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jackofknavesTitle: 'Tis the Season for Murder: A Christmas Caper
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tripatch
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: A mall Santa is murdered and Nick is on the case. The problem? Monroe seems to think it might be a real Santa.
Length ~21,000 words
Notes: Thanks tobe_merry for the quick beta and my brother for indulging me when I ask about police procedure for my fics. ♥!
“Lisa Gingrich, 29 years old, working as an elf at a mall Christmas display and killed Santa Clause’s as a hobby,” said Captain Renard as he stared at his two detectives. He bridged his hands together and leaned back in his chair, raising one sardonic eyebrow as he noted dryly, “Most people take up crossword puzzles.”
Nick tossed a folder onto the desk and talked while Renard skimmed the contents, including their reports, the lab analysis, search warrant, and a full confession by Ms. Gingrich. “We searched her house and found dozens of presents, still wrapped, all over the place. The manager of the mall, Mr. Spicer, had mentioned a charity event being hosted at the same time as the Christmasland display, and when we called to verify it, we confirmed that there was a discrepancy in their donation records.”
“She probably was stealing the presents hoping to resell them. The charity usually doesn’t run a full check on its donations until the end of the event. If we hadn’t called, they wouldn’t have noticed the discrepancy at all until January, and by then, she would have moved on from her seasonal position,” Hank explained.
Renard dropped the file into his inbox, apparently satisfied with what he had seen. “And the victims?”
“Mr. Alcuse apparently found out about the theft and was planning on reporting her. She confronted him, things got tense, and she killed him. Kirk Lingers was just a distraction to throw us off the trail, get us thinking it was a serial killer rather than a person motive,” Nick jumped in. It was all, more or less, strictly true, and Ms. Gingrich had grudgingly gone along with the version, apparently preferring prison to a stay at a mental ward for the criminally insane. To the human world, it seemed perfectly logical; only the creature world and Nick knew the truth.
“How’d she get into the break room?”
“Mr. Spicer verified that his key went missing a week or so before Mr. Alcuse was murdered. At the time, he thought he had misplaced it because it turned up again not long after, but it was plenty of time for Ms. Gingrich to have stolen it and had a copy made,” Hank explained.
“Good work, both of you,” Renard said as he picked up a pen and began signing paperwork. It was as good as a dismissal, and both Hank and Nick thanked him as they headed out of the office to their joined desks.
“Is it just me or have we been catching all the weird ones lately?” Hank said, shaking his head. “A serial killer who only kills people wearing red, rat raves…”
Nick grinned at him. “Just lucky I guess. But hey,” he said, clapping Hank on the shoulder, “we caught her and all’s well that ends well.”
“Yeah, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” Hank quipped. He collapsed into his desk, leaning back, and staring at the ceiling with a sigh. With a glance he looked at Nick. “So what are your plans for the next two days?”
“Relax,” Nick said firmly. “I plan on not leaving my sweatpants or the couch for the next two days. You should do the same.”
Hank waved him off as Nick left.
Monroe had a fire built, the air filled with crepitations from shifting logs and dull orange embers bursting in the air. The tree lights lit up with blinking red, green, blue, and yellow colors, reflecting off the shiny wood floor. They both sat on the couch, listening to the tinny toot of the train-set as it rattled down the tracks, whistling as it passed by the tiny village display.
“How’d you explain it at the station?” Monroe said, sipping his eggnog. Nick had forewent the drink for beer, and the warmth from his hand had made the condensation of the bottle slick under his hand. He wiped it off on his jeans absently as he took another sip.
“That she stole the presents for financial reasons,” Nick shrugged. “It made more sense than ‘she wanted to steal Christmas.’ “ He continued, “Mr. Spicer did me a favor and said that his break room key had been stolen so that it looked like she took it to get into the room.”
“What really happened?”
“I was thinking about this,” Nick said, leaning forward. “When I confronted her at the house, she disappeared through the chimney. Mr. Spicer was saying the only way other than the break room door was the ventilation shaft, but it was too small to get to. I looked at the blueprints and it looks about the same size as a chimney shaft.”
“Tight fit,” Monroe commented.
“Yeah, but it makes sense. She waits until they’re on break, sneaks in, kills him, opens the door from the inside so that it looks like only someone who had a key could do it, then sneaks out and ‘finds’ the body,” he said.
“Did she say why she did it?”
“Other than hating Christmas?” Nick shook his head. “No, not really. I guess she found out about the Spicer’s nest and couldn’t stand the thought of having a Christmas miracle happening right in front of her. Mr. Alcuse and Mr. Lingers were just part of that.”
“Tough break,” Monroe said.
“Yeah,” Nick sighed. They sat in silent contemplation the shifting flames, the smell of burning pine tickling at their noses and sending sprays of fresh scent into the entire house. Outside, the wind rattled at the windows, sending the icicle lights tapping against the side of the house and panes of glass. The weather reports had predicted sleet and Nick thought he could feel the wind blow colder as he headed over, sneaking in through the cracks and chilling him to the bone.
Monroe nudged him with his foot, jerking Nick out of his reverie.
“What are you so unhappy about? Bad guy's in jail, your boss is happy, what else is there?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Nick said uncertainly. He tugged at the label on his bottle of microbrew, peeling it off with a fingernail. He confessed, “I’ve just been thinking about what Mrs. Spicer said. About me being the last Grimm.”
Monroe made a face. He didn't press Nick for more, but didn’t interrupt either.
“It’s stupid,” Nick continued, “It’s not like I actually knew them or had plans to contact any of them, but it was still knowing that there was someone out there who I could talk to, figure out where I come from. When Aunt Marie died, she gave me her journals, but there’s nothing on who we are. It’s all just profiles of creatures and—“
“How to kill them?” Monroe said dryly.
Nick winced. “Yeah.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Monroe said finally. “But you’re doing pretty well on your own.”
“I know,” Nick said. “But things have been weird lately. Even Hank’s noticed. All of my recent cases have had a creature involved, and I keep thinking about what Melissa Wincroft said before she died. Someone is coming, and I don’t know who it is, but she said it was a warning. Something’s happening, stirring people up.”
It felt like the first whispers of something big; the sky darkening, the wind picking up, the sudden drop in temperature before a storm hit and everyone smart was moving out of its path before it touched down. Nick had a strange feeling that he was somehow in the center of it. While everyone else headed home and battened the hatches, the animals howled and felt the change in weather somewhere deep in their blood, he was standing in the eye, looking up and only able to look at it from the inside and not identify what it was. He hoped it was just a bad feeling, but it felt more like a promise.
“Mrs. Spicer was right, you know,” Monroe interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe the uptick in weird crimes is because you’re the last of the Grimms. It’d be quite a coup to some people to kill you.”
Nick shook his head. “No, this feels like something different. Something bigger than that.”
“I can keep an ear to the ground,” Monroe said after a moment. “For anything weird. If that makes you feel any better.”
Nick gave him a grateful smile that he waved off. “That would be helpful.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” Monroe said. He added, “Really. To anyone. It’s bad enough I’m helping you occasionally, but if I become your full-time spy…”
“More like a confidential informant.”
“Still not great for my life expectancy,” Monroe said peevishly. “But for now, cheer up. It’s almost Christmas, you caught the bad guy, helped four new little guys get a start in life, and saved Christmas. I'd say you've done pretty good.”
Monroe tilted his glass of eggnog in salute. Nick smiled and reached over to clink the side of his beer bottle against the mug with a soft clinking of glass.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Author:
tripatchRating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: A mall Santa is murdered and Nick is on the case. The problem? Monroe seems to think it might be a real Santa.
Length ~21,000 words
Notes: Thanks to
be_merry for the quick beta and my brother for indulging me when I ask about police procedure for my fics. ♥!| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |
| Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |
| Chapter 7 | Author’s Notes | Teaser |
“Lisa Gingrich, 29 years old, working as an elf at a mall Christmas display and killed Santa Clause’s as a hobby,” said Captain Renard as he stared at his two detectives. He bridged his hands together and leaned back in his chair, raising one sardonic eyebrow as he noted dryly, “Most people take up crossword puzzles.”
Nick tossed a folder onto the desk and talked while Renard skimmed the contents, including their reports, the lab analysis, search warrant, and a full confession by Ms. Gingrich. “We searched her house and found dozens of presents, still wrapped, all over the place. The manager of the mall, Mr. Spicer, had mentioned a charity event being hosted at the same time as the Christmasland display, and when we called to verify it, we confirmed that there was a discrepancy in their donation records.”
“She probably was stealing the presents hoping to resell them. The charity usually doesn’t run a full check on its donations until the end of the event. If we hadn’t called, they wouldn’t have noticed the discrepancy at all until January, and by then, she would have moved on from her seasonal position,” Hank explained.
Renard dropped the file into his inbox, apparently satisfied with what he had seen. “And the victims?”
“Mr. Alcuse apparently found out about the theft and was planning on reporting her. She confronted him, things got tense, and she killed him. Kirk Lingers was just a distraction to throw us off the trail, get us thinking it was a serial killer rather than a person motive,” Nick jumped in. It was all, more or less, strictly true, and Ms. Gingrich had grudgingly gone along with the version, apparently preferring prison to a stay at a mental ward for the criminally insane. To the human world, it seemed perfectly logical; only the creature world and Nick knew the truth.
“How’d she get into the break room?”
“Mr. Spicer verified that his key went missing a week or so before Mr. Alcuse was murdered. At the time, he thought he had misplaced it because it turned up again not long after, but it was plenty of time for Ms. Gingrich to have stolen it and had a copy made,” Hank explained.
“Good work, both of you,” Renard said as he picked up a pen and began signing paperwork. It was as good as a dismissal, and both Hank and Nick thanked him as they headed out of the office to their joined desks.
“Is it just me or have we been catching all the weird ones lately?” Hank said, shaking his head. “A serial killer who only kills people wearing red, rat raves…”
Nick grinned at him. “Just lucky I guess. But hey,” he said, clapping Hank on the shoulder, “we caught her and all’s well that ends well.”
“Yeah, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” Hank quipped. He collapsed into his desk, leaning back, and staring at the ceiling with a sigh. With a glance he looked at Nick. “So what are your plans for the next two days?”
“Relax,” Nick said firmly. “I plan on not leaving my sweatpants or the couch for the next two days. You should do the same.”
Hank waved him off as Nick left.
Monroe had a fire built, the air filled with crepitations from shifting logs and dull orange embers bursting in the air. The tree lights lit up with blinking red, green, blue, and yellow colors, reflecting off the shiny wood floor. They both sat on the couch, listening to the tinny toot of the train-set as it rattled down the tracks, whistling as it passed by the tiny village display.
“How’d you explain it at the station?” Monroe said, sipping his eggnog. Nick had forewent the drink for beer, and the warmth from his hand had made the condensation of the bottle slick under his hand. He wiped it off on his jeans absently as he took another sip.
“That she stole the presents for financial reasons,” Nick shrugged. “It made more sense than ‘she wanted to steal Christmas.’ “ He continued, “Mr. Spicer did me a favor and said that his break room key had been stolen so that it looked like she took it to get into the room.”
“What really happened?”
“I was thinking about this,” Nick said, leaning forward. “When I confronted her at the house, she disappeared through the chimney. Mr. Spicer was saying the only way other than the break room door was the ventilation shaft, but it was too small to get to. I looked at the blueprints and it looks about the same size as a chimney shaft.”
“Tight fit,” Monroe commented.
“Yeah, but it makes sense. She waits until they’re on break, sneaks in, kills him, opens the door from the inside so that it looks like only someone who had a key could do it, then sneaks out and ‘finds’ the body,” he said.
“Did she say why she did it?”
“Other than hating Christmas?” Nick shook his head. “No, not really. I guess she found out about the Spicer’s nest and couldn’t stand the thought of having a Christmas miracle happening right in front of her. Mr. Alcuse and Mr. Lingers were just part of that.”
“Tough break,” Monroe said.
“Yeah,” Nick sighed. They sat in silent contemplation the shifting flames, the smell of burning pine tickling at their noses and sending sprays of fresh scent into the entire house. Outside, the wind rattled at the windows, sending the icicle lights tapping against the side of the house and panes of glass. The weather reports had predicted sleet and Nick thought he could feel the wind blow colder as he headed over, sneaking in through the cracks and chilling him to the bone.
Monroe nudged him with his foot, jerking Nick out of his reverie.
“What are you so unhappy about? Bad guy's in jail, your boss is happy, what else is there?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Nick said uncertainly. He tugged at the label on his bottle of microbrew, peeling it off with a fingernail. He confessed, “I’ve just been thinking about what Mrs. Spicer said. About me being the last Grimm.”
Monroe made a face. He didn't press Nick for more, but didn’t interrupt either.
“It’s stupid,” Nick continued, “It’s not like I actually knew them or had plans to contact any of them, but it was still knowing that there was someone out there who I could talk to, figure out where I come from. When Aunt Marie died, she gave me her journals, but there’s nothing on who we are. It’s all just profiles of creatures and—“
“How to kill them?” Monroe said dryly.
Nick winced. “Yeah.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Monroe said finally. “But you’re doing pretty well on your own.”
“I know,” Nick said. “But things have been weird lately. Even Hank’s noticed. All of my recent cases have had a creature involved, and I keep thinking about what Melissa Wincroft said before she died. Someone is coming, and I don’t know who it is, but she said it was a warning. Something’s happening, stirring people up.”
It felt like the first whispers of something big; the sky darkening, the wind picking up, the sudden drop in temperature before a storm hit and everyone smart was moving out of its path before it touched down. Nick had a strange feeling that he was somehow in the center of it. While everyone else headed home and battened the hatches, the animals howled and felt the change in weather somewhere deep in their blood, he was standing in the eye, looking up and only able to look at it from the inside and not identify what it was. He hoped it was just a bad feeling, but it felt more like a promise.
“Mrs. Spicer was right, you know,” Monroe interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe the uptick in weird crimes is because you’re the last of the Grimms. It’d be quite a coup to some people to kill you.”
Nick shook his head. “No, this feels like something different. Something bigger than that.”
“I can keep an ear to the ground,” Monroe said after a moment. “For anything weird. If that makes you feel any better.”
Nick gave him a grateful smile that he waved off. “That would be helpful.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” Monroe said. He added, “Really. To anyone. It’s bad enough I’m helping you occasionally, but if I become your full-time spy…”
“More like a confidential informant.”
“Still not great for my life expectancy,” Monroe said peevishly. “But for now, cheer up. It’s almost Christmas, you caught the bad guy, helped four new little guys get a start in life, and saved Christmas. I'd say you've done pretty good.”
Monroe tilted his glass of eggnog in salute. Nick smiled and reached over to clink the side of his beer bottle against the mug with a soft clinking of glass.
“I’ll drink to that.”
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Date: 2011-12-19 06:40 am (UTC)