Fleur Di Lis

Chapter One

The shrill ring of the telephone roused me from a deep sleep, and I let out a silent curse into my pillow before lifting my head up to check the time.  The expletive that had once been whispered into the pillow came out as an explosion from my mouth, and I grabbed the receiver.

"Armstrong," I muttered, rubbing away the sleep from my eyes as I sat up.

"Asleep, were we?"  The amused tone of my partner-in-crime, Rik Donovan rung in my ear.  Irritation rose within me, and I rested my arm on my forehead.  Rik and I had been partners in the Homicide department since we had graduated from Police Academy, and had even attempted a real relationship many moons ago.  Let's just say it didn't work out as well as he'd hoped.  

"There better be a good reason for you to be waking me up at one in the fucking morning, Rik," I growled.

"Get yourself dressed and get to Central Park like your life depends on it," he ordered.  "I'll explain when you get here."

With that, he hung up.  I scoffed, staring at the receiver in disbelief.  So much for niceties, I thought, replacing the receiver back into its holder before stumbling out of the comforts of my bed and staggering into the bathroom, switching the light on.  The bright light burned my eyes, and I squinted at my reflection.  All those graveyard shifts were beginning to catch up on me; bags were beginning to form underneath my emerald green eyes, and my ivory skin had a tired look about it.  Even my hair looked as though it needed its beauty sleep.

"Fuck this," I grumbled, and started getting ready.

"What time do you call this?"  Rik demanded, making his way over to me.

I let out a sigh, locked my car and turned to face him.  Rik looked about as exhausted as I was, and he usually wore exhaustion well; his bright blue eyes were heavy with lethargy, his clothes seemed to hang off his body and his black bomber jacket seemed to swallow him up.  Like me, his hair seemed to be feeling the lack of sleep as well.

"I call it bedtime," I retorted, folding my arms.  "Which is where I should be instead of working this damn case."

"Life of being a homicide detective in New York City."

I let out a sigh, and started walking towards the huge white tents that had taken over a section of the park.  It was now littered with forensics in white disposable bodysuits and uniformed officers as they collected whatever evidence they could find.  Bright fluorescent lamps lit the place up like a concert hall.  This was becoming a disturbingly familiar scene; the fourth one in as many weeks.  It was as if the murderers of New York were having their sick rendition of a party, each with their own twisted way of having fun.

"What is it this time?"  I asked, as always, dreading the answer.

"Thirty-year-old Caucasian female with her throat and her heart ripped out," Rik reported grimly.  "Cause of death is extreme loss of blood through organ removal."

"Kinda stating the obvious?"

Rik shrugged.  "Yeah, well, here's the freaky part.  The vic has been positioned the same way as the others; arms crossed over the torso, eyes and mouth closed, legs closed...  It's like they're trying to send some kinda message."

I said nothing, instead stepping into the biggest tent, where the body lay.  Rik was right, she was positioned like the others.  If it wasn't for the huge gap in her throat and the hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be, you could've mistaken her for sleeping.  Weirdly, she was wearing jogging gear, her earphones still in her ears.

But, where was her iPod?

"Detectives," Doctor Phoebe Carter greeted, and Rik straightened a little higher than usual.  With over twenty-five years of experience, Phoebe Carter was the head of Forensics for the Precinct, yet loved being in the field when there was a really juicy case popping up.  In this case, this one was bringing plenty of business into the morgues.  She was also the main topic of conversation during coffee breaks in the mens' staffroom, and it was clear to see why; her light-coloured hair, flawless skin -- still fresh-looking despite the nightmarish shift patterns -- and bright eyes that were the colour of sapphires.  Not to mention the fact that, even after childbirth, she still looked like a model who'd just walked from the catwalk. 

That made her Enemy Number One with all the female members of staff. 

Me excluded, of course.

"Dr. Carter," I greeted, a warm smile on my face.  "Nice to see you again."

"In different circumstances," she reflected my smile, not quite meeting her eyes.  "I would say the same to you, Detective Armstrong."

"Hi, Phoebe."

Phoebe turned to Rik, and her eyes narrowed.  It was popular gossip that Detective Lothario and the Conservative Forensic had dated; again, popular opinion was that Rik fucked that one up as well, making him Enemy number one on Phoebe's hit list.

"Detective Donovan," Phoebe nodded her head in acknowledgement before turning to me.  Ouch, I thought.  He must've done something really bad for that icy welcome.  "So, what do you think?"

"Fourth one in as many weeks?"  I winced.  "I'm thinking it's going a little too far for my liking."

"My sentiments exactly," Phoebe agreed.  "It appears that whoever is behind this likes brunettes.  Better watch yourself, Nicki."

I chuckled, tapping my gun holster.  "I'm protected."

"I have to say, this is bringing a lot of excitement into the morgue.  More than what I've been used to."  Her eyes shot in Rik's direction.  I pretended not to see it; my lips betrayed me by curling upwards ever so slightly.  "I hear that this victim is positioned like the others, as well.  Is she killed the same way?"

"The heart missing is new," I answered, lowering myself to have a look at the body.  In life, she would've been the kind of girl that Rik would've attempted to flirt with, and fail dramatically.  Her brunette hair blended in with the mud and blood she still lay in, her bright gym clothes a horrible contrast to her deathly pale skin.  "Everything else?  Pretty damn normal.  Time of death?"

"About a couple of hours ago," Phoebe replied.  "Rigor mortis hasn't set in completely yet, so we can move her around a little.  Cause of death is a little obvious, of course."

"Of course."  I looked up at her.  "Why the hell was she out jogging this late at night?"

Phoebe shrugged.  "I've been asking myself that since I got here.  My guess is there's some kind of midnight running program operating somewhere."

I said nothing, mind already into overdrive.  It could've been someone she knew luring her out here.  A friend, maybe?  A lover?  Something had to connect her with the rest of the bodies.  I crooked my head, eyes scanning for anything to give me a head start.  The last three victims gave me nothing, not yet.  Their autopsies brought up nothing; no chemicals, so trauma aside from the obvious, no lacerations...  Nada.

Then, by some miracle, something caught my eye.  It was behind the woman's neck, something black.  A tattoo, maybe?

"What's that?"  I pointed.

Phoebe handed me a pair of latex gloves.  "See for yourself."

I put the gloves on, and held the woman's head to the side to get a better look at the marking.  It was a tattoo, a Fleur Di Lis.  If my limited history knowledge was correct, the mark was used in Paris and various districts of France in the 17th Century for branding murderers and criminals; an easy way to exclude people.   

"A tattoo?"  Phoebe frowned.  "Maybe it's something to do with the murders?"

"Or just a friendship thing?"  Rik shrugged.  "Chicks do it all the time in college."

Phoebe rolled her eyes.  "You would know all about college girls, wouldn't you?"

I smirked.  "He spends so much time at the college bars, I'm surprised nobody's chucked him out."

"The tattoo," Phoebe began.   "You didn't see it on the other victims.  Did you?"

I shrugged, lips pursed.  Thing was, I wasn't looking for anything so discreet with the last victims.  This one, though...  This could be a kink in the chain I needed to bring the whole thing down.  I turned to Phoebe.  "Only one way to find out."