Angels and Angles, Part One: Cupid & Psycho

The time: 1953.

The place: Los Angeles, California. The edge of the world.

Artemis Trask: Recommended by an OSS chum to the Bureau as a security consultant for J. Paul Getty's museum.

Ricky Garces: One of Hoover's Hollywood henchmen. Sees more coworkers at SAG meetings than at morning briefings.


Monday, February 9th.

Both of you are between cases - actually it's been a week without anything to do but catch up on paperwork. SAC Javert has asked you both to see him in his office as soon as you are able. You know each other only as names, although both of you can probably be described as fish out of water.

"Good morning, agents. I've called you here today because I'd like to assign you to a new case. Actually, I don't like it, but until I know who authorized this investigation in Washington someone will have to make the effort."

Gustav Javert could pass for Mark Twain if you switched his pipe with a bottle of brown hair dye - then used said bottle and stuck it far up his posterior. The LA field office has been his fief since the last Republican president, although with seniority like that he should by rights be Attorney General. Nothing happens through the FBI in the state of California without his acquiescence - so it's unusual for something to be forced on him.

"I don't know how many women are mudered in this city every year, but for some reason the latest one has drawn some interest back east. Michelle Dowling, age 27, waitress and aspiring actress - she sticks out already!

"That's all I know, and that's all I really want to know. It's now your job to find out anything else that needs knowing. Follow the standard Bureau protocols if you need equipment or legal clout.

"Any questions?"

The summons to Javert’s office is unexpected.

On the Underwood beside his desk is a half-finished report, an interview with a girl-Friday who worked for some screenwriter who once took a fishing trip to Ensenada and may or may not have been in the same cantina as a Soviet operative fifteen years ago. That’s some compelling police work right there, Agent Garces, Ricky thinks to himself. Making the U.S. safe for democracy and B-movies. The girl-Friday might have been a looker ten years ago, but today the only reason she has a job is the screenwriter is a no-talent hack, unlikely to do better at finding either an assistant or a mistress.

Meanwhile there are real Communists out there. Not a good idea to dwell on that.

Ricky thumbs through his notes when the phone rings. “Javert’s office in five minutes, Agent Garces,” comes the voice of the SAC’s secretary, who doesn’t wait for an answer before hanging up. Ricky flips the notebook shut and tucks it into his coat pocket along with a freshly-sharpened pencil as he rises, buttoning the top button and smoothing his tie as he walks to the boss’s office.

Ricky arrives at Javert’s door at the same time as a tall thin man in a suit with creases that could cut glass. Ricky offers a hand to the other man as they take their seats. Trask. Artemis Trask. Unusual name.

The SAC is abrupt. Ricky jots down the information: Michelle Dowling. Double-check that spelling. Age 27. Waitress-slash-actress. The agent nods slightly. He’s known any number of Michelle Dowlings – a few of them intimately. The City of Angels indeed.

Only a girl was more likely to get her wings clipped on a casting couch and sell her golden halo for rent money than she was to make it to the heavenly silver screen.

Ricky nods and stands when Javert finishes – he senses that questions would be importune, wonders if the SAC knows more than he’s telling (Sense Motive 19 – 21 if +2 synergy bonus for Knowledge (behavioral sciences) allowed). “No questions here, sir. We’ll take care of it.”

After they leave the office Ricky stops at the water cooler, fills a paper cup. “We should talk to the detective who originally caught the case. First we need to know if it was City or County. I’ll make a couple of calls (Gather Information: 12 - 14 if +2 synergy bonus for Diplomacy). We’ll also need a car from the pool,” he says to Trask.

Ricky’s mind is ticking over as sips his water. How does a routine homicide end up in the Bureau’s hands? It doesn’t unless it’s not routine. It’s important to someone high up, which means I’d better make it important to me.

Girl-Friday will have to wait.

Artemis enters the office. He wears his "standard outfit" which looks much fancier than any real agent would want. He holds a cup of some hot liquid in one hand, and a saucer under it with the other. Ricky extends a hand for a handshake, only to be met with a wet slurp by Trask from his cup.

Terribly sorry, old boy. Tea-time you know. However, the pleasure is all yours I'm sure.

Artemis waits a second to see Agent Garces' reaction, then downs the rest of the cup of tea. Jovially then he extends his hand. Imitating an american stereotype, Trask extends a hand.

"Put 'er there, boy." He then goes trailing on about "mom and apple pie".

Artemis notes the girls name to himself. He sits quietly during the briefing, and exits with Agent Garces.

Ricky mentions making calls and getting a car from the pool. At that, Artemis perks up a bit.
Leave the automobile to me.

Javert is obviously annoyed that this investigation has been authorized over his head. It seems to you that he wants it taken care of quickly and quietly.

You are quickly able to tell that the city LAPD was on scene, but you get no info over the phone and will have to inspect the police records on premises.

“Leave the automobile to me.”

Ricky nods. “Meet at my desk when you're ready to go. Just down the hall.”

Trask. Piece of work, Ricky thinks to himself as he walks back to his desk. He'd met a few Brits in Italy, Eighth Army guys. Tough as nails, but with that odd sense of humor. Took some getting used to.

Ricky places a phone call to the Los Angeles Police Department. “Good morning, this is Special Agent Garces of the FBI. I’m inquiring about a homicide that occurred recently, possibly within the City’s jurisdiction. Yes, I’ll hold.” Transfer. “Yes, good morning, this is Special Agent Garces of the FBI. I’m inquiring about a recent homicide that we believe may have occurred within the City’s jurisdiction. The victim’s name…yes, I’ll hold.” Another transfer. Ricky rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers. It’s already starting to be a long day, and I haven’t even had my second cup of coffee. “Hello, this is Special Agent Garces of the FBI. I’m inquiring about a homicide of a woman named Michelle Dowling, D-O-W-L-I-N-G, age 27, that we believe may have occurred in your jurisdiction.” Yes, Dowling died within the city limits. Yes, he can come to the division and review the case file. No, they won’t release any information over the telephone.

Ricky hangs up the phone, scribbles “LAPD” on his notepad, taps his pencil on his desk. He picks up the phone and dials the County Coroner’s office. “Good morning, this is Special Agent Garces of the FBI in Los Angeles. I’m trying to locate information on the body of a recent homicide victim. Yes, I’ll hold.” Transfer. “Hello, this is Special Agent Garces of the FBI. I’m inquiring about the body of Michelle Dowling, D-O-W-L-I-N-G , age 27, a homicide victim. It was an LAPD case – I’m sorry I don’t have the case number. I’d like to confirm that your office still has the body.” (Diplomacy 20 – 22 if +2 synergy for Knowledge (behavioral sciences))

LA Coroner Mark Kafesjian: "The body was delivered to relatives for disposal, but there was an autopsy performed. As long as your request is above board, Agent Garces, someone will be happy to let yor review the results."

“The body was delivered to relatives for disposal, but there was an autopsy performed. As long as your request is above board, Agent Garces, someone will be happy to let you review the results.”

“Thank you very much for your cooperation, Dr. Kasenjian. We should be by within the next day or so.” Ricky sets the receiver on the cradle and writes “Coroner (Dr. Kasenjian) – autopsy report – body ---> family.” No chance for our forensics guys to examine the remains. He taps the pencil on the pad pensively. A local girl? Or has this case been sitting awhile? Ricky flips the page.

The pencil scratches insistently at the pad. “INTERVIEWS: detective/patrolman, witnesses, family, friends – roommate? employer/co-workers - customers? auditions? previous employers? NEWS: stories, obits. FINANCES: bank accounts – debt? PERSONAL HABITS: boyfriends? drugs? gambling? diary? PHOTOS. CRIME SCENE. AUTOPSY.” The special agent stares for a moment at his list, the words like pieces of a puzzle lying face down, waiting to be turned up and fitted together.

Ricky folds up the notepad and returns it to his coat pocket, pulls a small stack of business cards out of his desk drawer and slips them in a pocket as well. From under his desk comes a briefcase, brown leather with worn corners. Into the case go a handful of sharp pencils and another notepad.

Hope Trask remembers a road map.

Trask walks down to the Agency's motor pool. His shoes clack as he steps in stride. He shifts his walk to make the most use out of the sound, so that each footfall is a resounding clap down the empty hall.

Artemis has a sneaking suspiscion that they won't have any type of fast, road hugging speedster. I wonder if Garces will be alright with my driving Trask thinks to himself.

Upon reaching the clerk/officer in charge of the pool, Trask says "Hey Ol' bean, how's about the fastest thing you chaps got 'round 'ere."

"Hey Ol' bean, how's about the fastest thing you chaps got 'round 'ere."[/QUOTE]

Make a d20 roll, add your Charisma modifier and Career score -

(Car pool roll: I got a 15)