Eighth floor...of course.
The building was only ten stories high, but of course Buchanan lived on the eighth floor. Kristeva reached the seventh-floor landing and paused to catch his breath. He wasn't out of shape by any means, but going up seven flights of stairs without stopping would probably wind anybody. He looked up at the final flight awaiting him, took a few more breaths, stretched his limbs a little, then grasped the railing and trudged his way up. Whatever was in those records had better be worth the price of admission.
He rapped impatiently on Buchanan's door several moments later--of course he'd called ahead, so he could be expected--and with barely a wait the door swung open. Buchanan--dressed casually, Kristeva noted--smiled widely, then frowned, obviously seeing the flush to his face and the irregular rise and fall of his chest.
"Don't tell me you took the stairs," he said, stepping aside so Kristeva could enter.
"Don't like elevators," Kristeva said, glancing around briefly--yep, typical overpaid douchebag apartment for a typical overpaid douchebag--before turning back to him. "Records?"
"Sheesh, you're pushy. They're over here on the table. Come on over and have a drink, you look like you need it."
"I'm not exactly interested in drinking and smalltalk," Kristeva said as Buchanan led the way. "I just want to figure out what's so hush-hush, and get back to work."
"And you'll get to figure it out. Besides, what's this about work? You should be off duty at the moment, as far as I know. Don't tell me you bring your caseload home with you...?"
He stopped and pulled out a chair, gesturing; Kristeva reluctantly sat down. "Some of us can't really afford to slack off," he said, when Buchanan poured something at the counter and then pushed a glass his way. He surreptitiously sniffed it, ready to turn it down, and was vaguely perplexed to realize that it was merely iced tea. His confusion must have shown on his face, for Buchanan, returning to the table with a glass of his own, smirked as he sat down opposite.
"Looks like you were expecting something else...?"
"Just not used to 'having a drink' referring to tea, is all." Though he did wait until Buchanan was busy retrieving the folders before taking a cautious sip. He didn't taste anything strange, but pushed the glass aside, promptly forgetting it when Buchanan placed the folders before him.
He turned them around and glanced at the tabs, but the only identifying material was dates and what looked to be the case number. He started to open the first one, then faltered with the cover half lifted. Buchanan, who'd been taking a drink, lowered his glass and frowned again.
"Don't tell me you're going to change your mind and not even look at it! After all that hard work--?"
Kristeva scowled and let the cover fall open, just to shut him up. He riffled through the pages; the first few were full of names and numbers and dates and other information that merely set the scene but aside from that did little to pique his interest. A few more pages were photocopies of documents related to the case--search and arrest warrants, primarily, and a few witness statements, vague reports of criminal activity. The reports seemed to grow more numerous as these pages went on, and he could see why there had been some suspicion of a professional criminal group. What was most curious were several missing person reports included...he looked these over, saw a familiar name here and there, and realized such reports should be in the same records he'd been getting acquainted with in his new position.
"Anything interesting yet?" Buchanan asked.
Kristeva knew it could be foolish to inform him of too much, but in the absence of anyone else to bounce ideas off of, answered anyway. "Missing person reports," he murmured, flipping through them.
"So this big case is in reference to missing persons? Funny that you wouldn't've come across it sooner, isn't it?"
"Looks like it wasn't considered just a missing persons case." Kristeva turned a page and stared at another report. "Solicitation charges..." Another page. "Drug manufacturing and distribution." Another page. "Attempted kidnapping." Another page, and he paused and scanned the charges, then let out a sigh.
Buchanan stared at him for a moment, lowering his drink. "Don't make me guess what sort of charge is on that page...?"
"Sex crimes," Kristeva said; then, "Distribution of child pornography."
Buchanan made a face. "Jesus Christ, what have you gotten me into...?" He took the stapled pages containing the numerous criminal charges and looked through them. "All this is tied together, then? What the fuck sort of group are we dealing with?"
Kristeva didn't answer, for when Buchanan had taken the charges away, another set of papers was revealed beneath them. Photos of crime scenes and suspected crime scenes. Many of these were almost identical to the animal mutilation photos he'd studied at the Sheriff's Department, only they were older. A lot older.
"That's been going on for ages," Buchanan said with a wave, seeing him browse through these. "Don't know why they'd include it in the file. Just about everybody's heard of the kooks who like to cut up dogs and stuff."
"I know, I grew up just outside the city. We lost a horse when I was a kid."
"Seriously? Same guys?"
"My dad said coyotes, but I highly doubt it." Kristeva fanned the pictures out. "They included these because obviously they thought they must be related. So, criminal group, pushing drugs, prostitution, child porn, and involved in--this kind of shit." He frowned at the array of pictures. "Active for at least two decades, probably longer. Meaning well organized, and with a decent-sized membership. Police felt the need to intervene." Another pause, and his frown grew. "Kidnapping...meaning they were trying to get people for some reason." He located one picture in the group and slid it to the center. It looked like some location in the woods; a large slab of rock had been painted with various symbols, and half-melted candles, unlit, were arranged around the edges in their own puddles of hardened wax. The middle of the rock was stained dark--some stains looking older than others--and a partly decomposed animal head was resting there. It might have been a dog, sheep, goat, difficult to tell at this distance. Kristeva and Buchanan stared at this.
This time Buchanan sighed. "I thought it was just stupid stories. Just a few dumb kids trying to spook people for fun. That's what the police kept saying, at least."
"Maybe they figured it was better that way."
"You really think this is some sort of coverup?"
"You really think it isn't?" He swept the pictures back into a pile. "I can't blame them. If this is the best evidence they have, then they had good reason to keep it quiet. The fact the record was sealed, though..." He looked at the next page, which included a start and end date, a case number, and the name of the primary investigating officer--DET. WESLEY SINGER. He reached for it, but didn't turn the page. This was the very thing he'd been wanting to look at, and now it seemed wrong to be doing it in front of anyone else, when so far he'd been pursuing this on his own. "You said you signed these out, how long until they're expected back...?"
"A week, tops. Oh, and I hate saying it, but there's no guarantee the chief won't be hearing about them being unsealed--I couldn't prevent that. The judge might decide to inform him, he might not. Just a heads-up* in case he calls you in for a chat."
Kristeva made a face. "I'll deal with that if and when it happens, I guess. Would I be able to take these home and look at them? I'll tell them you had no idea what was going on in case the shit hits the fan."
"Sure, as long as you get them back to me within a week."
Kristeva placed his hand on the file to slide it toward himself, but Buchanan placed his hand atop his before he could. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he had the sudden urge to smack his hand aside, and probably punch him a few times while he was at it, but instead he just gritted his teeth until they hurt, and made eye contact with the prosecutor. Buchanan leaned over the table and smiled. Kristeva felt like knocking his teeth out at that moment, but refrained, even though the crawly feeling in his skin was almost overwhelming.
"I seem to remember there was a matter of what would be in this for me," Buchanan reminded him.
"And I seem to remember you didn't clarify what you intended," Kristeva replied.
Buchanan's smile grew. "Well...I think you already know what." He lifted a finger and trailed it along the back of Kristeva's hand so the crawly feeling shot all through him, but he didn't show it. "You have any prior engagements for the rest of the night...?"
Kristeva stared at him, not breaking eye contact, as if offering a silent challenge; Buchanan didn't back down. "No," he said.
Buchanan's smile grew sickly sweet. "Well...isn't that convenient, then."
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