"Shulman!" Eri was called to almost right as she walked into the Watch House, Captain Mahoney hailed her with a wave of his arm, a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Shulman, get over here." The papers were all tossed down onto the desk he stood near as he went to meet her halfway, despite his demand.

"Shulman, you're new to this Masked Man case, so I want you to meet Ailbhe. He's been runnin' the investigation for a while, knows a lot about it." He started patting his pockets. "Gave me an address to give you..." Mahoney turned and glanced back over at the desk, snapping his fingers before pointing at the detective who sat behind it. "There a card with an address on it there?"

"Uh..." The detective leaned forward, flipping through the sheaf of papers and checking the floor around his desk. "No, sir."

Mahoney cursed absently, starting toward the desk. When he stepped off, the card was revealed to have been under his foot, but the blundering man hadn't noticed it.

Rolling her eyes at the detective behind the desk, Eri grinned, bending to pick up the card. She wiped it free of mud with one finger and read it to herself, noting the address with a sigh.

Oh, well, she wasn't up to much here anyway, might as well get moving to meet this Ailbhe guy. The name was vaguely familiar to her, though she hadn't worked with him before. Must be a name that got bandied around the station fairly loudly at times.

Checking out with the woman at the desk, Eri made her way through the city towards the quarter where she was supposed to be meeting this Ailbhe fellow. She wouldn't say she stuck out, exactly, in this neighbourhood, but the contrast of her neat attire and long trench was clear as she walked down the street of her destination.

Her eyes narrowed as she took out the card again, reading it thoroughly before letting her eyes glance up and down the buildings.

"Son of a ..."

He'd sent her to a damned sleazy bar!

Eri took a moment to take all this in, frowning a little at the fact that she had been duped into coming here to meet a fellow cop, of all things. Then she straightened her shoulders and walked to the bar, ignoring the snide comment from one of the pool players concerning her appearance.

"Hey ..." She waited patiently to get the bar tender's attention. "Ailbhe?" She had a feeling he'd know who she was looking for.

The tender nodded, gesturing to where a man sat with a beer and a paper. Eri regarded him for a long moment before moving over to stand nearby.

"Are you Ailbhe?" she asked as politely as she could, given the circumstances.

"Eri," she corrected him, raising a brow as she took in his attire. She leant forward enough for him to hear her as she lowered her voice. "If I'd known I was coming to some seedy dive, I'd have changed."

Leaning back, she slipped onto a stool next to him, signalling to the tender. "Badsider." As the bottle was set in front of her, she looked at Patrick out the corner of her eye.

"Mahoney sent me," she told him finally, swallowing her pride as she turned to look at him. "Hear tell we're going to be working together."

She snorted, lifting her Badsider for a healthy drink. Patrick Ailbhe ... now she remembered where she'd heard the name. At volume. From the main office.

"Maybe if you actually stuck to the rules now and then, you wouldn't get yelled at so much," she suggested with a faint grin. "Your arrest rate is high, but without a legal permit, half your felons walk anyway."

She tried hard not to preen, then. After all, she may not have a high arrest rate, but at least everyone she did bring in, stayed in. A thought occurred to her, and she groaned.

"Oh gods, don't tell me the man thinks I have any hope of controlling you ..."

Eri glowered at him for a moment, glancing warily at the pool players. One of them was displaying an interest in her that she did not appreciate.

"Why the hell meet here of all places? The station not good enough for you anymore?"

She sighed, glaring at her fingers as they picked at the label on her Badsider. This was going to be one interesting partnership.

"Alright, so what do you know about the case?" she asked, preferring to get down to business and get out of there. "Any leads, or did you just want to meet me for kicks?"

Normally Eri might have objected to his taking the lead in scaring off an unwelcome attention, but she was too busy listening to what else he had to say. She nodded slowly, taking it in as her brow furrowed.

"Using the Prop 37 madness was a good cover, but he doesn't have that now," she said thoughtfully. "Isn't there anything you've picked up that can help us out here? The forensics team find absolutely nothing on site at every crime scene, it's like the guy doesn't have any corporeal form to follow."

And it was an alarming thought, that one. In this city, with it's high density of arcane and deified magics, a murderer could quite easily not have a body to arrest at all.

"Someone? You have a possible witness and it's just a someone to you?" Eri was flabbergasted. "No wonder you have trouble keeping it straight."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the vague comment. "So basically you have nothing more than what I've just spent the last month reading through and going over," she summed up, resting her lips against the rim of her beer. "Oh, yeah, this is going to be different."

She took her time taking a drink, one hand unbuttoning her trench to be more comfortable, revealing the decidedly sensible black sweater underneath. "Did you even follow up that lead, or did you decide it wasn't worth it?"

"Great."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Eri sighed again. She'd barely even begun on this case and it was already giving her one almighty headache.

"Alright, fine," she blinked rapidly to clear her vision, turning to look at him. "I say we bring in your witness and have a telepath go through his or her mind. Maybe they forgot to mention something in their statement that's still in the memory they have of that night."

She shrugged; it wasn't a great plan, but as far as she could see, it was their only real option at the present time.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at her own stupid suggestion. But the Masked Man had her mind running in circles at the moment. Maybe walking was a good solution. Downing what was left of her own beer and nodding to the tender, she slid from her stool and dropped into pace just behind Patrick, glancing up at him.

"This case is going to make or break our careers, isn't it?" she asked quietly, her tone more than a little dejected.

Her brow furrowed as she stepped out, glowering up at him for making it impossible for her to leave the bar without squeezing between him and the doorframe. "Thanks, so kind," she shot at him uncomfortably as her smaller frame inched past, taking longer strides to get her out and into the street.

"What do we know? That there's a murderer who kills in inventive and creative ways, taunts us with letters left on the scene, and never leaves a trail to follow. Not much."

Again she nodded. "There's gotta be something we're overlooking here," she murmured thoughtfully. "I mean the feathers haven't exactly gotten us anywhere, and knowing how he kills doesn't help us find him."

She shook her head, frowning as her hands slid into her pockets. "He's got us running around in circles while he slowly kills off everyone on his damned list."

Her fingers smoothed out the paper thoughtfully, re-reading the names she already had seared into her memory. What linked the last two ... it was a thumping good question.

"We need to be given a free rein to interview the families and friends," she said suddenly. "There has to be something, some hobby or hang out, or even just a name that links them."

"Eight it is." Eri nodded, handing back the paper and thrusting her hands into her own pockets as she glanced to and fro down the street, trying to orientate herself.

She glanced up, slightly startled by the question. "I'm headed that way," she jerked her head to the left, down a side street towards the centre of the city. "You don't have to walk with me. I'm a big girl, you know."

The first glimmerings of a relaxed smile appeared on her face as she nodded to him. "Interesting meeting you, Ailbhe."

She watched him walk away, not sure whether she should be irritated or impressed. Best leave that for another day, was her decision in the end.

"Eight o'clock, Patrick," she called back, turning on her heel and walking in the opposite direction he took, listening to the jaunty tune.

Oh yes ... this was going to be interesting.

Eri had been at the Watch House at her usual time of seven o'clock, and had barely had time to get settled in at her desk before the boy had come running to tell of another murder. With Chief Mahoney breathing down her neck, she had collected what little information there was on the Masked Man and hurried with the shaken kid towards the marketplace.

There had already been a crowd gathered to stare and comment on the gruesome scene, and even with a small group of officers of the Watch, the Guards, and Knights, it had taken a good half hour to clear them away. Eri stood back as the forensics and magics officers got to work, seething internally.

He'd struck again. Again, with no real clue as to why. The feathers and note were given to her as soon as they were retrieved, held in hands covered by leather gloves. Her eyes were drawn to the pair, draped in such particular positions over the statuary. Was there a reason he did that, she wondered.

The newspapers had been all over it, of course, demanding to know what they were going to do about the returned serial killer. She'd given them as much information as she dared, adding a request that anyone with any information come forward. But there was no one here to interview but the boy who had found the bodies, and he was too shaken to even remember his own name yet.

She drew back her sleeve to check her watch. Almost nine o'clock now, and no sign of Patrick. She snorted to herself, finding it highly doubtful he'd even managed to get to the Watch House on time.

"Alright, Detective, we're done here," one of the magics officers spoke up from the fountain. "What now?"

Eri pulled a face, grimacing. "Oh, for gods' sake, cut them down and give them a little decency," she snapped, gesturing for the more junior Watchmen to deal with it, and glanced up. Where the hell was Patrick?

"Gods!" Eri almost jumped out of her skin at Patrick's shout, watching him careen past everyone pulling on his gloves. "Morning, Ailbhe, nice of you to join us."

She moved after him, stuffing note and feathers in their respective bags into her jeans pocket. Her coat, she'd already handed to another officer to hold onto, and as such was unencumbered as she climbed after her new partner onto the fountain.

"Your phone number is a little irrelevant right now, don't you think?" she asked with a slight quirk to her lips, finding a place to perch as she, too, inspected the female body closely. "Didn't see the point in doing this alone, or I wouldn't have given that order."

She ran a gentle gloved finger down the woman's jaw, lifting the hanging head with some difficulty. Her brow furrowed. "Hey ... are these bruises from fingers, or has she been hanging here too long to tell?"

"Here." Her hand dug into her pocket and retrieved the bagged feathers and note, passing them up to him. "You might wanna take a gander at those. Looks like you've been annoying him."

Her eyes trailed down the body of the woman, the odd position of her lower limbs causing a momentary thought to wheel its way through her mind. Heedless of getting herself wet - she could always change back at the Watch House - Eri dropped into the water itself, wading across to cut the wire that bound the woman's legs so tightly.

Rigor mortis had set in, leaving the woman's legs still hanging close together, as Eri inspected the wire, rubbing it between her fingers. She dipped it into the water, cleaning off the worst of the blood, and pulled a fresh bag from her pocket, sealing the wire away for later inspection.

She nodded, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "And she looks to have been crucified, if it wasn't for the bruises and obvious knife wounds." She showed him the bagged wire. "Thought we might be able to narrow down where he's getting his equipment from."

She waded backwards, studying the macabre scene from the edge of the fountain. "But why over the back and in the foreclaws of a dragon?" she mused. "And why so obvious? Could be a false trail he's laying down, but we can't not follow it. Dammit, I hate the controversial cases."

She swore to herself, allowing one more look over the sad little spectacle before moving to climb out.

"Help me out, would you, I'm freezing down here."

((Scene played out between Patrick Ailbhe and Eri Shulman.))

Thank the gods for the sense that made her keep a change of clothes back at the Watch House. The water in the fountain had been fouled by the drip of blood, leaving Eri's jeans and shirt more than unpleasant to remain in. She'd left Patrick in her office, dealing with forensics and magics on the wire she'd cut, and retreated to the ladies' to change, returning clothed in fresh jeans and a thin sweater that revealed the little gold cross hanging at her breastbone. "Any news yet?"

Patrick was sitting in her seat, feet propped up on her desk, with a sheaf of papers in his hands when she walked back on. Patrick glanced up as she walked in, shoulders rising and falling while he brandished the papers. "Know what the wire's made from and got a list of shops and people who sell it and the materials for it, we've got a lot of people to talk to." He tossed the papers over carelessly. "Haven't figured out who the victims were, yet. They're still looking up the dental records."

She gave him a flat look, slapping at his feet until he removed them from her desk. "That could take days, the records go on for miles in this city," she ground out irritably. "Okay, so I have a question ... do we have any idea what links these victims? Hate to say it, but it does look like it's religiously motivated, which could make half the people in the city the next potential victims."

"Other than some apparent religion, no." He shrugged, feet sliding to the floor. "None of the other victims seemed to have any religious meaning behind their deaths. He may just be trying to lead us on a bit along a dead trail. Maybe they were Christian or something and so he just tossed them up as some kind of morbid joke."

Perched on the edge of her desk, Eri frowned thoughtfully. "Are you sure there's no religious link between the other victims?" she asked. Redundant as the question seemed, she had a habit of investigating dead ends into the ground, just to be sure. "It could be that they're all not members of a specific religion - hell, there are enough temples and deities in this city, and no race worships the same gods almighty."

"Not that I know of. Could look into it again, though. I imagine they were all similarly minded religiously as well, what with their hatred and bigotry." He shrugged again, hands sliding along his knees as he stood. "We'll have to visit all the families again, and there are a lot of questions to be asked."

She nodded, not rising from her lean against her desk as he stood. Hell, the man made her feel like a midget anyway, why let him know about it? "That the plan, then?" she asked, looking down at the list of retailers on the desk. "How about you take the families - they know you, anyway - and I'll check these out, maybe get a lead on a bulk buy of that wire?"

"Works." He turned and bent over her desk, shuffling about until he tore of the corner of a piece of paper, grabbed a pen, and wrote a number down. It was then held out to her. "That's my number if you need to get in contact with me." Would have come in handy earlier in the morning, without a doubt.

She took the scrap of paper, reading the number quickly. Rising, she bent over to rummage in the pocket of her coat, slung over a chair, and came up with a business card which she handed to him. "Try not to lose it, Ailbhe," she smiled sardonically, picking her cell out of the same coat and tapping his number into the speed-dial. "Back here around 9 tonight?"

"Sure." He smirked and stuffed the card into his back pocket. Turning, Patrick started for the door and paused when he tugged it open. "See you then." He tipped an invisible hat to her before stepping out and moving through the Watch House, carefully dodging the seething Mahoney on his way out.

Pulling a vague face at his back, Eri shrugged into her coat, grabbed her cell and the list of retailers, and stepped out herself, closing the office door before sneaking around the cubicles to also avoid the highly volatile Chief. Once out in the street, she took the list out and inspected it. Thirty-four names ... she sighed, feet picking up the pace as she advanced back towards the marketplace. It was going to be a long, long day.

Patrick knocked on the door to Eri's office before stepping in without waiting for her permission. He walked to one of the chairs in front of the desk and dropped into it, leaning back while he tossed a stack of papers on the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he settled comfortably and nodded to the papers.

"Melinda Archer and Korvin Byrnes." He said while a leg lifted to cross lazily over the other, both of them stretching out lazily. "They were engaged, Christian, and both incredibly racist, from what the families told me."

"Melinda was a seamstress while Korvin owned a local auto-repair shop not too far into West End." Patrick added, leaning forward while his feet flattened against the ground.

"The other eighteen victims were parts of various different sub-sects of Christianity, they all followed that one true God ideal, and were -- according to their families -- also extremely bigoted."

"So, what we're looking for are Christians apparently. And the incredibly hardcore fundamentalists who take the literal translation of the Bible and then add a bit of extra crazy to it. Because that's who he seems to be hunting."

"Any leads on the wire?"

"So you've spoken to the jeweler." He nodded, pushing against his knees to stand. He shrugged, slipping out of his coat to toss it over the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. "Find that woman, I'll look for the orphan boy." He pointed at the papers. "What's the name of the shop the wire was bought from?"

He paused thoughtfully, rocking on his heels. "And did the jeweler mention his religion in any way?"

"Alright. Call me if you need me or learn something." He grabbed his coat and slipped into it after taking the card, then turned and started for the door. "Try not to insult the women. Religious types come back with a vengeance when they're pissed." He added, smirking over his shoulder at her before wandering out.

Chief Mahoney came a-stomping toward him, demanding information on the case, but appeared flabbergasted when Patrick just shrugged past him and tossed a wave before slipping out.

((Scene played out between Patrick and Eri. Edited and posted with permission.))

Pete's was, without a doubt, a cruddy place. The patrons were a lively bunch, however. Most were friendly, well mannered people who were winding down from a day's hard work. With the exception of the leery pool players, that is. Patrick sat at his usual spot at the bar, leaning over the latest newspaper, drinking from a bottle of Badsider, and doing his best to ignore the hum of conversation around him.

Eri mooched into the bar, a small, ragged-looking figure, in clothes that were better off being burnt than worn again. Dirt smeared her face and hands, and the sole flapped off one of her shoes. She looked around from under an old cap, her hair caught in a mixture of braids and dreadlocks, and wild about her neck. She'd made no effort to disguise that she was female, only her age and circumstance, and had decided to test it on Patrick, figuring if she could fool him, then she should be able to get away with it on the street.

He didn't pay attention to what he figured was a homeless woman shuffling in. His eyes scanned the article in the Rhy'Din Post regarding the Masked Man, and the letter he'd written. How they got a hold of that was beyond him. Several men at the station would later be yelled at, that's for sure.

Inwardly smirking to herself, Eri moved over to where Patrick sat and gave him a rather forceful nudge with her elbow. "Spare change fer a drink, guv'na?" she asked, voice lower than he knew it and decidedly rougher.

He grunted, turning to eye her for a moment. "Don't think anyone says "guv'na," in Rhy'Din." Patrick mused idly, staring for a few more moments before patting a stool. "Have a seat, Eri."

"Well, close enough," she laughed, dropping the voice and hopping up onto a stool. "Just have to remember not to talk, then, don't I?"

"You did well. It's the guv'na bit that gave you away." He laughed, waving down Mel to get another beer for Eri.

She snorted, nodding to Mel with a grin when he gave her a double-take. "I'm not looking forward to tonight," she grimaced, taking a swig of beer. "Sleeping out in the cold has never done much for my temper."

"Going out tonight then, eh?" He tilted his head at her, laughing. "A good luck's in order then, I suppose."

She shrugged. "Longer we leave it, the less chance I have of tracking the kid down," she noted reluctantly. "Why, planning on asking me out?" She cracked a grin at him over the beer bottle.

"Well..." He eyed her, smirking. "Not now."

"Wor, dontcha wanna be seen out wiv a rough'un like me?" she asked laughingly, dropping back into her assumed accent.

"Honestly?" He asked, quirking a brow. "I could do without it. My public image isn't all that great as it is."

"Ah, so being partnered with me is a step up your social ladder, gotcha," Eri grinned, rolling her eyes. "Might have known."

He snorted then, turning forward once more. "Yeah, that's exactly what I meant." Sarcasm dripped heavily from his tone while he slipped the Rhy'Din post over. "How'd they get a copy of the letter?"

Her grin faded into an irritated frown. "Seems our friend thinks he can garner support," she ground out between her teeth. "He sent them a copy; that Fenner bloke dropped it into the Watch House this afternoon, after that went to press."

"Oughta shoot him, too." He rolled his eyes and grabbed his drink again, taking a swig. "Well, here's to hoping the people of Rhy'Din aren't as stupid as he thinks."

"Free press, Ailbhe," Eri sighed, pushing away the irritation. "If we start telling them not to print stuff, it'll be all over the papers that we did, and then we'll have a real problem on our hands."

"The Post doesn't count as press." He grunted. "They're slanderous, just wanna be Franco's. And Fenner's slime."

"Not having met the man, can't say." Eri sipped her beer, eyeing him thoughtfully. "What's he done to upset you? Got a girl you had your eye on, or did he beat you at poker?"

"You weren't around for the Prop 37 deal?" He asked, arching a brow. "Fenner's support damn near caused half the riots in the city. Not to mention how he insults just about everyone he writes about, good or bad. I know the press stretches the truth, he's nothing but slander, though."

She shook her head. "No, I was out in the provinces while the worst of that went down," she informed him with a faint frown. "So he's responsible for those riots, and the injuries they caused?"

"Most of them. He says he's not, but his articles were strongly in favor for the Proposition, insulting anyone who was against it."

"Mmm." Eri glowered into her beer. "A couple of good friends were hurt during that furore," she murmured. "Be interesting to see if Fenner even knows who he's hurt."

"He's had people shout at him, he's had people show him pictures, tell him the facts. He's heartless, really doesn't care."

"He's a journalist, what do you expect?" she snorted, pushing aside the bad humour. "So, any ideas where I should make my bed tonight?"

"Well, the jeweler said the kid smelled a lot like fish and salt water. I'm guessing he's from somewhere dockside. Your best bet's over there."

"Great," Eri grumbled. "Cold, smelly, and around sailors who think with their little heads. Wow, I'm in for a fun evening."

"Oh yeah." He laughed, turning toward her. "Got a wild party ahead of you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, not a particularly adult gesture but the only one to come to mind. "Just be there tomorrow," she insisted. "I won't hang around long in the whore pits, not dressed like this."

He snorted and nodded to her, tipping his drink back for a swig. "I'll be there."

"Good." She glanced over at the regulars, noting that very few of the faces had changed since she'd last been in here. "Does no one here ever go home?"

"It's the end of the day. Everyone's winding down." He shrugged, then. "We go home when we're ready." He laughed, nodding toward the pool players. "Even the lechers."

"I'm surprised they have homes to go to," she snorted, rolling her eyes as the pool players glanced over at them. "So what about you? Don't you have a home to go to?"

"I do." He nodded, motioning toward West End. "Not far down the road from here."

"So not far to stagger when you're drunk, now why doesn't that surprise me?" she smiled insipidly. "Don't give much away, do you?"

Patrick quirked a brow at her then. "What do you mean?"

Eri grinned, downing what was left of her drink. "Well, fanks fer th'drink, mate," she winked, sliding off her stool and tipping her cap to him. "See ya 'bout."

He reached out to grab her wrist, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What did you mean?"

She tensed as soon as he touched her, drawing up to growl at him through her teeth. "Let go."

"What? Have a problem with being touched?" He asked, brows lifting. He paused, considering her for a moment before releasing her wrist, his hand moving to grab his drink.

She snatched her hand away the moment he released her, stepping back with a nod to him. Whether it was an answer or a dismissal, that she wasn't giving away. "Tomorrow, Ailbhe."

"See you then." He waved over his shoulder at her, turning to eye the post disdainfully.

"Ass." She turned and stalked away, her hand rubbing the wrist he'd grabbed. Evidently irritated again, she only just remembered to drop into her assumed mooch just before leaving the bar.

He snorted, tossing money on the bar for Mel before slipping from his stool. After draining his Badsider, Patrick turned and headed for the door, tugging his coat on along the way.