LEON MASTERSLeon pushed his hands into his pockets. He was walking down the quiet Gennstown street. The chill of the early autumn breeze send goosepumps up and down his lean, muscled arms. The old red brick sidewalk was crumbling and cracking, having had no matinence of any recent form to up keep the paths through the small town. A few cars whizzed by every once in a while, but everything was relatively quiet. It was just past noontime, about 1 o'clock. The sun was blotted out by thick, light grey clouds that stretched, unwavering, across the whole sky, turning it a pale silver color, ominous by any means, perhaps to promise rain at some point.
Leo's feet were subconsiously following the street sidewalk, passing block after block in a mindless, yet somehow deliberate way. He knew where he was heading, but did not necessarily think of it as he walked. Soon, as he approached one of the further sides of town, he caught a glimpse of bright yellow police tape just ahead. He knew all too well its purpose.
That was why the town was so silent as of late. Just beyond the yellow tape and steady stream of police cars was a terrible crime that shook the little, otherwise quiet, town to its roots. The brutal murder of Elizabeth Rudwell. It was a mere week after the body had been found, and since word spread through the town, everyone seemed to be in a much more sombre, downcast mood with shifting eyes and jackets pulled tight. Speaking of which, Leo pulled his jacket a bit tigher around his own body, the wind breaker being the only actual barrier between his sensitivity to the cold and the bone-chilling breeze that sent rotting autumn leaves in little tornados through the nearly-vacant streets.
Leo marched out through the cornfield where the blocked off section of yellow police tape remained. Finally he stopped there and started in at the contents of the little ring of restricted tape. On the ground was a huge, disturbing spot of dried blood, at least a yard in width and two yards in height, staining the near-frozen ground. He shuddered slightly. Various other blood pools and spots where located in a close vicinity of the biggest one. As he stared in at the near-abandoned crime-scene, he noticed the imprints of what looked to be a canine paw print. Multiple ones surrounding the blood spots, and then leading off and disappearing into the nearby tree line. He frowned. He'd read about the pawprints in the newspaper. It had mentioned something about the wildlife specialists saying that they were dealing with a very large animal, far larger than anything known to live in Pennsylvania, perhaps a large wolf.
BIANCA MATTENELLIBianca clamoured down the street, her big, black leather tote hooked around her elbow as her long legs scissored, her long strides reduced to smaller, quicker steps in a sort of a jog. She was late for work. She's left
As the Page Turns, the small, local bookstore, to get lunch and ended up going back to her apartment and sticking her head back into her books and notes. Bianca had a profound interest in the recent killing of local promqueen and beauty icon Elizabeth Rudwell. She loved mysteries, and although this one was brutual and sad and personal, it just gave her a bigger drive to get to the bottom of it.
Being the persuasive, persistent, and highly intelligent girl that she was, Bianca never let the officers at the sheriff's department alone, always insisting on copies of their autopsy reports and crime scene analysis files, etc. etc. etc. She had been preforming her own side-line investigation into the homicide of the local high-schooler and friend. She hung around the crime scene on a regular basis, taking pictures of her own and hounding officers for facts and discoveries until she was shoo-ed away by the leading detectives, who had become very accustomed to her appearances and inerest in the case.
Bianca threw open the door of the little book store, the bell overhead jingling to announce her arrival, although in case that was not enough,
"I'm back," she announced, making her way behind the front counter to set her stuff behind it. She slipped her black, quilted faux-leather jacket off of her slender shoulders and onto the spinny chair she usually sat upon when she worked front desk. It was a small opperation, with Bianca, Arturo DeGari (the co-owner) and the formal owner who rarely really made appearances. So it was mostly a two-man staff, not that Bianca minded. She liked to peace and quiet and enjoyed the company of the books and her mysterious boss, Mr. Arturo DeGari.
She peeked into one of the aisles, then into another.
"Arturo?" She called softly, so not to disturb a person browsing and reading the merchandise.
