Operation Haruspex: Chapter One
A Delta Green Solo Write Up, using the Rogue Handler Supplement
Published by arrangement with the Delta Green Partnership. The intellectual property known as Delta Green is a trademark and copyright owned by the Delta Green Partnership, who has licensed its use here. The contents of this document are ©SolumProtocol, excepting those elements that are components of the Delta Green intellectual property.
Thumbnail Photo by Artem Saranin: https://www.pexels.com/photo/black-vehicle-parks-beside-gray-concrete-building-1853540/
Home Scene - July 16 - August 5th, 2005
My meeting with Landry the following day was brief. He didn’t ask for details, and as much as I wanted to vent that there was a literal fucking sentient corpse in Clyde Baughman’s Septic tank, I kept it to bare facts. Landry didn’t seem surprised, at least, which only raised more questions. Once I was finished, he merely sighed, and ordered a pair of strawberry milkshakes.
“Take this as a lesson, Katherine.” He said sagely, stirring the milkshake with a colorful novelty straw. “Don’t bring your work home with you. If you do nothing but burn and bury it, you’ll live a happier life. Likely a longer one too.”
“Do we have protocols for that, now that we’re not….’ I trailed off, not wanting to use the term, but unable to think of an appropriate replacement.
“Cowboys?” Landry said cheerfully, and I nodded. “No. Not officially, anyway. It is, and likely always will be, the field agent's discretion. But as long as I am your handler, I will strongly encourage you to destroy or dispose of any items of unnatural or unexplainable origins. Some of my colleagues are of the mind that the unnatural should be studied, possibly even weaponized.” His tone of voice and the sharp look he gave me made it clear he thought that this was a bad idea, to put it mildly. “Do what you have to do when you’re on a mission, but be careful. Otherwise the next Op might be sent to take care of you, understood?” He fixed me with a look that was so unlike his usual amicable mask that I felt momentarily off balance, a steely look in his blue grey eyes. But after a beat, I nodded along.
“Understood.” I echoed.
I got into a blazing row with Mom a few days later1. I haven’t been sleeping well, my dreams filled with the lights that lingered in Marlene Baughman’s shadow even as she burned unmoving at the bottom of the septic tank. Mom keeps calling me at 6AM, usually waking me from the dreamless part of my sleep, and so was already starting the conversation off in my bad books. I know that she missed the morning coffee chats she used to have with dad before he went missing, and when I was in college I was happy to fill that void for her, but it was just a little too much after the Baughman’s cabin. After five minutes of hearing about this new guy that she met at bingo, I flipped out. Maybe it wasn’t entirely because of the sleepless nights, in retrospect. Sure, Dad had been missing for nearly 8 years, and declared legally dead for just over 4, but still, dating a guy she met at bingo? Jesus. She hasn’t been returning my calls since, and I'm not proud of the voicemails I’ve left. As a result, I threw myself into work2. I’ve been something of a pariah around the office since the blow up with one of the senior agents back in spring, but now that the whole office was under the impression I’d attended a “Team Building and WorkPlace safety” conference, or whatever the fuck Landry had pulled out of his ass, people seemed to pity me, if nothing else. Special Agent Barnes, my cubicle neighbor, even gave me a small pack of donuts my first day back, which I took as a good sign. I volunteered to take on a few agents' paperwork backlog, a constant and insurmountable task for any agent who spent time in the field, and remained a punctual, model federal agent. It was oddly satisfying. By the end of July, the atmosphere in the office was almost palatable, and people were starting to be receptive to the usual Jones’ charm3, which came as an extreme relief. I don't usually have issues with people, and being an outsider was a very unfamiliar and unwelcome addition to my daily routine. I was just starting to find my feet when the next call came in.
Seattle - August 5th, 2005 6PM
I found a letter under my door when I got home from work, after a long day of processing increasingly boring paperwork. Dinner with Landry, 6PM at the usual place. I was due for one of my monthly get-togethers with my cousin Marcus, but fortunately he was always late, and a lot more settled in Seattle than I was, so I shot him a text and told him I was working late, and to save the wine and shitty cocktail umbrellas for next week. He replied with an incomprehensible set of text speak and something that might have been a thumbs up, so I switched my phone off and headed over to the diner. Landry sat chatting amicably with the ageless waitress, who slid a diet coke and a menu in front of me without so much as a glance before shuffling off to wipe down an already sparkling countertop on the other side of the diner.
“Agent Baker has been telling me such wonderful things about your performance of late, Kat.” He said as he delicately carved up a piece of uninspired meatloaf.
“That feels vaguely unethical.” I replied and he smiled blandly.
“I am, technically, part of your hierarchy.” He said lightly. “Unfortunately, the people with the clearance to know of my status have all since retired.’ He added as an afterthought. He continued with this vein of infuriating small talk until I ordered a sandwich, and we continued to trade verbal jabs until the food arrived and he finally got to the point. He slid a photo across to me. A white woman in her late middle age looked back at me, a cool expression on her face and dark circles under her eyes. A badge on her white coat marked her as a resident doctor for Woodland Park Zoo, here in Seattle. Dr. Tabitha Abel, Mammalogist4.
“What’s the job?” I asked, sliding the photo into my inside pocket.
“Multiple animals have been found in the Woodland Park Zoo with injuries. Lacerations, mostly. The staff have chalked it up to their ageing infrastructure. Some of the older structures have begun to sink as the ground begins to give way, and there have been complaints recently of unsafe conditions, so they have have begun the process of renovating. A friendly5 got a hold of this.” he passed me another photo, a hastily taken blur of animal skin. I could just about make out the flank of an animal, possibly a lion, with a precise, cut along the whole length of the photo. It was neat, perfectly straight, and had clearly been done with a scalpel, or hobby knife, something with a precise, sharp edge.
“Someone has been cutting into animals?” I asked, nonplussed “Unpleasant, but what’s the connection?”
“Nothing concrete as yet. Our friendly took an interest. He has a few connections to the Zoo so was able to get in there regularly to stake the place out. He said he saw Dr Abel cutting one of the animals with a scalpel and acting in an increasingly erratic manner. Not long afterwards, she stopped coming to work, and as now been missing for a few days. If she doesn’t turn up for work on Monday, that will become official. I would prefer if we knew if there was anything unnatural at work before the authorities get involved.”
“Any Family?” I asked.
“One. Her father lives just outside Seattle. Elliot Abel is in his 80s, but they talk regularly, and meet for lunch every weekend. No other family that we are aware of.” Landry took a sip of his milkshake and let out a satisfied sigh before continuing. “Standing orders remain the same. Identify the threat. If it's mundane, hand it over to the local PD. Otherwise take care of it.” He passed over a folded leather wallet. Inside was a Private Investigator License with my Quantico student ID picture, and a fake name. The Photo had been altered slightly, with blue eyes, instead of brown and light brown hair instead of my usual blond.
“Amanda Parsons?” I asked, reading the name.
“A fairly solid cover. Parsons and Parsons is a real PI agency, operating out of Minnesota. I suggest you keep your FBI credentials out of this, at least for now. Use the usual methods if you require further support. I have a few assets I can mobilize if this is a bigger threat, but for now keep things low key. And if you can resolve this before law enforcement is involved, it will make all of our lives a lot easier.”
Working with a cover wasn’t an aspect of my job I was partially familiar with, but I headed home and gave it best my best shot6. It took over an hour, and the brown jacket and pants I had dug out of the back of my wardrobe were ill fitting at best, a relic from the days when I thought I was going to be a deskbound accountant. I spent longer than I would have liked trying to fit a plain brown wig over my tight blonde bun in a vain attempt to match my PI license photo, but the seam was clearly visible under the harsh fluorescent light of my bathroom and I couldn’t get it to settle in a way that looked even halfway natural. I almost ditched it, but I was burning daylight so I left it on and prayed that I wouldn’t run into anybody who was overly observant. There wasn’t enough sunlight to justify the use of the large lens sunglasses I slid onto my nose, but between the wig and the sunglasses, I could maybe pass for the doctored PI ID in my pocket. I tucked my side arm into my shoulder holster under the jacket and a grabbed fistful of bills for the bus and set out for Tabitha Abel’s residence on Greenvale Avenue.
848 Greenvale Avenue - 9PM
Greenvale Avenue was a reasonably safe stretch of road a couple of blocks away from the Woodland Park Zoo. It was the type of area that had plenty of twitching curtains, and a Neighborhood watch sticker on every Lamppost. It was easy to stick out, even under the cover of darkness, so I walked casually and confidently towards the 10 story apartment complex at 848, a bounce in my step and a small smile on my face, so that anyone who caught a glimpse of me would assume I was keen to get home after a day at work7. I looped the building a few times to ensure there were no cameras and then made a beeline for the entryway. There was no buzzer and the door opened without a key or a fob, a testament to the safety of the area, I supposed. I kept my sunglasses on as I rode the elevator up to the 9th floor and tried not to fiddle with the wig on my head, but the hallways were empty, so I needn’t have bothered. Tabitha Abel resided in room 904, a two bedroom apartment with a view of the city skyline8. The door to her unit trembled slightly as I approached, a slight vibration that rattled the doorknob, and my hand strayed to the pistol tucked under my jacket. I slipped on a pair of gloves and move towards the door, trying to get an earful of the inside of the apartment. The door rattled continuously as I heard a deep, rhythmic thumping coming from the other side. The sound was faint, so I slid the key in and opened the door a crack9 causing a wave of a rancid, fish smell to roll out into the corridor. I moved into the apartment and closed the door behind me, my mouth twisted in disgust at the stench. The smell was worse inside, but I couldn’t see the source of it, nor the thumping from the entryway. It was a nice enough apartment, clean and organized despite the smell10, until I reached the kitchen. Each countertop in the modern, art deco kitchen was piled with dozens of fish all dead and in various states of decay. Small trickles of blood leaked from lacerations in the scales, and even from the doorway I could see that cuts were made with the same level of precision as the cuts from the photograph. A single, large knife was sunk deep into the counter, dried blood flecked along the edge. The scene was disturbing, if oddly clinical and a step up in violence from Dr. Abel’s actions at the Zoo11. I was no expert in animals, but some of these fish looked exotic. The dead eyed stare of a large, colorful catfish seemed to follow me around the kitchen as I tried to ignore the smell and rummaged around the drawers. I was fairly sure it was imagination, but it was creepy nonetheless. Apart from the large carving knife, there were no other edged implements in the kitchen, and apart from the congealed blood around the wounds on the dead fish, the kitchen was almost impossibly clean. Although disturbing, there was nothing here that stuck out to me as uncanny, so I moved on in search of the thumping sound, which still rattled the doors and windows periodically with a muted thud thud thud.12
Dr. Abel’s office was cramped, but surprisingly free of fish smell, for which I was immensely grateful. A doctor's bag sat open on the desk next to a sheaf of papers, filled with melted ice packs and several medical grade blood bags. I spent some time looking through the paper, but it was all seemingly standard administrative paperwork, invoices for supplies and other day to day busy work, creating a stark contrast between its existence, and the bags of blood less than a meter away.13 The thumping had been a constant thrum of noise since I arrived, and I eventually zeroed in on the source; a small, waist high closet on the far side of Dr Abel’s office. The handle rattled in time with the thumping, and I could here a wet thud with each vibration. I drew my pistol as I advanced on the door.14 A soft growl rumbled out from the door, and the unpleasant aroma of old fecal matter and unwashed bodies wafted under the door. I waited for the pressure on the door to ease, and then I unlatched it and jumped back, pistol raised.15A pathetic whine echoed out from the darkness, and a filthy German Shepard shuffled out of the closet, filthy and bleeding, it’s fur matted and tangled. It flopped onto the ground and let out another whine and I swore, rushing to its side. The dog looked like it hadn’t had care for a while and judging by the stench in the closet, had been living in its own filth for a day or two at least. A single, long laceration marked its flank. It was a simple, long cut, nothing odd or suspicious about it based on my limited knowledge of the weird and creepy16, but it was hot to the touch, and likely infected. I scanned the poor pup's body for any other signs of injury, and I noticed a few details of interest17. Firstly the collar, blue with a small silver pendant in the shape of a bone. It had what I assumed to be the dog's name, Bolt, as well as a phone number on the reverse. Tucked into the collar was a small piece of paper, seemingly snagged by accident. Only the name was visible, “Bargain’s Bargains”. What little I could see indicated it was a flyer for a pawnshop on Greenvale Ave, a few blocks up the road from here. I tucked it into my pocket and glanced around the apartment. There wasn’t any food I would trust to feed the poor guy panting on the floor below me, and when Dr. Abel was officially declared missing there would be law enforcement all over this place, especially if the treatment she was giving these animals ever came to light. The apartment was weird, between the ill treated dog and the heaps of dead fish, but none of it was inherently my area of weird, at least, not on its own. I looked down at Bolt, his breath coming it in short, labored pants, and I realized I couldn’t just leave him here, what if he died? I threw the medicine bag over my shoulder and coaxed the dog into the bathroom, where I gave the fella as soft as a rub down as possible, given his poor state, and checked him over.18 Half starved and filthy, I didn’t think he was in any immediate danger, but he would need some TLC from someone with medical knowledge sooner, rather than later. I tucked the rancid towel into the bag and made sure did a final sweep of the apartment, ensuring that I didn’t leave anything incriminating behind before I led the pup out of the apartment. I closed the door behind me and locked it, before heading to the elevator.
Kat’s Apartment, 11PM
I hit up a fast food Drive-Thru and threw a bag of fries and a cheese burger at the wounded pup in my passenger seat. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but I guessed it had been a few days since the dog had eaten, and anything was better than nothing. Judging by the way he scarfed it down, it was a good call. I had reached out to Landry using the pre-arranged channels, I.E - a text from my burner phone asking about suggestions for veterinarians, using a basic cypher code we had agreed on back at the diner, but he hadn’t gotten back to me, so I did the only thing I could think of - I took the dog home. I gave him a bath, watching the water in the tub turn a distinctly off putting shade of brown and examined him again with my untrained eye, just in case there was something I had missed. The cut was still hot, but it was clean, and he didn’t trek any shit into my house, so I was feeling pretty good, despite the stench. Once he was clean, I put out a little bowl of water and some leftovers in a bowl, but he just curled up by my feet and went to sleep. I pulled out my laptop, a government issue old block that struggled to run a web browser and play minesweeper, and started doing some basic research while I waited to hear back from Landry’s people.19 The phone number was the landline of a Mrs Ellen McBurny, a recent retiree formerly of the Woodland Park Zoo. I didn’t glean much apart from her name and contact information but I could at least return Bolt to his owner tomorrow, and maybe find out how the poor guy had turned up in Dr Abel’s apartment in the first place. I looked up the pawnshop next, the unconventionally named “Bargain’s Bargains” on Greenvale Avenue. There was an address, not too far from Abel’s apartment, and their schedule. They were open late, I noticed, into the early AM, and then closed again until mid afternoon. I tried to find a bit more information, but other than a strange, almost nonsensical blog post, I didn’t find much before the burner buzzed. An address and a name20. Earl Eckart.
Eckart’s Veterinarian - 12AM
Earl was a diminutive man in his late 50s, either tired at the late hour or with the wrong prescription on his thick rimmed glasses judging by the way he squinted at the dog, then at me, then around at his clinic with an equally bemused expression. Landry had indicated Dr Eckart wasn’t “Read-in’ so to speak, on the full extent of The Program got up to. He knew there was a part of the government that investigated the weird and hard to explain, but not much more than that. He shushed Bolt as he gave him a top to tail examination, cleaned and stitched the wound, then laid out a bowl of water and some treats, which Bolt ignored in favor of more sleep.
“Anything to be worried about?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Malnutrition and a light infection.” He said, wiping his glasses on his crumpled plaid shirt. “Nothing rest, hearty meals and a dose of antibiotics won’t fix.” He returned the glasses to his nose and squinted up at me.
“You’re one of Landry’s people, huh. Looking into Tabitha?” He asked brightly. I nodded, and flashed a professional smile.
“Do you know the doctor?” I asked.
“We crossed paths.” He said, tapping his fingers nervously on the counter in front of him. “I sometimes get called in to treat some of the animals at the Zoo when they needed a spare pair of hands. And I’m a lifetime member. She’s much more qualified than me, of course.” He added the last bit, almost as an afterthought, and flashed a smile of his own, seemingly on the verge of losing himself in a memory.
“What was she like?” I asked, “Before all the strangeness.” I add.
“She was talented.” He said. “And driven. I always wondered why she ended up here in Seattle. She is dreadfully overqualified for her position at the Zoo, but she loves her work. It’s what flagged the whole thing as so strange for me, to be honest. Tabitha would never harm an animal willingly, and she’s far too sharp to injure one by accident. She’s never missed a day from work, either, as long as I’ve known her.” Dr Eckart continued on in this vein for a while, but he didn’t share anything else noteworthy, although his genuine affection for the woman was blindingly obvious. By all accounts, Dr Abel was an animal loving woman dedicated to her job and her lifelong passion for the care and ethical treatment of animals, specializing in mammals and marsupials. Earl didn’t know her well enough to say what could have triggered her odd behavior, but he noted that the wounds started appearing a couple of weeks ago, and no one else in the Season ticket holding Zoo community seemed to have tied it to Dr. Abel.
“I hope you find her.” He said with a yawn. “She does so much good for the community, especially at that Zoo. Keeps them all honest, you know?” I had no opinions on the level of honesty of Zoo workers, so I hummed my agreement. So far, this case seemed more mundane than I had been expecting. There didn’t seem to be anything ritualistic about the cuts, although I was far from an expert. The only thing that stuck out was their uniformity - All cuts were straight, seemingly the same length, and on the right flank. Earl agreed to keep Bolt here, guiding the sleepy pup to a comfortable looking kennel before retiring to bed. I was jealous. Missing Persons cases were always a matter of time, and it was only midnight.
Bargain Bargains Pawn Shop - 1:20 AM
The pawn shop looked about how I expected, complete with a glitzy, barely functional neon sign, narrow musty corridors and a foundation that somehow seems older than all the ones around it. The proprietor was a man of indeterminable age and nationality by the name of Cecil Bargain, and he stood behind the counter, resplendent in a burgundy track suit, brand name sneakers and more gold on display than the British Royal Family. He ignored me as I entered, focused instead on an old black and white movie on a TV set that looked about as old as I was. He was a big man with an easy smile, and I didn’t need my Quantico training to see the side arm and steel baseball bat tucked just below the eyeline of his shop counter. I made a show of looking through his goods, mostly standard pawnshop items pawned from deceased relatives, desperate people and petty criminals, before strolling over to him with a practiced nonchalance I didn’t feel. His eyes never left the battered old TV set, but his body shifted as I moved so I was never truly out of his eyeline. I suppose young women don’t normally come in the early morning to root around in old electronics and costume jewelry. I scooped up an old and annotated “Guide to Seattle.” and flicked through it, before I tucked it under my arm and took it with me to the counter. Cecil quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.
“Jus this for you?” He said. His voice was light, but with the slight husk of a lifetime smoker. I pulled out the tattered remains of the flyer and twirled it around.
“I’m visiting, and a friend gave me this flyer.” I said, affecting a slight southern burr and a wide, ingratiating smile. The “Amanda Palmer” I had fixed in my head was based loosely on the only Amanda I had ever known, a bubbly girl from Houston Texas who always dragged out all three of the “a”s in “Amanda”. She was a nice girl, and smart as a whip. I tilted my head and leaned on the counter before continuing “I was wondering if you knew her? Her name’s Tabitha, and she gave you guys a rave review.” I kept me smile plastered on my face and scanned his face for any reaction. I saw a flare of recognition from the name and he snapped his fingers, flashing a smile of his own.
“Ah yes, Tabitha.” he says, his accent thick and utterly unfamiliar. “Yes! A good customer in recent weeks, you know? I’m glad she has been recommending us!” There was a beat where we both smiled at our fake, professional smiles at each other before I pressed again.
“What kind of things has she been buying?” I asked, attempting to affect an air of innocent inquiry. My eyes flickered behind the man to a thick curtain that hung unobtrusively from ceiling to floor and lowered my voice conspiratorially. “Anything from the…back room?” I batted my eyelashes and smiled, an unpracticed gesture I had seen Houston Amanda pull off effortlessly on numerous occasions21. He eyed me warily, but just for a moment before the grin returned and he nodded.22
“Ah, I see! You are a seeker?” He asked warmly, lowering his voice to match mine and I winked at him without subtlety. Cecil glanced around, and then flipped open his desk nodding me through to the back room. The curtains parted to reveal a thick, oaken door with a comically large, old school lock with matching, also comically large iron key. Cecil glanced at me over his shoulder before he threw open the door and gestured for me to go in. This was likely a terrible idea, but I was here now, so I walked confidently through into the darkness. The lights flicked on a moment later, and I almost rocked back in shock when the back room revealed itself to be a library.
Library is likely too fine a word for the cramped set of bookshelves that lined the wall of Bargain’s Bargain, but it had literally been the last thing I had been expecting. I glanced at the books as Cecil leaned against a wall and watched me with a faint smile. He seemed almost relaxed now, having tagged me as a “Seeker”, although a seeker of what, I had no idea. I scanned the shelves, seeing a lot of Latin and Arabic, with names like “Dictionairre Infernal” and similar titles. A seeker of the occult, then, if I had to guess. This was promising.
“Do you have a spare copy of the book Tabitha picked up?” I asked eventually “I can’t remember the name.” I added apologetically, with a wide, ingratiating smile. It was almost offensive how often this approach worked, both as an FBI agent as as a college kid looking for cheap liquor, but I could tell by the way that Mr. Bargain’s eyes followed me around the room that he was a sucker for the “young woman out of her depth” routine. Unsurprisingly, he puffed up his chest, and made a show of ruffling through his ledger.23 He hummed and hawed, flicking through pages before he said warmly “Ah yes! You are in luck, I have a second copy of Seeker Tabitha’s most recent purchase.” He placed a finger on the book shelf behind me24, tracing fingers along the spines with a thoughtful hum. He pulled, a slim paperback from the shelf and handed it to me and smiled apologetically.
“Not an original, of course.” He said mournfully. “Like much of my collection, these are reprints and translations.” The book was in a sorry condition, and looked like it had been printed and bound at Staples, but the name, written in looping cursive along the cover, was interesting. Daemonologia Sacra. Definitely something Landry would be interested in. I took a little longer browsing the shelves, but it was all some various forms of occultism and esoterica, none of which I recognized enough to tell if it was useful, relevant or even real.25 The books were cheap, unsurprising considering their state, but I chatted up Cecil for a bit over the purchase26, and he was, at least, mildly helpful. Tabitha had purchased the book about 2 weeks ago, as well as a few other odds and ends, of most interest was a knife from Tibet that Cecil was very excited about. He didn’t have any spares lying around, but he said it was a sharp blade, used in throughout history in various rituals, and we waggled his eyebrows suggestively at me. I asked if he could reach out if he happened across another one and he laughed dubiously, but took down my email.
“These are very rare, of course, and so much more costly than this trifle, you understand? I may never see its like again!”
Thanks for Reading! As always, leave a comment and let me know what you think!
I Projected onto this Bond in Chapter One.
This is the “Fulfill Personal Motivation” Pursuit, specifically to “Excel at her Job.”
Her Charisma score is 15, so she is being literal here.
Roll on The Investigation Table. Known information = Culprit + Means. Culprit = Scientist and Means = Knives. Oracle Question - Any other Agents yet? 63 No.
A ‘Friendly’ is a contact on the edge of Delta Green, not an active agent and usually an informant or contact.
Skill Check: Disguise 99/10 - Critical Failure
Oracle: Any Cameras? No. Concierge? No. Set clock - 07.
Sounds - A Deep, Rhythmic thumping
Smells - Rotting Fish.
Skill Check: Search 49/71 - Success. Find the source of the smell? Yes. Is it unnatural? -40% 67 - No.
Oracle: Are all the fish ‘Normal’? - 78 No.
Roll on Sights Table - Bags of Blood. Clock Roll = 80.
Time Taken, Roll Clock = 25. Increase clock by 1 = 81.
Roll on Smell Table - Dog faeces.
Oracle: Is it a threat? - No.
Skill Check: Occult 67/10
Skill Check: Search 22/71 Critical Success. Rolled on prompt table “Bargain Business”
Time Taken, Roll Clock = 53. Increase clock by 1 = 82.
Oracle: Is the Phone number related? Yes. Anyone already related to the case? Yes
Oracle: Is it the Friendly? Yes
Skill Check: Persuade - 65/71 Success.
Oracle: What does he have back there? Esoterica? Yes.
Do they have a second copy of Tabitha’s purchase? Yes. Did she only get a book? Yes.
Oracle: Is this Unnatural? Yes. Roll on Unnatural Table - Sigils.
Skill Check: Occult 75/10
Stat Check: CHA X 5 - 11/75 - Critical Success.
I really like how you've characterized Kat here; it's our first time in her head, and the details you've included already give a good idea of what kind of person she is. Her justifying her fight with her mom in her head, her decision to rescue poor Bolt and even take him home, the little detail about playing "young woman out of her depth" to buy booze in college, all tell the reader a lot about her as a fully-realized person.
The start of the case is nicely eerie. Very interested to see where it goes!
Very interesting development so far of the story. I like Kat, if for nothing else, for rescuing Bolt.