Murder, They Tweeted #7
Nov. 30th, 2018 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin and Hank lay out their evidence and apprehend the culprit! The weekend is saved.
"Henry!" The door to their suite nearly burst open under the force of a telekinetic knock before Quentin remembered he had an actual key and did not need to resort to property damage. It still opened with a bang that would startle their neighbors, but he could be forgiven under the circumstances. "I figured it out, it's Felix," he said breathlessly, his face red from a combination of the wine he had just drank and the exertion of running across the resort. He leaned against the doorway for support so he could catch his breath. "That greedy motherfucker."
"How did you figure it out? What is your evidence?" Hank asked, as always concerned with data and proof.
"He put up an obscene amount of money for Portsmouth's app," Quentin explained as he struggled to regain his breath. But the words poured out of him, leaving him short-winded. "When Trevor reneged, he was out possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars? That whole song and dance he was putting up this afternoon? Just trying to butter him up, but Portsmouth didn't accept. Felix was the last person seen with him, and he's tall and strong enough to have killed him and hidden the body. I know, I know it's circumstantial. But it's the only explanation that fits the proof, and we can make him admit it."
"That certainly is a strong motive, if not solid proof." Hank was on his feet in an instant, Quentin's energy infectious enough to start his heart thudding. "Are you sure it's safe to confront him, though? If he truly killed Trevor he's a dangerous man."
Quentin scoffed at the very idea. "What can a flatscan do against two mutants? Now come on, we've already wasted too much time." He did not know what room Felix was staying in, and he was not about to knock on every door in the hotel to find out, so he led Hank to the front desk where the manager would be able to tell them. But to their luck, there was Felix . . . checking out?
"The hell are you going?" Quentin demanded, eyeing the man and the suitcases at his feet. "It's 9 o'clock at night. The wedding's tomorrow."
Raph's uncle turned to the pair of young mutants, eyebrow raised. "A work emergency came up, I have a very early meeting tomorrow. Work. You millennials know what that is, right? Where you actually perform a productive service in exchange for money. And besides, there's not going to be a wedding, don't kid yourself."
"Sir, why didn't you reveal your connection to Trevor's business venture when we spoke of it earlier?" Hank asked, frowning at the older man. "It conspires that you may have lost a great deal of money - and the potential to earn more - because of his choices."
If Quentin had blinked, then he might have missed Felix's eye twitching. He held back a grin. They were on the right track, if such a blase comment were raising Felix's ire.
"Like I said before when you interrupted me — in the rest room, of all places — young people will do what they want without heeding their elders' advice." Felix handed his credit card to the manager and tapped his foot, as if trying to speed up time so he could get out of there.
"Yeah, yeah, the folly of youth. Or maybe he didn't want your influence all over his project, because he was addressing a specifically contemporary problem that people your age are perpetuating," Quentin accused. A little too loudly, it seemed, as he saw a crowd approaching, his parents included. Great. But he pushed on. "Fifty thousand dollars? I bet he laughed in your face."
"Young man, I don't . . ."
"I'm sure you tried to be the bigger man and ignore the abject humiliation you felt from some entitled 25-year-old," Quentin continued, ignoring Felix's protest, "And you thought you could get back on his good side. Laugh with him, egg him on when he verbally abused random people. Maneuver him into a fight with Raph, then take his side and support him. And yet, Trevor still said no to you. Ouch, must've hurt."
"Now I'll have you know that I don't appreciate these insinuations, especially from the likes of you," Felix said, puffing his chest out. "Just because you managed to inveigle yourself into this investigation doesn't mean you know what you're doing."
"We have enough forensic evidence to narrow down the profile of Trevor's killer," said Hank. "A profile that matches yours quite neatly."
The good cop/bad cop routine was overplayed. Quentin found much more satisfaction and success when they both played bad cop. It was obviously working, too. Felix's gaze could not meet theirs, and he was breathing harder, as if their accusation pressed down like a physical weight on his chest. Quentin kept pushing. "And I bet if we checked your fingerprints to the ones we found on the murder weapon, we'd get at least as good a match as we got for Raph."
Quentin stepped forward, closing the distance between them and daring Felix to react. "You're the only person I talked to who can't account for where you were in the hours before Trevor was murdered. But last anyone saw him, you were with him. In the kitchen, where the pan was. So easy to pick it up and . . ." He slammed his hand onto front desk, and Felix jumped. "You couldn't have put him somewhere we wouldn't drink him, though? That's a biohazard."
"If you'd truly like to exonerate yourself it would be simple enough. Merely allow us to take your fingerprints and we will be able to rule out the match." Hank reached for Felix's hand as if he was going to print him right then and there, and it seemed this was the final straw as the old man yanked away and then broke into a heavy-footed run, scattering the onlookers like a badly-thrown bowling ball.
Hank and Quentin exchanged a surprised look - he hadn't seemed like a runner, but there he was, disappearing down the hallway at an astonishingly fast rate. Once outside he could go any number of directions and they could lose him altogether: a terrible possibility. Without a second thought Hank dropped onto all fours and, ignoring the shrieks of some of the more traditional guests, sprinted after him at high speed.
The potted dragon tree by the front door tipped over, barring Felix's path. Not that Hank needed the telekinetic assist; there was no way a terrified old man could outrun him. "See, what did I tell you, Henry? What can a flatscan do against us?"
A moment later and Hank had him, using his long arms to arrest Felix's flight and pinning him to the wall. The old man immediately started blubbering excuses. "It wasn't some sort of pre-meditated thing! I just wanted to talk to him, make him see reason! My money was good, why wouldn't he take it??"
"So it'll only be second-degree murder instead of first, congratulations." Quentin sauntered up to them, arms folded over his chest. He leaned forward to hiss into Felix's ear. "You would have let a good man suffer in your name. All because you couldn't fatten your wallet from someone else's labor. I ought to give you what you gave Portsmouth." He glanced at Hank and then stood up straight. "Ugh, pathetic. The police will be here soon enough. I can't believe I'm saying that like it's a good thing."
“A murderer answering for his crime is the best we could hope for now,” Hank said, using perhaps a tiny bit more force than necessary to keep Felix pinned against the wall. “It won’t bring Trevor back, but perhaps Raph and Diane can say their vows now knowing justice has been served.”
"Henry!" The door to their suite nearly burst open under the force of a telekinetic knock before Quentin remembered he had an actual key and did not need to resort to property damage. It still opened with a bang that would startle their neighbors, but he could be forgiven under the circumstances. "I figured it out, it's Felix," he said breathlessly, his face red from a combination of the wine he had just drank and the exertion of running across the resort. He leaned against the doorway for support so he could catch his breath. "That greedy motherfucker."
"How did you figure it out? What is your evidence?" Hank asked, as always concerned with data and proof.
"He put up an obscene amount of money for Portsmouth's app," Quentin explained as he struggled to regain his breath. But the words poured out of him, leaving him short-winded. "When Trevor reneged, he was out possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars? That whole song and dance he was putting up this afternoon? Just trying to butter him up, but Portsmouth didn't accept. Felix was the last person seen with him, and he's tall and strong enough to have killed him and hidden the body. I know, I know it's circumstantial. But it's the only explanation that fits the proof, and we can make him admit it."
"That certainly is a strong motive, if not solid proof." Hank was on his feet in an instant, Quentin's energy infectious enough to start his heart thudding. "Are you sure it's safe to confront him, though? If he truly killed Trevor he's a dangerous man."
Quentin scoffed at the very idea. "What can a flatscan do against two mutants? Now come on, we've already wasted too much time." He did not know what room Felix was staying in, and he was not about to knock on every door in the hotel to find out, so he led Hank to the front desk where the manager would be able to tell them. But to their luck, there was Felix . . . checking out?
"The hell are you going?" Quentin demanded, eyeing the man and the suitcases at his feet. "It's 9 o'clock at night. The wedding's tomorrow."
Raph's uncle turned to the pair of young mutants, eyebrow raised. "A work emergency came up, I have a very early meeting tomorrow. Work. You millennials know what that is, right? Where you actually perform a productive service in exchange for money. And besides, there's not going to be a wedding, don't kid yourself."
"Sir, why didn't you reveal your connection to Trevor's business venture when we spoke of it earlier?" Hank asked, frowning at the older man. "It conspires that you may have lost a great deal of money - and the potential to earn more - because of his choices."
If Quentin had blinked, then he might have missed Felix's eye twitching. He held back a grin. They were on the right track, if such a blase comment were raising Felix's ire.
"Like I said before when you interrupted me — in the rest room, of all places — young people will do what they want without heeding their elders' advice." Felix handed his credit card to the manager and tapped his foot, as if trying to speed up time so he could get out of there.
"Yeah, yeah, the folly of youth. Or maybe he didn't want your influence all over his project, because he was addressing a specifically contemporary problem that people your age are perpetuating," Quentin accused. A little too loudly, it seemed, as he saw a crowd approaching, his parents included. Great. But he pushed on. "Fifty thousand dollars? I bet he laughed in your face."
"Young man, I don't . . ."
"I'm sure you tried to be the bigger man and ignore the abject humiliation you felt from some entitled 25-year-old," Quentin continued, ignoring Felix's protest, "And you thought you could get back on his good side. Laugh with him, egg him on when he verbally abused random people. Maneuver him into a fight with Raph, then take his side and support him. And yet, Trevor still said no to you. Ouch, must've hurt."
"Now I'll have you know that I don't appreciate these insinuations, especially from the likes of you," Felix said, puffing his chest out. "Just because you managed to inveigle yourself into this investigation doesn't mean you know what you're doing."
"We have enough forensic evidence to narrow down the profile of Trevor's killer," said Hank. "A profile that matches yours quite neatly."
The good cop/bad cop routine was overplayed. Quentin found much more satisfaction and success when they both played bad cop. It was obviously working, too. Felix's gaze could not meet theirs, and he was breathing harder, as if their accusation pressed down like a physical weight on his chest. Quentin kept pushing. "And I bet if we checked your fingerprints to the ones we found on the murder weapon, we'd get at least as good a match as we got for Raph."
Quentin stepped forward, closing the distance between them and daring Felix to react. "You're the only person I talked to who can't account for where you were in the hours before Trevor was murdered. But last anyone saw him, you were with him. In the kitchen, where the pan was. So easy to pick it up and . . ." He slammed his hand onto front desk, and Felix jumped. "You couldn't have put him somewhere we wouldn't drink him, though? That's a biohazard."
"If you'd truly like to exonerate yourself it would be simple enough. Merely allow us to take your fingerprints and we will be able to rule out the match." Hank reached for Felix's hand as if he was going to print him right then and there, and it seemed this was the final straw as the old man yanked away and then broke into a heavy-footed run, scattering the onlookers like a badly-thrown bowling ball.
Hank and Quentin exchanged a surprised look - he hadn't seemed like a runner, but there he was, disappearing down the hallway at an astonishingly fast rate. Once outside he could go any number of directions and they could lose him altogether: a terrible possibility. Without a second thought Hank dropped onto all fours and, ignoring the shrieks of some of the more traditional guests, sprinted after him at high speed.
The potted dragon tree by the front door tipped over, barring Felix's path. Not that Hank needed the telekinetic assist; there was no way a terrified old man could outrun him. "See, what did I tell you, Henry? What can a flatscan do against us?"
A moment later and Hank had him, using his long arms to arrest Felix's flight and pinning him to the wall. The old man immediately started blubbering excuses. "It wasn't some sort of pre-meditated thing! I just wanted to talk to him, make him see reason! My money was good, why wouldn't he take it??"
"So it'll only be second-degree murder instead of first, congratulations." Quentin sauntered up to them, arms folded over his chest. He leaned forward to hiss into Felix's ear. "You would have let a good man suffer in your name. All because you couldn't fatten your wallet from someone else's labor. I ought to give you what you gave Portsmouth." He glanced at Hank and then stood up straight. "Ugh, pathetic. The police will be here soon enough. I can't believe I'm saying that like it's a good thing."
“A murderer answering for his crime is the best we could hope for now,” Hank said, using perhaps a tiny bit more force than necessary to keep Felix pinned against the wall. “It won’t bring Trevor back, but perhaps Raph and Diane can say their vows now knowing justice has been served.”
