Victimizing the Vulnerable

April 18th

00:48 am:

The rain trickles down off the brick building. Puddles are forming on the ground, in window wells, and beside cars. Pulling my coat on, I walk towards the single SUV, parked alone in the parking lot of the station.

"Excuse me?"

Sharply turning my head, out of the corner of my eyes, in the dim light a younger woman approaches me. Her hair is tucked up in a messy bun, her body is hidden behind a thick navy cardigan.

"Excuse me..." Softly she speaks. "Detective Jesse, I'm Leslie Bennet from Rockwell Harold. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions about the sudden police presence?"

"Damn, Cassie is right again."

"Uh..." Stammering I gaze around. Surely this could have a negative impact on my detective status. "Have you been waiting around all night?"

"Sadly...yes. Your Commissioner gave me no comment and your chief suggested I go do something to myself."

"He prefers Sergeant, we don't know why....."

"Anyways, I've recognized you from a couple of crime scenes near my condo and I was wondering if-"

"I'd be happy to answer all your questions."

A small grin cuts through her beige skin.

"Great! Thank you so much Detective!"

"But.... How about we go somewhere first....get out of this rain....."

01:34 am:

I twirl the steaming coffee around with the rusted metallic spoon they gave me. Luckily, the station is two blocks off from a twenty-four seven diner, a block off from a fancy Cafe, and five blocks North of a local Dunk-in Donuts.

"Five years you say?" Leslie asks as she scribbles down note in her Indigo notepad. "And Detective Rebecca Louis has ten more than you?"

"Correct." I take another careful sip of my dark roast coffee. Slowly I swish the coffee around in my mouth, waking up all my tastebuds and muscles.

"So...you call this serial killer the Suburban Strangler.... Not a very clever name..."

"Sadly, We don't spend much time on names. Apparently our jobs are more focused around the actual the deaths of each victim."

"Does this strangler, have a signature yet? Or is he playing it safe by keeping his work prestige?"

"He does have a -"

She cuts me off, as she slams her pen and notebook onto the glass table. The force is strong enough to put waves in y coffee.

"How do you know it's not a female doing it? It's plausible if the female is over five foot eight, works out, and can bench a hundred pounds!"

"Females.....it just looks like a man's work. Usually in female killers they take more time and savour the kill when men do it for the adrenaline rush...."

"Well but what-"
I drowned the sound of her high pitch voice out as I stare down at my coffee.

"Very much a feminist....never would have guessed by looking at all her PETA buttons and equality buttons on her satchel."

"-men all think the same way!"

"If that's all the questions, I have shift at eight and I really need my sleep..."

I push off at the table, tossing on a ten dollar bill beside the white stained cup. Giving her a quick nod of my drowsy head, I triumphantly grab my jacket from behind her head and fling it over my shoulder. Walking out of the store not one but five police lights go zooming past me; lights flashing, sirens screaming. All headed towards Rockwell.