[ Even six years after the fire, in a strangely idyllic and domestic life, Derek has nights where he can't sleep. Usually it's either he curls himself around Stiles and simply listens to the neighborhood around them, until something resembling sleep falls over him, or he gets up and patrols the territory that his pack has had claim on for generations. Since the murders started happening in the outer reaches of the territory, in allied pack ranges, he's opted for the latter.
If something is going to happen in the place his family has protected since they first started living in California, he wants to know about it.
This night, a week after their new arrivals to the neighborhood, patrol results in something less than comforting just before the sun's up. Instead of the usual scents of his pack throughout the nature preserve or crisscrossing over town, there's copper and rot and an unfamiliar wolf. A snarl leaves him, but he bites back the howl and replaces it instead with a call to Stiles-- body in a ditch on the main road to the preserve, get in contact with the sheriff and the pack.
As the sun starts to rise, the alpha makes himself scarce with ease. He has to try and track the scent left behind before the humans-- unaware and in the know alike-- begin to traipse all over the area. Sheriff Stilinski and his men will be there before long, and Stiles not long after if not before them, so he doesn't have much time. He trusts that the pack will be on high alert without much prompting, but he hopes that they know better than to flock on location with the authorities there.
Even as he follows what remains of a well-covered trail through the trees, he can hear the sirens arriving. Instead of focusing on it, however, he focuses on the anger burning under his senses and leaves them to their work. ]
[The local authorities weren't the only ones to arrive on the scene as the sirens died down. Anita had been quick to arm herself and head there the moment she'd heard the call go out over the police scanner. Their plan wasn't perfect, but it should have allowed her to get a close look at the body -- and that was what was most important right now.
During their early stabs at the case, they had been unable to get close to a fresh kill. They'd collected plenty of information from the bodies they had seen, sure, but considering they'd made little to no progress so far, it was worth investigating something a little more immediate. Maybe there were details they were missing with the other bodies.
It wasn't her first time at a murder scene. Not by a long shot, even if you didn't count the number of deaths she's witnessed through hunting alone. There were always too many people at a crime scene, even at this obscene hour. Uniforms, usually a plainclothes detective or two, gawkers, medical examiners, press... it was early enough that only the Sheriff and his men had responded so far.
Good. That made things easier.
She fumbled for her identification as she briskly walked towards the man she could only assume was Sheriff Stilinski, holding it up to give a clear view of it to anyone who might have questioned. Sometimes, the local authorities were glad to have a PI's perspective. Other times, they might have told her to hit the road. She preferred to keep relations friendly with the authorities, something Dean tended to turn his nose up at, but however this worked out, it would get them what they needed. Either the cops let her look at the body, or if they insisted she qualified as a civilian and told her to beat it, Dean could play the part of a suit and put her in her place, then keep the uniforms busy while she went to do a little examining of her own.
Whatever the case, she was getting a good look at that body.
She cleared her throat a little as she approached, offering a tight, reserved smile. Professional. Not happy to be there (who could be happy at a murder scene?), but more than civil.]
Anita Campbell, PI. I heard the call go out. How many bodies?
[ After having finally figured out what was going around in Beacon Hills back when Stiles was still in high school, the sheriff has found himself in a fairly precarious loop. How so much supernatural chaos happens in one community, he's never going to know. But for as long as he's sheriff, John Stilinski is going to do what he can to keep his city safe.
He supposes that's both as an officer of the law and an apparent member of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack, but he's still trying to get used to that, even with his son married to the alpha and attending college. At least now he knows the truth, and can do what he can to ensure that people are kept safe from the unknown. What had been previously unknown to him.
Suddenly having a body in his jurisdiction, in their territory, is disconcerting and worrisome. It's always awful to come on a scene where there's been a death, always hits close to home when he thinks of the loss their families might be enduring, but he steels himself and prepares for the worse.
As Anita clears her throat, he looks up at her from where he's taking notes-- half for himself and his own paperwork, half for his son and the pack-- and offers her his own tight smile. He's wary at the sudden appearance of a PI, but her arrival and name tell him that she's the one Stiles was talking about. ]
John Stilinski, sheriff. [ He's polite and professional in turn, if tired, as he flips his notebook shut and uses it to direct towards where the body's been sectioned off. ] One, Maria Nash. Caucasian female, twenty-six. A local to Beacon Hills, and the first one to be found across the city line.
Last one was found in the preserve-- [ A wide gesture with the pad at the surrounding area, before he slips into an inner breast pocket of his jacket. ] --but was still in the next county over.
[ Derek had said it was testing the boundaries of the surrounding territories, occupied and unoccupied. Which means this was something of a challenge, if he remembers right. ]
[She nods when he gives his name. Stiles' father. She could shake hands and exchange pleasantries later. That made this trickier, though. It helped that they wouldn't be in town long -- not once this was solved. If they were lucky, the sheriff would never see Dean outside of a suit and they'd get away from this clean.
Her eyes narrow slightly as she follows his gesture. She'd seen the last body, too -- they'd gotten a look at it in the morgue. The beast that had made the kill had done a hell of a job. It had almost been unrecognizable.]
Probable cause of death?
[Life would have been so much easier if she'd just had a badge that identified her as a preternatural expert.]
Matches up with the other bodies that've been found in outside counties, yeah. [ He purses his lips a little, obviously displeased with the situation at hand. ] That and the wooded areas are the only similarities, though. As far as we know, there's no correlation between victims, and no pattern.
[ If it really was a werewolf behind all of the murders, John knows they have a veritable army of preternatural experts at their disposal. But the trick of it is that they can't actually catch them. The hunters that call Beacon Hills home can't trap them, and the werewolves are finding it impossible to track them down.
It's getting frustrating, and there are so many lives being lost while they're chasing their own asses, as Stiles has said at least once. John's starting to fear for the community again, the same way he had back when the supernatural started to amp up their visits. ]
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Murder Scene
If something is going to happen in the place his family has protected since they first started living in California, he wants to know about it.
This night, a week after their new arrivals to the neighborhood, patrol results in something less than comforting just before the sun's up. Instead of the usual scents of his pack throughout the nature preserve or crisscrossing over town, there's copper and rot and an unfamiliar wolf. A snarl leaves him, but he bites back the howl and replaces it instead with a call to Stiles-- body in a ditch on the main road to the preserve, get in contact with the sheriff and the pack.
As the sun starts to rise, the alpha makes himself scarce with ease. He has to try and track the scent left behind before the humans-- unaware and in the know alike-- begin to traipse all over the area. Sheriff Stilinski and his men will be there before long, and Stiles not long after if not before them, so he doesn't have much time. He trusts that the pack will be on high alert without much prompting, but he hopes that they know better than to flock on location with the authorities there.
Even as he follows what remains of a well-covered trail through the trees, he can hear the sirens arriving. Instead of focusing on it, however, he focuses on the anger burning under his senses and leaves them to their work. ]
no subject
During their early stabs at the case, they had been unable to get close to a fresh kill. They'd collected plenty of information from the bodies they had seen, sure, but considering they'd made little to no progress so far, it was worth investigating something a little more immediate. Maybe there were details they were missing with the other bodies.
It wasn't her first time at a murder scene. Not by a long shot, even if you didn't count the number of deaths she's witnessed through hunting alone. There were always too many people at a crime scene, even at this obscene hour. Uniforms, usually a plainclothes detective or two, gawkers, medical examiners, press... it was early enough that only the Sheriff and his men had responded so far.
Good. That made things easier.
She fumbled for her identification as she briskly walked towards the man she could only assume was Sheriff Stilinski, holding it up to give a clear view of it to anyone who might have questioned. Sometimes, the local authorities were glad to have a PI's perspective. Other times, they might have told her to hit the road. She preferred to keep relations friendly with the authorities, something Dean tended to turn his nose up at, but however this worked out, it would get them what they needed. Either the cops let her look at the body, or if they insisted she qualified as a civilian and told her to beat it, Dean could play the part of a suit and put her in her place, then keep the uniforms busy while she went to do a little examining of her own.
Whatever the case, she was getting a good look at that body.
She cleared her throat a little as she approached, offering a tight, reserved smile. Professional. Not happy to be there (who could be happy at a murder scene?), but more than civil.]
Anita Campbell, PI. I heard the call go out. How many bodies?
no subject
He supposes that's both as an officer of the law and an apparent member of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack, but he's still trying to get used to that, even with his son married to the alpha and attending college. At least now he knows the truth, and can do what he can to ensure that people are kept safe from the unknown. What had been previously unknown to him.
Suddenly having a body in his jurisdiction, in their territory, is disconcerting and worrisome. It's always awful to come on a scene where there's been a death, always hits close to home when he thinks of the loss their families might be enduring, but he steels himself and prepares for the worse.
As Anita clears her throat, he looks up at her from where he's taking notes-- half for himself and his own paperwork, half for his son and the pack-- and offers her his own tight smile. He's wary at the sudden appearance of a PI, but her arrival and name tell him that she's the one Stiles was talking about. ]
John Stilinski, sheriff. [ He's polite and professional in turn, if tired, as he flips his notebook shut and uses it to direct towards where the body's been sectioned off. ] One, Maria Nash. Caucasian female, twenty-six. A local to Beacon Hills, and the first one to be found across the city line.
Last one was found in the preserve-- [ A wide gesture with the pad at the surrounding area, before he slips into an inner breast pocket of his jacket. ] --but was still in the next county over.
[ Derek had said it was testing the boundaries of the surrounding territories, occupied and unoccupied. Which means this was something of a challenge, if he remembers right. ]
no subject
Her eyes narrow slightly as she follows his gesture. She'd seen the last body, too -- they'd gotten a look at it in the morgue. The beast that had made the kill had done a hell of a job. It had almost been unrecognizable.]
Probable cause of death?
[Life would have been so much easier if she'd just had a badge that identified her as a preternatural expert.]
The same as the previous bodies, I'm assuming.
['Wild dogs.' Right.]
no subject
[ If it really was a werewolf behind all of the murders, John knows they have a veritable army of preternatural experts at their disposal. But the trick of it is that they can't actually catch them. The hunters that call Beacon Hills home can't trap them, and the werewolves are finding it impossible to track them down.
It's getting frustrating, and there are so many lives being lost while they're chasing their own asses, as Stiles has said at least once. John's starting to fear for the community again, the same way he had back when the supernatural started to amp up their visits. ]
no subject
[She was out of her jurisdiction here, she knew, but she would keep gently prodding for information as long as she could get away with it.]
With so many similar deaths in such a short amount of time, don't you think it's safe to assume they're linked?
[She'd been operating under the assumption that they were, anyway.]
If not, that's an awfully big coincidence, even if spread across multiple counties.