Falling in love with Trouble

Chapter three:

Chapter three

        His name was Clinton Deen, short, black haired, Japanese, and shot in the heart as he made his way across the Manhattan Bridge to work. I’m catching up quickly. They know it’s him because of the way he was murdered. It’s some sort of signature or is it because it’s the easiest way to kill someone, I think. The heart is definitely his main target, and the brain. However, stabbing or shooting anyone in the heart is an instant kill. A shot in the head, there’s a possibly chance anyone can live. I’m writing all this when we come to a stop that causes my pen to make an unpleasing pen mark across the page. Shit.

Looking up from the passenger seat, I see the red and blue lights flashing around, yellow crime tape wrapped around the side walk stopping any pedestrians from crossing, and tents set up. Let’s get this started, I think. The shot was so intense that his body fell down slamming the water and this morning his body washed up on the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Unfortunately a mother and her daughter spotted him and quickly called 911. What a pleasant surprised.

The weather has changed dramatically so I snatch my jacket on placing my notebook inside. My brown leather boots clack on the sidewalk and shut up when I land on the grass, Chief, Ben, and Kathy follow. The rest of the crew isn’t far behind.

“Agent David, what do you have?” I ask, staring into his dark eyes. The flash from the photographers catch my attention. There laid the victim on the rocks, his face towards the cloudy sky. It’s going to rain soon.

“He was killed around eleven pm, was heading to work for the nightshift.” He scratched his head uncomfortably. “We believe it’s your guy.”

“Son of a bitch,” I say heading over to Clinton’s dead body. I stare carefully. Daniel isn’t picky, so none of these victims are connected, especially when they’re all from different states, race, gender, age. Neither do they look the same, and have no resemblance.  Most killers get their victims that tend to look the same. He doesn’t keep them hostage, doesn’t hide the bodies, isn’t careful, and just kills randomly. What the hell?

“Kathy, go with Ben and Betty to look over the surveillance tapes at least 100 miles from here. If this is Daniels work, that means he was here last night or who knows how many days. He needed time to strike I don’t believe he doesn’t things quickly.” Kathy nods and heads over to the other tent. I face the Chief, “We need to ask civilians walking through if they saw anything.”

“I knew you’ll get right into action.” His phone rings. “I’ll get right to that.”

I smile, “Just doing my job.”

The Chief takes his phone and David walks over, “This is on the news already. They want to make a press conference.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I raise an eyebrow not understanding and then it hits me. “Really? You want me up there?”

“Well, ma’am you are number one-”

“Detective in New York City, yeah, yeah.” I finish for him. The park is crawling with cops, agents, detectives, photographers, paparazzi, news reporters, and camera mans. I look left the Brooklyn Bridge, and I look right, the Manhattan Bridge. Where was he when he fired? The lakes right there, so a boat? On this park maybe, no to risky. On the same bridge, walking behind him, no, the shot was intense. Perhaps on the Brooklyn Bridge using a sniper, yes that can work, or even driving a car?

“Your face is a masterpiece as I can see you trying to put this together you know? Almost like a new born baby.” David huffs. “I see why you’re the best.

You’re brilliant, just never seen it up this close.”

I pull my phone out and dial Ben, “Listen while you’re at it check if there was current purchases of guns, snipers to be specific, also a stolen or rented car and boat.” I turn to face David. “I’ve been told by the way.”