Chapter Text
The call that came in was normal enough on the surface; or at least as normal as these calls ever got. Morgan was fairly unfazed by it anymore, but sometimes it hit her that every time she got called in to consult, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that someone had had the worst day of their life—not to mention their final one.
But on the surface, this was standard: a text from Karadec that he needed her at an address on the wrong side of Los Feliz, someone had been murdered, don’t bring the kids.
She rolled her eyes at the last one. It had been months since she’d brought one of her children on a case, there was no need to point it out now.
She was still annoyed about it when she parked at the end of the rundown street that ended in what looked to be the local neighborhood’s dumping grounds.
“I’m here,” she announced as she ducked under the yellow tape stretched between two beat-up trash cans, though no one was going to willingly invade this scene. There were a mess of old and broken items here: smashed TVs, the requisite discarded tires, an impossible number of diapers. She nodded at the officer stationed uselessly there to keep an eye out on things and narrowly avoided what was probably a used syringe only to plant her heel directly into an already torn up diaper, getting blue crystalized goo all over her shoe.
“I can’t believe he warned me about kids but not shoes,” she muttered, shaking it off of the point of her heel. She spotted Karadec by a different pile of junk and picked her way more carefully towards him.
“I’m alone, by the way,” she told him as she neared, “since you seem to think—” The complaint died in her throat when she moved near enough to see what he was standing by.
He was still neat and clean, of course, but the dead guy dressed in a giant Goofy character suit in the middle of everything wasn’t.
“Oh,” Morgan said. “Well, that makes your text make more sense.”
Karadec looked over from where he was talking to the medical examiner, and nodded in greeting. “Gillory. What do you think?”
“I think someone will hyuk hyuk no more.”
Karadec grunted. “Cute. Neighbor passing by found him this morning but doesn’t recognize him from the area.”
Morgan squatted down next to the body and pulled out her gloves. She put one on and touched the costume. “It’s damp. So he showed up here before the sun came up.” She looked up at Karadec. “I assume no one saw anything?”
He shrugged. “People are good at not seeing things in neighborhoods like this.”
She pursed her lips and studied the corpse. The man’s uncovered head poked out of the awkward-looking Goofy body in a way that would be humorous in other circumstances. Leaning forward, she scanned the costume for the telltale signs of authenticity, finding them easily.
“This is the real deal. The quality is too good, and look at this,” she pointed to the shirt under the black vest. “See the ghost Mickey?”
Karadec leaned forward, squinting. “Like in a sheet?”
“No, I mean it’s a very faint imprint of the famous Mickey silhouette. Only the official costumes are supposed to have that. But the cast members are definitely not supposed to take these costumes outside of the park. That’s a strict no-no.” She looked around. “Where’s his head?”
Karadec lifted his brows and gestured at the body. “Right there.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I mean the Goofy head. If he’s already breaking the rules by leaving in costume to perform or to go to a club or to participate in some peculiar sex fetish—” Karadec grimaced at that “—then why would he leave the head behind? That’s the best part.”
“No head has been found besides his real one, but I’ve got a couple of officers out canvassing the area to see if they can find it. Daphne’s doing a run on his photo to see if she can get a match and an address for us.”
Morgan stood and looked around the area. “He was dragged here, see?” She traced the flattened path of junk that led from his body to the street with her finger, and then pointed at the costume. “He had the same problem I did with the diaper goo.” She squatted back down and touched the back. “Huh. It’s not as wet.” She craned her neck to look up at Karadec. “Sodium polyacrylate.”
He stared blankly back. “Okay?”
“It’s what they put in diapers to absorb the urine. Very effective, thank god, because let me tell you: my children could really let go as babies.”
“Morgan,” Karadec started, but she didn’t let him finish his complaint.
“The point is, this body got dragged through it and it soaked up some of the dew. We can tell how long he was lying here by how dry it is compared to the rest of his outfit.” Karadec gave an acknowledging grunt. “So our victim isn’t from this area, but he was left here at some point last night in most of his costume. Are the owners of all these cars accounted for?”
Karadec nodded. “At least the ones closest to us.” He pointed at a few cars about thirty feet away, parked in front of their respective houses. “Unlikely that any of the others would belong to him.”
“Do we know how he died?”
“Not yet,” Karadec said. “There are no visible wounds on the head or what we can see above the costume. The coroner will take him back and, uh, undress him and let us know more.”
She tilted her head, considering the dead man. “Do you think we’ll get to go to Disneyland?”
Karadec shuddered. “God, I hope not.”
“Yeah, heaven forbid we end up at the happiest place on earth,” Morgan said drolly, rising again. “Especially one filled with germy children.”
“I’m more concerned about the strung-out parents. Dragging kids miles around Overstimulation City for eight hours? It’s a miracle Anaheim PD isn’t there every day.” He flipped his notebook closed and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Morgan did her best not to stare at the plane of his chest underneath. She thought he’d been working out more, but she couldn’t ask him because he’d want to know why she thought so and I’ve been hyperfocused on your muscular body lately was the unshareable truth. Ever since he and Lucia had broken up, she’d found herself more aware of him, first because she was worried about his mental health and now because he seemed to be spending a lot more time at the gym and she really didn’t appreciate how distracting it was.
“Disneyland has their own security force,” she informed him in an attempt to stop thinking about his chest. She pulled off her glove and tucked it into the band of her skirt. “Anaheim only shows up when they can’t deal with it, which is almost never.”
“Are you a Disney adult?” Karadec asked, in the same voice he’d ask if she was a serial killer.
Morgan cocked her head. “Would you disown me as your partner if I said yes?”
“I’d think about it.”
She scoffed. “I’m not, but that’s very judgy of you. They’re harmless.”
“That’s debatable.” His phone dinged and he glanced at it and then nodded. “Daphne’s got a name and address. Kenneth Salazar, twenty-six. Lives in Echo Lake with a roommate, who’s home and willing to talk.”
“That’s a fun area,” Morgan mused as they headed for their respective vehicles. “And would fit if he’s a Disney cast member. Lots of art and theater kids there. Lot of them would love to get their start at the big D.”
Karadec shut his eyes. “Please don’t call it that.”
“Do you prefer D-Land?” she asked and tried not to laugh when he just looked at her and then headed for his car. “Guess that’s a no. Hey! Let’s stop at the precinct on the way and we can consolidate into one car.” Karadec waved his hand over his head in acknowledgment without turning. “See you, Big K!”
“Don’t call me that either,” he called back.
Morgan grinned and got into her station wagon, already planning a route that would get her there before him.
Kenneth Salazar’s roommate, James ‘J.J.’ Johnson, was eager to help but ultimately no help at all. All he knew was that he’d arrived home from his night shift at the hospital to find Kenneth was gone; not unusual for a work day considering he took the bus to work, but it looked like he hadn’t been home at all the night before based on the untouched mail in his name and no signs of a meal.
“I can’t believe he took the bus to work,” Morgan said. “What an awful commute. Poor guy.”
J.J. ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. “He had a car for a while, but he had to sell it last year. He had to pay for treatment for a bunch of neck injuries he got from wearing that stupid costume too long. I told him he should quit before anything even more serious happened, but...” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping.
“Do you mind if we take a look in his bedroom?” Karadec asked.
“Go ahead.” He waved down a hallway. “First door on the left is his. The other two are my bedroom and the bathroom.” His whole face was pinched, like he was trying not to cry. “I can’t believe he’s gone. You really don’t know what happened?”
“Not yet, but we’re working very hard to find out,” Karadec told him kindly. It didn’t seem to help much, which Morgan couldn’t blame J.J. for, and the other man left still looking upset.
“Kenneth had to spend nearly two hours on public transit to go to a job that physically caused him pain but didn’t pay enough so he could fix it.” She shook her head. “I have worked some crappy jobs in my time, but I sure wouldn’t put up with that unless I really loved it or had absolutely no choice.”
Karadec opened the door to Kenneth’s bedroom and made a noise of surprise. “I’m guessing it was the former,” he said, before stepping out of the way so Morgan could peer inside. The room wasn’t big, and it felt even smaller packed as it was with Disney memorabilia and knick-knacks. “Looks like he just really loved his job.”
Morgan entered and picked up a framed photo of Kenneth as Goofy posing with an elderly couple that were likely his parents based on their facial similarities. “And worked himself to death,” she murmured a little sadly. She looked up at Karadec, and found the same sympathetic expression on his face that she knew was on hers. “Don’t expect the same from me.”
He huffed. “It never even crossed my mind,” he assured her. She was fairly certain that wasn’t a compliment.
“Just search,” she said. “I don’t need your sass.”
She caught his small, fleeting grin before they both got to work looking for clues to Kenneth Salazar’s death.
The room didn’t offer up any more hints than the junk pile had; there was no secret ah-ha that explained why he’d been dumped in his obviously beloved Goofy costume in an unfamiliar neighborhood. They learned a bit about his life: he liked comic books and scifi, he seemed to be one of three brothers in a fairly close family based on the number of photos, and he loved collecting Disney mementos. Based on the amount of Robin Hood-themed things, Morgan assumed that was his favorite.
“I have to admit, the fox did it for me,” she said at one point, holding up a figurine of Robin Hood to examine it.
“Was it stealing from the rich or just the general disregard for the law that captured young Morgan Gillory’s attention?” Karadec asked from where he had an Eeyore piggy bank next to his ear, shaking it gently.
“Both. Though, honestly, he was also hot.”
Karadec just shook his head and, probably wisely, didn’t respond.
On their way out a little while later, Karadec handed his card to a still upset J.J.
“If you think of anything, or discover anything unusual, let us know right away,” he told the despondent man as they left. The man just nodded and shut the door quietly behind them.
“For a case involving a man in a Goofy suit, this has been really depressing so far,” Morgan said.
“Murder cases tend to be,” Karadec said matter-of-factly, gesturing for her to head to the car.
They’d taken his, though she’d offered to drive just like she always did. He’d never taken her up on it, but someday she’d get him into her wagon. She made a face at how that sounded. Yeah, not gonna say that out loud. Though it was a little tempting just to see how he’d respond.
Instead she said, “We don’t know this was murder yet.”
“We don’t,” he agreed. “But it would be unusual for him to have died of natural causes in that suit where he did.” The car beeped as he unlocked it. “It feels like a fair leap to make.”
Morgan beamed at him over the top of the car. “You’re the Mulder today.”
Karadec hesitated, confused. “Like, the X-Files?”
“Yeah! Usually I’m Mulder—all about the mystery and what’s really going on—and you’re Scully, all disbelieving and serious.”
“So you don’t think it was a murder?” Karadec asked curiously.
“Oh, no, I definitely think it was a murder. Today we’re both Mulder.”
“Ah.” Karadec huffed and opened his car door. “Well, you know what they say: the truth is out there, Gillory.”
“I knew you were a secret nerd,” she said, climbing into the car.
Back at the precinct, the body had been transported, the costume cut through and removed—which Morgan was sure was going to cause Disney to sue the LAPD for damages—and Kenneth Salazar’s cause of death determined.
“He has a huge bruise on his chest, right over his heart,” the ME on duty, Suzie, told them. She handed Morgan a sheaf of photos to flip through. “That happened yesterday, as far as I can tell, and it led to his death but it wasn’t exactly the cause of it.” She added a print out of a tox screen, and Morgan felt Adam peer over her shoulder to look, his familiar leather and sandalwood scent enveloping her. Le Labo Santal 33, she knew, thanks to that night they’d pulled that overnighter doing case work in his apartment and she’d discovered it by being nosy in his bathroom.
“High levels of NSAIDs?” Adam asked, near enough that his breath brushed over the skin of Morgan’s neck and she shivered.
“Extremely. Enough to cause a spike in blood pressure that worsened the aortic dissection from the blow to the chest, which ultimately killed him.” Suzie shook her head. “I don’t know why he didn’t go to the ER though; it had to have hurt like hell, even with all the painkiller.”
Morgan’s mind was already skipping ahead, rifling through the infinite file cabinet in her mind under ‘A” for aortic dissection. “That injury can cause pain in the upper back right?” Suzie nodded and Morgan took a step away to look up at Karadec from a safer distance. “J.J. said Kenneth had been experiencing severe neck pain. He was probably used to it by then. Maybe he just took too much without realizing?”
“Not at these levels,” Suzie said. “There’s no way he wouldn’t have known this was too much. So either the pain was severe enough that he didn’t care, or someone gave him that medication—with or without his knowledge.”
Morgan frowned at the photos. He looked smaller without the Goofy costume. “How long would it have taken for him to bleed to death?”
“Several hours. It wasn’t a tear big enough to be immediate, but the last hour would have been excruciating until he passed out.”
“He could have traveled to where we found him before that,” Karadec noted.
Morgan scoffed. “Why would he do that? It’s another half hour past his house by bus, and he doesn’t have a car. Plus, all the garbage was on his back, not his front, so he didn’t crawl out there, he was dragged by someone. The someone that gave him the NSAID.”
“Now who’s Mulder?” Karadec said pointedly.
“I already told you that I was, that’s not the burn you think it is,” she said. Suzie snorted, earning a glare from Adam. “What else have you got?” Morgan asked.
“Most of the blood from the dissection was still in the front and lower part of his chest, as though he was upright for a while while bleeding. He didn’t die on his back.”
“Which is how we found him,” Morgan reminded Karadec.
“There was also a substance on his shirt, something smeared, so we couldn’t get any prints off of it. Looks like it might be some type of cleaner. Looks like bleach almost, but it didn’t test that way. We sent it to the lab to get more info.”
“Huh. Noted. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Suzie frowned, clearly puzzled. “It looks like he might have had previous dislocation of a few bones. The cartilage was weaker than expected in those places. But they weren’t recent, and didn’t seem to contribute to his death here.”
“Did you check the water content of the costume on both sides?” Morgan asked eagerly.
Suzie nodded. “Yep. Like you suspected, the parts in touch with the polyacrylate were drier. We think he ended up outside sometime between eleven PM and one AM.”
“What’s your best guess for time of death?” Karadec asked.
“Well,” she said, tapping one finger against her table. “My best estimation is that he probably received the bruise sometime between three and six yesterday, and then, based on the coagulation from the bruising and the bleeding, he died somewhere between nine and eleven last night.”
Morgan did a quick search of Disneyland Park’s hours to confirm her suspicions. “Yep,” she said. “He died at work.” She gasped. “Karadec. Do you know what this means?” He lifted his brows questioningly. “We’re going to Disneyland!”