Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas Chapter three

A/N: The shark story is true. I read it in a book one day. I’m sure no one has obsessive compulsive disorder, this is why it’s an AU. Pure is an actual nightclub in Vegas, but I don’t own it. Thank you for those who have commented. I love you all. Enjoy!

 “Do you think we’re going to solve this case without fingerprints or recognizable DNA?” Patrick asked at the café.

“This is the best lab in the country, Patrick,” William replied, sticking a forkful of eggs in his mouth, “I’m sure we’ll do something.”

“Even if we did have fingerprints, we still might not be able to solve it.” Pete said, his eyes glued to the newspaper.

“What do you mean?”

Pete closed the newspaper and sighed, “Let me tell you something. In 1935, at an aquarium in Australia, a recently captured tiger shark began to thrash around in the water. There was a group of people watching, and they became even more upset when the shark threw up a human arm. People freaked.

“The staff removed the arm and sent it to the morgue. It was a well muscled arm with a tattoo, but nobody knew who it belonged to and it didn’t match a description in any missing persons file. They didn’t know if it was an accident at sea, or a sinister murder.

“Although the skin was fragile, they finally pieced together a fingerprint. It matched to a James Smith, an ex-boxer. He was known to hang with criminals. When they questioned his wife, she said that he said he was going fishing with a friend. She didn’t know who the friend was, but she hadn’t seen James Smith since.

“The police continued the investigation, but a vital witness was murdered before they could make the arrest. Therefore, the mystery was never solved.” Pete finished and looked at his two companions expectantly.

Finally, William spoke, “What the hell was the point of that story?”

“The point was, even if we had something as helpful as a fingerprint with us, things go wrong.” Pete explained, “No suspects, witnesses murdered, Vegas is a tough place.”

“Surprisingly, people do die of natural causes in Las Vegas,” Patrick muttered, picking up the newspaper.

“There must be something at the Sumner’s house that we’ve overlooked,” William mused.

“Every contact leaves a trace,” Pete said.

“Locard’s Principal of Exchange,” Patrick replied, “Anyone who enters a scene both takes something of the scene with them and leaves something of themselves behind.”

“In this case, the murderer took a life, and left us their greetings.”

Bob poked Pete in his side, “What do you have on this case so far, Pete?”

Pete looked up, irritated, “Don’t poke me.”

Bob rolled his eyes, “Whatever. As your boss I demand you to tell me what’s going on with this case.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m your boss,” Pete sighed, “She had a hickey on her shoulder. DNA came back to a female, double X chromosomes.”

“Female?” Bob frowned, “That’s pretty fucked up, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Pete groaned, “Now all I have to count on is the DNA Patrick got from the ropes. Mikey better give me a good answer.”

Pete pager beeped. ‘Mikey’ flashed on the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” He muttered, “I have to go, Bob. Mikey’s done miracle work today.”

“DNA from the rope is male,” Mikey said, when Pete barged into the lab, “And the good news is, I got a hit off of CODIS.”

“That’s great!” Pete replied, “Who is it?”

Mikey checked the results, “I got a Brendon Urie, twenty. He was convicted of a robbery last year. He lives in Henderson. The other epithelials I got belonged to the victim.”

“I’ll go talk to him now. You’ve done amazing work, Mikey, thanks.” Pete said gratefully.

He bumped into Victoria in the hallway, “Come with me,” he commanded, “We’ve got to pay Mr. Urie a visit.”

“Urie?” Victoria asked, trying to keep up with Pete’s speedy pace, “What’s he got to do with case?”

“DNA on the rope Patrick and I found in the Sumner’s house. Victim’s epethilials were all over it, so were his.”

“You’re thinking he strangled her?”

“Maybe,” Pete unlocked the car, “Get in. Let’s go find our suspect.”

Brendon Urie’s house resembled a hotel room. Clean, neat, organized and no evidence of human beings. He had opened the door with an annoyed look on his face, “Yeah?”

“I’m Pete Wentz from the crime lab. This is Detective Asher,” Victoria nodded.

“What do you want?”

Brendon Urie didn’t look a day older than nineteen. Short brown-black hair, big eyes, soft, boyish face. It was hard to believe that the same teenager had robbed a convenience store.

“We’re here about the case of Jennifer Sumner.” Victoria stated, “May we come in?”

“Jennifer?” Brendon looked confused, “What happened?”

“Mr. Urie,” Victoria began, “I don’t exactly know how to say this-”

“Oh fuck, she’s dead, isn’t she?” Brendon groaned, “God damn, I knew it.”

“Knew it?” Pete asked, suspiciously, “What do you mean, you ‘knew it’?”

Brendon sighed, and then motioned them inside, “Come in.”

When they walked inside, Brendon started talking, “Jennifer was always a party girl, you know? She was no stranger to crack or cocaine. She’s just a kid, really. I don’t even think she knows how dangerous stuff can be, but I’ve warned her, and her friends have warned her, it’s pretty stupid-”

“Why is your DNA all over the rope that was used to strangle Jennifer Sumner?” Pete interrupted his ramblings.

All the blood on Brendon’s face drained out. “Strangled?” He choked out, “My DNA?”

“Your epithelials were found on the murder weapon,” Victoria told him, not unkindly.

“I didn’t kill her.” Brendon stuttered immediately, “I didn’t kill her.”

“Then you can explain right now how your DNA is all over the rope, or we can take this downtown.” Pete snarled.

Brendon took a step back, “Listen, I touched that rope before. It’s been lying around all the time, I picked it up two days ago to put it away.”

“You picked it up.” Pete replied, incredulously, “You expect us to believe that?”

Brendon didn’t answer.

“Look,” Victoria said, exasperated, “Where were you last night around 12:30 AM?”

“Home, playing video games with my friend.”

“Can anyone confirm that?” Pete asked, crossing his arms.

Brendon motioned the window, “Yeah, my neighbor can. Do you want me to call him over?”

“We’ll go visit him.” Pete said, motioning him out the door.

Brendon rang the doorbell three times in a row, “Ryan!” He yelled, banging on the door, “I need your help! Open up the fucking door, man!”

A skinny, boy-looking-like-a-boyish-fourteen-year-old-girl opened up the door, “What?” He scowled.

“Tell these people I was playing video games with you last night.” Brendon motioned Pete and Victoria.

“Are they cops?” Ryan frowned, “I hate cops, you know that.”

“Dude, just confirm my story.”

Ryan turned to Pete, “Brendon and I were playing guitar hero last night. I went over to his place from 8 PM to 1 AM.”

“You’re extremely organized,” Victoria said to him, “You recite that often?”

“I have obsessive compulsive disorder,” Ryan told her, looking a bit insulted, “I check the time whenever I go out.”

Victoria checked her watch, “Pete, it’s 4:30. We should get back to the lab.” She turned to the two boys, “Thanks for your help.”

When they walked back to the car, Pete looked at her, “What do you think?”

“I think they’re telling the truth,” she admitted.

“What?” Pete snapped, “You’re going to believe his bullshit lie of how he ‘picked it up’? You’re going to believe a robbing twenty year old and a skinny, cross-dressing, homosexual transvestite?”

“He is not a cross-dressing, homosexual transvestite, Pete,” Victoria scoffed, “He is a skinny, barely-past-puberty teenager.”

“You’re nuts,” Pete sulked, crossing his arms.

“You’re tired,” Victoria said gently, “Drive me back to the lab, and you should go home. Get some sleep until your shift tonight.”

Pete was already yawning, “If something important comes up, page me.”

“I’ll page you.” Victoria promised, “I’ll page you.”

Pete’s alarm rang at 9:30 PM. Time to get to work. Again. He slipped out of bed, still in his clothes and went into the washroom to brush his teeth, humming to himself.

That’s when Pete realized something was wrong.

Not the oh-fuck-there’s-a-killer-in-my-house wrong, the there’s-something-not-right-with-Pete-Wentz wrong. He was humming. Pete Wentz did not hum. At any point in his life, he did not hum before work.

Pete stuck the toothbrush in his mouth and looked at himself in the mirror. Unconsciously, he counted the visible tattoos on his body and peered at his eyes. He needed more sleep.

Death is Vegas’ best show, Pete thought grimly, laughing dryly at his observation, reapplying his eyeliner. So what if Gabe said it made him look gay, he can burn in hell.

He pushed the door open and locked his apartment door. He couldn’t wait to get to the lab.

“Hey Pete,” the secretary, Greta Salpeter welcomed him warmly, “How’re you tonight?”

“Tired, but I’m feeling a lot better now,” Pete replied charmingly. Greta was one of the sweetest girls he’d ever met, no bitchy business. The girl was straight up sugar.

“Gabe finally got an assignment,” William said to Pete, “A 419 in a room at the Tangiers.”

“Another DB?” Pete asked, “One night after another, huh?”

“One night after another,” William confirmed. “Come on, let’s go over the case with Victoria and Patrick.”

“We have no suspects, no more evidence, and one dead body.” Victoria sighed, when Pete and William walked into the room, “We’re at a dead end.”

“The only lead we have is the unknown female DNA drawn from the hickey,” Patrick pulled out the folder, “And we have nothing to match that to.”

“This is pretty much bullshit,” Pete murmured, sitting down.

“We can only wait until something magical pops up, I think,” William rubbed his eyes, yawning.

“We don’t even know where she was that night,” Victoria pointed out, “We can’t trace her steps.”

Pete turned on the TV. The 10 O’clock News was on. It was some story about a virus going around, giving everyone the flu. He zoned out almost instantly.

After a few minutes, Patrick punched his arm, “Did you hear that?”

“Ow,” Pete complained, rubbing his forearm, “No I didn’t. What did she say?”

“They’re talking about our case!” Victoria said excitedly. The room fell silent as the four investigators listened carefully.

“…The death of Ms. Jennifer Sumner, who was only sixteen years old. Ms. Sumner was found in her home around 12 AM last night by heartbroken parents. Eye witnesses say that she died after a fun night, she was spotted dancing at the Pure Nightclub, on Las Vegas Boulevard…”

A loud crash rang through the room. Pete fell off his chair. “Did you hear that?” He said excitedly, “Pure! She was at Pure!”

“Why didn’t anyone contact the lab if they had information on her?” Patrick asked, confused.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pete replied quickly, “Let’s go talk to them!” He grabbed Patrick’s arm and dragged him out of the room, but not before he saw William raise an eyebrow and say to Victoria, “He’s taking the newbie to a nightclub.”