Chapter Text
[05:13 AM | SVU Group Comms : Priority Alert] DISPATCH:
Chaichana, Lieutenant Phayu. Lee, Detective Rain. We have got a body. Female. Alley behind Sukhumvit Soi 22. Near the old bakery. Uniform on site says it looks staged. No witnesses. No ID. Forensics en route. Captain Phupha wants you both on scene immediately. There’s a note. It’s addressed to you. – Dispatch Control, Unit 4.
The sharp chime of the priority alert jolted Rain awake, his body reacting faster than his thoughts. He blinked into the early light filtering through the curtains, already reaching for the phone vibrating on the nightstand. Beside him, Phayu stirred, eyes cracking open, sharp despite the hour. Rain skimmed the message, heart sinking a little at the last line. “Dispatch. There’s a body,” he said quietly, voice rough from sleep. “Note’s addressed to us.” Phayu was already sitting up, reaching for his black watch and the plain silver ring on the bedside table. “Where?” “Soi 22. Near that old bakery.” There was no panic in the room, just movement. Efficient, familiar. Clothes pulled on with muscle memory, side by side, no words needed for the first few minutes. Phayu tugged on a fitted black shirt, sliding his badge into the pocket of his jacket. Rain, still buttoning his own shirt, caught the crease of tension in Phayu’s brow and stepped closer, fingers brushing lightly against his chest before smoothing down the collar, his own ring glinting in the soft light. “Hey,” Rain murmured. “We have got this.”
Phayu’s eyes met his, something unspoken passing between them, trust, certainty, maybe even the memory of the last case that had shaken them both. He leaned down just slightly, pressing a brief kiss to Rain’s forehead. “I know.” They were out the door within minutes, keys in hand, weapons holstered, and minds already turning. In the car, Rain tucked his knees up slightly in the passenger seat, the city just beginning to stir outside the window. He stared out at the soft light catching on rooftops, his senses on edge. “Feels personal,” he said finally. Phayu nodded, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his thumb absently rubbing the side of Rain’s wrist where it rested nearby. “Staged scene. No witnesses. Note with our names. It’s someone making a point.” Rain glanced at him sideways. “They picked the wrong people for that.” Phayu’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “They did.”
The rest of the drive was quiet, the kind of quiet filled with the static of too many thoughts. They knew the rhythm by now, the calm before the storm, the click of instincts sharpening. When they pulled up near the alley, lights already flashing faintly against the buildings, Phayu parked without a word. They looked at each other once before stepping out. Rain rolled his shoulders. “Let’s find out who wants our attention so badly.” Phayu gave a small nod, jaw set. “And make sure they regret it.” Together, they walked toward the tape, side by side, not just partners on paper, but in every sense that mattered.
The alley behind Soi 22 was already cordoned off with regulation tape, a ripple of blue and white catching the rising sun. Patrol cars flanked the entrance, their lights muted now to a soft pulse. Officers milled around the perimeter, some scribbling notes, others watching the gathering crowd of onlookers held back by barriers. As soon as Phayu stepped out of the car, there was a shift, subtle but immediate. Uniforms straightened. Conversations dropped in volume. The ripple of respect moved outward like a stone in still water. “Lieutenant,” a young officer greeted, stepping aside quickly, eyes flicking once to Rain before dropping respectfully. “Scene’s secured. No one’s touched anything. Captain Phupha said you would take point.”
Phayu gave a curt nod. “Good. Keep everyone back. No chatter.” Rain followed him closely, not bothering with pleasantries. His expression had settled into something cool and quiet, the calm mask he wore when things were about to get bad. There were other detectives already present, likely from precinct watch or nearby divisions. One of them, a veteran officer with sharp eyes and a tired face, dipped his head as Phayu passed. None questioned who had command here.
The moment they crossed the police tape, Phayu reached out, linking his pinkie with Rain’s without looking. A small gesture, easily missed. But Rain felt it immediately, the sudden quiet in his head, like a heavy curtain drawn across a window. The background hum of thoughts and fear and noise dulled into silence. Shielded. Rain exhaled through his nose, grateful. They moved with purpose down the narrow stretch of concrete, boots crunching softly against damp gravel. Phayu’s eyes flicked upward briefly, the alley opened slightly toward the end, and the body had been placed deliberately in the center of that widening space.
They said nothing yet. Let the silence settle. Let the scene speak first. The body lay there, a woman, face obscured by shadows, limbs arranged almost with reverence. Rain didn’t move toward her immediately. Neither did Phayu. They stood just outside the inner ring of the scene, observing everything else first: the drag marks leading from a darker corner, the deliberate way the heels of her shoes pointed outward, almost daintily. No signs of a struggle here. She hadn’t died in this alley. Phayu finally pulled on his gloves, the sound of latex snapping soft in the air. Rain mirrored him, slipping on his own pair with practiced precision. Still no words. None needed yet.
Behind them, the forensic team was setting up, but they stayed well clear of the body until Phayu gave the signal. He crouched first, careful, his expression unreadable. Rain followed a moment later, kneeling at an angle so he could observe the placement of her limbs and the details of the scene without disrupting anything. Phayu tilted his head. “Rain.” Rain narrowed his eyes, focusing. The shielding helped. He let the clairvoyance settle at the edges of his senses, not touching the body yet, not opening his mind all the way, just enough to feel that faint, grim echo. “Staged,” he said quietly. “Deliberately displayed. This is a message.”
Phayu nodded once. “We don’t respond to messages. We collect facts.” Rain gave a small, humourless smile. “Yes, sir.” Behind them, the scene remained quiet, the officers on standby, the forensics team waiting, and somewhere, out of view, Dr. Bun would be arriving. Phayu stood slowly, gaze moving over the nearby walls, the angles, the blood that had dried strangely clean. He tapped Rain gently on the arm. “Let’s begin.”
Phayu crouched again, carefully this time beside the body, his gloved fingers hovering just above the hem of the victim’s skirt. Rain knelt opposite him, taking in the visual field, the shadows, the angles, the placement of her limbs. The air was still cool, the smell of old rain and something metallic lingering in the alley. Neither spoke at first. This part demanded silence, the kind that let the scene breathe, that gave space for the truth to settle. Phayu’s voice was low when it came. “Estimate the age.” Rain leaned in slightly, not touching her yet. “Late twenties to early thirties. Well-groomed. No visible signs of prolonged struggle. Probably taken from elsewhere.”
Phayu examined the woman’s hands first. Fingernails short, clean, no signs of broken nails or defensive wounds. Her palms were oddly smooth. Not the hands of someone used to manual work. “No soil or grit,” he muttered. “She didn’t claw her way out of anywhere.” Rain studied the neckline, or rather, where it had been. The blouse was cut open in a jagged line, not torn in panic but slashed deliberately, almost ritualistically. The same was true for the skirt, cut in a straight line up one side and left peeled open. No bruising on the wrists. No zip ties, no ligature marks. She hadn’t been bound. He finally reached out, one gloved hand hovering above her temple before letting his fingers rest gently against her hair.
A shudder. Cold ran up his spine. Phayu immediately extended his hand, brushing pinkies with Rain again, reinforcing the mental shield. “Pull back if it’s too much,” he said softly. Rain nodded once. He closed his eyes for a second. “She knew him,” he whispered. “The killer. She trusted him. Not… not fully. But enough. Enough to get in a car with him. There was charm. Control.” Phayu’s gaze darkened. “Like Bundy.” “Or worse. He’s practiced. Detached.” Rain let go, severing the contact and pulling his hand back slowly, breath steadying. Then they turned to the more grotesque detail, the mutilation. Phayu gently rolled the victim’s torso just enough to inspect the deep, precise incisions on her abdomen.
Rain stiffened. The cuts were deliberate, almost surgical in nature, a deep Y-shaped incision across the torso, echoing the crude postmortem mutilations Jack the Ripper had inflicted. Intestines had been displaced, not sloppily, but with a disturbing sense of placement. She had been gutted like a specimen. “No pooling around the edges,” Phayu said, his tone flat. “She was dead before the abdominal cuts.” Rain’s mouth was tight. “Or unconscious and bleeding elsewhere.”
They moved to the neck. A thin line of bruising circled it, not thick enough for strangulation by rope. More like pressure. A forearm, perhaps. Something meant to cut off air and panic her but not kill her outright. That hadn't been the intention here. “Throat was slit,” Rain said. “Quick. We need to find the spot where the first arterial spray hit. Angle suggests he stood behind her. She never saw it coming.” Phayu glanced beyond the alley before he stood again, slowly, brushing his gloves together. “Staged. Composed. But if this was a message, it was not just to us, but to the city. They want fear. Reverence.”
Rain stood beside him. “And he’s done his research. Jack the Ripper down to the smallest detail.” Phayu’s jaw tightened. “And he wants us to know he’s just getting started.” They turned toward the sound of footsteps approaching, calm and deliberate. Dr. Bun, Medical Examiner, arriving with his kit in hand, the body officially his to examine now. Phayu stepped aside, nodding once. “We called him into a gory one,” he said. Rain didn’t reply, but he reached out briefly, just brushing his fingers against Phayu’s wrist. Just enough to ground himself again before the next round began.
Dr. Bun crouched with a grace that came from years of practice and habit, his kit already unzipped beside him. He adjusted his gloves and clicked on a small penlight, giving the victim one long, quiet look. There was no visible emotion on his face, only the subtle shift in his posture, respectful, professional, but alert. Phayu stepped closer, but didn’t interrupt. Rain stood beside him, silent, letting the older man do his work. Dr. Bun’s voice was calm, clipped. “Female, mid-to-late twenties. No external bruising on wrists or ankles. No restraint marks. Clothing cut postmortem, note the fabric separation here,” he pointed with the light, “not torn, but incised with precision. Small blade, extremely sharp. Scalpel, perhaps.”
He moved to the neck. “Cause of death appears to be a single, clean slash to the throat. One motion. Left to right. Depth and angle suggest a right-handed attacker, approximately her height or slightly taller.” Rain murmured, “She was surprised.” Dr. Bun nodded once. “Agreed. No defence wounds. She didn’t even raise her arms. Death would have been rapid. Severed both carotids. Blood pressure would have dropped in seconds.” Phayu tilted his head. “Time of death?” Dr. Bun checked the woman’s exposed wrist, then pressed lightly behind her jaw, feeling the muscles and noting their rigidity. “Based on lividity, temperature, and rigor onset… I would say she has been dead for four, maybe five hours. No more than six. Killed sometime around 1 to 2 a.m.” “Any indication she was sexually assaulted?” Phayu asked, voice flat. Dr. Bun’s expression didn’t flicker. “No overt signs. But we will confirm with the full postmortem. There’s no tearing or bruising visible externally, but the scene’s theatrical. That doesn’t mean he didn’t take his time before the kill. I will collect swabs, run DNA.”
He paused over the woman’s abdomen. His tone dropped. “This is where it gets… troubling.” Rain leaned forward slightly. “The incision here….” Bun ran a finger along the edges without touching, “….is meticulous. Clean entry, organs partially removed, placed beside her. A deliberate attempt to recreate something.” Phayu’s eyes narrowed. “Ripper.” Bun nodded grimly. “Not just the method, the sequence, the positioning. This isn’t a panicked killer. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s done his reading. She has been eviscerated like most of his victims.” Rain swallowed, throat dry. “Organs removed postmortem?” “Almost certainly. There’s minimal bleeding within the cavity. Suggests no heartbeat at the time. Which also tells me he’s controlled, unhurried. He had time.” Phayu was quiet for a long beat, absorbing the details. Then, “Any indication she was drugged before death?”
“Good question,” Bun said, checking the pupils with his light. “They are dilated, but not definitive. I will check tox screens, but I would wager she was sedated. There's a faint needle mark on her left inner arm. Could be recent.” Rain’s fingers flexed. “He calmed her down. Or knocked her out to move her.” Bun nodded again. “And one more thing, there’s almost no blood trail in the alley. Which tells me she was already dead when he brought her here. Scene is secondary.” “So, he killed her somewhere else,” Phayu said. “And cleaned her up,” Bun added. “There’s a faint scent of antiseptic. Not strong enough to suggest a hospital, but… deliberate.” Rain looked over his shoulder toward the shadows of the alley. “He cleans her. Displays her. Leaves her as a message. Just like the Ripper.” Bun zipped his kit slowly. “I will send everything to Tian’s lab. You will have a full report within hours. But this one’s… different. It’s not a heat-of-the-moment kill. This is performance.” Phayu didn’t move for a moment, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the body. Then he nodded. “Thank you, P’Bun.” The doctor stood, bones cracking softly as he straightened. “Be careful with this one, Phayu. Whoever he is… it shows no remorse.” Rain glanced at Phayu, the chill in the air settling deeper in his chest. They were hunting a ghost, but not one without a voice. This one had chosen to speak.