Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas Chapter four

A/N: I don’t own Pure.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I made a huge mistake last chapter. I forgot to change something.

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

Wrong.

Gabe got the assignment, but it wasn’t at the Tangiers. I got my facts wrong. The Tangiers, I’m pretty sure, is a Casino, unless I’m mistaken. Gabe’s assignment was at Excalibur, a hotel in Vegas. It says Excalibur in this chapter, so if you’re confused, I was confused too. Hope that clears everything up.

I’m going to stop ramblings and give you the fic.

Pure is located in Caesars Palace. It’s a 36,000 square foot, two story nightclub. People say it’s the most lavish and luxurious club in all of Vegas. It gets crowded and full very easily, and people say it’s the best night club experience. So how, Pete wondered, did a sixteen year old girl get inside?

“I bet it’s packed,” Patrick looked at the club reproachfully.

“Don’t worry about it,” Pete said to him, “Once we flash our ID, we’re automatically VIP.” Winking, he walked up to the security guard.

“ID?” The guard looked down at Pete from behind his sunglasses.

“I’m Pete Wentz, and this is Patrick Stump. We’re from the crime lab. I need to talk with your manager about Jennifer Sumner.”

The security guard backed away, “Come on in, I’ll go get the manager.”

In the VIP Red Room, the manager was talking with a group of people. As Pete and Patrick approached them, Pete heard him saying, “I’m glad you’re having fun, Pure is all about the Vegas nightlife.”

“Is that why you let a sixteen year old inside this club?” Pete asked loudly.

The manager spun around quickly. A group of blondes looked at Pete approvingly, giggling and pointing. “And you are?” The manager asked, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.

“Let’s talk privately,” Pete said, glaring at the group of people around him.

When Pete had finally scared all the people away, the manager turned to him, “Dude, come on, what’s up?”

“Jennifer Sumner died last night,” Patrick told him, “Eye-witnesses say that she was dancing here last night. How could you let a sixteen year old in?”

“Listen man, I had no idea she was sixteen. She came in with an ID that looked creditable.”

Patrick saw the nametag on the manager’s shirt. Jon Walker. “Mr. Walker,” He started, “Did you see the victim in your club?”

Mr. Walker nodded, “I saw her come in, and I saw her at the bar. She drank a margarita, and I later saw her on the dance floor.” He paused, fine line crossing his eyebrows, as if he were trying to remember, “You really couldn’t miss her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Patrick asked, “What was she wearing?”

“A red halter top, and a teensy, tiny black miniskirt. All the guys were flocking to her.”

Patrick turned to Pete, “We didn’t recover a red halter top, or a miniskirt from the crime scene.”

“Killer took her clothes?” Pete frowned, “Why?”

“Listen,” Mr. Walker said quickly, “If you need to contact me, please call me.” He handed Patrick a business card, “But I really need to get back to my guests.”

“Wait!” Pete called, “Can we have the surveillance footage from last night.”

Mr. Walker turned, “Help yourself,” He said, “Good luck.”

Patrick looked at Pete, “I’ll go grab the surveillance tapes.” He walked out of the VIP room. Pete saw a brunette walk up to Patrick and stick out her chest, wrapping a hair around her finger. He felt a flash of irritation, but ignored it as Patrick gently pushed her away.

His phone rang. The screen flashed ‘Gabe’. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear.

“Wentz.”

“Pete, I need you to get to the morgue as fast as possible. There’s something you need to see.”

Gabe hung up before Pete could say anything. Patrick walked back to him with a bag of tapes.

“We have to get to the morgue,” Pete told him, “We’ll get those tapes to the AV Lab, and Frankie will check them out.”

“Why do we need to get to the morgue?” Patrick asked Pete, as they walked out the club.

“I think something magical came up.”

“What do you have for us, Gabe?” Pete walked into the morgue, Patrick at his tail, slipping on a lab coat.

Gabe looked up from the table, “Natasha Anders, twenty-two. Found her in a room at the Excalibur. Come take a look at her.”

Pete approached the body. Natasha Anders was a pretty woman, young and fresh, with short brown hair and straight, fine features.

“Died from blunt force trauma,” Dr. Hurley said, walking up behind Gabe. “Her skull is fractured, must have been some heavy instrument, I have yet to discover what it is.”

“That’s not the weird part,” Gabe pointed to the victim’s head, “Take a look at this.”

Pete leaned closer. There were two carefully pierced holes right above her earlobe, neatly through her cartilage.

Patrick looked up, shocked.

“Gentlemen,” Pete cleared his throat, “I think we’re after a serial.”

Six investigators sat in the break room. Nobody spoke. Pete played with the folder laid out in front of him. He saw Patrick shuffling Natasha Anders’ autopsy photos.

“Two women.” Mike said, making everyone look up.

“Two murders.” Pete sighed, leaning back in his seat.

“Four holes in two ears.” Gabe answered dully.

“Okay, I really don’t get this,” Victoria frowned, “There’s a female who gave a hickey to the first victim. The second victim didn’t have any bruises on her. She just got knocked in the head.”

Joe walked into the room, “Guess what?”

Nobody answered.

“Okay, fine,” He stuck his bottom lip out, “I’ll just tell you. Natasha Anders had no alcohol or drugs in her system. She was completely clean.”

“Harder for the killer,” Patrick pointed out, “These pictures,” He picked up the photos on the table, “Show that the murder was messy. Jennifer Sumner was strangled, neat and clean, probably because she was asleep. But if Natasha had no drugs or alcohol in her system, she probably wouldn’t be that cooperative.”

“That’s probably why killer used blunt force trauma,” Victoria said, “Easiest way to shut someone up is to knock them out.”

“If you think this is a serial, what do these two victims have in common?” Joe asked, to nobody in particular.

“Let’s see,” Pete mused, “Jennifer Sumner, 16. She’s a sophomore, lives in Henderson.”

“Natasha Anders,” Patrick began, “Twenty-two. University student. She was here for a convention at the Excalibur. She’s originally from Ohio.”

“Nothing,” Victoria sighed, “Nothing links these two women together. They don’t even look the same!”

A flustered Mikey Way ran into the room.

“Why didn’t you get your results when I paged you?” He demanded, glaring at Gabe.

“He’s busy. Besides, it’s exercise, Mikey,” Pete replied breezily, “You can’t be sitting in a lab all day.”

Mikey glared at him. “Gabe, I have the results from the scrapings underneath the victim’s fingernails.”

Gabe looked up, “Really? That’s great, give them to me.”

Mikey looked at him, “I’ve got good news and bad news. What do you want first?”

Pete, Victoria, Gabe, and Mike said “Bad”. Patrick said “Good”. William ignored the question, going through the case files.

“Okay, never mind.” Mikey scanned the results, “The DNA from the scrapings were XX.”

“Female!” Pete cheered, “Jackpot!”

“It’s a match to the female DNA you got off the hickey,” Mikey said loudly.

“Well, that’s great!” Mike said, “We got a lead.”

“The bad news is, I still don’t have a hit off of CODIS, I don’t know who the DNA belongs to.”

“Shit,” Pete muttered, sinking down in his seat, “We’re back to a dead end.”

Pete’s pager beeped, the screen flashing ‘Frank’.

“Surveillance footage is ready,” Pete said, standing up and grabbing Patrick by the arm, “Time to go.”

Frank Iero looked up as Pete and Patrick walked into the AV Lab. “Nice of you guys to stop by,” He said cheerfully. Then he spotted Patrick.

“Patrick Stump,” Pete introduced, “CSI Level One, he’s from Chicago.”

“Frank Iero,” the short, dark haired man smiled welcoming, “Certified Lab rat.”

“Cut the formalities, Frankie, what do you have?” Pete sat down impatiently.

“Footage from the club,” Frank said, pointing to the screen, “We see here, at 10:33 PM, the victim.” He froze the tape and zoomed in, “This is the dance floor. She’s dancing with two people, a guy and a girl.”

“Can you clear that up a bit?” Patrick asked.

“Sure.” The screen became significantly clearer, so the three could see the two people dancing with the victim.

“Okay, wait.” Pete leaned back, confused, “I see a girl and a guy, and out victim sandwiched between.”

“The female could be the one with her DNA all over the two victims,” Patrick pointed out, “Maybe the guy isn’t even part of this.”

Pete looked closer at the girl on the screen. Wavy brown hair, slender, “I’ve seen that girl before,” he said, fuming, “I saw her at Pure.”

Back in the car again.

Patrick turned to Pete, “How did you remember that girl Jennifer Sumner was dancing with?”

Because she was hitting on you, Pete thought. “I’m just that good,” He grinned.

“Hey, I read Gabe’s report on the room in the Tangiers,” Patrick said, fiddling with the radio, “There was no sign of the victim’s clothes, other than the ones in her suitcase.”

“Killer took her clothes,” Pete shrugged, “Didn’t we say that’s what happened to Jennifer Sumner?”

“It is,” Patrick confirmed. Pete’s phone rang. “Do you ever turn that thing off?”

“Trust me; I want to,” Pete muttered, flipping it open, “Wentz.”

“Pete, it’s Victoria. Why are you taking Patrick back to the nightclub?”

“Because I like to party,” Pete snapped, making a sharp swerve on an intersection.

He heard Victoria sigh, “Pete.”

“I recognized the girl our victim was dancing with to a girl I saw at the club today.”

“Are you nuts? It’s 1 AM.”

“It’s Friday, and their operating hours are until morning.”

“Bring him back soon, please, asshole. You’re not the only one on this case.” Victoria hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick turned to him, as the arrived at Caesars Palace.

“Victoria’s getting over protective.” Pete replied cheerfully, “Whether it’s of you or this case, I don’t know. Come on, let’s go inside.”

Once inside Pure, Jon Walker, Mr. Manager spotted them instantly, “Mr. Wentz, Mr. Stump, how nice to see you!”

“We’re looking for a girl,” Patrick pulled out the screenshot from the tape, “She was spotted dancing with Jennifer Sumner the night she was murdered.”

Mr. Walker saw the photo and paled, “That’s Diane Richard. She’s a regular.”

Diane Richard the regular walked up to Pete and Patrick, as if on cue. “How’re we doing tonight, gentlemen?”

“You were dancing with Jennifer Sumner last night.” Pete said to her, an accusing tone in his voice. Pete and Patrick were a little on the short side, and with Diane Richard’s heels, her cleavage was just about in level with their eyes.

Patrick looked away, and Pete saw a rosy flush rise to his face.

“Jennifer,” Diane Richard mulled it over, “Let me think, yeah, she was a sweet girl.”

“Do you mind if we get a sample of your DNA?” Pete asked, as politely as possible.

“My DNA?” She frowned, “Why?”

Patrick finally looked her in the eye, “Okay, listen.” His voice took on a soothing tone, something Pete knew he wouldn’t mind hearing again, “If we have your DNA and it doesn’t match the one on the victim, we can probably rule you out as a suspect.”

Diane Richard looked at them, “Don’t you like, need a warrant or something?”

“Only if you refuse,” Pete pointed out. “Are you refusing?”

She stuck her bottom lip out, thought for a moment, and then opened her mouth.

“Great,” Patrick said cheerfully, swabbing her mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Pete, “Time to go.”