What Are You, Mick St. John? [ch. 8] PG13
Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2009 8:42 pm
Beta: Much thanks and appreciation goes to my superbeta, Barb (Bank1115). She’s awesome. This story wouldn’t be where it is without her.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
What Are You, Mick St. John?—Chapter 8
“So, Maizie—what’s the verdict? What is Mutant DNA guy?”
“Well, you can go ask Mutant DNA guy yourself, because you know him. The DNA samples from the glass rim and the blood on the floor are a match.”
Carl blew out the deep breath he’d been holding.
“I think it’s time you told me about this guy,” Maizie looked at him pointedly. “What’s so unusual about him?”
Carl pulled up a stool. “He had a beef with a convicted murderer who just got out of prison after 25 years. Apparently his father, who was a PI like…well, we’ll call him Mutant DNA Guy, had helped put this guy away.”
“The Lee Jay Spalding case—I saw that on the news! —The PI—Mick St. John, yeah?—he’s Mutant DNA Guy?!” She leaned forward eagerly.
Carl sighed. “Apparently. Looks normal enough, doesn’t he?”
“Honey, he looks better than normal.”
Carl rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t tell me that he has an extra good-looking gene, and is therefore too good-looking to be human.”
Maizie smirked. “I didn’t say that. As of yet, I can’t identify his genetic anomalies. I’m hoping you can give me some hints.”
“Well, he’s stronger and quicker than he looks. And I found his fingerprints on the roof of a warehouse—and can’t explain how they got there. I know for a fact he didn’t use the stairs like I did.”
“Okay, so, what—you think he flew?” Maizie cocked an eyebrow.
Carl glared at her. “You tell me, Miss Scientist.”
“Okay, okay—what else?”
“Well…now that we know the blood spatter was his, it contradicts his statement that he was not shot—though he offered to take his shirt off to prove he wasn’t. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Maizie’s eyes widened. “Whoa...are you sure he’s not a werewolf?”
“Well, you’re starting to make me wonder!” Carl said, only half joking. “Besides, I thought you already ruled them out.”
“Yeah,” Maizie sighed. “That would have been cool though, wouldn’t it?” Then she started getting excited. “Maybe he’s some secret government experiment—a bionic man! That’s a little more plausible.”
“Hmm,” Carl grunted.
“By the way, I emailed the DNA profile for the normal blood to Sam at your lab. He should be running it through CODIS as we speak—well, as long as he checks his email frequently. In the meantime, I’ll keep studying St. John’s DNA.”
*************************************************************************************************
After leaving BioAnalysis, Carl got a cochinita pibil to go and took a drive along the coast. He needed to think.
But just as he got out on the highway, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Sam.
Carl immediately did a U-turn and floored it. Twelve minutes later, he entered the lab, breathing unevenly. Sam was waiting for him.
“Lieutenant—got a match in CODIS for the blood in the glass, based on the DNA profile BioAnalysis sent over.”
Carl looked at him expectantly.
Sam took a deep breath. “The trace blood in the glass came from a deceased ex-con, a Willis Lee. He was discovered in an alley a week ago, two gunshots to the head. Coroner removed the bullets. They got a match in IBIS, linked it to a gun belonging to one of his gang rivals, Markus Little. Little is now in custody awaiting trial for first-degree murder.”
“So how the hell did some of Lee’s blood get inside a drinking glass a week after his death—and why?!” Carl exclaimed, starting to pace.
Sam shrugged. “I have no frickin’ idea.” His eyes followed Carl as he wore an invisible path in the floor. “Do you have any ideas, Lieutenant?”
But Carl barely responded with a shake of his head. He abruptly exited the lab in a daze; ignoring Sam’s repeated calling of his name.
What the hell are you, Mick St. John?
*************************************************************************************************
Josh looked up, startled, as a pair of hands suddenly slammed themselves on top of his desk.
“Josh. It was St. John’s blood at that warehouse.” Carl was breathing hard.
“You’re kidding.”
The lieutenant shook his head.
Josh exhaled. “So what do we do?”
“Damned if I know,” Carl plopped into the chair in front of the desk. “Damned if I know.”
Josh frowned suddenly. “Beth lied. She lied—to you, and to me. Right to our faces. She said Mick wasn’t injured.”
“Maybe she didn’t know—she only saw him without a shirt, right? Maybe he was injured elsewhere?” Carl mused.
“I know where I’d like to see him injured,” Josh said darkly.
Carl shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, anyway—no matter where he was injured, she would have seen blood on his clothes. This wasn’t a paper cut.”
“So maybe he was shot, and Beth knows. She lied—there’s no other explanation, Carl!” Josh slammed his hand on the desk and whirled around in his chair to face the wall, his shoulders slumped.
“He was shot, got up, and avoided the ambulance and cops on the way? But there’s another thing that doesn’t make sense—Mick offered to strip down for me, to prove he wasn’t injured. Why would he do that unless he knew I wouldn’t see anything?”
Josh turned his chair back around. “Bluffing? He’s cocky enough.”
“Why would he take the risk? Cops get suspects to strip down all the time for forensics to examine them. He definitely didn’t want us to have his DNA, though—and now we know why.”
“There’s something Beth’s not telling me—I know it. I don’t like this, Carl. This guy’s gotten to her somehow. He’s covering something up, and he’s dragged her into it.”
“Yeah…Josh…there’s something else I haven’t told you about yet.”
Josh raised his eyebrow expectantly.
“I didn’t tell you about it before, because it was…well, it was flippin’ weird,” Carl ran a restless hand over his head. “And I couldn’t explain it. And now…it’s even weirder. And I still can’t explain it.”
Josh sat forward. “What is it?”
“That glass I took from St. John’s apartment for the DNA sample…he hadn’t rinsed it properly and there were traces of red juice—well, what I thought was red juice—in it still,” Carl blew out a shaky breath. “I didn’t ask him to, but Sam analyzed it.”
Josh’s eyes were wide with anticipation. “—And?”
“It wasn’t juice. It was human blood.”
Josh stared at Carl. “What?”
“It was human blood.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Josh waved him off testily. “Why the hell would Mick St. John have human blood in a drinking glass?!”
“Hell if I know,” Carl answered. “It belongs to a gang-banger who was shot dead by one of his rivals the week before it ended up in St. John’s…glass.”
“Okay, so now it’s not only Why, but How?”
Carl shrugged. “Body went through the morgue…”
“So either he snuck in or has a friend?”
“Does it matter? We can’t really check it out; there are no cameras down there.”
“Since when?!”
Carl shrugged. “Budget cuts.” At Josh’s dark look, he added, “How’s really not as important as why, anyway…”
Josh snapped his fingers. “Beth met Mick during that college blood cult case…Ellis and his followers drank blood…perhaps Mick being on that case wasn’t a coincidence.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he’s part of some secret society that drinks blood and does who knows what else.”
Carl raised an eyebrow. “Josh, I never had you down for a conspiracy theorist. Besides, why would a secret society care about Ellis and his merry little band of Goths?”
“Bad press? You explain the blood in the glass, then.”
Carl thought for a moment then slapped his knee. “Okay—back in my day at the academy, I remember reading some case studies about a couple of serial killers who drank the blood of their victims. Mick could be a serial killer with a seriously disturbing fetish.” He shuddered.
“And Lee Jay would have discovered this how?”
Carl shrugged. “Takes one to know one?”
Josh shook his head. “It doesn’t explain why Lee Jay was so bent on revenge against St. John.”
“It does more than your secret blood society theory.”
“Oh. You have a point.”
Carl allowed the corners of his lips to turn up in triumph before another thought came to him. “Maybe Mick only kills serial killers himself, and Lee Jay was the one acting in self-defence.”
Josh stared at him. “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”
Carl shrugged.
“You didn’t hear that phone call. Lee Jay was not acting in self-defence. He definitely had a vendetta.”
“All right, whatever. It was a thought.” He frowned suddenly. “It also doesn’t explain the mutant DNA or the fingerprints on the roof.”
“What does?!”
The two men were at a loss.
To be continued…
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
What Are You, Mick St. John?—Chapter 8
“So, Maizie—what’s the verdict? What is Mutant DNA guy?”
“Well, you can go ask Mutant DNA guy yourself, because you know him. The DNA samples from the glass rim and the blood on the floor are a match.”
Carl blew out the deep breath he’d been holding.
“I think it’s time you told me about this guy,” Maizie looked at him pointedly. “What’s so unusual about him?”
Carl pulled up a stool. “He had a beef with a convicted murderer who just got out of prison after 25 years. Apparently his father, who was a PI like…well, we’ll call him Mutant DNA Guy, had helped put this guy away.”
“The Lee Jay Spalding case—I saw that on the news! —The PI—Mick St. John, yeah?—he’s Mutant DNA Guy?!” She leaned forward eagerly.
Carl sighed. “Apparently. Looks normal enough, doesn’t he?”
“Honey, he looks better than normal.”
Carl rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t tell me that he has an extra good-looking gene, and is therefore too good-looking to be human.”
Maizie smirked. “I didn’t say that. As of yet, I can’t identify his genetic anomalies. I’m hoping you can give me some hints.”
“Well, he’s stronger and quicker than he looks. And I found his fingerprints on the roof of a warehouse—and can’t explain how they got there. I know for a fact he didn’t use the stairs like I did.”
“Okay, so, what—you think he flew?” Maizie cocked an eyebrow.
Carl glared at her. “You tell me, Miss Scientist.”
“Okay, okay—what else?”
“Well…now that we know the blood spatter was his, it contradicts his statement that he was not shot—though he offered to take his shirt off to prove he wasn’t. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Maizie’s eyes widened. “Whoa...are you sure he’s not a werewolf?”
“Well, you’re starting to make me wonder!” Carl said, only half joking. “Besides, I thought you already ruled them out.”
“Yeah,” Maizie sighed. “That would have been cool though, wouldn’t it?” Then she started getting excited. “Maybe he’s some secret government experiment—a bionic man! That’s a little more plausible.”
“Hmm,” Carl grunted.
“By the way, I emailed the DNA profile for the normal blood to Sam at your lab. He should be running it through CODIS as we speak—well, as long as he checks his email frequently. In the meantime, I’ll keep studying St. John’s DNA.”
*************************************************************************************************
After leaving BioAnalysis, Carl got a cochinita pibil to go and took a drive along the coast. He needed to think.
But just as he got out on the highway, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Sam.
Carl immediately did a U-turn and floored it. Twelve minutes later, he entered the lab, breathing unevenly. Sam was waiting for him.
“Lieutenant—got a match in CODIS for the blood in the glass, based on the DNA profile BioAnalysis sent over.”
Carl looked at him expectantly.
Sam took a deep breath. “The trace blood in the glass came from a deceased ex-con, a Willis Lee. He was discovered in an alley a week ago, two gunshots to the head. Coroner removed the bullets. They got a match in IBIS, linked it to a gun belonging to one of his gang rivals, Markus Little. Little is now in custody awaiting trial for first-degree murder.”
“So how the hell did some of Lee’s blood get inside a drinking glass a week after his death—and why?!” Carl exclaimed, starting to pace.
Sam shrugged. “I have no frickin’ idea.” His eyes followed Carl as he wore an invisible path in the floor. “Do you have any ideas, Lieutenant?”
But Carl barely responded with a shake of his head. He abruptly exited the lab in a daze; ignoring Sam’s repeated calling of his name.
What the hell are you, Mick St. John?
*************************************************************************************************
Josh looked up, startled, as a pair of hands suddenly slammed themselves on top of his desk.
“Josh. It was St. John’s blood at that warehouse.” Carl was breathing hard.
“You’re kidding.”
The lieutenant shook his head.
Josh exhaled. “So what do we do?”
“Damned if I know,” Carl plopped into the chair in front of the desk. “Damned if I know.”
Josh frowned suddenly. “Beth lied. She lied—to you, and to me. Right to our faces. She said Mick wasn’t injured.”
“Maybe she didn’t know—she only saw him without a shirt, right? Maybe he was injured elsewhere?” Carl mused.
“I know where I’d like to see him injured,” Josh said darkly.
Carl shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, anyway—no matter where he was injured, she would have seen blood on his clothes. This wasn’t a paper cut.”
“So maybe he was shot, and Beth knows. She lied—there’s no other explanation, Carl!” Josh slammed his hand on the desk and whirled around in his chair to face the wall, his shoulders slumped.
“He was shot, got up, and avoided the ambulance and cops on the way? But there’s another thing that doesn’t make sense—Mick offered to strip down for me, to prove he wasn’t injured. Why would he do that unless he knew I wouldn’t see anything?”
Josh turned his chair back around. “Bluffing? He’s cocky enough.”
“Why would he take the risk? Cops get suspects to strip down all the time for forensics to examine them. He definitely didn’t want us to have his DNA, though—and now we know why.”
“There’s something Beth’s not telling me—I know it. I don’t like this, Carl. This guy’s gotten to her somehow. He’s covering something up, and he’s dragged her into it.”
“Yeah…Josh…there’s something else I haven’t told you about yet.”
Josh raised his eyebrow expectantly.
“I didn’t tell you about it before, because it was…well, it was flippin’ weird,” Carl ran a restless hand over his head. “And I couldn’t explain it. And now…it’s even weirder. And I still can’t explain it.”
Josh sat forward. “What is it?”
“That glass I took from St. John’s apartment for the DNA sample…he hadn’t rinsed it properly and there were traces of red juice—well, what I thought was red juice—in it still,” Carl blew out a shaky breath. “I didn’t ask him to, but Sam analyzed it.”
Josh’s eyes were wide with anticipation. “—And?”
“It wasn’t juice. It was human blood.”
Josh stared at Carl. “What?”
“It was human blood.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Josh waved him off testily. “Why the hell would Mick St. John have human blood in a drinking glass?!”
“Hell if I know,” Carl answered. “It belongs to a gang-banger who was shot dead by one of his rivals the week before it ended up in St. John’s…glass.”
“Okay, so now it’s not only Why, but How?”
Carl shrugged. “Body went through the morgue…”
“So either he snuck in or has a friend?”
“Does it matter? We can’t really check it out; there are no cameras down there.”
“Since when?!”
Carl shrugged. “Budget cuts.” At Josh’s dark look, he added, “How’s really not as important as why, anyway…”
Josh snapped his fingers. “Beth met Mick during that college blood cult case…Ellis and his followers drank blood…perhaps Mick being on that case wasn’t a coincidence.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he’s part of some secret society that drinks blood and does who knows what else.”
Carl raised an eyebrow. “Josh, I never had you down for a conspiracy theorist. Besides, why would a secret society care about Ellis and his merry little band of Goths?”
“Bad press? You explain the blood in the glass, then.”
Carl thought for a moment then slapped his knee. “Okay—back in my day at the academy, I remember reading some case studies about a couple of serial killers who drank the blood of their victims. Mick could be a serial killer with a seriously disturbing fetish.” He shuddered.
“And Lee Jay would have discovered this how?”
Carl shrugged. “Takes one to know one?”
Josh shook his head. “It doesn’t explain why Lee Jay was so bent on revenge against St. John.”
“It does more than your secret blood society theory.”
“Oh. You have a point.”
Carl allowed the corners of his lips to turn up in triumph before another thought came to him. “Maybe Mick only kills serial killers himself, and Lee Jay was the one acting in self-defence.”
Josh stared at him. “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”
Carl shrugged.
“You didn’t hear that phone call. Lee Jay was not acting in self-defence. He definitely had a vendetta.”
“All right, whatever. It was a thought.” He frowned suddenly. “It also doesn’t explain the mutant DNA or the fingerprints on the roof.”
“What does?!”
The two men were at a loss.
To be continued…