Sunday: May 14, 2028
8:00 AM; CLINSTONE; THE AUSTEN-TAYLOR HOUSEHOLD, BREAKFAST NOOK
Bo looked away from his computer as his phone vibrated, temporarily pausing his music. He unlocked his screen and opened up the text from Jamal.
Jamal: The system says you’re dicking around with the traffic cam footage again. Why?
Bo: I’ve expanded my search. I want to know if I can find the killer following the victims anywhere in L.A.
Jamal: You’re fucking insane. Do you know how long that’s going to take?
Jamal: Don’t take that the wrong way. I love you, but you’re insane.
One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted as he rolled his eyes.
Bo: I know. It’s going to take a long time. I’m considering running an algorithm on it to pick out the faces, but unless they’re always facing the camera, it isn’t going to be that simple.
Bo: Not without an incredibly complex algorithm, anyway.
Jamal: Well do whatever you have to
Jamal: Have you found anything yet?
Bo: I’ve found a couple incidents this morning of a man following Archibald Knight down the sidewalk, onto a bus, or across the street. I haven’t caught his face yet.
Bo: Thought about getting into the traffic cam footage on the bus, hope that I can catch his face.
Jamal: Let me know what bus it is. I’ll get you into the footage tomorrow morning.
Bo: I have the bus written down somewhere. I’ll text it to you when I find it.
Bo: Thank you.
Jamal: My pleasure, kiddo.
Bo glanced back up at the computer screen, debating. He had found something in the footage, but even he thought it wasn’t exactly the most probable of situations. He drummed his fingers against the table before sighing.
What did he have to lose?
Bo: I found a couple clips of the man that was following Mr Knight around. He matches the height of the killer, so there’s a… relative possibility it’s him.
Bo: Anyway, there are a few situations where he’s just touching people as he walks by them. I’ve found it on several days, all different people. Mr Knight is the very *last* person I’ve found this guy touching.
Bo: And now he’s dead.
Jamal: what you’re saying is that this guy might actually be a magician
Jamal: All right, all right.
Jamal: How about a ghost?
Bo: You genuinely believe that a ghost would use a bonesaw, rib spreaders, and a scalpel to steal a person’s heart? I assure you no violent spirit needs human tools to rip someone’s heart from their chest.
Jamal: What’s your theory?
Jamal: Yes, notice I’ve called it a *theory*. That means it doesn’t have to be correct.
Bo rolled his eyes.
Bo: Do you… actually believe in ghosts?
Jamal: Known you long enough to at least assume it’s possible
Jamal: There’s at least a couple that’ve been on the news. A lot of phonies, but a few that make a living actually predicting shit.
Jamal: So… I guess
Bo: What if he’s a psychic?
Bo: He touches people. I can’t find evidence of him stalking the victims to or from their houses. He hasn’t been inside of their houses, except victim two when she was killed, of course.
Bo: In the assumption that he’s psychic, in the *assumption* that his abilities work the same as some of the psychics we see online or on TV, he could know everything about them just by touching them. Their name, where they work, where they live, what their house looks like, their daily routine… The list goes on and on.
Bo: I’m not saying that’s what it is. I’m saying… what if?
Jamal: It’s not *that* ridiculous
Jamal: I know it teeters just beyond your scientific mind, but, in reality, isn’t it you who always says anything’s possible?
Bo: I have never in my life wished more for a killer to actively stalk all of his victims. It makes me job a lot easier.
Jamal: We both know you hate easy jobs. You aren’t bullshitting me
Bo glanced up briefly before nodding. Jamal certainly wasn’t wrong.
Bo: Yeah, I know.
Jamal: So what’s the plan?
Bo: I’m not sure yet. I want to do a bit more digging before I try to figure that out.
Jamal: Got it. When’s the next murder going to happen?
Bo: June 6th or 7th. The full moon’ll be visible in L.A. around 11PM on the 6th. So… it could be then or the next morning. If nothing come of the traffic cam footage, if nothing comes of *any* security footage, I’ll make sure to be there on the 6th, just in case.
Jamal: Good. Thank you.
Bo: My pleasure.
Bo looked back at his laptop. He couldn’t help but wonder how many more days or weeks he’d have to spend searching through image after image, video after video just in the hope of catching the slightest glimpse of the killer’s face.
Bo: If he is psychic (again… if), I won’t be able to catch him. We won’t be able to track him down or arrest him. He might know we’re after him.
Jamal: Unless the touching thing is because it’s the only way he can get into a person’s head. I doubt he’d touch them if he could already see their thoughts and shit.
Bo: I suppose that’s possible. There was a psychic killer/kidnapper arrested in Illinois. He knew everything about the cops without even looking at them.
Jamal: Well, if our guy’s a psychic, let’s just hope he’s a bit, you know, less hardcore than that.
Bo: Yeah, one could hope.
Jamal: I have a few things to take care of this morning, but text or call if you find anything noteworthy, all right?
Bo: Of course. Don’t do anything stupid.
Jamal: I would never
Jamal: I’ll talk to you later, you little shit
Bo: All righty, Jamal. Stay safe.
10:47 AM; CLINSTONE, THE AUSTEN-TAYLOR HOUSEHOLD, KITCHEN
Jensen reached around Bo, grabbing his coffee mug before Bo could. Bo turned to face the younger man as he took a sip of his coffee. Jensen cleared his throat. “Morning,” he greeted with a smile.
One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted. “Good morning.” He pulled his coffee mug from Jensen’s hand and leaned back against the counter. “Sleep well?”
“Very. How long’ve you been up?”
“Since around five.”
“Casework, mainly. I just laid in bed for an hour first, tried to go back to sleep.”
“Mm.” Jensen sniffled, raking a hand through his hair. “You need to sleep more.”
“I know. After this case is over, it’ll be easier. Nothing… large-scale will be on my mind at that point,” Bo said.
“Fair enough,” Jensen mumbled. “Hope you catch him soon, Eli.”
“You and me both.” Bo patted Jensen’s chest and headed for the breakfast nook. Jensen followed. “Kids are all asleep. Think we should start breakfast? Or just let them sleep in?”
Jensen glanced down at his watch. “We should probably make food. I could use food,” he said, pulling out a chair to sit down.
Bo pressed a kiss to the top of Jensen’s head and set his coffee mug down in front of the younger man. “Here. I could use a break from coffee and watching security cam footage anyway.”
“Ugh, you’re amazing. Thank you.”
Bo squeezed his shoulder. “My pleasure, love.”
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