smackenzie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smackenzie) wrote2009-11-21 08:31 pm
smackenzie) wrote2009-11-21 08:31 pm
friday
Friday morning, much to her great surprise, Rose Marie got asked out on a date. Ana's friend Rush, who she'd met at karaoke on Wednesday, asked her out by text. Well, by two texts, since the first one was a (short) explanation of who he was and that Ana said it was ok if he texted or called. The second text was the actual invite - "Got tix for Red Sox tonite, wanna come with?" But since she wasn't allowed to have her phone on while she was at work, or at least not while she was sitting at the front desk theoretically doing her job, Rose Marie didn't get either text until she went out for lunch. And then she called Ana.
Ana was also not allowed to have her phone on while she was at work, although she was usually behind the counter making coffee drinks or assembling sandwiches, and her phone was locked in a locker, so even if she did leave it on she wouldn't be able to answer it. So they played a very brief game of phone tag, until Ana checked her phone during her break and called Rose Marie on the office line.
"What did you tell him?" Rose Marie demanded, after she answered the phone and determined that it wasn't a client.
"Hi to you too," Ana said. Rose Marie could tell she was grinning on the other end. "He thinks you're cute, he asked if you had a boyfriend, I said no, he asked if you'd want to go out with him, I said he should call you and find out himself. So? Are you going?"
"It's baseball."
"So? It's a night sitting next to a guy who thinks you're cute and who's willing to shell out for Red Sox tickets. If you get cold you can snuggle."
"I don't know him."
"That's why you go out with him."
"Is he, you know, normal?"
"He's one of my friends, what do you think?"
Now Ana was definitely grinning on her end of the line. Rose Marie tried to remember what she'd thought of Rush at karaoke, other than Ana had brought her to set her up, and that she'd thought the guy was cute. Had she really decided that she'd go out with him if he asked her? Because now he was asking her.
"He was cute," Rose Marie conceded, "and I think I liked talking to him. Ok, I'll go."
"Aren't you glad you came to karaoke with me now?" Ana sounded pleased with herself. "You didn't have plans tonight, did you?"
"I was gonna wash my hair...." They both giggled. Before Ana finally broke up with her now-ex, she'd used the "I have to wash my hair/clip my toenails/clean the litterbox" family of excuses about five times to get out of seeing the guy, and he apparently never twigged to the fact that she was just making shit up to avoid going out with him. So now when either of the girls said it, it was just a joke.
"He's a good guy," Ana said. "You'll have a good time. And if you don't, at least you got a Red Sox game out of it."
One of the analysts came out of his office, wandered into the lobby, and started giving Rose Marie the evil eye. She told Ana she had to get off the phone and get back to work.
"You can totally bring him home after the game," Ana said. "Bye."
They both hung up and then Rose Marie snagged one of the secretaries to watch the front desk for five minutes so she could hide in the ladies' room and text Rush back - "Would love to go tonite. Call me @ 5."
That turned out to be the most exciting thing that happened to her all day. There was however a more exciting thing that happened near her. Because that afternoon, while Rose Marie surreptitiously surfed the internet at the reception desk and Ana made sandwiches and salads and and Rain tried not to fall asleep in the library and Christian took the T to Coolidge Corner to buy comics, a woman named Marla Knowles who worked in the IT department for State Street Bank was shot in the head as she took money out of an ATM in downtown Boston.
Marla had only been at State Street Bank for a couple of years. She'd broken up with her girlfriend shortly after New Year's, which was precipitated by the discovery that when the girlfriend said she was planning to move to Santa Fe to open a pottery store with a friend of hers, and she wanted Marla to come with her, Marla wasn't ready to uproot herself. She realized she'd rather stay in Boston with her job and her friends than move across the country with her girlfriend. It had been a fairly messy breakup, in which a lot of their mutual friends took sides, and Marla was just starting to date again.
And then a stranger in black pants and a hooded sweatshirt walked up behind her at the ATM, in broad daylight on a busy Friday, and shot her.
This time, as with yesterday's shooting, there were witnesses, and just as bystanders had been too shocked to chase down the person who killed David Tsai, now they were likewise too shocked (and some of them, too scared) to chase down the person who killed Marla Knowles. There were some conflicting accounts after the police showed up and started taking statements - some people thought the guy had said something, some people thought he was tall, some thought he was short, one person remembered that he kind of slouched up to Marla, one person thought they saw his face as he was running away. Pretty much everyone agreed on the black pants and black hoodie, and the fact that the shooter wore the hood up.
Max Barker, the homicide cop in Cambridge who was so interested in David Tsai's shooting, had called a friend and fellow homicide cop who worked for the Boston PD, which meant that news of Marla Knowles' death reached his desk sometime around four that afternoon. He talked to one of the cops who was investigating her death and they compared notes. Max found the notes he'd taken after talking to the cops in Roxbury who'd responded to Augustin Decker's shooting, and now he and the Boston cop compared those notes as well. Max had gotten the results back from ballistics on the bullet that had killed David and had been able to confirm that it was from the same gun that had killed Augustin. He promised to send the report on.
"I think we got a serial killer on our hands," he sighed. And that meant coordinating a couple of different city police departments, since the killings crossed jurisdictions. Plus the media was going to get wind of it. "Fuck. Did you get any leads? Because we didn't."
"Not yet," the Boston cop told him. "We're still looking into it. So far it looks like a random shooting."
"Why these people? Why Cambridge? Why the Financial District? What's the connection?"
"So far, there isn't one. We're looking. Your case and the shooting in Roxbury just bumped this up to a top priority. If we find anything else, I'll give you a call. If you get anything else, call us."
"Will do."
Max told his partner what was up, and then went to see his boss. He laid out everything he'd learned about David's death, everything he'd learned about Augustin's death, and now everything he'd been told about Marla's death. He admitted that so far the only connection between all these people was that they'd all been shot the same way by (possibly) the same person. He also admitted he had no idea who that person could be, or why they were targeting such random victims in such random places.
"You think this is the work of a serial killer," Max's supervisor said, sounding as if he already knew the answer to the question.
"That's what it looks like, yeah."
"Fuck. All right. I gotta tell the police chief. You come with me."
The Cambridge Chief of Police, after hearing all of Max's evidence, called the Police Commissioner in Boston and had a conversation while both Max and his supervisor were still in the office. The end result was three words:
"Call the FBI."
So Max did.
By that time, of course, the reporter who'd shown up to get the news on Marla's shooting had been directed to the Boston cop who'd talked to Max, and then she worked her way through the Cambridge PD until she got Max's partner, and by the six o'clock news it was all over the networks that there was a serial killer on the loose in Boston. Channel Four called him the Man in Black, Channel Five called him the Daylight Shooter, and Channel Seven called him the Ghost. But the end result was the same, and people started panicking.
The mayor of Boston held a press conference, which was broadcast on all the TV stations, urging people to remain calm but also be vigilant, and to watch out for suspicious persons wearing black. School principals sent out emails banning baggy black pants and black hoodies from high schools, even though it was Friday night and no doubt people were going to miss the memo. A mailing list Ana was on for local crafters had exactly one post asking people to be careful, but her little corner of Twitter exploded with panic and theories and serial killer history and psychology and at ten at night she just stared at everyone's tweets thinking "What the hell is going on here?" She was glad Rose Marie was out with Rush and (theoretically) nowhere near the news, and at the same time she was a little worried. Although so far there had only been one shooting a day, in the middle of the day, and there was no reason to think that would change. So Rose Marie was perfectly safe, or at least no more unsafe than she would normally be, and all would be well until she got the news and freaked out.
Which she would, Ana knew. Because by the eleven o'clock news, it was already going national.
words: 1731
total words: 10,766
Ana was also not allowed to have her phone on while she was at work, although she was usually behind the counter making coffee drinks or assembling sandwiches, and her phone was locked in a locker, so even if she did leave it on she wouldn't be able to answer it. So they played a very brief game of phone tag, until Ana checked her phone during her break and called Rose Marie on the office line.
"What did you tell him?" Rose Marie demanded, after she answered the phone and determined that it wasn't a client.
"Hi to you too," Ana said. Rose Marie could tell she was grinning on the other end. "He thinks you're cute, he asked if you had a boyfriend, I said no, he asked if you'd want to go out with him, I said he should call you and find out himself. So? Are you going?"
"It's baseball."
"So? It's a night sitting next to a guy who thinks you're cute and who's willing to shell out for Red Sox tickets. If you get cold you can snuggle."
"I don't know him."
"That's why you go out with him."
"Is he, you know, normal?"
"He's one of my friends, what do you think?"
Now Ana was definitely grinning on her end of the line. Rose Marie tried to remember what she'd thought of Rush at karaoke, other than Ana had brought her to set her up, and that she'd thought the guy was cute. Had she really decided that she'd go out with him if he asked her? Because now he was asking her.
"He was cute," Rose Marie conceded, "and I think I liked talking to him. Ok, I'll go."
"Aren't you glad you came to karaoke with me now?" Ana sounded pleased with herself. "You didn't have plans tonight, did you?"
"I was gonna wash my hair...." They both giggled. Before Ana finally broke up with her now-ex, she'd used the "I have to wash my hair/clip my toenails/clean the litterbox" family of excuses about five times to get out of seeing the guy, and he apparently never twigged to the fact that she was just making shit up to avoid going out with him. So now when either of the girls said it, it was just a joke.
"He's a good guy," Ana said. "You'll have a good time. And if you don't, at least you got a Red Sox game out of it."
One of the analysts came out of his office, wandered into the lobby, and started giving Rose Marie the evil eye. She told Ana she had to get off the phone and get back to work.
"You can totally bring him home after the game," Ana said. "Bye."
They both hung up and then Rose Marie snagged one of the secretaries to watch the front desk for five minutes so she could hide in the ladies' room and text Rush back - "Would love to go tonite. Call me @ 5."
That turned out to be the most exciting thing that happened to her all day. There was however a more exciting thing that happened near her. Because that afternoon, while Rose Marie surreptitiously surfed the internet at the reception desk and Ana made sandwiches and salads and and Rain tried not to fall asleep in the library and Christian took the T to Coolidge Corner to buy comics, a woman named Marla Knowles who worked in the IT department for State Street Bank was shot in the head as she took money out of an ATM in downtown Boston.
Marla had only been at State Street Bank for a couple of years. She'd broken up with her girlfriend shortly after New Year's, which was precipitated by the discovery that when the girlfriend said she was planning to move to Santa Fe to open a pottery store with a friend of hers, and she wanted Marla to come with her, Marla wasn't ready to uproot herself. She realized she'd rather stay in Boston with her job and her friends than move across the country with her girlfriend. It had been a fairly messy breakup, in which a lot of their mutual friends took sides, and Marla was just starting to date again.
And then a stranger in black pants and a hooded sweatshirt walked up behind her at the ATM, in broad daylight on a busy Friday, and shot her.
This time, as with yesterday's shooting, there were witnesses, and just as bystanders had been too shocked to chase down the person who killed David Tsai, now they were likewise too shocked (and some of them, too scared) to chase down the person who killed Marla Knowles. There were some conflicting accounts after the police showed up and started taking statements - some people thought the guy had said something, some people thought he was tall, some thought he was short, one person remembered that he kind of slouched up to Marla, one person thought they saw his face as he was running away. Pretty much everyone agreed on the black pants and black hoodie, and the fact that the shooter wore the hood up.
Max Barker, the homicide cop in Cambridge who was so interested in David Tsai's shooting, had called a friend and fellow homicide cop who worked for the Boston PD, which meant that news of Marla Knowles' death reached his desk sometime around four that afternoon. He talked to one of the cops who was investigating her death and they compared notes. Max found the notes he'd taken after talking to the cops in Roxbury who'd responded to Augustin Decker's shooting, and now he and the Boston cop compared those notes as well. Max had gotten the results back from ballistics on the bullet that had killed David and had been able to confirm that it was from the same gun that had killed Augustin. He promised to send the report on.
"I think we got a serial killer on our hands," he sighed. And that meant coordinating a couple of different city police departments, since the killings crossed jurisdictions. Plus the media was going to get wind of it. "Fuck. Did you get any leads? Because we didn't."
"Not yet," the Boston cop told him. "We're still looking into it. So far it looks like a random shooting."
"Why these people? Why Cambridge? Why the Financial District? What's the connection?"
"So far, there isn't one. We're looking. Your case and the shooting in Roxbury just bumped this up to a top priority. If we find anything else, I'll give you a call. If you get anything else, call us."
"Will do."
Max told his partner what was up, and then went to see his boss. He laid out everything he'd learned about David's death, everything he'd learned about Augustin's death, and now everything he'd been told about Marla's death. He admitted that so far the only connection between all these people was that they'd all been shot the same way by (possibly) the same person. He also admitted he had no idea who that person could be, or why they were targeting such random victims in such random places.
"You think this is the work of a serial killer," Max's supervisor said, sounding as if he already knew the answer to the question.
"That's what it looks like, yeah."
"Fuck. All right. I gotta tell the police chief. You come with me."
The Cambridge Chief of Police, after hearing all of Max's evidence, called the Police Commissioner in Boston and had a conversation while both Max and his supervisor were still in the office. The end result was three words:
"Call the FBI."
So Max did.
By that time, of course, the reporter who'd shown up to get the news on Marla's shooting had been directed to the Boston cop who'd talked to Max, and then she worked her way through the Cambridge PD until she got Max's partner, and by the six o'clock news it was all over the networks that there was a serial killer on the loose in Boston. Channel Four called him the Man in Black, Channel Five called him the Daylight Shooter, and Channel Seven called him the Ghost. But the end result was the same, and people started panicking.
The mayor of Boston held a press conference, which was broadcast on all the TV stations, urging people to remain calm but also be vigilant, and to watch out for suspicious persons wearing black. School principals sent out emails banning baggy black pants and black hoodies from high schools, even though it was Friday night and no doubt people were going to miss the memo. A mailing list Ana was on for local crafters had exactly one post asking people to be careful, but her little corner of Twitter exploded with panic and theories and serial killer history and psychology and at ten at night she just stared at everyone's tweets thinking "What the hell is going on here?" She was glad Rose Marie was out with Rush and (theoretically) nowhere near the news, and at the same time she was a little worried. Although so far there had only been one shooting a day, in the middle of the day, and there was no reason to think that would change. So Rose Marie was perfectly safe, or at least no more unsafe than she would normally be, and all would be well until she got the news and freaked out.
Which she would, Ana knew. Because by the eleven o'clock news, it was already going national.
words: 1731
total words: 10,766