the one who got away

V

It was only 7:30 in the morning and Beatrice was being called to a new crime scene. She took her time with the drive as she was attempting to mentally prepare herself for what to expect when she arrived at the address Connor had sent her. She was running off of her second black coffee that morning as her body was incredibly weak from the lack of rest. Her eyelids felt heavy and the simple task of focusing on her driving was becoming difficult.

Beatrice turned into the neighborhood of the newest victim and was greeted by the street being scattered with police cars and officers wandering in and out of a house blocked off with caution tape. She parked her car beside the black SUV that she recognized to be from the police station; Connor must have beat her here. She sat in her seat for a moment as her mind was filled with thoughts of worry and anticipation of what would lie before her when she walked inside the crime scene. If her and Connor were being called, it must be related to the serial murders that they were investigating. Murders that Beatrice committed. Beatrice did not commit this murder, she knew that, so... who did?

Before she knew it, she was standing outside the stone steps of the house trying to find the strength to walk inside. The house was obviously meant for one person due to the size; it was surrounded by flowers and bushes that the owner had planted. As Beatrice walked through the door, she was immediately greeted by Connor who stopped mid-sentence in a conversation with a female officer to approach his colleague. His eyebags were more prominent than they were since Beatrice had last seen him, which made her assume he probably had as much sleep as her.

"I'm really glad you're here because, quite frankly, I'm stumped." Connor turned on his heels and began to walk down the hallway. Beatrice followed behind.

"What do we know about this new victim? Who is he?"

"She, actually," Connor corrected, and led Beatrice into the bedroom.

The room was painted light grey and was occupied by a queen-sized bed, a black dresser that propped up a television, and a black nightstand. The bedroom was seemingly normal at first, besides the fact that in the bed lied a dead body. The victim was a brunette woman, the satin sheets painted crimson with her blood. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the bed with zip ties that had cut into her skin. Taking a closer look, the room seemed to be in disarray which pointed to the idea that the victim put up a fight.

"Her name is Julia Thixton," Connor stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Beatrice glanced around the room. "Twelve stab wounds to the abdomen. Blunt force trauma to the back of her head. We found a blunt in an ash tray in the living room, so we believe that she was high when her attack took place."

Beatrice nodded along to what Connor was explaining to her, although she was not necessarily listening. "What are we thinking? You don't think this relates to the other murders, do you?"

Connor hesitated for a moment.

"I wanted to get Andrew's opinion when he gets to the office," Connor finally said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But, in my opinion? I believe this is related to our original murders, although being completely different."

The more Beatrice was learning about this crime scene, the more confused she was becoming. She did not murder this person, that she knew. What she did not know, however, was who knew enough about these murders to replicate patterns in Beatrice's victims? There were many differences in Julia's murder compared to the others, but the big picture was there.

Connor's phone rang from his back pocket, her turned away from Julia's body and answered the call. He stood quietly for a moment before giving short replies to the caller. "Yes sir. Yes sir, we've been talking –. Yes sir, we're on our way." Connor turned around to Beatrice as he shoved his phone away. "Andrew wants us back to the station to discuss with him."

The two stepped out of the bedroom and walked past the crime scene photographers to make way to their cars. Beatrice waved to Connor before the two departed to their cars and followed each other to the police station.

When they arrived, Andrew was waiting for them in their discussion room. He had his reading glasses on as he was hunched over the table reading a book with a maroon cover. The room was dimly lit by a singular lamp in front of him, that was, until Connor flipped on the light switch. Andrew glanced away from his book to stare at Connor and Beatrice as they stepped into the room and closed the door behind them.

At first, his expression was stern and frustrated, but when he noticed the condition Beatrice and Connor were in, his face shifted to concern. "What did you two do last night? It looks like you both were hit by a truck."

"We're fine." Connor and Beatrice replied simultaneously.

Andrew narrowed his eyebrows, but he was not going to push it any further. He waved his hand in front of him to motion for the two to have a seat. "What did you all learn from the crime scene?"

"Her name is Julia Thixton, and she was stabbed twelve times," Connor recited, sitting down in the chair beside Beatrice. "She is twenty-eight, the youngest victim so far. She had blunt force trauma to the back of her head and her wrists and ankles were zip tied to her bed. We also believe that she was high."

As she spoke, Andrew was nodding to himself and writing in his notepad, that was nearly halfway full of information from this case alone. When Connor finished, he scribbled something else down before turning his attention to Beatrice.

"What do you think about this case? About the change in victimology? Enlighten me with your thoughts, Adams." Andrew turned towards Beatrice, who wasn't paying attention. She was too caught up in her own thoughts of wanting to curl into a ball under the table and take a nap. At the same time, her mind was racing about who this new killer is that they were now searching for. Who knew that much about the case that they decided to replicate it in their own way? The fact that this person had ruined the entire message Beatrice was searching for made her furious. She wanted to find this killer and put a stop to them.

"I don't know what you think, sir, but" Connor cleared his throat and shifted Andrew's attention away from Beatrice, who was still zoned out staring at the table. "I believe Julia's murder is connected to our previous victims. I don't think this is another killer we're looking for, despite going against our original theories."

"Why do you think that?" Andrew waved his hand to motion for him to continue.

Connor straightened his tie, which today, was blue with white anchors. "I-I don't understand why a woman was murdered this time, that's what I'm still trying to figure out. Nonetheless, the details are similar to our other victims: puncture wounds to the torso, blunt force trauma, and even being bound to the bed. Those are details that are too specific to replicate."

Before anyone could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Chief Frank Daniels stood in the doorway with a short grief-stricken woman. "This is Julia Thixton's mother, Isabelle. Andrew, you called her in?"

"Yes, I did." Andrew clasped his hand against Beatrice's back that quickly snapped her back to reality. "Detective Adams will speak to you in here."