Lola’s hand tapped against her leg twice as she looked at the full briefing room. Cops and Detectives had their notepads out and were looking at her. This was only the second meeting they had.
“Today we found the body of Mike Laymen on the Hollywood Sign. This is Split’s fourth victim. He’s killing one person a week-”
“How do you know it’s a he?” Detective Thomas asked. The last briefing they had, he always asked the most questions.
“If it were a girl, the killings wouldn’t be as frequent. Girl’s are what I like to call Gathers. They wait for someone to come into their trap before they strike. Men, however, are what I like to call Hunters. They won’t wait for a victim. They’ll find them and kill them. Any questions about my lesson?” She asked, slightly annoyed by this point.
Thomas shook his head.
“It is very likely that this victim is related to the other three. All of them should link back to the killer in some way.” Thomas opened his mouth to speak. “Not family-wise, but possibly close with the family. These victims aren’t random.”
“How do you know?” Another cop asked.
“Because he takes too great care with them. The sewing and removal of either the eye, ear, or tongue is to too clean. If it were a random person, then it would more or less be a hack job. And no, they can’t be strangers and mean something to him. The bodies are dropping too quickly for him to take care and admire them truly. He knows them and wants revenge.”
“Revenge?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.” Lola finally paused and licked her lips twice. “These people have hurt him. Most likely abuse that they failed to help with. The semblance should be: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”
“What makes you say abuse?”
Lola’s foot tapped agaisnt the ground a couple of times, and she cleared her throat. “These are hate crimes. He’s beating them to death to make them suffer the way he did. However, this doesn't particularly mean physical abuse but rather this is more a representation of that abuse. We should be looking for someone who is in their mid-twenties.” She turned around and faced the board that was a map of LA. A red dot was placed where each body was found. “He most likely lives around here.” She circled an area with her finger; it close to the middle. “The killer will most likely place the bodies in familiar places.”
Everyone wrote it down.
“He will drive a jeep and motorcycle, not new. The area that the bodies were found in is very rough and not suitable for Sedans or other such vehicles. That will also help to explain how he’s familiar with these areas - he drives there often.”
Everyone looked up at her, and her finger tapped against her leg twice.
“He will kill again and again and again. He won’t stop until every one of these people are dead.” She sighed. “That’s all.”
Everyone stood up and left, except for Thomas and Lola. She was facing the board.
“You asked a lot of questions,” she commented. “You do so because you don’t believe in my job.” She turned around and faced him.
They made eye contact, his brown eyes looking into her brown ones.
“Can you blame me if I am a little skeptical?”
“No, not at all, I expect nothing else from a Detective.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You only believe in hardcore evidence, not suggestions made by a nut who analyses a person's’ mind.”
He smiled. “Ok, prove me wrong. Read me.”
“Why not?” he asked. His fingers ran through his brown hair.
She stood there in silence for a second. “I’ll do part of one. I’ll finish the pieces later.” He nodded, encouraging her to continue to he could prove once and for all that her job was ridiculous.
“You think my job is ridiculous.” His smile dropped. “You also think that I’m a pampered LA girl who just so happens to do this.”
“You drive around a Corvette,” he commented.
“Parents money.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the Detective. I’m giving you full permission to find out anything you want. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to work more on my profile.”
Lola smiled, saluted, and walked out of the room.
“Ok,” Thomas mumbled, “interesting.”
Lola’s car drove across her cobblestone driveway, the black iron gate closing behind her. She pulled her car into the garage, which had two motorcycles, two Jeeps, and another Corvette, which was white. With the black Corvette parked, there were now two of everything.
It was late at night, and she was exhausted.
Stepping out of her car, the horn beeped twice, locking behind her. She walked into the house and locked the door before jiggling the knob back and forth a couple of times.
“How are we today?” Lola mumbled. Silence followed.
Pulling out her phone, she pressed play on the same song she had listened to at the crime scene. The song began to play on every speaker that was scattered throughout the house.
I’m laughing on the outside
Crying on the inside
’Cause I’m so in love with you
Her house was a highly sophisticated luxury smart-house that was located on the Hollywood Hills.
Faintly swaying with the music, Lola pulled out a frozen dinner and threw it in the microwave.
Once it was done, she pulled it out and began to eat and think about the killer. So far, he was the toughest killer she had dealt with in her entire career. He left no evidence at any scene, and she doubted he would begin to do so anytime soon.
Losing her appetite at that thought, she tossed her dinner into the trashcan and walked upstairs to her room. Laying down on the bed, she stared at the ceiling, and her eyes slowly closed, leaving her head filled with bloody, disturbing, gruesome pictures of each victim.
Those were the images she drifted into sleep with, holding and dragging them down with her into the darkness.