Chapter 11: The Evidence Locker and the Ghost of '88
[Morning – 99th Precinct Bullpen – December 19, 2013]
The 99th Precinct bullpen was a testament to organized chaos, but today, that chaos had a clear epicenter: a dust-covered, metal evidence locker that smelled vaguely of mothballs and old secrets. Hitchcock and Scully, looking like two particularly happy gnomes who had just unearthed a treasure, were standing beside it.
"Behold, Detectives!" Hitchcock announced, patting the locker's side. "The forgotten relics of the precinct's glory days! We found it behind a filing cabinet in the basement."
"It's the Locker of Legends," Scully added, his eyes wide. "Legend says it contains the unsolved mysteries of the 80s!"
Adam Stiels, who had been trying to fix Charles Boyle's perpetually-leaking coffee maker, looked up, a wry smile on his face. This feels less like a mystery and more like a set-up for a sitcom episode.
[SYSTEM: New Objective: Investigate '88 Evidence Locker.] The System's message was immediate and clear, cutting through his cynicism. This wasn't a joke. This was a case.
"What's the intel, Adam?" Jake Peralta asked, abandoning his attempt to get Amy Santiago to admit his Die Hard themed party idea was brilliant. "Did you find some kind of a super-cool 80s criminal's fingerprints?"
"Not yet, Jake," Adam said calmly, his mind already working. "But this coffee maker is a perfect example of a mechanical puzzle. It's got a leak in the main flow valve, causing the water to pool instead of flow. A simple fix with a gasket can solve the problem." He held up a small rubber ring.
Amy, who had been arguing with Rosa Diaz over the proper way to secure a perimeter, walked over. "Peralta, you're not going to solve a cold case by yelling Yippee-ki-yay. Adam, what do we have?"
"We have a very specific type of dust," Adam said, putting a sample into a small vial. "And a faint chemical signature from a cleaning agent that hasn't been used in this precinct since before the turn of the millennium. This locker wasn't just forgotten. It was sealed."
[Afternoon – 99th Precinct Basement – December 19, 2013]
Down in the bowels of the precinct, the atmosphere was a mix of quiet determination and absurd humor. Rosa and Robin Scherbatsky, having been roped in, were meticulously cataloging the contents of the locker.
"Look at this," Rosa said, holding up a small, plastic figurine. "A troll doll. You used to play with these, didn't you, Scherbatsky?"
Robin smirked. "They were action figures," she corrected. "And this one is a clue. It's got a tiny mark on the bottom."
Jake, meanwhile, was getting into the spirit of the thing. "This is the real deal, guys! I feel like a young Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark! Just need a cool hat and a whip."
Charles Boyle, ever the supportive foodie, had set up a small table with what he called "Locker snacks." He held up a plate of what looked like tiny, grey, misshapen bread rolls. "Behold! Evidence-Proof Muffins! They are dense, flavorless, and will survive a nuclear apocalypse. Just like a good piece of evidence!"
Adam, however, was focused on an old, musty case file. He ran a gloved finger over the top page. The case, "The Ghost Cop," detailed a series of art thefts and blackmail schemes in the late 80s. The perpetrator had never been caught, and the case was mysteriously closed without a resolution. His System was already analyzing the file.
[SYSTEM: Analyzing Textual Data: Ghost Cop Case File.] The System was cross-referencing names and dates with their current open cases, searching for a link.
"This Ghost Cop," Adam said, his voice low, "the file says they were an expert at leaving behind clues. Puzzles. Just like the Shadow Broker. It's the same MO." He showed the file to Jake, who immediately understood. This wasn't an 80s case. This was a prologue.
[Evening – MacLaren's Pub – December 19, 2013]
The Mosby Boys (Ted, Marshall, and Barney) were in their usual booth at MacLaren's, oblivious to the high-stakes investigation happening in their midst. Adam sat down with them, a new sense of urgency in his posture.
"So, Ted," Adam began, trying to keep the conversation casual, "tell me about The Ghost."
Ted's eyes lit up. "Oh, The Ghost! That's a classic Mosby tale. In 1997, Marshall, Barney, and I were convinced the old librarian at Columbia was a ghost. We set up a stakeout and everything!"
No, not that ghost.
Just then, Barney received a text message. His phone pinged, and his swagger immediately dissolved into a look of sheer terror. "Guys… she's back," he whispered, his eyes wide. He showed them the message. It was a single emoji of a ghost.
"This is it," Adam said, his mind putting the pieces together. "The stalker isn't just a person. She's an operative. The Ghost is a code name, and the text is a message. She's telling us that the Ghost Cop case isn't dead. It's active."
The realization hung in the air, a chilling mix of past and present. The old case file, the stalker's new message, the Ghost Cop—it all pointed to one thing. The Shadow Broker was not a new threat. He was a ghost from the past, and he had been watching them all along. The file wasn't just a clue. It was a warning.
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