Chriseyda was awoken when her cell phone blasted 'Dies Irea' from the nightstand next to her head. She rolled over, fumbling with the blanket she had gotten wrapped up in while she slept, and grabbed the phone off her nightstand. She was still half asleep as she answered it, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She listened for a moment and then jumped out of bed.
"I'll be right in," she said, grabbing a green shirt and a pair of black Capri pants from her closet. "Has Detective Mills called yet?"
"Get to the station now Jackson. He has asked to be temporarily reinstated to help you with this case," said Police Chief Thompson. She couldn't quite tell from the tone in his voice what he thought about this idea, but she didn't care.
"I'm on my way," Chriseyda said, scrambling to get on a different pair shoes. She hung up the phone and finished getting her shoes on. She raced out of her apartment, grabbing her field bag and keys, and drove- rather quickly- to work. She raced into the station and up to her desk. Detective Mills met her there.
"We have another one on our hands," he said with out missing a beat. "Let's go. You drive."
"Okay," she said as she followed him out of the station. After a few minutes of silence she couldn't help herself. "Do you have any ideas about the case?" she asked.
"All I know is that John Doe had no family that we knew of. He was independently wealthy, and we had no idea what his name really was," said David. "This new killer could be any number of Bible-pounders who idolize the psycho. Do you have any ideas?"
"I don't know," she said shaking her head. "I'm not even sure where to begin on this case. This person isn't doing things in the same order, but the scenes are so similar it's scary. Where are we going?"
"Manhattan," said David.
"Who is it?"
"An actor, D-lister really- I've never heard of him," said David. "Apparently, lust was written by him. I hope you don't have a weak stomach, the officers on the scene said it's messy. Please tell me you don't get queasy easily."
"Don't worry about me Detective Mills; I'll be fine," said Chriseyda. "I didn't get where I am today being a pussy."
"Nice attitude," said David, not sounding particularly convicted in his praise. "Pull in here," he said pointing to a parking lot.
Detective Mills was out of the car as soon Chriseyda parked. He was halfway to the apartment complex by the time she had gotten out of the car. She raced to catch up with him. They took the stairs, due to forensic scientists spraying luminal and dusting for prints in the elevators.
They entered the apartment suite and both immediately stopped at the sight of blood sprayed all over the far, living room wall and furniture. The word 'lust' was written in big letters on the carpet in front of the man, who was splayed out in the middle of the room.
"Wow," breathed Chriseyda. "This is brutal."
David didn't say anything; he just walked around the room, looking for any clues at all that might have been left.
"Detective Jackson," he said finally. "Can you please take notes of everything in the room for me? Look for anything that might otherwise be over-looked, like the third scene from the last year."
"Alright," she said, taking the camera from her field bag.
Mills looked at her skeptically. He didn't say a word, but his eyes seemed to ask her why she had a camera on her just like that- and yet at the same time he didn't seem to care either as long as the job got done.
"I always carry one, just in case I'm the only person on the scene, and it's a lot more reliable than notes. If it's about to rain I need pictures before the evidence washes away. It's come in handy on several of my cases." She knew she was blathering on, but her nerves and lack of sleep were getting the better of her. She knew this case would not end up well, and that scared her.
"Detective Jackson."
"Yes?" she asked.
"Be quiet and do your job." He wasn't trying to be mean, just blunt enough to get her to stop talking and do what she was supposed to do- and she knew it.
"Sorry," she said. She started taking pictures of the room. Everything on the tables and on the bookshelves got photographed. This place wasn't nearly as spotless as Summerset's home had been, but it seemed pulled together. Chriseyda supposed that the maid may have had a week off at least. She would have to check that lead later.
Chriseyda started at the outer perimeter of the room and worked her way inward. She finally got to the body and walked around it a few times before lifting her camera.
"Must have been planning for a hot date," said Chriseyda, indicating the unopened champagne chilling in the bowl, the two glasses, and the box of expensive European chocolates set out on the table. She snapped off a few pictures from every angle. "That's expensive champagne, and those chocolates don't come very cheap either. He must have really wanted to impress whomever he was expecting."
"The question is," said David, looking at the table. "Who was he expecting, did they make it here, and did they leave alive?"
Chriseyda shrugged at the rhetorical question and continued with her investigation of the scene- turning her attention to the body. As she began taking pictures of the body, she noticed something that seemed out of place. "Detective Mills!" she called. "Look what he has in his hands."
David came to the middle of the room and knelt down beside the body. He looked at the man's hand and then at the pool of blood on the floor under him, and cringed. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes," she said simply. "It most certainly is. That's probably why the word 'Lust' was written above him. He was given his 'punishment,' so to speak, for lusting."
"That's probable, but let's not jump to any conclusions," said David. "We'll have the coroner come to his own conclusion."
"What do we do then?" asked Chriseyda.
"When you finish your roll of film, take it to the crime scene lab and have it developed. We'll look it over when you're ready."
The coroner walked in and looked over the body. She rolled it over to get a better view of the hands and face.
"I'll get right on this," said Chriseyda, indicating the camera in her hand. She finished her roll of film in the next couple minutes and turned to leave. She turned back with a sudden thought. "I think I'm also going to try and interview his friends, family, his maid- because he obviously has one, the doorman, and anyone who might have seen the person who came in last night. You want in?"
"No," said Mills, shaking his head and looking around the scene. "I think I'll stick around here for a while and then head back to the station to look over the files again."
"Suit yourself," said Chriseyda with a shrug. "You'll probably get more than I will." She turned, grabbing her field bag and heading out the door. She was already punching a number into her cell phone as she went.
David just sighed and turned back to the scene at hand.
"Detective Mills," Chriseyda said as she walked into the office she was sharing with David.
"What is it?" he sounded frustrated and tired.
"I have the pictures that I took of the crime scene back," she said. "I can tell there's not much to them. We're kind of empty handed here. The interviews weren't particularly enlightening either. The maid's on vacation in Hawaii, and has been since Sunday morning. The doorman didn't see anything, but there was also a five minute gap when he went to go use the restroom. The two friends I talked to said that it could have been any number of women he's had one night stand with."
"And his ex-wife?" asked David, looking up from his file.
"She has been in Paris with her fiancé, for her first fashion show, since last Friday. She isn't scheduled to be back until this Friday."
"She could have hired someone," David suggested.
"That would be one interesting coincidence," said Chriseyda. "I don't see it happening like that, but it could be. So what, she hired this person to off her ex and kill six other people just to cover her tracks?"
"Or she hired the person to kill her ex when she heard the there is a copycat on the loose, just to cover her tracks," David said. "At this point, I'm not ruling anything out."
"But how could she have heard about the copycat?" asked Chriseyda. "We haven't mentioned that the killing yesterday was a copycat- in fact we haven't given out any details at all yet."
David shrugged. "I'm not sure. John Doe disguised himself as a paparazzo to get information on where we were in the case. Maybe this guy is doing the same thing."
"Fair enough," said Chriseyda nodding. "So where do we go from here.
"The coroner's office," said David.
Five minutes later, Chriseyda and David were standing together in the cold depths of the coroner's office. They were looking at the body laying on the table covered in a white sheet.
"What can you tell us about this one?" asked David.
"Well," said the coroner picking up the file with a sigh. "He was beaten pretty badly. The bruises didn't come out fully until about half way through the autopsy. Then he was forced to cut of his own penis with scissors. He got about half way through the first time and probably passed out from the pain. The killer revived him and made him finish what he started. My guess, he passed out twice- that means he had to make three snips. He bled out and died and then was posed the way you found him, with the scissors in one hand and his penis in the other.
"This guy was known all over as a philanderer and, during his ever so brief marriage, as an adulterer. He was cleared of four charges of rape. Someone was definitely out to make sure this guy died by losing the one thing he used the most, and I'm not referring to his acting talent. Judging by the bruising and lividity, I'd say he's been dead less than twenty-four hours."
"And you're sure of the cause of death?" asked Chriseyda.
"Pretty confident," said the coroner.
"Anything you recovered from the body?" asked David. "Hairs, fingerprints, anything at all?"
"I'm afraid not Detective," said the coroner. "I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, but that's all I have."
"Thanks," said David. He turned and left the room with Chriseyda on his heels. "You better go home and get some sleep while you can," he advised. "This week will be the worst week of your life."
Chriseyda nodded and followed him out to the parking lot, each of them getting into their respective vehicles and heading for home.
Chriseyda pulled into her apartment parking lot and made her way up to her apartment. She walked in, this time paying more attention as to where her things landed, setting her keys in the basket next to the door, her field bag below the table, and her cell phone on the coffee table in the living room.
She picked up the shoes she had kicked away the night before and put them into her closet. She sighed as she undressed and put on a plain white tank top and a pair of blue, New York and Company shorts. She pulled her hair up and twisted it, clipping it to the back of her head and out of her face. She made her way to her kitchen, deciding that she needed to eat if she was going to keep her strength and her health up.
She was rooting through her refrigerator when she hit pay dirt. She pulled out a Tupperware container full of pasta that she had made the week before. She pulled the top off and took a whiff- it was still good. She smiled and threw the container in the microwave. As it was cooking, she put a pot of water on the stove to boil for her tea. She pulled a largish, green mug from the cupboard and a box of tea from the other cupboard. She opened the box and breathed in the aroma of peppermint tea.
She was just getting her tea ready when the microwave alarm went off. She pulled the pasta out and grabbed a fork. She poured the boiling water into her mug and then took both the tea and the pasta into the living room. She set both down on the coffee table- using a coaster for both, and then walked over to turn on her stereo. She walked back to the couch, grabbing a blanket on the way, before plopping down on the couch and getting comfortable. She allowed her mind to run wild, not wanting to drive herself crazy with the case, as she ate.
She finished her meal without even noticing that she was eating. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were seeing something or remembering something from her past. She suddenly blinked and looked around. She shook her head and sighed, placing the Tupperware container back on its coaster on the coffee table. She finished her tea and then leaned back, listening to the soothing sounds of the music floating around her living room.
It was the most relaxed she had allowed herself to be in the last two days. Maybe more than that, she considered. She had been running herself raw for a while now and it was about time she took a breather, even if it was in the middle of the most important case of her life.
She curled up and dozed off on her couch, pulling the blanket close in around her shoulders and getting comfortable. She didn't know how long she slept, only that her phone was going off. She rolled over and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, answering it on the fifth ring. She was wide awake within seconds, throwing the blanket away and jumping up from the couch. She shivered, not realizing how cold her apartment had become, and ran down the hall to her room. She changed into something warm and raced for the door.
"I envied you and your life. I went over to your house this morning. I met your wife. I tried to play husband, but that didn't work out. So I took a souvenir . . . her pretty head."
The smug, apathetic, and nonchalant look on his face enraged David. The gun in his hand trembled. As much as he tried to remain level headed, his anger- no his wrath- was getting the better of him. It wasn't just wrath though; it was pain, hurt, and loss- at the same time.
"She pleaded for her life," Doe went on. "She pleaded for her life and the life of her unborn child." Summerset hit him.
David stood stunned. Had he heard this madman right? She had never told him she was pregnant. The look on Summerset's face told him that it was true.
"Oh," said Doe, casually. "He didn't know." He looked so self-satisfied, so cocky, so arrogant. It was more than David could take.
"David don't do this," Summerset was saying, but David only heard part if it. "If you do this, he will win."
David knew it was true, but he didn't care. This maniac had killed his wife; his high school sweetheart. The woman he cared about more than his own life. Not only that, but he had killed their child- their innocent, unborn child. He had to pay for it.
David fired, hitting Doe in the head. He fell back, dead before he even hit the ground. That wasn't enough for David; he fired again and again and again- six shots in all. It was enough to appease him, but he still felt hallow inside, like someone had ripped out his heart. Someone had ripped out his heart; they had taken away his wife and child at the same time. And he could do nothing to stop it, he couldn't save them.
David woke up in a cold sweat. He tried to regain his breath and hold back his tears at the same time. He had been haunted by this nightmare every night for the last year. He couldn't shake it no matter how hard he tried. Some nights were worse than others, and lately, since hearing of Summerset's death, they had been worse than before.
He rolled himself out of bed and walked to the bathroom, throwing some cold water on his face and getting a drink. He had to stop this nightmare, but he didn't know how to do that. It was always there, staring him in the face.
When he was awake, he was alone in his bare apartment, staring at the empty walls. He didn't want to decorate- Tracy had always done that. Nor did he want to stare at the pictures of Tracy and himself smiling and laughing- back when life had been good.
When he closed his eyes it was worse. He could see the life that might have been. He could see his wife- his beautiful wife, Tracy- and he could see their children. Cute little blonde children with curly hair and bright blue eyes, playing on the swing set in the backyard, with the dogs keeping watch and protecting them. He could hear the children calling for him to push them on the swing set, to toss them in the air, to spin them, to play ball with them.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was killing him to foster these images. That was a future that had been taken from him, and there was nothing he could do about that. He had to stay in the here and now or he would become one of those crazy people he had always promised himself he would never be.
His phone rang, thankfully pulling him from these thought, and he answered it. Listening for a few moments he simply said, "I'll be right there," and hung up.
He was dressed and out the door within moments, looking for any reason to get away from the oppression that an empty apartment brought.