• What Fandom[s]? Real World
  
• Canon characters accepted? Original Characters
  
• Open or closed topic? Open
  
• AU (Alternate Universe)?

No
Thunder rolled in the heavens as Detective Charles of the NYPD stepped from his squad car, taking his first whiff of the crime scene as he ducked under the tape and showed the officer his badge. It was the smell of alleyways the world over, of trash and gas, with just a hint of urine permeating the air. However, tonight it held a new odour.

Blood.

In front of the detective a coroner stepped back, revealing the victim’s body lay out on ground. It was a young woman, red hair splayed out behind her as red blood stained the concrete. He’d never get used to it, as long as he lived, seeing people like this, lifeless and broken, weather they had jumped from a roof or had been shot in a ditch. It seemed to sap the light out of a place, leaving them lodged in your memory, every single one.

The detective brought himself back to the moment. He walked up to the duty officer “Sargent? Detective Charles, Homicide. What’s the situation?” he asked, taking another glace around the scene.
The Officer on duty looked up at the detective before going to their notes, flipping through to the front, “We got the call about half an hour ago, one of the residents nearby heard screaming in this ally. A patrol car arrived five minutes later to find the DOA. She has no ID and no money on her. We were going to chalk it up to a straight robbery, but then we saw this.” The Sargent squatted down next to the body and gestured for Charles to do the same. Pulling out his pen he pushed the woman’s jacket revealing the top of her chest. What the detective saw made him recoil slightly.

She was covered in scratches, small lines of blood covering her upper torso and arms. The sergeant nodded, “That was my response too sir.” He said. “We can’t find anything in the immediate area that matches the wounds, so we’re assuming he took it with him.”
The Sargent stood, and the detective joined him, his brow furrowed. “This could get complicated.

TBC

The detective let the sergeant gat back to work recording the crime scene. He had other matters to attend to. Charles stepped back from the scene, as he was want to do, and tried to take it all in a glance. There was the body, and the blood pool. But beyond that was the ally itself. Dried autumn leaves were scattered across the tarmac, some stained by the Jane’s blood. There were trash cans and dusters, full to overflowing with bags. Above them fire escapes led from closed doors. No windows to speak off, but plenty of vents and Air-conditioning units that even now let off low hum, trying to keep the humidity down in the face of the approaching storm.
There was other detritus, rubbish and trash scattered everywhere, but nothing that really matched the description of the weapon that could have made these marks. Sighing to himself the detective turned to the PD coroner, who had just pulled off his gloves and placing some evidence in bags. Charles walked up to the man, hands in his jacket pockets. “What’s the story Theo?” he asked.
“Short is what it is.” Replied Theodor Fitzpatrick, ME for the NYPD over ten years and renowned for his insightful nature. “The lacerations across her torso are both Pre- and Post-mortem, approximately the same size and made methodically by a small sharp instrument.”
“Like a knife?” Charles asked, but Theo shook his head.
“Whatever it was it was boarder then most knives. I’d guess a nail or some sort of metal tool.”
The detective shook his head. “How could anyone have the patience to do all that,” he pointed at the bloody body, “with something as blunt as a nail?”
“Damned if I know.” Replied Theo. “All I know is that she did not die from her wounds. She has too small a blood pool to have been exsanguination. I’m theorising something caused a massive cardiac arrest that led to her death, judging from the contracted muscles and early onset Rigor.” He coughed slightly before continuing. “We got body temp, confirms the sergeant’s story, death was about forty five minutes ago, so whatever happened here, the Perp got out of here fast.”
Detective Charles cocked his head “Doing my job for me Theo, I’m the one that likes to state the obvious.”
The ME smiled slightly “Just being thorough detective.” At that moment one of the ME’s assistants came over, an evidence bag held in one hand. Theo accepted it off the assistant and took a look. From Charles’ position he could see it was a card, most likely some sort of ID, although the way Theo’s face had gone ashen the Detective know he was not going to like what he was about to be presented with.

A moment then passed before the ME spoke. “At least she is not a Jane Doe any more. According to this, that young woman’s name is Mary Winchester.” He handed the over the card just as he confirmed for Charles why this was a big deal. “Actually, she was Sister Mary Winchester, of Saint Thomas’ church.” He turned back to the body lying prone in the ally. “She was a Nun detective.”

Kat hit the button again and again she heard the beginning of a voice mail message. She hung up... again. It was the sixth time. The first three times she left a message, the other two were texts, each one increasing in urgency. Mary had never ignored her calls before and it was getting late. Kathrine had been resting her cell phone on her chin, deep in thought when she saw Vera out of the corner of her eye. Vera glanced her direction through the long window that separated the kitchen from the dining hall. Kat nodded her head at the older woman giving her permission to leave. Vera responded with raised eyebrows.

"It's okay go on home." She mouthed, waving her ungloved hand in a shooing motion but Vera made her way over anyway.

"You sure?"

"I know you have a lot going on. Go home, chick. I got this covered."

"Ok but you better call or send me a text if it's late. I won't sleep unless I know Mary is ok. I gonna get her if she lost that phone of hers again."

The Seeds of Hope Women's shelter had been a ministry of Saint Thomas church for only four years and in those four years Kat had never known Mary to be late for her shift. Normally she was here early and was even known to spend all day here if they were short on volunteers. But for her to be late and not give anyone information was rare. Something was really wrong. Out of habit she reached toward her forehead to brush away strands of hair that were no longer there. Just last week her and a few other volunteers had their hair cut and donated to a children's cancer charity. A plan Mary had coordinated. Kat had chosen to cut hers pretty short, so she now sported a pixie cut that suited her small frame well. Dark brown and wavy, there was still plenty for her to run her fingers through.

It was only a few blocks from here to the church. After she finished the last of the large pots she had decided to jog over there real quick to see if she could at least get some answers from one of the other sisters. The hour was late, but with still enough people about on the streets for it to be safe. Once Kat decided something she had a hard time holding herself back, so she handed the job off to one of the teen volunteers, threw her gloves on the counter and headed for her sweater and wallet in the office.

"Trish, give Amanda a call and see if she can help tonight." She tucked her wallet in her sweater and walked through the dining hall towards the side doors as she called out instructions to the remaining staff. "And make sure the back hall is clear for donations then you can go on home too, if I'm not back in a few."

She could see the lights as soon as she rounded the corner. Judging by the small crowd of gawkers it must be more than a fight between drunks. Please, God, don't let it be Mary. Crossing her arms across her chest and tucking them under the opposite arm more out of nervousness than the slight chill in the air, she made her way towards the commotion, soft sneakers making little noise on the sidewalk. It's going to start pouring any second.

There were officers everywhere, one in uniform eyed her as she walked up, almost challenging her to cross the police line. A small group of men, detectives by the looks of it, stood near what she assumed was a body, the long black silhouette on the ground couldn't be anything else.

"Please, don't let it be Mary." she whispered the words aloud more prayer-like than she realized. Pulling her eyes from the scene she turned to leave, nearly bumping into three people as she did so.

I've got to get to the church.

OOC: Katherine is a 28 year old counseling psychologist that volunteers at a women's shelter. She is short at only 5'4"

Charles finished up at the crime scene before he made his way back to the precinct. “Get me that report as soon as you can.” He had told the ME before getting back in the squad car, hitting reverse and speeding out of the ally. It was early evening by now, but the heavy storm clouds made it seem far later. Traffic was light for New York, but he still hit every light on his way across town, which gave him time to think this new case over.

The scene had been a bust for clues, with all the trash and leaves making any trace of the killer hard to find, and the possibility of finding the defacing weapon almost impossible. Still, the CSI had just pulled up as he left, so they should be able to tell him something, although he hardly understood what those guys were saying most of the time anyway.
Something was bugging him about this case, more than just the state of the corpse. Something he had seen somewhere before, but no matter how hard he tried it still eluded him. Putting it to one side he thought about the Woman again, Mary. Who would want to kill a nun? They carried little money and had no personal possessions beyond what they needed, dedicating their lives to the service of God and helping the unfortunate. If it had been a random street attack then why the cuts, and why leave her handbag and purse at the scene. That pointed to something far more sinister, but Charles was drawing a blank as to motivation. Well, he could think of lots of motivations, but none were sane, and that troubled him even more.
It got darker as he drove, and the streetlights shone their orange glow down on the still busy sidewalks, businessmen and women trying to hail cabs whilst avoiding the shoppers and tourists who gawked at the city’s sites. The radio burbled quietly as reports came in from other officers on the beat, normal chatter for this time of day, along with some orders for a Uni to canvas St. Thomas’ for any leads on the Victim in his case.

The precinct was an amalgamation of several old office buildings spread out over around a large courtyard. Swiping his ID at the gate, Charles returned the squad car and made his way into the main foray, nodding to the desk sergeant, “Freddy.” He said by way of greeting, “Any visitors for me?”
“What am I, your secretary detective? If anyone’s around they’ll be at your desk.” the sergeant responded, grouchy as ever. Charles just shrugged and made his way up stairs to the Squad Room.
It was a large, bright room with florescent bulbs illuminating the numerous cops going about their business, still busy despite the time of day. Charles went to his small corner, a desk with a view of the whole room, and sat down with a sigh, taking a sly sip of tepid coffee and grimacing at the taste.
He booted up his centuries old computer, waiting for the temperamental machine to whirr into life. “Charles.” Came a voice from his right, and the detective looked up to see another plain clothes officer walking out of the John, his balled head contrasting with a dense black beard below thin blue eyes. “You coming to Smiths tonight? Lorenzo lost a bet and is picking up the bill.”
Charles rubbed his eyes. “Just picked up a new case Vinchetti, an all nighter by the look of it. Have to give you a rain check for next week.”
Detective Vinchetti just shrugged, “Sorry to hear. See you tomorrow then.” He said, walking off down the line of desks. Charles watched him go for a moment, and then turned back as his computer gave a hideous squeak and kicked out the NYPD badge and a password request. Tying in his password twice because a key stuck first time through, he finally made it onto the system, trying to get a history on his Victim. There were a few Mary Winchesters in the system, but after a few false starts he finally found the woman he was looking for in an immigration file. He started to read but received a jolt as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “What’s this, looking for another person to harass?” came a light female voce from behind him.

Charles turned his head and sighed as he saw the face looking down on him “For the last time, it was a legal arrest. And besides, she was trying to swim on the sidewalk, how was I to know she wasn’t drunk.” He replied, “I feel like I’m going to get shtick from you about this for a while, eh Sid.” He said, using the woman’s nickname. She was quite short, but with a harp chin and thin eyebrows, giving her a cat like look. The thin eyebrows frowned at him as he spoke, but it was a mock frown. “Oh, but it’s just so funny, especially when you had to explain why you arrested a prominent congressman’s daughter to the Chief. I’ve never heard him say ‘Fucking Idiot’ so many times before.”
Charles held up his hands to detective Sidney Vern in submission, “Fine, fine, I screwed that up, can we just put it in the past and move on.” He pleaded, although the look in Sid’s face let him know this was far from over, but she then smiled and changed topic.
“So, who is this then?” She asked.
“My new vic, found an hour ago in a 56 street ally. Says here that she is a Brit, over here on a working Visa from the UK for the last 6 years, originally from Peterborough, officially employed by Saint Thomas’ as nun and working in numerous charities in the city.” Charles said, looking back to the PC screen and reading the immigration entry out loud. He then sighed. “There is nothing else, she’s been clean as a new dollar whilst in the city, but there are no notes from the UK police.
Sid looked at the immigration file for a moment, and then looked at Charles’ tired face as he rubbed his eyes again. “Much as I’m loathed to help after hours, you’re not going to make it all night. How about I put in a call to Scotland Yard and you check out her home address.” She pointed to the address for the nun’s cloister at St. Thomas’. “If you rush you can get there before evensong.” She said, some knowledge of church workings showing in her voice before she gave the tired detective another pat on the shoulder. “Go on.”
Charles stood, taking another gulp of tepid coffee, then gaging slightly as he remembered how cold it was. “No rest for the wicked.” He said with a slight grin, but Sid just rolled her eyes and walked off to her desk.

Charles watched her go, and then sighed; taking a printout of the vics immigration portfolio before locking the ancient workstation and heading back out to the squad car. Whatever Sid said, it was going to be a long night.

Why she ever had the idea she could pop in the church and find answers about Mary, she may never understand, but calling would have been worse. She was sure of it. She sat in a hallway of offices on a small bench. An elderly sister gave her a discerning glance as her wet sneakers chirped against the marble floors. It had rained after all. A short burst of a downpour, just enough to make her look like a wet cat.

"They tell me you are inquiring about Sister Mary? And you are..?" She led Kat to a small office near the end of the hall.

"Katherine, Doctor Katherine Yeats." The title gave the woman pause to look her over once again. Kat was sure she did not look very professional at the moment, but met the woman's gaze with her steely gray eyes and offered her hand to shake. "I do volunteer counsel work for the ladies at Seeds of Hope. Normally I deal with Mary.. Sister Mary or Bishop Haynes but I haven't been able to reach either of them.."

"Ah yes the Women's shelter of course, Sis. Mary is quite proud of that little work. We were all surprised how well it has done. It was something she pushed hard for the moment she arrived." The woman still had not offered Kat to sit down once they walked into her office and the way she said 'little work' didn't make Kat warm and fuzzy.

"I usually speak with Mary over the phone, or at the shelter and even meet her here on occasion. What I was wondering is if I could get her address or another way to reach her. I haven't heard from her all day and she was supposed to be at the shelter this evening."

"Well she left here earlier this afternoon. No, wait. She received a call yesterday and said she would not be here at all today because of some other plans that came up. I assumed it was personal and didn't pry. But she didn't say anything about needing a replacement helper at the shelter. I'm really not comfortable giving her address to anyone, but I promise I'll pass on your concerns to Bishop Haynes."

"But I have tried calling her all day. Doesn't that concern you at all?"

"A little yes, but it has only been half a day and you agree she is a busy woman. So am I Ms. Yeats. Now if you'll excuse me.."

"Doctor Yeats." Now agitated Kat emphasized her title in a firm but neutral tone. She came here out of concern for a friend , not to get into a battle of wills with an old bat. "Pardon me for taking up so much of your valuable time." Kat left the office quickly and walked briskly towards the exit. The woman had her temper flaring but she would not let that get the best of her. There were more ways than one to get what she wanted. The whole affair had taken longer than she wanted and that was mostly waiting. As she wound her way through the corridors she suddenly remembered she forgot her phone and she didn't get the lady's name that she just spoke to.

I hope it's not raining again.

The Detective made far better time now the final elements of rush hour had passed on, giving Charles fairly free reign on the city’s streets. The temperature had dropped, and there had been several swift showers, but the threatening storm still had not broken, leaving Charles to wonder how the CSI boys were handling the scene, although not enough to call for an update, that usually just pissed them off.
He arrived at the Sisters listed address, a small apartment block close to the church, apparently belonging to the nuns that worked there. He parked close by, and then made a dash to the glass door lobby, his long coat able to deflect the brief shower that opened up on him as he went.
Dipping ever so slightly Charles took a quick drag from a hipflask to warm him up before walking up to the older woman sitting at the front desk. “Yes? What can I do for you?” Asked the woman, not looking up from a small book she was reading, which turned out to be the bible as the detective got closer. Pulling out his badge Charles placed it on the counter just as the Old lady, who had to be a nun herself, looked up. “Detective Charles, NYPD. I need to look at one of your tenant’s rooms please Ma’am.” He said, trying to be polite despite his dripping condition.
“Do you have a warrant, dear? Only the sisters are very keen on their privacy.” The woman had returned to her reading, only glancing back up to Charles as she finished.
“No ma’am, But I would hate to get a judge up so late in the day. In truth I need access to the room of a sister who was killed a few Hours ago. She was called Sister Mary Winchester.” The Nun looked up shocked when he a death.
“Oh dear God.” The older Sister said, clearly shaken up. She stood, placing her Bible on the chair and putting her hand over her heart. Charles was worried he had given the Nun a heart attack, but she was merely steadying herself. She gestured to the detective. “I’m sorry, this is just so sudden. Please, Follow me.” She said, Leading the detective towards the stairs.

TBC

The sister showed the Detective up to the fourth floor, turning off the main corridor, painted austere beige, into a minor route which ended with a single door, number 7. “Here we are Detective.” The old sister said, handing him a key from a large ring, “Please let me know when you are done, I will need to inform the church.”
“Thanks.” Charles said, letting the sister retreat down the stairs whilst he turned the key in the lock. He pushed, but the door just let out a squeak, remaining shut. Realising the door had swelled in the humidity he put his shoulder into the door, shoving as hard as he could.
The door gave another loud squeak in protest, and then sprang open. The detective stumbled, almost falling on his face, surprised by the sudden movement.
Regaining his balance, Charles cast his eyes over the small room that had been revealed. It was dark, with only the hall light reaching in to illuminate anything, giving it a spooky air. The detective pulled a pair of latex gloves out and clipped them on, not wanting to piss off the CSI boys when they got round to this place.
Flicking the light on Charles realised how stark the room was. He was standing in a small kitchenette containing a table and chair along with a cabinet, sink and fridge. Beyond that was an even smaller bedroom space, partially covered by a curtain and seeming very small beside a large window that looked out onto the street below. It all smelled like disinfectant, and was as clean as a whistle, although Charles expected it always looked this neat.
The one decoration ion the beige room were crosses. They were on every wall, all of varying designs and lengths. Some with depictions of Christ on them, some just ornate whilst many were simple plain and wooden. They were everywhere. “Even nuns need hobbies.” He said to himself, remembering a joke from high school before getting to work. He was sure that the clue to the sisters murder would be here.
It was only a matter of finding it. But the neatness of the Apartment meant this would take a while. Coffee was becoming an ever tempting threat on his concentration. .

Kat had been to the shelter, stopped off at the store for a few groceries, bought gas, yet by the time she was home and putting the last item in the fridge she was still mad. The face of that emotionless old bag filled her mind. She stopped herself short just before slamming the door. Thoughts of the mess that would cause in the fridge calmed her. Closing it more gently than normal she then walked away and slid into her favorite chair with an audible sigh. A worn old recliner that had seen better days. It had carried her through college, a broken engagement, even seen her through the loss of her father two years ago. I need to call mom, later.

Her body was screaming for a shower and bed, but she grabbed her phone and dialed Vera. Her old friend was not happy either about the events and said she was still trying to call Mary.

"Well she has my number on both her cell and her home caller id maybe a few thousand times. When ever she gets back she is going to know I'm mad and worried." she told Vera while pacing her living room.

"Well it's too late to do much now. Maybe threaten that lady at the church with filing a report. She may make herself look bad with the church if someone else does it before her."

Standing she made her way to the bath as she chatted. Today she earned a long soak and made preparations as they talked of other matters. The topic of Mary was getting too stressful. It was time for her to relax or she work work up a violent headache."Well I'll keep you informed and you do the same ok?" Ending the call she went over the events in her mind. Hopefully, she'd know something tomorrow. If she hadn't heard anything by then she would file a missing persons report, no matter what the lady from the church said.


Moments later she was up to her ears in bubbles. A hot bubbly bath was her prescription for a stressful day. Relaxing was a must if she wanted to make it through clinic tomorrow.

Charles made his way over to the kitchenette first. Not the first place most investigators went to be sure, but he hadn’t got where he was by going the conventional way. Plus he was feeling peckish. However, that dream was unfulfilled as he found little food to speak of. The small fridge contained a milk carton and some shrivelled potatoes, whilst the cabinets contained only crockery and an almost empty packet of rice.
“Not a heavy eater.” He concluded to himself, speaking aloud to assist his memory. At the scene she had seemed perfectly healthy, so she had to be eating out somewhere. Even here trash was empty, a clean bag showing him nothing.
He finished looking through he Kitchen, making sure he checked the cabinets and draws for hidden packages or strange residue. You never knew what people could be in to these days, regardless of who they were.

It was clean, almost suspiciously so, with not even traces of dust tainting his gloved hand. This was getting weirder by the minuet, first the manner of death, then the lack of food and obsessive cleanliness. The sleeping area was equally as barren as the kitchen, with only a bible by her bedside next to a small glass of water.
The last place to look was the airing closet, and there he found pay dirt, or at least something that could be a clue but with so little else was going to have to be it. It was a tatty suitcase, at least 30 years old, covered in stickers from across the globe. Opening it gently he found it was full of photographs, analogue prints over digital, all showing the dead sister in different areas of the globe. From the little he could see Charles could identify Rome, Paris and Rio, all sights of religious or cultural significance in the pictures, and all with a smiling much alive nun. There were also some pictures of African creatures, although it was hard to tell if they were postcards or snapshots by the nun herself.
Why these were in a suitcase on a closet he didn’t know, but they pointed to a life beyond the Church, at least at one time in the past. Charles sighed and stood, stretching the kinks out of his back as he did so. This scene was odd, showing a person so obsessed with cleanliness it bordered on a Compulsive disorder, but evidence she had once travelled to several countries where cleans was very much lower on the priority list.
It was little, but in a case where there was little to go on every hunch counted. Still, he needed to get back, and the CSI boys would get more out of here then a detective on a hunch.
As he left he spotted an old answering machine by the door, complete with tapes and retro message counter, which was currently blinking away around the 6 message mark. ”Someone’s popular.” He said, pressing the play button to hear the messages. They were all similar, mainly from a woman calling herself Kat, all wondering where Mary was and if she could contact her. Another soul to tell, and the detective sighed as he shut off the machine. Whoever she was, they needed to talk.

Most of the day was filed with meetings, a few patients and loads of paper work. Kat didn't have a chance to relax even during a self appointed morning break. A soda and a few phone calls, several of which were to Mary, took up the allotted time. There was nothing else to do but call the police. After postponing a few things on her schedule she made a call to the church first then she put one in to the police to see if it qualified as a missing person report. Leaving her name, work number and other information she felt was unnecessary, she was promised more information in a call back. Having dealt with the police through a few of her clients before, she found the way they handled her call very odd. The thought lingered in her mind as she tried to make it through the morning. It was obvious to most of her coworkers that she was distracted. The drawbacks to working with people who were trained to notice behavior.

Her assistant looked very nervous as she stuck her head in the door, "I'm sorry, Dr. Yeats, but there's an priority call for you."

"How about we finish this tomorrow, Carol?" She ended the meeting with her client and walked her to the door. "Just give me a call anytime if you need to alright?" The young woman nodded and slipped between Kat and the assistant, who still looked nervous.

"I'm sorry for interrupting but it was the police and they called three times. The woman decided to hold instead of calling again, so I figured I'd better let you know. Sorry!"

"Don't let it bother you. It wasn't at a critical point thankfully." Sitting in her desk she switched the line and answer the phone. Her face went blank as she listened to the other line. After a brief pause she replied, confusion evident in her voice.

"Uuh yes, yes I can be there at that time. Thank you very much." she hung up not sure if the officer on the other end even heard her. "Looks like I'm gonna need you to clear m schedule. I need to get down to the police station. Why they need me there right now is strange. Usually they'd send an officer to me." She looked blankly at her desk for a moment before she stood and began shifting papers around. "Anyway clear up my schedule, email me the replies and new dates and I'll call you when I get home."

"No problem. Hope everything is okay with your friend."

"Thanks. See ya."


An hour later she was sitting at a desk in a side office at the police station. It was an area she had never been in before. She had talked briefly with an officer but he was called out. Later he returned to tell her the officer assigned to her case had just arrived. "I didn't realize it was a case, but...okay."

"Just wait here a minute and he'll be with you momentarily, Mrs.Yeats."

"Doctor Yeats."

"Doctor, right. Just wait here." The young officer left hurriedly.

Charles felt like a damp doormat. He had got back to his apartment at 3 and barley got undressed before falling asleep. His alarm had then heart attacked him awake at 7, and half an hour later he stumbled through the precinct doors, hair bedraggled and creases in all this clothes.
He mumbled “Morning.” To the staff he saw, few looking quite as haggard as he did. He then spent the rest of the day performing the bane of all investigations, paperwork. Requisition forms, prelim reports and even media statements, all had to be filed in a modern police department, and for his investigation to succeed he had to get all of it right.
It was still dull as hell.
By 2 he was finally done, and sought out coffee in a quest to keep himself going. Then he paid a trip to the CSI. As a rule detective Charles was not a fan of the CSI, they could be massively condescending where their science was involved, but when it came to actually being cops, these guys were distinctly subpar. However, he had to admit that sometimes they were useful.
“Wills!” he called as he entered the CSI building, looking round the mess of labs and suited individuals for the CSI on his case. It took a moment, but finally one of anonymous persons, slightly too short for the bodysuit they were wearing. They pulled down their mask, revealing a middle aged man, clean shaven but with small beady eyes and a crooked nose. “Detective, you look like you’ve been run over.” He said by way of greeting, is voice slightly nasal as he looked up at Charles.
“That’s an improvement; the captain thought I looked half drowned.” Charles replied, not wanting to get too combative, as this guy could really hold up his investigation if he was spiteful.
Wills harrumphed, then turned, gesturing for Charles to follow, leading him deep into the labs and finding themselves in a small room, brightly lit but relatively empty. A few small bags stood on a metal table and there seals told Charles that someone had taken a look. “We didn’t have much to go on. I was going to send you a report.” He said, pointing to the small array of items. “The Victim didn’t have much on her when she was found, and the killer left surprisingly little trace on her. We have a few foreign hairs, but little else.” He pointed to a small handbag, “She had a little change on her, but no hard cash, and there was just the churches employment card to id her. The only other thing we got was this. He pulled a wooden cross from beneath the handbag, showing it to Charles.
“I think she collects them.” Charles replied, taking the bagged cross in his hands and turning it over. It was unadorned, but had a split right along it, which had recently been repaired. “You seen this?” he asked Wills.
“Yeh, it’s just a fracture. There is glue on the cross, so we assume that it it’s a repair.”
“No assuming, the condition of that body points to something, I’m sure.” Charles handed the cross back to the CSI and set off for the door. “I’m going to see the ME.” He said. However, he had only got to the door when his phone buzzed, the call from the precinct front desk. “Detective, you have an interviewee regarding your current case in conference room one.”

Charles was surprised, “You’re sure?” He asked, but the desk confirmed. Hanging up he glanced back to Wills, “Looks like I’ve got a character witness. Lucky me.” He said jokingly, but Wills didn’t even turn his head. Sighing he set off to the main building, to see a woman about a Nun.

Kat looked at her watch for the fourth time. The waiting was expected but was growing to epic proportions, even for the police station. Where was this detective that was supposed to be 'here in a minute' coming from? Mexico? There were millions of things she could be doing and none of them included spending an entire afternoon at the station. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Something had to be very wrong for it to be like this. Countless scenarios went through her head about what could of happened to Mary. Kidnapping, witnessing a crime, getting lost and conned out of everything she owned. Kat laughed to herself. Her mind was getting the best of her. Pacing back and forth in the small room she tried to keep another thought from making it's way to the surface. A thought in the reasonable part of her brain that kept telling her that Mary was gone. She had no desire to believe it. Not until she heard it from someones mouth and even then she might not believe it.

Charles made it to the interview room, a smaller room on the second floor. He glanced inside to see the woman who had known the victim. She looked anxious, but then who wouldn’t after being sat in a small room for half the day. Not wanting to delay her any longer Charles walked in. “Katherine? My name is Detective Charles, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting but it was important that I saw you today. Do you know Mary Winchester of St. Thomas’ church?”