I've connected the dots!

"It's a silver blue 1965. You can tell because the grill has the vertical and horizontal bars, and the --- no. That's not important, scratch that. What is, is that... maybe I didn't give you enough credit." She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "We're dealing with an idiot, but one with enough power and wealth and apparently enough of a lack of sense to try something like this just to put off the inevitable."

Her tongue pushes the cigarette to the other side of her mouth. An idea is already forming. "....Mrs. Stivers is inside the building. Thankfully our suspect-- a Mr. Dan Lions-- his experience with her was dim-lit and... not conversational."

He listens then as the other detective shares her plan, following along with an occasional nod though one part of her plan in particular seems make him a bit hesitant. "I cannot deny, your plan is practically seamless. However--you do realize that you're putting yourself in danger the moment you get into his vehicle? What will you do if he pulls a gun on you?" He asks, his tone flat despite genuine concern being present. "Or worse."

Though, maybe letting someone as enthusiastic as him do the legwork would be more fitting? No reason to compete unless he ended up slowing down her search.

Mortem filed away his name, committing it to memory as she observed him digging through the dirt. A detective. Truly? She supposed the best detectives in the tales had... quirks about them. Those in her era that could be considered similar certainly had been. She made no move to aid him. It would have been improper for someone not a part of law enforcement to mingle with the body. At least, by human laws these days.

"So long are you don't call me 'Miss', I'll gladly tell." The witch mused. She was not one to care for mortal honorifics. "It was a grimoire. Not much use for a human to possess, but it has sentimental value." She answered honestly, again. No sense in hiding the truth when he made it clear that things of a paranormal nature didn't bother him. So surely he wouldn't be put off by a thing like her, right?

Following that, he can't help but find Mortem's wording curious. "Not much for a human to possess...as opposed to what?" He asks casually, not looking up from the body. He finds an old receipt in one of the pockets and briefly looks it over before tucking it away in one of his own pockets.

"As for the pattern I'm noticing...well, it would seem my suspect has been keen to steal objects of personal significance from the people he kills. Whether he realizes it or not, I'm not sure. Most have been antiques... one was an old pocket watch from the late 1800's, another was a gold locket containing photos of deceased relatives, and just before this grimoire went missing someone's beloved family crested hair pin disappeared right off of the body. The victims grandmother said she never went anywhere without it." He says, pausing when he locates the victims wallet. He inspects it momentarily before returning it where he'd found it, brushing his hands off then and reaching for his notebook. He jots something down before continuing, moving to get up now.

Francis was eager to get this done. Go to the office, towards the gray old fashioned cabinet, grab the many files there and leave. The sooner he got out of the building with the files, the better. Made it to the floor but the elevator suddenly started moving again, down to the first floor?

Upon the silver doors opening, on the other side, was Sterling. Processing this, staring at the man in confusion as there was a long pause on both their ends, a silence before bursting out in anger after Sterling spoke. "What the FUCK?!" That was loud, too loud. Exhaling in anger he grabbed Sterling's arm and dragged him into the elevator before the woman at the counter got suspicious, especially with his outburst.

"Oh yeah the fucking restroom, how convenient isn't it?!" Pressing the button to the floor he was originally supposed to step off, rapidly in rage. His accent getting thicker. "The fuck were you thinking?! I told you to wait outside, I thought you were going to wait outside. Piss and shit in a fucking bush!" His anger was probably seen as insane. No reason to be this angry.

"Why didn't you wait outside. The fuck are you doing anyway?! Waltz in here with out any idea where anything fucking is and magically find what you are looking for?! No really.. Explain to me what you were thinking, what the hell were you planning on doing once you got inside, knowing full well that I'm in here too! Pourquoi il est comme ca?! Il est bete?!" (Why is he like this? Is he stupid?).

"Are you quite finished? If you must know, I found it odd that you were so adamant I don't set foot in the building. In my experience, I've found that means someone has something to hide. Can you blame me for being curious?" He asks though it's mostly rhetorical. "I mean, really, if this is your place of work then why would it be akin to a crime if I joined you? Unless there is some shady business afoot." He says honestly, stepping out of the elevator and nodding in response to Francis' words.

"Perhaps a cliched answer, but Agatha Christie. She wasn't the Queen of Crime for nothing," says Laelia, a playful smile on her lips. "And it isn't a book series, but the Murder, She Wrote tv show is a favourite of mine."

"You also like Castle, but that's partly because of Nathon Fillion," chimes in Cataleya, doing her best to appear innocent despite the accusation.

She blinks, surprised by her daughter's comment. "I— No, you're right..."

Truly, the man is a talented and handsome actor.

It was a fair deal indeed. But as it seemed they were coming to an understanding, Rook was willing to humor the stranger. She truly was, even if it might have not appeared so from her stance and the rather blank stare her shades contributed to. She would worry about looking invested after getting an idea of what sort of situation they were dealing with.

"And you think that's happening here." It wouldn't be unheard of. They had Five and his gang of morons snatching people off the streets not that long ago. "Call me Rook. You came to the right place, I'm the local paranormal investigator. My whole trade is in the supernatural."

Rook reached to return the handshake. Her grip was firm, though more than anything it was warm, too warm for the average person. She looked to be in perfect health regardless. Some people were lucky that way.

"So you saw all that in a vision. Then, you're a clairvoyant, right? That's cool. What's the scope of your visions? Do you only see people or their surroundings as well? If we had a clue of where they're going to strike next, we should be able to track them down."

"I suppose I'm in luck then having run into you. Perhaps we can help eachother afterall." His tone is rather flat but he means it. As much as he generally dislikes working with others, the most important thing to him is ultimately that he finds a resolution to this case. That the victims are returned home safe and sound and that his suspect is brought to justice. For these reasons, he's willing to put his preferences aside.

"Off of Second, Hunter and Hare? I'm familiar. Right then. If it comes to it, I'll be there an hour before noon. Tell her to be there around 12:30pm. That gives us enough time to prepare. I will find other means of transportation just in case."

They take a seat in the chair in front of Sterling's desk and cross their legs. "The work of art is a painting, one of my OWN paintings in fact. It was last seen in the Jeong-Winston contemporary gallery in Neo LA on Earth. It appears that it was made off with overnight. Wait- weren't they on Earth? What the hell is a 'Neo' Los Angeles? "Jeong-Winston obviously has gotten the NLAPD looking- but I don't trust the cops to actually return the piece should it be found. I would have hired my preferred detective to recover the painting for me- but he's decided to have a midlife crisis and become a space pirate."

“Oh my, your own work….” The detective muses with a nod, scribbling in his notebook the information they share but admittedly, a few things give him pause and have him raising his eyebrow at them, namely the mention of ‘Neo’ Los Angeles. Perhaps they just had a quirky nickname for it? That’s what he chooses to believe anyway, shaking his head at the mention of the NLAPD.

“The LAPD doesn’t exactly have the best track record. I cannot blame you for being skeptical of their assistance.” He had his own experiences with the LAPD from back when he was apart of the force. Crooked all around. He lowers his notebook and brings his eyes to them once more when they decide to share their name, a look of intrigue on his face.

“Hieronymus. What a powerful name. Do you draw any inspiration from Bosch or were your parents a fan?” He asks curiously, seeming to mull over some other information they’ve given him briefly before asking further questions.

They offer a formal bow instead, in the form of inclining their head. "There's no need for apology. You can call me Artair. It's certainly something to meet you, Sterling."

It’s somewhat refreshing, despite their obvious reservations about other things, that they don’t immediately dismiss his talk of visions as crazy like so many others. Clearly this was a likeminded individual he was dealing with! One who respected his gift. Naturally.

The detective's head tilts slightly at their mention of being privy to this things intentions. "Do you?" His tone is rather flat but there’s a glint of genuine curiosity in the way he stares. "…This is less about how it looks and more so about what it's capable of. If what I’ve seen is any inclination of the harm it could cause…I’d rather not take any chances.” A brief pause.

──ཐི ྐ( ᶠᶸᶜᵏ ᵧₒᵤ! )ཋྀ ྐ─•── ཀ❛❛ I... I don't think I like you... yeah... no likey... ❜❜ཀ The universe comment partly had something to do with it, but the vampire currently elected to ignore the eldritch god growing inside of his being and make no comment on the matter · ─ · ཀཀ he'll contribute all of his dislike to the way the other speaks.

ཀ❛❛ You literally eat, sleep, and fuck detectiving... what the fuck is wrong with you? ❜❜ཀ Aluin tries to mock the detective's voice. ཀ❛❛ "My kink? Deducting what color your underwear is". ❜❜ཀ Impish giggle trails off into regular tone.

ཀ❛❛ You're actually allergic to fun. ❜❜ཀ

Well--up until the underwear comment that he doesn't seem to realize is supposed to be a mockery of him. His brows furrow somewhat and his nose scrunches in disgust.

Her embrace is chilling, even through the layers he wears, which is oddly fitting considering the series of visions that consume his foresight only seconds after contact is made. All of a sudden, he can feel a pit of mounting dread in his stomach. His form grows stiff, his gaze distant and those ordinary brown iris’s of his are swallowed by shades of swirling pink and magenta.

Bright lights—reflecting off of white floors and walls and sheets. Medical equipment. It’s… a hospital? And there’s a woman—or atleast there was. Something is horribly wrong with her, he can just feel it even with a vague distant image of her laying placid, her face obscured by hair. Bunni is there too, he can tell for certain by those uniquely colored eyes and the way they disappear as they’re subsumed by an undulating black mass of—

"I don't think that's a good idea." Artair doesn't budge from the pull. There isn't as much strain as there should be to resist each insistent tug. Their gaze drifts from him to the church itself. "You don't have to believe in luck or have visions to know climbing up there is a hazard. Why don't I just make this easier for both of us?"

They lift that cuffed wrist, and their other hand grips the metal pivot at the base of the hand. Their arm gives a sharp twist and pull motion, and with a decidedly metallic thok, the hand dislocates from the joint entirely. With nothing for the restraint to catch on, the rest of their prosthetic arm drops away without resistance.

"Oh." Sterling lets out simply, watching as Artair simply removes their prosthetic hand in order to slip the cuff off. He hears what they’re saying but the only part he’s really actually heard is the fact that he’s failed to mention his name. Shameful.

"It's Sterling. Detective Ernésto Sterling.” He’s quick to inform them, taking a breath in and pausing briefly before clicking his tongue. “Perhaps I’ve been a bit hasty—you must understand, it comes from a place of concern. I fully believe you can handle yourself but certainly not without something horrible happening in the process." He gestures casually with the hand that has the cuff dangling from it as he speaks, "If I don’t intervene somehow, whatever is lurking about could very well end your life...but I'm getting ahead of myself again."