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"Blood and Bone"

Blood and Bone

Warning: This story contains references to rape and descriptions of graphic violence.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6

Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any way. No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United States copyright law. It's not that I'm possessive or anything (MINE MINE MINE)
Notes: This story is majorly and beyond all excuses graphic in some places. Please do not read this if violence and rape offend you, which they should. Another thing, I don't have it in for Jean or Xavier, but in the police world, profilers don't get that much respect.
Dedicated to Whitewolf, Araignee, Edana_Ni_Emer, Sparks, Yona and Hyjnx.

Blood and Bone

Chapter 4

Not even bothering to disguise their urgency, Lebeau and Munroe darted out to the street. The petite red head was gone, of course, but they had her address in hand. Remy took the driver's seat then fumbled for keys he did not have. Ororo handed them over with good grace, rolling her window down and daring to leave her seat-belt off.

"So obviously, she's not the rapist." Remy chuckled for real this time. The profiler was going to go batty herself over this one.

"Obviously. But that doesn't mean she isn't the killer." Ororo checked her gun, removing it from its holster to release and slam home the clip for good measure. "And even if she isn't, she is in all probability our Carpenter and she most surely was involved with the latest victim."

"Right, even if she didn't do anything, she must have at least seen the killer." Overeager on an orange, Remy narrowly avoided a bus, which lead to a softened pressure on the pedal and an earnest search for the siren/flasher.

"Relax, we'll have to wait for back up anyway. I'm calling Summers for a search warrant and some blues." Ororo was calmly in control as her car bucked to a stop less then a block from the crime scene.

Remy was out the car and three paces across the street before he returned to his senses. "She's probably not even here yet. Who's to say she was coming straight home anyway? Maybe that was her final parting shot before she scrambled off into the mists."

Ororo rolled her eyes at her partners doubts. Whenever they got too close to the real thing, he had a habit of preparing for disappointment. He'd done it for as long as they'd been together, although they had never been this close with the Carpenter case. "Homicide, please." As the switchboard operator connected her, Ororo watched Remy peruse the interview file.

"Summers, we need one of those instant search warrants you promised us." Smiling into the phone to express her excitement, Ororo hoped they could get what they wanted with a minimum of fuss.

She was silent for several seconds and her facial expression changed drastically. "I really don't know about that, but I do know that we have a suspect in our sights." Again the silence, and Remy could see she was on the defensive before she even opened her mouth.

"We have plenty of probable cause: statements made by the suspect under police questioning provide motive and opportunity."

"We had probable cause then, too, we just didn't have as good an idea of what we were looking for!" Unable to concentrate on the file, Remy placed a placating hand on Ororo's arm but after a pause she continued unabated. "We did not cry wolf! We've arrested someone for something on every one of those warrants." And then more silence. Her grimace become the smirk she had somehow picked up from him. "Thank you! Now can you please send it with a few blue and whites, discreetly?" Ororo tried to keep her exasperation out of her voice. Sometimes she wished she had fought harder for the Lieutenant's position when she and Summers were in contest for it. She knew she preferred the legwork of a detective, but she hated the hassles that came with reporting to an overanxious superior. Reading from the sheet Remy handed her, she gave Summers the information he would need. "The suspect is Rahne Sinclair of 558 Irving, apartment 5B, between East 21st and 22nd, near Gramercy Park ... Fine."

She hung up and turned her attention to Remy's bowed head. He was back in the file, reading and checking back and forth between various notes. "What is it?"

"All this time we were sure it was a man, and most serial killers are, but we might have had her in our grasp all along. Do you even remember how many janitors and clinic attendants we've shaken down and all this time we could have passed over the real perp just because she was a woman? She could have been in contact with the girls through the drug programs and the church clinics and we looked right past her." Shaking his head, Remy looked in the rearview as if their back-up could travel at warp speed.

"At least we were looking in the right places. We did what we were supposed to do, sometimes these things just don't follow any sort of pattern." Ororo was already moving on the problem of the real rapist. They would need a few minutes with Sinclair before the lawyers got a hold of her. "Do you think she'll tell us anything we don't already know?"

"I guess it all depends on how you ask." They were silent for several minutes, their minds churning as their bodies gearing up for action. Months of investigation, hours of painstaking interviews, days of wondering if it was all hopeless, the highs of discovering, the lows of disappointment -- it all came down to this: waiting.

Maybe the perp was above them somewhere, sitting in her apartment, watch daytime TV. Maybe they were caught up in the recent twists and turns and this would be another heart-wrenching dead-end. Maybe.

Blue eyes met brown and they knew this was right. There was a feeling, a heightened perception detectives only have when a case is winding down, when the answer is within their fingertips. This could be it, the electric thrill of victory and justice beginning to tickle their palms and soles of their feet. This was it, because otherwise they had nowhere to go but down.

Remy popped his door open once again as Bishop and Japheth got out of their cruiser. "Now, that's what I call service."

"Here's the warrant. Judge Cooper faxed it over. So, you ... detectives ... think that little Scottish girl is the rapist from last night?" Bishop's lip curled at the preposterous conclusion. The detectives could ignore him, but he just wanted to have his say.

"No, but she was involved somehow. You guys back us up. No excessive force, but be ready for anything." Remy was still trying to figure out how someone so physically slight overpowered women who were used to fighting for their lives. If Sinclair was Carpenter and she tapped into the reserve that let her rend flesh and break bone, there could be no such thing as leniency or they would be as dead as the 12 corpses now reposed on Roosevelt Island. "According to your interview, there's a father, Reverend Craig, and if he's here, its up to you two to make sure he stays out of our hair. 'Ro?"

Search warrant in hand, Remy led the quartet, moving quickly into the building and up four flights of stairs. Clustered around apartment 5B, they waited a silent count of three before Detective Munroe rapped on the door. "Hello, is this the Sinclair residence?" Her voice was dulcet and barely interested, and for a second Detective Lebeau wondered if she'd ever done any acting. She certainly had a skill for dissembling.

"Hello?" Munroe rapped again, a little more insistent. She regretted allowing herself to be swept up by her partner's impatience. They should have confirmed Sinclair was even at home before rolling up on her door like gang-busters. "Is anyone at home?"

The scraping sound was so innocuous that the officer's didn't notice it until it paused. "Yes?" A quiet voice, but one that carried out to them from behind the door. "The Reverend is at Our Lady of Central Park giving a sermon. He'll be back later. Come back then."

"Actually Ms. Sinclair, we wanted to speak with you." Ororo leaned closer to the door, her ear tilted to catch whatever warning sounds their suspect might make. One never knew when someone might answer the door with sawed-off shotgun in hand. "Could you come to the door please?" It was better for them to get access to the apartment without the search warrant, since the document was just this side of lawful. Munroe closed her eyes and focused on the whispers of air behind the door. She straightened suddenly, nearly head-butting Officer Japheth in the process, and the door rattled as the locks were carefully disengaged.

"Hello?" Sinclair's small frame and delicate features had a different effect on each member of their party. Japheth couldn't imagine her small hands wielding a knife. Bishop could see the strength in her slim limbs, but it was the power for gymnastics or swimming, not murderous rage. Lebeau was stuck on the piety of her face, the heavenward gaze of her soul, but it was a piety without conscience, belief without restraint. But Munroe could sense the vicious wildness in her, the barely controlled connection with the Goddess' most violent creatures.

"Ms. Sinclair, my name is Detective Munroe. I'd like to speak with you about what went on in that alley last night." With her hand on her weapon and a foot in the door, Ororo thought she was ready for whatever the suspect had to offer.

"Oh, of course! Come in, come in." The door was thrown wide but none of the officers let their guard down, even with the sunny smile that brightened the young woman's face. "I answered your questions at the police station didn't I?" She seemed eager to please, her eyes darting from Japheth to Bishop for confirmation. "Is there more I can do for you?"

Sinclair backed up into her apartment as the officers made their way into the entryway. "Actually, we'd like to take a look around your place, if that's okay with you?" Remy was his most charming, his eyes focusing on he intently as his partner swept her eyes over everything within view.

"No, no, I doan think you can do that, not with out a writ." Sinclair turned away from him, unimpressed and unmoved by his smooth voice or dark eyes. Her mouth opened soundlessly as Detective Lebeau proffered the search warrant. "Oh, well then, goan then."

"Thank you. Is this your room back here?" Munroe smiled, indicating a locked door off the living room. Holding out an arm in invitation, she waited for Sinclair to join her. Again she felt the powerful force the girl seemed to put off, the frenzy just waiting to be uncorked. No matter what they found, Munroe was certain this was the Carpenter.

As Sinclair twisted the knob and lead her into the small, dark room, Munroe grew even more certain. "By the Goddess!" The wall's were covered with hangings, crucifixes sculpted from wood, many bearing great detail, drops of blood oozing from the nails through a man's hands. Spikes, similar to the ones they had found, were strewn over the floor. Staring in horror at the girl, Ororo caught a glimpse of the rage that empowered the young murderer.

"Goddess? What kind of heathen are you?" Sinclair's eyes narrowed, her teeth bared like fangs.

Hearing the confrontation, and just as eager as his partner to keep the suspect calm, Lebeau came from the kitchen to slide between the two women. Before he could even speak, some unconscious habit lead him to cross himself at the sight if his Lord and Savior.

"Ach now, you're a believer!" Sinclair was suddenly smiles again, completely ignoring Munroe.

Taking the rather large hint, Ororo moved away and left the questioning up to her partner. Returning to the main area of the apartment, she examined the papers on the coffee table. The Reverend Craig seemed to preach at a lot of different venues. Thinking there could be a connection between his visits and the murders his daughter committed, Ororo slipped on gloves and began bagging the sheets for evidence.

Back in the bedroom, Lebeau reached down, his latex gloves bright against the wooden spikes. "What're these for?"

The question was nonchalant, but Sinclair tensed instantly. "Nothing. Just a bible game I've been working on. See, this is the board, solid oak, and you're supposed to place the spikes, like this, in order. It's a children's game." Sinclair warmed up as she showed him her work.

"So, are you an Ursaline Sister?" Remy gathered several spikes and placed them in a plastic sleeve, all the while watching his suspect.

"No, nae yet, but Reverend Craig is gonna to help me join the order." She fiddled absently with her fingers, the very thought of the Reverend causing her to withdraw into quiet isolation. Gone was the animated, pleasant young woman. Her eyes downcast and hands knotted, Sinclair was either the pinnacle of modesty and righteousness or a wild dog that had been kicked once too often.

Lebeau used the opportunity to search for her carving tools. Incredibly, they lay rather innocently on her desk. "Are these yours? Ms. Sinclair?"

Looking up, she nodded, her smile back in place and her melancholy banished from view. "Yes, do you want to see them?"

Remy grimaced: Her lawyer would probably claim bipolar disorder. The girl swung like a pendulum, only faster. "I'll just put them in this bag and take a look at them later okay?" Leading her out of the room so Bishop could do a more thorough toss-over, Lebeau drew her into a quiet corner of the living room, where she couldn't see Munroe ransacking the kitchen for knives. "Why don't you tell me what happened in the alley last night."

"Nothing -- What alley? I wasn't in any alley!" That anger was back, mixed with indignation, but she had already given herself away.

"Now, Ms. Sinclair, when we take you to police station, we're gonna take your fingerprints, and then we're gonna match them with the one's we found at the scene. Then we're gonna charge you with that girl's murder." Remy knew he was stretching her Miranda rights, but as long as she wasn't under arrest, she was free to speak her mind.

"I didna kill her!! I just made it right, that's all." Sinclair was explosively defensive. Remy wanted to cuff her to something solid, but for now, he needed her angry. "Ye understand, you believe the same way I do. I did God's work fer that girl, I cleansed her of her mortal sin an' sent her to His grace."

"Just like the others?"

"Nay, I troid ta help 'em, but they wouldnae repent their ways. She, she wos jess' lyin' there an' I knew whot 'ad happened, so I moide it aw'right ag'in. She wasnae loike the othir's --- it wasnae her fault, ya see."

As she grew more calm, her anger seemed to envelope him, until he could barely spit out a reply. "I see. So who else was in the alley?" The confession was useless, but he didn't really need it. Frost could break a defendant down piece by piece until they poured truth out like a bucket pours water. What he needed was a break on who the rapist was, so he and his partner could wrap up an eight month trip through hell up in a nice, tidy hand-basket.

"I didnae see aneone but tha' dead goirl." The stubborn set of her face came straight from the highlands, but she had made a mistake in assuming the detective couldn't play her game better than she did.

Rising up to stand over her, Remy was suddenly foreboding. "Tell the truth and shame the Devil, girl. 'Thou shalt not give false testimony.' Or do you disobey that as easily as 'Thou shalt not murder.'" He roared into her ear, prompting Munroe and Japheth to come running with pistols drawn.

"He ... he was a big tall thing, with coal black hair and red leather everywhere. I wasna lying, you mustn't say that. I dinnae wanna say, on account o' him being the Dark One incarnate. I was just comin' back from church and I heard him. The way he laughed! It's God's place to destroy such evil."

"Oh, but he delegated slaughtering young woman to you, I understand now." Munroe was done with pleasantries. "You're under arrest for murder, Ms. Sinclair. You have the right to remain silent. If you chose to waive that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."


Continued in Chapter 5


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