Winnie Is Not Okay

2.13

Winnie loved theses jobs. Where she'd get a call in the early morning on a sunny day to work with the police for the day. She would wear pantsuits for such occasions and sunglasses and boots that aren't laid out for running.

There was no urgency so she got a jog in before starting her work day. She showered, had breakfast and then put on a white blouse, wide grey trousers and a long matching blazer, along with black boots with a chunky heel.

Then she was picked up by her team to be taken to the crime scene. Apparently no one had any further info so the drive was generally silent until they were in the adjacent street.

"Let's be cool", Jack said from the driver's seat.

"That's all you've been thinking about since you got the call, isn't it?", Winnie pursed her lips to hide her smile.

He looked at her through the rearview mirror, grinning brightly, "Come on, we're so far above them, we might as well."

"That's rude", she remarked.

"Don't we always look cool?", Gwen furrowed her brows.

"We aren't trying", Owen smirked.

They arrived outside the crime scene, three police cars, some officers and a detective were around. Getting out of the car, they all put on their sunglasses and went up to the detective like the A-Team.

She turned to them, unimpressed, "At last. You must be Torchwood. My team bitch about you all the time."

"And you are?", Jack raised a brow at her, keeping his 'cool' stance.

"Detective Swanson", she held out her hand.

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness", he shook it, a small smile playing at his lips.

"So I've heard", she frowned, "Tell me something. Are you always this dressy for a murder investigation?"

Gwen looked down at herself in confusion, Owen, Winnie and Tosh each just raised a brow, whereas Jack, who looked the same as always immediately retorted, "What, you'd rather me naked?"

"God help me, the stories are true", her face fell.

"So who's the victim?", Gwen intercepted before the Detective Swanson could be any more insulted.

"That's victims, plural. Yesterday, a man was murdered at ninety six Oakham Street. Alex Arwyn, twenty eight, single, estate agent."

She held out her hand expectantly, receiving a file which she handed over to Jack.

"Here we go. That's from the scene of crime. Today, in here, we get two more. Mark and Sarah Brisco, both thirty three, married. He's a surveyor, she works in education."

"What about the smears of blood?", Jack flipped through the file, looking at the very bloody and gruesome photos, "Is that writing?"

"Work in progress. Come inside and see the finished thing", Detective Swanson walked ahead, gesturing for them to follow into the house where they walked through a hallway past a kitchen, an office and a bathroom, straight into the bedroom.

"Oh, my God", Gwen gasped.

To which one couldn't say much else because this scene looked worse than the pictures. Mark and Sarah were next to each other on the bed, in plain white pyjamas that were stained with blood through several gunshots in their upper body.

The blood was splattered left and right, but most importantly on the wall above them, where a picture had been taken down to write across the wall, in blood 'TORCHWOOD'.

"Looks like somebody wants your attention", Swanson told them accusingly.

"They've got it", Jack muttered in a tone his team had gotten to know as the calm before the storm. However, it wasn't directed at anyone but the murderer.