Aaron Ringwald crouched above a large blood pool. The body from which the blood had come had already been removed and was no-doubt being autopsied right now by the best, even at 3 in the morning. After all, that body was what had been Alan Remmington, the top producer in DarkTale Studios. Aaron himself was currently in that studio's office, studying the aftermath of a murder that had occurred only hours ago. Already, the media was beginning to crowd around the building's door, hoping for a detective taking a break they could weasel out some information from.

As a rookie cop brought him a paper cup of coffee that quickly burned his tongue off, Aaron stood up and sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

He ran through the details. Mr. Remmington had been 43, divorced, and dedicated to his job. He knew he was about to lose newest sensation Derrick Black to a rival studio. In all senses, a suicide made sense. But why would a man kill himself at his office at midnight? If he was going to kill himself, he would've at least taken some time off of work.

"So, uh... What are you calling it?" The rookie asked timidly, obviously trying to hide his enthusiasm at being assigned to a big case such as this. As if being Coffee Boy was much of an assignment on any case.

Aaron hesitated before turning his back to the younger man.



So far, Amber Washington's day had not been going so well. 3 hours into a new one, and things still were not improving. Working on a hopeless case til six, dashing off to a boring date and later on peeling that same boring (but now drunk) date's hand off of her ass, all Amber had wanted was to get home, get some tea, and get to bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her cell phone underneath it went off and she was immediately sent, with much begging from her boss, to attend to an emergency case. Now she stood underneath a doorway to one of the largest homes she'd ever seen, in the rain, waiting for someone to answer and contemplating her career decision for probably the 300th time this week.

After 5 minutes of waiting and no response, Amber turned around and furiously dialed her boss's number. Before it even began to ring, the door behind her opened slightly.

"Yeah? Adoring fan?"

A very irritated Amber snapped her phone closed and took a deep breathe as she turned around, her dark blonde locks falling in font of her face, "Not even close. Your lawyer."

Before her, on the doorstep, stood Derrick Black clad in only a pair of black slacks, "Why do I need a lawyer?"

His hair was long, longer than hers and a deep black that fell casually over his broad shoulders and chest. His torso was slender, tapering down in a V shape to a flat stomach with just a hint of muscularity to it, showing that he at least worked out. There was a dusty trail moving downwards from his navel into his unbuttoned pants and Amber had to drag her eyes upward. No fucking wonder he sold so many records.

She felt her cheeks heating up and she was thankful for the cloak of darkness around them, "Your boss. He's dead."

Derrick's eyes remained unchanged, "So I need a lawyer?" His eyebrow raised slightly and he held up a bottle of tequila that Amber could only dream of affording before taking a swig of it. Bringing it back down, he let it dangle in his fingers before holding it out toward her in what seemed to be an offer.

She all but turned her nose up to him, crossing her arms over her chest, "He was murdered. The police are gonna come looking for you, we need to at least get you decent." She moved forward and pushed past him, walking into his house and reached beside her to flip on the nearest light. Amber had to keep herself from audibly gasping.

The entire floor that her apartment was located in was probably not as large as the downstairs portion of his house. The flooring was marble, thick animal hides strewn across in front of antique living room and parlor sets. In one corner was a large bar, seemingly fully stocked with Patron and several other top shelf liquors. A fireplace was in every wall, the one nearest to the bar roaring to life as Derrick shut the door behind them.

"Yeah, sure... Come on in..." He walked to the couch that was in front of the fireplace, taking a seat and bringing the liquor bottle back to his lips. Amber rushed up and reached out, tearing it out of his hands and in the process spilling most of it over his chin and down his neck and chest.

"What the fuck?!" Derrick cried out, spinning to look at her with anger in his dark blue eyes.

"We need to get you ready. The police are gonna be here any minute with questions and you can't be smelling like the town drunk when they do." She brought the bottle to the bar and wiped it down with a rag before setting it on the counter, turning to find that he had followed her and now was only inches away.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He growled, his hand trying to reach past her for the bottle again. She grabbed it instead and began pulling him towards the stairs, his drunken state allowing her to nearly drag him upwards effortlessly.

"I'm the woman who's gonna save your ass."

Aaron sat in the security room of DarkTale Studios, reviewing the past six hours footage from eight different cameras. He had another cup of disgusting sludge they were now calling coffee in front of him and the Coffee Boy was sitting beside him, his leg shaking nervously.

"This your first real case?" Aaron finally asked, breaking the silence that they'd been enjoying for the past half hour.

Coffee Boy cleared his throat, "Yes, sir. Before this I just served warrants. Didn't see much action." He fidgeted with his hands before offering one out awkwardly, "Christopher Ward."

"Detective Aaron Ringwald. Nice to meet ya, kid." Aaron met his hand with a firm grasp from his own before they both dropped their hands back to where they previously were, Aaron's resting on a keyboard and Christopher's back in his lap.

"Is it always this exciting?" Chris asked sarcastically, gesturing around the nearly silent room they sat in.

"Oh no, this is only cause someone famous died." Aaron replied, his eyes never leaving the screen. Suddenly an image caught his eye in the middle left camera.

He maximized that one and slowed the time from triple speed to normal, watching as the figure made its way to the backdoor of the building. He or she wore a long trenchcoat with the lapels pulled up to cover the sides of their face, complete with a fedora on their head to hide any other identifying features.

It reached out to the speaker beside the door used to let guests in and out of the building, particularly ones that did not have keys. It paused there for a moment before moving to the side and pushing the door open and entering the building, shoving something deep into its jacket pocket. Then nothing.

He brought window back to its normal size and switched to another camera that followed the figure as it moved down the hallway towards the elevator, jabbing a button and stepping into the first elevator that opened its doors.

Aaron watched the figure in the elevator from another camera, it stood in front of the doors facing away from the camera. It was becoming obvious that whoever this was knew where all the cameras were and where to stand to avoid being seen straight on by them. When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor, Alan Remmington's floor, the person exited the elevator and made his way down the hallway, rapping his knuckles lightly on Remmington's door before entering, letting the door slowly close behind him.

There were no cameras in Alan's room, for a reason that Aaron couldn't understand. But then again, when you had rockstars in there, they might want to do something illegal and be assured they weren't being watched. He hit the fast forward time, leaning forward in his seat, but he already knew what would happen. No one exited. The approximate time of the actual murder came and went, but no one ever left the room. At least not through that door, which as far as Aaron knew, was the only way out.

"Where did he go?" Chris asked from behind him. Aaron leaned back, running his hands through his slightly thinning blonde hair.

"I have no idea." He sighed. It was times like these when he really felt his age, 44. Helpless. Clueless. Old.

"Whose keycard did he use to get in?"

"Whose what?"

"The keycard. He had to have swiped one to get in. I don't think Remmington would've just let some random person in at 1 in the morning." Chris slowly stated, "Unless he knew him."

"No way would the killer use a keycard. That would make it too obvious..." Aaron muttered, pulling up the records in the security system anyway.

But sure enough, he was wrong. There it was. 01:14:34 AM on March 3rd, 2011: Derrick Black requesting clearance. And granted.

Aaron grabbed up his things from around the computer, taking a long drink of the slimy coffee before tossing it in the garbage bin, "You hold down things here with these guys. I'm paying a rockstar a visit," He pulled his jacket up from behind his chair and tugged it on as he left the room, making his way out of the building quickly and getting into his car.

There was no traffic. He arrived quickly.

"I hope you have a bathroom upstairs." Amber continued to pull the drunken Derrick behind her, his eyes weary and blinking.

"Master bedroom. Right hallway." He murmured, his eyes fixated on her rear, which was directly in front of him. So she was his lawyer? She certainly didn't look like one. He let her lead him awkwardly around his own house, trying each doorway until she found what he guessed she assumed was the master bedroom. And she was correct.

They walked in and she quickly located the bathroom, but not before taking in the entirety of the bedroom. A large four-post bed sat near in the middle of the room, a thick extravagant rug beneath their feet. A large dark wooden armoire was against the wall, both doors open so you could see the expensive shirts that hung inside, along with a few cotton ones that looked a little more normal. Amber finally located the bathroom, marble flooring (just like the rest of the house) with a stand up shower and claw foot bathtub.

She stood in the doorway, turning to stare at him and pointing inside, "Take a shower. Now."

Derrick stared at her blankly, "Why?"

"We need to get you looking decent for when someone comes to question you. Do you really wanna smell like you outdrank all of Russia?" She huffed, reaching into the bathroom to flip on the light before placing her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

This was the first time Derrick really got a good look at his new lawyer. She was short, maybe 5' 3" with dark blonde hair that reached just past her chin. Her bangs fell in her eyes, which seemed to be a dark blue, but behind the thick rimmed glasses she wore, he couldn't really be sure. Her figure wasn't what he'd expect from a bookish law student, petite but with a nicely rounded chest and full hips. Her suit did little to hide her curves, but he wondered how she'd look if she was wearing something that would actually show them off.

Derrick's thoughts proceeded to get dirtier and he was almost thankful when Amber reached between them, waving her hand in front of his eyes, "Hellooo?"

"Huh? What?" He shook his head slightly, finally meeting her eyes.

"Shower. Now." Taking him by the arm, she dragged him into the bathroom. They stared at each other while Derrick proceeded to stand there, "Don't make me undress you."

"I'd really enjoy that." He whispered, a coy smile on his lips. He could see her cheeks grow darker as a moment of silence passed between them, Amber unsure of what to say. Suddenly there was a knock on the front door and they both turned to go answer it. She stopped him in his tracks.

"You get in the shower, I'll answer the door. I'll keep whoever it is company until you're downstairs. And you'd better brush your teeth." She barked out orders as she turned to leave, closing the door firmly behind her.

Derrick turned and turned on the shower's hot nozzle, quickly undressing and getting underneath the water's steaming spray. He was beginning to wake up now.

So Alan Remmington was dead. The only surprise there was that it had taken this long.

Author's Notes: Why hello there! Welcome to another story. I can't ever seem to finish anything I start, but this is one that I've been toying with in my brain for 3 years or so now, screaming, "WRITE ME DAMMIT!" Insomnia is a bitch, but randomly it will give me a little gem like this. Anyway, let me know what you think. Next chapter should be up before long.