Rubble to the Ritz

The Profiling Unit he could see, but the arrival of the Organized Crime and Art Crime agents in town had come as a surprise. Mystic Falls was a sleepy little backwater for the most part. Folks had money, in some cases they sprouted some extras on the full moon or could pull off some extra special party tricks, but they weren’t running smuggling operations here or trafficking in all sorts of not so legal things. They sure as hell didn’t seem to be clearing each other’s walls of five hundred year old masterpieces. Ares had almost scoffed at it. Within weeks they’d get bored and head back to the big city – their complete lack of success here a little sting in the pants. Hadn’t that sting been his in the end. It had been nosy as hell, but he’d read what reports he could get his hands on, had attended the briefings and despite his resting dismissive face, had taken in everything he’d been told.

There were signs of the sort of activity they were investigating and almost every single hallmark of their light fingered car burglar had seemed to be there under his nose – and out of Mr. Thompson’s sight. If he’d listened to the guy he wouldn’t have bothered calling in the big guys – apologies, Agent Washington. He hadn’t though, not when his bullshit metre was pinging so hard. If it was wrong and this was just another case of him being overly paranoid, it’d be more than a sting in the ass, he’d be hearing about it at the station for the rest of the career. The deputy who’d called ‘thief’ when it was nothing more than one rich jagoff selling some ugly ass splash of colour that was wrongly called ‘art’ to another rich jagoff. Apologising to Agent Washington wouldn’t come easy either.

Mr. Thompson didn’t give a damn about the truth of what was rolling out of his mouth. The sir seemed to bounce off of his ear drums like it had been entirely inaudible. Ares ducked his head back at the finger that was jabbed in his direction as the man stood again. ”I would like to make a complaint about Officer Patera. The report he’s taken isn’t the one I’d like to make…” He stopped, colouring rising in his cheeks as he stared down his nose at the woman. ”You’re just the same as him!” he accused. ”There is no stolen artwork. There was a break in, nothing was taken and you can’t force me to leave my own home.”

Ares huffed out a breath, shooting Zoey an apologetic look as she started away from him. He gestured to the officer outside the room, as though he’d get Thompson dragged out of there if he had to, but the man was already backing up into the no man’s land of the clear floor space. The man pressed his lips together now, suddenly turning into a sphinx. Flipping open his notebook, Ares cleared his throat and started to read from his notes. ”Mr. Thompson stated that he had sold a handful of pieces a few weeks ago. He was funding a new purchase … no paperwork on that though.” AKA no proof. ”He also insisted nothing else was missing. I don’t see any reason for a break in if you’re not going to at least rough the place up, right?” Even if it was kids there would’ve been some sign other than the broken class.

Sputtering finally, Mr. Thompson crossed his arms over his chest. The man was trying for an Oscar worthy performance and was coming up miles short. ”I have an alarm. My butler was supposed to set it before he left earlier, but apparently it slipped his mind. There are cameras on the grounds, I’m sure they didn’t capture anything either, because nothing happened.”

The smile Ares shot him was bland, his pen appearing again to add to the notes on what the ‘butler’ had done. How long did the old guy have before he was fired for appearances sake alone? ”Looks like between midnight and an hour and a half ago. Mr. Thompson left on ‘business’ this morning, apparently he didn’t have any reason to come back here this morning. His butler went out to ‘provision the kitchen’ at midday. He was the one who found the broken glass when he got back and immediately called the police. Maybe I should’ve asked him what was missing. He seems a little more forthcoming. You want me to get him in here?” He tipped his pen back in the direction of the hallway. By now the butler was probably under orders to scour anything ‘dubious’ from the house – flushing stuff down the toilet, or burning it up in the attic, hoping the smell of smoke didn’t come drifting down the stairs.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 809

There’d been a sliver of a chance that he was looking at hoof prints here and seeing zebras, but Ares had been pretty damn sure since the start that there’d been a striped ass disappearing back out that broken window with the two paintings or sketches, or whatever tasteless crap Thompson had hung up. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been paranoid about a situation that’d turned out to be perfectly normal, but even Claire would’ve agreed with him on this one. It had started out hinky and with every single huff that had puffed Thompson up, he’d dug his heels in deeper.

Rich guys like Thompson had something inherently dislikeable about them. They flashed their money in ridiculous marble busts and St. Lucian tans, never reluctant to tell you about their private beach down there or the filly they’d just bought to race in the Derby. They wore it on the surface with the intention for everybody to see and when guys who were still sporting the bruised thumbnail caused by a sister’s wild swing of a hammer last weekend and the scars and knicks to skin that’d earned that tan with hard work stood in front of them they sneered at the lack of money. Maybe if it had been someone like Detective Carnegie standing here in one of those tailored suits, wearing the cologne of his police commissioner father’s fortunes, Thompson would’ve been spilling the truth in a wash of regret. Thompson hadn’t been that lucky though. He had been instead.

Agent Washington seemed to be looking at those same hoofprints and seeing zebra too – one that she knew and had been tracking. Of course that didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna be the typical fed hard ass after, but for the minute, honestly, he appreciated her. Ares squelched his grin as he glanced up from his notebook towards the cowed Thompson. No answer from him now. Had the guy finally met his match? Or was he just planning to hit Forbes up later to make his complaint. ”None that Mr. Thompson was willing to share with me. I had a look around in here but … without a warrant I couldn’t you know…” He gestured towards the desk with its still sealed drawers. He hadn’t been able to poke like he’d want to. What had already spilled out was free rein for him, but the rest was out of bounds. Ares grunted at Zoey’s admonishment, that grin quick to come and go. ”A normal break-in I mean. The sort of guy who just sees that a rich guy’s not home and decides to do a little smash and grab. This read as targeted to me.” And obviously to Zoey.

Ares scrawled his notes, making a list of actionable tasks. The reports, of course, getting his hands on the footage Zoey was asking for now – that he would’ve gotten after all – poking his nose around the grounds before he left, even though the crime scene guys would scout it themselves later. ”I’ll make sure I speak to the staff to get that before I leave,” Ares told her, ignoring the ’for god’s sake’ that rolled out of Thompson. The man was being cut out of the investigation as far as humanly possible – who wanted that sorta brick wall across it after all. ”I’m pretty sure the alarm company’ll be forthcoming with a more accurate record, but the butler said midday on the dot.” Probably scheduled formally by Thompson. Who wanted to be tripping over the staff when you went about your dodgy business. They were the sort of people who were meant to be seen and not heard. Tough luck this time because the butler was at the centre of it all now.

If he’d had his way Thompson would’ve been waiting outside the house, the staff left here to spill all their boss’ secrets. He’d never understood why you’d want to work for someone like that. It wasn’t like the military where someone giving you the orders was just a chain of command, with the bigger brains and the bigger targets when things went wrong making the decisions. This was servitude in a way that shoulda gone out of style with believing the earth was flat and you could cure any kinda illness by bleeding people. Ares’ brows furrowed for a second at Zoey’s question. Thompson hadn’t wanted to come clean about that either. ”Donoghue,” he said tightly. ”I’ve got no first name on him yet. The minute he let us in Thompson sent him away to his rooms.” Supposed to wait to talk to them, but that was bullshit.

Maybe they’d get lucky and Donoghue could slip in the piece of the puzzle that’d break this case finally – if it was Washington’s burglar after all – but more than likely it’d be another handful of breadcrumbs and little more, this had looked professional after all. ”You think the other cameras around here would’ve picked the guy up?” If they had a better time window they’d be able to bother the neighbours, see if any of these other rich jagoffs had seen anything.

Ares dipped his head towards Zoey as she stepped closer. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that their little confab was bothering Thompson. The guy was shifting from foot to foot, scowling at the pair of them in a way that would probably cow some. ”Taylor, do you mind taking Mr. Thompson here outside … perhaps you can show the patrol officer around to the back of the house.” Outside, away from where the two of them were gonna poke around. Thompson grumbled volubly, but Taylor’s hand was already locked around the guy’s arm. As soon as they were out the door Ares was stepping into the hallway, calling up through the quiet house, he had no idea where Donoghue had really slipped away to. ”Mr. Donoghue? If you could join us please … we have some questions we’d like to ask you.” There was the creak of floorboards over here, a quiet shuffle of feet on the stairs, probably quietened bit by bit over the years to avoid disturbing the master of the house. The elderly man shuffled into view, eyeing the officer and the agent with an anxious look.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1052

From the way Agent Washington was talking, chances of getting even a glimpse of this guy were close to zero. In this day and age you couldn’t even grab a coffee without showing up on a half dozen cameras – he might not’ve gone full paranoid with his own security system, but even his cabin had cameras. It seemed almost impossible to keep yourself off of every single one of them. Unless you had a way of getting them to wink out. Ares rubbed his fingertips together, heard the echo of the words in his head – although no ancient Greek ever had to worry about disguising their appearance on camera. It was possible, would certainly explain how this guy had evaded law enforcement for so long. He couldn’t bring it up to Zoey, but he’d definitely try and sense some sign of it as they made their way through the house again.

He watched, narrow eyed, as the butler who’d originally let him into the house made his way slowly towards them. Even if he’d been home with the robbery had gone down, he wouldn’t have been able to chase the guy. It was a wonder that Thompson had kept him on in the first place – maybe Donoghue’s ability to keep his mouth shut was worth more than having a butler who was still spry enough to break into a jog when you needed your martini made now.

The smile he shot the guy was polite, although not half as charming as Agent Washington’s was. If they were falling into good cop and bad cop the way they had only minutes ago, he was still gonna be the bad cop. Ares palmed his pen again, nodding to Donoghue like they were old friends. ”I’m not an art guy,” he murmured. ”It caught my eye though.” Like he had to excuse what he’d spotted. Zoey didn’t do any such thing, she was already buttering the old man up. Ares caught Zoey’s nudge and brought his notebook back out, scrawling the man’s words verbatim. He’d get them typed up later, delivering them to Agent Washington’s desk like a good little underling.

Italian. Not Greek, he might’ve known something about them then. Thankfully Santa Margarita was easy to spell. He added the man’s irritatingly vague description of what they were. At least Venice should be recognisable, right? Ares heard her breath catch and glanced at Zoey instead of at the butler. Shit. What had passed him by had meant something to her. He hadn’t imagined how squirrelly Thompson had been about all of this. He’d had something big here. ”I can look them up when I get back to the office … add it to my report,” he muttered softly. If he could figure out what had been talked about. He’d never had any aspirations to become a detective, hadn’t wanted to split up his partnership with Claire, but this was suddenly plump and ripe and tempting between his teeth, ready for him to bite down on.

Donoghue huffed out a breath at her question, turning slightly, as though he was literally trying to see the footprints he’d left through the house that morning. ”My whole day? I rose at six, as I always do. Mr Thompson is particular about that. His breakfast is always served at 7am. Eggs, scrambled soft, whole wheat toast. I had to make his coffee twice, it was brewed too strongly the first time. He left at 9 for his business trip – I went to give the gardened his orders. Tried to find the owner of that big black monstrosity parked out at the curb too. Mr Thompson would’ve been angry with someone blocking the way like that…” The man seemed on the brink of dithering again.

”There was a car outside this morning?” Ares asked, his gaze darting to Zoey as he started to tuck his notebook away in his pocket.

”That was what I said, wasn’t it?” The man seemed more confused than angered as he nodded. He gestured out towards the rear of the house with one liver spotted house. ”Out back of the house. That was the third time this week too.”

He continued to blather on, but Ares was already drawing away. If there was anything else the man could tell them they could get it later. A strange car lurking around three times in a week, including on the morning of a robbery? That stunk to high heaven to him. ”Thank you Mr Donoghue. Your information’s appreciated. I’ll go check the road,” he told Zoey, trusting her to follow as he fast-walked back out of the house, using the rear exit out into the garden – having to unbolt the rear door to do it. The garden spread out behind the house, boxed in by a 10 foot wall, topped with a two foot high wrought iron topper. Ares jogged over to it, following the wall along until he reached the wrought iron rear gate. ”He say anything more about the car?” he called back to Zoey as he looked at the lock, wondering if unlocking it with a spell was less likely to draw attention than just shooting it out. Or going and getting the keys from the old man.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 877