She didn’t pass his school the day after that one.
He was miserable that his opportunity was gone as quickly as it had come. Killing off squirrels, rabbits, cats and dogs just didn’t have the same pizazz it once did; in fact, it made the itch more unbearable.
Seven long wretched days went by and he again sat in the schoolyard trying to entice a squirrel. Then he heard her, the sweet lullaby that rang through the air as she walked down the road.
He couldn’t help himself. He ran to his locker to retrieve the bag he had shoved in there and then hightailed it out to catch up with her. He didn’t care if anyone saw him; he needed to make sure she was there.
And there she was. Her blonde ponytail swung in the air as she skipped along to her song. She didn’t have a care or fear in the world as she wandered the same route she always did. He followed, falling into rhythmic step behind her. He shadowed her into the park and picked up speed ever so slightly, not wanting to have to run to catch her between the trees.
They veered off the path, with him behind her, and he counted the trees in his head, waiting until they were almost halfway. He ran up behind her and, before she could turn around to see what the noise was, he had his hand clasped over her mouth. His hands were so big that he covered her nose and mouth, cutting off her air supply.
She fought him, her nails like razors as she clawed at his arm, making him hiss as she drew blood. She tried kicking back against him, but luckily he was tall enough to hold on to her while remaining out of reach of her ineffectual attempts. The kicks died down, so did the clawing, as her oxygen-deprived body started to shut down.
Careful to keep her air cut off, he pinned her to a tree, looking down at her round blue eyes. They were beautiful and full of life, life that was slowly ebbing away with each second that he didn’t allow her breath. She sank to the ground and he had to crouch to keep her from inhaling. Soon enough her head rolled forward, the life that was there a moment ago ... gone.
Using his free hand to check her pulse, he found it stilled. The biggest smile crawled across his face as his excitement could not be contained. If anyone saw him now, they would know what true madness looked like.
Standing, he took his bag off his shoulder, setting it down to his right and unzipping it. He examined her body, wondering what he wanted to do first. She was a canvas and he the artist, and therefore he needed to do something truly amazing for the world to hear of it and marvel at his masterpiece.
Finding the rope, he tied her to the tree, securing the cord around her chest, under her arms, and around the trunk, tying a knot so it would not come undone. With her body secure, he took out the plastic rubbish bags. He separated one from the batch and made a hole on the two corners and in the middle and pulled it over himself.
Next he took out the hacksaw and cut at her neck. It proved a lot harder than he thought it would be and the prospect of him not finishing in time, or taking too long and getting caught, made him extremely nervous. He sawed faster, struggling to get through the bone. With a few crunchy sounds, he managed to sever her head from the rest of her body. It rolled down her front and landed, face forward, between her legs.
It looked so beautiful, with her dead eyes staring straight ahead, that he didn’t want to move it.
Putting the hacksaw away, he pulled the garbage bag off, turning it inside out and wrapping it tight, so he wouldn’t mess blood everywhere.
He stared at his perfect art work and sighed, even more aroused. He examined her lifeless body closely and was just about to pack up and leave when he caught sight of her fingernails. She had blood and what looked like dirt under them. After examining his own arm, he realised she had his skin under her fingernails, too. He needed to clean them. He pulled out his blade and carefully cleaned each nail. As an extra measure to ensure he didn’t get caught, he fished the nail clippers from his bag and clipped each nail so that the clippings fell into his palm to throw away with the garbage bag later.
He finished packing up and headed towards the path, adjusting his pants and bag so no one would notice him.
THE NEXT DAY IT WAS all over the news. As he had breakfast with his father he heard it on the radio in the kitchen. Ten year old Morgan Tabitha had been found dead and decapitated in the park across the road from her home. There were no suspects yet and police were combing the area for any clues that could lead them to the killer.
He was satisfied; there was no news on the suspect, which meant he had cleaned up properly. His father looked up and noticed the smile on his face, but didn’t care to question him. In fact, he hardly spoke to his father about anything except important decisions that related to his future, his career and all that rubbish grown-ups constantly worried about.
He couldn’t care less because he had just had the most enchanting day, the day before, and the itch was now satisfied and life went on as usual.
Chapter 2
Kallista
TEN YEARS WAS A LONG time for someone to stew over something. Most people figured, after a few years, you let it go. It had not been that way for Kallista.
Walking in on her sister’s lifeless body hanging from her closet with her head by her feet had not merely emotionally and mentally scarred Kalli for the rest of her life, but had also set in motion a new path for her.
Before, she was an irrational, childish brat who just wanted a social life. After, she worked towards a career, one that would hopefully enable her to solve her sister’s murder.
Kalli spent the rest of her high school days with her head stuck in a book, studying hard until she graduated top of her year and was valedictorian. She received a full ride to any University of her choice; she could have been a doctor, a lawyer, a chartered accountant. She had the world at her feet, but Kalli wanted only one thing - justice for her sister.
Her mother took her to psychologists afterwards, and they explained that it wasn’t her fault, despite her guilt that she had no kind words for her sister before she was taken from her. They explained the stages of grief; they explained that she should let herself feel whatever she needed to feel and that guilt would eventually leave her, but it didn’t.
She briefly considered going into law enforcement, but there was no guarantee she would be assigned to her old neighbourhood, or that she would be allowed to reopen Tatum’s case. She decided instead to study criminology and profiling so that she could use her sisters case, and the related cases, as part of her PhD thesis; that way she hoped to find answers and bring the killer to justice.
It took ten years to get to that point, but now she was there. Having graduated Cum Laude, with her thesis proposal approved, she was on her way back to her old family home to start her investigation, thankful her mother hadn’t sold it when they moved. No one wanted to buy a house where a teenager had been murdered. Although hesitant, her mother gave her the keys and agreed to let her stay there, rent free, while she completed the final step in her studies.
After a six hour drive, she arrived and it was just as she remembered it. The lawn needed some mowing and the plants were overgrown, the house needed a fresh coat of paint and the windows a wash, but it still stood, for better or for worse, and she could touch up all the little things while she was here to make it a bit more friendly and homely.
Parking her car in the driveway, she made her way up to the front door. At first, the key didn’t want to turn, but after tinkering a little she managed to swivel it and, with an audible click, the door unlocked and swung open. She coughed, the dust in the air thick, and had to pull her shirt up and over her mouth as she entered, squinting to make out the various shapes of what little furniture they left behind in their rush to get away.
She would need to purchase a few items, but would do that after cleaning up and unpacking her car.
AFTER SPENDING THE rest of the day and most of the next cleaning, the house was somewhat liveable. She ventured out into the neighbourhood, driving slowly by where her sister’s friend Jacqui once lived, then her old
school where she studied so diligently, before she went to Mr Meyer’s general store.
Mr Meyer had long ago passed away and the store was now run by his son, Mr James Meyer Junior. He stocked everything from appliances to groceries to cleaning supplies; an all-round store to find anything needed and, if they didn’t have it, they were happy to order it. Kalli parked outside in a designated spot and made her way into the air-conditioned warehouse-sized store.
After running up her credit card bill a lot higher than she had budgeted for, and confirming the delivery address three times for JJ, as he liked to be called, Kalli left to go to the police station, because for her there was no time like the present and she knew the files she had requested for her thesis were ready and waiting.
The police station also appeared unchanged since she was last there, when she was comforted by Office Smith while other officers tried to console her bereaved mother. It was also the last time she had seen Darren, the teenager first accused of all the grisly murders, as he was escorted out of the jail and set free to live his life.
She walked in and saw the same white-washed walls, the same dirty carpet squares half glued to the floor, and the same scratched and falling-to-pieces desks and chairs the officers sat at.
Heading to the old reception booth that looked like it came from the 1930s, she waited for the officer behind the booth to acknowledge her existence.
“What can I get you, honey?” the old lady cooed.
Her officer’s uniform seemed too big for her, as though she had suddenly lost a lot of weight. She was past retirement age, so it was possibly just old age that made her smaller than the size her uniform was originally bought for.
Kalli leaned on her elbows. “Hi, ma’am, I’m here to pick up the files for Kallista Metz. I was told they would be ready for me.”
“ID, please,” the lady asked.
Taking it from Kalli, she didn’t say anything further, but picked up a phone and dialled a four digit number. It was an in-house call and after exchanging a few words she hung up.
“You can proceed to the records room,” she croaked out, shakily holding out a visitors pass for Kalli to clip to her shirt. “It’s down the hall past the detectives’ desks, to your right.”
With that, the little old lady went back to the crossword puzzle open in front of her.
Paying her no mind, Kalli nodded in thanks and quickly strode in the direction of the records room. She didn’t acknowledge anyone as she passed, preferring to keep to herself. She found the records quickly enough and presented the on-duty clerk with the letters of approval from her Professor as well as the Police Chief and finally her ID.
Once everything was thoroughly checked and confirmed, twice, she was handed a large crate with the requested files neatly packed into it. She thanked the clerk before lugging the case files towards the door.
“Kalli?”
She heard her name being called as she made it to the bench that stood across from the reception booth. Unable to turn around due to the weight of the crate, she set it down on the bench, wiped her sweaty fringe out of her eyes and turned to see who had called her.
“It is you!” an officer declared, striding towards her. “I thought it might have been, but I haven’t seen you in, what is it now, ten years? I couldn’t be sure.”
She looked up to the officer. He was a head taller and she recognized his kind, green eyes.
“Smith?” she asked. “Officer Smith? You were working my sister’s case.”
He nodded. “I was, and I felt terrible when I couldn’t turn up anything. How are you? What are you doing here?” Smith asked before adding, “And, please, it’s Mike.”
Kalli smiled and said, “Well, I’m doing my PhD thesis on criminal profiling and I needed some old case files to work on.”
Mike smiled as well. “Who exactly are you trying to profile?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that. He had tried his best to find the killer, and telling him she was trying to find the same killer now might make him feel guilt he had long suppressed. She knew all about PTSD within the police ranks, especially with unsolved cases.
“Uh, just some old cases.”
Mike stepped forward. “May I?”
Kalli couldn’t think of a good reason to stop him and nodded, and he rifled through the files. He nodded to himself, pursing his lips as he passed Tatum’s file, before straightening.
“Well, I see you have all the files for The Butcher killings, but what about these first three? They were general murders in the area,” he commented.
“That’s what most people have said, but I have a feeling they are linked and I’m going to prove it in my thesis.” She felt confident; she had researched this far more than anyone else and she was determined.
Mike picked up the crate. “Can I carry this to your car for you?”
She nodded. “Yeah, thank you so much, that would be great.”
At the car, Kalli opened the trunk. Once he deposited the crate, she shut it and stood there awkwardly, not sure what else to say.
Mike put his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you need any information please give me a shout. I’m happy to do whatever I can to assist.” He withdrew his hand to dip it into his shirt pocket, pulling out a business card and holding it out.
“Thanks, I will give you a call if I need anything.” She pocketed it and slipped into the driver’s seat without another word.
With a roar of her engine, she reversed out and drove towards her house.
KALLI UNPACKED MOST of the things she brought with her into her mom’s old bedroom. It was the largest and would suit her just fine as a study. She made up her bed in her old bedroom for a place to sleep, and then went about emptying the car of her purchases and placing them where they belonged.
The only appliances she still needed were her fridge, washing machine, and dishwasher. They were the only items the store didn’t have stock of and would deliver once the goods came in.
Once unpacked, she destroyed the boxes and threw them in the trash before going up to what was now her home office, and put up her whiteboards for notes.
Having hoisted the heavy crate up the stairs, she opened it, pulling out the top file. She read the name on the top and nodded. Morgan Tabitha, the girl she thought was The Butcher’s first victim. She put the folder on the table in the middle of the room and pulled out her phone. Plugging the earphones in, she opened up her music menu and selected Korn’s song, Coming Undone, one of her favourites, and started to examine the contents of the folder.
She noted the way the body was positioned and how her head had been between her legs, where it had presumably fallen and been left by the killer. She noted the girl’s nails had been cut, so she must have fought her killer and possibly could have gotten DNA under her fingernails, but he made sure not to leave a trace.
Kalli pulled out her white board markers and wrote on the top left of the first whiteboard: MORGAN TABITHA. MURDERED. PARK. BLONDE. FOUGHT BACK. FIRST KILLING?
She bobbed her head to the song as she made more detailed notes. Once she was done, she took out a smaller folder within the main folder and pulled out the crime scene photos. She stuck them to the white board and examined them for more clues.
She couldn’t see anything in the photos that wasn’t in the report ... until she got to the sixth photo.
It was an image of Morgan’s decapitated body. Standing next to her was the person Kalli had hoped to never see again - the Skeleton Woman.
As she had discovered, her actual name was Robyn, one of The Butcher’s victims. Rubbing her eyes, she examined the photo again, but Robyn wasn’t there anymore.
She had first seen Robyn shortly after Tatum’s death. She saw her standing over her sister’s grave after the funeral and Robyn had looked straight at her that day. She saw her around town a few times thereafter and only stopped seeing her when they moved.
Kalli gave herself a mental shake; she had realised this might happen with the re
opening of the case.
She furiously made notes on the white board, drawing arrows between what she thought was linked and what she thought should be re-examined. Once done, she sat down to capture her notes for the first chapter of her thesis. Working straight through the night, she didn’t stop until the early hours of the following morning when, exhausted, she crawled into bed to get a couple of hours sleep before she started again.
THE FIRST THING SHE did when she woke in the morning was make coffee. She just didn’t feel human until the bitter caffeine had seeped into every part of her body and livened her enough to kick-start her brain.
She took the hot mug in her hands and went back to her office and stared blankly at the notes she made the night before. She picked up the folder and, sipping her hot coffee, scanned the notes from the initial investigating officer.
What caught her eye was that they had found fibres at the scene, but, it being such an old case, there was no technology back then to pinpoint exactly what brand of clothing it was. It was a clue no one had bothered to test in the modern age; technology could now work out exactly what kind of fibre the shirt was made from and where the shirt would be sold.
She set her coffee down harder than intended and the scalding liquid sloshed up the sides of the mug, a few drops making it past the handle and dribbling down towards the wood of the desk. She didn’t notice.
Quickly she typed an email to both her professor and the chief of police of her town, stating that she felt the fibres should be tested now to see if they couldn’t pinpoint the kind of shirt the killer had been wearing at the time.
After hitting send, she reached for her mug only to discover it was no longer where she thought she left it. She stared at the small ring of coffee left from her putting it down so hard, but that was the only evidence.
Quickly scanning her desk, she stood and glanced around the room, finally seeing her mug on the old shelf above where the bed used to be. She stared at it, wondering how the hell she could have put it so far away without realising. She assumed she was overtired from the late night’s work and clearly put it there at some point before she sat at her computer,
Kallista Page 2
