Chapter Two

10:02 a.m.

Follow-up. Never Cyprien's favorite aspect. In many ways it was the worst part of his job, even worse than the gore or the constant frustrations. It was knowing that the hope he saw in this woman's eyes would remain with him, not only through the case, but beyond..

God, he hated to disappoint.

He knocked, sparing a glance over at his partner. A good man, his mate was, Officer Cusick. Just Green usually to Cyprien, as they called one another by their family names. These had been some long years...

Green cast a smile back at Detective Alesi, just Euri off the job. They were the same rank, but somehow calling boyish Green "detective" seemed silly. He was every bit as good as Cyprien, however. He just didn't look the part.

Cyprien did, though. Dark hair, dark eyes, rings around them.. He looked as though he could accomplish things. Remarkably, he managed the impression of seriousness and approachability simultaneously. Contrasting with Green's light, open features, they made a good pair, and complemented one another well in talents as well.

"Alright, Alesi?"

Cyprien nodded. "You?"

Green also nodded, and reached to hit the bell, impatient with the woman that had called for them. "She's not sleeping is--?"

"Hello?" an older-but-not-old woman said cautiously, opening the door.

"Yes, hello, ma'am," Cyprien responded, straightening slightly as he did so. "My  name is Detective Cyprien Alesi, and the local department has asked my partner and I to come and talk with you. May we come in?"

The woman, Mrs Pettigrew, was distrustful, but if you couldn't trust police officers, who could you? She stepped aside and led them into her sitting room, ignoring the curious glance of her sister.

Cyprien and Green were from London, and Little Hollow was a suburb outside of it. Hardly even a suburb, though, a small and genuinely safe place to live, with neighbors that knew one another. The disappearance would ordinarily have been left to the local department, as it was nearly always an intentional runaway, but a pattern the detectives had been studying in the rural areas had brought them here. It would have been irresponsible not to at least come by with the other similar cases to consider.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you, ma'am. We just have a few questions and we'll be on our way."

Cyprien was the talker. He was calm, he was polite, and he was comforting. Green sat beside him and took notes, not only on the dialogue, but the body language. Cyprien had a particular talent in observing surroundings and gaining knowledge from them. He gained as much from the physical layout of the room as Green found in their subject's posture. They were glad to be the other's partner, and trusted one another wholly.

Mrs Pettigrew settled herself, bracing. She'd been asked some questions already, and could take a few more. She nodded tersely.

"Thank you, ma'am. These are of utmost importance, and we appreciate your help."

They asked all manner of questions, polite and unassuming ones. What kinds of foods does he like? What does his room look like? May we see it? All met with positive responses, Mrs Pettigrew unsure why this was relevant but trusting the detectives. Cyprien walked his room, a young boy this was, legal but young, and took all of it in. The boy had friends, and the detective asked about them. He had hobbies, and he asked about those as well. This boy left his room a bit messy with a clear path to and from the door. Did he come in late often? He did, his mother confirmed, and Cyprien nodded, slowly edging her around his point.

"Did he ever come home with any strange bruises, ma'am?"

"What? No... Well, sometimes... But that's just from his friends, boys, you know."

"Yes, ma'am."

She worked herself up. "No, he was a good boy, my Petey, he wouldn't... he wouldn't..."

"Yes, Mrs Pettigrew," Cyprien replied with a serious nod, returning his eyes to the room. It had nothing out of the ordinary from the looks of it, although if he'd had more time he might have found something. For now he just investigated Peter's small objects, noted a used dish to one side of his bed, the way his clothes were slumped about. He pictured it: The small boy, thin and in what looked like girls' jeans from the tags, came in late at night, got a snack and came up to his room, undressing as he walked. He didn't take his own dishes down regularly--perhaps tired even when he woke? And his mother hadn't straightened his room at all. She had tidied the downstairs, he could tell that immediately from the freshly-sweeped floor and other small signs. Yet not his room. Perhaps then she didn't come into it regularly. Or she would have gotten the dish, it had been two days now.

All conjecture. But the boy seemed to want space, was tired and a bit lazy, and, from what Mrs Pettigrew was telling Green, stayed out late at night, occasionally coming home with odd bruises.

He fit their profile perfectly, despite his gender, although with such a small boy that could even be overlooked. They continued asking questions, watching as she got more and more upset. Cyprien felt bad for her, as he did for all of the people that he was trying to help. This was hard on everyone, and although advocates were right to say victims deserved more protections, their families, too, should be taken care of.

"What is this about? Why are you asking this about my Petey?"

"Mrs Pettigrew, my partner and I are looking into the similar disappearances of several other people in the suburban and rural districts nearby, and we are looking into any relationship--"

Mrs Pettigrew was aghast. "Those women on the news?" Her opinion of the women came loud and clear.

Cyprien was unfazed. "Yes, ma'am."

It was then that Mrs Pettigrew remembered the rest of the news story. The torture, the murder, that the women were prostitutes. The prostitution brought with it a whole new measure of issues and outrage, that the women deserved it or had in some way asked for it. All nonsense, of course, Cyprien and Green could tell anyone that in a heartbeat, having found and investigated the bodies themselves. Not a soul on this earth deserved that.

Green comforted Mrs Pettigrew and Cyprien continued to investigate the room, feeling guilty for having upset her. It was the worst part, to see mothers cry, easily the worst aspect of his job. It was soon clear that even Green's best efforts were not going to get any more useful information from Mrs Pettigrew, and the two soon enough left the house to discuss.