semiplotted iconless starter for @narrativeobsession :
Maybe this wasn't really a case in the traditional sense. Not anything horrifying, not really a felony, no murder yet... just, probably the single strangest string of theft, misdemeanors, resisting, and evading arrest that the county had literally ever seen. And thats mighty impressive, considering this was Florida.
In fact, technically, the case was in between two counties; Polk mostly, with the rest of the bizarre instances scattered around Tampa. Now, Tampa PD seemed to not notice anything too strange; some lady taking crazy, and stealing here, or trespassing there, or trying to either pet or catch a wild alligator. Suspect description: White possibly Asian female, sometimes armed with a knife, red hair, one leg, scar over right side of the face, distinct tattoos, very tall, last seen wearing a tickertape of band shirts or booty shorts or sundresses or pirate costumes or an actual yellow polka dot bikini. Another flamboyant trailer park diva, they thought, or some wiley lot lizard they just haven't been able to i.d. yet... or taken seriously enough to pursue. Tampa rolled their eyes and had the warrants pending and the boys in blue on the lookout.
Polk County PD did not roll their eyes. They did all in their power not to even blink.
Same woman. Same kinds of crimes. Same behavior and preference of dress. But with so many more run-ins with her in Polk, she'd began to get sloppy. Cops and witnesses and bystanders alike would swear she had just been at the scene. Some even claimed to look up and find her gone. Slippery was one thing, sure, fair amount of hard to catch junkies around here. Slippery doesnt mean you vanished from the back of a locked cop car. Wiley doesn't mean you show up in one surveillance camera, but not the very next one. It was one thing to have many witnesses incorrectly assume they saw a perpetrator, but it was another entirely to be seen on a dashcam walking through a Dennys parking lot and, in not less than one minute, be caught trespassing on the golf course across town. One officer claimed she smiled at him and stepped behind a tree, gone. Yet another tried to give her a field sobriety test when she stepped into a small cooler like she was stepping into pants. Fell in! Disappeared! Like she had gone down a slide! Finally, an undercover officer got as close as anyone had come to her, but it only left them with more questions. She acted like she'd never even heard of most drugs or similar contraband. Actually, this woman hadn't heard of most of anything he'd tried to talk to her about. Or if she had, she was terribly confused and trying not to let it show. She may or may not have attempted to fuck him in his unmarked car and, allegedly, said undercover officer chickened out. Allegedly. Either way, once again, she'd been erased by the fabric of the night itself. All the police had really learned was her first name: Jessica.
That was everything the case file had to offer. With the manila folder shut and this supposed detective now up to speed, the Polk County sheriff sat back in a perplexed mix of curiosity and shame; not even two days ago he had firmly believed in nothing but the good book and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Now here he sat, depending on some kind of "ghost hunter" or whatever he called himself, after weeks of radio silence from the FBI. He fixed his crossed arms over the round of his belly and sighed, eyeing the private investigator with an aching yet nonhostile stare.
" And that's... about where the trail runs cold, son. If you can even call it a trail." His grumble was exhausted but warm, and his Southern accent gravy thick.
" Now, that balls' in your court. Whole things' givin the courts an anyerism. Warrants' good to go, now all's left.. well... is there anything y'all need from us? Any questions? "
