Valen

Chapter 4

Liam

On Wednesday morning, I received a call at home regarding another murder, which was possibly committed by the Camden Butcher. I met Ivan at the scene where the body had been discovered. The killer dumped the body in an abandoned warehouse located in a secluded area downtown.

"Status?" I asked Ivan once I arrived on the scene.

"Female between the ages of twenty to twenty-four. The medical examiner says she's been dead about forty-eight hours," he answered.

"Same M.O.?"

Ivan nodded. "Yep. She was stabbed forty times," he frowned. "He's escalating."

"Damn! This guy cannot be perfect. He's bound to make a mistake. They always make a mistake. We're missing something Ivan."

I went over the crime scene again and again. I studied every part – the body, and the surrounding area. I'm sure the CSU guys and gals were getting agitated that I was going behind them as if they weren't doing their jobs properly, but it doesn't hurt to be thorough. Plus, I just wanted to be sure, for myself, that something wasn't being missed.

You would think it would get easier each time, but it doesn't. If anything, it gets harder and harder with each murder, each innocent life taken. I'll never fathom what makes a person kill another. The truly sad fact is - humans kill more of their own species than that of any species on earth. We're supposed to be the compassionate, mature, civil, loving, and caring species. The ones who understand, empathize, and the ones who forgive. Instead, our world is filled with mental sickness, and with hatred, and so much evil. In my opinion most hate, if not taught, transpires from being afraid of the unknown. We're afraid of what we can't understand.

Ivan and I went back to the station to do more brainstorming. We laid all three and a half murder files out on a table located in the middle of our office and began going back through every paper, every picture for the hundredth time. I's sure that we're missing a very important piece of the puzzle. We need to find that piece, and we need to find it quickly.

"What do all of the girls have in common?" I asked, thinking out loud.

Ivan looked at the list we had made so far. "They're all prostitutes, they're all brunettes, and they're between the ages of twenty and twenty-five."

I shook my head. "There's got to be something else," I told him.

"Well, we know they didn't work the same block," Ivan added.

Then it suddenly hit me. "That's it!

"What's it?" Ivan asked, eyes wide with hope.

"What if they didn't just walk the streets? Some prostitutes these days find their customers in bars, clubs, or online so they can be more discreet. We need to find out if these girls went to the same bar or used the same online sites." I turned to Ivan. "Can you start making calls to the families and friends of the first three victims while I go speak with the M.E. to see if anyone has identified our latest victim yet?"

"You got it," Ivan said just before I walked out of the room.