Resistance

Untitled part

Officer Matthew A. Jenkins eyed the crimeboard, a slight furrow on his brow. Him and his partner, Travis, along with a couple of other officers had been called out earlier that morning upon the discovery of a dead body in a back-alley near the harbor. It had only been lying there for a few hours according to Claudia, the station coroner, but the seagulls and rats had already managed to pick out the soft parts. It had been easy to get to them as the body had been brutally carved open, leaving the guts exposed. It was difficult to tell what had happened or even who it was. Photographs of their teeth had been sent in for dental recognition but that would take time.

A cry from the holding cells made Matt turn his gaze away from the rather gruesome images on the board. He went over to the holding area and peered through the door. As of the moment only one cell was occupied, and the inmate was making quite the ruckus.

They'd found him near the crimescene, bloody knife in hand and it'd taken three officers to take him down and bring him in. Matt had bruises and minor cuts on his arms after the clash. The man was out of control and spoke incoherent nonsense upon questioned.

Medical examiners were still unsure of what was causing his delirium, and had done several tests to find out.

"Enjoying the view?" Matt looked over as his partner stepped up beside him. Travis Philips was more than ten years older than Matt and had been his supervisor rather than his partner until very recently. Matt admired the man's work at the precinct and had it his goal to achieve the same kind of respect during his years here.

Travis gave a soft smile.

"You did a good job taking the guy down." He said placing a hand on Matt's shoulder.

"I had help." Matt replied, but couldn't help feeling a sting of pride at the praise.

"Sure." Travis said. "Of course you did. But if you hadn't advanced on him, I don't think any of us would've dared approach him. The man looked ready to slaughter anyone who came within five feet of him."

Matt gave a slow nod. It was true. The man had looked completely deranged.

They were waiting for a specialist to come have a look at him and hopefully get a coherent statement, but Matt had his doubts. The man seemed too far gone.

"What do you think happened to him?" he asked Travis. The older man frowned, peering through the door into the cell.

"Hard to tell..." he muttered, stroking his trademark black mustache. The lip ferret had been a subject of conversation since Matt's first day there. Most of his co-workers appeared to be under the impression that he should shave it off before it gained a mind of its own.

Matt didn't mind the moustache, but he couldn't say he considered growing his own.

A call from the station entrance made both men turn their heads. A colleague of them was waving for them to come over.

"The specialist's here." She announced once they were close enough. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the little lounge area over by the kitchenette.

In one of the saggy, leather couches sat a nervous-looking elderly man with frail skin, stretching too thin across his bony hands and folding into well-worn wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He was wearing a tattered pinstrip suit and a faded fedora. Both officers eyed the man and then looked at each other with concerned disbelief.

"This is gonna be a disaster." Matt said quietly. At that moment the man turned his head and looked over at them. Both Matt and Travis gave uncertain waves before returning to their hushed conversation.