Title: Windows of the Soul
Author(s): Fimbrethiel & Sian
Beta: Alex
Contact: Fimbrethiel@yahoo.com & Sian265@aol.com
Type: FPS AU
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Gildor & Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Strong sexual situations between Males, Extreme Violence
and Graphic Images.
Disclaimer: We are shamelessly playing with Tolkien’s Elves, but we
swear it is just for fun! All the lovely Elves are the property of
the esteemed Prof. Tolkien’s estate.

Summary:  By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked to Lindon
comes... a serial killer is on the loose

A/N: Many thanks to Alex for the beta!


***************
Chapter: 4/11


Erestor closed the door to his lab behind him, laying his head
wearily back against the solid wood, and he closed his tired eyes.
He knew his frustration had leaked through in his report to Gil-
galad, but at this point, he did not have much to report. Erestor
understood the necessity of keeping his Lord apprised of the
situation, but the time it took to tell Gil-galad that he had
nothing could be better spent finding something! The meal had been
welcome though, and the company. If Erestor did not find it so
inappropriate to call his King and Lord so, he would admit to
himself that Gil-galad and Elrond were his friends and he enjoyed
their discussion and meals together. What had surprised him somewhat
was that Elrond said nothing about his questioning of Glorfindel.

Erestor lit the oil lamps and shrugging off his heavy robe, moved to
his desk. Gildor and Saelbeth’s reports lay neatly stacked in the
center, waiting for his attention. Pouring himself a glass of strong
wine, he sat and began reading through their notes. That his only
company in the room was the sheet-draped body of his victim seemed
not to bother Erestor as his mind drifted into his case. 

Erestor pulled Saelbeth’s report to him first, reading over the
room’s inventory and looking closely at each drawing. Next, he
studied the autopsy reports, mentally walking himself though the
procedure again and again. This process was repeated several times
as the approach of night was ignored. Erestor pulled out the drawing
of the victim’s body, eyes focused on it, but his mind was somewhere
else.

She is tired; the day’s work had been long. The relief at being
home, in her room is expressed by a tired but happy sigh. The flash
of lightning and the boom of thunder have her jumping, the storm's
intensity causing her unease. The uniform is shed thankfully, the
shoes kicked off happily. Nude, she walks to the wardrobe, pulling
from within, the comfort of her old robe.

“Comfort of her old robe?” Erestor scrambled through notes, his brow
furrowed as he tried to figure out exactly what it was that caught
his attention. There was something about that robe. Scanning
Saelbeth's inventory sheets again, he found no mention of a blue
robe with silver etchings. Of course not, he thought, the victim was
wearing it. Saelbeth would not have inventoried anything directly on
the victim's body.

Erestor frowned, his mind traveling back to his own memories of the
room. What was it about that blue robe? It was a costly garment, the
fabric heavy, and the silver etchings elaborate. How would a servant
obtain something of that value? 

His eyes fell on the interview with Menelui, the victim's friend. He
lifted the parchment, already knowing what it contained. Yes,
Brennil had a current lover. One of the palace guards, in fact, but
Erestor could not see a guard being able to afford something so
costly either. 

Erestor reached for the quill, writing down his thoughts. The victim
dressed in a robe that could not have belonged to her, the open
wardrobe...

No, it was not listed in Saelbeth's notes. No thin robe. Erestor sat
back, fingers letting the parchment fall onto the desk. The killer
had dressed the victim in the blue robe, but then where was the
victim's? Did the murderer take the robe with him as a memento?
Killers often took an item belonging to their victim so they could
later relive the crime.

Erestor set aside the quill and rising, went to the large windows.
He stared out into the blackness of the night, his thoughts
wandering back to his victim.

There is a knock on the door. She is tired and frowns briefly, but
she answers it. Surprise shows at the visitor's identity, but she
lets him in. She laughs a bit self- consciously, pulling at the neck
of her robe. Nervously she explains, just arrived home from work,
having a cup of tea, would you care for some? 

Erestor frowned, his eyes drawn to the lone teacup. Did he put
something in the tea? He moves closer to it and picks it up. The
purplish residue is still as visible and still as mysterious. 

The tea? She becomes groggy, stumbles to her chair, and has to sit
down. Her mind races as she is undressed, but she cannot focus her
eyes, cannot cry out… fear grips her.  No, not that! Every Elf’s
deepest fear of rape coming back to her terrified mind…but wait, he
dresses her again in something soft and heavy. Her mind drifts
further away, only to be brought back sharply when she feels
tightening about her neck. She cannot breath, cannot move, and
cannot cry out! Breathing becomes impossible, but she can still feel
the pain, all her frightened eyes can see are the chilling ones of
her killer staring back at her as her life ends…

Erestor shuddered, forcing his mind to retreat, swallowing the bile
that rose to his throat. He shakily moved back to his desk,
collapsing into his chair, and reached for his wine with a quaking
hand. Taking a healthy swallow, Erestor laid his damp head upon his
desk. Erestor’s face was still pale as he raised his head, eyes
falling on the picture of the dead elleth. 

“You knew this killer, knew him well enough to feel safe letting him
into your room. You were comfortable with him, perhaps even trusted
him.” Erestor's voice trailed off, the silence of the room building
once more before he continued in a whisper. “Is that why he took
your eyes? You knew him, knew his face, so he cut out your eyes.
Your eyes reflected his image, windows to the soul, so he took
them...” 

Erestor’s head drifted back down to rest on his arms. He drifted;
sleep coming to claim him despite his efforts to resist. Following
him into an exhausted sleep were blue eyes... Dead blue eyes. 


He stands, nude, in front of the mirror. Many have told him, over
the years, that he is pleasing to the eye, but he does not see it.
What he sees is only average. But his beauty inspires lustful
thoughts and furtive, self-given pleasures among his admireres.

Others see the dark, exotic eyes that gleam with intelligence...a
shimmering silky length of hair long enough to sit upon and wrap
around a lover's body...the full, sensual lips that rarely smile. He
is stunning when he smiles. His limbs are long and slender, lean
muscle under milky flesh. The body of a poet, a dancer, a scribe.

He uses this beauty as a tool. His allure is a much a tool for him
as the cold steel of his equipment or his analytical mind, much as
the hammer and the saw are to a carpenter.

He raises a hand and holds it in front of him, turning it this way
and that, admiring the slender strength. His hands are his best
feature, he thinks. Hands tell much about a person, it is said, and
his hands are strong, lean and smooth. The tip of one little finger
is slightly crooked, an injury sustained in boyhood, one that never
quite healed properly. What do these hands speak of, he wonders?

He raises that elegant hand to his mouth and wets the tip of a
finger, suckling lightly. A thrill courses through his body, raising
gooseflesh over his skin.

Lazily he strokes the damp finger over a nipple, and the flesh
pebbles and grows hard under his touch.

A pinch next, and he gasps at the slight sting. Just a glimmer of
pain, and he pinches harder, then flicks the nub with a fingernail,
drawing a whimper from his lips.

A hand caresses his buttocks, skimming over the silky skin of a
slender hip, pausing a moment to run smoothly down the length of a
lean thigh. The hand circles around, pressing flat against the
expanse of a trim stomach and comes to rest.

Not his hand.

He looks down. The flesh is lightly bronzed, knotted with muscle,
the tendons standing out starkly.

He lays his own on the one resting on his stomach, and finds the
skin warm and pliant under his touch. The palm is broad and slightly
rough, rasping lightly over his skin. The fingers are long and wide,
easily able to span his abdomen, the nails blunt and trimmed short.
It is a strong hand, but its touch is surprisingly gentle.

A warm, solid form presses against his back, and he flinches at the
unexpected touch. He peers intently into the mirror. There is a
figure behind him, shrouded in shadows, its features concealed in a
smoky grey mist that has appeared around them.

No smoke, there is no fire...it is a fog that envelops him now,
tendrils curling around his legs. It is chilly and damp, and he
shivers. He feels the first lick of fear coiling in his belly, the
fine hairs of his body standing on end, his testicles drawing up
into hiding in his groin.

The body behind him is comforting, reassuring. He leans back into
its embrace, its arms coming around to enfold him in their warmth.

Hands stroke and sooth the nervous tension from his body, running up
and down, kneading the sleek muscles of his chest. A hard shaft
nestles in the cleft of his buttocks. It is large and pulsing, and
his groin tightens, imagining that thick flesh splitting him in two.

He closes his eyes, sighing, and leans his head back against the
shoulder behind him. His hands hang loosely at his side, fingers
clenching and unclenching as the touches become progressively more
intimate, pinching, pulling, tweaking. He is aroused, his length
swollen, curved up toward his belly. His hips thrust almost
imperceptibly into nothingness, aching for a touch to ease the
relentless throbbing.

The fog thickens, surrounding him in its moist, dank gloom. It
swirls densely about him, leaving his skin damp and chilled. The
hands caressing his body withdraw, and the heated flesh pressing
firmly against his back is gone. He cries out when blazing wet heat
encircles his arousal and swallows him whole. He bucks wildly into
that moist, slick cavern. He is close...so close...

The heat is gone. He opens his eyes and looks wildly about him,
searching for someone...anyone, but sees only that oppressive mist.
The mirror is gone. He stands alone and aching, heart racing with
fear.

A hand suddenly clamps around his throat. He wheezes, reaching up to
break the grip, but the hand squeezes tighter, cutting off his
breath. He cannot breath - he struggles, flailing against the grip
that is like iron on his neck, slowly choking him. The fingers dig
in; he feels his windpipe slowly crushed under the force.

He is strangling... he is dying.

The last thing he sees before all goes dark is a flash of blue.

********************************************************************

Erestor jerked upright in his chair, stifling a scream and gasping
for breath. Cold sweat was clammy on his body. His eyes, large and
terrified, darted about the room as though in search of his
attacker. His heart fluttered with lingering terror, and he choked
down the bile that rose in his throat.

He was safe in his office, he saw with relief, and slumped back in
his chair. He had slept the night away sitting at his desk, for the
sky over the cityscape turned pink dawn. The oil lamps had sputtered
out sometime during that night. He rubbed at his gritty eyes and
willed his heart to slow to its normal pace. "Nothing but a
nightmare," he told himself.

Shakily he rose, his legs weak, and refilled the oil lamps with
trembling hands. With a last glance at the sheet-draped body, he
closed the door behind him and began the long walk back to his own
chambers.

The chambermaid assigned to Erestor's wing was just leaving his
rooms as he approached. She gave him a curious look, taking in his
rumpled clothing and unkempt hair, but asked no questions and nodded
politely when he requested breakfast to be delivered immediately.

With a sign of relief at finally reaching familiar, comforting
surroundings, Erestor set about drawing himself a bath and changing
into clean clothing. The breakfast was delivered by a fresh-faced
young elleth soon after, and he had sat down at the small dining
table in the corner and taken a hearty bite of lightly scrambled
eggs when the door burst open and Gildor rushed in, breathless.

"There you are! We have been looking everywhere for you," the young
Noldo said. "Where were you last night? I waited for hours," Gildor
accused.

Erestor looked blankly at the younger Elf, then remembered implying
the night before that he would be joining Gildor. "I fell asleep in
the laboratory." Forcibly, he pushed the memory of the nightmare
from his mind and shrugged. "I am sorry."

Gildor's face softened as he realized how exhausted the autopsy must
have made his superior. "I understand," he responded, then steeled
himself for what he had to say.

"I am afraid, Erestor, that there has been another murder."



**********
Chapter: 5/11

Erestor and Gildor followed the King’s guardsman. They left the
palace, passed the training grounds and barracks to a small side
street that consisted of rows of small, single-family cottages.
Those cottages housed the servants and tradesmen who preferred --
and could afford -- to live outside the palace. 

Once more, the activity outside the scene signaled which cottage
housed their crime. Unlike the first time, however, the palace
guards had done their job. The area around the small home was
blocked by a row of guards, and Erestor could see that no one had
been allowed inside the scene.

As Erestor approached, the guardsmen moved aside and made an opening
for him and his assistant to enter.  “Where is Saelbeth?” he asked
Gildor as they walked toward the cottage.

“He is bringing the equipment,” Gildor replied as they paused
outside the open door, the stench of death drifting out to meet
them.

Erestor nodded as his gaze moved over the assembled crowd. He
recognized many of the servants of the palace as well as a few
guests. Unconsciously, he looked for one blond head among the crowd,
but did not see it.  Finally, Saelbeth pushed his way through the
crowds to join them, carrying the heavy black bags. Erestor pulled
on the gloves Gildor automatically handed him, too well used to the
routine to wait to be asked.

“Saelbeth, please start your sketching on the exterior of the
cottage. Do you recall what we discussed about outdoor scenes?”
Erestor asked.

Saelbeth nodded and pulled his pad of parchment and charcoal from
his bag, along with a roll of thin, white material. The cloth had
regular, one-inch markings much like Erestor’s wooden ruler, only
this could cover much greater distances and move over and under
objects. Erestor had shown the young assistant the details and
measurements needed to reproduce an outdoor scene and explained
their purposes.  The drawing would first require a scale, every inch
equaling so many feet, and then the cottage would be drawn to scale
on the paper. Next, every entrance and exit point to and from the
cottage would be drawn and their distance from the cottage marked,
as well as the distance to the road and the cottage next door. Even
the distance between the windows, and landmarks, as well as their
distance to the dwelling, would be added. No detail was too small to
be left out.

Saelbeth looked at the large crowd uneasily; he would need to begin
his measurements from somewhere in the middle of that crowd, and he
was not sure how this could be accomplished. He need not have
worried, however, for Erestor’s instructions to Gildor took care of
that.

“Gildor, please ask the guards to move these people across the
street and keep the area around the cottage clear for our young
Saelbeth.” Gildor nodded and awaited Erestor’s next instructions.
“Also, have a look about the grounds surrounding the cottage; you
know what to look for. We cannot rule out another point of entry.”  

Gildor doubted they would find anything, but he did know what to
look for. Due to the recent rain, the ground was soft and would make
any footprints near the cottage easy to find. If any prints were
found, he would have Saelbeth sketch the impressions, measure them
exactly, and indicate the distance from the prints to the cottage.  

Erestor waited until the pair moved away before entering the scene.
The cottage was simple, what one would expect from an elleth living
alone. It consisted of two rooms: a large common room that doubled
as living and sleeping quarters with a large fireplace in one
corner, and a small kitchen area with a tiny one-seat table. At
first glance it would seem the room was empty, if one could ignore
the smell. There was no mistaking the smell of rotting flesh.
Erestor’s eyes followed the path of the wall until his eyes lowered
to the victim. She was seated on the floor in a corner near her
small bed, propped against the wall. Her legs were crossed at the
ankles, hands demurely folded in her lap, head tilted to one side,
and dressed in a long gray robe that covered her from neck to toe. 

Erestor forced his eyes to move away, across the room, taking in the
details that could not be duplicated on paper. The fire had burned
out; only cold ash remained in the grate.  The room was cold and
dim. The small bed was made, and the room had a sense of bareness,
as if it was still waiting for its owner to come home and leave her
mark. 

Erestor moved to the small kitchen area. There a little more wear
could be seen. A plate and cup sat in the washbowl awaiting
cleaning, but what struck Erestor the most was the lone teacup that
sat upon the small dining table.

Gildor stepped in the open door, his shadow briefly blocking out
what light had been present. “No prints or marking on the exterior,
and the windows are all secure,” he told Erestor as he moved to the
older Elf’s side.

Erestor nodded. “Then the entry point was the front door.” Erestor
finally forced himself to move to the victim’s body. “Do we know her
name yet?” he asked somberly, as he knelt down next to the corpse.

“Cuileth, a neighbor said. The next-door neighbor is the one who
found the body. She is waiting outside for you to question her,”
Gildor replied, as he shifted slightly to allow more light for
Erestor to see by.

“Good.” Erestor carefully lifted the cloth away from the victim’s
neck, peering at the bruises found there. No surprise showed on his
face at what he saw. “Check the door carefully, Gildor,” he ordered. 

Gildor moved to the door to the cottage and checked both the
interior and exterior of the door, ensuring to touch it as little as
possible. “No signs of force, Erestor. The lock and handle are
intact. It looks like the same killer,” he said before kneeling next
to his bag and removing the death sheet.

Erestor only murmured, and then straightening reminding Gildor in a
calm voice, “Do not assume, Gildor. It is much too soon to be making
that statement. Let us get her back to the lab and see what we find
there. Trying to predict the actions of an individual from the
evidence of his deeds is tricky business.”

“Saelbeth will be busy for some time yet, so ask for one of the
guard’s help in transporting the body. Post a guard at the
laboratory, and return to assist me with the questioning.” Erestor’s
voice was brisk, and Gildor mentally flinched, knowing that the
older Elf’s mood would only become darker the longer they kept being
called to attend dead ellith.

Gildor was almost through the door when Erestor’s next words stopped
him. “Also bag the teacup in the kitchen.” Gildor swallowed, and a
chill crept up his spine. The similarities to their first scene were
startling; if it was not the same killer, then they had a very smart
copycat on their hands.

Erestor knelt again next to the body as Gildor and the young
guardsman entered and approached the dead elleth. He observed
carefully as they moved the body to the sheet, but the body was
stiff, frozen in its upright position and Erestor halted them.
"Rigor mortis," he told Gildor. "Hold for a moment, Gildor," Erestor
ordered, as he attempted to move each limb and test its flexibility.
He saw out of the corner of his eye the guard’s horror-filled face
and Erestor spoke calmly, teaching as he moved limbs and worked out
the stiffness of death. 

"Rigor mortis begins to take effect as the internal chemistry of the
body changes from its normal acid state to an alkaline one, usually
about two hours after life has become extinct. This causes muscles
that were relaxed at the time of death to begin to tense and
stiffen." Erestor moved the head from its angle tilted to the right
to a frontal position. He glanced up, meeting the young guard’s
eyes. "The process begins with the eyelids and progresses to the
muscles of the face and jaw, then to the arms, the trunk, and
finally the legs. Rigor mortis is a progressive condition and is
usually fully established about twelve hours after death. Our body
here is as unbending as a piece of wood; therefore, it is safe to
estimate that she has been dead at least twelve hours. Would you not
agree, Gildor?"

Gildor nodded, watching while Erestor worked the rigid limbs and
finally manipulated the body into a prone position. Then he and the
guardsman covered the elleth before lifting their burden and leaving
the cottage. Erestor awaited Gildor's return outside, his sharp gaze
trained on the crowd that still hung about the scene. Many met his
gaze, curiosity bright in their eyes, but some did not. Perhaps
their reasons were nefarious, and perhaps it was just a touch of
shame and the gossip and carnival nature of the crowd. Among those
gathered, Erestor recognized the head cook, a healer, and several of
the King's councilors. The latter were the ones who did not meet
Erestor's eyes.

Gildor came to stand next to the older Elf, his gaze also scanning
the crowd. He said nothing, however, until Erestor turned and headed
next door to speak to the neighbor. "Do you think the killer was in
the crowd?" he asked.

"It is possible. Serial killers often return to the scene of their
crimes. They get a perverse thrill by watching the action and
reliving their crimes as they laugh at the authorities," Erestor
said as he stepped inside the cottage.

Captain Dórion rose to greet Erestor from a small couch where he was
seated next to an elleth, who had obviously been crying. "Lord
Erestor," the Captain said in a formal tone. "This is Lenniel," he
said indicating the distraught female. Her hands shook as she set
aside her teacup, then she rose and curtsied, her face pale and lips
tightly clenched. "Lord Erestor," she said.

"Please be seated, Lenniel," Erestor said, his voice kind and soft,
seeking to put the nervous female at ease. Erestor waited until the
elleth seated herself once more before taking a chair across from
her. He introduced Gildor and asked Lenniel if she minded if Gildor
took notes of their conversation.  Lenniel nodded in agreement.

Erestor would have preferred Dórion not to be present, but he did
not want a battle for territory in front of their skittish witness.
"Lenniel, can you tell us about your neighbor, Cuileth?" Erestor
asked.

Lenniel sniffled and folded her hands tightly in her lap. "Cuileth
is--” Lenniel’s eyes filled with tears once more as her voice broke.
She struggled to gather herself. 

"It is all right," Erestor said soothingly. "Take your time.”

The elleth nodded shakily. "Cuileth was a seamstress. She worked on
all the King's guardsmens’ uniforms, and on the side, she would take
in extra work. Every penny she earned was saved. I think she wanted
to take a ship back to the Undying Lands; she had kin there still."
Lenniel took a deep breath. "I went over this morning to check on
her.  She had not been sleeping well, and I was worried. The d-door
was open," Lenniel covered her mouth with a hand, tightly closing
her eyes, as trying to banish the image of finding her friend.

Lenniel shuddered. "The smell. I stopped before going in. That smell
-- it was horrid. Her door was open. I knew something was not
right," Lenniel looked to Erestor almost desperately. "I just
knew," she whispered.

Erestor sat silently while Lenniel cried. He looked up at Gildor and
nodded towards the kitchen. Gildor reached for the elleth's teacup
and refilled it from the teapot, then sat the refreshed drink back
in front of Lenniel. Erestor waited while she took a sip and
returned the cup to the table before speaking.

"You said Cuileth had kin in Valinor?" he asked. "None here?"

"No," Lenniel replied. "Her parents sailed West and her mate died
years ago."

"Do you know what race she was? I ask because she was lighter in
hair and eye coloring than us Noldor," Erestor smiled at the elleth,
gesturing his head to include all those in the room in his remark.

Lenniel laughed a bit, the sound helping her relieve a little of the
tension. "She was of Telerin origin."

Erestor smiled again at the elleth. "You were close to Cuileth?" he
inquired.

Lenniel’s expression clouded and her eyes teared up once more. “Yes,
we have been neighbors for a number of years. My mate, Galudirithon,
is a member of the outskirts patrol. His rotation takes him from
home for a fortnight a month. When he is gone, Cuileth and I look –
looked – out for one another.” Lenniel’s voice trailed off.

“And your mate? Where is he today?” Erestor asked, making sure his
tone displayed a curiosity that was not threatening.

Lenniel responded, “He is on patrol, and is not due back for another
week.”

"Ah," Erestor nodded. He leaned forward, closer to Lenniel, his dark
eyes suddenly capturing hers, impressing the seriousness of
Erestor's next question. "Did you see anything yesterday? Think hard
before you answer. Anything unusual, out of place?"

Lenniel frowned in thought. She shook her head slowly, but Erestor
reminded her again. "Think hard, Lenniel. Did you see anything or
hear anything? Even the smallest detail may be important," he
stressed.

The silence in the room built, as did the tension. Erestor raised a
hand sharply as Dórion opened his mouth to speak, and he frowned
fiercely at the Captain to silence him. 

Lenniel looked at Erestor, her face crumbling. "Nothing, my Lord. I
am sorry but I cannot recall anything unusual about yesterday." 

Erestor smiled, even though he felt like screaming in frustration.
"It is all right, Lenniel. If you do recall any information, please
inform the Captain and he will summon me immediately." Erestor rose
and took the elleth's hand. "Do you have someone who can come and
stay with you until your mate’s return?"

Lenniel squeezed Erestor's hand in gratitude. "Yes, my sister is
coming to stay. Thank you, my Lord," she whispered.

Erestor and Gildor, with Captain Dórion following, made their way to
the door. Erestor had just reached for the door handle when
Lenniel's cry stopped them.

"Wait, my Lord! There was someone," she said, rushing to Erestor's
side.

"Someone?" he asked, with a raised brow.

"Yes," Lenniel replied, her voice excited as a memory came back to
her. "A stranger, one I had never seen in this area of Lindon
before."

"Can you describe them, Lenniel?" Erestor asked, nodding to Gildor
to write down this new information.

Lenniel's face fell, and Erestor struggled to keep his
disappointment off his face. "Just tell us what you can recall,
Lenniel?" he urged.

"It was dusk, just a bit of light left. It was an ellon; he was
walking away from me, so all I saw was his back. But I do remember
that he was dressed casually, though I could tell that the cloth and
cut were rich." Lenniel paused, struggling to recall a detail.
Suddenly her face lit up and she said excitedly," And he had long
hair of a golden color, the like I have never seen before!" 

Erestor nodded and exchanged a look with Gildor. He thanked Lenniel
and promised he would keep her informed of their progress. Now it
was time to perform the autopsy, but Erestor knew already what they
would find. 

This victim was killed by the same person.




**********
Chapter: 6/11



"Telerin, Erestor!" Gildor exclaimed excitedly.

Gildor struggled to keep up with Erestor's rapid pace as they strode
back to the palace. "Erestor, it cannot be a coincidence," Gildor
said as he ran the last few steps up to Erestor's side.

Erestor glanced behind him, making sure Dórion was not following
them back to the lab. "Hush, Gildor. We will discuss this inside,"
he warned, his tone low and irritated.

Once inside the lab, Erestor washed his hands and face in the small
water closet and removed his heavy black robe, leaving him in
undershirt and leggings. He turned and frowned at Gildor. "You know
that we do not discuss details of a crime out in the open where any
ears could hear. What were you thinking, Gildor?"

Gildor held out his hands, confused. "But it was just Dórion," he
replied defensively. 

Frustrated, Erestor threw down the hand towel he used to dry his
face and hands. "Just Dórion, you say!  You have decided that he
could not possibly be our killer, and therefore it is safe to reveal
details of the crime in front of him? Is that it, Gildor? You have
it all figured out!" By the time Erestor finished, he was shouting.

Gildor stared in shock at the older Elf. In all the time he had
worked with, and slept beside the other Elf, Erestor had never
raised his voice to him. Indeed, he had never heard Erestor raise
his voice to anyone. "Nay, Erestor. No, that is not it at all. I am
sorry," he whispered, ashamed at his lack of judgment.

Erestor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He moved to his
desk, where he perched on a corner and closed his eyes for a moment.
He opened his eyes finally with regret heavy in his dark gaze. "It
is I who should apologize, Gildor. It is no excuse, I know. But I am
tired, and these killings weigh heavily on my faer."

Gildor quickly crossed to Erestor's side and took hold of the dark
Elf's hands, squeezing them in comfort. "It is all right, Erestor. I
understand," Gildor leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss on
Erestor's lips. "You take too much upon yourself, Erestor. You could
not prevent these murders, and I know you will exhaust yourself
bringing the killer to justice. That is the best you can do for them
now."

A small smile crept across Erestor's lips and he frowned mockingly
at Gildor. "When did you become so wise?" he asked with amusement.

"Not only am I wise, I am beautiful,” Gildor grinned, relieved at
being forgiven, and pulled Erestor to his feet.

Erestor rolled his eyes, chuckling.  “And frightfully modest, it
seems.”

Their laughter faded, however, as both Elves turned toward the
newest sheet-draped body awaiting inspection. Cuileth needed their
respect and dedication now. Erestor and Gildor drew on the white lab
coats. Fresh gloves were placed on the equipment table, along with
clean instruments, parchment, and quills. Each took a deep breath
before pulling back the sheet. 

"Normally, I would wait for the effects of rigor mortis to subside
before performing the autopsy. The body can remain in this condition
for anything between twelve and forty-eight hours, until further
chemical changes return the body to an acid state.  At that point,
the muscles begin to relax again," Erestor moved about the table as
he spoke, inspecting the body from every angle.
 
Gildor frowned briefly, trying to recall what Erestor had taught him
about rigor mortis. "This process then affects the muscles in the
reverse order in which rigor mortis originally stiffened them – the
eyelids first, then the facial muscles, and finally the legs?" 

"Very good, Gildor. You are correct." Erestor moved back up to the
victim's head. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Gildor answered, parchment and quill in hand.

"The victim, named Cuileth, is a healthy female, race has been
confirmed by neighbor as Telerin.  Trauma is confined to the
victim's upper torso, mainly the head and face. Due to the presence
of rigor mortis, estimated time of death is between twelve and
forty-eight hours ago," Erestor stopped speaking and met Gildor's
eyes briefly.

Gildor hastily finished his writing, then laid aside his writing
implements and assisted Erestor with the lower torso examination.
Gildor went back to his scribing as Erestor dictated.  "No sign of
sexual assault, confirmed by examination." It was now an official
part of the report, and an eerie similarity with the first case.

Erestor began a close inspection of the victim's eye socket.  His
words continued to combine this victim's fate with the others,
binding them in one commonality:  the same killer murdered them
both. "The victim's eyes have been removed with extremely skilled
precision by a sharp instrument," Erestor continued speaking as he
moved down to the victim's neck.

"The neck area shows clear indication of force applied by hands."
Erestor held the wooden ruler to the marks. "The markings are
curved, and half an inch in diameter.  The skin is broken,
consistent with nail markings."  Erestor used his fingers to feel
about the bruised area. He frowned and explored down the throat to
the base of the neck. "There are fractures of the cartilage, and of
the windpipe and larynx."

Erestor stepped back from the table. From a cabinet he withdrew a
blunt, almost flat metal blade. Returning to the victim, he placed
the tool against the victim's lips and pried the mouth open. Peering
inside, he said, "Bruising of the tissue of the mouth, bite marks on
the tongue, added to the fractures, and the cause of death is
undoubtedly manual strangulation."

Erestor looked up, meeting Gildor's serious gaze. "Again, it appears
as if the eyes were taken postmortem," he said.

"Let us have a look at that teacup," Erestor said, moving away from
the body.

The cup had the same purplish residue in its bottom, and again
Gildor crinkled his nose at its strong alcohol smell.

Neither Elf said a word as Gildor re-draped the victim and the two
removed their white coats. They stood side by side at the sink and
scrubbed their hands, both their minds heavy with their discoveries.
Tea was brewed, and seats taken, but the silence built. Gildor knew
Erestor was waiting for Saelbeth, so he kept his questions to
himself for now. The very thought of what they were up against made
him nauseous.

A serial killer was targeting ellith in Lindon.

Saelbeth arrived while Erestor and Gildor were on their second cup
of tea. He sat heavily in the only other chair in the lab and
gratefully accepted the hot cup Gildor handed him. Erestor said
nothing, allowing the young Elf a chance at catching his breath and
partaking of some refreshment. But when Saelbeth finally set aside
his cup, Erestor spoke.

"Were there any other witnesses?" he asked.

Saelbeth snorted in disgust. "No, my Lord. No one heard or saw
anything, or at least that is their story."

Erestor smiled faintly at the young investigator’s expression.
"Saelbeth, you had best become accustomed to that answer. Most do
not wish to become involved, still others are *afraid* to become
involved, and then there are those who simply do not care."

Saelbeth's face saddened at the very thought that there could be
some who held life in such little regard, but he continued. "Here
are the inventories.  I went over them thoroughly with Lenniel. She
says that Cuileth's sewing basket is missing, but that was the only
item. Also, the robe -- "

Erestor stopped him. "Let me guess. It did not belong to our
victim."

Saelbeth nodded. "Lenniel said that she had never seen Cuileth wear
something that formal, or in that color."

Erestor leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. He eyed
his assistants for a moment before speaking quietly. "This is what
we know. We have two ellith, manually strangled by what we think to
be the same suspect. Their eyes were removed. There were no signs of
sexual assault, and no signs of forced entry to their homes. Both
victims were dressed in very elaborate, formal robes, which did not
belong to them. Both victims have items missing from their rooms.
The pose of both was similar also," Erestor paused and received nods
from the other two. "And they both are of Telerin blood."

By the time Erestor paused once more, both his assistants were
perched on the edges of their chairs, eyes rapt on their Lord's
face.

"Now, let us speculate," Erestor said, his gaze becoming unfocused
as his mind traveled back to each scene and he mentally ticked off
what was known about the crimes. "The victims knew their killer.
They let him or her in their homes. This would require some level of
trust, or a feeling of servitude on their parts. They were both
given something in their tea. Let us assume it was a drug. This
would make sense, in that no screams were heard and no defense
wounds were found on either victim. So they were passive as he
strangled them, dead when he removed their eyes. The first victim
was found by a passer-by, and the second by a neighbor," Erestor
stopped and took a deep breath. "What do we know of the Teleri?" he
abruptly asked.

"The Kinslayings," Saelbeth promptly answered.

Gildor leaned forward. "Lord Glorfindel was present at Alqualondë,"
he stated, eyes locked with Erestor’s.

"So were a great many Noldor, Gildor, but you are correct. We should
ask Lord Glorfindel about that then, should we not?" Erestor’s voice
was deceptively mild, hiding his annoyance with Gildor’s assumption.
It did not matter how many times he cautioned the other Elf, Gildor
persisted in jumping to conclusions.



Erestor sat at his ease, enjoying his tea as he waited for
Glorfindel to answer the summons to Elrond's study. Gildor and
Saelbeth had been sent despite their protest to arrange for funeral
services for the victims. Gildor had petitioned vehemently to be
present during the questioning, but Erestor had denied him, saying
only that Lord Glorfindel might be more forthcoming if only he and
Elrond were present.

Erestor did not rise as Glorfindel entered. He did wonder at the
Elda's surprise at seeing him waiting; obviously, Elrond had not
told the blond what this meeting was regarding. Erestor watched as
Elrond almost fussed over the Balrog slayer, serving him a drink
before seating himself back at his desk with Glorfindel and Erestor
across from him.

Elrond addressed the blond, his tone gentle. "Glorfindel, there has
been another murder, and Lord Erestor has a few more questions for
you."

Glorfindel’s eyes opened wide at the news of another killing, then
he frowned at Erestor.  "What does a murder have to do with me?" he
asked.

"To begin with, Lord Glorfindel, can you tell me of your activities
for the last forty-eight hours?" Erestor asked, his voice curious,
almost childlike; he could not help the dramatic widening of the
eyes he presented to the blond, even though he knew Glorfindel did
not buy his innocent act for one moment.

Glorfindel looked confused and he glanced at Elrond, but the
Peredhel only stared back at him calmly. "My activities?" he asked.

"Yes," Erestor said. "For example, can you tell me if you were in
the general area of the servant's cottages early yesterday evening,
let us say, before meal time?" 

Glorfindel appeared deep in thought. He was silent for several
minutes. "I might have walked past them," he finally said, but added
no more.

"Walked past them?" Erestor asked and raised a brow.

Glorfindel frowned at the other Elf. His tone was defensive and
aggressive as he answered. "Yes, walked past them. I was on the
training grounds observing. I am to take command of the King's
forces soon, and I wanted to judge their skill. I decided to walk a
bit before meal time."

"Why did you walk in that direction, Lord Glorfindel?  The training
grounds are a long way from the servants’ cottages," Erestor asked,
leaning forward, deliberately invading the Elda's space.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, almost as if he was drawing Erestor's
scent into his lungs. But then the blond leaned as far back as his
chair would allow and regarded the dark-haired Elf suspiciously. "No
reason other than it was a new direction."

Now Erestor frowned. "A new direction?" he asked.

Glorfindel smirked. "A new direction to walk in," he retorted.

Erestor rose in a swirl of black robe and sat on the edge of
Elrond’s desk in front of Glorfindel, shielding the blond from the
half-Elf’s view.  He wanted Glorfindel alone and disarmed, without
Elrond’s cautious gaze on them, but this was the best he could do,
for now.  He stared down into Glorfindel's mocking blue eyes, his
own burning with anger. "What if I told you, Lord Glorfindel, that
we have a witness who saw you walking past the cottage where an
elleth had just been murdered?" Erestor watched as the blond's face
paled and he swayed in his seat.

Glorfindel stared at Erestor in horror. "You think I killed her?" he
asked incredulously.

Erestor titled his head to one side, his dark hair shifting to fall
over one shoulder as he leaned closer to the Elda. "Did you?" he
asked in a whisper.

Glorfindel rose furiously from his chair and it crashed to the
floor. He sprang away from Erestor as if he were on fire. "No!" he
cried.

Erestor stood and turned his back on the blond. He looked down into
Elrond's distraught eyes. "I want him confined to his room and a
guard placed on the door," he ordered.

Elrond nodded sadly, despite Glorfindel's cry of outrage. "It will
be done," he replied sharply.

Erestor turned back to face the Balrog slayer. The Elda regarded him
angrily, his eyes snapping blue flame. "You are wrong, you know," he
said. "I did not kill those ellith." Glorfindel shook his head at
Elrond as the half-Elf made to rise and restrain him. "I will go to
my quarters and place myself under your guard, Lord Erestor. But
when you discover that you have made a mistake, do not send anyone
else. I want *you* to come and tell me that you know it was not I
who did these horrible things.  I want to hear the words from your
lips – no one else’s.”  Before Erestor could make a move to stop
him, Glorfindel turned and opened the door.  Looking back once more,
he met Erestor’s eyes, and then stormed out.

“Let him go,” Elrond said.  “He is honorable, Erestor. He will
return to his quarters and remain there.”

Erestor snorted.  “Honorable?  He is a murder suspect, Elrond.  His
honor is questionable.”  He walked to the door and stepped out,
watching the blond walk away. 

He was just about to turn back to Elrond when he saw the Elda pause
and speak to someone. Erestor recognized the Elf as one of Elrond's
healers, but he could not recall the Elf's name. He saw Glorfindel
ask the Elf something. The healer smiled and shook his head
negatively before walking away. Glorfindel had turned to watch the
Elf leave, a puzzled look on his face. 

As though sensing the other’s eyes on him, Glorfindel turned around,
seeing Erestor watching from the doorway.  Their gazes stayed locked
for several moments, blue blazing into black, before Glorfindel
bowed smartly and turned away.

TBC...