you won't see this on criminal minds... | closed to dr. henry morgan

[damnyank]

The best thing about the dead is that they don't talk.

 That's the thought that immediately comes mind, as Jackson leans over the first corpse of the day. Last night's pleasure has come back to haunt him far too early in the morning. He's struggling to concentrate, mind too scattered by the constant jab of a skull-cracking migraine. Meanwhile, his least favorite Sergeant, the one with the ginger beard, is standing beside him, yammering and yammering away about where they found the body, how they found the body, how his name's a mystery, nobody saw anything, and--

"I got it, I got it. Turn the volume down-- actually, why not keep your trap shut and let me do my job. All your answers are right here."

They found the poor fella outside of a Tescos, lying in a crime scene too clean to not be fishy. 6'3. Blonde. Male. Young enough to have been a high school student. Thin and lanky. Dressed in a plain grey sweatshirt decorated by ratty holes, but otherwise well-kept. There are no visible wounds, no lacerations, contusions, not even a little scratch. Slim chance that it could be a heart attack or stroke. More likely overdose, but his gut's telling Jackson otherwise.

Jackson's done the math, and he's got his suspicion: the victim's too perfect, too pale for the dead.

"Sergeant, what did I say about hanging around me? Off with you." The ginger-haired copper leaves begrudgingly, obviously skeptical of   Jackson and his yankeedoodle doctor ways. But once he's gone, Jackson sets right to continuing his examination. He's clandestine about it, checking over his shoulder twice, before lifting up the man's pale lips.

Fangs.

These mosquito don't go dropping like flies. Following his suspicions, Jackson rips open the vampire's shirt and examines his spotless chest. No entry wound for the pointy end of any stake. Pristine and perfect.

Jackson takes out a scalpel from his kit and makes a clean slice against his right radial artery. No stolen blood flows out. Dry as the Sahara, or as dry as one of the vampire's victims. Oh, the irony.

"God damn. Another one?" He murmurs under his breath, as he opens up his kit again to withdraw his surgical pliers. 

After checking that no one's looking, he takes the pliers to the vampire's left fang and yanks-- god, is this going to bruise his fingers-- and then there's a crack, as it's pulled loose from the vampire's jaw. Now onto the next tooth. He makes quick work of his cover-up, finishing it up with a low level version of a mundane concealment spell, manipulating the empty spaces so that they appear as human incisors to the mundane.

Such a damn hassle. Why couldn't the Night Council do their job? Oh wait, that's right. They're incompetent.
 

Comments

[livelongenough]

Henry has some experience as a detective. Most of what he knows, he learned from Jo. But there had been some curiosity even before then. Now, like a dog with a scent, he cannot let it go. There's something to be found out. Something he has been asked to find out. And he will get his answers, no matter what he has to do.

So, when he caught word of a death, his attention was piqued. A John Doe, young. Something most others would have looked past in a heartbeat. But he was found in Barnet territory.

Which was how he wound up at a medical examiner's office, knocking on the door. It was unorthodox, certainly, but he'd passed for someone who was supposed to be there. With the right clothes, the right carriage, and the right passing conversations, he could pass here for his former profession quite easily.

[damnyank]

Ever since this morning's crime scene, his day has become only more tedious and troublesome. He'd spent the afternoon hunched over a vampire, trying to come up with an explanation that could reconcile a cover-up with the truth. A man drained of all blood. Obviously, he'd been killed elsewhere, drained out at the crime scene, and dragged dry and lifeless.

Nevermind the lack of appropriate wounds.

"Come in."

So the scene that Dr. Morgan enters into is of a labcoat clad Jackson, hunched on a stool with a lit cigarette marking pale tracks in the chilled air. He's got one hand against his forehead like he's still nursing a headache--

Mostly, he's pissed off. At who? Nobody specific. The world, maybe.

But when Henry Morgan makes his entrance, he becomes the Captain's target. Because a man knows what goes on in his own house; or in this case, what goes on in his own dead room.

And he knows he hasn't seen this man before.

"This ain't a Tescos. You can't just come waltzing in here."

[livelongenough]

"Miss Redbright called in a favour." A little true. He can... excuse... using her name a little. It carries weight in this town, both supernatural and not. Plus he can... adjust his resume a little. "Doctor Henry Morgan, with the New York Medical Examiner's Office."

A long way from home, he imagined would be said, but it might have some weight.

"I... heard about a case with something of an anomaly. That young man, I believe." And he could provide something the other man probably couldn't. Something that might be able to get him a point or two. "Colin Standish."

[damnyank]

Jackson barely contains a groan upon hearing that name. Miss Redbright. Of course she did. How many favors was that now? This wouldn't be the first time he's "partnered" with the lady witch and the Night Council, working with them to clean and cover up the supernatural from human eyes. God, how he hated bureaucracy.

Morgan's lie is a convenient one.

"An American working forensics in Whitechapel, and a Brit in New York City." He chuckles. "Now that's what I call topsy-turvey."

Jackson steps away from the body and takes a step toward Dr. Morgan, grinning into his cigarette. While nobody's supposed to just walk in here, any company's a good change of pace. More importantly, this man must be privy to something-- the details of the case, even the case itself, has yet to be revealed to the media. To the public, there was nothing unusual at all.

"How would you define 'anomaly'?" Jackson's expression is cool, withheld.

[livelongenough]

"His family in Barnet is concerned about him." Without knowing how much the man knows about the situation -- without being sure what he is -- it's hard to decide how much to divulge. Yet, the description matches, save the teeth. Still, maybe when a vampire dies, their enlarged canines blend in? He doesn't know enough about that world to be sure. "He's one of a few who've gone missing, and I told them I'd look into it."

So when whispers had reached him about a young man found where Cooper had smelled the lingering scent of a fellow vampire? He'd known he had to check it out.

"I'd like to know cause of death. I'm not here to interfere in your autopsy or anything of the kind. I just want a few answers for the family."

Thoroughly avoiding the question? Just a bit, really.

[damnyank]

"Should the family have inquiries." Jackson pauses, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth. "They will need to go through the proper channels." Jackson's never been big about following protocol, so why is he all of a sudden acting unusually punctilious?

Well, you'll see.

Jackson removes himself from the stool and stalks toward Morgan, making no ploy to hide his examination of the other doctor. A skeptical stare. He walks up close enough for Dr. Morgan to smell the stink of gin, smoke and old blood clinging to his coat-- close enough for Jackson to get up in his face.

"But you see, the curious thing is... we haven't released any details about the victim. To the public, he' a John Doe." And he does get up close, voice dropping lower, hushed, like he's having a private conversation. "... which brings me to wonder. Just how did they know this dead man here was their loved one?"

A beat.

"Now why are you really here?"

[livelongenough]

"The description and location of the body made it likely."

It sounds simple enough, but he doesn't know how much to explain. Still, if he says too much, it's easy to be written off as a conspiracy-spouting lunatic with a psychotic bent toward the supernatural. So, he looks directly at Jackson.

"There are three missing vampires from a nest in Barnet. I believe this man is one of them."

[damnyank]

The bend in Jackson's brow indicates his increasing skepticism. You see, a man like the captain, who lies on constant basis, gets keen at sniffing out untruths, and guess what? Morgan stinks. "I'd say, "likely how?", but your bullshit's already shining through."

The moment Morgan brings up the vampires, well, that changes everything. Jackson freezes for a second, before hastily walking over to him, as though he were about to escort the crazy fella out of the room physically.

Except that isn't the case.

Jackson reaches over Morgan's shoulder and closes the door with a resounding slam to alert the rest of the station to his need for privacy. He also locks the door just to be safe.

Turning around, he looks Morgan in the face and says, tone devoid of farce. "Three, huh? Should I be expecting a third corpse anytime soon?" He takes a drag of his cigarette. "Are you with the Night Council? Did Brightred send you?"

[livelongenough]

Henry could, actually, answer the 'likely how.' Given that it was supernatural, some of the things he's been uncovering have given him cause to believe that this might have been one of the ones he was looking for. But then Jackson goes on, and the point doesn't matter.

"I'm working with the nest on behalf of the Redbright Institute, yes." Part of the outreach, almost like an ambassador. Because, apparently, an immortal was the best candidate for talking to vampires. "Since you said 'a third'... You've had another vampire corpse?"

[damnyank]

"Ain't it ironic? To go the way of their victims?" Jackson walks over to a wall of metal drawers, sliding the corpse out with a graceless tug. "Found the sucker tossed into a trashcan about two days ago. To what end the culprit commits these acts? I have only conjectures."

Pulling up one of the arms, Jackson displays the minuscule needle-prick punctured above the radial artery. He lifts up the other arm, revealing the same wound above the radial.

"A hunter wouldn't go to such lengths-- not an efficient way of doing business. Revenge, perhaps? A friend or a relative of a victim returning the favor." A beat. "Or maybe it's a man hopin' to make a profit."

[livelongenough]

"That's my second," Henry mutters as he looks at the corpse. Two of the vampires he's supposed to be looking for, he's found with a coroner. Both drained of blood. It seems impossible, but.

"One trail ended at a clinic. One that had already caught my eye for a completely different reason. This... I don't like how these things are connected."

From one professional to another? He needed to ask another question. Needed to know what was going on. "Did you find anything else? Any indication of how they were restrained? What was used to drain them?"

Motive? Likely. Opportunity? Sketchy. Means? Vague.

[damnyank]

"They were made into blood-sucking effigies of Jesus," he lifts up a palm, undoing a mundane concealment spell with a swift swipe of his fingers. With that done, Jackson spreads out the pale, bloodless fingers, revealing the hammered-in holes, broken bits of bone, and the tell-tale splinters of wood in the heart of the vampire's palm. "Wood works best when trapping a vampire."

"How they managed to subdue the bloodsucker..." He clucks his tongue, and gives Henry a can't-be-damned shrug, "Well, I got my theories, but I ain't gonna be forthcoming, 'lest you offer me a damn good reason for why I should break protocol and share with a stranger."

A beat.

"An honest reason."