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Post by Kevin Callis on Aug 24, 2008 18:15:04 GMT -5
"Well, sir, there goes your Christmas bonus. Ford got himself murdered and you've got yourself one hell of an empty wallet on account you can't jail him--"
Kevin looked up from the bloodstains on the floor, his face covered in a mask. He removed it, looking sternly at Matthews. "Hey. A little boy is dead, alright? A baby. Try to have some compassion."
"I was just sayin'--"
"And besides, we don't even know if this is homicide or not. I'm just covering all my bases. The fact is, that this could simply be a murder-suicide."
"Y'think so, boss?"
"I ain't one of the CSI boys, none," Kevin said, looking at the wall. "But the baby's skull was crushed damn near all the way through, and Ford got a bullet through his brainpan, and from what the boys say, he prolly WAS brainblown by his own self. But you let somethin' like that slip to the media, Matthews, and I'll have both your balls and your badge on my desk by tomarrow morning."
"Yes, sir."
Kevin traced the steps f rom where they had found Ford and the baby's body, to the kitchen, and then to the bathroom. "They say anythin' was missing?" he called to Matthews.
"No, sir. That'd make a random B and E unlikely, huh?"
"Yeah, maybe." Kevin said, glancing into the medicine cabnet. "I'm gonna go question the neighbours again." he told Matthews, and made his way towards the door to he hotel room. If it had been a murder-suicide, it would have been closed...but there was something that wasn't setting right with Kevin. Something wasn't adding up. Two murders in nearly one week? Or two suicides in one week of prominant people, all related to the Oceanic Survivors? It was a damn mystery, that he was sure of. Exiting, he saw the neighbour, standing in the hallway, tears running down her cheeks. Putting on his sympathy face, he nodded slightly to the woman. "Ma'am."
"I just can't believe this. I didn't--I didn't even hear anything! I was dead asleep and then all I heard was the police this morning. Oh, that poor little boy. He was such a cute baby."
"Okay, I know. It's okay. I know several people have asked you this today, ma'am, but can we go over one more time anything that you remember about last night? Anything at all? Anything will be helpful, I'm sure of it."
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Post by Perry Jasper Johnson on Aug 26, 2008 16:25:08 GMT -5
That fucking bitch. That god damn backstabbing little troll! He has one coffee with another woman and she throws a hairy conniption fit and she dumps him – dumps him – and gives his story away to those fucking hacks at KTLA!
“Bitch!” Perry Jasper Johnson swore as he rounded the block at a full run. He could kill Joan! This would have been his big break! He would have been the first on the scene, the first with the story, but instead he had to find out from the news. They were airing the jesus story before he’d even finished his second cup of coffee. “Fucking bitch!”
Managing to weasel his way into the Roosevelt hotel amongst all the commotion, P.J. didn’t bother with the elevator, instead heading right for the stairs.
He couldn’t believe he’d had sex with that disgusting ogre of a woman. All those times he’d laid on his back, eyes tightly closed just praying to God she’d get it over with while she’d grunted and wheezed on top of him... it was enough to make his stomach turn even now. And for what? He went through torture to ensure he’d be the first person she called when something happened, and when finally something did happen, something huge, she gave it away because she was pissed off and insecure? Why in the name of all that was fucking holy did she have to choose now to grow a god damn back bone? God, he could kill her!
Finally reaching the right floor, Perry stopped to compose himself. Taking a few breaths and straightening his tie, he wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead and stepped out of the stairwell into the hall.
Talk about pandemonium.
The police were trying to keep the herds of reporters back from the open door to one of the rooms, and right in the centre of it all, interviewing a witness, was Detective Kevin Callis. Just his luck.
Showtime.
Shoving his way through the crowds, his small stature actually working to his advantage, P.J. managed to get within earshot of the Detective. The woman he was trying to question was crying too hard to get any specific details and was soon dismissed. Taking the opportunity, the reporter broke into the circle.
“Detective Callis! A few questions if I may,” he called, approaching the larger man. There was no point pretending to be a guest, not with Callis. They had had their run ins before while P.J. had been chasing one story or another. Tape recorder in hand, he made sure to hold it close, and far out of Callis’ reach. He knew the results if he got too close.
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Post by Kevin Callis on Sept 1, 2008 23:17:44 GMT -5
It took everything in him not to roll his eyes. The woman was giving him less than steller information, often broken by a loud sob or a hard sniff that made Kevin want to wince at the sound of snot being sucked back up into her nose.
"I-I heard--"
"I got what you heard. You heard a load of nothin', right? And then you heard the maid scream."
"A-And then I rushed out of my room, thinking that there was a robbery and--and--" The woman broke into another round of sobbing, covering her face with her hands. "It was so HORRIBLE! She--She--She was SCREAMING--"
"People often do when they see the blood, Ma'am. Anything else?"
"I just--that POOR BABY--"
Not that he was actually siding with Ford, or even caring about the bastard, but didn't anyone realise that he died, too? Sure, it was a child...but shit. Between the snot woman and the seemingly thousands of reporters, Kevin was quickly gaining a world-class headache. What the hell was wrong with people, anyway?
He found it hard to care sometimes. Of course, it was a horrible, horrible tragedy, and whoever had done this needed to be brought to justice. If not for Ford, for the little baby boy. However, the woman in front of him, the neighbour, was sobbing uncontrolably, as if she had known both Ford and the baby from birth. Both from when their momma's pushed them out, and it was starting to annoy him. "Ma'am. Ma'am, speak with my officer down the hall once you've composed yourself, alright? Here, Matthews, get the woman a damn tissue and get a statement! I don't have time for this."
And then, that voice. At first, he had half-expected to see that little shit Miles, offering his 'services' in this horrible time. But however, when he looked up, it was one person that could, in fact, be worse than the little Asian ghostbuster.
"Jesus, PJ. I ain't got time for this shit." Kevin said, annoyed at the simple sound of his voice. "I know you were standing outside when I walked in. I told all of you little worms around that I wasn't giving ANY statements about what's happened here. Go watch Channel 5 if you want a story, they've already managed to plaster it all over every airwave in California. I'd be surprised if it hasn't reached Vegas by now. Why don't you do yourself a favour and get the hell out of my crime scene?"
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Post by Perry Jasper Johnson on Sept 2, 2008 8:22:51 GMT -5
Well, well, well, it looked like the Detective was his usual cheery self this morning. P.J. would have taken it seriously like now if the guy wasn’t always like this. What do you expect from a cop who married a wanted murderer without realising it, then got himself drugged while she ran away again. Talk about a quick way to ruin your reputation. That had been surprisingly easy to uncover. Humiliating news always travels fast.
“If I wanted some fabricated sob story I’d pull up a chair to the television right now,” he replied, keeping close to the inner circle near the crime scene. “I want the truth, detective.”
Whether he’d answer them or not, it was time to just jump to the questions.
“Do you think Ford killed the kid then himself? Or is this a visit from a former business associate of his gone wrong?”
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Post by Kevin Callis on Oct 23, 2008 20:40:06 GMT -5
Kevin looked at PJ like he had grown 3 heads. All three without brains, apparently.
"Are you fucking serious, PJ? I mean, do I need to clean out my ears, or did you REALLY ask me my view on this case which is, might I remind you, only hours old? Because if you think I'm just gonna tell you every single thing I think about the case so you can plaster it all over your damn slag-mag, you've got your brains all in a mix." Kevin said honestly with a frown. "There ain't nothin' in hell that's gonna get me to tell you my thoughts on the case. Unlike you, I make good and decent money doin' what I do. AND," he continued, watching PJ. "Unlike you, I care about people. My thoughts on the case are my own, Johnson. If you really want a scoop, go check out the other news station. They'll give you all the juicy made up shit that you're lookin' for. You ain't lookin' for news, son, you're lookin' for the next big story."
Truthfully, Kevin couldn't tell PJ either way if he wanted to. He wasn't sure if it was a murder-suicide or if it was a buisness deal gone bad. Nothing made sense and it pissed him right the hell of. "Look, Johnson. I've got work to do. Actual work. So unless you want me to drag your ass downtown for questioning, you'd be better off leavin' this scene right now, we clear? I ain't answerin' your dumbass questions. I want you GONE."
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