Grimm Connection

CHAPTER 11-- Grimm Connection

The next morning, Quinn beat me back to the precinct. He was filling in some information on the murder board, now with another young face added. I dropped Carmen's copy of the Brothers Grimm on his desk, it slammed loudly and made him jump. Honestly, I could have used a better way to get his attention because that sounded far to similar to a gunshot. He swore at me, justifiable, I'm sure.

“Reading material. Carmen sends her regards.”

“A book?” He read the title, “oh, you can't be serious? You're not really thinking...”

“Its been staring us in the face, Quinn me lad. I don't like it any more than you do, but what else is left? We have a killer who is definitely using the Grimm fairy tales as an outline for his murders. We are seriously going to have to get ahead of this one!”

“He's careful, you know. We've found near nothing that can be linked back to him,” Quinn told me.

“I know. I hate serials, you have to wait for them to make a mistake and by that point you have a massive body count. We have the clothes and the papers. I think the paper may be a dead end, these books are far to readily available. Carmen was telling me last night that there are seriously hundreds of editions in print, thousands of copies a piece. I really do hope that it isn't a dead end, but unless we get the actual book he's using and compare the torn edges...”

“Maybe the dresses? The hood? I mean that is custom work, hand worked finishing. The only way to get some of the detail on Rapunzel's bodice is to use fine silk threads, not that cotton stuff for stitching a button.” I stopped mid sip holding my coffee, staring at him. He looked a little embarrassed for all of two seconds before he rolled his eyes at me. “Remember Margo? My girlfriend in college? She had a talent for dress making and the like.”

“Oh yeh, she made extra cash doing alterations.” I did remember her, she thought that I was trying to steal Quinn from her. In all actuality, he wanted to catch a baseball game and she hated sports. He had tickets and I figured, “why not? Third base line sets? I'm in!”

“That's her. She used to do costumes for the drama club too.”

“You're thinking consultation with the old flame?” I asked, he nodded. “All right, give her a ring. Maybe she can shed some light.”

About half an hour later, Margo was in the precinct. She looked the same as ever, still a bit of a snot, but oh well. After university, she moved upwards and onwards to become a locally renown designer. I actually had one of her gowns that I wear on special occasions. She does good work and doesn't make a woman look like a prostitute. When it comes to fine detail, she prefers to work without a machine.

We brought her to the lab, handed her a pair of gloves and asked her to take a look at the clothes our victims were last wearing. At first, she didn't want to be anywhere near them, I could see that much in her eyes. Like most people that have normal jobs, she didn't want to have anything to do with the final possessions of the dead. It does take some getting used to, no one is meant to be that close to death. Even less so for the artist types. To her credit, Margo didn't look as if she was disgusted, just uneasy.

“What happened to her?” She gently touched the blood soaked dress that Red was wearing.

“She was murdered,” I said shortly. “I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that.”

She nodded, “Open investigation? And you did only want me to look at the clothing. You're assumption is correct, Matthew darling. The detail work is by hand, beautifully done. Its a pity the dress has been destroyed. She does excellent work, I wouldn't mind hiring her. She's well taught, I wouldn't guess that she learned from a book, not with this level of skill.”

“I've heard that some seamstresses have a signature?”I asked.

“Yes, some do. Like a doctor's suture, some stitches are specific to the one with the needle. In this case, she'll finish with two back stitches then tie the knot, not once but twice. She wanted to make sure that the ribbon, lace, pearls... whatever else wouldn't come apart. She took great pride in her work. You can see it, can't you?”

I nodded, “Much of the smaller pieces didn't fall away.”

“Right.” Margo smiled sadly, “In spite of all the damage to the dress, its in remarkable condition.”

“You're in the industry, Margo, any idea who the artist would be?” Quinn asked.

She shook her head. “I'm not familiar with her work. Like I said, if I knew about her, she'd be working for me. You could try the wardrobe departments of the theatre groups. The gowns are clearly renaissance, as I'm sure you've noticed.” She gingerly fingered the edge of the bodice before a thought came to her suddenly. “Have you tried the Shakespeare Assembly? They run the city's renaissance faire. I'd guess you're lady works for them in some capacity.”

I thanked her, making notes to search out the costume makers and the renaissance thing as Quinn had her remove the gloves, starting to escort her out of the lab.

“I'm serious, you know?” She said as she was leaving. I didn't know what she meant and said as much. “Hiring her. If you find the woman responsible for such great work, I'd like to talk with her. If she isn't a suspect, I mean.”

That was a new one. Job offer via police enquiry. If the person we were looking for wasn't a homicidal maniac, I'd pass on the message from Margo. After Margo left, Quinn and I decided to try the Shakespeare Assembly. They were in the middle of the arts district in the City, parking was a pain the rear. It was late in the morning when we finally arrived and walked through a door that looked like a castle's main gate. Quinn and I exchanged a look before walking inside. Once on the other side of the door, we were surrounded by props, set pieces, rolling hang racks filled with clothes, weapons. All that was a needed was a wandering minstrel.

“Who goes?” A man's voice called from some corner of the warehouse. I glanced at Quinn, who was rolling his eye at me.

“Constables of the crown,” I called, shrugging because I had no idea what to call ourselves.

“State your business.”

“Enquiry in regards to a pair of gowns,” I was hoping this wouldn't get tedious.

“Gowns, says you? Seekest thou the clothier?”

Well, that sounded about right. “Yes, good sir. Dost thou know of her where abouts?”

“Aye, m'lady, she be at the spinner's wheel, yonder.”

Quinn had enough. “Dude, just tell me where she is before I charge thee with obstruction and place thee in the stocks!”

“Calm thyself, m'lord.” A young man of about twenty came from behind a large set backdrop for Hamlet. “I will taketh thee thence.”

I had to stifle the urge to laugh. This guy managed to tick off Matthew Quinn, not something I thought was possible. He was still mumbling to himself as we followed the young man through the labyrinth of set pieces, something about one more word in “ye olde English and I will smack him”. Allowing myself a small grin, I whispered in his ear, “calm thyself.” Quinn shot me a look that I knew meant he would make me pay in some not so subtle way later.

“She is just yonder, past the hills.” The young man pointed to a large backdrop that was painted with rolling hills. I nodded my thanks and led the way past the canvas.

“Police!” I announced, “looking for the seamstress?”

“What?” A woman's voice called from behind a few racks of clothes.

“We have a few questions for you, ma'am. Can you come out here please?” Quinn said calmly, “and please take it slow.”

To her credit, the seamstress walked of from between a few racks and kept her hands were we could see them. Sad fact, but people like to shoot at cops, often with no reason. She was a pleasant looking woman in her mid thirties, dressed in regular street clothes instead of period clothes such as what the 'guard' was wearing.

“How can I help you, Officers?” she asked.

“I'm Detective Samantha Ross, this is Detective Matthew Quinn, Miss...”

“Tori Garcia.”

“Miss Garcia, we'd like to ask you a few questions.” Quinn pulled out a few photographs of the dresses. “Do these look familiar to you?”

Miss Garcia flipped through them, nodding, “I made them, but what the heck happened? Looks like the red dress was ripped to shreds!”

“You made these?” I pointed to the photographs. Joy! We wouldn't have to beat the pavement hunting down the seamstress, after all.

“Of course, I did. You can compare my stitch work, that's as good as a signature!” She pointed to a lovely purple gown on a table. “Now what happened to that dress? My work wouldn't just rip like that.”

“It an ongoing homicide investigation.” Quinn told her gently.

“On my... the woman that wore this was... she's...” Miss Garcia looked a bit wobbly on her feet. I took her arm and had her sit on a stool.

“I'm afraid so, miss,” Quinn was saying. “We do need to ask you a few questions, if you're all right?”

She nodded. “Who did you make these for?” I asked.

“Erm... I have it here I think, I never really throw anything out.” She rummaged on her work table for a tablet and started tapping the screen. “Here it is! Mr William Reaper. He pain in cash, but I can get you a copy of his receipt.”

“That would be good. You wouldn't happen to have a copy of an ID, driver's licence?” Quinn was asking while taking notes.

“Nope, like I said, cash. If he would have paid with credit or check, then, yes, I would have a copy of ID.” She tapped a few times on the tablet and we heard a printer come to life. She handed the page to me, it didn't tell much. It was a typed document with no chance of prints, she used an application that allowed her to digitally save all order forms. Helpful, if not perfect. Perfect would have been a form he would have had to fill out by hand, thereby providing both finger prints and a handwriting sample.

“When did you finish the gowns?” Quinn asked.

“About a month ago? He picked up the last one about two weeks ago.”

“Wait... 'last one'? How many of these did you make, Miss Garcia?”

“In total? I designed five. I can print that out for you as well. He didn't want me to take any photographs, but I always do for my portfolio.” The printer was humming again. “I thought it was strange that he didn't want me to have a copy for my portfolio. It may not seem like it, but I am an artist, detectives.” She handed us the photos.

“Did he happen to mention what these were for? Why he wanted five dresses?” Quinn asked, flipping through the pictures.

“I asked but he said his business was his own. I get strange people here, I mean come one... people dressing up in this get up for fun? This guy was a new level of weird. He was wearing a wig and sunglasses, like he didn't want me to see what he really looked like. I do good work, very good, so I try not to let the weird once bother me. I mean, I'm just in it for the pay check.”

I glanced over the copies, “So if we were to bring you to a police sketch artist, could you describe the man that bought these?”

“Sure, if you don't mind a guy that looks like the Unibomber.”

Great. We actually had a witness, but she was useless in the capacity of identifying a possible killer. At least we figured out the mystery of the renaissance attire. We thanked Miss Garcia for her time, she really had been helpful. Usually, witnesses are either all too eager to talk and they tell you nothing or they want to avoid you completely. Sometimes you get a person like Tori Garcia, they tell you what you need in simple terms. Quinn and I thanked the seamstress for her time and left her two cards. One with my name and contact info. The other was from Margo, since she wanted to know who was behind that fabulous stitch work.

Author's Note

Unedited for NaNoWriMo