Chapter Text
"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche
"You know, we're really not doing much to help the whole cops-love-Dunkin' Donuts stereotype."
An eyebrow raises. "Does that mean you don't want this?" Jesse asks teasingly, holding the steaming Styrofoam cup just out of Beca's reach.
"Fuck off," she says, smacking her partner on the arm with one hand as she snags the cup with the other. "I was just saying."
Jesse rounds the unmarked police car and plops into the driver's seat, glancing at the digital dashboard clock. "Shit."
"What?"
"We've got, like, ten minutes to get back for Posen's meeting," Jesse says with a roll of his eyes. "If we're late from a coffee run one more time I think she's going to—"
A brief moment of static bursts from the dashboard scanner before a shaky voice is audible: "28D... 28D. Backup requested." 28D—homicide. Both officers raised their eyebrows and exchanged looks.
"Saved by the bell," Jesse quips as he turns the key in the ignition as Beca reads off the address.
"A couple of dead bodies are probably much more pleasant than Aubrey Posen at this time in the morning," Beca mutters under her breath, chuckling when Jesse swats at her. "What? It's true."
"That doesn't mean you have to say it out loud," he tells her, pulling onto the highway.
"If I don't, no one will know how hilarious I am," Beca deadpans, sipping her coffee.
"If by 'hilarious' you mean 'sociopathic' then, yes, you're on the right track," Jesse teases, turning onto a residential street.
"Shit," Beca breathes. The street is packed with ambulances and police cars, lights flashing. Uniformed officers, crime scene technicians, and EMTs mill about around the house they've been directed to. The property is roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Across the street, curious civilians gather to watch the activity.
"What the hell happened?" Jesse mutters, cutting the engine of the vehicle and stepping out.
"Must be more than just a couple of bodies," Beca answers as they approach the house.
They're met on the driveway by Aubrey, whose mouth is set in a grim line as she watches the crime scene techs coming out of the house with arms full of paper evidence bags.
"Jesus Christ, Aubrey, what happened?" Jesse asks.
"That's Lieutenant Posen to you," Aubrey says, crossing her arms. Then her face softens a bit. "Quadruple homicide. Mom, dad, and two kids."
"Holy shit," Beca says, looking back at the house. "How old were the kids?"
Aubrey sighs heavily. "Neighbors say seven and ten."
"Oh my God," Jesse says. "Is there anything we can do?"
"No, the crime scene techs have it under control now," Aubrey says, shaking her head. "I'm calling a meeting in a couple of hours. I'll debrief everyone then."
"Aye aye, lieu—" Beca starts to say (sarcastically), but stops her words abruptly as a stretcher is wheeled out of the house, on top of which is a body bag. She looks away.
Homicides in Barden county are infrequent, but she's seen a few—drug deals gone bad, a gang hit, and one guy who shot his wife point-blank in the head. Something about this feels different, though. More serious. More sinister.
"If you'll excuse me," Aubrey says, turning to talk to one of the techs.
"Come on, Bec," Jesse says, placing a hand on her shoulder and steering her toward their car.
Beca casts one more glance at the house before ducking into the car.
It's quieter than usual at the station; there's very little banter between the detectives and the officers as they hunch over their stacks of paperwork at their desks.
Beca and Jesse eat their lunches across from each other in relative silence. Beca's holding her sandwich in one hand and scribbling out a report on a recent assault with the other, occasionally glancing at the clock. It's nearly three.
"So what do you think this was?" Jesse asks, his hushed voice sounding louder than it is in the quiet space. "Domestic? Drugs? A gang thing?"
"I really don't know," Beca says around a mouthful of turkey. "I need more details. Doesn't sound domestic, though. The whole family is dead."
"Yeah," Jesse agrees, standing to toss his garbage. "You ready to go?"
Beca looks down at the other half of her sandwich. She's not really that hungry today.
"Yeah, let's go."
"Okay."
Aubrey claps her hands together as the last of the officers trickle into the conference room. She stands in front of a whiteboard, and her hands she holds a manila envelope, and Beca can't help but notice that her hands are trembling slightly.
"I'm sure you've all heard about the quadruple homicide on Johnson Street, yes?" Aubrey asks, and everyone in the room nods or gives an "Mhm."
"You've all probably got a lot of questions. I ask that you hold them until I'm finished, okay?" She doesn't wait for a response. "So here we have the King family." Aubrey pauses to scribble names on the board. "Jane, the mother, age forty-five. Steven, the father, age forty-seven. Neighbors told us that Jane was a stay-at-home-mom, and Steven worked for a computer repair company.
"Alison, the daughter, age ten. And, lastly, the son, Jack, age seven." Aubrey pauses for a moment, clearing her throat, and Beca closes her eyes briefly. So young. "They were found by their oldest child, Steven Jr., when he came home from school. He left the house earlier than the other two kids. We had Steven's brother come in and identify the bodies."
Aubrey opens the clasp on the envelope and pulls out a stack of photographs. "Crime scene photos. Take a look, pass them around. But I'm going to warn you—it's not pretty."
As the photos make their way around, there are muted gasps from everyone who flips through them; one officer even whimpers a bit. Beca steels herself as the pictures are slid her way, but even she can't stop her sharp intake of breath when she lays her eyes on the first photo.
"We found Jane and Steven's bodies in the bedroom. It appears Steven was the first to die. His body was found on the floor, and his hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound with electrical tape." Aubrey pauses for a moment to flip through her notes. "We don't have official autopsy reports yet—we'll have those tomorrow. It's pretty clear, though, that the killer tried to manually strangle Steven, but either found it was taking too long or wasn't strong enough, so he tied a plastic bag around the victim's head."
Aubrey scribbles the cause of death next to Steven's name, and flips to the next page in her notes. "Jane was also found in the bedroom, but her body was on the bed. She was tied in the same way Steven was, and marks on her neck suggest both manual and ligature strangulation."
Beca's taken a class on homicide. She knows theoretically what strangulation does, what it looks like.
The textbook description can't even hold a candle to photos of the real thing, though.
The marker squeaks loudly in the silent room as Aubrey writes "strangulation" next to Jane's name. "We found Jack in his bedroom. We don't know if the killer carried him there or made him walk. His wrists and ankles were also bound, but with cord. He also had a plastic bag over his head," Aubrey says as she writes "suffocation" on the board, "but unlike Steven, he also had a t-shirt tied around his head over the bag. There was also no sign of strangulation."
Just a short glance at little Jack's ashen face and bloodshot eyes leaves Beca feeling nauseous, and she quickly flips it over, pushing the stack to Jesse.
"And finally we have Alison. She was found in her bedroom, tied with the same type of cord that was used on Jack. Like her mother, she was strangled, but it appears to only have been manual. She was the only one of the four to have been gagged. She was also"—Aubrey takes a breath—"partially undressed. We don't know if there was sexual assault; we'll get that in the autopsy report."
Across the room, several people gasp or make disgusted noises. Some, including Jesse, drop their heads into their hands. Beca presses a hand to her mouth.
"It appears that the kids were getting ready to go to school when the killer arrived," Aubrey continues, capping her marker. "There were half-made sandwiches and open lunch boxes on the counter. We think that the killer may have forced his way in when someone took out the trash, because there was a full trash bag left on the front porch. He probably had some sort of weapon in order to subdue the family."
"If the killer had a weapon, why would he strangle or suffocate the victims?" asks Benji, one of the younger officers.
Aubrey gives the officer a hard look, and Beca winces. "I asked for questions to be held until I was finished, Officer Applebaum." Benji has the good sense to look sheepish. "But I don't have an answer to that.
"There were no prints found at the scene; the killer probably was wearing gloves. There was a partial boot print by the back door. And the techs did find some fibers on the back deck, but those could have come from friends or family.
"Lastly, one of the family cars was missing from the driveway. In fact, it was the only thing missing from the house. It was found in the parking lot of a strip mall a few miles away. Other than that, there doesn't appear to be anything missing from the house. We're pretty sure the killed brought the cord and the electrical tape in with him."
Flipping her notes closed, Aubrey places her palms flat on the table. "I know that this is unlike anything we've ever handled before. But I have faith in you guys. Now, this case is going to need full-time work, so I'm creating a task force. Swanson, Adams, and Mitchell"—Beca, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose, another Barden detective sit up a bit straighter in their chairs—"I'm assigning you three to this case. I'm going to need you guys conducting interviews, canvassing the neighborhood, and communicating with forensics."
Aubrey looks at them with a grave expression on her face. "Can I count on you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Jesse says at the same time Cynthia Rose says, "Absolutely." Beca just nods.
"Excellent." Aubrey goes back to addressing the room. "Now I will take questions."
"Wassup, task force homies?" Jesse says, turning to Beca and Cynthia Rose as they exit the conference room. He holds his hand up for a high five.
"Please don't," Cynthia Rose tells him, tugging his hand down. "Are you going to take this seriously? Because we have a lot of shit to do."
"Of course I'm going to take it seriously," Jesse says, looking mildly offended. "Excuse me for trying to lighten the mood a bit."
"Guys, we can't start arguing now," Beca interjects, holding out her hands. "We're all kinda freaked out, but let's not take it out on each other, okay?"
"You're right," Cynthia Rose says, and Jesse nods. "Man, I feel like I need a drink already."
"I feel you," Jesse sighs as the three trudge back to the detectives' office space.
"Me, too." Beca sinks down into her squeaky rolling desk chair, look tiredly down at the half-finished assault report.
"I'll tell you what," Cynthia Rose says, flipping open a folder. "I'll buy everyone drinks when we catch this bastard."
Jesse calls out, "Amen!" and shares a high five with Cynthia Rose.
Beca tries to smile, but can't help but feel like the end is nowhere in sight.
"Ugh, I never thought I'd get to sit again."
Jesse falls into his desk chair with a groan. Beca and Cynthia Rose do the same in their respective chairs. Beca toes off her shoes underneath the desk, dropping the stack of notepads and folders onto its surface with a thump.
Cynthia Rose boots up her computer, its low hum the only sound in the room as the three decompress from a (very) long day of interviewing and neighborhood canvassing.
"Hey, we got something," Cynthia Rose says, opening an email. "It's the autopsy report."
Beca moves to read over Cynthia Rose's shoulder, shoes forgotten. Jesse leans over the desk to look at the screen.
"Cause of death for Jane is strangulation… Cause of death for Steven suffocation… Same for Jack… And cause of death for Alison strangulation. With…" Cynthia Rose continues scrolling. "No sign of sexual assault."
Beca sighs in something almost like relief, but she's puzzled, too. "That's odd that he… did that to her if there was no intention of sexual assault."
Cynthia Rose shrugs. "I wouldn't put any of this in the realm of normal."
"Touché," Beca says. "Don't forget to forward this to Aubrey."
"On it," Cynthia Rose says as Aubrey herself walks through the door.
"Forward what do me?" she asks, eyeing the group clumped around the computer.
"Autopsy report's in," Jesse says, scooting out of the way so Aubrey can look.
"Nothing we didn't expect, aside from the lack of sexual assault on the little girl," Cynthia Rose informs her. "Confirmed causes of death."
"Looks like the killer did try to strangle Steven," Beca says, pointing to the screen. "The hyoid bone was fractured. Same with Jane and Alison. "
Aubrey nods, her eyes scanning the page. "Bruising around Jane's upper neck suggests that she was strangled from behind," she reads.
"I guess Jack was the only one the killer didn't try to strangle," Cynthia Rose notes.
"That's weird," Jesse says. He's moved so he's standing behind the group. "He was the smallest."
"And by that standard the easiest," Beca agrees.
"Who knows?" Aubrey says, sighing and righting herself. "Who even wants to kill children in the first place? Now, how did interviewing go? Any info?"
"We did get one guy," Beca says, moving back to her desk and flipping through her notepad, "a neighbor, who saw the missing car backing out of the driveway around nine o'clock."
"And?" Aubrey says expectantly when Beca pauses.
"He said that the guy driving was white and had dark hair. He thinks he may have been wearing glasses." Beca drops the notepad back onto the desk. "And that's about it."
"That's it? Did you get anything on a possible motive?" Aubrey plants her hands on her hips, looking irritated. "Did you even remember to ask about drugs, or—"
"Whoa there, Lieu," Cynthia Rose cuts in. "We did; we asked about drugs, gang involvement, everything. Everyone said they were just a normal family."
"Not even a history of divorce or conflicts at work," Jesse adds. "The only family that lives near them is Steven's brother, and we confirmed he was at work during the time of the murders."
"Great," Aubrey says sarcastically, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So now we just talk to every dark-haired white man in a twenty-mile radius." She sighs again. "Good work today, guys. Go home, get some rest. You'll need it."
"She looks like she could use some rest," Cynthia Rose mutters quietly once Aubrey is out of earshot.
Beca nods, silently agreeing. Aubrey looked exhausted and frazzled, her eyes slightly red.
And it's only day two.
On day eight the forensics lab calls to say that they're ruled out two of the fibers found—one apparently belongs to a school friend who had been there the previous day, the other to a shirt owned by Steven Jr.
On day eleven the lab calls again to say they've finished processing the missing car. They're found essentially nothing of value.
By day thirty-six the Beca, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose have looked into nearly forty dark-haired white guys, each as seemingly innocent as the next.
On day forty-nine Cynthia Rose gets pulled from the task force to work some drug sale scheme.
Three months out, and the case officially goes cold.
"Hello, and welcome to 7News Atlanta. Today marks the one-year anniversary of a mysterious quadruple murder in Barden. Today we remember the King family—Steven, Jane, and young children Alison and Jack—were found dead in their home one year ago today. So far, the police have no suspects, and the case has since gone cold—"
Aubrey abruptly snaps the little television off.
"Hey!" Jesse protests, but Aubrey silences him with a look. She turns in her chair and faces what's left of the task force—Beca and Jesse—who are seated in front of her desk in her tiny office. Every muscle in her face is tensed, and she looks like she didn't get much sleep the previous night.
"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?" Jesse asks, and Beca steps on his toe as discreetly as possible."
"Can it, Swanson. Now's not the time. It's been a year and we have nothing," Aubrey says, crossing her arms. "Aside from the fact that the killer is still out there, this is making us look really, really bad."
"Can't have that," Beca can't help but mumble sarcastically under her breath.
"I heard that," Aubrey says. "This isn't just about the good name of the Barden Police Department. This could affect funding—which has an effect on your salary, Mitchell. So maybe you should care."
"Okay, jeez." Beca holds her hands up in mock surrender. "What do you propose we do? Interview more people?"
"I think we need outside help," Aubrey says. "As much as it pains me to admit it."
"From whom?" Jesse asks. "We've had other departments look at the files."
"I've contacted the FBI. They're sending someone from Quantico," Aubrey informs them, needlessly straightening a stack of papers on her desk.
"Whoa," Beca says. "Big guns."
"I need you guys to gather and organize all of the files and information for this person. And then pray that they've got some sort of insight that we don't," Aubrey tells them. "You two are dismissed."
"Do you really think this will work? What could this person possibly know that we don't?" Jesse whispers to Beca as they leave the office.
"I don't know." Beca sighs. "But I really hope so."