Alone

Alone - Chapter Three, Classifying Killers

In a perfect world, thought Detective Mills, killers would wait by the body of their victim and weep loudly. Waiting to be locked up for what they now realised was a heinous crime. His first case had in fact gone that way. In a clichéd scenario, a husband had come home from a hard day's work to find his wife in bed with his best friend. Without thinking, he had immediately swung the heavy bedside lamp at the head of his oldest friend, resulting in the fatal wound.

Alerted by a concerned passer-by who had heard the shriek of the wife and the thump of the lamp, Mills had arrived to find an unconscious woman lying under the lifeless body of her lover. Sobbing at having seemingly lost both his wife and friend, the unwitting killer had immediately confessed to Mills, asking for the severe punishment he believed he deserved.

That was 7 years ago now and Mills was now in his early thirties. Since then he had learned about the different types of killers that have the indecency to habit this planet with us. The sobbing, forgiving type was rare. There was the occasional 'stone-cold' killer, who lived after the incident without emotion, having meticulously planned beforehand and now reaping the benefits of being oh-so-clever and watching CSI once in a while. They might be able to stop the science-guys with their bleach and gloves, but even though Mills was a fairly young detective, he believed in old-fashioned practices. Namely chasing suspects down alleys. If they ran, they were probably hiding something.

The Other type may be worse than stone cold. They enjoyed it, craved it occasionally. Some of the psychos believed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, whilst others were very aware of it and completely proud of their actions. They were exhibitionists and liked to make a show of their hard work. Mills knew Jack the Ripper would have fallen into this type and he had the terrible feeling that this killer did also.

"So Jason, how does this one class into your categories of killers?" Paul James had arrived and after taking a brief glance at the bodies, had seen more than enough to realise what Mills was thinking.

Paul looked at Mills. A tall man with an athletic build, Mills was all for hands on police work, paperwork being the bane of his existence. The stuff multiplied in his office, but maybe that was because he never got round to filling it out. Keeping out of the station as much as possible, Mills felt as trapped and confined in his office as the convicts awaiting questioning did in the holding cells down the corridor. He wasn't a man of suits either. The suits he preferred were on playing cards, as he allowed himself the luxury of weekly games with some of the other officers. Last week's game hadn't been too successful. Joe Holden, the rookie, had tried to teach the old hands a new game. Never again. At the end of every hand a new rule appeared, which conveniently made Joe the winner. After that, they had decided to stick to poker, collectively beating Joe at every hand.

Standing outside the warehouse, wearing one of his many pairs of jeans and t-shirt combo, Mills returned Paul's glance. Paul was a short man with unkempt hair and the air of someone who has forgotten what it is they were meant to be doing. Wearing his trademark lab coat, Paul liked to immediately class himself as a scientist to anyone who saw him. The only thing missing was the thick glasses, but Paul was fortunate to have perfect vision. It helped in his line of work.

"Had a look at those bodies yet?" Asked Paul.

"Why do you think I'm staying outside?" Responded Mills. "Those were some brutal deaths and you can see that Carlson is terrified it will happen again."

"Aren't you?"

"I know we're gonna catch the creep before that happens again."

Realising he was being called for in the warehouse, Mills returned through the heavy wooden doors, with Paul trailing him. The doors had been found open, which had attracted the now distraught witnesses. Well, at least one of them was visibly distraught. The other was a dog. It was always dog walkers who found the bodies. Up at the early hours to walk around a park for no particular reason, they were like a special branch of the police themselves, thought Mills. After all, the trained dog units and patrols couldn't be everywhere at once.

Carlson was standing just inside the doors, looking pale. Then again, Carlson always looked pale. Carlson was a smart detective, but not the most athletic. He usually ended up dealing with Mills' backlog of paperwork, which explained why there was still space for Mills to sit in his office. Carlson was an accomplished detective who managed to get into the mind of criminals, quickly bringing the most vicious and insane into incarceration. Mills knew he was the right man for the job, but realised he may have to do any of the chases on foot involved in this case.

Carlson however, was not the one who had called him. In fact, it had been a woman's voice. Stacy Wren, forensic scientist, was crouched by the legs of the table, examining them closely. Stacy was short, had short red hair and the stereotypical fiery temperament that went with it. She also had no time for Paul, but a soft spot for Mills.

"So, what you found there Stace?" Said Paul.

"It's Stacy, I've told you. Look at this Mills, the carvings are fresh."

On every leg of the table, there was carved a circle. Each circle had four small lines sticking out of it.

"It looks like the Sun, drawn very crudely." Commented Mills.

"Some kind of cult killing?"

"No, it doesn't look like any kind of sacrifice."

In this time Carlson had approached them. He stood looking at the carvings and turning his head this way and the other, as if a different angle would reveal the location of the killer.

"He craves attention to have placed the bodies like this, with the door left wide open as well. He wanted this found." Carlson knelt down to get a closer look at the carving. Now he realised what it was.

"He's also lonely. After all, what could be lonelier than a turtle inside it's own shell?"