Date: 11 June 2004.

Nicodemus is sitting out on the hood of a squad car, solo, by the recently burned down building in a burb on the west edge of town. Every now and then his radio chirps. Teenagers attempt to be scarce and look innocent. A couple young children gawk from the safety of their front doors, faces pressed up against and smudging the glass.

A green, somewhat shabby Geo Metro pulls up a little further down the street, and parks. The door opens and Dirk steps out. He's wearing his usual tie, trench-coat, and bleak expression. After casting about for a moment he spots the cop and strolls over. "Sorry about the phone tag," he says upon arriving, "I haven't secured a secretary yet." He stops in front of the car. "How can I help you, Officer?"

Nicodemus
You see a thin and wiry young man in his early twenties--and a bit on the short side at about 5'4" in height. His black hair is cropped short in a sort of Chinese-like crewcut hairstyle, despite his not being Chinese in the least. Nope, he's just your average "melting pot" Caucasian-American.

He's currently wearing the dark blue uniform of the St. Clair police. His badge declares that he is "Officer Dalton." He's also sporting a standard issue 9mm Beretta pistol facing backwards on his left hip, a can of pepper mace and a taser on his right hip. Lethal. Non-lethal. A radio/scanner is clipped on his shoulder. No kevlar today, though.

Around his neck are two thin silver necklace chains. Any ornaments are hidden beneath his shirt. A faint hint of fine incence lingers quietly about his immediate vicinity, like a cologne almost.

Nicodemus briefly consults a clipboard and slides off the hood of the car. Clipboard in one hand, he tucks the pen behind an ear and offers his free hand to shake. "Mr. Dirk Dawson, I presume?"

Dirk takes the hand and shakes it with a firm grip. "In the flesh." His face wasn't designed to smile easily, but when it does it seems worth the effort. He lets go and looks over toward the house. "So...is this a follow-up interview?"

Nicodemus' grip isn't quite so firm, but bodily warmth radiates rapidly from his hand. "Just a few follow-up questions, really," he says as he retrieves his pen from behind an ear and clicks it to the ready-to-write position. He looks at the clipboard for a moment, then just asks, "Could you relate what you saw to the best of your ability?"

Dirk stares at him for a second, then nods. When he answers it's in the clipped, steady tone of a professional. "One week ago I was contacted by a client to conduct surveillance on the house of one Michael Houseman. Said client desired me to accumulate evidance proving Mr. Houseman's involvement in drug dealing. I began surveillance four days ago." He pauses and glances side-long at Nicodemus, then continues in a slightly more personal tone: "This guy and his buddy, 'Skeever'...complete amateurs. Burned-out aging hippies who probably never intended to become as involved in dealing as they did. Long story short, I accumulated more than enough evidence, which I subsequently turned over to the police following the...incident on the 9th -- as my client had contracted me to do." He turns and faces the Officer with an open expression. "Are there any further questions relating to those facts, or should I continue with what happened on the 9th?"

Nicodemus jots down a few notes as you're speaking, but not many. "I'm more concerned about the particulars surrounding the 9th."

"The forth day of surveillance. I didn't really need it, but the client wanted a slam-dunk. So there I was when all hell broke loose a little after seven. Crashes, shouts, heavy furniture falling. I got out of the car, drew my weapon, and headed for the door -- Skeever nearly bowled me over on the way out shouting..." Dirk squints, thinking back. "...'It's rabid. Dial 911.'" He refocuses on the cop. "Which I did." He changes gears suddenly. "Hey, have they picked him up yet?"

Nicodemus jots a few more notes. Nothing major. "There's an APB out for both of them, and I'm doing double duty interviewing you while checking on their cars, which are still here." He nods towards a pair of vehicles not too far off. Obviously he's not concerned about being subtle about his surveillance in the least, or the surveillance is secondary, or he's a total moron. "And then you called animal control," he surmises, obviously having read something of the case on his own. "Did you notice an animal on or about the premises?"

Dirk shakes his head confidently. "No. Only the circumstantial evidence of the bodies." He frowns and looks down for several seconds, before continuing in a lower tone. "Someone had turned Houseman's place into a donor clinic. At least three bodies in the living room, maybe more. All dismembered." Another pause, this one even longer. He continues to stare at the ground. "And the dame--um, girl."

Nicodemus asks, "Did you notice any large dogs roaming the area either before or after the incident? We've had a number of calls about large dogs in the city, generally the poorer south side, that have attacked people. We suspect they're rabid, possibly a pack of rabid dogs, even." He clicks his pen frequently as he talks, then asks another question. "Clinical-like dismemberment, as in with scalpels and saws? Or more like a wild animal attack?"

Dirk twitches his head, throwing off his growing distraction. He looks up and regards Nicodemus with his professional sheild firmly in place. "I saw a few dogs being walked. None bigger than medium size. No others, and very few barks at night. As for the corpses..." He looks at the cop curiously, but without suspicion. "...well I told the questioning detectives in detail. But if you want me to go over it again..." He trails off and glances towards the house. "...it looked like a special effects demo for Cujo."

Nicodemus doesn't bother making any marks. He looks at you scrutinizingly. "Are you okay? Not having any.... issues over what you saw? There's state-funded counseling if you would like to talk to a professional." He sizes you up a second time, then adds, "Professionals in the 'straight out of college and paying off their government loans' sense, at least."

Dirk gives Nicodemus a disbelieving look -- possibly with an edge of anger. "Did you read the report, Officer? /Three/ dismembered bodies. A woman covered in blood." He jabs a finger towards the house. "Some real bad shit went down in there. I know veteran cops who would hesitate before crossing that threshold." He continues in a matter-of-fact tone that's reflected in his eyes. "I'm having no trouble 'handling' it...but I have a fucking heart, too." He turns away, shaking his head. "Or are multiple homicides with extreme mutilation that common in St. Claire?"

Nicodemus purses his lips and lets you get it out. "Welcome to St. Claire." It's not heartlessness, he's just apparently seen it several times before. "Lock your doors at night."

Dirk turns at that, his expression showing true puzzlement. Something else as well (in the eyes, mostly): /curiosity/. "Really?" He pauses, pursing his lips. "Is it really like that here?" He looks back at the house, obviously seeing it as a symbol now. "Red Harvest..."

Nicodemus shrugs, "It's rough in every town if you look in the right--or wrong--places. I feel for them, honestly," the young cop says, actually almost looking as if your earlier words might have even wounded him. "It's just that mourning them doesn't help find who...." The radio cuts in with, "All west-side units. All west-side units. Shots fired. Officer needs assistance at First American at South and Mendenhall. Robbery in progress. Possible hostage situation. Repeat...." Nicodemus swears under his breath. "Thanks for your time," he says as he runs to the driver's side of the car.

Dirk watches Nicodemus go, but he seems distracted by the radio call -- his eyes are practically blazing with that curiosity now. "Call me if you need me." He manages to say in a loud tone. He watches the car roar away with a somber expression. Then, to himself: "Red Harvest."