─═ڿڰۣڿ♚ڿڰۣڿ═─♥︎─═ڿڰۣڿ♚ڿڰۣڿ═─

"Got him," uttered Sandy under his breath, holding the file. He'd spent all night going through closed case files, before remembering that he'd actually seen the Cross Avenue victim in the records on arson-related crimes.

Nicholas Wells, read the detective: Twenty-nine-year-old convicted felon, charged with three counts of aggravated arson. Originally sentenced to ten years in maximum security, Nicholas was later transferred to a psychiatric hospital for violent offenders.

That had been four years ago. Sandy guessed that the man had since been released. He'd had to check that. Maybe he could ask Hannigan.

But one thing he was sure of, was that the criminal in this photo was the one found dismembered in Cross Avenue.

The door opened, revealing Captain Faith Hocks. She seemed surprised to see Sandy for some reason.

"Have you been sitting there all night, Detective?"

"Uh, no."

Captain Hocks propped her shoulder on the doorway. "For such a gifted detective, you wouldn't stand a chance against a lie detector test."

Sandy could admit that sitting against the wall on the other side of the dank room, surrounded by scattered folders and boxes probably didn't paint the most reliable picture.

The captain sighed in resignation and walked over. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes," Sandy blurted, but stood up too quickly in his eagerness, earning him a dizzy spell. He recovered quickly. "The vic is Nicholas Wells." He handed the file to the captain. "Pyromaniac that copped an insanity plea."

Hocks skimmed the file. "I'll look into his release date and get where he was staying; slimeball like this no doubt has many enemies. Good work detective."

Captain Hocks had tracked down where Wells had been staying. A stingy second-floor apartment on the outskirts of Valerian Heights.

The landlord hadn't even been aware of his tenant's predicament, as Nicholas had paid his rent two months in advance. He'd let Sandy and Hannigan in before the detectives had even needed to show him their warrant.

The smell almost made Sandy gag; it was even worse than Wells' body in the alleyway. His hand went straight to his gun, and he slid it out of its holster. Once he and the female detective had searched the drab and messy rooms and determined they were the only ones here, Sandy called her over to the bedroom.

"Damn, smells like road kill in here that's been rotting for weeks," remarked Hannigan. "Find anything dead?"

"No," distractedly replied Sandy, scanning this room in dismay. "Figured out where the smell's coming from though."

Hannigan joined him in the room, taking in their surroundings with revulsion.

The blinds and window were closed, which is why the trays full of rotting food were so overpowering. Even Sandy felt like throwing up. He took off his jacket and pressed it to his mouth. Insects buzzed and crawled around the dated and labelled trays, and the walls were covered in photos and timelines. Piles of rubbish littered the bed, including tissues, old clothes, reusable coffee cups, sewing materials, even used condoms.

Clearly, this all belonged to one person. One person that Nicholas had been obsessed with, judging by the fact that all the photos and names depicted the same man.

Even the trays' titles had the man's name, and dates the rubbish had been taken out and when food had been eaten.

Ling.

No last name, but there was nothing in Wells' file stating obsession and stalking.

Hannigan walked out to phone this in, though Sandy noticed something that looked newer than everything else in this room. Also separate from all the other piles, it was on the nightstand. Sandy took a vinyl glove from his pocket and picked up the item: a coaster on its underside, this Ling's name was scrawled in pen, followed by a time and date. Two weeks ago. Wells had been killed not long after.

When Sandy flipped the coaster over, the retro-style logo read: Lonely Hearts.

✦

"What, Detective Brandt, would you like to know?"

Sandy took a seat at the desk, observing the expensively dressed nightclub owner, James Abel. He looked rather young to run such an establishment, though Sandy was in the same boat, he supposed.

"First up, I'd just like to say that this isn't an interrogation, which is why I have not requested a warrant, you do not have to answer my questions. Though I'd also advise you that the CBD precinct is also in the midst of a murder investigation, which you might be able to assist with if you do choose to cooperate." Sandy adjusted his tie. He'd changed into his spare suit before coming here. The man did have some self-standards.

"Of course. I hope I can help."

"Was this club running as per usual on the night of the 27th, last month?"

"Yes. We're open every night, till just before sunrise."

"I noticed you have cameras throughout. Are they working? And do you keep the footage?"

"They are. And we do save all footage onto backup systems. May I ask what this is concerning, Detective Brandt?"

Sandy brushed his gaze over the club owner again, in subtle scrutiny. He held a serene and dapper air. Or just overly confident. Despite being so young, the evident, easy authority he exuded made him seem older. It was strange though, thought the detective: the man before him had absolutely no tells. Sandy had tried to elicit any mirroring actions from him, though Mr. Abel gave nothing away.

Sandy stored it away for now. That's not what he was here for. He took out two photos – of Wells and a copied photo of the mystery Ling from the arsonist's collection – from his inside jacket pocket, and handed them over to Mr. Abel. "Have you ever seen these two men?"

Carefully gauging the other man's reaction under the guise of jotting down notes on his small notepad, Sandy waited.

"No. Do you think these two might have visited my club on the 27th?"

Sandy wondered if he saw something mar the suave man's cool, though it was over so quickly the detective wasn't sure. "Yes, I do. May I check the footage showing the entrance for that night?"

Mr. Abel gave an affable smile. "I'll have my head of security bring the footage here."

Whilst the man made a call, Sandy swept his eyes around the art deco-style office. Nothing was out of place, no dust, no mustiness. His eyes snagged on the ceiling fan in the centre of the room. One of the blades was blemished with the slightest indent.

The door opened and the same, towering and muscled black man that had led him here, came in with a laptop.

"Thank you, Zeon," said Mr. Abel as the bouncer, or Zeon, put the laptop on the desk facing Sandy.

"All the files are dated in this folder," informed Zeon. "The camera runs on nightly feeds, so you'll have to manually drag through the timestamps."

"That's fine. Thank you."

Sandy got to work, ignoring the immersed stares Mr. Abel was sending his way after the bouncer left to prepare for the night.

Another hour had passed, with the club owner thankfully having sporadically left to attend to the floor below, leaving Sandy free to peruse the footage without the suffocating distraction. He rubbed his eyes, yawning against the monotonous scenes of partiers entering. He almost missed something important, but after doing a double take and rewinding the feed, Sandy saw the slightly pixelated face of Nicholas Wells. He jotted down the timestamp before rewinding it further. This other person was walking with a group, most of which were taller. But the one in the middle did look like the man Wells was apparently obsessed with.

Ling. Unless that was just a fantasy name the unhinged arsonist had allotted his obsession. Hannigan was still looking into the name, though. Whatever the circumstance, this Ling person might have some answers. There was no Ling in the criminal database, though that didn't mean the copious DNA found in Wells' apartment wouldn't turn anything up.

"Found anything, Detective?" asked Mr. Abel from behind Sandy, who flinched. He hadn't heard the other man return.

"Yes, actually. Do you mind if I take a copy of this feed? I could request a warrant if that suits you?"

Mr. Abel blinked before answering with that same affable smile. Something about it rubbed Sandy the wrong way. "That won't be necessary. Please, take what you need."

Sandy took out a USB and copied the feed from the 27th, and left, thanking Mr. Abel as he did. A somewhat tipsy, buxom woman, tried to basically throw herself at Sandy, though he exited the club without any other hitches. Heading straight back to the station, and going on his second night without going home, Sandy called in his find the moment he got in his car.

✦

James looked over the feed himself the moment that detective left. Zahāk joined him.

"Think that detective's gunna be any trouble?" asked the daeva. As there was no chance of them being overheard, the other demon decided to continue speaking English.

"I'm not worried about that human," James said, watching the man who was clearly stalking Ling in this footage. Though certainly surprised the detective had handed him a picture of Ling, the Valentine Demon assumed the other man was the one found in the alleyway: the supposed latest victim of the Heartbreak Killer. James was rather insulted that this latest killing was being attributed to him.

Had this mystery stalker perhaps killed the man who had accosted Ling in the bathroom? From the demonic aura surrounding the body in the fire exit, the perpetrator must have been possessed. Then that same stalker ends up maimed in the same manner in an alleyway?

Was the sudden presence of higher-class angels connected? What a curious yet irritating mystery this was turning out to be.

Did Ling have more than just a Prince of the Inferno keeping an eye on him?

James stood from his desk.

"You going somewhere, James?" asked Zahāk, clearly already aware of what his prince planned on doing.

Said Prince adjusted his emerald cufflinks. "I think it's time I paid my little prize a visit."

He was looking forward to seeing Ling again.

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18 + smut warning for the next chapter.

~ Daci