Jan. 6th, 2017

OTA

Jan. 6th, 2017 01:10 pm
alcuin: (dark)
[personal profile] alcuin
The call had come at about 6:30 in the morning. Alcuin had been the most frequent phone number in Hannibal Lecter's phone logs, and he had no next of kin. They needed someone to identify a body. They had already established that dental records were a match, so this was really just a necessary formality, they told him once he was at the police station, sitting there numbly. There was no need to show him the body itself, someone explained kindly, as to be frank, it was burned beyond recognition. But two pieces of jewelry had been found on it.

The attendant handed Alcuin a watch and a ring. They were Hannibal's. He felt like throwing up.

They told him they were still investigating, but the house was nearly entirely gone. The rapid nature of the fire's spread suggested accelerant. Arson. In other words, though they did not say it, murder.

They had let him keep the watch and the ring, and gave him the number of a grief counselor, and a police officer told him that they would be in touch about the investigation. They'd also asked him where he had been the night before. The answer was home, alone, and Alcuin felt sick with the knowledge that he could somehow be a suspect in this. Again.

He'd said as little as possible during the entire ordeal. Tried to think as little as possible. It was nearly 9am by the time he emerged from the police station and onto the city sidewalk in what seemed like impossibly bright light. He took a couple of deep breaths and then bolted over and retched into a trash can.

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