End of October
I like variety, everything has to be different. Everything but two things. I like my whiskey exactly the way I like to kill people: ice cold and double.
It was cold. Colder than usual. Colder than…no, maybe not. Maybe it was colder than usual. Maybe it was only her who felt cold. Like the…for a long time she felt like this…since… never mind. Long. Too long. Whining about it wouldn't change it so push these thoughts away and get your brain back to reality, to what was and not what you though or felt or any other lie. Facts. Pure facts.
"Two again?"
"Yes."
"Is there…?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"She has it."
For many people this will sound weird or disgusting but you can actually get used to step over bodies. Of course it's nothing you enjoy, it's nothing you want for your perfect day but you could ignore it to a state that you don't think about it, don't care anymore. Your mind started to protect you so you won't get crazy, cry all night long, wake up, see the dead people in your dreams because you didn't stop their killer. The mind was an amazing thing and most times we don't realize what it does for us to make sure we'll survive the day. Or the night. Or both.
"Where are they?"
"Bagged."
"Can I have them, please?"
"They look like all the others before."
"Please."
Black labels, white words. She didn't have to ask to know they were left behind like it happened accidentally. Like when you sit at the bar, have your wet bottle, play with the label and drop it after you have it in your hand and don't want it. Just let it fall on the floor, forget about it.
The difference was this label wasn't dropped accidentally, it was placed to look accidentally. Like it had been before. And they looked the same, not difference to the others. The only difference to the others are the two people nearby. The usual white shirts were red like the trousers they wore. Once there had been a head on their necks now it was more like there was mashed potatoes with pieces of carrots there.
"Same M.O.?"
"Yes."
"Shit."
"You're going to write that in your report?"
Instead of an answer a shadows flies by, only a few yards, followed by a familiar sound. A sound you hear most times from newbies. She wasn't a newbie, she was in this business way too long to react like this. You know that. And you know you better don't mention it. Not like you don't have enough problems already.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
Ignoring facts and things is the best way to stay out of trouble but it's not your way. You've always been attracted to trouble, always had to be in the center of trouble. Little Miss Troublemaker is what your mother called you once. Nowadays you were more a Big Miss Troublemaker. So you go to the woman who has her hands on her knees, her head almost on the ground and swears like an old mechanic. Without words you offer your silky tissue, ignore the angry eyes and notice that your tissue gets taken. Good.
"Did anybody see?"
"Make an educated guess."
"We're at a crime scene, top crime scene, over a dozen people around, they all stare and will talk."
"Bull's eye."
"Fuck."
"I know you don't want my advice so I won't give it to you."
"I appreciate that."
"I'll go my round, talk to people who might have seen something. My money is on I'll be back with an empty sheet of paper so hopefully you'll be better than I am."
"I'm always better than you are."
"At least you're still yourself. Later Sara." You don't feel comfortable leaving her like this but you have a job to do and the better and faster you do your job the less likely its that you have to come back to a crime scene like this. You know there will be another crime scene like this if you don't do anything. You can be sure because you have been at two other crime scenes like this. Plus another one with two seriously injured people. All the same M.O., all are likely because of the same person. The one you had to find because it's your damn job!
"Don't give me any other information than about the case."
"No witnesses."
"I knew it."
"So did I."
"Why are you here?"
"Two dead ambulance officers, two dead firefighters, two dead nurses and two seriously injured garbage men. I think I've got eight reasons to be here. Anything new for me?"
"Same label, trace is working on it right now, my bet is it's the same glue. No fingerprints, we won't find a damn thing, Sofia."
"Probably not." Sofia sat down, sighed. "Can I ask you something?"
"Personal or work related?"
"If it was work related I'd just ask and not ask for your permission."
"We're work."
"We're entitled to have a break, Sara."
"There's no time for a break until we haven't found this killer. You know as good as I do he'll kill again in three days. Jack is very reliable."
"That's the only thing we know about him."
"So lets find out more."
"Sara, you need a break, you're pale."
"I need to find this man and if you don't want to help me please leave the room so I can go on working on the case, detective."
Three years and still no change. Sofia had hoped that when she returned to Las Vegas after three years Sara would be a little bit more friendlier. She wasn't. At the moment Sofia had the feeling it got worse. The last nice thing Sara had said to her was when she thanked her in the hospital for saving her life. That was three years ago. How could it be that time flew and things were still the same?
Days were bad when there was more than one body to write down in the report. Days were especially bad when they were night and day and your boss told you, you had to move your ass to get a serial killer on the lose or you might lose something. Something like your job. Life was not only a bitch it was not always worth living.
Trying to get the night and morning out of her head Sofia had dropped herself on a chair in a diner not too far from the PD but far enough not to be a hot spot for al cops on duty. She needed some space, some quiet time and not colleagues who ask stupid questions about her case and the killer she wasn't able to find. She knew herself she had to be better, had to get this man before he got somebody else. It wasn't like she didn't make herself a lot of pressure herself. Maybe too much pressure but she wasn't the only one who expected great things of her. There was a family who wanted her at the top of the food chain and didn't accept failure.
"The only reason why I sit down here is because there is no other chair available and I'm desperate for a black coffee and the best scrambled eggs in town."
"Thanks Sara." Sofia snorted. "Why don't you get it as a take away?"
"No more driving before I had a coffee and I prefer my coffee out of real cups and not plastic cups. That's too much work."
Sofia had to admit Sara had a point here. When you wanted to relax you needed a real cup and not a plastic cup. That was like you were on the run and when you're on the run you can't relax. Bloody damn catch-22.
"Wanna talk work, private or no talk at all?"
"Do I really have a choice?"
"That's why I ask, Sara."
"Do you have something new about the case?"
"No. You?"
"No. Why are you here? Cops prefer diners closer to the PD."
"I'm off, I don't want to see cops and I sure as hell don't want to hear their comments about the case and me being useless because no woman can do real police work." These words sounded more pissed than Sofia wanted them to sound. This wasn't the place nor was Sara the person to talk about her work, work problems and problems with her colleagues.
"Trouble?"
"I work as a cop my life is trouble."
Sara cocked a brow. "Just tell me you don't want to talk about it, Sofia, that's all right. I won't start crying like a baby."
"Sorry. I guess I need some sleep – and catch a serial killer."
"Any words on the Feds?"
"No, I'm waiting for that too."
"Won't be long."
"Probably not. Eight people, six dead and two more dead than alive."
"More than enough reason to call them in."
"You think they'll find more than we do?"
"No."
"Does that include me?"
"I'm not sure about that." Sara smiled a bit and took a forkful of her eggs.
"Now you sound more like yourself."
"Sofia, it's not your fault that this man is still on the run. He doesn't leave any traces how are you supposed to catch him? We can't give you a damn thing, there are no witnesses we have nothing to work on. Only the labels. And they're not a help."
"Cheap whiskey, you can find bottles it in every second garbage bin. Labels pulled off with water, left at the scenes. Killer gets his name from a favorite whiskey brand. Or because of Jack the Ripper."
"He doesn't rip. Not really."
"No, he smashes and turns your head into mashed potatoes. Not much better. Sorry." Sofia pointed to Sara's eggs.
"That's all right."
"How's your stomach?"
"Better than my head. It doesn't think. Thanks for not spreading it around."
"We all feel sick sometimes and what he does to his vics is very sick."
"As a professional crime scene investigator I'm not supposed to show any personal moves."
"You're a human not a machine, Sara."
"Sometimes that's a shame."
"No, it makes you human, makes you normal."
"I am a normal person."
Sofia grinned. Sometimes it was better not to say the words out loud you had on your mind. Silence was sometimes gold.