The list of sinners

...Donovan...

The murder that happened on Thursday changed everything. At first, the case seemed to have a specific objective, but now it seemed to be expanding. There were many details that Cameroon and I needed to discuss with each other. The division chief was waiting for us in the conference room to update us on what had happened. We walked along the corridor in total silence. Cameroon was too focused on his phone, his fingers moving quickly as he typed. His fast typing and the emphasized weight of his fingertips almost seemed like he would break the screen. The tapping of the keys was more disturbing than the silence that had enveloped us. I just couldn't stand it anymore.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked.

"No... it's nothing important."

He put his phone in his pocket and started adjusting his shirt cuff, clearly annoyed by my question. He hurried his steps, leaving me behind with the file squashed under my arm. He held the door of the conference room open for me.

"Come on, guys!"

We settled into two chairs on the right side, while the chief stood in the center with his arms open and leaning on the width of the table.

"At 6:00 in the morning, the department secretary was notified of a body found in the central park of the city," the chief began.

Right after the notification, the police units were dispatched to the scene.

"That's true, sir," Cameroon followed. "Iarrived there at 6:12, where I got information from Officer Willow".

"Make your report, Sinclair," the chief ordered.

"Upon arriving there, Officer Burke first spoke with the citizen who had gone out for a morning run. Despite the horror that had overtaken him, he was questioned a second time, which ultimately led to the verification of his alibi. We were only able to identify the victim through the car registration in her bag".

"Was her phone in the bag?" I asked.

"No, she didn't have it with her."

"Mayfire?"

"I arrived at the scene at 6:20, where I took another look at the victim's body that was still there. The victim, Devorah Miller, had almost the same M.O. as the victim Rebecca Simons."

"Has the autopsy been done?"

"Yes, I have the report here... the cause of death was identified as a stab wound, eight times."

"One less than Rebecca," Cameroon remarked.

"That's a difference."

"Could we say we have a serial killer?" Cameroon asked.

"Perhaps... I mean, both girls had brown hair, the weapon is the same, but Devorah had one less wound than Rebecca."

"It seems like a reverse counting," the chief said.

"But we need to make sure if Rebecca and Devorah had any connection, which seems very turbulent considering Rebecca wasn't from around here."

"That doesn't rule out the fact that they may have met at some point," Cameroon said.

"You're right."

A light knock was heard behind the conference room door where we had been for fifteen minutes.

"Come in," the chief said.

"Chief Campbell, sorry, but I need to hand over this letter to the detectives," Officer Burke said.

"Go on."

The officer approached me with a steady pace, leaving the letter in front of me with the file.

"Thank you."

I took the letter in hand to understand more about its content. It was the personal information of Devorah's family that we would question first thing tomorrow.

"We have the Miller family's address, chief," I said, passing the letter to Cameroon.

"Alright, guys. Anything else to add?" the chief asked.

"No," I replied.

The chief left the room, leaving the two of us behind. We gathered our reports, put them in folders, and headed towards the door.

"We need to hand in the reports," I told Cameroon.

"It would be a favor if you could hand mine in too because I have to leave."

"Of course, just don't forget that we have interrogations tomorrow."

"Don't worry, see you."

"See you."

I watched him as he walked away. There was something off about him. The way he stood silently, his posture, the hurried steps he took, all of these were a message that something was bothering him and to some extent hurting him. Instead of opening up to someone, leaving was a way of self-protection. After all, opening up to someone was nothing but a strengthened conviction that he was suffering.