Chapter Text
‘November 10, 1947, 11:47 hours.
Subject: Homicide at 15 Mark’s Avenue, Patrick’s Corner shop.
Preliminary Report by Detective Jackson Overland.’
The young detective let out a sigh before cracking his knuckles and continuing his report. His eyes flickered between the typewriter and the several papers and newly developed photos spread across his desk, pinpointing the necessary details from the loosely gathered piles - an organised mess, as he liked to call it.
‘The station received a call on November 9, 1947, at 17:34 hours from Mr. Daryl, reporting the sound of several gunshots fired below his apartment at 15 Mark’s Avenue, Unit 2, second floor. Upon arrival at 17:46 hours, the windows had been partially shattered with bricks, providing an entrance for the-‘
A white mug disrupted his field of vision.
“Here. It’s only noon, and you already look like you’re about to keel over.”
Jack smiled as he took the mug from his colleague’s hand. “Thank you, Prim. Just trying to get this report done while everything’s still fresh in my mind,” he said, taking a big whiff of the coffee and closing his eyes with a satisfied hum.
It was absolutely, reliably unremarkable. Burnt, black, basic machine-made stuff that tasted more like iron than anything else. It smelled like work.
Prim leaned over Jack’s chair, peering above his brown hair. “The homicide on Mark’s Avenue?” she asked, waiting for a nod. “I had a summer job in that kiosk when I was a teen.”
“Really? I’ve never been there myself until this morning. The owner seemed quite nice. Very down to earth. He definitely didn’t expect a guy to get shot in his shop just before closing.”
“Mhm, he is. I’m glad he’s okay - he taught me a lot, beyond stacking groceries.” Prim mused, gazing past Jack. She shook off the memory as they continued. “Anyway, don’t let me distract you. I’m sure Captain Kozmotis will have my ass if I hang around for too long. Will you join me at lunch?”
“Or mine,” Jack huffed, setting his mug aside. “He wants this report done before two o’clock, so I’ll be eating at my desk.” Reports were never Jack’s favourite part of the job, though he took a quiet pride in doing them well. However, out in the field was where he truly excelled - seeing what others missed and piecing together clues that were all but invisible.
“I’ll be sure to think of you while I sit in our cramped, depressing, grey kitchen, enjoying another fine cup of scalding tar.” She patted his back twice before returning to her desk in the opposite room.
Jack huffed. Perhaps the kitchen wasn’t the most inspiring place to dine, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about crumbs on her typewriter or stains on her files while eating in that poorly ventilated room.
He absentmindedly brushed away a few crumbs from yesterday’s lunch.
Jack’s desk sat in a fairly spacious room with dusty green walls and dark wooden floors, closest to the window overlooking the parking lot. Two other detectives shared the space with him, both highly skilled and specialised in very different areas.
The first was Detective William Mannie, an older man in his fifties who, at times, was more spry than Jack - a feat Jack found equal parts impressive and mildly terrifying.
Mannie specialised in forensics. While not an entirely new field, he had partnered with a pioneering woman in the discipline to push its boundaries. Jack understood little about the science himself, but Captain Kozmotis believed in Mannie’s ability to continue the development of this new way of handling and filing evidence. He granted Mannie both the time and the funding to pursue it - provided he continued contributing to his already demanding caseload.
The second Detective, Peter Coakley, was only a few years older than Jack and specialised in what Jack would bluntly categorise as ‘grisly’. Peter was a loyal, hard-edged detective whose methods were - for lack of a better word - direct. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but they respected each other’s craft and the consistency of their results.
It was nearing his deadline when Jack, mid-bite of his sandwich, heard a frustrated groan from the room next door. “Again?!” someone shouted, followed by the unmistakable sound of a stapler crashing to the floor.
Jack laughed. “Frustrating case?” he called out.
An officer, red-faced and dangerously over-caffeinated, poked his head through the doorframe. “You tell me! We’ve been trying to catch this guy for years, and my squad keeps fucking missing him!”
A quiet, “Sorry, sir,” sounded from behind him, earning a glare sharp enough to wound.
“You’re still dealing with the rabbit dude?” Jack asked, trying not to grin.
“Lepus. Yes. He slips through our hands every single fucking time. It’s infuriating.”
“Isn’t he just-“ Jack immediately regretted that phrasing. “I mean, he’s a highly skilled shoplifter…”
“He’s a fucking menace, is what he is.” The officer snapped. “No fingerprints. No clear entry or exit. No obvious offence. But he’s always present at every single crime scene, asking ‘How’s it going, officer?’ like we’re pals.”
“He could be a nosy reporter,” Jack offered, and instantly regretted that too, as the officer’s glare turned murderous.
“You don’t think we’ve tried looking into that? No one knows him. He’s not on any public records that we’re aware of - my squad’s starting to think he’s a freaking hallucination, or a ghost haunting us for our unsolved cases.”
“An old police officer coming back to haunt newly trained cops over unfinished jobs? You know, I’d write that down as plausible.” Jack said with a grin.
“Hah, hah,” the officer deadpanned, pointing a finger at Jack before returning to his frustrating case.
Jack chuckled and shook his head as he turned back to his work. He'd heard of this ‘Lepus’ before, though most of his colleagues simply called him ‘Rabbit’ or ‘Hare,’ since those were the only other ‘names’ he ever gave in place of an actual identity.
From what Jack knew, Lepus was supposedly a small-time criminal who stole from department stores - rope, gasoline, crates, building materials, and the like. Sometimes he’d turn up days after a grocery store had been robbed, casually wandering around the scene and asking if the case was “looking any brighter.” He’d even been brought in for questioning several times, but always walked out with a clean record and a rock-solid alibi.
If anything, Jack considered him more of a nuisance than a real threat - someone who seemed to treat being in the wrong place at the right time (or the other way around) as a sport just to toy with the police. And to be fair, he had to give the man some credit: he was bloody good at it.
Jack was simply thankful he didn’t have to deal with those cases. It sounded like pulling teeth.
Jack finished his sandwich and put the final touches on his report before filing the papers into their folder, clipping in the relevant photos, and stamping the case closed with the department seal. File in hand, he headed for the Captain’s office at the far end of the room.
Three knocks and a rigid “Enter” allowed Jack to step inside.
“Hello, Captain. I’ve finished the file for Mark’s Avenue - only two minutes to spare!” he grinned, sliding it onto the pristinely organised desk.
The Captain barely raised his head. “Very good, Detective. That’ll be all.”
It was accompanied by nothing more than a minuscule nod - practically jubilant praise coming from that man. Jack figured that everything about him was so perfectly ordered and energy-efficient that a rogue smile would have been considered a waste of resources.
“I don’t get a gold star or a lollipop for my visit?”
Captain Kozmotis lifted a single, unamused brow. “You want a lollipop for doing your job?”
Jack chuckled in response, offering a mock salute. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you off this time, but for the record, I like raspberry.”
He was just about to touch the door handle when the Captain cleared his throat. “Actually, Detective, I have something for you. A job I’d like you to take on.”
“Yeah? Sounds exciting,” Jack said, turning back to stand in front of the desk.
“‘Exciting’ is perhaps not the word I’d use to describe this. I know you just overheard Officer Roy venting his frustrations about his ‘Lepus Case’”
“Yes, sir. It sounded… less than ideal.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Kozmotis scoffed. “I want you to take the case.”
What.
“…I’m sorry?”
“It should be easy enough. It’s been brought up again and again, and I’m frankly tired of seeing that man’s name on my desk. Hearing your chatter gave me an idea - why not assign my best detective to the case and be done with it?”
Kozmotis gave an all too pleased smile. It dropped within an instant. “I want you to find out who’s behind those robberies and what this ‘Lepus’s' involvement is - if there even is any - and get that damn case out of my sight. You have until the end of the month.”
Jack sputtered, “I- With all due respect, sir, I think I have more important cases on my plate than tracking down a man who’s supposedly just a shoplifter.”
“Too easy, right? Should be no problem to solve it before the end of the month, then.” Kozmotis’s lips curled, clearly pleased with himself.
“Captain, is it not possible to pass it on to a different squad instead?” Jack asked, doing his best to keep his growing frustration in check.
“Been there, done that. Didn’t work.”
“What about a different unit, then-?”
“Detective Jackson Overland!” Kozmotis raised his voice just slightly to cut him off, earning a wince from Jack.
God, why the full name?
“You are my most capable detective,” he continued. “At twenty-five, you’ve already closed more cases than anyone else on my staff. I know what you’re capable of - I’m not discrediting your abilities. So handle this one. I’m tired of listening to my officers complain.”
“Right. Understood. Sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.”
The Captain gave a brief nod. “Speak with Officer Roy. He’ll tell you everything you need to know and give you the files. Good luck - there’s a lot to go through.”
Jack excused himself and strode out, each rigid step barely containing his simmering anger.
He had barely made it out of the Captain’s office when a smug voice chimed in from his right.
“Got the Rabbit case?” Peter sneered from his desk, his long legs propped up on the dark wood. “Don’t. I dare you.” Jack jabbed a stern finger at him. Peter immediately mimed zipping his lips, then lifted his hands in exaggerated innocence. Fucking wanker.
The whole thing was absurd. Jack had better things to do than clean up after sloppy police work. He’d have this case wrapped up within a week - he refused to waste a second longer than that.