Chapter 1
Autumn
The police department was bustling with activity. On the active cases board were the pictures of the newest victim. Her newest victim. A pretty woman, hair as dark as night and skin as flawless as silk. A faint smile flickered across her face as memories of the woman flooded through her. The sweet cries muffled by the gag, and delicate tears trickling down her face. Oh how she had struggled against the restraints, and the scent of her fear, of her blood. It was all so exciting.
“Reeves!" At the call of her name she snapped back to attention, her gaze moving from the papers on her desk to the person beside her. Her chief. Fuck, how long had he been standing there?
“Are you alright?" He asked. She nodded quickly.
“Yes, yes. Just, busy with the case." She said, motioning to the papers on her desk. It was smooth, the lie that flowed off her tongue. He didn't even bat an eye at the excuse, he believed it so thoroughly that he agreed with it.
“We all are. I hate to tell you, but something new just came up." New? The newest kill was up on the board now, dead two days. She hadn’t done anything else since.
“Same MO?" She asked. Was there a copy cat killer? That certainly wouldn't slide by her, not in her city.
“No. No. This is different. No careful thought, no surgical skill." She frowned, realizing that this was new. Already on the board her victim was being pushed to the side, new pictures of a gruesome scene and a mangled body being pinned up. Well, this wasn’t good. Not that she wasn’t happy her trail was being ignored, some rest was always welcomed, but a new killer meant that her territory was being intruded. Would she have to change her MO temporarily to cull this intruder, or would they leave her alone to do her business? Even if they did the latter, she didn't like the spotlight being shifted away from her art for long. She'd have to put an end to it swiftly if this became a regular occurrence.
“Uh... Give me the file I’ll start looking it over. Am I being sent to the scene?" She asked. Pictures were already given, so she wasn’t sent for the initial investigation but would she be sent out to find smaller details? It didn't seem like they were out of clues already, she was usually called in as a last resort when the trail ran cold.
“The file is with your partner already. Head out and meet him there." The chief confirmed. With that she stood up and grabbed her badge and bag, already on her way.
Her partner, right. They had sent another detective from the city to assist in the open case she had been working on for months. He was good, the best they had, but he didn't know what she did. He was quick to trust, too quick. He hadn't given a single thought that it could be an inside job. It was useful, if not annoying to have a fresh pair of eyes on her work. On one hand, her skill could be shown off to new people, every gruesome detail laid out again. On the other, he noticed small things she had been too inexperienced in her earlier kills to cover up properly, teaching her what to pay special attention to next time. There were still occasional moments where she felt her blood rush, adrenaline kicking in as he pointed out something else she had 'overlooked'. It made her look bad to the precinct at times.
The day was chilly for the start Spring, and as she pushed her way out of the precinct. The sun was shining brightly, illuminating her blonde hair and making it look golden. She pulled sunglasses out of her bag, putting them on so she wasn't as blinded. Able to see again, she weaved through the bustling crowd of the city and to the parking lot. She'd look through the file more thoroughly tonight, after seeing the scene. She liked to look at scenes without the bias of whoever wrote the initial file notes. It was supposed to stay factual, but everyone included bias without meaning to. Highlighting certain clues, not giving enough attention to others.
She needed to be at the scene, get into the killer's mind by her own means. Were they like her, methodical, planned out with painstaking precision? Or were they sloppy, passionate? She'd have to slip into the mindset they used to find the clues others missed. What was unthinkable to those around her was second nature to her. They missed the simple details because of the horror their minds drew up. Even the most logical of them had their moments of weakness, balking at certain points. She had seen them all waiver at one point or another, she had worked with them for over six years now. While they grew nauseous and enraged, she admired the work. Some were art, like hers, others simply ending a life, which was a statement of art in itself. Proclaiming they were god, doling out judgement to those they found guilty of one thing or another.
At the scene, it was far worse than the pictures made it out to be. The body had already been moved to the morgue, she’d check it out later after the autopsy, but the blood that covered the area showed it was a crime of passion. The entire room was covered in red, walls, furniture, everything. Emotion had taken over. Was this a one time thing, or would every victim be treated similar? Most would deem it one time, but if this was a killing based on past trauma, this would be the reaction every time.
Her first reaction was to look around, the gathering people being kept away could easily possess the killer. Did anyone seem nervous? Proud? Skillful eyes glanced over everyone, even those who were her co-workers. After all, she was a detective and a killer herself.
Outside, civilians and reporters were kept at bay by tape and a small force of police. She didn't like how so many people were in her zone, they'd get distracting very soon. Right outside in the front yard, her new partner spoke to the neighbors, getting their reports. One less voice to bother her. The others working around her at least knew how she worked, and that she needed to be left alone for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, the metallic tang of the blood invading her senses, she released the breath, eyes closed.
If I was the killer here...how did it start?
She opened her eyes, looking around with a cold, calculating gaze. Her face was devoid of emotion as she walked to the front door. Her gloved hand traced the door frame and lock.
The door is fine. It was unlocked.
That much would have been noted on the report, but she needed to walk through it herself.
I knocked on the door...
She looked down, towards the side of the house. There was a doorbell, basic, so no camera, but it was something.
No, I rang the doorbell. Fingerprint.
She took a small post it note, the type used in marking textbooks, and stuck it to the wall of the house, right above the doorbell. Her little markers, to show how she believed it went down. They were orange, her first walk through. She placed a pink one on the door, in case he had knocked to ask for entrance. It was hard to tell what the path was that was taken, so she needed to make sure she included as many as she could her initial walk through, before the evidence got old or the killer returned to clean up the mess.
She stepped through the doorway, ducking under the tape, and paused. It was an open area, leading into the living room. The kitchen was ahead, the bedrooms upstairs to her left. The body had been found in the living room. Had he barely gotten inside? No, the door would have been left open, there would have been more witnesses. He didn't overwhelm her, not at first. Her gaze drifted through the room, glancing over hanging pictures and the décor of the home. She noted a missing object on the hall table, the surface too bare for how this woman had decorated. She didn't mark it yet, that would come in later.
I was welcomed in...
Her eyes drifted to the floor. Footprints? No, even better. A red flower petal, by the corner of the door. Easy to miss.
I brought flowers. This was a date. She knew me. Check her lips for foreign dna. If we were close, I kissed her.
A tab was left by the flower petal. She took another step in to the house, and started for the kitchen.
Did we have dinner?
She glanced into the kitchen, everything seemed in order, no plates on the table. The sink was clear too, but the drying rack held a large bowl. She walked to the trashcan, lifting the lid. A popcorn wrapper was on top. She left a tab on the trashcan.
Movie night. At home date? Was she disappointed with this? Did we fight over this?
She walked out of the kitchen, each step slow, deliberate. Her eyes never stopped moving over her surroundings. There were no dents in the walls, no scuff marks from a struggle. She entered the living room, where the crime had been committed. It would be harder to make note of anything in here, blood coated everything so thoroughly.
We came and sat down. Turned the tv on? Or was it already on? Had she been waiting on me, or was this a surprise visit?
She walked over to the couch, leaving both tabs on the remote, before picking it up and turning the tv on. Moans were quick to fill the room, earning her some stares from her co-workers. She watched the tv in silence, devoid of emotion as a pornography played. She shut it off after a moment.
Setting the mood. This would have taken time to key in the channel. Not pre-planned.
She walked to the couch, giving it a scrutinizing once over, before placing a tab down on the back of it.
Small area, I would have supported my weight above her. Check for sexual activity on the corpse both pre- and posthumous. Potential fingerprints on the couch back.
Her face wrinkled. The blood would make it hard to find a good hand print and fingerprints, it was doable though.
If we made it this far...was the porn a set up? Or had it played before hand? Were we initiating sex? Had it happened during sex? A freak out?
She looked around for clothes, only seeing a female shirt and bra tossed behind the couch.
We didn't get far...Violent foreplay? Did we go too far? Was it an accident?
She looked around at the blood coated room.
Is the blood a cover for what started as an accident? Did I panic, make it look like a violent murder to cover my own ass?
She began to write in her small notebook, pen scratching over the paper in neat, small letters. Find old partners. Ask about sexual activities. Was she a sexual deviant, craving a heavy hand? Was this a risk she always took?
Her notebook was snapped shut, and she looked around again. She didn't want to get too distracted writing down her thoughts, only a quick note before she continued her search. She walked over to the discarded clothes, leaving both a pink and orange tag by them. The killer could have taken them off, or the victim could have. Either way, fingerprints could be lifted.
Next, she walked over to the walls. They were heavily splattered, looking similar to blunt force trauma. They were angled upwards. She had been on the floor when hit with whatever it was. She looked around for an obvious weapon, before walking back to the hall and placing an orange tab on the hall table where she noted the missing object beforehand.
I took the time to walk out to the hall and grab an item to beat her with. I wasn't worried about her escaping. Posthumous most likely. The blunt force trauma wasn't what killed her. It was more intimate than that.
Strangulation? Was written below her earlier entry, and again she snapped the small book closed.
"I spoke to the neighbors- Oh, nice of you to finally arrive, Reeves. The neighbors didn't hear any struggle. They weren't home last night."
She cast her dagger filled gaze on her partner who had just walked in, rudely interrupting her careful search of the crime scene. He was new by a week, and she could hardly stand him. It was like he was trying to disrupt the crime scene.
"They wouldn't have heard it anyway. The Tv was on, pornography. Anything suspicious would have been covered up by the film." She supplied, pointing to the tv. Her gaze never left his face. He was as much a suspect as anyone else here was. She wouldn't allow him to slip under her radar just because he was new.
"Ah, smart. Anything else?" He'd ask.
She saw the taunting in his eyes, he didn't think very highly of her. Actually, that look wasn't anything new. He looked at every woman that way. Arrogant, misogynistic bastard. He was one of the few men she began to fantasize about killing, not because he was particularly handsome, but because he irritated her so thoroughly. While the other women swooned over his dark hair and chocolate eyes, all she saw was the taunting in his gaze. He didn't see her as an equal and she would be more than happy to kill him over that.
She nodded, pushing those dark thoughts away. She couldn't risk the case because of her temper.
"There was a flower petal by the door. I'm taking the liberty to assume its a rose petal. The victim knew the killer, if only briefly perhaps. I'll need to speak with her family and friends to find out if it was a long term romance, giving us a suspect lead, or if it was some sort of one night stand, leaving us to the mercy of the physical evidence we can collect here." She kept her head held high, that cold gaze of hers locked onto his. She wouldn't back down from him, and he'd learn quickly that she was the one who took the lead on cases. He was only to be along for the ride.
"Lets start there then. Get a list of family and friends and call them in for questioning." He'd say, turning around to head out. "Coming, Reeves?" He'd call from the front door.
Her blood boiled. She wasn't done here, but he obviously was and expected her to follow along. Whatever, she needed to contact the mortician and see what story the body told anyway. She stalked past her 'partner', squinting at the bright sun that assaulted her eyes.
"Monte, take my car back." She'd hear him call, tossing keys to one of their co-workers.
Great, they were taking her car. She slipped into the drivers seat, trying not to bristle as he got into the passenger side.
"To the precinct." He'd instruct.
He knew he was getting under her skin, and it took most of her self control to keep from driving them to some remote location and killing him, dumping the body for the scavengers to eat. She didn't bother to give him an answer as she headed out.
