Painting With Red Is Not An Art Style When It's Iron


"I don't have a good feeling about that guy." Ray grumbled after the door shut behind the detective.

Mabel nodded in agreement, but didn't bother to expend the energy that an answer would require as she continued sifting through the information. Seven unsolved cases. Similar circumstances, so it seemed plausible to conclude that the perpetrator was the same for all the murders. And Chris was right in saying that each incident was different in its execution.

The earliest victim barely had a scratch on him. Only a puncture wound straight to the base of the skull, which severed the spinal cord at the base of the brain stem, ceasing basic regulation of bodily functions.

The second victim died with similar circumstances: one strike to a vital location.

But the third victim was where it changed. Pictures showed the victim's throat had been flayed open, blood had spilled all over his clothes, and his eyes were wide and glassy.

The fourth: a butcher knife to the head.

The fifth: bled out through extensive lacerations all over the body.

The sixth: a pole through the stomach.

The seventh: dismemberment.

"Our killer seems to be getting more and more bold." She muttered, as she filed away the gruesome images.

"Or not." Ray supplied, "All these victims are economically depressed, live in extremely accessible areas, and have very limited connections with family or friends."

"So he takes easy targets." She summarized.

"People nobody really cares about."

Leaning back in the conference chair, Mabel hummed, thinking. If the connection between the victims was simply 'cherry-picking' so to speak, that wouldn't shed much light on their killer.

"This is going to require some legwork."

Ray pulled out the map again, "Three of the incidents were concentrated in this area," he pointed to a downtown sector, "I would suggest starting here."

"I agree. We'll check out the crime scene first before moving on to the environment." She grinned at Ray, "You driving?"

The burly man spun his keys around his finger, "Of course, detective."

Mabel leaned out the conference room door, "Officer Gillig, could you stash these files. We're about to head out."

"Sure."

"Officer Archer, will you two be joining us?"

Madison Archer tipped her head, blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder, "Those were our orders." She clapped a hand on Ben Gillig's towering shoulder as he hefted the file box, "And we want to help you get this case wrapped up. It's not good for the community to have a killer running around."

"That goes without saying." Gillig mumbled as he disappeared to relieve his burden.

"Let's get going!" Mabel announced.

The drive through steady traffic only took them about fifteen minutes. Stepping out of the car, Mabel noted the shabby apartment complex, decrepit and crumbling. The smell of cigarette smoke made the surrounding air stale.

The officer's squad car pulled into the gravel lot seconds later. Archer got out of the driver's side and waved Mabel over.

"Detective Pines," she called, "The main office is this way. The proprietor will let us in."

"Coming!" Mabel picked her way around shattered bottles on the ground to follow the cop. The office was no less trashy than the rest of the place, as if it was saying: you're poor, I'm poor, get over it. A rumpled man was sitting at the desk, reading a soiled newspaper. Watery eyes barely looked up as they approached.

"Mr. Jacobs," Officer Gillig took the lead, "This is Detective Pines. She wants to have a look at the apartment where the incident occurred."

The landlord ran a hand through his wispy, greying hair with a grumpy sigh, "I swear, you coppers have been all over that place for over a month. You're making the tenants jumpy."

"That would only be a concern if they have something to hide." Officer Archer said bluntly.

"You think any of them would do that?" Jacobs snapped, "People that live here deal with enough shit as is. They wouldn't add to that by committing murder."

"We can't eliminate any possibility, Mr. Jacobs," Mabel interjected smoothly, "But I'm not here to interrogate your tenants. I simply want to have a look at the apartment."

"Fine." The man stood, but his posture barely straightened. He shuffled his way to a closet, and with a clatter, grabbed a key from the key box. "Follow me." He supplied, exiting the office.

The apartment was much like Mabel had expected it to be. Sparse furniture that probably came secondhand from a secondhand store. Stains on the walls and carpet. Dust covering every horizontal surface. The musty smell of mold subdued by the lingering scent of chemicals.

"The body was found here in the kitchen," Officer Archer gestured to the pocket-marked, linoleum floor.

"Yeah." Jacobs grumbled, "Blood stains on the wood won't come out. Now I haven't been able find anybody who wants to rent this place."

Mabel looked closer to find that, sure enough, an ugly brown stain marred the tear in the linoleum where the wood was exposed. The remnants of the most recent victim who had bled out through holes where their arms were supposed to be.

Scanning the area, it seemed that the apartment was almost clean relative to the rest of the complex. A more thorough search revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Not a dead end, but definitely not a lead.

"I think most of the information made it into the police reports," she concluded, nodding to Ray.

Jacobs muttered something about wasting his time as they left, locking the door before limping his way back to the office. Mabel watched him go, disgruntled with his less-than-helpful attitude.

"Where to next, Detective Pines?"

"Lunch." Mabel answered definitively, "I'm thinking pancakes."

The two officers stared open mouthed as Mabel casually got into the car and started taking notes on her phone. Ray simply grinned and shrugged, "Can't fight crime on an empty stomach."