Chapter Text
RK900’s sensors brought him out of stasis at 7:30. Gavin had yet to arrive, however his shift didn’t start until 8:00. RK900 stepped out of the terminal, and took a look around the bullpen. The frosted glass kept the worst of the morning glare out of the office, the cleaners had been through during the night so the floors were clean. There were only a few detectives around, and Captain Fowler was in his office. RK900 walked to his desk, and sat down to wait. Gavin didn’t like his customary morning coffee cold, and so RK900 typically waited to make it until the detective arrived.
At 7:49 Connor arrived with Lieutenant Hank Anderson. They were in a heated debate about a television show they both enjoyed watching, arguing over whether the first or third season was the best. Connor stopped the debate as they passed by RK900. “Good morning, Nines.”
“Good morning, Connor,” RK900 replied. “Good morning, Hank.”
Hank gave him a nod, and raised his travel mug. Occasionally, Hank would bring a coffee from home, and on those mornings, he seemed to be in a better mood. Considering how many times Hank referred to the precinct’s coffee as ‘sludge’ it was probably that his preferred brand tasted better. The Lieutenant frowned at a folder on his desk, and immediately sat down and got to work. Connor following his partner’s lead took his seat at his own desk.
RK900 continued to wait. By 7:50, he became- - -
[INSTABILITY DETECTED]
[INSTABILITY PATCHED]
7:55
7:56
7:57
RK900 stared at the entrance. Gavin hated people being late. As long as RK900 had known him, he’d never been later than ten minutes early.
7:58
7:59
He watched the last seconds tick away, and then turned to Connor and Hank. “Gavin is late.”
Hank glanced at the time on his computer screen, then turned to him. “It’s eight o’clock. He’s not that late.”
“He’s always early.” RK900 shifted his gaze to Connor. “He is late.”
“Perhaps he forgot to set his alarm, or got stuck in rush hour traffic,” Connor suggested with a casual shrug of his shoulders that made him appear oh-so human.
RK900’s eyes narrowed, he- - -
[INSTABILITY DETECTED]
[INSTABILITY PATCHED]
The tension around his eyes softened back to his usual mask of indifference. “He is late.”
“By one minute,” Hank said, typing at his computer. “Relax.”
RK900 faced his computer, but shut his eyes. He opened his communications program, brought up Gavin’s information, and called his personal phone number. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Eventually, he heard a slight click, a second of static before; ‘leave a message, I’ll get back to you if I feel like it.’ RK900 hung up, and tried the work number instead. The phone rang four times before the voice-mail picked up; ‘This is Detective Gavin Reed, please leave your name, number, and a short message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’ He hung up without leaving a message.
He turned back to Connor, and Hank. “Gavin didn’t answer either of his phones.”
Hank sighed. “It’s 8:03.”
“Something is wrong,” RK900 insisted.
“You could go, and check his apartment,” Connor suggested slyly.
“My orders were to stay in stasis, and await his arrival, I cannot leave the precinct,” RK900 replied.
Hank scrubbed his hands over his face. “I once came in two hours late because my dog ran off.”
“Gavin doesn’t have a dog. He’s afraid of dogs.” RK900 had half a dozen instabilities, and patches pop-up in the corner of his vision. “You know this.”
“That isn’t the point,” Hank replied. “Things happen. Humans are unpredictable.”
Connor leaned in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “If Gavin doesn’t arrive by 8:10, Hank and I will check his apartment, okay?”
RK900 - - -
[INSTABILITY DETECTED]
[INSTABILITY PATCHED]
“That will have to be adequate,” RK900 replied.
Hank snorted. “That’s sass if I’ve ever heard it.”
RK900 did nothing but focus on the time, watching milliseconds tick away. If he were human, perhaps he would fidget, like Gavin did with the little green cube that sat in the top drawer of his desk. If he had been given orders to work, then perhaps he could be productive. Instead, he sat perfectly still, staring at the entrance.
The door to the Captain’s office opened, RK900 only turned when the man shouted his designation. “RK900, where the hell is your partner?”
“I don’t know,” RK900 replied. “His cell-phones are both pinging off towers near his registered address. He is not answering either.”
Fowler cursed. “Send his ass in here when he arrives.”
RK900 stared at Connor as the last seconds ticked away. “It is eight-ten, and Gavin is not here.”
Connor was already standing though. “I could check on my own, Hank. I’m sure Gavin simply overslept.”
“Nah, I’m hungry,” Hank said. “I’ll grab a bite while we are out.”
Connor frowned. “I asked you twice if you wanted me to make you breakfast.”
“You don’t have to make my breakfast, Connor. I’m a full grown man, perfectly capable of making my own food.”
“Capable, yes. Willing to do it, clearly not.”
“Your conversation is unrelated to the situation at hand,” RK900 said.
“Right, sorry,” Connor gave him a slight nod. “We’ll be back soon. Gavin’s fine. You’ll see.”
RK900 watched the two leave, then stared at Gavin’s empty seat.
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^
:::
Connor directed Hank to the address listed in Gavin’s personnel file, and the lieutenant parked on the street in front of the building. Hank stared at the building with a frown, then turned to Connor. “Are you sure this is the right address?”
“Yes.” Connor looked at the graffiti tags on the front. The door to the lobby had been smashed and the glass replaced by plywood. Building maintenance clearly didn’t happen very frequently. A detective’s salary should be able to afford much nicer accommodations. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car. They crossed the street, and glass crunched under Connor’s shoes as he pulled open the door. There was a panel to the side with residents first initial, and surname- to call them to be let in.
Hank gave a testing pull to the second door, and shook his head. “Locked. Looks like it wasn’t broken into, just assholes breaking shit.”
Connor pressed the buzzer for G.REED. Couldn’t help the little smirk seeing the man’s name presented in such a way. When the man didn’t answer, he held down the buzzer for a full minute. Still nothing. “Maybe it doesn’t work. This place isn’t very well kept.” His eyes trailed down the list pausing on ‘OFFICE.’ He pressed the buzzer for that instead. A call connected.
“We have no vacancies,” a man with a gruff voice said.
“Detroit police, we need you to open the door,” Connor said.
“Bullshit,” the man replied, the call ending with a click.
Hank started banging on the inner glass door, staring at the office until the man came out. Hank pressed his badge against the glass. “Let us in.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he pulled the handle. “Sorry. You wouldn’t believe the delinquents we get coming to this building.”
“One of our co-workers lives here,” Hank said. “He isn’t answering.”
“Ah, yeah, the one with the scar on his nose, right?”
“Yes, Detective Reed.”
“Sure, go on up,” the man said, unbothered. “You know which apartment?”
“Yes.” Connor nodded. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Yeah, sure,” the man turned back and returned to the office.
In the elevator to the fourth floor, Hank leaned against the wall. “Real hard worker, that guy,” he said with sarcasm.
Connor gave a slight frown, agreeing.
The elevator jolted a little as it came to a stop making Hank grab the railing. “What a piece of shit,” he said as the door opened. “I’m taking the stairs down. Which apartment?”
“Four-zero-nine,” Connor replied. There were newspapers in front of apartments 402, and 405. A white bag hung on the doorknob of room 408. At 409, Connor raised his fist, and knocked. “Gavin, open up!” He banged on the door again, and then pressed his ear against the door. He increased his audio sensitivity to his left ear, but heard nothing. “Is it possible he stayed the night elsewhere?”
“I suppose,” Hank said with a shrug. “But RK900 said his phones were here.”
Connor took a quick moment to lock in on number, triangulating from the cell towers. “There is a good chance they are inside.”
The door to 408 opened, and a woman poked her head out to grab the bag, only to freeze when she spotted them. Her expression soured and she stepped out with a slight limp, cane in hand. Her curly blonde hair was lightly streaked with grey and pulled into a ponytail exposing the hearing aid in her left ear. Connor scanned her.
[EVA KAVANAUGH> DOB: AUGUST 1, 1985> NO CRIMINAL RECORD]
“Who the hell are you?” Eva asked, glaring.
“Relax,” Hank said, shifting his coat aside to show her the badge on his belt. “We’re cops. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson, this is Detective Connor. We work with Gavin. He didn’t show up on time today, and isn’t answering his phone, or his door. Have you seen him?”
Eva frowned at that. “No. But he came home last night.”
“If you didn’t see him, how can you be certain?” Connor asked.
Eva pointed at the bag on her door handle. “I had knee surgery two weeks ago. It’s a real bitch to get around. Gavin offered to pick up anything I needed, so I text him a list, and if he comes home late, he just leaves the bag on my door. I checked the door before I went to bed last night, that was around ten.”
Connor scanned the door. The locks were electronic, either opened by a phone app, or by a selected password. “The technology of these locks are old, and easily hacked,” Connor stated.
“Don’t I fucking know it,” Eva said, leaning a little heavier on her cane. “Been telling our landlord that for years. Gavin installed a deadbolt for me, God knows that boy does more in my apartment than that dipshit Robert does.”
Connor frowned. “But he didn’t install one on his own?”
Eva scoffed. “Says he’s got a gun, and nothing to steal.”
“Do you have the code for Gavin’s door?” Hank asked. “It’s not like him to be late.”
Eva nodded, and made her way slowly across the hall. She punched in the seven digits, the three lights turned green, and there was an audible click. She grabbed the handle and pushed it open. “Gavin?”
Hank grabbed her arm gently, and pulled her back. “Get in your apartment.”
“What?” Eva jerked her arm from Hank’s grasp.
“Connor, blood on the floor,” Hank said softly, reaching for his gun. “Please, Ma’am, return to your apartment.”
Instead, she leaned toward Hank to get a look inside. “Shit.”
“Ma’am-”
“Don’t fucking ‘ma’am me.” Still, she shifted back, and returned to her apartment, even if she did leave the door open a bit, still peering out.
Connor nodded at Hank, and the Lieutenant went in first. Connor followed.The only light came from the hallway, black out curtains were drawn- Hank had them too, a ‘must’ for those who occasionally worked night shifts. The blood was minimal, smeared drag marks on the old beige tile. Hank flicked on the overhead light to give them a better view. The living room had a plush over sized chair, a stack of books on the floor, an empty coffee mug balanced on top. The kitchen, off to Connor’s right was small, the sink had a few dishes inside, and a old coffee maker sat on the counter. Connor followed Hank and the blood trail to Gavin’s bedroom. He turned on the light, as there were blackout curtains drawn tight in there too. There was only one side table. The bed was unmade, blankets pooled around the end, one spilling onto the floor, and into the puddle of water, coloured stones, and shards of glass. A betta fish- Champion- laid dead amids the carnage of it’s home.
“Shit,” Hank said. He crouched down, and used his gun to push aside some of the papers that had fallen, underneath was the personal phone, and under the bed was his work phone.
“Hank, please step back. I will attempt to reconstruct what happened,” Connor said.
Hank stood, cursed a bit, and backed away.
Connor took in the room, what had fallen, where it had fallen from, the blood trail, and put together a scene. “Gavin was in bed, the night table housed a pile of papers, the betta’s aquarium, and his cell phones.” He reconstructed a figure in bed of Gavin’s weight, and height. “Gavin is trained in self-defense, he wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. There is no evidence of a fight outside of this room.” Connor frowned. “He was drugged. Something that didn’t act too fast, because there is still signs of struggle in here.”
“Chloroform?” Hank guessed. “It’s not as fast acting as it is on TV.”
“I have no way of telling, it is a good guess though. If they held a rag soaked in in chloroform over his mouth, he would have struggled.” He could picture it. Gavin’s hands shooting to his mouth, trying to clear his airways, fingernails digging into his attacker’s flesh. Kicking violently trying to get away- that explained the blankets. If that didn’t work- “He threw his weight against his attacker.” He pointed to the wall where there was a slight dent in the drywall. “He kept kicking, knocking over the fish tank, papers, phones. He cut his feet on the glass in the struggle. When he lost consciousness, he was then dragged out of the room, and right out the door.”
“Fucking hell,” Hank shook his head, and looked at the ceiling. “As much as I really don’t want to ask, are you sure it’s Gavin’s blood?”
Connor crouched, pressed his fingers into some of the nearly dried blood, and brought it to his tongue. His regulator stuttered. “Yes.”
“Fuck! Call it in, then do another sweep of this place,” Hank said. “I’ll start with the neighbours.”