Prologue.
I messed up, everyone messes up sometimes but I think I messed pretty badly but it's not my fault, I didn't think speaking my mind was going to get me into this shithole. Kyle poured me another glass of whiskey on the rocks, I know I'm a woman and I should be drinking wine or some cocktails or martinis but right now, I need whiskey fuck it. Vodka will do.
How did I end up in a bar? Getting drunk?. Well it all started by me speaking my mind and yes that shit can get you in trouble, apparently. I mean when I woke up I didn't know I'd end up here. I don't even remember the last time I spent more than two hours in a bar. Okay. So here's how I got here.
I got to the office, late as usual, I don't know how I manage to be late everyday but I'm always late and big annoying boss has given up on threatening to fire me. Anika smiled giving me coffee, doughnuts and my massages. I wouldn't be able to go a day without her, she is an angel and my assistant.
"Good morning, Ms Nkosi".
"Good morning, Ms Jackson".
She actually smiled at that, she doesn't smile much, I told her to call me Olwethu but she doesn't. I got in my office locking the door behind me. The last thing I need is anyone budging in here, especially my male colleagues, they don't knock and they most certainly don't take no from sweet Anika. I put everything on the table taking off my jacket and I went through my useless messages.
My father called, yet again trying to get me to come home for a family dinner which as usual I declined. Some guy called about renting out my place, I live there, what is wrong with people?. Detective Smith called and left no message, of course he didn't, that guy trusts no one, I'm still trying to understand why, I get that he's a cop and all but come on!. I need to get back to him and knowing him he will not take my call.
I sat down, taking a sip of my coffee making the headache go away, no, not from a hangover but lack of sleep. Detective Smith's phone rang a couple of of times before it went to voicemail and I just hung up, he never checks his voicemails anyways.
The last three weeks have been hard on everyone, every woman, journalist and probably every cop. About three weeks ago a first victim was found in her apartment hanged by the neck, fully clothed and there was no sign of a struggle, a second victim three days after. The third victim also three days after and today is the second day after the 7th victim was found, everyone is waiting for tomorrow, there's nothing more we can do other than wait and hope that he'll stop.
The cops have no idea who this man is, that's even if it a man, I think a woman is just as capable of killing as a man. My father would beg to differ, obviously, yes, my father and I do not get along very well. I sat back rereading the police report Smith shared with me, my table with the dead women's pictures and I took another bite of my doughnut. The killer is either a professional or really neat and clean.
The houses all look clean, no struggle, no dirt on the floor, nothing, they probably cleaned up after and if they did that it means they knew their victims enough to be comfortable around their apartments, they knew no one would disturb them. That's all we've come up with, it's been three weeks and that's all we've come up with, I moved my eyes down to the last victim then the first.
They probably knew each other, they are all doctors or were doctors, something just doesn't add up here, why kill doctors? They save people and I cancelled out them being responsible for their loved one's death. No one has those many loved ones and besides they are not all practicing doctors. The fourth victim was a physiotherapist and the sixth a psychiatrist.
Anika knocked on the door, it's time, I wanted to come to work early so I get enough time to go through my other files but I didn't as usual I obsessed over the serial killer file. I put on my jacket, shoes and took my phone, I can never go a day without it, I need it for literally everything which is somehow crazy.
