Prologue

Friday, June 3rd, 2003, Channel 9 News

11:05PM

"…And the highs for Wednesday should be around 72 degrees and sunny. A nice way to start out a rather mild week, don't you think, Rick?"

Rick laughed. "Yeah! It's gonna feel like the Bahamas in comparison to three months ago! Nath, you have no idea how much fun Angela and I had watching you freeze your butt off for all of New York to see!"

Nath wore a blank look on his face as he stared into the camera. He opened his mouth for a few seconds. "Yeah. And I had fun watching you get frost bite on your toes and fingers the time I... uh... convinced... you to go ice fishing with me."

Angela smiled and let out a small chuckle.

Another laugh from Rick. "Ha, ha! Touché!"

Nath chuckled. "Over to you Angela."

Angela's small smile faded as she fixed the papers in front of her. "Thanks Nathan. Well, we've just received word that the body of a man by the name of Thomas Parson was fished out of the Hudson River, in a suitcase! Local authorities state the body was stabbed repeatedly and cut in half at the stomach before being stuffed in a suitcase and tossed into the Hudson. Only a single witness was walking by at the time. The young man survived but has been hospitalized for deep cuts and burns. He said in a private interview that Thomas was trying stop two men from fighting. One ran but the other turned on him when his street gang showed up. The gang, the witness says, was symbolized with what looked like a bloody dagger tattoo on the left side of their face. Thomas Parson was married to Ann Parson and had a 10 year old daughter named Kara.
"There are currently no leads as who is responsible or who the gang is. Anyone with information on the attacker gang is urged to call the police immediately. I gotta tell ya, Rick… That's gruesome."

Rick nodded. "Well, I hope his family and friends are doing ok."

His co-anchor nodded and switched to sports announcements.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He sat at the bar of the small dinner sipping a beer. He looked down from the television set so his hat covered his eyes. No leads. Perfect. Just the way he wanted it too. He let out a small chuckled and slipped his hand inside his trench coat. His dagger. Bloody, in fact. Right where he left it. He ran a finger along the blade. He withdrew his hand from his coat. A small patch of blood coated his pointer finger but he did bother whipping it off. His victim's blood was his trophy and he had to intension of getting rid of it. And why would he?