Post by moms5thchild on Nov 20, 2005 7:56:27 GMT -5
Hate Crimes
Chapter One
Christmas was coming.
Sure, it wasn’t Halloween yet, the leaves were still on the trees and you didn’t need to button up your coat but Christmas was still coming. Jim Dunbar used to love Christmas, the colored lights on the houses, the tinsel covered trees, the brightly wrapped presents. That was before his ‘accident’. Now it meant crowds shoving him around, snow hiding the landmarks he needed to navigate and the feeling of being outside looking in. Ha, there was the joke, looking in. Still, Christmas was coming. It was nipping at his heels; it was reminding him that he had to get started now if he was to get everything done and still be sane when December 25th rolled around.
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“Okay,” Lieutenant Fisk came into the squad room with a clip board in his hand, “time for our annual bitch and complain session. We have Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years breathing hot and heavy down our necks and we have to cover two shifts instead of one on those happy occasions. First, Halloween, I want at two of you here the night of the 31st, with the other two on call. Dunbar, since you are the newest inmate at the asylum and you don’t have kids, you get to be here to watch out for all the witches and demons.”
“Ah, does that mean I gotta stay here too.” Karen Betancourt whined.
“Thanks, partner. Love to know where I sit in the scheme of things.” Jim cut in.
“No, Karen, you were here last year,” Fisk replied.
“So was I,” Tom Selway said.
“Hey, I got a kid,” Russo added.
“Says here, that your exe has him that weekend and you want to be free for Thanksgiving. I can still read your vacation requests, Frank.” Fisk shuffled the papers on his clipboard, “says here you’re taking Frankie to Disney World that week.”
“Caught,” Selway said and snapped his gum.
“What you coming to work as Marty,” Jim asked sweetly. “I don’t want our costumes to clash.”
“Figured I’d come as a white cane so I’ll look natural around you.”
Jim sent a rubber band sailing towards Marty’s voice and smiled when he heard yelp coming from the spot he aimed at.
“Dunbar, play nice.” Fisk could barely hide the laughter in his voice.
“Two points, Jim.” Tom said.
“Back to business, next holiday is Thanksgiving. Dunbar already requested that one too, so that leaves Karen and Tom. Jim, says here you’ll be in Connecticut, with Russo in Florida I’ll have to arrange some coverage with another Precinct. Tom, you ever work with Andy Sipowicz from the 15th.”
“Yeah, I met him when Lieutenant Fancy was there. Why?”
“Andy just got promoted to squad chief and he owes me a favor so I’ll arrange with him if you need backup.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Next is the big one, Christmas. That’s two in one cause we got Christmas Eve and Christmas day. It’s just my luck not to have any Jewish detectives. Anyone ready to commit now or will I have to wait for that information.” Fisk scanned his officers. Karen just shrugged while the men fiddled with rubber bands. There was a shooting war in the making and Gary just shook his head. Sometimes Dunbar was a pain in the ass, but he was always a surprise. “I want answers by the end of next week about the vacation list… and if I have to confiscate every rubber band in this office I’m going to send you all to Juvenile Division.” He turned to go back into his office, shaking his head when a rubber band went sailing past his ear.
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Jim and Hank entered the squad room at 3:30 p.m. on October 31st wearing business casual. Jim had a turtleneck sweater rather than a suit and tie, Hank was sporting a set of devil horns.
“Hankie,” Karen bent down to remove the band from his head, “someone doesn’t respect your dignity, does he?”
Jim paused in setting up his computer, “I thought it was cute.”
“Yeah, bout as funny as a crutch,” Karen took velvet horns, marched over to her partner and put them on Jim’s head. “You’re right, they are kinda cute.”
Jim patted the horns, took off his glasses and waggled his eyebrows. Karen just laughed at this silliness.
“What are you doing tonight?” Jim asked as he slipped the horns off.
“I have a date,” she said very primly. “Don’t get too nosy. He’s a pastry chef. I met him when I helped a friend plan her wedding and that’s all the information you’re getting.”
“Cool, will you be bringing samples of his work here?”
“Only if you want to weigh about a ton, he’s actually a really fantastic pastry chef.”
“You’re dating a pastry chef?” Marty’s voice stopped the conversation. “Does he make ‘sex in a pan’?”
“You are a creep, and for that, I hope your car gets soaped tonight.”
“I hope that’s all that happens tonight,” Jim said.
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Fisk said as he left his office. “Well, you two know the system; hope you don’t have to use it. Karen, it’s almost 4 o’clock, may I escort you to your car.”
“It’s nice to know someone here is a gentleman.” Karen said as she took Fisk’s arm and they left.
“Well, Jim,” Marty turned to Dunbar, “looks like it’s just the two of us. What now?”
“There’s a Rangers game on the radio tonight.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marty replied as he started up his computer. “Hockey and paperwork and hopefully that’s it for tonight.”
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The call came in at 9:32 pm, two bodies found behind a dumpster off Mosco Street. The uniforms already had the area taped off when Russo and Dunbar got there. Marty kept his arm stiff when he guided Jim to the murder scene, keeping his steps small and his movements hesitant.
“Marty, relax,” Jim coached him, “it’s easier if you just move naturally. Just tell me when we hit a curb.”
“Yeah,” Marty said, but he couldn’t seem guide as naturally as Karen.
“Detectives, this way,” a female officer lead them to the scene. “Two bodies, charred pretty badly. If you get close enough you can smell’em, but there doesn’t seem to be any gasoline or any other ignition source on the bodies.”
“So they were dumped.” Marty left Jim and walked up to the bodies talking in a stream of conscious style to let Jim know what he was seeing. “They’re pretty badly burnt, look young though. They appear to be clad in jeans, leather jackets, and athletic shoes but can’t get any more specific than that.”
“Anything unusual around them,” Jim asked.
“Just garbage; fish heads and cabbage, the wet and disgusting kind of garbage that things don’t burn in. Hold on, what is this?” Marty fumbled under the dumpster for something. “Now I got something unusual.”
“What is it?”
Marty answered by handing Jim a bundle on aluminum tubes. Jim ran his hands over the burned surface, finding the nub of a handle strap at the top, the size variations and the remains of heavy elastic inside.
“I’d say that was a white cane.” Marty voice stilled Jim’s hands.
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“There goes the meat wagon,” Marty said as the coroner’s van turned from Mosco Street, onto Mott and out of Chinatown. “I could sure go for a coffee before we head back to the station.”
“Wo Hop’s is just around the corner, a bowl of congee would taste real good right now.”
“You’re right, Dunbar.” Marty tapped Jim’s hand, signaling him to take his arm.
“Marty, relax.” Jim shook Marty’s arm, “Just walk naturally. You know Christie and I can jog like this so you don’t have to worry about going too fast.”
Marty didn’t answer, but his arm loosened and his stride lengthened and Jim could move more naturally. Going south on Mott Street they got to Wo Hop’s quickly and went downstairs to the smoky, crowded dining room tourists rarely saw. At the long, scarred table Marty pulled out his notebook while he and Jim waited for their food.
“Were the bodies’ charcoal?” Jim asked.
“Their heads and torsos were. Looks like the perps wanted identification to be hard to do.” Marty checked his notes. “No wallets, no id’s, hands crushed and burned. We’ll probably have to wait on the DNA and hope our vics were in the system.”
“Wonder if they were blind?” Jim mused.
“Could be, or that cane coulda just been there.”
Jim put his cane on the table top. “These things aren’t collected like walking sticks. They’re too expensive and too noticeable, hell; they’re made to be seen. If you’re waving one around and you’re not blind someone would say something.”
“Dunbar, its Halloween. Tonight you could be walking around with two heads and no one would say anything.”
“You’re probably right. This is not the night for the normal and sane.” Jim stopped as a bowl of pork congee was placed in front of him. “Marty, where’s the hot mustard?”
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The DNA of the victims was not in the system, but it was determined they were Caucasian males between 15 and 25 years of age. Missing persons, juvenile crime, Center for Missing and Exploited Children were checked and nothing was found. After 48 hours there were still no leads and the case grew cold.
November 2nd was a miserable day. Rain pelted down making it nearly impossible for Jim to make it to work on his own. He would have tried, but Christie put her foot down and drove him to the precinct. Still, from the street to the door both Jim and Hank were soaked.
“Do you smell something funky?” Marty sniffed loudly.
“Wet dog” Tom asked.
“Wet Dunbar,” Russo shot back.
“Very funny, Russo,” Fisk said from his office, “Get used to it. Jim, don’t take off your coat. I want both of you to head over to the 15th. Sipowicz is waiting for you.”
“What is it?” Jim asked as he adjusted his computer bag on his shoulder.
“They’ve got a homicide sound like your Halloween case. A body, behind a dumpster, burned with gasoline.”
“So, that makes it like our Halloween case.” Marty said as he got his coat.
“Yeah,” Fisk said, “seems this vic had a bi-lateral ocular amputation with prosthesis.”
“What does that mean on a good day?”
“That means,” Jim answered, “the vic had its eyes removed and replaced with artificial ones.”
Chapter One
Christmas was coming.
Sure, it wasn’t Halloween yet, the leaves were still on the trees and you didn’t need to button up your coat but Christmas was still coming. Jim Dunbar used to love Christmas, the colored lights on the houses, the tinsel covered trees, the brightly wrapped presents. That was before his ‘accident’. Now it meant crowds shoving him around, snow hiding the landmarks he needed to navigate and the feeling of being outside looking in. Ha, there was the joke, looking in. Still, Christmas was coming. It was nipping at his heels; it was reminding him that he had to get started now if he was to get everything done and still be sane when December 25th rolled around.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Okay,” Lieutenant Fisk came into the squad room with a clip board in his hand, “time for our annual bitch and complain session. We have Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years breathing hot and heavy down our necks and we have to cover two shifts instead of one on those happy occasions. First, Halloween, I want at two of you here the night of the 31st, with the other two on call. Dunbar, since you are the newest inmate at the asylum and you don’t have kids, you get to be here to watch out for all the witches and demons.”
“Ah, does that mean I gotta stay here too.” Karen Betancourt whined.
“Thanks, partner. Love to know where I sit in the scheme of things.” Jim cut in.
“No, Karen, you were here last year,” Fisk replied.
“So was I,” Tom Selway said.
“Hey, I got a kid,” Russo added.
“Says here, that your exe has him that weekend and you want to be free for Thanksgiving. I can still read your vacation requests, Frank.” Fisk shuffled the papers on his clipboard, “says here you’re taking Frankie to Disney World that week.”
“Caught,” Selway said and snapped his gum.
“What you coming to work as Marty,” Jim asked sweetly. “I don’t want our costumes to clash.”
“Figured I’d come as a white cane so I’ll look natural around you.”
Jim sent a rubber band sailing towards Marty’s voice and smiled when he heard yelp coming from the spot he aimed at.
“Dunbar, play nice.” Fisk could barely hide the laughter in his voice.
“Two points, Jim.” Tom said.
“Back to business, next holiday is Thanksgiving. Dunbar already requested that one too, so that leaves Karen and Tom. Jim, says here you’ll be in Connecticut, with Russo in Florida I’ll have to arrange some coverage with another Precinct. Tom, you ever work with Andy Sipowicz from the 15th.”
“Yeah, I met him when Lieutenant Fancy was there. Why?”
“Andy just got promoted to squad chief and he owes me a favor so I’ll arrange with him if you need backup.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Next is the big one, Christmas. That’s two in one cause we got Christmas Eve and Christmas day. It’s just my luck not to have any Jewish detectives. Anyone ready to commit now or will I have to wait for that information.” Fisk scanned his officers. Karen just shrugged while the men fiddled with rubber bands. There was a shooting war in the making and Gary just shook his head. Sometimes Dunbar was a pain in the ass, but he was always a surprise. “I want answers by the end of next week about the vacation list… and if I have to confiscate every rubber band in this office I’m going to send you all to Juvenile Division.” He turned to go back into his office, shaking his head when a rubber band went sailing past his ear.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jim and Hank entered the squad room at 3:30 p.m. on October 31st wearing business casual. Jim had a turtleneck sweater rather than a suit and tie, Hank was sporting a set of devil horns.
“Hankie,” Karen bent down to remove the band from his head, “someone doesn’t respect your dignity, does he?”
Jim paused in setting up his computer, “I thought it was cute.”
“Yeah, bout as funny as a crutch,” Karen took velvet horns, marched over to her partner and put them on Jim’s head. “You’re right, they are kinda cute.”
Jim patted the horns, took off his glasses and waggled his eyebrows. Karen just laughed at this silliness.
“What are you doing tonight?” Jim asked as he slipped the horns off.
“I have a date,” she said very primly. “Don’t get too nosy. He’s a pastry chef. I met him when I helped a friend plan her wedding and that’s all the information you’re getting.”
“Cool, will you be bringing samples of his work here?”
“Only if you want to weigh about a ton, he’s actually a really fantastic pastry chef.”
“You’re dating a pastry chef?” Marty’s voice stopped the conversation. “Does he make ‘sex in a pan’?”
“You are a creep, and for that, I hope your car gets soaped tonight.”
“I hope that’s all that happens tonight,” Jim said.
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Fisk said as he left his office. “Well, you two know the system; hope you don’t have to use it. Karen, it’s almost 4 o’clock, may I escort you to your car.”
“It’s nice to know someone here is a gentleman.” Karen said as she took Fisk’s arm and they left.
“Well, Jim,” Marty turned to Dunbar, “looks like it’s just the two of us. What now?”
“There’s a Rangers game on the radio tonight.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marty replied as he started up his computer. “Hockey and paperwork and hopefully that’s it for tonight.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The call came in at 9:32 pm, two bodies found behind a dumpster off Mosco Street. The uniforms already had the area taped off when Russo and Dunbar got there. Marty kept his arm stiff when he guided Jim to the murder scene, keeping his steps small and his movements hesitant.
“Marty, relax,” Jim coached him, “it’s easier if you just move naturally. Just tell me when we hit a curb.”
“Yeah,” Marty said, but he couldn’t seem guide as naturally as Karen.
“Detectives, this way,” a female officer lead them to the scene. “Two bodies, charred pretty badly. If you get close enough you can smell’em, but there doesn’t seem to be any gasoline or any other ignition source on the bodies.”
“So they were dumped.” Marty left Jim and walked up to the bodies talking in a stream of conscious style to let Jim know what he was seeing. “They’re pretty badly burnt, look young though. They appear to be clad in jeans, leather jackets, and athletic shoes but can’t get any more specific than that.”
“Anything unusual around them,” Jim asked.
“Just garbage; fish heads and cabbage, the wet and disgusting kind of garbage that things don’t burn in. Hold on, what is this?” Marty fumbled under the dumpster for something. “Now I got something unusual.”
“What is it?”
Marty answered by handing Jim a bundle on aluminum tubes. Jim ran his hands over the burned surface, finding the nub of a handle strap at the top, the size variations and the remains of heavy elastic inside.
“I’d say that was a white cane.” Marty voice stilled Jim’s hands.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“There goes the meat wagon,” Marty said as the coroner’s van turned from Mosco Street, onto Mott and out of Chinatown. “I could sure go for a coffee before we head back to the station.”
“Wo Hop’s is just around the corner, a bowl of congee would taste real good right now.”
“You’re right, Dunbar.” Marty tapped Jim’s hand, signaling him to take his arm.
“Marty, relax.” Jim shook Marty’s arm, “Just walk naturally. You know Christie and I can jog like this so you don’t have to worry about going too fast.”
Marty didn’t answer, but his arm loosened and his stride lengthened and Jim could move more naturally. Going south on Mott Street they got to Wo Hop’s quickly and went downstairs to the smoky, crowded dining room tourists rarely saw. At the long, scarred table Marty pulled out his notebook while he and Jim waited for their food.
“Were the bodies’ charcoal?” Jim asked.
“Their heads and torsos were. Looks like the perps wanted identification to be hard to do.” Marty checked his notes. “No wallets, no id’s, hands crushed and burned. We’ll probably have to wait on the DNA and hope our vics were in the system.”
“Wonder if they were blind?” Jim mused.
“Could be, or that cane coulda just been there.”
Jim put his cane on the table top. “These things aren’t collected like walking sticks. They’re too expensive and too noticeable, hell; they’re made to be seen. If you’re waving one around and you’re not blind someone would say something.”
“Dunbar, its Halloween. Tonight you could be walking around with two heads and no one would say anything.”
“You’re probably right. This is not the night for the normal and sane.” Jim stopped as a bowl of pork congee was placed in front of him. “Marty, where’s the hot mustard?”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The DNA of the victims was not in the system, but it was determined they were Caucasian males between 15 and 25 years of age. Missing persons, juvenile crime, Center for Missing and Exploited Children were checked and nothing was found. After 48 hours there were still no leads and the case grew cold.
November 2nd was a miserable day. Rain pelted down making it nearly impossible for Jim to make it to work on his own. He would have tried, but Christie put her foot down and drove him to the precinct. Still, from the street to the door both Jim and Hank were soaked.
“Do you smell something funky?” Marty sniffed loudly.
“Wet dog” Tom asked.
“Wet Dunbar,” Russo shot back.
“Very funny, Russo,” Fisk said from his office, “Get used to it. Jim, don’t take off your coat. I want both of you to head over to the 15th. Sipowicz is waiting for you.”
“What is it?” Jim asked as he adjusted his computer bag on his shoulder.
“They’ve got a homicide sound like your Halloween case. A body, behind a dumpster, burned with gasoline.”
“So, that makes it like our Halloween case.” Marty said as he got his coat.
“Yeah,” Fisk said, “seems this vic had a bi-lateral ocular amputation with prosthesis.”
“What does that mean on a good day?”
“That means,” Jim answered, “the vic had its eyes removed and replaced with artificial ones.”