The Whitechapel Case
Fox-Trot-9

PG-13
Horror/Suspense/Mystery (How-Catch-'Em)
Disclaimer: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

Part 1: The Hypothesis
Chapter 4 

Day 1—The old man found himself back in his chair looking at the three men in front of him. He didn't know if he actually screamed or not, but the startled looks on their faces told him something went down. After rubbing at his eyes, he leaned forward over his desk and rested his head on his fingers, trying to clear his mind of the painful horrors of his visions.

To Noll, this act confirmed his suspicions. True, he had his doubts, however fleeting, when he first told Bert that he wanted to meet his superior for questioning, but now he knew he had his man. And all the stuff in his office—from the file cabinets left open with many folders removed to the boxes on the floor, to the pictures and clippings stuck to the walls—told him the old man was his ticket to solving this case, though he didn't know how yet.

"Jake, are you all right? You don't look too good," said Bert.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired," he said. "What time is it?"

"It's five-thirty. You should be clocking out in thirty minutes."

"Not yet. I still have to stay here a little longer, because you told me to expect a few disgruntled cops to turn in their badges and guns."

"Well... Not exactly. Noll, here, told me to tell you that."

"And why did you tell him that, young man?" said Jacob, turning to the man in question, wondering how the hell the kid got the courage to pull that lie over a group of cops.

"Because I think having so many people on the case creates more problems than it solves, but that's beside the point."

"And what is your point?"

"I need you to answer me a few questions, if that's all right with you. Lin, Bert, will you excuse us for a moment?" said Noll, as he got out his black notebook with a few questions already written in it and a pen.

Lin and Bert obliged and left the room.

"And close the door." Which Lin did.

Jacob raised his eyebrows, then looked Noll hard in the face. "What's the meaning of this, boy? Surly, you don't suspect me of any of these murders, now?"

"I never said I did."

"Do these questions pertain in any way to the murders?"

"I don't know, but that's what I want to find out."

"All right. Begin."

"When did you call Martin Davis to change the phone number of the house?" said Noll, reading off of his list of questions.

"I called him on December 24th of last year, 2009."

Noll copied the answer down, verbatim, as he would do for the rest. "And why did you want him to change that number without letting him notify me about it?"

"You mother told me to. She didn't want you to stress over that while you were in Japan."

"Why did you tell Martin that his source (which is you) had to be anonymous?"

Where are you getting at, boy? he thought. "Because I," said Jacob, choosing his words very carefully, "didn't want any word to leak out to the press that I allowed him to assist in this investigation for the safety of himself and his wife. When I briefed Bert, I specifically told him to leave your father and your own involvement off the official record."

That was the last question on the list, but he thought of another one. "What did you dream of, when you slept on your chair?"

The old man sucked in air at that one. "And what the hell does that have to do with this investigation? Listen to me, boy. I don't know what you'll do with that information, but if it's to blackmail me, then I can't answer that question."

"Mr. Meiler, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but answer me one more question. Do you have extra sensory perception, otherwise known as ESP?"

Jacob opened his mouth without realizing it, as if he wanted to say something but lost his train of thought; for a few more minutes, he stayed silent. Then he said, "How the hell did you know that? Did Martin tell you?"

"He didn't have to. I figured it out on my own."

"Boy, you are too smart for your own good. Trust me, some day it will get you killed."

Noll smirked at him. "That hasn't happened yet. And having ESP is nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is when you're a cop. You've never been one, so you don't know the ramifications. In a court of law, you need tangible evidence to prove your side of the argument, stuff that can withstand the defendant or the prosecution's counter-arguments, stuff that can convince a jury and a judge. That's why nobody in the last hundred years has ever hung a jury or proven a case with anything as subjective as ESP; it's just not credible in the eyes of the law, these days."

"You're mistaken. Sometimes psychics are used to solve previously unsolved cases."

"Yes, but resorting to those means just shows the incompetence of the police, and I will do nothing that might compromise the integrity of this department or myself."

Noll placed the notebook and pen in his pocket. "Mr. Meiler, we are in your office, not in a law court; and I am an investigator working on the same case as you are, not a judge or a jury. You need not any qualms in trusting me... Unless, you don't trust me."

"Now don't get me wrong. I do trust you, but there's no reason to be too confident, now is there?" Noll acknowledged that fact with a nod of his head and got up to leave, but before he did, Jacob added, "Listen, if you really want to know what I dreamed of, I will let you know some time in the near future. Maybe some time after all this is over."

Noll thought about it, then said, "I'll think about it," and with that he shook Jacob's hand and left, only to find someone confronting Lin and Bert in the hallway. Noll recognized that man as the loud-mouth from the Mappleworth Pub; he walked up to them.

"Hey, kid, there you are. I was looking all over for you, you little shit," said Andrew.

"Good," said Noll. "If you made the copies already, you can drop the pad on Mr. Meiler's desk."

"Hey, don't talk to me that way. You're not the boss of me, kid."

"Andy, just cool it, man," said Bert.

"Hey, asshole, was I talking to you? Huh?... No. So shut up."

"Come on, man, just admit it. You're jealous, aren't you? You've been working your ass off on this case and haven't made a dent in it, and this kid here just showed you up. It's no big deal."

"Hey, don't fuck with me!" he said, shoving his finger at Bert's face before advancing on Noll, but Lin got in his way. "Move aside, fiddle sticks." But Lin didn't. "I said move aside!"

When he still didn't move, Andrew tried shoving Lin over but couldn't; so he balled his hand and threw it at the tall man, but his fist got caught, and soon he felt the his hand beginning to crush, a snapping knuckle here and a crunching knuckle there, under the Chinese man's vice-like grip. He couldn't believe it; Lin looked like a couple of chopsticks, but he was really strong. Soon Andrew was down on his knees, but he had one thing up his sleeve: his left hand. And he drove that hand, balled hard and tight, between Lin's legs, felling him to the floor in an agony of pain. Some cops heard the commotion, went over the see what was happening and tried to intervene. But before they did, Andrew felt a hand, Bert's hand, grip him on his shoulder, so he swung round and swiped him in the gut. Then he turned to Noll. He'd give this Sherlock Holmes a lesson in hard knocks for humiliating him back at the Mappleworth Pub.

"Harm one hair on him, and I swear I'll—!"

Andrew shut Lin up with a fist between his eyes.

"Jesus, man, just cool it!"

It was Bert, gasping from the sucker punch to his stomach; Andrew had a steel-toed boot with his name on it, ready to kick his shins. But before he used it, he turned and saw the old man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, boy!"

A few other cops arrived and were surprised by the scene, but Andrew didn't give a crap. "And what the hell would you do to me, in return? What can you possibly do to me that you haven't done to yourself? You're fading away, old man, and it's only a matter of time before you join your partner in Hell!"

Jacob balled his hands into fists. "Take that back, boy! Take it back, or you're out of here!"

"I know your type, old man. You're a dirty son-of-a-bitch for a cop, and you know it, 'cause that Whitechapel trash is still in your blood! The only way that kid got the scoop was you bribing the commissioner."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Bullshit! I've been working over twenty years in this joint; hell, I even got shot because of you, shot in the face, and you haven't given me shit! No raise, no leave, nothing! I bet you'd leave me for dead on the street, just like you did to Tony!"

More cops arrived, about fifty-something at a time up the stairs, and they couldn't believe their eyes or their ears.

"Don't even go there. I'm warning you, boy. If you—!"

Andrew cut him off with the middle finger and a fuck-you gesture with his arms, then said, "You fucked me over for the last time, old man. Now it's my turn. Listen up, everyone," and he looked round and engage his audience, "this ugly bastard is not what you think he is. He's the dirtiest of them all, who doesn't give a shit about you, or me, or even your families. He could care less. He only cares about himself and his own fucking career!" (Jacob tried everything in his power to keep from grabbing his gun and shooting him. Forget pistol-whipping; he wanted to put a bullet through his skull.) "And if you don't believe me, look at that Sherlock Holmes rip-off over there," he said, pointing to Noll; and the heads turned. "I have ears, and I know—"

"Andrew, give me your badge and your gun, and get out!"

Andrew promptly walked forward and got into the chief inspector's face before throwing his badge and gun at his feet. Then he socked him on the jaw, but the old man was tough as nails and didn't fall, only giving him an evil stare in return.

Andrew continued, "Look at that kid over there, everybody. I know most of you have worked your asses off for this ugly old bastard, and what does he do? He fucking bribes the commissioner to let that bastard over there work the cases behind your backs, that's what! Fucking disregards your shit for someone else's! Fucking disregards everything in the book, even when it's illegal!"

"It's not illegal. Stop making things up," retorted Jacob.

"That's because you fucking wrote the Goddamn book!" Then the disgruntled former cop walked away, but not before confronting Noll again. He gave the kid a deadly stare. "You better watch yourself; some day you'll get a bullet in your back," and then he spat into his face.

Noll wiped off the spit but didn't say anything, cool on the outside but burning from the inside. Bert got up but wanted nothing to do with Andrew's tirade, so he helped Lin get to his feet, who cupped at his balls as he got to his feet.

Everybody was shocked, not only at Andrew's actions but at his accusations. Now the word was out, and Jacob Meiler knew he was in a world of trouble. His ruse got ratted out—which wasn't illegal, per se, with criminal charges attached to it—, but it definitely went against the police protocol, which is punishable by fine, suspension, or expulsion. But the real clincher was the bribery. What would he say to the commissioner? What would he say to the judge? He didn't know, and that scared him. It meant goodbye to his hard-won reputation of over forty-seven years on the beat, and goodbye to his long-overdue pension. And hello to the cop-shop hounds at the Guardian and the BBC, always hungry for scandal, and hello to the public shame of being ratted out by another rat.

Jacob looked at the rest of his colleagues, most of whom he had worked with, and said to them, "I can explain everything if you boys will let me. I never meant to—"

"Save it for the judge, asshole!" It was Mickey Bronson, one of the cops who heard the commotion and saw the hypocrisy. "To think I actually believed in you when I was a kid. Fuck you, I'm leaving this blowhole!" he said, following Andrew's example.

"It's my word against his, Bronson!"

Mickey gave him the middle finger for an answer as he walked out.

Soon, almost everyone else followed suit, about a hundred-twenty of them, throwing down badges and guns in disgust and leaving, many of them vowing never to return. The old man watched them all leave and cursed himself for turning the case into a private investigation. He went back into his office and plopped himself onto his chair, leaning over his desk and burying his face into his hands. He had never felt so disgusted with himself since Tony's death and wished to God he could join him.

When Bert came into his office, he said, "Bert, I'll have you transferred to another case. You don't have to take this one, if you don't want to."

"Like hell you would," he said; Jacob looked up. "Look, I'm not giving up on these women, and if you had any balls left, you wouldn't give up on them, either. And definitely not for any bullshit you got yourself into, got it?"

"I never said that. I would have gone on working this entire case by myself, if I had to."

"You won't have to. I'll help, and so will Lin and Noll... Jake, I don't give flying fuck about your bribery or any of your bullshit. If I did, I would have flown the coup like Andy the second you told me about the bribe in the briefing, but I didn't. We're here for you, man, no matter what."

The old cop looked at his protege with something of admiration in his face; he smiled and said, "I appreciate your loyalty. Even God knows that's a virtue."

(To be continued...)

A/N: See what I mean about the foul lingo? I  think this is about as far as I can push it with the swearing... Anything more than that, and it might make this into a Rated R story... Also, I've noticed that the readership on this story is almost nil... Where are you guys? It's kind of hard writing something when you're not really sure if someone's actually reading your story or bullshitting you... Come on, guys! Where are you? ( T_T )