NYPD - Precinct 28 - The Pit This is the main room of the 28th Precinct building, which dates back to the nineteenth century. It is broad and low, with a slightly elevated walkway running around it, which no doubt contributed to the inevitable acquisition of its affectionate nickname, 'The Pit.' The desks of police officers face each other down on the floor, a patchwork of labyrinthine aisles between them. A steady flow of people in and out of uniform proceeds inwards, outwards, up to the walkway, down to the desks, around from one hallway to another in a constant flurry of movement. The hectic ringing of phones and conversations mix in the air above the pit to make a frenetic jangle of sound. Small offices really no bigger than oversize cubicles line the walkway, indicating the high er ranks of those who work within. Obvious exits: Door Indelicato(#1385Pfces) Ed Indelicato is a man in his mid-to-late thirties, with dark hair that is seemingly permanently uncombed. He has a thick mustache that arcs downward on his face, and a loose-fitting suit of navy blue. A very slight paunch pushes his rumpled shirt out over his belt. On the lapel of his coat is clipped a NYPD identification badge showing that he is an Inspector. Wonder Woman enters from the city street. Wonder Woman has arrived. Indelicato is in his office/cubicle, as usual, going over paperwork. He keeps looking up at the door, and when Wonder Woman comes in, it's like the tension is relieved. As the door to the precinct house swings shut, silence falls over a certain area. Even though she's here relatively often, her presence is enough to draw the attention of even grizzled cops. As she walks purposefully, seemingly not mindful of the stares, toward your cubicle, the silence gives way to the gossipy whispers by coffee pots and across walkways about a certain police officer, and a certain 'superheroine' of some reknown. Diana is a tall, handsome woman of noble bearing and carriage, but with a certain quality about her as she apprehends you that is far more the girl next door than goddess. Her skin is a deep olive tan, like burnished bronze, her muscles honed to p erfection beneath. Her thick black hair forms a mane of curls, reaching down to her mid-back, and tumbling soft as a waterfall over her shoulders. Her eyes are large, clear, and blue as they look out from beneath her golden tiara, holding back her hair an d adorning her forehead with a large, red star. In each ear is a matching red star as an earring, offsetting the redness of her full lips, seemingly always impressed with a quiet smile. Her armor is simple, covering only her central body. Her red, stiffened leather bustier rises up to cradle her breasts, emblazoned across with a pair of golden, metallic 'W's, one atop the other. On each forearm is a silvered bracer, gleaming of a rgent and flashing in the light, stretching from elbow to wrist. About her waist is a golden belt, a pair of points, one rising up over her midriff, the other dipping downward extending from it. On her left hip, slung from the belt, is her shimmering gold en lasso. Her tights are dark blue satin, a pair of large white stars on the front, one on either side. Her long, powerful legs are bare down to just beneath her knees, where they meet her boots, a deep crimson red, with white stripe running up from toe t o peak, and forming a rim around the upper edge. Indelicato ignores the gossip. He's as used to it as she is. "Hey, Princess." he says when she enters . Right behind her a younger officer drops a stack of reports on Indelicato's desk. He ignores them, watching Diana closely. 3 From: Dr. Psycho At: Sat Nov 1 20:03:33 1997 (Conn) Fldr : 0 Status: Unread To : Indelicato Subject: ME Report --------------------------------------------------------------------------- When the M.E. report comes back it reads like the following... Toxocology report - Negative. Traces of prior drug use, but not for several months now. Unusually high adrenaline, but perhaps not so unusual considering she just jumped off a building. Cause of death, obvious. Severe trauma to the skull. She died almost instantly. No signs of needles. Only identifying mark was a tattoo of a bird which had been put there within the last month. It was of a bird, and was on her left cheek. The bird looks a lot like the one appearing on Diana's chest. The clothing is cheap, stuff you find in a goodwill store. The paint is also cheap stuff. Fingerprints turned up negative on local and national search. But a diligent clerk manages to track her down in the runaway files, and thinks they have a match. It is not definite yet, but the name may be Sarah Michaels, of Queens. Runaway since the age of 11. Parents are Jeffrey and Alice Michaels, still of Queens. If you need more, ask. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tomany,Diana's expression would seem to portray nothing at all. In fact, it is not what is there that portrays a certain impression to you, as the lack of her familiar, warm smile. She strides to your desk purposefully, and then sits in the spare chair beside it, caring not for what manner of suspect may have sat in it previously or there condition. As she sits, she visibly relaxes, her hands lying loosely on the arms, and she looks to you with eyes slightly dull, or perhaps merely without their usual twinkle. She pauses a moment before she speaks, and then it is an attempt at levity, "I truly do wish that you would finally begin to call me Diana." Indelicato blinks slightly. "Uh, sure." he says. "Want some coffee or something?" His usual garrolous self is either gone or merely suppressed, but he indicates the reports on his desk. "From tonight. You know, we get about one of those a year. There's a lot of people out there at the end of their rope...but I guess I don't have to tell -you- that." he finishes lamely. Diana apprehends you quietly for a moment, then says simply, "No thank you, Edward." She does not use your title as she normally would in front of fellow officers, but it is as if she simply cannot muster the mood for formality at this point. She continues to look at you quietly for another moment that lasts far too long before she adds, "Are there many....like that....that involve my example...my symbols? I merely happened upon this one, but once before...is it more common than I think?" She is honestly troubled, and as she speaks, it shows more with every word. Indelicato nods. "Yeah. About one a year." he repeats. "Suicides...we get hundreds of those a year. But yeah." He indicates one of the smaller piles of files on his desk, whose insignificance now takes on a weird terror, that each of these files is a person, and each of the files is closed, top to bottom, with a rubber band, and file-stamped CLOSED. "One of them even spent twelve hundred dollars getting a..." He looks away from Diana. "...crown made of real gold. They're usually young, always female, usually with a history of depression. This one looks to be about the same." Indelicato says quietly, "If it is who we think it is, it's the youngest so far." Diana's eyes widen slightly, as she realizes your earlier comment wasn't referring to suicides but to these particular cases, and then they fall. She ponders the...five lives...that that means have been lost, and tries to remember what Julia told her, tries to make it make sense. Ultimately, she cannot make sense of such a senseless act however...she never could. She says quietly, "Is...is there anything that can be done?" She still attempts desperately to wrap her mind around it. Indelicato shakes his head. "No. We'll get the dental records from the parents and hope the medical examiner can reconstruct the jaw enough for an ID. She was a runaway, we think, so there's no telling what she was mixed up in or where she left a note, if she did leave one." He leans back in his chair. "It only takes a couple of seconds for them to fall." he says. "She died instantly. Even if you had been there." He leaves it unsaid. Diana's brow furrows and she speaks more quickly, but with simple conviction, not anger. "If I had been there I could have caught her before she left that roof. But that is not when she needed me. She needed me in the weeks before...in the weeks when this became her only hope." She continues, not giving you the time to countermand that statement, "But I also realize that I cannot know everyone. I cannot touch every life. I must touch whom I can, and hope that they, in turn will help others, and that the way of things in this world will change. But I cannot take responsibility for all." She speaks of this city, this world away from her home, as if it were so completely alien, at this moment. Indelicato gives a wry little smile. "I guess I'm preachin' to the choir, then." He picks up one of the new files and opens it. He takes out a photo of the girl's smashed head laid out on a clinical grey metal table. A metal bar with incomprehnsible numbers on it extends into the view, hovering near a yellow bird tattoo across her left cheek. "That was put on in the last month." he says, tappin the tattoo with his pen. "It might be a gang sign, or something similar. If you see anyone else with it, let us know. It might give us a clue to the whereabouts of other runaways." He lets Diana look at it as long as she wants, almost but not quite self-consciously. Diana eyes the phorograph closely, making a mental picture, and commiting it to memory. She nods to you finally, "I will. I certainly will. Were there any other clues? Any other way that I can help? The child's family, perhaps?" She feels somewhat helpless, as if she arrived far too late, and she does not enjoy the sensation. It is almost as if she is requesting penance. Indelicato shakes his head a little. "No. You and I know you aren't responsible, but the family...well, we have people to handle it. Her name, as far as we can tell, is Sarah Michaels, at least that's what we're working from. She ran away from home two ye ars ago. And tonight she jumped off a building. That's more or less all we've got. No drugs involved. No sign of a struggle, and anyway, an officer witnessed the jump. I don't think there are really any other...clues...to be found." He looks down at the photograph. "In suicides, all you get to do is pick up the pieces and move on." He put the photograph away and closes the file. Without thinking, seemingly, he puts it on the stack of the other closed files. Number six. She relaxes again in her chair, nodding again, and knowing that what you say is true. It is done. She must move on. But Diana still is unsure how she can simply forget Sarah Michaels. And so she waits for a moment, looking at the pile as you add the sixth folder, and then simply staring at it. She rises, even though she isn't sure that she is ready to leave, and continues looking to the folders, "I think that I will go and spend some time in prayer, and then retire for the evening." She looks to you, and says simply, "Thank you, Edward." Indelicato nods. "Sure thing, uh, Diana." He smiles amiably. "Don't work too hard." As if aware of the irony of his statement, considering the stacks of paper on his desk, he just smiles again and unabashedly watches her go. Diana turns, her hands oddly half-clenched as she does so, fingers rubbing her palms in an unusual nervous gesture. She walks to the door with her same purposeful stride, ignoring the new round of stares and whispers, and slipping into the air before the door even closes behind her.