NOT EDITED

Chapter Nine

After Carol Sawyer had collected herself, she invited Dallas and Bo inside. Now they sat in her living room, each of them armed with a single cup of coffee. Bo sat beside Dallas on the couch, an open notebook on his lap and a pencil poised and ready for note-taking. For that, Dallas considered himself thankful. His partner in Narcotics had always hated taking notes, had always passed it off to Dallas–not that he entirely minded–but with his dominant hand out of commission, he appreciated Bo’s willingness to be the designated note-taker.

“Miss Sawyer, when is the last time you physically saw your son?” Bo asked.

“Saw? The, uh… the day before he turned eighteen.”

“Why’s that?” Dallas asked.

“He’d been obsessed with this group of people for… years. Two or three, I think. One of his friends at school was a member, and he wanted to join the group too. I told him time and time again that he wouldn’t be joining some group of self-proclaimed cannibals while he was living under my roof. So the very day he turned eighteen, he packed up his things and got the hell out while at work. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Self-proclaimed… cannibals?”

Carol nodded. “That’s what I gathered from Rob, anyway. When he was trying to get my permission to let him join this… group of freaks, he explained some of it to me. I don’t know if they ever actually did it, but I remember him telling me that they believed eating human organs would give them strength. I can’t say they actually ate them, but I can say that’s what they believed in.”

Dallas glanced over at Bo’s notebook. Much to his surprise, the analyst had kept up with notes just fine. They were in some kind of vowel-less shorthand, but he was right on track. Dallas took a sip of his coffee before looking back at Carol again. “When was the last time you heard from your son? A text message, a phone call… Anything of the sort?”

“He called me on his twenty-first birthday. I was at work, so the call went through to voicemail.”

“He left you a message, then?”

Carol nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to let me know how happy he was to be with them. He said he felt at peace, felt… he finally had a purpose in the world.” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “He called me from a payphone. I couldn’t even call him back and try to talk some sense into him. Not that that… ever worked before, but still, a mother hopes.” She opened her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her mouth. “Did those bastards kill my little boy?”

“We can’t say that for certain, ma’am. We’re still in the beginning stages of this investigation, but I assure you we will explore every possibility to find the person or persons responsible for your son’s death.” Dallas cleared his throat. “I just have a few more questions for you, whenever you’re ready.”

***

As they walked down Carol Sawyer’s driveway, Dallas pulled his keys from his pocket. “I know we didn’t get a cult name or anything, but now we have confirmation that he was involved in a cult. That’s a good step forward.” He unlocked the cruiser before looking down at Bo. “Are you okay with admitting that? Or is it too much of an assumption?

Bo grabbed the handle of the passenger door, a small frown set on his face. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. God, no. If talking about it like it’s a fact bothers you, I wanna avoid doing it, that’s all. The closer we are to the same page in our investigation, the smoother things’ll go. In my experience, anyway.”

“In mine, as well,” Bo said quietly. He pulled open the door, clearing his throat. “No, it’s not an assumption. Despite their distance now, her son lived with her until the day he turned eighteen. He spoke of this cult. He requested her permission to join it previous to society-proclaimed adulthood. He called her to tell her how much he loved being a part of the cult. If it wasn’t a fact, it is instead the most elaborate prank to play one’s mother I have ever seen. Calling it a fact doesn’t bother me when it is a fact.”

One corner of Dallas’s mouth lifted. “Good to know, Austen.” He opened the driver’s side door of the cruiser. “Where do we go from here?”

“There are many options for which direction you would like to go.” Bo slid into the car and closed the door.

Dallas let out a breath. He’d need to get better at wording his questions in a way that would get a more direct answer from Bo on the first try.

Or we could kill him and be assigned a new lab geek, one that’s less… Oh, let’s be kind and say ‘complicated’.

Or you could go fuck yourself.

Ed laughed.

Dallas rolled his eyes and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him. “Where do you think your favorite officer would’ve gone from here in terms of… the next step in the investigation?”

“That would’ve been mostly dependent on the case and what we had accomplished prior to this specific point. Like I said, there are many directions we can go with our next step. For instance, I’m still waiting on blood test results from the victim. I already know he died from blood loss, but if we know what he was injected with prior to that, we may have a better clue as to what kind of person had access to what he was injected with.”

Starting the car, Dallas glanced over at Bo. “What do you mean by that? Uh, the ‘what kind of person had access’ bit.”

“Apologies. Was he injected with something only a veterinarian has access to? Only a doctor? Or was it something you can make? Something you can buy anywhere? If not everyone has easy access to the drug, it helps us narrow down who we’re looking for.”

“Ah, yeah, a fair point, man.” Dallas reached across with his left hand to punch Bo’s shoulder. Bo flinched away, though the look his face read as confusion rather than pain or fear. “Sorry. That was playful. I was about to follow that with the thought that I’m glad to have you as my partner.”

“Playful,” Bo echoed. He nodded once and turned to look out the window.

Dallas let out a breath. Forging a friendship with the short blonde would be a hell of a lot harder than he had initially planned for. Shifting into drive, he pulled away from the curb. “Were you homeschool, Austen?”

“No, I attended public school for the entirety of my schooling career.”

“What were your friends like?”

“There were none?”

“Not even one?”

“No. I had kids that were slightly kinder to me when they forced me to do their homework than other kids were, but that was the general extent of it. It’s one thing to befriend the short kid or the smart kid who skipped a couple grades. It’s another thing entirely to befriend the kids who is both. I could fit in lockers and do all of their homework. You don’t befriend that kid. You make that kid do the assignments you don’t want to do on your own and threaten to lock him in a locker if he doesn’t.”

“Jesus,” Dallas whispered. “I’m sorry your schooling experience, umm… was far from the best.”

“It’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and it’s the one I’m used to. I was prepared for it long before I got to school.”

“Because of your mom?”

“I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

“Yeah, man, of course.” Dallas cleared his throat. “We, uh, we can still watch that security footage together, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Downstairs?”

“We would have to bring one of the televisions down. Those are upstairs for the officers and detectives.”

“Are they, like, trying to corral you guys? You don’t get computers, you don’t get TVs… Why not?”

“It isn’t in the budget. We have our forensic-specific technology, and that’s more or less all that matters.”

“Even though you guys are normally the ones that do the tech shit?”

“Yes. As long as we have what we need to do our job, the majority of the funds are allocated elsewhere. Officers, detectives, insurance, upkeep on police vehicles and weapons.”

“Does Pitman do that?”

“Mister Pitman hands the budget for each department to his lieutenants. They may do with that as they please. I’m sure he would allot more to a department if they deserved it or needed it, but I believe Lieutenant Fox isn’t exactly willing to ask for more.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I can only offer assumptions.”

“Okay, what kind of assumptions can you throw my way?”

Bo shook his head before letting out a sigh instead. “Mister Fox isn’t a fan of chats with Mister Pitman. Budgeting for an increase to the forensics department would require a chat.”

Little tip, Tex, Ed said. If you want this good streak to keep going, don’t ask him any more questions.

Why do you care?

You with friends lets us kill more often than you without friends. I’ll make the sacrifice and leave the little blonde’s life IN his body.

Dallas bit back the initial urge to thank him. Ed was and always would be a monster. Just a voice or not, the monster still didn’t deserve genuine thanks. “Thank you for answering that, Austen. I know you have trouble with certain questions, so thank you.”

“No one… has ever thanked me for that. Are you being sarcastic?”

“No. I appreciate you going a little out of your norm just to answer my question.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Do you… mind if we go to the coffee shop before we head back to the station? I personally don’t much care for the coffee in the break room.”

Dallas smiled. “I don’t mind at all, Austen.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, man.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Eight

Dallas endured Bo’s silence for nearly an hour before Mister Richardon finally came out with the security footage they needed. The drive back to the police station had been silent, as had the walk through the parking lot, and Dallas followed Bo all the way to the stairs before the shorter man stopped and turned to face him.

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“Do you want me to?” Dallas asked.

“I don’t much care either way. It’s up to you.” Bo turned and headed down the stairs.

Letting out a harsh breath, Dallas followed him. “What’re you going to do?”

“Check to see if we have a match with the DMV’s records.”

“And then?”

“If we do, I will give you that name.”

Despite the words sounding condescending, Bo managed to speak them in the same way he said everything else. They were matter-of-fact and far from being a way to look down on Dallas. It was an odd balance to walk, but as far as Dallas could tell, Bo seemed entirely unaware that it could be taken another way by someone looking to be offended.

“You wanna watch the security footage with me?” Dallas asked.

“If you feel you need a partner for that, yes, I will watch the footage with you.”

“Do you… enjoy watching them?”

Bo unlocked the lab and opened the door. After flipping on the light, he answered with a quiet, “Yes.”

“Sweet. You wanna watch it down here? That way you don’t have to be upstairs with the Saturday day shift?”

“If you would like to do that, we can.” Bo set his camera bag on the floor and lifted his satchel over his head, setting it on the table. “I apologize for involving myself in your life. It won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong by asking questions, Austen. I’ve been sleeping like shit for over two weeks. You asking questions and writing at the same time just… set something off in my head.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s not your fault I haven’t been sleeping, either. You didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for, not to me.” Dallas set the security footage on the counter, hanging back to give Bo as much space as he wanted. “You were asking about avier, not me. Were you trying to figure out if you were both awkward for the same reason?”

Bo glanced up at him. “Yes.”

“Were you… abused?”

Bo cleared his throat. “My biological parents were far from fans of being ‘blessed’ with an… above average child. As I recall, my mother is the only one who ever physically laid a hand on me.”

“She beat you for being smart?” Dallas asked. Rather than responding, Bo lifted his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Austen. I mean, that…”

Okay, compromise. We kill Austen’s mother, Ed suggested.

Might take you up on that one. “I’m sorry you went through that, Austen. No child deserves any of that.”

“You and your brother know that first hand.”

“Yeah, guess we do.”

Bo nodded.

Finally, Bo’s silence in Mister Richardson’s lobby made sense to him. He hadn’t wanted an apology. Hell, he probably hadn’t even considered himself worthy of one, since he had seen himself as the problem. Instead, more than likely, silence had been his way of avoiding conflict with his biological mother. Bo’s awkwardness was amplified anytime he opened his mouth, and if his biological mother had already hated him, speaking would’ve made it worse. Bo’s silence was his coping mechanism, his submission to end the abuse, to end the situation he didn’t want to be a part of.

Dallas made a mental note of that. If Bo’s silence lasted for any prolonged period of time, it was because he needed an escape from the conversation or situation he had found himself in.

“So… DMV,” Dallas said.

Bo nodded. “Let me check the computer.”

“Sure, man.”

Bo cleared his throat. “The… the computers are upstairs. I’ll be back in a moment if you’d like to stay here.”

“I’ll stay here. Unless me coming with better fits your pattern.” Bo simply shook his head. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

Hands tucked behind his back, Bo stepped past him. For the first time, Dallas let himself truly take in the lab. The damn thing was spotless, immaculate. Every item on the counters and tables seemed to be in their designated place, straight and lined up against the wall. The floor was free of dust or dirt, despite how many times Bo must have walked into the lab straight from an outside crime scene.

Dallas occupied himself with nothing but Ed’s pleas for murder for nearly twenty minutes before Bo came back, a single piece of paper in his hand. He gave it to Dallas and walked back to the table at the other end of the room.

Dallas shook out the paper. “Robert Sawyer, twenty-two years old. Jesus. He started doing this symbolism shit when he was pretty damn young.”

“Yes.”

“So… if it’s a cult–you know, if that’s the theory we hypothesize on here–he’s definitely not the leader of it.”

“ ‘Definitely’ is a strong word in regards to such a hypothesis. Age isn’t an end all, be all situation. The main aspect in regards to leadership is, in all honesty, charm. One must be considered charming by others before they can lead a cult of people toward a unified belief. After that, so long as the charm exudes confidence and promise of great things, people will flock, and they will follow.” Bo cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet. “Though… I will agree that it’s unlike he’s the leader. It’s doubtful he’d be the only cut-up corpse on the beach if he was their leader.”

“Like the Jonestown guy, yeah?”

Bo nodded. “Yes. If the leader must go down, they all do.”

Dallas set the paper on the counter and reached up to adjust the strap of his sling. “Security footage, then?”

“We can watch it together if you’d like to, but you should alert his family of his death first.”

“Yeah, not a bad call.”

Bo nodded toward the counter. “The paper I gave you includes his last known place of residence. With his age, there’s a relatively good chance that residence belongs to his parents.”

“Good place to start, if nothing else.” Dallas grabbed the paper. “Did you, uh, ever attend a notification of death with your favorite officer?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m no more experienced in that than you are.” Bo shifted uncomfortably. “I can still go with you, though, if that’s something you would prefer.”

“That’d be appreciated, Austen.”

Bo nodded. “Will you give me a moment to mark the security footage as evidence before we leave?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dallas grabbed the tape and took it over to Bo. “Record whatever you need to. I’m gonna stop by my desk and grab my notepad. So I’ll just wait for you up there?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Great. I’ll meet you up there when you’re ready to go.”

“Okay.”

Dallas took a step back, clearing his throat. “Hey, uh, look, I don’t wanna overstep, but… if you don’t wanna sleep here tonight and you can’t sleep in an empty house, I’ve got a couch you’re more than welcome to. You know, until your analyst gets back.”

Finally, Bo met his gaze. It was brief, but Dallas was certain it had happened. “What would you expect in return?”

“You to drop the ‘Mister’ you’ve started putting in front of my name.”

“I appreciate the offer. I… will take it into consideration.”

Dallas smiled. “Works for me. Take your time, and I’ll be upstairs till you’re ready to head out.”

“And then where?”

“Hopefully the parking lot.”

A faint smile tugged at one corner of Bo’s mouth. “I would agree with that plan. I won’t be long.”

Dallas gave him a two-fingered salute and walked out of the lab. He figured Bo would never realize it, but not immediately rejecting Dallas’s offer was damn good progress. Maybe finding something more on the ‘common ground’ scale had helped.

Or he senses we’re monsters and totally wishes he were dead. He just wants us to expedite the process, Ed said.

Or, he senses that you’re an asshole, and he’s going to do us all the favor of killing us both.

Ed only laughed his response.

***

Dallas walked up the stairs of Robert Sawyer’s last known residence, Bo a good two or three feet behind him. Dallas let out a harsh breath before knocking on the door. It wasn’t long before a woman opened it. She eyed Dallas, gaze settling on his badge for several seconds before her gaze shifted to Bo.

Finally, her eyes lifted to Dallas’s face. “Can I help you?”

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Officer Silver from the LAPD. This is the last known residence of Robert Sawyer. Do you, by any chance, know him?”

“I-I’m his mother.”

“Miss Sawyer, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but your son was found dead yesterday morning.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Seven

Saturday: February 9, 2008

Dallas had barely gotten breakfast onto the two plates on the counter before his little brother walked out into the kitchen, still in his pajamas. “Hey, wasn’t expecting you to wake up early today. Was just gonna put your food in the fridge.”

“If I gotta start waking up early on the weekdays for school, I figure it’s best to keep it up on the weekends too. Or, at least the weekends you wake up early on. Keep things consistent, you know?”

Dallas nodded. “Well, I won’t stop you if it’s what you think’s best.” He set one of the plates on the island and pushed it closer to his brother. “Need me to take you anywhere before I head in for work? Or are you good?”

Xavier shook his head as he stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Planning on doing some homework and then gaming.”

“All right. If you decide you wanna hang out with someone, text me, let me know.”

“I will.” Xavier yawned, scrubbing a hand over his left cheek.

Aww, he’s so cute, isn’t he? But imagine how much better he’d be if we reached behind us to grab a knife from the block and slit his handsome little throat with it?

Dallas considered himself thankful that Xavier’s response pulled him further away from Ed’s control, “Do you have to go in every weekend?”

“No, I’m just going in today because I should have a warrant I can carry out, make some good progress.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. Good luck with your day of gaming.”

Xavier snorted. “Thanks.” He grabbed the plate and walked into the living room. After grabbing his coffee, Dallas followed suit. He hadn’t been lying when he told Bo his little brother liked patterns and predictability too. Making sure they ate breakfast together whenever they could was only one piece of that. Xavier’s daily video game playing—several hours a day, designated to specific times during the day—was another piece of it. Dallas did his best to accommodate it as well as he could, and if it helped his blonde lab geek ‘buddy’ at all, he’d do his best to do the same for Bo’s patterns.

Hopefully, it would make Dallas’s experience in Homicide a little less miserable than his experience in Narcotics.

***

Dallas found Bo in the lab, his arms crossed over the table, his face buried between them. Dallas flipped on the light almost cautiously, and without any prompting, Bo lifted his head. “Hey, man. You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… sleep here?”

“Yes.” Bo pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his satchel and camera bag from the floor. “I live with the other analyst I’m usually partnered with. Sleeping in his house by myself was a terrible experience. Sleeping here was easier and more familiar.”

Dallas nodded. “Okay. At least… you were able to find something familiar for you. That’s never really a bad thing.”

“Some people are familiar with cocaine and heroin. ‘Never’ is a strong term. But in this case, I suppose you’re right.” Dallas snorted, though Bo’s usual expression revealed that, once again, it hadn’t registered with Bo that the statement could be considered humorous. Bo lifted his satchel over his head and settled the strap of his camera bag on his shoulder. Eyes on the wall just beyond Dallas’s head, he tucked his hands behind his back. “Would you like to get coffee on the drive to the gatekeeper of our security footage?”

Dallas chuckled. “Would love to.”

Bo’s smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come. “Okay. Lead the way.”

No matter how long the smile had lasted, Dallas was making progress with his temporary shift buddy.

The closer you get to him, the harder it will be for us to kill him.

This time, Dallas chose to respond with a single thought, That’s the goal.

***

Dallas walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Bo hung back a few feet, far enough away that he didn’t have to be involved if the situation didn’t call for it.

A man opened the door, a cup of coffee in his hand. He sighed. “Hey, Austen.”

“Sir,” Bo greeted, his voice quiet.

The man’s eyes shifted to Dallas’s face. “If you want something, your chief knows damn well I ain’t helping you without a warrant.”

Dallas smiled, holding up the warrant in question. “We need your security footage for the parking lot you own near the beach. The timestamps we need are included here in the warrant.”

The man grabbed the warrant from him. “Great. The footage isn’t here, though. I’ve got a little office building by the parking lot. You can follow me there and wait for it, or I can bring it to you when it’s ready.”

“We’ll follow you. There’s a chance I’m not spending much time at the station today.”

“A’ight.” The man cleared his throat, holding up the coffee mug. “Let me move this over to a travel mug.”

“Of course, sir. We’ll wait.” The man nodded and stepped back, closing the door. Dallas turned to face Bo. “That went well, yeah.”

“Yes. It usually does once he’s presented with the warrant. He follows the laws without any issue, including the information given about Chief Pitman.”

“But you don’t?” Dallas asked.

Bo shook his head. “No. I’ve met the chief, and he did nothing but go out of his way to make sure I was comfortable in the station. Besides, the reporter who initially started the rumors of his supposed corruption was a racist. Accusing a black man in a position of any type of power of being corrupt loses a lot of its merit when that accuser is known to hate Black people.”

“That’s fair. I’d be inclined not to believe the asshole, either.” Dallas cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“Should I be prepared for Burke to hone in on me eventually?”

“Yes. You said it yourself, Mister Silver. You’re fresh meat. When she’s bored of me, she finally has new blood to go after. That will be you.”

“And she harasses every dude at the station like that?”

“Yes, for the most part. If you won’t sleep with her, she finds other things to harass you about.”

“Is that why your favorite officer left?” Dallas asked. Bo refused to look up at him, but he nodded. “I’m sorry she chased the guy away, Austen.”

“Me too.” Bo took a step back. “Since I don’t foresee any issues arising with Mister Richardson, I’ll be in the car.”

“Is that his name?”

The tiniest smile tugged at one corner of Bo’s mouth. “Yes, that’s his name. You’ll remember it without me?”

“Totally.”

“I’m unsure if you’re aware of this, but ‘totally’ in that tone of voice doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“Psh.” Dallas slashed a hand through the air. “I’ll be fine. Mister Richardson. I’ve got it memorized and filed away for future reference. And if not, I have the greatest default of ‘sir’.”

“Not a terrible point.” Bo nodded. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Sure thing, man. I’ll be there in a few.”

What if we kill Mister Richardson while Short Stuff is in the car?

Still not a criminal, Dallas thought.

No, but a stranger is a compromise from my very, very deep desire to wrap our hands around the little blonde’s throat until the life leaves his eyes.

Dallas cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch his brow. It’s shit like this that keeps me from responding to you, for what it’s worth.

Aww, Tex, you’re no fun.

Latch your desire onto a fucking criminal–a real one–and maybe we’ll change that for a day.

Though he didn’t offer a verbal response, Ed’s chuckle let Dallas know that his answer had been satisfactory. He’d chalk that up as a win for the day. ‘Satisfactory’ normally made Ed shut his damn mouth for an hour or two.

The door opened, and Mister Richardson stepped outside. “Ready to go?”

Dallas nodded. “Following you, sir.”

***

Dallas sat in the small waiting room of Mister Richardson’s office building. Bo sat three chairs away, an open notebook on his lap. Dallas considered asking what he was working on, but there was a good chance he had already annoyed the lab geek enough for one morning.

Instead, it was Bo who broke the silence. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Xavier.”

“He must live with you?”

“What makes you guess that?” Dallas asked.

“You were glad your father was dead. I don’t know if your mother was in the picture then or if she still is, but if she were, I imagine you would still feel safest if he lived with you.”

Dallas nodded. “Yeah, he lives with me.” He cleared his throat, flipping his cell phone in his hand, tapping it against his thigh with every turn of the device. “You an only child, Austen?”

“As far as I know.”

“Far… as you know?”

Bo nodded, his gaze still focused on his notebook. “I was given up for adoption when I was young. I could have a dozen biological siblings and have no idea any of them exist.”

“Does that bother you? The sibling thing, not the adoption.”

“I don’t think so, no. I’m not good at interacting with other people. I would prefer that my awkward interactions be as limited with family members as possible. A sibling I knew about would presumably want to interact.” A pause. “Thank you for clarifying.”

“No problem.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Fifteen.”

“Is he awkward?”

“Awkwardly long-legged, yeah.”

Bo snorted, but he didn’t respond.

“His best friend is the school’s guidance counselor. Yeah, he’s a little awkward,” Dallas said.

Bo nodded. “Is he withdrawn from his classmates?”

“What the hell are you doing? Psychoanalyzing my family?” Dallas leaned over and grabbed Bo’s notebook. In an unexpected turn, what Bo had been writing down had absolutely nothing to do with Dallas or his brother. Everything on the page was strictly related to their homicide case. “Umm… sorry. That’s pretty out of character for me. I don’t normally… I haven’t been sleeping well,” Dallas said quietly, handing the notebook back to Bo.

Bo smoothed a hand over his notebook page and, after a moment of absolute stillness, went back to writing.

“You were trying to back up the assumption that my father was abusive, huh?”

Bo didn’t respond.

“He was, for what it’s worth. My mom was already dead by then. For most of it, anyway. Xavier’s mom is still alive, though. She was thankfully deemed unfit to take care of him.” Dallas was greeted with more silence. He looked over at Bo, who had quietly moved over another seat, putting three chairs between them rather than the previous two.

Dallas closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall.

Now can we kill him, Tex? Since your friendship is clearly going nowhere?

No, we may not.

Ed groaned. So what? He makes you think of what a freak your brother will grow up to be if you don’t help him learn to better interact with people? He makes you realize how your brother’s little patterns and habits aren’t going to help him fair in the real world? But as long as you can show this little twerp that even one person cares, you can convince yourself your brother will be fine? You’re an idiot, Tex.

Dallas took a page straight out of Bo’s book and chose not to respond.

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NOT EDITED

Back home from a boxing session intense enough to hopefully keep Ed out of his head for a few hours, Dallas dropped into his desk chair, snagging the folder Bo had given him at the station. Though he was still supposed to be ‘taking it easy’ on his shoulder, he had needed the workout, had needed Ed to shut the hell up for ever an hour. He’d been careful with the arm, if nothing else. That had to count for something.

He kicked his feet up on his desk and flipped open the folder.

The first page in the file was Bo’s report on the scene and his initial impressions on the body. For instance, he had noticed right away that blood had pooled in the victim’s back, despite being found on his stomach. According to Bo, the fact that livor mortis had been unaltered by his position in the sand meant that he had been dead more than six hours.

The internal temperature taken at the scene had confirmed it, placing his time of death around eleven o’clock the night before.

Dallas flipped through a few pages, stopping at the autopsy results. Though Bo had included more paperwork about a body than Dallas had ever known possible, his eyes went to the blonde’s computer-like handwriting on the half-sheet of paper clipped to the top of the page.

Silver,

You’ll learn rather quickly that you don’t need to truly understand most of the paperwork in this file, but I’m required to include it for eventual trial-related reasons. I’ll include your key points below.

* I’ve been unable to identify the victim up to this point; I’m running his picture through the DMV’s database

* the victim appears to have a needle mark on his inner arm, near the elbow of the left arm; I won’t know what kind of drugs were injected into his system until after the tox screen comes back

* four of his organs were removed: the heart, both kidneys, and the right lung (the left has tumors in the superior lobe)

* I haven’t had the chance to identify them all, but many of his carvings translate to ‘strength’ or ‘power’ in various languages, religions, and cultures

You may do whatever you please with that information, and as long as you have no intention of bringing up Burke and involving yourself in that situation, you may call me with any questions you have. I’ve included my cell phone number below.

Dallas let out a breath, tossing the folder onto his desk. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned up to pull his cell phone from his pocket. He added Bo’s number to his contacts and called it, pressing the device to his ear.

“Austen.”

“Hey, it’s Dallas Silver.”

“Yes.”

Dallas cleared his throat. “Apologies again for involving myself.”

“Okay. Did you read the file?”

“Yeah, yeah. Umm, why do you think the organs were taken?” Dallas asked.

“The same reasons the symbols were carved: for something he believes in,” Bo said, as if that answered every damn question in the world.

“And, uh, what kind of belief would that be?” Dallas asked.

“It’s hard to say. There’s no specific belief system that tells its believers to carve symbols into themselves and have someone else remove their organs. “Much of what I can say about it past that would only be an assumption.”

“Are you against assumptions?”

“I’m against giving assumptions to people I’m inexperienced with, yes. The wrong assumption can and will lead an investigator down the wrong path, not to mention a closed-minded path. Being uncertain as to if the investigator can ignore that assumption if need be is a necessity for me,” Bo said.

“Can we assume I’m pretty damn good at following any path I can in an investigation?”

“As much as I’d like to, your investigations previous to this one have been… different. You aren’t after someone selling drugs. You’re after a murderer.”

“Many of those dealers and ‘someones’ that were selling drugs were also cold-blooded killers,” Dallas said.

“Yes, but those murders weren’t part of your investigation. Those murders were investigated by a homicide detective, maybe even the FBI.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Dallas kicked his feet up on his desk again, his injured arm resting against his chest. “How long does it take before you trust me enough to give me some assumptions?”

“If I told you that, you’d ask our lieutenant for a new analyst buddy.”

Dallas laughed. “All right, man.  No new analyst buddy, then. I’ll just have to work my ass off for you to trust me.”

“And I’ll wish you the best of luck with that endeavor.”

Dallas snorted. Bo’s sentences were entirely deadpan, and Dallas had a feeling he had no damn idea that he was funny in any sense of the word. “What if I pitch a couple theories to you? Would you be cool with that?”

“Is that something you feel you need to do?”

“It’s what I would’ve done in Narcotics?”

Bo fell silent for a moment. “Okay.”

We should invite him over. We could ask about Burke, find out a little more than we already know. Yes?

Dallas shook his head. He had hoped his workout would keep Ed at bay for a bit longer. Sometimes he lucked out with his boxing sessions and managed to silence the bastard for a couple hours. Tragically, the days where he ‘lucked out’ had become far less frequent again. “The fact that he had other people willing to carve him up like that over an extended period of time makes me feel like we’ve got some sort of cult on our hands.”

“It could certainly be a possibility. Admittedly, it would be hard to convince one’s standard friends or family members to cut symbols into their skin for a year or two,” Bo said.

“Yeah, I was thinking much the same there. You said the symbols are from different religions and whatnot, right?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s pretty unlikely that we’re looking at a religious cult?”

“That’s… a less than straightforward answer.”

“Fine with me. We don’t have to see the case in only black or white, yeah?”

Again, Bo’s silence hung in the air for several seconds. “I suppose not.” He cleared his throat. “In the same way that different cultures see specific actions differently–for instance, an action being respectful in some cultures but disrespectful as others–there’s always the opportunity for a religion to adopt symbols from other religions, though they usually change the name and the meaning. That said, I still find it doubtful that all of these symbols belong to any single recognized religion. I’m not a religious man, nor have I ever been, but I’m aware of many aspects of many of the major religions. If a single religion holds all of these symbols, it is not one that is practiced on a vast scale.”

“Mm.” Dallas pinned his phone between his shoulder and ear long enough to reach out and grab the folder from his desk. “Your notes say the symbols–the ones you knew, anyway–were mostly symbols for strength. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So if we couple that with the missing organs and the fact they didn’t take the presumably diseased lung…”

“You won’t trick me into filling in that assumption, Mister Silver,” Bo said after several seconds of silence.

Dallas chuckled. “Apologies. I was trying to interrogation tactic you.”

“I assumed.”

“Are there cases of human consumption of organs for, like, strength? That sounds vaguely familiar to me.”

“Technically, but not in the sense you’re thinking of. There are historical records of certain cultures believing that eating an organ would give them the strength that organ held.”

“Mm, okay. So… it’s possible that these people were using the strength symbols to, like, what? Supercharge the superpowers they’d get from eating someone’s kidney?”

“Well, the strength, if that’s the theory we’re hypothesizing around. And, yes, it would be a possibility that the symbols were used as some sort of… ‘charging’ method for the strength of the healthy organs.”

“Maybe it’s a cult of sick people. So eating the healthy supercharged lung is supposed to fix… their lung cancer, y’know?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Dallas nodded. “What could possibly drive modern Americans to believe in that kind of thing?”

“There are many possibilities. What drives people to do anything they do in terms of murder?”

“Money, greed, jealousy, sex, desperation, curiosity.” Dallas glanced up at the ceiling. “I guess if I was sick and had tried everything to get better, I’d be desperate as hell. I’d try anything to get rid of the sickness.”

Aww, I’m a sickness now? Ed asked. I have feelings, you know, Tex.

Dallas cleared his throat. “So if we hypothesize with this theory a bit, what’s our next step?”

“Well, we need to watch and analyze the footage from the parking lot.”

“I should have access to that tomorrow.”

“Okay. I still need to identify the victim, as well. It’ll allow you to speak to his family and find out what they know about what he may or may not have been involved with when he was alive. Like I said, a cult situation is a possibility, and there are cases where the family of the members of those cults are aware that their children belong to a cult. The members often don’t see it that way, but the people on the outside looking in have a different… perspective.”

“Yeah. Think you’ll have an ID on him by tomorrow too?” Dallas asked.

“As long as he had a driver’s license, yes, I would imagine I’ll have a match by then.”

“Great. So I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll go get our security footage, yes?”

“If you would like me to accompany you, yes.”

“You’re sorta my babysitter for now, remember?”

“You’re older than me by… Well, I’m unsure. A few years, at the very least.”

Dallas snorted. “Five. Sometimes adults need supervision too.”

“I suppose. I’ll go with you tomorrow, then, after Burke gives you the warrant.”

“Great. I’ll see you then. Enjoy your evening, Austen.”

“You as well, Mister Silver.”

Dallas pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call. “Xavier?”

“Yeah?” his little brother’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“You eat supper yet?”

“No!”

“You hungry?”

“Yeah!”

Dallas set the folder on his desk, dropped his feet to the floor, and pushed himself out of his chair. He headed down the hall and opened the door to his brother’s room. At the age of fifteen, Xavier was still in his awkward years in terms of growth. Though he was slowly approaching Dallas’s just over six-foot frame, he was mostly all leg, which was painfully obvious when he gamed in his beanbag chair in the middle of his room, legs bent like those of a grasshopper.

“Got anything in mind?” Dallas asked.

“No, anything’s fine.” Xavier paused his game and twisted in his chair to meet his brother’s eyes. “How was day uno of Homicide?”

“Not bad. My lieutenant partnered me with a lab geek so I’d still have a… I don’t know, an advisor of sorts, I guess. That was appreciated. And I have a case already.”

Xavier smiled. “Proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Dallas tapped a hand against the door frame, taking a small step back. “Well, back to your game, then. I’ll whip up something for us.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need help?”

“Will do.” Dallas closed the door, letting out a breath. He’d been raising his little brother for the last few years, though his grandparents had done the majority of raising while Dallas was in college. Now, his brother was solely his responsibility, and though Ed made it far more difficult than it needed to be, he wouldn’t change it for the world. No one would ever hurt Xavier again, and even if killing their father had given Ed far more control over Dallas than he had ever hoped to relinquish, that was all that mattered.

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