf during a full moon, because at least then, he could tranquilize it. that's unfair, though. hunters are a valued and skillful group of agents at the blackwood detective agency, and to compare them to snarling, irrational, and smelly beasts does them a disservice. it takes all kinds to help.
that doesn't make the decision any easier, but eventually, alexei decides: felix faustus. he's smarter and more reasonable than the average hunter. not by much. but he's the best of slim pickings, so alexei asks the old man to assign him as his partner. the next few hours before departure are spent searching the archives for similar cases in the area surrounding nob hill. he finds an additional four deaths from the past decade. each one is as violent and mysterious as the most recent ones.
in comparison to felix, alexei is dressed as an outdoors enthusiast, or someone who has a top 5 list of beer gardens: a bright yellow pullover windbreaker, worn black cargo pants, white air force 1 sneakers, and an aegean blue beanie. a pair of ray-bans hang on the collar of his white shirt. while he always opts for comfort and functionality over style, there's a certain self-assurance in his stance and the way his eyes cut across a room that almost anything looks good on him.
in the bracing, chilly winds that sweep through the agency's parking garage at 7 am on a tuesday morning, alexei's tone is chillier when he points to the paper coffee cup in felix's hand. ) You're not getting in with that.
( his car, his rules, and the rules are no drinks or food. another rule is no one but he drives his car, but that one is so plainly obvious there's no reason for him to say it. alexei unlocking the driver's side and setting the file on the center console is loud enough. he pops open the trunk for felix to place his bag in. alexei's bag is already there. it's always there. he's always prepared to leave at a moment's notice. )
[it's not exactly a good morning, but it's probably the closest to one felix can expect after asking such a silly question. he considers his cup, takes note of the disposable lid he had the obvious good sense to secure on top, and yet, left cruelly unappreciated. it should be a sign of his well-meaning efforts coming to naught, but felix takes this setback the same way he does alexei’s grim demeanor, in that he shrugs off both. he is fueled on caffeine and optimism verging on delusional, a glorious combination in these early hours,]
Do you remember, [he hefts up his bag and drops it in next to alexei’s, pushing the trunk closed,] that is exactly what you said to me when we first met? Word for word.
[in a setting much like this one. felix with a cup of coffee sans lid, alexei delivering the same pointed statement. he had said something back, he can’t remember exactly what but there had been a bit of sarcasm in there. just a little bit, or maybe too much, because alexei had simply gotten into his beloved car, slammed the door, and then driven off, leaving felix gaping after him on the roadside pavement, much to the amusement of all the joggers and dog-walkers and especially to the agents at the agency. nothing like a show of embarrassment to hearten one's spirits after cases upon cases of maiming and death. opinions were offered as felix fumed. don’t sweat it, it’s not personal, from one side. you asked for it -- the other. Or that one vampire who worked in archives who felix thought belonged in a regency film -- the agency is not without its share of particular personalities. the uber cost had been painful, the last of felix’s emergency cash, and all of it went to making sure his driver jerry dropped him off in time while blasting sixties pop.
that should have condemned alexei to be felix's foe for life, except he did good enough work on the case after that his status had to be grudgingly adjusted. also, it was kind of funny in hindsight. he would have considered a hex, but he'd been busy making talismans and charms, carefully made to obscure his location and ward off whatever tracking spells were still clinging to him, and those were significantly more important than salvaging his pride.
felix takes a final sip, spills the rest out on the grunge-gray cement, then scrunches the cup flat and discards it. a year ago he would have shoved it in his pocket or burned it, paranoid at leaving even the smallest hint of him behind. he waves his empty hands to alexei in demonstration, and then gets in the car before alexei can change his mind and drive off again.
his eyes land on the stack of files, eyebrows rising at its bulk, considerably thicker than felix’s, who had not spent his morning at the archives,]
( alexei is aware of the reputation he's garnered within the agency. cold. standoffish. difficult to please. the old man's successor. "someone with an implacable and exact method of conducting himself," that same vampire said of alexei. it's nothing new. he's heard it all, and he doesn't care. the titles are worn like a suit of armor to protect and separate himself from others with its solid, indestructible shell that gleams even in darkness. he wears it well.
whatever is said about him, whatever insult or backhanded compliment is slung at him, is better than the reputation he earned at his previous job. or the previous place he lived, and the previous place before that. a reputation that clung to him, and still does in a way, but here at the blackwood detective agency, hardly anyone is afraid or even cares about the trail of bodies that follow him.
it's why alexei doesn't care what's said about him, or what the other agents think of him. this bad reputation has been attached to him for so long that he can't care what others think, or else... nothing. so he doesn't care, and it doesn't matter anyway. he's an intelligent and diligent investigator, so he has his fellow investigators' respect, and he's fearless with a gun and knows how to take a punch, so he has the hunters' begrudging respect, and that's all that really matters in the end. alexei does his job, and does it well.
despite gently pulling the driver's side door closed, it's empty and quiet enough in the parking garage that the thud echoes and mingles with the howling winds. if alexei wanted to indulge in theatrics, he could imagine that the slam of the door is a beating of the war drum, and the winds are the sounds from a blowing horn, signaling their imminent attack. the investigator and the hunter riding off to fight in another battle in a never-ending war.
but alexei shuns that insipid, ultranationalistic imagery. this kind of case, unfortunately, is nothing unusual or irregular. no glory will be found here. it's yet another number in a long line of similar (but unrelated) incidents that have plagued humanity since the first monster slithered down the tree branch. honestly, the only odd thing that separates this case from the others alexei has investigated is the two- or three-year gap between most of them. )
Six, actually.
( pressing down the brake pedal, alexei turns on the car. light heat, set at a brisk eighteen degrees celsius, wafts from the vents. the radio, tuned to the local easy listening channel (91.3 simply beautiful), is at a low volume: loud enough to be heard, but low enough that it doesn't obscure alexei's voice when he says, ) Seatbelt.
( he isn't pulling out until felix puts his seatbelt on. )
[it is with herculean strength that felix does not make a smart comment about uber ratings and how many stars alexei would earn for being such a stickler. it takes less effort to resist making a comparison between alexei and a beleaguered parent, charting his children off to school, mostly because that would make felix the child in this scenario and because he doesn't actually know what sound a parent makes while driving their children anywhere. or maybe this has nothing to do with being a stickler and more to do with whatever horrors alexei has seen on the road of wherever he's from. it occurs to felix that he's never asked, and he thinks again about how strange it is to be in a place full of people who are entirely unlike him, and not hate it.
he clips himself in, the snap of buckle loud against al green's crooning voice. the metal feels chilly despite the heat coming in. the cold reminds him of other cold places far beyond, and ones much nearer. or maybe the archives at the blackwood detective agency are always properly heated, not that felix would be very familiar, having stepped in a total of maybe ten times. he usually asks the librarians for assistance, never sticking around long enough to hear their muttered insults, which once again, makes alexei the more preferable choice by far to rely on.
felix reaches for the files, hefting the stack into his lap, curious about how two cases are now six. he knows the two: the death of adam forrester in late september, and sarah lee just over the weekend. adam, who'd been found with his head torn from his body, the serrated edges of his wound starkly reminiscent of teeth, except none that could be identified by the police. and now sarah, whose body is apparently in a similar gruesome state, though they'd know for sure once they drop by the morgue. she'd been discovered in the grace cathedral, much to the consternation of the wealthy parish. felix does not mind the church, even with his storied witchy past. his roots don't reach far enough to be affected -- the hysteria against witchcraft had taken a different shape back in xi'an, different from preachers and burnings at the stake.
he does think it's in poor taste to kill someone there, but what do monsters care about how death looks in a hallowed space versus a conventional one?
he pages past to look at the first of the next four, eyebrows raised as he notes the date, then checks the date of the second.]
You think these are related?
[his voice is less disbelieving and more curious to hear alexei's point a to point b. is it the manner of deaths? or the particular timing? or maybe it's both or nothing at all, a puzzle felix can't decipher with his still new experience,]
( 600 kilometers from san francisco to rostigebäume, oregon. he'll need to maintain an average of 63 miles per hour to complete the trip in about six hours. they need enough time to introduce themselves to the sheriff, visit the morgue, and begin questioning the victims' friends and relatives, witnesses, and persons of interest. in investigations like this, it's important to hit the ground running. every minute, hour, or day without a lead increases the likelihood that the case won't be solved, so every moment matters. with a little over half a tank left and a fifteen-gallon tank, he'll need to stop in two hours or 225 kilometers for gas. a ten-minute stop, back on the road for another four hours, and they should arrive in rostigebäume at about 2. perfect.
the bmw pulls out of the parking spot and eases around the tight corners of the garage until the car exits and joins the buzzing morning traffic. the sun is only just now beginning to rise over the east bay, breaking over the bay bridge with a slow, languid arrival. as the day progresses, and they travel further and further from the city, the fog will disappear, the sky will clear, and their route will become less hazy and crowded.
the spotlight turns red, and it's only when he's stopped that he takes his eyes off the road to cut felix a sharp glance. alexei never presents a theory without a strong measure of validity. he doesn't have it in him to crack open his skull and reveal his raw and unfiltered thoughts to anyone. carelessness is blood in his mouth. capriciousness is the blur in his vision, or the ache in his bones. every opinion, every belief, every word must be examined and reexamined a thousand times before he even thinks to speak it into existence. how can he think of withstanding the mortifying ordeal of being known when he only knows the pain?
the light turns green, and his eyes return to the road as his foot lifts off the brake and onto the accelerator. )
Aside from each one occurring within the same hundred-mile radius and having similar causes of death? Check the last names.
( jane augustine (~née forrester), april 9, 2016. dennis forrester, june 10, 2019. brittney forrester, november 21, 2020. noah forrester-sims, january 8, 2022. adam forrester, almost three months ago. last weekend, sarah lee — her mother's maiden name was forrester. occasionally, life gives a coincidence. sometimes two when it wants to be a comedian. if two members from that family tree had been murdered, alexei would've conceded that it might be just that — happenstance. and a red herring that only distracts the investigation. but once is nothing, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is a pattern. the only explanation that makes senses is that someone or something up there has a sense of humor. )
[felix continues rifling through the files, occupied with the web apparently ensnared around every victim in this family tree, which he has to agree with alexei on -- that it's either a very clear pattern or a cosmic joke, and the latter seems less -- probable, despite all the cruelties of life. or maybe it is a joke, and those are the words they (or alexei) will write in the report later. the house of forrester: a family of horrific coincidences, linked by the commonality of venturing into the darkness of oregon and following the sound of eerie howling, afflicted by the same 'side character in a horror film' bravado that led them all to their deaths. case closed. the more he reads, the more he sees the path alexei forged while investigating. the time spent that felix now reaps the benefits of, taking a couple of photos with his phone.
he spends the rest of the ride alternating between trying to change the station and """entertaining""" alexei with his own theories, sometimes both at the same time. every thought is given voice, even the most ridiculous ones. felix talks not with the confidence of someone who will be heard, but with the ingrained habit of knowing that he has to speak to be heard at all. he muses over jane augustine, bed-bound at the time of her death, and yet discovered several miles away from her residence. he raises the idea of witches, because of course he does, maybe the forresters are a coven, maybe they raised the ire of a witch with a terrible sense of humor, maybe they're not witches at all and got caught up with a possessive vampire, except don't vampires prefer a wider variety these days than just one unfortunate family --
silence finally reigns when they pull into the gas station. felix spends those precious ten minutes getting terrible coffee and a terrible sandwich, even though he really shouldn't have bothered knowing where the cups will end up (he at least scarfs the sandwich down), then back into the bmw, now cognizant of alexei's fixation on arriving on schedule. whatever that schedule is. not that felix has much to argue against, but at least the speed robs him of speaking for the next few hours -- ensuring blessed silence.
by the time they roll up to the street bordering the police station of rostigebäume, felix is spent. he's only had two cups of coffee and one sandwich throughout this entire six hour drive. he's a few shades between jittery and complete exhaustion. he attempts to roll down the car window, blinking blearily all around, absorbing the bland avenues of rostigebäume and townspeople out and about at exactly two in the afternoon. he should be thinking of investigative avenues and people to question. or at least rifle around in his pockets for his "badge" before they head to the station.]
I'm starving.
[surely. surely. he is not the only one who is hungry in this prison of a vehicle]
Which I wouldn't be, if you let me bring snacks into the car.
( only nine hours into the case, and alexei's fingers already twitch for a cigarette. the intoxicating taste, the warm relief, the sweet burn; smooth down the jagged, rough edges that frayed during the drive. it's only now, now that it's too late to do anything, that he concludes that he should've picked any other hunter over felix. even a hungover one, who reeks of alcohol and slurs insults, but they would've slept in the backseat for the entire drive and then stumble off to the bar until alexei pointed to who or what to kill. in the long run, the risk that a hunter would be unable to perform their duties might be preferable to the frustration and perhaps attention that felix might cause.
it's why alexei's only response is a heavy sigh as he gets out of the car. he won't argue or placate felix, or mention that a protein bar would've satiated his appetite far better than a gas station sandwich, and that he never said water wasn't allowed in the car. alexei could say or do any number of things, but instead, he merely looks at him over the car's roof. what other feeling could he have but disinterest in felix's problems and grievances, especially when actual problems and grievances await to be uncovered? he isn't the only one with a hunger that screams to be satisfied.
his finger taps against his forearm. the right heel of his white sneaker scrapes against the black asphalt. behind the sunglasses, his gaze slides down to the car. hidden in the glove compartment is a pack of cigarettes, fresh and still in the plastic. he could. but he won't. actual problems and grievances await and demand to be uncovered and satisfied. there's still miles to go before he can rest.
so why force felix to suffer alongside alexei? it will do neither of them good. let him get something to eat and satisfy his hunger. anyway, if he's elsewhere, alexei won't need to worry about him interfering in the investigation or annoying the sheriff with quips. meeting with law enforcement is already a delicate process. no reason to have a wild card in the mix. )
Go then. Your services are not needed at this time.
( he doesn't wait to see or hear felix's response before his heels propel him forward, and he strolls across the street to the police station. a hundred ghosts drift from the cracks and crevices of the pavement, pushing alexei forward at every step. the town's clock tower, situated across the street, rings: 7:15, which is inaccurate because it's barely 2. the county sheriff should be in his office at this time, and already aware of his out-of-town guests. before they left, a secretary at the blackwood detective agency called the county sheriff and informed him of their impending arrival. like he said, meeting with law enforcement is already a delicate process, and it's only further complicated when the police are taken by surprise. by informing them ahead of time, not only did it add credibility to alexei's presence, but it also allowed the police officers to get over their sullenness. at the end of the day, however, they want these cases to be solved and the perpetrators to be brought to justice. why does it matter who gets recognition?
alexei doesn't wait to see or hear if felix is behind him as he pushes the glass door open and enters the police station. his mind is entirely focused on the officer at the front desk. it's alexei's yellow jacket and striking looks that first draw the woman's attention away from her work to him. his russian accent raises her eyebrows, and his name and title shoot them into her platinum blonde hairline.
whatever he introduces himself as, the blank psychic paper in his badge supports it. he could claim to be the president of the united states, and the paper would influence a person into believing it. but he doesn't need to reach that far, so his badge reads: detective alexander raskolnikov, oregon state police. major crimes section, number 2392. )
[it feels like a repeat of the past, the way alexei stalks off and felix stares after him, indignant and open-mouthed and robbed of his chance to say -- what, exactly? his jaw clicks back shut. this isn't in front of the agency and the bmw isn't peeling away from the curb. small blessings as he works through the initial storm of annoyance and considers his options, leaning against the car as he watches the locals walk to and fro down the street. he thinks about dramatically stalking off, except now the timing’s all wrong, and he doesn't actually know which direction to stalk towards. rostigebäume is an admittedly small town to get lost in, but it would still be embarrassing to walk all those blocks only to realize that the one decent place to get food is in the opposite direction. even worse if he walked back only to see the car gone, alexei's temporary dismissal now made permanent. considering the other man’s history of solving cases all on his own, the possibility seems pretty likely.
felix thinks for several more minutes, dangerously close to brooding, and then stops, because it's embarrassing to brood, and even more embarrassing to brood in oregon. and besides, he's never been the kind of person who rationalizes and calculates and thinks of every possibility, unlike his current partner. instead, he lets himself be buoyed on by emotion, which in this case is his hunger. always better to eat, rather than starve to make a point. not that he’s ever needed to.
he walks off, rewarded almost immediately by the rainbow-splashed storefront of a local café – aptly named sunshine haus. the owner is a stereotype straight out of hallmark movie, all warm smiles and welcoming gestures, happy to chatter on as felix observes the bulletin board in the entryway. he sifts through the flyers, thank you cards written in childish scrawl, school sports team photos, and then finally, a flyer for a candlelight vigil for sarah lee, much beloved summer camp mentor. the photo is startling. a fairly young woman with a great big smile, arms around a row of similarly cheerful kids. sarah lee, alive and more than a collection of grisly crime scene photos. and it’s here, as felix looks at this photo, that he can understand alexei's urgency, the purpose as to why they’re in this town in the first place -- to stem some of that gruesome flow before the entire family bleeds out. they’re already on borrowed time as it is.
he leaves the café behind with his order and the flyer tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and heads to the station. the platinum blonde officer is still at her desk, and while she looks no less confused at felix's coiffed hair and somewhat posh accent, she unwinds a little at the flash of his conveniently timed badge and his generous coffee order, as well as his assurances that he’s more than happy to wait for detective raskolnikov to finish up with the chief. he could head straight to the office, but then he’d probably interrupt the no doubt delicate balance alexei's made for himself in there as an officer from out of town conversing with a wary local.
so felix makes light conversation instead. he passes the coffee around, ingratiates himself the only way he knows how, with a few tasteful jokes and somber remarks and needed flattery, all without staring at the clock, trusting instead in alexei's almost inhuman ability to stick to a schedule. they only have so many hours to get to the morgue and question whoever shows up at the vigil, and -- hopefully eat the sandwiches felix ordered sometime in between. alexei that is, even if his diet apparently subsists entirely on investigating and fumes and protein bars.]
( six hours have neither cooled nor soothed the bitterness churning like a tornado inside sheriff alvin mcbride, who sits leaned back in his office chair with a look reserved for outsiders and other law enforcement officers, of which detective alexander raskolnikov was both. the bearded man has been in this position for only two years, a blink of an eye compared to his predecessor, who held office for nearly three decades. that man's manner of justice was evenhanded and conciliatory. a folksy, "let bygones be bygones" way to deal with problems. this man, however, was the opposite: a model of asperity possessing a rigid and narrow vision of the future that skewed only toward his enrichment and advancement. and he had it — at least, the first step was in his hands. after serving as a deputy for five years, stewing in anger, resentment, and ego, he rode into office on a wave of manufactured hate and xenophobia. but this town isn't big enough for him or his ego. someday, he'll outgrow these people and go on to bigger and better things, but that's the future. far off, but near enough that the glow of it urges him to push forth. in the meantime, he has to survive.
so, when detective alexander raskolnikov enters his office, a wave of suspicion and agitation rises within him, and his eyes — thin slits in his plump face — pinch together. he is not welcoming. he does not stand or shake the detective's hand; instead, he remains seated and folds his thick, hairy arms across his bulky chest in a petulant and childish act of defiance. his voice is hardly more than a grunt when he introduces himself as sheriff of the county.
but he's the sheriff of the county, so why does he sense this detective could be a threat? is it because he's an outsider, or because he's in a higher position of authority? or because he doesn't like how the detective stands above him and stares down his nose at him when he introduces himself, as though he's the man with the scalpel and mcbride's the frog pinned to the tray, when it should be the other way? it's not as though he's done anything, or committed the murders, or knows anything more about the murders than what's been investigated.
but ask any citizen of rostigebäume, and they'd say the sheriff's lack of progress — his seeming inaction is as bad as the murders. it's criticism he can tolerate, especially because the loudest voices belong to those who didn't vote for him, so who cares? sarah lee didn't vote for him. same with that forrester boy, so why care? but, each day that passes without a lead or forward movement, the voices multiply and become louder, particularly from the side that financed his campaign and had voted for him. after all, it was their church and on their altar where sarah lee was discovered without her head. this town is turning into a powder keg that's going to explode up his ass if the cases aren't solved soon. as easy as it was to be elected, it's just as easy to be removed, and that's not a setback or threat, but death. if sheriff mcbride's future is to come to pass exactly as he envisioned, he must work alongside this detective.
alexei sees all this when he looks down at sheriff mcbride's twisted grimace and defensive posture. he studies the carefully arranged awards and certificates on the wall behind him. he notices a framed picture of sheriff mcbride grinning with a hunting rifle and a dead elk, as well as one of him on a fishing boat. alvin mcbride is unsubtle in his ambition and apathy. no effort is given unless it benefits him. he flaunts his triumphs and buffers himself from failure and consequence with money and favors. alexei has known a dozen sheriff mcbrides. his father is the same, so he knows the parameters and obstacles he must maneuver within and around to survive and get anything.
alexei sits down in a chair across from mcbride, sinking into the sickly green plastic cushions. he's more kind and deferential than usual, more than mcbride deserves, but he's willing to let the sheriff be the bigger man if it means he'll help. cooperation with local law enforcement is never vital, but it does expedite the progress of a case. this is sheriff mcbride's home. he knows the people, he knows the history, he knows the land. this case is unsolvable without him, at least not without burning the same amount of time and effort that it'd take to push a loaded truck up a road at the height of rasputitsa. staying on mcbride's good side is a small price if it solves the cases.
a few times, he mentions the sheriff's assistance will be noted, appreciated, and perhaps rewarded. a false promise, as he has no authority or resources to give anything, but a necessary lie, and one that pays off immediately when sheriff mcbride's scowl relaxes a little. either he's learned humility within the past two minutes, or realized that his actual threat is a disgruntled voter base. whatever it is, alexei seizes on it and quickly transitions to discussing the cases.
except for adam forrester, he doesn't reference the other cases or the familial connection between adam, sarah lee, and the others. fortunately, some of the previous murders occurred before mcbride became sheriff, so he might not be aware of them. that seems to be true because he doesn't mention them, speaking as though adam forrester's murder was the first one in the county in the last decade, when noah forrester-sims was found decapitated in an abandoned graveyard only four years ago. but his family is poor and from the next town over, and not in mcbride's circle, and therefore not worth remembering.
he does remember sarah lee and adam forrester, however, and readily offers information about them. sarah lee: always cheerful, always smiling, and always willing to help. recently, she returned here to teach second grade after earning a master's in early childhood education, and was very popular and beloved among the students, staff, and parents. adam forrester was the opposite: sullen, unfriendly, and a loner. at seventeen, he ran away from home and bummed around the west coast for most of his twenties before returning to rostigebäume to work at his family's scrap yard. the two never met, and probably didn't know of each other. their only shared connection was that they went to the same café, shopped at the same grocery store, and walked in the same park. in a small town like this, though, such common similarities mean nothing.
but a similarity between the two does exist, which does mean something. for whatever reason, sarah and adam, along with jane, dennis, brittney, noah, and perhaps more, were murdered because of their family name. the same person is responsible for all these murders, and it'll continue until every branch, twig, and root of that family tree is flattened and burned. but to put forth that idea to mcbride would instantly ruin alexei's credibility, especially if he brought up the possibility that the murderer might not be human. so, he keeps it to himself and asks if either sarah or adam had any enemies or any altercations that could've led to their deaths.
as mcbride begins to explain that no, there were no enemies or altercations for either (though some people disliked and avoided adam), alexei catches a glimpse of a figure moving along the sheriff's polished silver frame, then off the glass of another frame. the frosted texture of the office's windows obscures the figure, but his coiffed dark hair quite easily reveals the figure's identity. felix's presence surprises alexei, provoking a slight raise of his brow that breaks his carefully maintained blank expression, which mcbride takes as a sign to elaborate further on the acres and acres of wildness in the county: dirt roads that twist and turn and disappear into the mountains, dozens of abandoned mines, numerous streams and small rivers that cut through the tangle of towering firs and pine trees. the land attracts scientists, hunters, wilderness and extreme sports enthusiasts, and — "hippies", mcbride sneers. and the surrounding mountains have some folks from a metallurgical company. mcbride expresses hope that they reopen the mines. get the copper out of the stone and into the streets of rostigebäume, kitchlew, gray gate, and müllerville, he says, but alexei is only barely paying attention. it's getting late, and he has all the information he needs right now: who to question and about what. some of it may be irrelevant, but he won't know until he asks. this investigation might be bigger than sarah, adam, and the forresters. different parties have their own agendas for this county, and each one conflicts with the other. whether these killings are related to those plans is yet to be uncovered, but alexei will dig up and shine a light on what he can. maybe mcbride is right to be afraid.
alexei stands and holds his hand out again. having earned a little respect by letting him speak, mcbride shakes his hand this time, but his grip is firmer than necessary. in a way, a reminder of who the real power here is. alexei pulls his hand away and asks to visit the morgue to see sarah lee. with a slight smirk, the sheriff agrees, even volunteering to call the doctor to give him a heads-up. alexei thanks him and leaves his office.
his face doesn't betray the whirlwind that is stirring in his mind about what needs to be done. the morgue is next. see how sarah lee looks, and if it's similar to the others. adam forrester was buried three months ago, but he still plans to ask the forensic pathologist about him. some information that's too irrelevant or hypothetical doesn't make it into official documents, and sometimes it's more useful than what does. hope is an emotion that alexei rarely indulges in, but this is one of those times when he hopes that they haven't arrived too late to help. that the forensic pathologist can remember something useful, that a witness is still here, and that another person doesn't die.
alexei was right. it was felix who walked into the police station. he expected him to still be at the café, chatting up the waitresses or whatever it is he does in his spare time. alexei points to the paper cup in felix's hand and repeats word for word what he said almost seven hours earlier, ) You're not getting in with that.
( and then, alexei leaves and calls over his shoulder, ) Come on. ( the morgue is a several minute drive away, and they're on a tight schedule. )
[sheriff mcbride is two years into his position and has not endeared himself to many. case in point, it doesn't take much to learn that from the more chatty officers as they grab their coffee, despite felix's status as an outsider. they ask a few perfunctory questions about felix too because it's polite and he's new, but it's easy enough to turn the subject around, because sometimes people really only ask when they want to hear themselves talk, and felix is very good at listening for someone of his tax bracket. all it takes is a sidelong complaint about his industrious partner detective raskolnikov, which is the universal opener for the others to pitch in with complaints of their own, and there the floodgates open.
felix learns that sheriff mcbride has all the subtlety of a bludgeon. he learns that he owns a german shepherd named stanley, and that he treats his dog far better than he does people, which is a good sign of the kind of temperaments that rise high in the police force. he learns that progress has been small, encumbered as it is by the sheriff's disinterest. something that may change for the better now that the influential interests of the town are demanding results, and the appearance of two out of state detectives, representative of authorities larger than the town itself.
here felix makes a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders. he’s at the whims of his superiors much like the rest of them, and what else can they do but move forward despite these obstacles? the attempt at camaraderie is very transparent but felix is genial enough that they take it with good humor, just enough to entertain a few more questions about sarah and adam. everyone has good things to say about sarah, less about adam, though someone does say that he should get some credit for getting his life together at the scrapyard, barring the fact that he now no longer has a life to straighten out. it's depressing, and this is where felix feels something beyond playing his part. empathy from someone else on the run, which he immediately tries to squash down because the last thing he needs is to shorten that emotional distance between him and their victims --
he pivots to grace cathedral next. most of the townspeople attend the other, far more local church, sarah included. grace cathedral, felix learns, reserves its long-storied history and immaculate hall for the families that can trace their roots back to ancestors brazen enough to dig into the mountains and claim their mines, and also out-of-towners looking to have ridiculously expensive weddings. felix is not sure if any of that counts as a lead but then again he's not actually the investigator despite what the agency's very convenient badge says, and speaking of investigating how much longer is alexei going to be trapped in that office for?
it's almost uncanny how his question is immediately answered. an officer asks him a probing question about his long detective career, and felix is saved by alexei finally emerging from the den, looking less haggard than felix expected, but then again if six hours in a car with felix hadn't cracked him, then it stands to reason that sheriff mcbride would barely make a dent either. his expression is one of relief, even when alexei delivers the same six words in that precise, flat intonation, much to the amusement of the others.
felix clutches the cup in mock offense as he scrambles on after. outside, the afternoon sun seems to be debating an early turn-in -- clouds blanket most of the sky, casting the car and Alexei before him in almost-grim shadow.]
This is a bribe for the poor sap at the morgue who'll have to put up with -- [he thinks about saying 'you', pauses, and then generously corrects] -- us. And this is for you.
[he still has in his hand the plastic bag from sunshine haus marked with a smiley sun in bright orange, which he attempts to push into alexei's arms.]
I don't know your food allergies, so I just got you their special.
[a tuna melt on rye, which according to the very nice owner, was voted number one by the rostigebäume police force for ten consecutive years, which felix took as assurance that it's the exact kind of sandwich an investigator type like alexei would probably eat. or maybe it's the exact kind of sandwich he would not eat, considering the long line of familial deaths these same police officers have not put together or solved.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
falsecrown
no subject
here, being the agency. more specifically, in the parking garage, apparently also a recent addition by the agency's standards, where felix is now waiting after being assigned his newest case. there had been a few other hunters around when the case had come in, which had made him wonder why exactly it'd fallen to him, but the answer had been obvious after a quick skim-through. two suspicious deaths, causes officially unknown but leaning towards something clearly supernatural, with the grisly state of the bodies and the head-scratching circumstances of how exactly they died. a case of violence and mystery, which meant it needed a hunter and an investigator.
the hunters of the blackwood detective agency live up to their reputation: grizzled, solitary figures, scarred by violence and at the same time a living, breathing epitome. men and women skilled in the talents of showing up and shooting it dead. no-nonsense, ham-fisted types, who would rather kill the thing than have to babysit an investigator through it. and then there's felix, who sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the machismo, the newest addition who is still not quite set in the agency's ways, and most importantly, someone who's already crossed the interdepartmental borders in previous cases.
it doesn't take long for felix to find the bmw. he knows the car agent alexei lyubovich niktovsky drives as well as his own, partly because it's a rich boy habit to be so obsessed with cars and partly because he's been in it before. the car is as sleek as a 2018 bmw model can be. absurdly clean on the outside and the inside, which, felix feels, is an accurate reflection of alexei's character. this is a man who values his space, and the cases felix has worked on with him haven't changed that impression. he's not the uptight, stone-faced detective stereotype that felix assumed he'd be, especially after hearing about his preference to work solo. but neither is he as easily broached as some of the others at the agency -- which is a sticking point for felix, who's lived so much of his life relying on the opinions of others. still, he does not dislike alexei, though he still gets into petty squabbles with him, and probably annoys him incessantly with his cheer and impertinence, but they work together well -- in that they haven't killed each other yet, and what more does a duo need?]
Morning, partner.
[felix exaggerates the twang of his greeting the moment he sees alexei, his smile too wide and bright for the hour (a bracing seven am on a tuesday morning). and maybe therein lies the answer to their relationship -- that felix is extremely annoying, and alexei has had the misfortune of firsthand experience.
he leans on the hood of alexei's beloved car, legs crossed at the ankle, adorned in rich boy boots to go along with his rich boy outfit. a paper coffee cup from some bougie cafe in his hand. the only non-rich thing about him is the large worn duffel bag at his feet, filled with his hunter's kit.]
What do you think -- [here he drops the affected southern accent, slipping back into his mid-atlantic] shall I chauffeur the both of us to Nob Hill?
[all the horrors that await them in the future and yet felix is adamant at adding one more -- finally getting to drive alexei's beloved car...]
no subject
their presence is necessary, however, if alexei wants to return to san francisco alive with the case completed. but he frowns when he glances across the bullpen at the hunters. it's what's called "slim pickings" in english: nothing good from not much. it would be easier to take along a werewolf during a full moon, because at least then, he could tranquilize it. that's unfair, though. hunters are a valued and skillful group of agents at the blackwood detective agency, and to compare them to snarling, irrational, and smelly beasts does them a disservice. it takes all kinds to help.
that doesn't make the decision any easier, but eventually, alexei decides: felix faustus. he's smarter and more reasonable than the average hunter. not by much. but he's the best of slim pickings, so alexei asks the old man to assign him as his partner. the next few hours before departure are spent searching the archives for similar cases in the area surrounding nob hill. he finds an additional four deaths from the past decade. each one is as violent and mysterious as the most recent ones.
in comparison to felix, alexei is dressed as an outdoors enthusiast, or someone who has a top 5 list of beer gardens: a bright yellow pullover windbreaker, worn black cargo pants, white air force 1 sneakers, and an aegean blue beanie. a pair of ray-bans hang on the collar of his white shirt. while he always opts for comfort and functionality over style, there's a certain self-assurance in his stance and the way his eyes cut across a room that almost anything looks good on him.
in the bracing, chilly winds that sweep through the agency's parking garage at 7 am on a tuesday morning, alexei's tone is chillier when he points to the paper coffee cup in felix's hand. ) You're not getting in with that.
( his car, his rules, and the rules are no drinks or food. another rule is no one but he drives his car, but that one is so plainly obvious there's no reason for him to say it. alexei unlocking the driver's side and setting the file on the center console is loud enough. he pops open the trunk for felix to place his bag in. alexei's bag is already there. it's always there. he's always prepared to leave at a moment's notice. )
no subject
Do you remember, [he hefts up his bag and drops it in next to alexei’s, pushing the trunk closed,] that is exactly what you said to me when we first met? Word for word.
[in a setting much like this one. felix with a cup of coffee sans lid, alexei delivering the same pointed statement. he had said something back, he can’t remember exactly what but there had been a bit of sarcasm in there. just a little bit, or maybe too much, because alexei had simply gotten into his beloved car, slammed the door, and then driven off, leaving felix gaping after him on the roadside pavement, much to the amusement of all the joggers and dog-walkers and especially to the agents at the agency. nothing like a show of embarrassment to hearten one's spirits after cases upon cases of maiming and death. opinions were offered as felix fumed. don’t sweat it, it’s not personal, from one side. you asked for it -- the other. Or that one vampire who worked in archives who felix thought belonged in a regency film -- the agency is not without its share of particular personalities. the uber cost had been painful, the last of felix’s emergency cash, and all of it went to making sure his driver jerry dropped him off in time while blasting sixties pop.
that should have condemned alexei to be felix's foe for life, except he did good enough work on the case after that his status had to be grudgingly adjusted. also, it was kind of funny in hindsight. he would have considered a hex, but he'd been busy making talismans and charms, carefully made to obscure his location and ward off whatever tracking spells were still clinging to him, and those were significantly more important than salvaging his pride.
felix takes a final sip, spills the rest out on the grunge-gray cement, then scrunches the cup flat and discards it. a year ago he would have shoved it in his pocket or burned it, paranoid at leaving even the smallest hint of him behind. he waves his empty hands to alexei in demonstration, and then gets in the car before alexei can change his mind and drive off again.
his eyes land on the stack of files, eyebrows rising at its bulk, considerably thicker than felix’s, who had not spent his morning at the archives,]
I thought it was two deaths, not ten.
no subject
whatever is said about him, whatever insult or backhanded compliment is slung at him, is better than the reputation he earned at his previous job. or the previous place he lived, and the previous place before that. a reputation that clung to him, and still does in a way, but here at the blackwood detective agency, hardly anyone is afraid or even cares about the trail of bodies that follow him.
it's why alexei doesn't care what's said about him, or what the other agents think of him. this bad reputation has been attached to him for so long that he can't care what others think, or else... nothing. so he doesn't care, and it doesn't matter anyway. he's an intelligent and diligent investigator, so he has his fellow investigators' respect, and he's fearless with a gun and knows how to take a punch, so he has the hunters' begrudging respect, and that's all that really matters in the end. alexei does his job, and does it well.
despite gently pulling the driver's side door closed, it's empty and quiet enough in the parking garage that the thud echoes and mingles with the howling winds. if alexei wanted to indulge in theatrics, he could imagine that the slam of the door is a beating of the war drum, and the winds are the sounds from a blowing horn, signaling their imminent attack. the investigator and the hunter riding off to fight in another battle in a never-ending war.
but alexei shuns that insipid, ultranationalistic imagery. this kind of case, unfortunately, is nothing unusual or irregular. no glory will be found here. it's yet another number in a long line of similar (but unrelated) incidents that have plagued humanity since the first monster slithered down the tree branch. honestly, the only odd thing that separates this case from the others alexei has investigated is the two- or three-year gap between most of them. )
Six, actually.
( pressing down the brake pedal, alexei turns on the car. light heat, set at a brisk eighteen degrees celsius, wafts from the vents. the radio, tuned to the local easy listening channel (91.3 simply beautiful), is at a low volume: loud enough to be heard, but low enough that it doesn't obscure alexei's voice when he says, ) Seatbelt.
( he isn't pulling out until felix puts his seatbelt on. )
no subject
he clips himself in, the snap of buckle loud against al green's crooning voice. the metal feels chilly despite the heat coming in. the cold reminds him of other cold places far beyond, and ones much nearer. or maybe the archives at the blackwood detective agency are always properly heated, not that felix would be very familiar, having stepped in a total of maybe ten times. he usually asks the librarians for assistance, never sticking around long enough to hear their muttered insults, which once again, makes alexei the more preferable choice by far to rely on.
felix reaches for the files, hefting the stack into his lap, curious about how two cases are now six. he knows the two: the death of adam forrester in late september, and sarah lee just over the weekend. adam, who'd been found with his head torn from his body, the serrated edges of his wound starkly reminiscent of teeth, except none that could be identified by the police. and now sarah, whose body is apparently in a similar gruesome state, though they'd know for sure once they drop by the morgue. she'd been discovered in the grace cathedral, much to the consternation of the wealthy parish. felix does not mind the church, even with his storied witchy past. his roots don't reach far enough to be affected -- the hysteria against witchcraft had taken a different shape back in xi'an, different from preachers and burnings at the stake.
he does think it's in poor taste to kill someone there, but what do monsters care about how death looks in a hallowed space versus a conventional one?
he pages past to look at the first of the next four, eyebrows raised as he notes the date, then checks the date of the second.]
You think these are related?
[his voice is less disbelieving and more curious to hear alexei's point a to point b. is it the manner of deaths? or the particular timing? or maybe it's both or nothing at all, a puzzle felix can't decipher with his still new experience,]
no subject
the bmw pulls out of the parking spot and eases around the tight corners of the garage until the car exits and joins the buzzing morning traffic. the sun is only just now beginning to rise over the east bay, breaking over the bay bridge with a slow, languid arrival. as the day progresses, and they travel further and further from the city, the fog will disappear, the sky will clear, and their route will become less hazy and crowded.
the spotlight turns red, and it's only when he's stopped that he takes his eyes off the road to cut felix a sharp glance. alexei never presents a theory without a strong measure of validity. he doesn't have it in him to crack open his skull and reveal his raw and unfiltered thoughts to anyone. carelessness is blood in his mouth. capriciousness is the blur in his vision, or the ache in his bones. every opinion, every belief, every word must be examined and reexamined a thousand times before he even thinks to speak it into existence. how can he think of withstanding the mortifying ordeal of being known when he only knows the pain?
the light turns green, and his eyes return to the road as his foot lifts off the brake and onto the accelerator. )
Aside from each one occurring within the same hundred-mile radius and having similar causes of death? Check the last names.
( jane augustine (~née forrester), april 9, 2016. dennis forrester, june 10, 2019. brittney forrester, november 21, 2020. noah forrester-sims, january 8, 2022. adam forrester, almost three months ago. last weekend, sarah lee — her mother's maiden name was forrester. occasionally, life gives a coincidence. sometimes two when it wants to be a comedian. if two members from that family tree had been murdered, alexei would've conceded that it might be just that — happenstance. and a red herring that only distracts the investigation. but once is nothing, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is a pattern. the only explanation that makes senses is that someone or something up there has a sense of humor. )
no subject
he spends the rest of the ride alternating between trying to change the station and """entertaining""" alexei with his own theories, sometimes both at the same time. every thought is given voice, even the most ridiculous ones. felix talks not with the confidence of someone who will be heard, but with the ingrained habit of knowing that he has to speak to be heard at all. he muses over jane augustine, bed-bound at the time of her death, and yet discovered several miles away from her residence. he raises the idea of witches, because of course he does, maybe the forresters are a coven, maybe they raised the ire of a witch with a terrible sense of humor, maybe they're not witches at all and got caught up with a possessive vampire, except don't vampires prefer a wider variety these days than just one unfortunate family --
silence finally reigns when they pull into the gas station. felix spends those precious ten minutes getting terrible coffee and a terrible sandwich, even though he really shouldn't have bothered knowing where the cups will end up (he at least scarfs the sandwich down), then back into the bmw, now cognizant of alexei's fixation on arriving on schedule. whatever that schedule is. not that felix has much to argue against, but at least the speed robs him of speaking for the next few hours -- ensuring blessed silence.
by the time they roll up to the street bordering the police station of rostigebäume, felix is spent. he's only had two cups of coffee and one sandwich throughout this entire six hour drive. he's a few shades between jittery and complete exhaustion. he attempts to roll down the car window, blinking blearily all around, absorbing the bland avenues of rostigebäume and townspeople out and about at exactly two in the afternoon. he should be thinking of investigative avenues and people to question. or at least rifle around in his pockets for his "badge" before they head to the station.]
I'm starving.
[surely. surely. he is not the only one who is hungry in this prison of a vehicle]
Which I wouldn't be, if you let me bring snacks into the car.
no subject
it's why alexei's only response is a heavy sigh as he gets out of the car. he won't argue or placate felix, or mention that a protein bar would've satiated his appetite far better than a gas station sandwich, and that he never said water wasn't allowed in the car. alexei could say or do any number of things, but instead, he merely looks at him over the car's roof. what other feeling could he have but disinterest in felix's problems and grievances, especially when actual problems and grievances await to be uncovered? he isn't the only one with a hunger that screams to be satisfied.
his finger taps against his forearm. the right heel of his white sneaker scrapes against the black asphalt. behind the sunglasses, his gaze slides down to the car. hidden in the glove compartment is a pack of cigarettes, fresh and still in the plastic. he could. but he won't. actual problems and grievances await and demand to be uncovered and satisfied. there's still miles to go before he can rest.
so why force felix to suffer alongside alexei? it will do neither of them good. let him get something to eat and satisfy his hunger. anyway, if he's elsewhere, alexei won't need to worry about him interfering in the investigation or annoying the sheriff with quips. meeting with law enforcement is already a delicate process. no reason to have a wild card in the mix. )
Go then. Your services are not needed at this time.
( he doesn't wait to see or hear felix's response before his heels propel him forward, and he strolls across the street to the police station. a hundred ghosts drift from the cracks and crevices of the pavement, pushing alexei forward at every step. the town's clock tower, situated across the street, rings: 7:15, which is inaccurate because it's barely 2. the county sheriff should be in his office at this time, and already aware of his out-of-town guests. before they left, a secretary at the blackwood detective agency called the county sheriff and informed him of their impending arrival. like he said, meeting with law enforcement is already a delicate process, and it's only further complicated when the police are taken by surprise. by informing them ahead of time, not only did it add credibility to alexei's presence, but it also allowed the police officers to get over their sullenness. at the end of the day, however, they want these cases to be solved and the perpetrators to be brought to justice. why does it matter who gets recognition?
alexei doesn't wait to see or hear if felix is behind him as he pushes the glass door open and enters the police station. his mind is entirely focused on the officer at the front desk. it's alexei's yellow jacket and striking looks that first draw the woman's attention away from her work to him. his russian accent raises her eyebrows, and his name and title shoot them into her platinum blonde hairline.
whatever he introduces himself as, the blank psychic paper in his badge supports it. he could claim to be the president of the united states, and the paper would influence a person into believing it. but he doesn't need to reach that far, so his badge reads: detective alexander raskolnikov, oregon state police. major crimes section, number 2392. )
no subject
felix thinks for several more minutes, dangerously close to brooding, and then stops, because it's embarrassing to brood, and even more embarrassing to brood in oregon. and besides, he's never been the kind of person who rationalizes and calculates and thinks of every possibility, unlike his current partner. instead, he lets himself be buoyed on by emotion, which in this case is his hunger. always better to eat, rather than starve to make a point. not that he’s ever needed to.
he walks off, rewarded almost immediately by the rainbow-splashed storefront of a local café – aptly named sunshine haus. the owner is a stereotype straight out of hallmark movie, all warm smiles and welcoming gestures, happy to chatter on as felix observes the bulletin board in the entryway. he sifts through the flyers, thank you cards written in childish scrawl, school sports team photos, and then finally, a flyer for a candlelight vigil for sarah lee, much beloved summer camp mentor. the photo is startling. a fairly young woman with a great big smile, arms around a row of similarly cheerful kids. sarah lee, alive and more than a collection of grisly crime scene photos. and it’s here, as felix looks at this photo, that he can understand alexei's urgency, the purpose as to why they’re in this town in the first place -- to stem some of that gruesome flow before the entire family bleeds out. they’re already on borrowed time as it is.
he leaves the café behind with his order and the flyer tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and heads to the station. the platinum blonde officer is still at her desk, and while she looks no less confused at felix's coiffed hair and somewhat posh accent, she unwinds a little at the flash of his conveniently timed badge and his generous coffee order, as well as his assurances that he’s more than happy to wait for detective raskolnikov to finish up with the chief. he could head straight to the office, but then he’d probably interrupt the no doubt delicate balance alexei's made for himself in there as an officer from out of town conversing with a wary local.
so felix makes light conversation instead. he passes the coffee around, ingratiates himself the only way he knows how, with a few tasteful jokes and somber remarks and needed flattery, all without staring at the clock, trusting instead in alexei's almost inhuman ability to stick to a schedule. they only have so many hours to get to the morgue and question whoever shows up at the vigil, and -- hopefully eat the sandwiches felix ordered sometime in between. alexei that is, even if his diet apparently subsists entirely on investigating and fumes and protein bars.]
no subject
so, when detective alexander raskolnikov enters his office, a wave of suspicion and agitation rises within him, and his eyes — thin slits in his plump face — pinch together. he is not welcoming. he does not stand or shake the detective's hand; instead, he remains seated and folds his thick, hairy arms across his bulky chest in a petulant and childish act of defiance. his voice is hardly more than a grunt when he introduces himself as sheriff of the county.
but he's the sheriff of the county, so why does he sense this detective could be a threat? is it because he's an outsider, or because he's in a higher position of authority? or because he doesn't like how the detective stands above him and stares down his nose at him when he introduces himself, as though he's the man with the scalpel and mcbride's the frog pinned to the tray, when it should be the other way? it's not as though he's done anything, or committed the murders, or knows anything more about the murders than what's been investigated.
but ask any citizen of rostigebäume, and they'd say the sheriff's lack of progress — his seeming inaction is as bad as the murders. it's criticism he can tolerate, especially because the loudest voices belong to those who didn't vote for him, so who cares? sarah lee didn't vote for him. same with that forrester boy, so why care? but, each day that passes without a lead or forward movement, the voices multiply and become louder, particularly from the side that financed his campaign and had voted for him. after all, it was their church and on their altar where sarah lee was discovered without her head. this town is turning into a powder keg that's going to explode up his ass if the cases aren't solved soon. as easy as it was to be elected, it's just as easy to be removed, and that's not a setback or threat, but death. if sheriff mcbride's future is to come to pass exactly as he envisioned, he must work alongside this detective.
alexei sees all this when he looks down at sheriff mcbride's twisted grimace and defensive posture. he studies the carefully arranged awards and certificates on the wall behind him. he notices a framed picture of sheriff mcbride grinning with a hunting rifle and a dead elk, as well as one of him on a fishing boat. alvin mcbride is unsubtle in his ambition and apathy. no effort is given unless it benefits him. he flaunts his triumphs and buffers himself from failure and consequence with money and favors. alexei has known a dozen sheriff mcbrides. his father is the same, so he knows the parameters and obstacles he must maneuver within and around to survive and get anything.
alexei sits down in a chair across from mcbride, sinking into the sickly green plastic cushions. he's more kind and deferential than usual, more than mcbride deserves, but he's willing to let the sheriff be the bigger man if it means he'll help. cooperation with local law enforcement is never vital, but it does expedite the progress of a case. this is sheriff mcbride's home. he knows the people, he knows the history, he knows the land. this case is unsolvable without him, at least not without burning the same amount of time and effort that it'd take to push a loaded truck up a road at the height of rasputitsa. staying on mcbride's good side is a small price if it solves the cases.
a few times, he mentions the sheriff's assistance will be noted, appreciated, and perhaps rewarded. a false promise, as he has no authority or resources to give anything, but a necessary lie, and one that pays off immediately when sheriff mcbride's scowl relaxes a little. either he's learned humility within the past two minutes, or realized that his actual threat is a disgruntled voter base. whatever it is, alexei seizes on it and quickly transitions to discussing the cases.
except for adam forrester, he doesn't reference the other cases or the familial connection between adam, sarah lee, and the others. fortunately, some of the previous murders occurred before mcbride became sheriff, so he might not be aware of them. that seems to be true because he doesn't mention them, speaking as though adam forrester's murder was the first one in the county in the last decade, when noah forrester-sims was found decapitated in an abandoned graveyard only four years ago. but his family is poor and from the next town over, and not in mcbride's circle, and therefore not worth remembering.
he does remember sarah lee and adam forrester, however, and readily offers information about them. sarah lee: always cheerful, always smiling, and always willing to help. recently, she returned here to teach second grade after earning a master's in early childhood education, and was very popular and beloved among the students, staff, and parents. adam forrester was the opposite: sullen, unfriendly, and a loner. at seventeen, he ran away from home and bummed around the west coast for most of his twenties before returning to rostigebäume to work at his family's scrap yard. the two never met, and probably didn't know of each other. their only shared connection was that they went to the same café, shopped at the same grocery store, and walked in the same park. in a small town like this, though, such common similarities mean nothing.
but a similarity between the two does exist, which does mean something. for whatever reason, sarah and adam, along with jane, dennis, brittney, noah, and perhaps more, were murdered because of their family name. the same person is responsible for all these murders, and it'll continue until every branch, twig, and root of that family tree is flattened and burned. but to put forth that idea to mcbride would instantly ruin alexei's credibility, especially if he brought up the possibility that the murderer might not be human. so, he keeps it to himself and asks if either sarah or adam had any enemies or any altercations that could've led to their deaths.
as mcbride begins to explain that no, there were no enemies or altercations for either (though some people disliked and avoided adam), alexei catches a glimpse of a figure moving along the sheriff's polished silver frame, then off the glass of another frame. the frosted texture of the office's windows obscures the figure, but his coiffed dark hair quite easily reveals the figure's identity. felix's presence surprises alexei, provoking a slight raise of his brow that breaks his carefully maintained blank expression, which mcbride takes as a sign to elaborate further on the acres and acres of wildness in the county: dirt roads that twist and turn and disappear into the mountains, dozens of abandoned mines, numerous streams and small rivers that cut through the tangle of towering firs and pine trees. the land attracts scientists, hunters, wilderness and extreme sports enthusiasts, and — "hippies", mcbride sneers. and the surrounding mountains have some folks from a metallurgical company. mcbride expresses hope that they reopen the mines. get the copper out of the stone and into the streets of rostigebäume, kitchlew, gray gate, and müllerville, he says, but alexei is only barely paying attention. it's getting late, and he has all the information he needs right now: who to question and about what. some of it may be irrelevant, but he won't know until he asks. this investigation might be bigger than sarah, adam, and the forresters. different parties have their own agendas for this county, and each one conflicts with the other. whether these killings are related to those plans is yet to be uncovered, but alexei will dig up and shine a light on what he can. maybe mcbride is right to be afraid.
alexei stands and holds his hand out again. having earned a little respect by letting him speak, mcbride shakes his hand this time, but his grip is firmer than necessary. in a way, a reminder of who the real power here is. alexei pulls his hand away and asks to visit the morgue to see sarah lee. with a slight smirk, the sheriff agrees, even volunteering to call the doctor to give him a heads-up. alexei thanks him and leaves his office.
his face doesn't betray the whirlwind that is stirring in his mind about what needs to be done. the morgue is next. see how sarah lee looks, and if it's similar to the others. adam forrester was buried three months ago, but he still plans to ask the forensic pathologist about him. some information that's too irrelevant or hypothetical doesn't make it into official documents, and sometimes it's more useful than what does. hope is an emotion that alexei rarely indulges in, but this is one of those times when he hopes that they haven't arrived too late to help. that the forensic pathologist can remember something useful, that a witness is still here, and that another person doesn't die.
alexei was right. it was felix who walked into the police station. he expected him to still be at the café, chatting up the waitresses or whatever it is he does in his spare time. alexei points to the paper cup in felix's hand and repeats word for word what he said almost seven hours earlier, ) You're not getting in with that.
( and then, alexei leaves and calls over his shoulder, ) Come on. ( the morgue is a several minute drive away, and they're on a tight schedule. )
no subject
felix learns that sheriff mcbride has all the subtlety of a bludgeon. he learns that he owns a german shepherd named stanley, and that he treats his dog far better than he does people, which is a good sign of the kind of temperaments that rise high in the police force. he learns that progress has been small, encumbered as it is by the sheriff's disinterest. something that may change for the better now that the influential interests of the town are demanding results, and the appearance of two out of state detectives, representative of authorities larger than the town itself.
here felix makes a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders. he’s at the whims of his superiors much like the rest of them, and what else can they do but move forward despite these obstacles? the attempt at camaraderie is very transparent but felix is genial enough that they take it with good humor, just enough to entertain a few more questions about sarah and adam. everyone has good things to say about sarah, less about adam, though someone does say that he should get some credit for getting his life together at the scrapyard, barring the fact that he now no longer has a life to straighten out. it's depressing, and this is where felix feels something beyond playing his part. empathy from someone else on the run, which he immediately tries to squash down because the last thing he needs is to shorten that emotional distance between him and their victims --
he pivots to grace cathedral next. most of the townspeople attend the other, far more local church, sarah included. grace cathedral, felix learns, reserves its long-storied history and immaculate hall for the families that can trace their roots back to ancestors brazen enough to dig into the mountains and claim their mines, and also out-of-towners looking to have ridiculously expensive weddings. felix is not sure if any of that counts as a lead but then again he's not actually the investigator despite what the agency's very convenient badge says, and speaking of investigating how much longer is alexei going to be trapped in that office for?
it's almost uncanny how his question is immediately answered. an officer asks him a probing question about his long detective career, and felix is saved by alexei finally emerging from the den, looking less haggard than felix expected, but then again if six hours in a car with felix hadn't cracked him, then it stands to reason that sheriff mcbride would barely make a dent either. his expression is one of relief, even when alexei delivers the same six words in that precise, flat intonation, much to the amusement of the others.
felix clutches the cup in mock offense as he scrambles on after. outside, the afternoon sun seems to be debating an early turn-in -- clouds blanket most of the sky, casting the car and Alexei before him in almost-grim shadow.]
This is a bribe for the poor sap at the morgue who'll have to put up with -- [he thinks about saying 'you', pauses, and then generously corrects] -- us. And this is for you.
[he still has in his hand the plastic bag from sunshine haus marked with a smiley sun in bright orange, which he attempts to push into alexei's arms.]
I don't know your food allergies, so I just got you their special.
[a tuna melt on rye, which according to the very nice owner, was voted number one by the rostigebäume police force for ten consecutive years, which felix took as assurance that it's the exact kind of sandwich an investigator type like alexei would probably eat. or maybe it's the exact kind of sandwich he would not eat, considering the long line of familial deaths these same police officers have not put together or solved.
felix looks at him expectantly all the same.]