❛ Someone To Call My Lover ❜
★ ₊˚. ❪ murder board ❫
riley ┊ chp. two┊❝ 1.02 ❞
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RILEY MOON — SMITTY had a true love for murder boards. He wasn't sure why he was so drawn to them as a detective — it had only ever been a thing when he started his detective role. He loved the way the string curled around the pins, each different colouring meaning something he knew right off the bat. He understood the chaos in each board, unlike everyone else who took a glance at it.

Riley had his murder board set up across two cork boards on wheels, that he had rolled into the briefing room where the rookies and their respective training officers sat.

He assumed the rookies, only into their third shift, had come in expecting nerves, traffic stops, maybe a fender — bender. Instead, they got Detective Riley Moon — Smitty with an espresso in one hand and a dry-erase marker in the other. He was grinning like a man who hadn't slept and had far too much planned, or maybe just a little bit creepily too.

"You!" Riley pointed dramatically at Sargent Wade Grey as he strolled into briefing room, just as the older man was entering the other door. "Congratulations on being late by thirty-seven seconds and ruining the curve for everyone."

Wade blinked. "I'm not late."

Riley glanced at his watch. "We're both late, actually."

The rest of the room froze, not very many people spoke to Grey like that, but if someone was going too, it would be Riley. He was made from dollar store energy drinks, coffee that had too much expresso, ADHD medication, and snarky and sarcastic comments.

Tim Bradford looked like he might throw a chair, he was debating it. Lucy Chen smiled politely, Jackson West's knee was bouncing as he waited for Riley to do something weirder, and Sergeant Grey just sipped his coffee with the quiet resolve of a man reconsidering his retirement timeline at this point.

Angela Lopez just smiled at her boyfriend, eyes softening when she realized he felt safe enough to be goofy and himself around people he didn't know that well.

"I'm Detective Moon — Smitty, as some of you know. And as some of the rookies don't. Welcome to your first real test at the LAPD," Riley announced. He dramatically slapped a file onto the table and clicked the lights off. A projector flickered on, casting a shadowy image across the whiteboard.

A crime scene photo lit up the room; a man. Fully clothed. In a perfectly polished bathtub. Wearing an all too fancy masquerade mask. Completely dry. Very dead.

"I call it," Riley said, "The Masquerade Mysterioso." A small silence and a little laugh from Nolan. "Working title."

"That's not a real name," Tim Bradford said flatly, unamused.

"Well, Timothy, it is now," Riley chirped, already scribbling lines across a fresh whiteboard like a man with a purpose. "Victim is Randall Hastings, age forty-four, event planner, former 'illusionist', known to wear capes to brunch, haha. Found this morning in a short-term rental in Echo Park. Cause of death unknown. No forced entry. No obvious wounds. Room was locked from the inside."

"So," Angela Lopez said, folding her arms. "What's the catch?"

Riley beamed like a child on Christmas morning. "The catch, Officer Lopez — and mvp of my personal fantasy precinct league — is that I'm making this a contest."

"Each rookie and training officer pair is going to investigate a different angle of the case. Rookies, you solve this with the help of your training officer? You win a fully authorized, blessed-by-Grey, actual day off."

Grey coughed loudly.

"Pending approval," Riley corrected with a wink.

Lucy raised a hand. "What's our angle?"

Riley tossed each duo an envelope. Literally. One sailed past Nolan's head. One hit Jackson in the face. Another landed perfectly in Tim's outstretched hand.

"Chen and Bradford, you get victimology. Who was this guy? Who wanted him dead? What's his favorite brunch spot, and why is it always 'the one with the live harpist' for brunch."

"West and Lopez — you're going forensic timeline. That means trace evidence, autopsy coordination, who entered the rental and when. West, you're in charge of making friends with the doctor. She bites."

"She does not," Angela said, but her voice was full of lightness, shaking her head slightly.

"She might," Riley countered.

"Nolan and Bishop," he said, nodding toward the final pair. "You're on scene analysis and background. Comb through financials, rental contracts, tech footprints. And Nolan — wear gloves this time. I don't need another DNA mix-up like like the case you had the other day."

Nolan opened his mouth to protect, it having been his first day and first ever action as a police officer. Bishop put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Don't."

The room cleared. The game had begun.

Riley spun his marker like a baton and turned to Grey.

"You're not actually letting them compete for a day off, are you?" Grey asked.

"Oh no," Riley said. "I already submitted the form. Just signed it 'your future self who believes in incentives.'"

Grey sighed into his coffee.

"Sir," Riley added, a hidden joke already lined up. "The poodle knows too much."

"Get out." Wade Grey almost tossed his coffee towards Riley, who was already scattering out of the room. "Now, Moon."

🌙

DETECTIVE MOON — SMITTY was watching Jackson West was trying not to throw up.

Jackson and Lopez stood over the corpse in the pristine, too-cold rental. The tub was porcelain, the room spotless. But something was off, maybe the awful smell that the body was producing. The kind of off that made Jackson quiver, although he's seen dead bodies before.

"The mask's from a 2004 italian gala. One of only six ever made," Angela said, checking the tag inside with her gloved fingers.

"You just ... know that?" Jackson asked, tilting his head and eyeing his training officer with confusion.

"I read. And the art theft task force ran a whole training on rare mask trafficking last year, me and Moonie were partners and came first place in their game."

"There's mask trafficking?"

Angela raised one perfectly shaped brow. "Rookie."

They bagged the mask. Jackson noted a faint imprint around the victim's wrist — a pressure mark, like from a tight watch that wasn't there anymore.

A clue? Or a red herring?

Riley watched as Jackson scribbled in his notebook, all while Angela was smiling at him with those pretty eyes he loved too much.

🌙

BY THE TIME Riley found Lucy and Tim, they were sliding stuff across the table back and forth well trying to find the missing pieces.

"Either this guy was planning a murder — themed masquerade... or he was super into ambience," Lucy said, glancing over the photos again.

Tim crossed his arms. "There's no sign of money trouble. No enemies. Weird client list, sure, but nothing jumps out. Unless..."

He paused. Pulled a name from a booking log: Camille Fiero. Booked Hastings for a New Year's event — then got canceled. No refund. No explanation. He just canceled.

Lucy's brows lifted. "You thinking vengeance?"

"I'm thinking we pay her a visit."

Riley grinned as he watched the pieces of the puzzle go together.

🌙

JOHN NOLAN was elbow-deep in trash when Riley found him and Bishop, and when Nolan had found it: a folded note beneath a discarded wig box in the alley behind the rental.

"Guy wore disguises everywhere," Bishop muttered as she tried to step over disregarded garbage.

Nolan read the note out loud, "I warned you. The game ends tonight."

Riley leaned over the older man's shoulder, "The "i"s were dotted with tiny hearts. Awe, cute!"

"Who does that in a threat note?" he asked Riley, looking at him.

"Someone who's more obsessed than angry," Bishop said, her voice suddenly sharp, the pieces forming in her head. "Find out who he dated."

"I'm on it," Nolan said — then looked at her and Riley. "Do I get a cool detective nickname, too? For figuring that out?"

"You get Rookie Who Asks Too Many Questions." Riley smirked, leaning against the wall before he grimaced when his fingers touched something suspiciously slimy. "Ew."

"I'll take it." John smiled.

🌙

THEY WERE all exhausted, other than Riley. Grey sat at the back, sipping a water as Riley entered the room with yet another cork board. 

This board now had new threads. More photos. Another capybara, that Riley was using as a metaphors that no one had put together. Riley stood tall, pointer in hand.

"Let's start with Forensics," he said, nodding to West and Lopez.

Jackson stood, glanced at his training officer, then presented. "The ME confirmed no physical trauma, no drugs. Heart failure — induced by an adrenaline spike. Cause: psychological shock. Also — there were flecks of glitter on his throat and latex paint under his nails."

Lopez added, "Someone scared him — badly. Enough to kill him."

"Victimology," Riley nodded towards Lucy.

Lucy stepped up. "The victim had a stalker. Camille Fiero was less ex — client and more unhinged ex — fling. She claims he led her on. When she saw he was throwing a party without her? She cracked."

Bradford dropped the final piece: "Security cam caught her leaving the rental in a jester outfit. Mask in her purse."

"Scene and background?" Riley said.

Nolan looked triumphant, grinning like a little boy. "She mailed him threatening letters in calligraphy. But here's the kicker — she used a delivery service that logs biometric data. Fingerprints. We confirmed hers."

Riley grinned at the word kicker, because who other than an old man would say that. Then, he grinned again at everyone else.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and Grey..." He clapped once. "Case closed. Camille terrified him to death. Literally. Arrest was made an hour ago. Nice work."

Angela leaned in. "So who wins?"

Riley dramatically reached under the desk and pulled out a glittery envelope that he had decorated on his lunch break.

"I have put everyone's work together, and tallied up the chaos. And today's duo winner of One Entire Day Off, redeemable with Wade's reluctant approval..." He opened it. "Is... Jackson West and Angela Lopez!"

The room applauded — except Tim, who muttered something under his breath about bribery.

Angela was already planning on how she could take a day off and spend it all with Riley. West was thinking about the track a few blocks from his house, thinking he could break his record for a mile.

———— authors note, 🌙

if you haven't noticed, riley is like jake peralta in a different universe and font. this fic is 100% brooklynn nine nine in another world.