"Another beautiful sunny morning in Krimson City. We're talking to you live—I'm Alex."
"And I'm Sarah."
"—And you're listening to Morning Talk on Station Ninety-Five point Eight. What have we got today?"
"I'll tell you Alex. People are abuzz from the invitations sent out two days ago announcing the wedding of Krimson City's Countess of Opera, Celestina Amonte. Even more surprising is her groom-to-be—former wartime photographer Stefano Valentini, who was decommissioned after suffering an injury back in 2004."
"That name sounds familiar."
"Well, it's not your average, run-of-the-mill name, is it? But for those of you who can't quite put a finger on it—yes, he is the one who captured the infamous Dying Soldier picture."
"That was a real mess. Sparked one hell of a controversy, and the Krimson Post had to immediately pull back as many papers as it could. Doubt you'll find it still in circulation. All copies are probably tucked away in attics or have been tossed. Of course, there is always the Internet, but we're warning you now if you haven't already seen it—it is graphic."
"We're going off on a tangent here, Alex."
"Ha, whoops. Yeah, what were we talking about again? Oh, the wedding. Makes you wonder what Celestina saw in the guy, right? He seems kinda creepy."
"I think he's sort of cute."
"Sorry, Sarah. He's taken now."
"Shut up, that's not what I meant."
"Well maybe you'll get your big break soon. You see this all the time with celebrity marriages—they don't last. And usually the fallout's over money or ego or something. And they don't start like normal weddings do. It's less of a marriage and more of like… a merger and acquisition."
"Getting a bit technical, Alex. For those of you who don't know, that's when one business buys another—like Whole Foods acquiring Wild Oats earlier this year."
"Exactly. It doesn't happen unless both sides have something to gain. And I'm not talking about love or anything like that. You got this photographer guy scoring it big with Krimson City's La Contessa. I mean, what guy wouldn't? She's hot—."
"Sorry Alex, she's taken now."
"—and you know you're doing all right when you're about to tie the knot with someone who owns a penthouse. Not to mention it'll catapult his name into the stratosphere. It's already starting to happen! We wouldn't be talking about this yahoo otherwise."
"If that's your theory, then what's the bride getting out of this?"
"She—hmm… well… I don't know. Maybe he's got a big camera lens."
"Wow, Alex."
Ledford sat at the driver's seat of his patrol car. The door was open, and one foot was out firmly planted on the gravel. He held the small radio tightly in his hands, waiting for any kind of feedback from the searching K9 units. The search for Janine Sawyer, the missing singer, had brought them here.
The killer always seems to dump them in remote locations, Ledford told himself. One in a park. One in the opening to the sewers. One on the riverbank. They're trying to keep the murders as far from their daytime personality as possible. And I know it's the same son of a bitch.
With a sigh, Ledford leaned back into the seat. Bunny, I'm actually real glad you left Krimson City when you did. At least makes sure I clean this city up before you get back. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. The search for Ms. Sawyer had been going on for almost two weeks now, and still nothing. That's how this string of cases was like—dead end after dead end, with more subsequent disappearances to remind Ledford of his failure.
And the nature of the victims tore at him too. All women—young, defenseless. Those who had whole lives ahead of them before they crossed paths with this sick fuck. Takes a real coward to go after those, Ledford thought. And when I catch them… When I catch them…
Suddenly, the radio came to life with a voice. "Patrol KSR-4 to Ledford. KSR-4 to Ledford."
The detective quickly sat up, perching one hand over the top of the steering wheel while the other pulled the radio to his face. "Ledford here. Report."
"Th—uh." The K9 officer on the other end sounded flustered. A bad premonition was already creeping over Ledford. "Uh—body found, Detective. Female."
Ledford felt his heart skip a beat. Here it comes. "Can you confirm its identity? Is it Ms. Sawyer?"
"I—Detective, I…" The officer sounded on the verge of breaking down. "It—Unidentifiable. There were… heavy alterations made to it."
The fuck? "Understood. Give me your location. Detective Hendriks and I will head over immediately."
The officer gave him the directions. East? That went deeper into the greenbelt. Ledford reached over and started the engine. Then he contacted the second detective on the search. "Hendriks—."
"I heard. This doesn't sound good at all." Her voice was grave. "Meet you there."
Ledford pushed the pedal down and steered his patrol car towards the trees. As he navigated the vehicle between the spindly trunks, he switched the radio's frequency to reach all the patrolling officers and told all search and rescue units nearest to the body to converge. Then he hooked the radio back onto its holster.
The scraggly canopy of the greenbelt shrouded the ground from the sun's dying light. Ledford switched his headlights on, watching the sharp beam pierce through the trees. The officer's directions led him to an abandoned warehouse. The patrol car's tires jumped over the thick roots that had cracked the warehouse's neglected drive. There were already a few cars parked outside. Ledford cut the engine and stepped out of his. He saw Detective Hendriks closing her car door a short distance away. They met eyes for a second.
Ledford hurried over to her. "Some place," he muttered.
"Who would even be aware that this was out here?"
"A murderer looking to plant a body," Ledford replied dryly. "Let's go inside and see what's going on." He led the way as they approached the grim, looming warehouse. Ledford looked up and saw nothing but blackness behind the broken, rusted windows. Just as he reached for the door, it suddenly burst open. Both detectives jumped back as an officer came stumbling out. He only managed to make it a few more steps before bending over and vomiting onto the cracked driveway. Wide-eyed, Ledford looked at Hendriks, and then caught the door before it closed. They entered the warehouse.
The interior was dark. Cold loomed over the air. All was silent, save for the soft panting of the K9's. The derelict place looked devoid of any kind of activity or power, and yet eerily there was a single spotlight shining down in a pillar at the center of the large chamber. And when Ledford saw what was trapped in its beam, he stopped.
Beside him, he heard Hendriks stammer, "What the f-fuck?"
There it was—the body the officer had mentioned. It had been… posed. Almost like, and Ledford loathed to use such a comparison, a sculpture. It stood on tiptoe like a dancer, supported by the thin rods that were stuck into it like needles in an insect collection. Wilted flowers sprouted from its shoulders, and the head that should have been there was being held by its own hands.
And the smell. Ledford wasn't sure when she had been killed, but the body was starting to show signs of bloating. The greenish skin was becoming stretched and warped.
"I…" Hendriks said in a breathless whisper. "I… I'm sorry, Ledford. I need a moment." Her rapid steps rushed away, and the warehouse door grated loudly.
Ledford walked forward, slowly coming around the body. From its back, he saw two shards of glass jutting out from its back. Like… like the stumps of wings. Ledford turned away from it, staring at the far wall through the heavy darkness. The smell, coupled with the sight he'd just seen, made him dizzy.
Quickly, the detective shook his head. Don't let it get to you. If this really was Janine Sawyer, then her family would want you doing everything you can. Ledford turned back. His eyes avoided the body and snapped to the officers in the warehouse.
"Hey," he said, his voice loud and firm. "Do not lose sight of why we're here. Stick to protocol—forensics, start documenting. Leave everything as untouched as possible. Officers, take your K9's and do a thorough search of the entire parameter. Look for signs of anyone who might've been here."
At his words, they snapped out of their horror-induced paralysis and fanned out. Ledford headed back towards the warehouse door. He needed to check up on Hendriks and update Lieutenant James Vankirk on the discovery.
The cool evening air was a blessing. Ledford filled his lungs with it as his shoes crunched over the crumbling drive. He saw Hendriks standing a few feet away, back turned and facing the greenbelt. Ledford had never seen her, one of KCPD's most seasoned homicide detectives, this rattled before.
At the sound of his steps, Hendriks turned. Ledford nodded at her. "Hanging in there?"
"Yeah," Detective Hendriks replied. "I'm fine."
"Take your time." Turning away, Ledford pulled out his phone and made a call.
The ringing only lasted a short while before it was quickly cut off with a, "Lieutenant Vankirk speaking."
"Lieutenant," Ledford greeted. "Search and rescue found a body left in a warehouse in the greenbelt south of Congress Bridge."
"Has forensics identified it as our missing person?"
"No, and I think it's going to be a while before they identify it. This one's been mutilated."
"Beyond decapitation?"
"Way beyond."
Lieutenant Vankirk must've moved the phone away from his face, but Ledford could still hear the ruffle as he ran his hand over his face and groaned heavily. "Right. I'll send an ambulance over. Any leads on the killer?"
"No sir, but the investigation is still under way."
"All right, Ledford. I'll need a full report from you to go on. In the meantime, replicate that crime scene as completely as you can. Photograph every corner of that warehouse and keep your eyes peeled for any kind of evidence on whoever did this."
"Yessir."
Ledford hung up. He glanced over at Hendriks. "We can't let this get out," he told her bluntly.
The detective shook her head. "We can't," she agreed. "This… this, uh, this can't be happening." She raised a hand and pressed her fingers into her temple. "This is some, you know, like Victor Zsasz bullshit. It's supposed to stay in fiction, not…" She let her sentence go with a defeated sigh and closed her eyes. "Not real life."
"I know," Ledford replied. He looked back at the warehouse. Its bleak, dilapidated face could hardly compare to the hellishness it housed within. "We need to go back in," he said. "Search everywhere. The sooner we lock this motherfucker away, the better."
"Yeah," Hendriks agreed. They walked back into the building. Inside, Hendriks veered off and spoke with a nearby K9 officer. Ledford stepped forward. There was a forensic investigator standing by the body, camera in hand. He looked uneasy as he held the device, hesitating.
"Here," Ledford said, holding a hand out. "I'll do it."
The investigator looked relieved, but tentatively added, "You sure?"
"I'm sure." The investigator handed him the camera. Ledford turned towards the body and raised the camera to his face. Three angles at most, he told himself. That ought to suffice. Ledford raised the camera and lined an eye with the viewfinder.
It was no wonder the investigator struggled to take a picture. The body was hard enough to look at on its own. But here, within the viewfinder, the eye was forced to confront this horrible manifestation of someone's sick insanity. There was no place to turn away to, no place to hide.
Ledford pushed the shutter button down halfway, letting the camera focus. Then his finger pressed down all the way. The digital SLR gave a sharp click. Ledford tore his face away from the camera and let out a slow, steady breath. Then, he stepped over to get a profile view of the body and raised the camera again.
It was then he caught something in the viewfinder and quickly lowered the camera. His eyes snapped to the ground by the body. Just outside the rim of light was something small—a card tent.
Ledford took the small handheld light from his belt. Clicking it on, he pointed it at the tent. It was made of white cardstock. Text printed in black ink read:
Silence (2007)
Leave it to the good ol'Internet to be there for when she felt homesick. It was a quiet evening, and what better way to settle down before bed than to enjoy a bit of TV? The only thing on the tube here were shows in français, and she was still too spotty to really enjoy it.
Luckily she could still watch her local favorite—The Miriam Show, on its website. It was only filmed and broadcasted in Krimson City. Miriam Bradley was the host of the talk show, and would often invite big names on for interviews. Even Adele and Russell Brand had been featured in the past.
She clicked on the episodes tab. At the top was the latest, aired just yesterday. Her eyes widened when she saw the featured guest's name—Celestina Amonte. La Contessa! She finally appeared on The Miriam Show! Excitedly, she clicked on the episode. The player was pulled up on the next page, and the circular buffer symbol appeared for a second before the video began playing.
The introduction to the show started as it always did—Miriam started with a short greeting and thanked the viewers for tuning in. She shot off a witty joke, which had the audience behind the cameras chortling. Then she introduced her guest and gestured a hand towards the right-hand side of the set. A few audience members hooted out with excitement while the rest clapped politely.
A woman stepped out onto the set, looking timelessly elegant in a bright red slip dress under a brown fur cardigan. Her lips were a matching shade of radiant crimson. The chestnut hair that curled lavishly over one shoulder bounced with her smooth gait. This time, she sported it in a way where it swooped down over her face and nearly covered her left eye. A gleaming pearl necklace rested over her skin. She smiled at the audience as she crossed the stage and gave a polite wave.
When Celestina reached the center of the set, she took a seat at one of the two plush armchairs angled towards each other. Miriam sat in the other.
"Thank you for coming onto the show! It's wonderful to have you here."
"Thank you, Miriam. I do love this show. It's one of my favorites."
Mine too, she thought giddily.
"Really? That's flattering." Miriam glanced towards the camera, and then back at the woman sitting across from her. "Now I'm sure many in Krimson City already know, but ah…" She gestured towards Celestina's left hand, where a gold band glistened. "Congratulations on the wedding!" More hoots came from the audience. "I suppose we're calling you Mrs. Valentini now?"
Her eyes widened. Celestina Amonte was married? Man, talk about FOMO!
"No, Mrs. Amonte," Celestina corrected gently. "You're not the first to ask. I must say, the custom confused me." She glanced out towards the audience. "Women in Italy keep their names. And besides…" A sweet smile decorated her face. "The name is already printed on all of the posters." Laughter answered her.
"Well we are more than happy for you, Celestina. But…" Miriam cupped her chin in her hand as she leaned on the arm of the chair. "I'm sure you're aware of the, uh, general view that most people have on your husband."
A manicured hand came up and gently fondled the pearl necklace. "Of course." Silence followed, spurring Celestina to lower her thick lashes and continue, "What can I say, Miriam? He is simply an artist who does not let the words of his critics deter him."
"It all began with his last overseas picture. People thought it was rather insensitive of him to publish it."
Celestina's hand paused. It flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder before falling into her lap. Her eyes rose to meet Miriam's. The shot switched to a camera that was concentrated on Celestina's face. Her eyes were impassioned as she said, "My beloved nearly lost his life capturing that photograph. Are you asking me to belittle it?"
"Of course not," Miriam quickly said. "It sure sounds like you're his number one fan."
The honeyed smile returned. "I wouldn't have married him if I wasn't." Her hands came up and rested on either armrest. "His style, his taste, intrigued me. They are quite similar to mine." Her eyes suddenly turned to the camera. "We both see the… grander design in things."
There was something strange in La Contessa's eyes just then. Something…
In an instant, Celestina looked back at Miriam. She bunched up her shoulders, suddenly looking very much like a girl silly in love. "It was very magical meeting him. Very much like a fairytale, if you don't mind the corniness."
"Well you certainly fit the princess role," Miriam quipped. Celestina laughed pleasantly. "And what about your other big news?" Miriam turned to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, Krimson City's Contessa dell'Opera is embarking on her very first nationwide tour!" The set responded with loud cheers.
"Yes, this is something I've been so excited about," Celestina said, her face practically glowing. "It's something I've dreamed of, and my amazing manager finally made it come true."
She watched the rest of the episode with a subtle smile on her lips, lying on her bed with her feet propped up in the air. The episode continued with Miriam and Celestina delving into other topics—fashion, Celestina's inspirations growing up, her love of music, et cetera. When the conversation steered towards her family, Celestina answered vaguely, simply saying that they had been nothing but supportive.
All the best, Contessa! She thought. I can't wait to see you when I get back home.