shit1write

[shit1write]

Chapter 1

He was dead. That much was obvious. His eerie translucent white skin, the smell hanging in the air, the way his eyes were dull and sunken, deep into their sockets; all indicators that this person is dead.

What I never get over, the thing that really drives home how dead this person is, is their eyes. The pupils that once danced with life are now blank and fixed to a place somewhere in the distance.

I’ve been in this job for three years now, and it never gets easier. I’m always jarred by how empty their body is. I always wonder what their body looked like when it pulsed with life. Did they have nervous twitches? Or were they smooth and confident? I meet the mans steel gaze, willing him to tell me his story.

“It wasn’t quick, I’ll say that” says Angela. She’s hovering over the mans body, camera in hand, ready to capture this mans lifeless shell.

“Any indications on what killed him?”

Gazing at the mans body, she says “It’s too early for a definitive answer, but an educated guess would be that he choked to death.”

I follow her line of site and take in the way the John Doe’s mouth is positioned. Slight bruising is present around his full lips, his cheeks bulging like his mouth is full. I’ve seen this before.

“He choked to death on a dirty sponge” Angela states dryly.

“You’re sure?” Surely she can't be serious? Again?

Shaking her head and flipping up the visor of her mask, Angela looks at me. “Nope. Looks a little too much like your other case”

Meeting her eyes, I can tell she feels it too. The dread; the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Damn it, I’ll make the call”

Stepping out of the master bedroom and into the hallway, I pull out my phone. I look around, procrastinating for a moment, not wanting to make this call to my boss. I’d been hoping to solve my last case a lot sooner. It was proving to be substantially more complicated than any of us could’ve imagined. And now, here we are with another body. Same MO as another murder only committed one month prior. We could have a serial killer on our hands.

A serial killer.

My spine tingles. My first serial killer. I should be thrilled. I should be dancing with the knowledge that I will be responsible for catching a deranged psychopath. I can’t feel excited though. Someone is dead, and their life, their memory rests in my hands. If I can’t catch this person, if they continue to kill? What happens then? I shake the thoughts from my mind as my phone rings.

Inspector Rochester blinks across the screen. Great, he’s calling me, that can’t be good.

“Inspector, I was just calling you”

“Tell me what you’ve got Reed,” the Inspector barks down the line. He’s always been a no bullshit type of guy. No fluff, not chit chat, just straight to the point. I like it that way. Formalities are only a delay for the inevitable.

“Yes sir. Our victim is male, mid to late twenties. Suspected cause of death is asphyxiation.” I say, dreading his reaction to my next statement. “A sponge was found stuffed in the victims mouth.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath.

“Right. What are you thinking? Copy-cat? Linked to the other case?” He’s completely alert now, urgency in his voice. I can almost hear the gears whirring inside his head as mulls over the enormity of my last statement.

“Too soon to tell, but the scene and MO are very similar.”

“Keep me updated. I’ll be making a statement to the press shortly. I’m already receiving calls from the bloody vultures” he sighs, “If this is linked, we need to get it under control, now.”

“Yes sir,” not knowing what else to say. “I will do everything I can to catch this guy” “Speak soon.” Knowing that was my cue, I end the call. I take a breath, roll my shoulders and head back into the bedroom. I got this.

I stand in the doorway watching various CSI’s complete their assigned tasks. The click of camera shutters and low voices fills the space. The soft rustle of the itchy blue coveralls worn by each person underpins the mood, reminding me where we are. We are no longer in the room of young vivacious twenty something year old who was getting ready to take on the world. We are in the room of a murder victim.

I watch as the coroner zips up the black bag our victim has been placed in. I nod at her, “keep me in the loop yeah.”

I really liked Jacqueline, our resident coroner. She’s everything you don’t expect of someone that spends their days surrounded by death. With dark hair, long legs and striking features, Jacq looks more model than coroner.

“Always do,” she winks. Giving her okay to her assistant, they lift the body onto their waiting stretcher.

Once out the door, I turn around to the void where his body once lay and speak to the room. “Alright, have we got an I.D. on our JD?” The room is messy, clothes stuffed into drawers and kicked into corners. Bedside tables littered with dirty bowls and used tissues, delightful.

“Danny Backer, 29. Going by the I.D. in his wallet he’s a lawyer at Dunn, Dun and Jackson.” Angela steps forward, handing me an evidence bag containing said wallet. “Their office is on Edward St.”

“Great. What else can we take away from the scene? Anything to tell us how long he’s been here for? I don’t see a phone.” Strange. Wallet, but no phone. I peak into the brown leather wallet, and see there’s a substantial amount of cash and all his cards are still in place. Not a robbery then.

“No phone. We’re still going over the rest of the apartment and the CSI’s are going to check outside and the footpath to be thorough. I’ll get tech to pull his records and see when he last had social or phone activity”

“Good. You’ve got this under control. I’ll see you later.”

I pull into my park and glance at the dash. 25 minutes since I left the crime scene. 25 minutes to get three bloody blocks. That’s Fortitude Valley traffic for you. Checking my phone for any missed calls or texts, I make my way upstairs. I’m greeted by the low hum of voices and phones waiting to be answered. Passing the Inspectors office and noticing he’s not in, I continue straight to my desk.

I take a seat at my small desk, glancing at the photo’s in their frames. A small pang of sadness hitting me, the familiar ache of longing settling in my chest.

“REED. With me.” I hear from across the room. Shaking off distant memories, I make my way to the Inspectors office quickly. He’s not happy; has he already addressed the media? Before I even have the chance to close the door, he’s talking.

“I’ve spoken with the media. This isn’t good. There’s already talk of cults and serial killers. Of copy-cats and revenge crimes. Tell me what we have”

Moving to take a seat, I notice a slender, imposing man standing in the back corner of the office. I hadn’t seen him enter. What is he doing here?

“Yes Sir. We’re obviously still waiting on the coroners report, but going from our last case, this guy will have been tied up,” I cringe. I couldn’t imagine putting my trust into someone, only for them to take advantage in the worst way possible. “The last victim had a sponge forced into his mouth and throat. He was then force fed water and he essentially drowned” I say, eyeing the stranger in the corner. He’s seated now and lazily watches me as I speak. One leg crossed over the other, fingers intertwined and resting on his chest.

“Are the victims similar?”

My train of thought is interrupted, what was I saying? Oh right. “Yes. Both late twenties, lawyers and live in the Valley area.” He’s still watching me, eyes burning holes into the side of my head. “Both are fit, and by the state of their apartments, they are single. Toxicology reports for our first victim will be in by this afternoon” I rattle off in one breath.

Not noticing my discomfort, the Inspector nods towards the figure in the corner. “If these are connected, and I suspect that they are, you’re going to need a team for this. Detective Roan has the experience you’re going to need. It’s not every day that Brisbane has a potential serial killer stalking its streets.”

The strange has a name. This is the infamous Detective Jacob Roan. I’d heard he was transferring from North Queensland. Having one of the best clearance rates in the state, he was well sort after, and it seems the Inspector is quite proud of his newest recruit. I’d heard on the grapevine that he had a lot of… personality, and guessing from the conversation being had, those rumours weren’t wrong.

“You will still be a lead investigator on the case” the Inspector continues, “with your brains and his instincts, we’ll have this tied up much quicker than either of you could manage alone.”

“Thank you sir” I smile at his subtle compliment. Though not completely placated, I’m much more confident in the knowledge that I’m still a valuable asset.

“Thank you, Jeremy” says Roan, mocking my use of Sir. Never taking his eyes off me, he leaves the room, mischief dancing in his eyes.

With a curt nod, I am dismissed. Any excitement I had about working on my first potential serial murder case has dissipated. They’ve been thrown on the ground, and stomped on by expensive leather shoes.

[shit1write]

Stepping out of the small room and into the hallway, I pull out my phone. I look around, procrastinating, not wanting to make the call to my boss. I’d been hoping to solve my last case a lot sooner, but it had been proving substantially more complicated then we had anticipated. And now, we’ve found another body. Same apparent MO, we could have a serial killer on our hands.

A serial killer. My first serial killer. I should be thrilled. This could finally prove to everyone that I can do this. A chill runs down my spine, what if I can’t? What if I fail, miserably, and this psychopath continues to kill?

Interrupting my train of thought, my phone rings. I groan, my caller ID flashing the Inspectors name. “Inspector, I was just calling you”

“Tell me what you’ve got” the Inspector barks. He’s always been a no bullshit type of guy. No fluff, no chit chat, straight to the point. I like it that way. Formalities only delay the inevitable.

“Yes sir. Our victim is male, mid to late twenties. Suspected cause of death is asphyxiation” I pause, slightly dreading his reaction to my next statement. “A used kitchen sponge was found stuffed in the victims mouth” I hear a sharp intake of breath.

“Right. What are you thinking? Copy-cat? Serial?” He’s completely alert now, I can almost hear the gears whirring in his head.

“Too soon to tell, but scene and MO are very similar”. My mind is racing. Are these cases connected? Can I do this? Am I ready to catch a serial killer?

“Keep me updated. We’ll be needing to make a statement to the press, I’m already getting calls. Lord knows how they’ve caught on” he sighs, “if this is linked, we need to get it under control, now”

“Yes sir” I reply, not knowing what else I can say. “I’ll do everything I can to catch this guy”

“Speak soon”.

Knowing my cue, I end the call. I take a breath, roll my shoulders and head back to the scene. I can do this.

[shit1write]

I’m going to aim to write something, anything, once a day. I really want to get to a place where I’m ready to write something with actual substance, but I don’t know WHAT to write about.

[shit1write]

He was dead.

That much was pretty obvious. It was never the eerie translucent look their skin got, or the smell in the air that told her this persons life had been snatched away.

It was their eyes. Something about the way their eyes stared into the distance, searching for something; lost to somewhere greater.

The mans steel grey eyes stared out at her, trying to tell his story. She would never get over that, seeing the empty look when there used to be a life pulsing away behind their pupils.

“It wasn’t quick, I’ll say that” said Angela from her position next to the corpse.

“You know cause of death then?”

“It’s too early for a definitive answer of course, but my quick guess was he choked to death”.

She followed Angela’s line of sight and finally noticed the way the John Does mouth was positioned. There was slight bruising around his lips, and his cheeks were puffed out like his mouth was full of food.

“He choked to death on a dirty sponge” Angela stated with a wry smile.