NOTE: First time writing something on crime. So, it might not be too good. But I'll do my best.
---
Captain Holt stood at his desk, hands behind his back, staring out the window. The blinds were halfway open, letting in thin stripes of sunlight. His face was unreadable as usual, but the stiffness in his shoulders gave away the tension.
Lieutenant Terry Jeffords entered the office with a cup of protein shake in hand.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Terry asked, stepping inside.
Holt turned slowly.
"Yes, Lieutenant. Close the door."
Terry obeyed, raising an eyebrow. Holt didn't usually start meetings this seriously unless something big was going on.
Holt gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Terry sat.
"I've received a call from One Police Plaza this morning. A directive," Holt said.
Terry waited. Holt didn't like rushing his words.
"We're getting a new officer in the Nine-Nine."
Terry raised both eyebrows. "Okay. Is that a problem?"
"This isn't a regular transfer," Holt said. He tapped a file on his desk. It was thin, oddly so. No usual stack of background reports or training scores. "This file contains almost no information. His name is Raymond White. Age 26. Graduate of Quantico. Assigned here as a rookie."
Terry blinked. "So… the top FBI academy, but he's coming in as a beat cop?"
"Exactly. His record is sealed. Everything. Even his birth records. I've never seen anything like this."
Terry leaned forward. "Why is he being sent here?"
Holt paused, then walked around the desk and stood next to Terry. He lowered his voice even though the door was closed.
"Ivan Preston."
Terry's eyes widened. "That's not possible. Preston's..."
"Fifth on the international most wanted list. Explosives, assassinations, cyber-terrorism, human trafficking, and he's been sitting in our borough for three years. Right under our noses. A ghost chasing a ghost."
Silence stretched for a beat.
"Six years ago," Holt continued, "I led a task force that nearly had him. We thought he was in Marseille. But we were wrong. It was a trap. I lost six officers that day. Now, higher-ups think someone in law enforcement may have helped. A leak. Maybe more than one."
"So Raymond White is a specialist. A plant," Terry said.
"Yes. He's not just here to find Preston. He's here to find out how we missed him. If someone on the inside is helping him."
"A mole," Terry muttered.
Holt nodded. "Higher-ups believe the Nine-Nine has been compromised. So White has been placed here under the cover of a rookie assignment. No one else is to know."
"Why didn't they just send in an FBI agent?"
"Because whoever's helping Preston is smart. And White isn't just some agent. From what I was told, he's part of a classified task force. Handpicked. He requested this job personally. He also requested to be assigned under Detective Rosa Diaz."
Terry gave Holt a look. "That's… a strange choice."
"Yes."
Silence filled the office. Only the sound of traffic outside and the low hum of the AC.
"Do you trust him?" Terry finally asked.
"I don't know him. And I can not bring my personal feelings or opinions into this serious situation. But I trust the people who sent him. For now."
Terry stood. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Holt nodded. "So will I. Make sure no one treats him differently. He's a rookie. That's the story. Nothing more."
Terry was already at the door when Holt spoke again.
"Lieutenant. If this goes wrong, and Preston gets wind of it… people could die. So, keep an eye out there. Report back to me if you find anything suspicious."
Terry's jaw tightened. He gave a nod and walked out.
...[A few hours later]...
The bullpen was its usual mess of clacking keyboards, buzzing phones, and random loud laughter from Jake and Charles, who were watching something on Jake's phone. Rosa sat at her desk, sipping black coffee, scanning a folder. Her eyes were sharp, cold as always.
Terry walked in.
"Everyone, listen up," he said. The room went quiet. Jake quickly hid his phone.
"We've got a new rookie joining the Nine-Nine. His name is Raymond White. He's been assigned to shadow Detective Diaz."
Jake whistled. "Poor guy. She'll eat him alive."
Rosa didn't react. She just took another sip.
Terry looked toward the entrance. A tall man with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face stood there. He wore the standard NYPD blue, but it fit him a little too well, like a uniform in a movie. He walked in. Eyes scanning, as if he were looking for someone. Then his eyes fell on Rosa. But he naturally shifted his gaze toward Terry.
"This is Officer White," Terry said.
Raymond gave a sharp nod. "Glad to be here."
Jake stood up and walked over, hand out. "Hey, I'm Jake Peralta. Best detective in the building. You can ask anyone."
"Ha! Nice one. The last time I checked the numbers... You are 6 points down," Ami chimed in from her seat.
Raymond shook Jake's hand.
"Nice to meet you, Detective Peralta."
"This is Amy Santiago. Overachiever. Boyle. Food-obsessed. Hitchcock and Scully... don't even talk to them unless you want to smell like mustard."
"Hey!" said Hitchcock. "It's Dijon. It's classy."
"And this is Rosa Diaz," Terry said.
Raymond turned. Rosa met his eyes. They stared at each other for a long second.
"Officer White," Rosa said with her usual stoic and cold expression.
"Detective Diaz. Looking forward to learning from you."
"You'll be riding with Rosa for the next few weeks," Terry said. "Whatever she says, you do. No questions."
"Understood," Raymond said.
"Good. Everyone else, back to work."
The team scattered. Rosa stood, grabbed her jacket.
"Come on, rookie. We're hitting the streets."
Raymond followed without a word.
...
[On the way to the crime scene]
The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional honk from a cab cutting someone off.
"You talk much?" Rosa asked, not looking at him.
"Not unless there's something worth saying."
Rosa gave a small grunt. Approval, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.
"Most rookies spend their first week drowning in paperwork. You got lucky."
Raymond glanced at her. "I don't believe in luck."
Rosa didn't respond. They turned onto a quieter street lined with old brick buildings. Two squad cars were already parked up ahead, lights flashing lazily. Yellow tape flapped in the breeze. A uniformed officer stood by the entrance of a narrow townhouse.
Rosa parked the car on the side street. "Follow my lead. Keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise."
Raymond nodded.
Inside, the air was stale with the scent of blood already starting to mix with the city heat. A forensic tech was snapping photos in a cramped living room. Books were stacked high on every surface, and papers covered the coffee table. A body lay slumped in an armchair, shirt drenched in blood.
"Male, mid-40s. Name's Elliot Renner," Rosa said. She snapped on gloves. "Teaches political theory at Columbia. Roommate found him an hour ago."
"Two shots?" Raymond asked, eyeing the blood patterns and the victim's body.
"One in the stomach, one in the chest. No sign of forced entry. Nothing stolen. Door was locked from the inside, but the roommate says Renner always locked it behind him. Claims he was at the gym."
"Can I take a look?" Raymond asked Rosa. "Promise not to touch anything. Please?"
"Fine. Be my guest," Rosa said as she looked around the floor.
Raymond stepped closer, careful not to get in the tech's way. He studied the position of the body, the spatter, the books, and the mug on the side table, still half full.
He knelt beside the chair.
"The shots were postmortem," he said quietly.
Rosa turned her head slightly, not yet convinced. "Explain."
Raymond pointed to the blood on the victim's shirt. "Low velocity. No spatter on the surrounding furniture. Blood pooled cleanly. The heart wasn't pumping. He was already dead when the bullets hit him."
Rosa frowned, then looked at the body again.
He stood and walked to the side table. He sniffed the coffee mug without touching it, then pulled a small penlight from his pocket and pointed it at the rim of the cup. There was something white. Just like powdered sugar.
"He was poisoned," Raymond said. "Something fast-acting. Judging by the setting, he was reading. The TV's off. No struggle. He probably took a sip, felt something was wrong." He pointed at the wall-mounted phone. "He tried to rush over to the phone, but couldn't maintain his balance and fell backward. He died within a few seconds. Look around, no struggle. Then someone came in and took the shot, just to be sure, or just holding enough grudge to double tap him. Well, all in all, this is the work of an amateur."
'Look at this guy,' Rosa thought.
She then looked at the forensic tech. "Mug."
Then she looked toward the rookie, who was just too good to be a rookie. Raymond gave her a little eye signal to look at the bathroom rug. The muddy shoe print, and then he signed to the roommate, who was standing outside the door. His shoes were also muddy. It rained in the morning, and outside there was a garden. Garden means mud in the rain.
Rosa walked to the bathroom and looked inside. There was nothing, but then she saw the wet floor. Someone wiped the muddy footprints. She followed the traces of water, and it stopped near the window, which was open, and the railings were broken.
'Looks like the killer entered through the window, did the job, and decided to act smart by removing the footprints. Went to the bathroom to get water, but sadly forgot to clean the rug. Dang! He's making me look like an amateur. Arggg! He's good. Something smells fishy about this newbie. I'll find out, White.'
Rosa turned toward the forensic tech. "Mug," she repeated, sharper this time.
The tech snapped to attention, grabbed the mug with gloved hands, and moved to his portable kit. He unscrewed a capped vial, dipped a thin test strip inside the coffee, and waited.
Raymond stood back, hands at his sides, watching.
A few seconds passed. The strip turned a pale blue.
"Fast-acting alkaloid," the tech said. "Probably aconitine. Looks like it was dissolved into the coffee."
Rosa didn't say anything and walked toward the roommate in the hall. Raymond followed her outside and stood near the stairs, acting normal.
Rosa stopped in front of the roommate. He was wiry, twitchy, mid-thirties, in gym shorts and a hoodie. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, but not the kind from a workout.
"What's your name again?" she asked.
"Brian. Brian Lentz."
"Brian, I need you to take off your shoes."
His eyes flicked down to his sneakers, then to her face. "Why?"
"Just do it."
"I already told the other officer..."
"Take. Them. Off."
Brian hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides. His foot shifted backward.
Rosa's voice dropped to a low growl. "Now."
Brian lunged.
He pivoted fast and bolted down the hall toward the stairs, legs pumping, arms flailing.
But Raymond was already there.
He stepped forward, like he'd been waiting for this. His stance shifted, and in one move, he locked his arm around Brian's neck, using his momentum against him. Both fell on the floor. Raymond grabbed his neck and pressed him down on the floor.
"Don't move," Raymond said.
Brian froze, caught between panic and pain.
Rosa strolled over, calm as ever. She crouched and untied one of the sneakers, yanking it off.
The muddy sole matched the rug print exactly.
"Well," Rosa said, holding the shoe up, "that was stupid."
Brian sagged in Raymond's grip.
"I didn't mean to kill him," he mumbled.
Rosa raised an eyebrow. "You poisoned his coffee and shot him twice."
Brian closed his eyes.
Raymond eased his grip slightly, just enough to let the man breathe.
Rosa stood. "Cuff him."
----
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[34 advance chs] [No double billing.]
---
Quick note: No bonus chapter for now. Today I'll release 1 more chapter, then 3 chs/week. As you know, it's hard to work on 3 ffs together. So, I won't be rushing with this one.
---
What to expect?
1) Harem lovers: welcome. Non-harem lovers, if you are still reading and complaining despite the warning in tags and synopsis, then there is no doubt in my mind that you are retarded. Get a shrink.
2) Troll comments and reviews will be removed. Early greeting to you, Obivilion/Tinkers, son of a cucking whore, husband of a cucking woman.
3) Read the synopsis
4) Don't spam the list of celebs or harem members or add this and add that. It's annoying.
5) Expect a stable release unless I'm unwell or got caught up in work.