Asher, McMahone and I went back to the FBI building after making sure that the dead man was carted off properly and all possible pieces of evidence were taken away. McMahone and Asher sat in the front, while I sat in the back looking out the window. The streets surrounding the large, glass FBI building include some small streets, and the busy main street on which the building was situated on. Cars constantly zoom back and forth past the hospital, library, and other various large buildings, and the slight smell of gasoline is always present.
We pulled into the parking spot, and got out of the car. We got up into the FBI office, and I slowly began to make my way through the many small cubicles in the center room, each a house to a computer and desk. As Asher and I parted ways with McMahone, he told us to meet in one of the few big meeting rooms in the building.
“Five minutes,” he told us. “Then we’ll talk about this morning.”
We nodded, and Asher followed me to my cubicle by the window. He flicked his blond hair out of his eyes and leant against my desk as I sat down and crossed my legs thoughtfully. “So,” he said while looking out over the cubicles and speaking in a southern accent. “Whaddaya reckon partner?”
I shook my head and gazed thoughtfully at the name plate on my desk. FBI Agent Leah Fallows. “I don’t think that I’m the mood for that right now, Asher.”
“Geez, lighten up,” he said with a mock hurt expression. “At least humor me. This is the way I deal with the depressing stuff I work with.”
“The depressing stuff we all work with,” I corrected. I then looked up at him and used my southern accent. “I reckon that some mighty strange happenings are a-comin’.”
Asher let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Your cowboy accent is terrible, Leah.”
“Not my fault; I don’t watch cowboy movies all day like you do. And, at least I tried!”
Asher chuckled again, but then his usually smiling face turned suddenly serious and troubled. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Mighty strange happenings are a-comin’.” There was a small pause of thoughtful silence, then he then turned to me, his eyes sparkling once again with mischief. “I think that’s what Agent Wisher was thinking too, y’know?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, Asher. Not now.”
“When you walked over while we were all talking? You had Mr. Smarty-pants practically screaming at you with his eyes to give him some attention. And you just left him lying there like a fish outta water, poor fellow.”
“Come on, Asher! You know that guy bothers the heck out of me! Plus, anyways, he isn’t my type.”
Asher looked at me curiously with his playful puppy-dog eyes. “So who is? You guys are practically made for each other, what with your seriousness and frowny-faces.”
While I felt some heat rise on the back of my neck, I diverted him from the question. “What? I can’t be as serious as the old scholar stuck in a twenty-year-old’s body, can I?”
With a chortle, Asher stood up straight and nodded in the direction of the meeting room. “No, I guess not.”
We walked to the meeting room, where McMahone was already waiting with a few other of our research agents, and his large hands folded on the table. He glanced up at us when we walked in. “Right, we can begin now. Fallows, Declan, I’ll give them a quick debrief and then we’ll all start talking.”
The large black man rumbled to the other agents in the room about what we’d seen this morning. Sarah, a small and petite brunette nodded thoughtfully while he talked, Mahmoud the immigrated Egyptian frowned darkly while he sat straight, and Xu just gazed into outer space with his almond-shaped eyes. Once McMahone was done, they all nodded and shifted in their seats.
“So,” Xu Lieng said, looking around the table. “The man was killed outside? I don’t see how that works; when you found him it didn’t seem like he had been out in the cold for long.”
“I don’t think he was killed outside,” McMahone said.
“He must have been killed inside somewhere, and then somebody dragged him out,” Sarah mumbled thoughtfully. “But why-”
“Would somebody drag him outside?” Mahmoud El-Dien completed in his Americanized Arab accent. “That is strange.”
We all thought for a few moments, and then Asher spoke up. “Maybe somebody wanted him to be found?”
I shook my head, not understanding. “But why would they do that? When murdering someone, wouldn’t the murder want to keep it a secret? That’s assuming that this is not a serial killer.”
“That’s also assuming that the person who dragged him from wherever he was killed in the first place is the killer himself,” Xu said, pointing his finger at me.
McMahone snapped his head into the direction of the Asian. “You’re thinking that whoever dragged the old man from wherever he was killed wasn’t the killer himself?”
We all gazed at Xu while he shrugged. “I’m thinking through all the possibilities.” We all sat in silence for a while again, thinking. Sarah began to speak slowly. “Well... what Xu’s saying would make sense- with the CD player I mean. Once again, if we’re assuming this isn’t a serial killer, why would a normal murderer leave a recording of screams behind?”
“So someone dragged the old guy from wherever he was killed, left him out in plain sight for practically everyone to see, and left a recording of screams- possibly the man’s own screams- by the body,” Asher said. He looked up at us from his twiddling thumbs. “Why?”
“The million dollar question,” Mahmoud mumbled.
McMahone looked at all of us questionably. “You’ve all ruled out the possibility of a serial killer. Why’s that?”
“This isn’t the way serial killers kill,” Xu said with a twitch of his nose. “They’re usually careful and calculated. They tend not to chose to strangle as their method of cutting off life either, because strangling a person is something that has to have some strong personal or emotional connection between the perpetrator and the victim. We all know that not only does a person who strangles require great strength, but they also require great psychological and mental strength. Serial killers tend to be distant from their victims because if they went killing everyone they knew, someone would eventually connect the dots and figure out who they are. Also, many times the victims of serial killers are chosen at random. This old man was not chosen at random.”
McMahone nodded, impressed. “Alright. So we rule out the possibility of a serial killer. That does leave us with Declan’s question; why would an individual drag the body of a murdered person out into broad daylight and leave a screaming recording beside him?”
That’s when it snapped into place for me. I excitedly put my hands on the table and stood up. “‘Into broad daylight’ you said!” They all looked at me, confused. I lightly thumped my fist on the table and elaborated. “The old man was found in broad daylight, practically where everyone could see him! Billboards are left in broad daylight for everyone to see, and so are road signs. What do they do? They make a point! Somebody is making a point with the body of this dead man and the CD player!”
I looked around at them with excitement. Asher, McMahone, and Mahmoud frowned thoughtfully, and Xu was looking at his hands with an interest, but Sarah looked up at me with a glint in her eye, and she impatiently pushed her short hair out of her face. “Somebody is making a statement.”
I nodded, and looked around the table. Xu was now smiling at me, and he asked. “So what’s the statement?”
I shrugged, and sat back down again. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out, huh?”
