Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any way. No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United States copyright law. I just want fair warning and the oppertunity to squeel with delight.
Notes: This story is majorly and beyond all excuses graphic in some places. Please do not read this if violence and rape offend you, which they should. Another thing, I don't have it in for Jean or Xavier, but in the police world, profilers don't get that much respect.
Dedicated to Whitewolf, Araignee, Edana_Ni_Emer, Sparks, Yona and Hyjnx.

Blood and Bone
by K-Nice

Chapter 3

"Lebeau, where have you been?" Summers was out of his office and on a rampage. Jean had moved from the desk and was now pacing with an air of contemplation. Scott was quite obviously worried about what that meant.

"ME's. Got the pics. Threw me for a bit." Remy handed the envelope to his superior, since handing them to right to his partner would not be the best way to please the Lieutenant.

Summers hesitated before opening the seal. "What do you mean?"

"It was nothing. I thought I saw something but it wasn't really there." Moving away before he would have to explain with greater attention to detail and logic, Lebeau angled his way toward Dr. Summers. He narrowly evaded the rather long-winded Detective Wilson, who was spinning a tale about his days as a S.E.A.L. The guy had more never-ending stories than Dayspring and less self-restraint.

Leaning against the window at one end of Dr. Summers' circuit, Remy let raw emotion simmer beneath his words. "ME said she was raped first, then mutilated. Don't seem to fit that profile you gave us on Carp."

The psychologist looked away. "I stand by my work. The perps no rapist. Something else must have intervened."

"Like what? Did she "ask for it?" "

"NO! That's not what I meant. We got a call from the ME's office just after you left there, something about you not signing for the pictures." She waved her hand to indicate how important she thought that was. "I got Dr. Reyes to summarize her findings."

"So, what do you think intervened?" LeBeau's head was pounding in earnest. Checking his watch, it was well past breakfast and nearly time for lunch. Levering himself from his lean, he wandered over the break area, giving the doctor a chance to gather her thoughts.

He was half-way through a luke-warm cup of stale coffee when she finally spoke up. "I think we have two different preps here."

"So it's not Carpenter, but someone else?" A half eaten jelly donut that was nearly fresh joined the swill in his stomach and the pain in his brain began to subside.

"No, I definitely think Carpenter was involved, but he didn't rape the victim. Someone else must have." Summers sounded more sure then she felt, but it was the best theory she could envision without admitting they had been on the wrong track all along. Eight months was a long time to waste on a case like this when there were that many lives lost and more already.

"That doesn't explain what the spikes meant." Detective Munroe slipped in from behind Lebeau, mug of tea in hand.

Lebeau glanced at her and continued the thread. "Her name is a mystery. Carpenter didn't know her, he didn't chose her or stalk her."

"That's what the scripture meant--not an escalation, an explanation." Dr. Summers looked vindicated, the Lieutenant was almost apologetic as he took her into his office.

Left in the relative aloneness of the bustling office, the detectives fit their minds around the new supposition. "Fine. We have two perps. That doesn't get us any closer to finding either one of them."

"Yes it does." Munroe set her mug down and marched down the aisle to the coat rack. "We know the profile is still valid. "

"White male, mid thirties to late forties, religiously motivated, little or no prior criminal record, possible history of mental aberration, possible past involving prostitutes. So, should we arrest every two bit nut and storefront preacher in the city or what?" Helping her into her coat, Remy ducked when she swatted at him.

"No. But we should round up some of the locals for interviews. Everyone claimed not to have heard anything when the beats questioned them, but who knows what a bad night's sleep and a troubled conscience might net us."

"Even better, we can find out how Carpenter managed to stumble over that victim. He has to have a reason for being in that neighborhood that night." Lebeau slowed at the elevator. He exchanged a look with Munroe to say he'd be right back and rushed to his desk. Standing hunched over the keyboard, he pecked until he had the appropriate search started in ViCAP.

Munroe wandered back in time see the screen scroll down the locations of the other 12 murders. "Has he ever killed in that area before?"

A glitter in his eye, Lebeau smirked, "Nope, all are a least ten blocks away." They were on the move again, galvanized by this newest wrinkle. "Maybe he didn't even kill her." With that they were silent in the elevator. Too much excitement led to slip-ups and they couldn't afford to ruin things with an ill-timed comment now that they were so close.

In the main parking lot, Munroe walked immediately to her car, a standard issue Taurus. It was common knowledge on the force that she hated driving, but even-so, they always took fair turns during business hours. Only when they were buckled in and backing up did they return to their conversation.

"Reyes said there were two sets of wounds on the clothes and the body." Lebeau already had his cellphone out, dialing the ME's office.

"We have the rapist's semen, we can at least get DNA testing done." Munroe kept a grip on the steering wheel and on herself, but she couldn't stop her breaths from growing fast and shallow. Tight spaces were always troublesome to her, one of the reasons she quit modeling. Jet-setting across the world was no fun when it could lay you up in a psych ward for days on end with terrifying visions of your parents' death.

"But that only helps us if we have a suspect to test against." Lebeau protested as he navigated the automated message system in hopes that ME's like detectives, didn't eat on a regular schedule. When Munroe risked her sanity to dart a glance in his direction, he made a placating gestured that implied more than he really intended to do. "I'll mention it. Hello, can I speak to Dr. Reyes?"

Munroe focused on the road and what she could hear of the one sided conversation.

"It's your good friend, Detective Feo. Question on the same vic as this morning--what was the cause of death?"

"Yes, I know she bled a lot, but is it possible that--"

"So as far as you know it's a tie between the blood loss and the broken neck?"

"Fine, if you think those tests will give a definite ... fine, a more definite answer, then go ahead and do them, I'll call back later." A look from his partner prompted him to add, "And can you prep a DNA analysis on the semen--"

"Already! So?"

"White male is the best you can do? Do you have something that doesn't leave me as a viable suspect?"

"Oh, but I thought you said there were no definites in this kind of thing?" Stretching his hand out, he kept the phone and the curses flying from it away from his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, you too, petite. Don't forget, I'm gonna call back. "

The car came to an appropriate stop in front of the local precinct house just as the conversation ended. Munroe checked to see everything was in its proper place instead of running blindly for the wide open sidewalk. They mounted the steps shoulder to shoulder, their long coats billowing behind them in the afternoon wind.

Polite comments got them through the gauntlet of officers that stood between them and the dynamic duo of Bishop and Japheth. Walking in, Remy nearly stumbled over a young woman who was so short that he hadn't even seen her soft red hair from his vantage point. "'Scuse me miss." He was surprised when her small frame stood up to his weight but he gently separated himself from her.

"Nae to worra Sir." And then she was gone.

"Officer Bishop, Officer Japheth, we need a word with you." Ororo got right down to business, ignoring her partner as he idly toyed with a carving on Japheth's station. She could already see the pile of neatly stacked reports on Bishop's desk, a signal of his efficiency in the task she had assigned him and his partner.

"Sure thing. We've been conducting the interviews you asked us for Detective Munroe. In fact, that little ... thingy there was brought by the last one." Jepheth was just as eager as he had been the night before, excited to be doing the follow up on what he was convinced was a big case. Their beat was being covered by other cops and the list of questions Munroe had sent was interesting to say the least. This was his chance to really see a real wrong righted, instead of running down punk kids with bad haircuts and baggy fashion sense.

"Oh yeah. Tell us about her." Lebeau narrowed his eyes as he turned the carving over and over in his hands, the repetitive motion causing it blur. His head began to pound as he watched it, half listening as Bishop answered. The headache was a warning some sort, but he ignored the pain. The wood felt familiar as if he had seen it in every waking nightmare of the past several months.

"Witness's name is Rahne Sinclair, religion student from Scotland. She didn't see or hear anything. She was doing some kind of religious service, she said, for an orphan we think." Bishop was outwardly calm, but he didn't like having his routine shattered by some detectives who didn't feel like doing their own street work. He was also apprehensive, almost believing that his partner's assertions about the case to be true.

"Why do you say that?" Munroe leaned forward, not the least bit distracted by partner's fidgeting. She had felt a strange sensation when they past the woman in the hall. She had crackled with earthy energy, the same fire Ororo experienced through her worship of the Goddess.

"She said and I quote, "I did cleansing rites for a girl with no name." What that means is beyond me." Shrugging his shoulders as he scanned his typed copy for errors and tucked it into a file folder, he absently tossed out, "She seemed reluctant to talk about it, kind of agitated, but I suppose we could check on it somehow." Bishop looked up from his transcript to see the two detectives stare at each other in disbelief. It might have been comical, if this wasn't a matter of life and death and crime and punishment.

"She's into woodcraft huh?" Lebeau was almost chuckling at the absurdity of the whole situation. It was positively unreal. Like a cosmic joke in the sitcom of life only there was nothing funny about it. Without hesitation, he turned and walked away. Munroe was right behind him, and by some slight of hand, the folder was now in her hand.

"Yeah? Hey that's our ... thingy!" Japheth rose from his chair in indignation.

Bishop leapt up after him. "Get back here, that's my report!"

Continued in Chapter 4

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