Draco Cronnoc II
Draco Cronnoc has changed since we last met him. Society and technology has forced him to change; no longer does simple sleuthing solve mysetries. You need intelligence, and most of all you need machines. Machines to examine things your eye with the aid of a magnifying glass can't.
Draco Cronnoc doesn't like the new way of solving mysteries. He doesn't like DNA evidence. What's the point of it, anyway? Yeah, so what if it's 99.97% accurate, his deductions have never been wrong. Why should he change?
But he had to change, and so he did. Draco quit his private eye company and joined the local police force. The change was an unwanted but necessary one. At first Draco had quite a bit of difficulty adjusting to modern technology; he had to take a class on computers (what strange devices!) and he still often relied upon his natural instincts. This did prove invaluable; Draco often saw the logic in things that others did not, but he did slow the force down sometimes with his lack of knowledge concerning technology. Still, with his experience and intellect, Draco climbed through the ranks at his local department.
Today, when Draco Cronnoc entered his office, he was more than a little nostalgic. His life was completely different, and now he needed to remember old times.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You grin. You imagine yourself as one of the sherrifs from the old movies, the balding fat ones with either a doughnut or a cigar in their hand, feet on the table. To replicate your daydream, you pick up a doughnut, hoist your legs on top of your desk, and pretend to smoke a cigar.
At this precise and potentially embarrassing moment your door busts open, revealing a short man with blond hair. "Boss! Turn on your TV! Now!"
"What is it, Greg?" You ask as you turn on your television and type in the channel for CBS (You don't like cable) on your remote.
Greg does not say anything, his eyes fixated on the screen. You look at the television as well, and all the color drains from your face. Bob Schieffer sits at his desk with a grave look on his face.
"And we now reiterate the five bombings that occured twenty minutes ago: two in offices, one at a school, and two at private residences. A direct connection between all the bombings has not yet been established, but the President has said we can expect one by noon tomorrow."
You sit in your seat, unmoving. "Five attacks?" you think to yourself. " I knew the security had holes...but five?"
Schieffer continues to speak. "These attacks are the presumed work of al-Qaeda, and the President has assured us that this time they won't get away. The reasons behind this thinking is that the five attacks were simultaneous and all men used were Arabic."
"A tragedy," you say.
"But Mr. Cronnoc," Greg says, "Well, one of the attacks happened here in Richland Harbor."
"What?!" you explode. "What?! How could we have an attack in Richland Harbor?"
"It was at the Rigor Industries plant," he explains hastily.
"Rigor Industries? How many people died?" you say, while you begin putting on a coat.
"A lot," Greg admits. "Estimates are at about two-hundred fifty. Most of the building is destroyed."
"Well I'm off," you say. "They'll need my help at the Rigor Building."
Greg gives you an incredulous look. "Boss, you can't leave! Send someone else! You need to be here in case the state calls about it."
"Too bad," you say. "Send a team down with me, and you can be in charge for now."
"But Mr. Cronnoc-" Greg tries to stop you but you push by him and head for your car.
As you go down the stairs you meet Deborah Lakins, the only other member of the squad who outranks you.
"Hello, Mrs. Lakins," you take your hat off to her.
"Hi, Draco," she says. She sounds very irritated. "You off to Rigor, I suppose?"
"Yes," you say, slightly embarrassed.
"You never can resist not being a part of the action, can you?"
"Never could," you say with a smirk. "I always like being a part of the investigation, and I like seeing things for myself. Where are you going?"
"I got a call from the governor, I have to go to the airport now."
"Ah," you nod as you both reach the parking lot. "Well have fun with that."
"I'll try," she smiles as she puts her key in her car.
You stop dead in your tracks. What was just a second ago your colleague and car is now a flaming mass.
Someone put a car bomb in Deborah's car!
As the fire begins to burn out, you do not rush to her side. You can tell from here she's gone. Instead, you rush back up into the office.
"Help! Help! Someone call 911! Deborah Lakin's been murdered!"
Three of your co-workers rush to your side, questioning you about what happens as Greg calls for an ambulance.
Once you are done explaining and calm down a bit you move back to Greg. "I still have to go to the Rigor Plant. And you're still in charge. But remember: the main objective is the plant bombing. For now, we'll have to forget Deborah. We'll investigate her murder later, and chances are they're related. Make sure you keep a level head and everyone is on task. Okay?"
Greg nods slowly, unable to speak. Finally a grunt of affirmation escapes from his lips.
"Thank you," you say as you depart. You return to the parking lot and only look at the wreckage for a moment. Policemen were gathering the charred remains of her body.
Of course, you decide not to take your car to Rigor. If they knocked off the number one dectective in Richland Harbor, what's to say they're not going for the number two as well? Instead you board a bus that will take you near the plant. Public transportation is slow, but walking is even slower.
The five bombings are the talk of the bus ride, of course. You sit idly as all of the other passengers gather around a man with a cell phone is his hand, apparently watching a newscast.
"Herschel Street," the bus driver says emotionlessly. You move to the front of the bus as this is the stop you need. The driver opens the door and you get off the bus.
Having been to Rigor only once in your life, you would normally have only vaguely known where it was, but today the media showed you the way, not to mention the massive amounts of smoke eminating from the spot.
You follow the lights and soon hear news reports in the work. A minute later you arrive at the rubble that was Rigor Industries.
The building is almost totally levelled. The right side of the building is nonexistant, and the left side is only about one-third the height you remember. The whole area reeks of death.
"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave," a man with the words FBI on his shirt tell you. "This is a secure location for the moment, and we don't want anyone interrupting our search."
"I'm with the local police," you say, flashing your badge. "I'm Draco Cronnoc, Second-in-Command." You frown grimly. "First now, I suppose. Tell your leader that Police Chief Deborah Lakins was murdered about fifteen minutes ago."
The FBI agent seems not to heed what you say. Instead, an angry expression forms across his face. "The police force? It's about damn time you guys got here! Where were you after the blasts? We got here even though we're centered in Memphis! The bombing happened over a half-hour ago!"
You stutter, not able to form a good response. "Um , well...I suppose none of our members turned on our televisions fast enough," you say weakly.
"The Fire Department got here as well! Didn't you at least get a phone call about this?"
You try to remember a phone call, but you cannot. "Nope, I don't think we got anything."
"Unbelievable," the man says, shaking his head. "We needed your help. Well, come with me now and I'll show you to our leader, he'll tell you what to do."
You follow the man, not seeing why it was so hard to believe you received no phone call. If everyone was dead inside then they wouldn't be able to call! But then again, the must've been people on the street who saw the carnage...
The agent brings you to a tall and burly man. He looks you over, and the man you met before whispers something in his ear, causing a stern look on the leader's face.
"You aren't here early enough, Cronnoc. But I'm sorry about Ms. Lakins. It'll be up to you to investigate her death, but for now we need all your men here. As you seem to be the only one from your force, you really can't start a thorough investigation on your own.
"However, you can still do things to help. You could scavenge the area to see if you can find anything to point to the group behind this attack. Or you could question the survivors of the blast."
You look at the destroyed building. "People survived that?"
"Yeah," the man nods. "Mostly workers living on the first floor (we believe the bomb actually went off on the 3rd or 4th floor). You know, receptionists, entrance guards, people like that. And I suspect you might be the one best fitted to questioning them, since you're probably from Richland Harbor; maybe you know them. So what's it gonna be?"
Draco Cronnoc doesn't like the new way of solving mysteries. He doesn't like DNA evidence. What's the point of it, anyway? Yeah, so what if it's 99.97% accurate, his deductions have never been wrong. Why should he change?
But he had to change, and so he did. Draco quit his private eye company and joined the local police force. The change was an unwanted but necessary one. At first Draco had quite a bit of difficulty adjusting to modern technology; he had to take a class on computers (what strange devices!) and he still often relied upon his natural instincts. This did prove invaluable; Draco often saw the logic in things that others did not, but he did slow the force down sometimes with his lack of knowledge concerning technology. Still, with his experience and intellect, Draco climbed through the ranks at his local department.
Today, when Draco Cronnoc entered his office, he was more than a little nostalgic. His life was completely different, and now he needed to remember old times.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You grin. You imagine yourself as one of the sherrifs from the old movies, the balding fat ones with either a doughnut or a cigar in their hand, feet on the table. To replicate your daydream, you pick up a doughnut, hoist your legs on top of your desk, and pretend to smoke a cigar.
At this precise and potentially embarrassing moment your door busts open, revealing a short man with blond hair. "Boss! Turn on your TV! Now!"
"What is it, Greg?" You ask as you turn on your television and type in the channel for CBS (You don't like cable) on your remote.
Greg does not say anything, his eyes fixated on the screen. You look at the television as well, and all the color drains from your face. Bob Schieffer sits at his desk with a grave look on his face.
"And we now reiterate the five bombings that occured twenty minutes ago: two in offices, one at a school, and two at private residences. A direct connection between all the bombings has not yet been established, but the President has said we can expect one by noon tomorrow."
You sit in your seat, unmoving. "Five attacks?" you think to yourself. " I knew the security had holes...but five?"
Schieffer continues to speak. "These attacks are the presumed work of al-Qaeda, and the President has assured us that this time they won't get away. The reasons behind this thinking is that the five attacks were simultaneous and all men used were Arabic."
"A tragedy," you say.
"But Mr. Cronnoc," Greg says, "Well, one of the attacks happened here in Richland Harbor."
"What?!" you explode. "What?! How could we have an attack in Richland Harbor?"
"It was at the Rigor Industries plant," he explains hastily.
"Rigor Industries? How many people died?" you say, while you begin putting on a coat.
"A lot," Greg admits. "Estimates are at about two-hundred fifty. Most of the building is destroyed."
"Well I'm off," you say. "They'll need my help at the Rigor Building."
Greg gives you an incredulous look. "Boss, you can't leave! Send someone else! You need to be here in case the state calls about it."
"Too bad," you say. "Send a team down with me, and you can be in charge for now."
"But Mr. Cronnoc-" Greg tries to stop you but you push by him and head for your car.
As you go down the stairs you meet Deborah Lakins, the only other member of the squad who outranks you.
"Hello, Mrs. Lakins," you take your hat off to her.
"Hi, Draco," she says. She sounds very irritated. "You off to Rigor, I suppose?"
"Yes," you say, slightly embarrassed.
"You never can resist not being a part of the action, can you?"
"Never could," you say with a smirk. "I always like being a part of the investigation, and I like seeing things for myself. Where are you going?"
"I got a call from the governor, I have to go to the airport now."
"Ah," you nod as you both reach the parking lot. "Well have fun with that."
"I'll try," she smiles as she puts her key in her car.
You stop dead in your tracks. What was just a second ago your colleague and car is now a flaming mass.
Someone put a car bomb in Deborah's car!
As the fire begins to burn out, you do not rush to her side. You can tell from here she's gone. Instead, you rush back up into the office.
"Help! Help! Someone call 911! Deborah Lakin's been murdered!"
Three of your co-workers rush to your side, questioning you about what happens as Greg calls for an ambulance.
Once you are done explaining and calm down a bit you move back to Greg. "I still have to go to the Rigor Plant. And you're still in charge. But remember: the main objective is the plant bombing. For now, we'll have to forget Deborah. We'll investigate her murder later, and chances are they're related. Make sure you keep a level head and everyone is on task. Okay?"
Greg nods slowly, unable to speak. Finally a grunt of affirmation escapes from his lips.
"Thank you," you say as you depart. You return to the parking lot and only look at the wreckage for a moment. Policemen were gathering the charred remains of her body.
Of course, you decide not to take your car to Rigor. If they knocked off the number one dectective in Richland Harbor, what's to say they're not going for the number two as well? Instead you board a bus that will take you near the plant. Public transportation is slow, but walking is even slower.
The five bombings are the talk of the bus ride, of course. You sit idly as all of the other passengers gather around a man with a cell phone is his hand, apparently watching a newscast.
"Herschel Street," the bus driver says emotionlessly. You move to the front of the bus as this is the stop you need. The driver opens the door and you get off the bus.
Having been to Rigor only once in your life, you would normally have only vaguely known where it was, but today the media showed you the way, not to mention the massive amounts of smoke eminating from the spot.
You follow the lights and soon hear news reports in the work. A minute later you arrive at the rubble that was Rigor Industries.
The building is almost totally levelled. The right side of the building is nonexistant, and the left side is only about one-third the height you remember. The whole area reeks of death.
"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave," a man with the words FBI on his shirt tell you. "This is a secure location for the moment, and we don't want anyone interrupting our search."
"I'm with the local police," you say, flashing your badge. "I'm Draco Cronnoc, Second-in-Command." You frown grimly. "First now, I suppose. Tell your leader that Police Chief Deborah Lakins was murdered about fifteen minutes ago."
The FBI agent seems not to heed what you say. Instead, an angry expression forms across his face. "The police force? It's about damn time you guys got here! Where were you after the blasts? We got here even though we're centered in Memphis! The bombing happened over a half-hour ago!"
You stutter, not able to form a good response. "Um , well...I suppose none of our members turned on our televisions fast enough," you say weakly.
"The Fire Department got here as well! Didn't you at least get a phone call about this?"
You try to remember a phone call, but you cannot. "Nope, I don't think we got anything."
"Unbelievable," the man says, shaking his head. "We needed your help. Well, come with me now and I'll show you to our leader, he'll tell you what to do."
You follow the man, not seeing why it was so hard to believe you received no phone call. If everyone was dead inside then they wouldn't be able to call! But then again, the must've been people on the street who saw the carnage...
The agent brings you to a tall and burly man. He looks you over, and the man you met before whispers something in his ear, causing a stern look on the leader's face.
"You aren't here early enough, Cronnoc. But I'm sorry about Ms. Lakins. It'll be up to you to investigate her death, but for now we need all your men here. As you seem to be the only one from your force, you really can't start a thorough investigation on your own.
"However, you can still do things to help. You could scavenge the area to see if you can find anything to point to the group behind this attack. Or you could question the survivors of the blast."
You look at the destroyed building. "People survived that?"
"Yeah," the man nods. "Mostly workers living on the first floor (we believe the bomb actually went off on the 3rd or 4th floor). You know, receptionists, entrance guards, people like that. And I suspect you might be the one best fitted to questioning them, since you're probably from Richland Harbor; maybe you know them. So what's it gonna be?"