Clashing Obsessions

Chapter 22 - Agent Cassanova

My head hurts.

And I'm tired.

And I don't want to get out of bed.

And I definitely don't want to go to work.

But, then again, I don't want to not go, either. I've been stuck at home for two weeks, even though I passed my mandatory psych evaluation on day 4. I've mostly just been lying in bed in a state of emotional nothingness, reassuring Becca that I was just "recharging", when really, I felt like shit. Not that today should be much better. I'm allowed back at work, but I've been reassigned to a different case.

No more xCodebreaker01.

I hear voices downstairs, and force myself to roll out of bed. I should just make the best of this, right? At least I get a new case. At least I'm not stuck here any longer. Activating my closet holo, I scroll through outfit options, trying to find a suitable look that will make me appear professional and ready to get back on the job.

"She's still in bed?" Grey's voice asks from downstairs, and I hear a sigh in response.

"I know she loves her job, but she's not ready. You saw what happened at work only a few weeks ago, she passed out, for God's sake!"

"'Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fall.' Confucius said that. She'll be fine," my partner says, in a brighter-than-usual tone. Uh oh. The captain's assistant had warned me Grey had started reading philosophy. Today is going to be hell. But, nevertheless, hell is better than the purgatory I've been living in for the past two weeks.

"She just needs a few more days off—" Becca starts to say, and I rush out of my room.

"No. No, no! I'm fine!" I shout, almost falling down the stairs as I fumble with my UNBI badge, clipping it to the pocket of my grey dress pants. "I'm ready to go back! Don't need any more time off, babe. Totally fine."

* * *

As the UNBI hovercar descends, I unroll my window, listening to the chatter of the officers at the crime scene below. It was a long, boring ride to the site — almost two hours, even with the car being the newest model with an impressive top speed — and I've already read the case briefing at least 4 times. A body was found at the bottom of the Grote Vijver, a large pond in Amsterdam. Cause of death was a gunshot to the front of the head, point blank, and marks on the victim's wrists suggest his hands were tied behind his back. Forensics found a tattoo that looks to be a symbol of the Caspero crime family.

The car lands and shuts off, and Grey and I climb out.

"Updates?" I ask immediately, walking toward the group of local police officers and CSAs. The UNBI team hasn't arrived yet, so I talk to the Amsterdam sheriff. "Have you ID'd the body?"

"Not yet, ma'am," he responds, "still waiting on forensics for a DNA scan,"

"What about ballistics on the weapon?"

"That's where it gets interesting. Peterson!" He calls one of the CSAs, who approaches nervously. "This is Agent Cassanova from the UNBI." The sheriff introduces me, then instructs Peterson, "Tell her what you told me."

"We haven't found the murder weapon, but from the bullet wound, it would seem to be, quite, uh, unusual."

"Well? What is it?"

"Appears to be from a Glock 17, ma'am,"

I turn to Grey, confused. "Those guns haven't been commonplace since the early 21st century,"

"Some people collect old weapons," he suggests.

"But those are showpieces. Not something you'd actually use." What kind of person uses a hundred-year-old weapon for a basic, execution-style murder?