Marked and Dangerous (On Hold)

Chapter 1

 Hey guys! Welcome to Marked and Dangerous! Trust me, it is not like any other fan fiction you've read, it hasn't got romance in it:O

Please comment or message me whether you like it or not or what you think doesn't seem right etc. Remember to vote and comment and fan! (only if it deserves it though!)

I stared at the documents infront of me. Images of poor innocent victims with gunshot wounds, broken skulls and cut off limbs. Gruesome, mutilated bodies, with blood pouring out of gashes to their sides or out of gunshot wounds and some, which were the more disturbing ones, had no blood trickling down their face. Not one scratch or scar to show for their murder, not a bruise or a lump. They simply lie there, expressions full of pain and fear; they were the ones that would never find peace. At least the bloodied up ones you would focus more on their injuries and less on their faces.

Though of course, if you have my job, you must look at their faces, you must try to identify them. Not just that; you've got to look past the surface and get DNA samples, any medical documents from their life, you have to look up who their friends were, how many dogs/cats/fish they had, where they worked, if they had a mental illness, whether they were bullied at school, whether they were the bully, their general personality, what they ate, where they shoped, what brand of clothing they wore, what objects were in their house, their sons and daughters names, their parents names, their autnie's names... The list goes on and on and on until you seem to know them better than even their family or friends did. Hell; you'd probably end up knowing them better than they knew themself!

I sighed and looked at victim number one. Tall, plump fella. Blue eyes, no glasses, slightly balding head, in his late fourties, wearing faded denim shorts and a blue button down Tshirt- cheap, not designer-, a marriage ring and a sunburn that covered every visible part of his body. He was an Australian, like me, and seemed to be a simple fella. From the research I had gathered of him he worked as a trade, a builder. All his workmates said the same thing; good worker, liked to have a muck around, fair dinkum Aussie, extreme accent, friendly to everyone, almost always found with a stubby in hand. 

And now he was lying on the floor outside a toystore, located around the Springfield area, with blood smeared all over his bear gut; his right index finger about twenty centermeters away from his hand.

The second image was of a girl who looked to be in around her late teens, early twenties.

She was wearing a bright pink tank top that clung to her curves and black leggings that went down to her ankles. Her brown hair was out. She was wearing mascara -Maybelline- and baby pink lipgloss -Avon-. 13 different bracelets hung around her right wrist, all of which were bought from Diva, most likely in a pack. Her family seemed well off-not rich but not poor-and claimed to have treated her well. Her friends explained how she was a bit selfish at times, but did have a good heart. That she hung around with the 'popular' 'in' crowd at school, she worked at Diva four times a week and she was a massive fan of Maroon 5. No mention of a boyfriend apparently.

This photo depicted her on the beach at the Gold Coast -down the spit- with bruises around her neck left after being strangled to death and thrown in the ocean.

The pictures went on and on, there seemed to be no similarity in any of them. Some were white, some were black -so it wasn't racist hate crimes- some were young some were old -so it wasn't age related- most had never come across each other before apart from two who had met once or twice via family members -it had nothing to do with family or friends- some worked some didn't -it wasn't work related- some were girls some were boys -not a sexist attack- some were pretty some...not so much -it had nothing to do with beauty- and some were rich and others poor -had nothing to do with poverty or wealth-. The only similarity was that they were in Australia at the time, and were completely totally random.

Then there were the attacks from other countries, it was like the killer was on tour or something, skipping across borders and seas and continuing his or her work in the next place. It made no sense, we had tried getting airoplane information from all of the major airlines but there was nothing special or weird about any of the passengers travelling around these times. I had another girl working on the airlines at the moment, she said she hadn't gotten anywhere either.

"Deandra, there's someone here. Says he has more evidence for the murder case you're working on!" the station's secretary, Rose, called out.

"Send him in" I answered, putting on my official/formal voice and gathering the files and putting them to the side. I waited with both hands ontop of the desk and straightened my pen. I heard a knock.

"Please enter" I said calmly. It was important to give off a confident, professional impression. To show people you aren't here to put up with crap, that you are here for a reason and that you are someone not to be messed with. 

"Thank-you" the man answered gruffly, closing the door behind him and taking his hat off. One thing about him struck me straight away; an old time gentleman. He had a wooden walking stick-polished-his coat extended from his collar to his ankles and was also a brown. His face was small, rounded, with smile lines and wrinkles. His eyes were small, not beady but kind looking-green. He looked like he was quite old.

I mentally slapped myself; I know better than anyone that you can't tell whether someone is kind simply because of his appearance. 

I motioned for him to sit.

"I'd rather stand if you don't mind ma'am," he said bowing slightly "I do not expect to remain here for very long"

"Suit yourself. Now, why are you here? Do you know anything about the murders?" I asked, staring into his eyes to ensure he didn't lie to me.

"Yes. I was a friend of Brian Trastone. I am sure you already know that he was one of the  more recent victims in a long string of victims linked to this case" I nodded him on. "Brian had come home to me the night before, explaining that he had just made a rather impressive sale"

"And that sale was?" I asked, suddenly interested.

"I am afraid that of that I do not know" he answered. I thought for a second and wrote it down in my note book.

"You are Grayham Gablio aren't you? Brian's partner" I stated looking up my notes. He nodded. "Interesting" I dragged the word out while writing down what he had just told me.

"What is interesting? That I am gay? I suppose that will affect how you treat this case now won't it!" he shot at me, I had offended him.

"Yes, yes it will. It will make me explore Brian's past boyfriends and look into whether or not the other victims were or were not gay, lesbian or bi" I answered simply, refusing to get into an emotional argument with a client. Being emotionally attached to a case was bad and never ended well. Especially if you offend someone who possibly has viable information.

"Please accept my apology, ma'am. I believed you meant that as a homosexual remark" he said, his embarrasment was clear as he suddenly took an interest in his feet.

"That is quite alright" I answered in hope of reassuring him. He looked up.

"Do you think that is a possibility?" He asked suddenly. His formality seems to go down as he became more emotional. I frowned.

"I'm sorry, I fail to follow"

"I mean, that this murder is after the gays?" He asked, his hand clenched angrily around his walking stick. 

"I am afraid I do not know, but no, I do not believe that is the reason behind the case" I answered. He nodded. "Is there anything else?" 

"No. That is all I know. I hope I was of help to the case."

"Only time will tell" 

"Well, good luck detective" he said before walking out the door.