Falling in love with Trouble

Chapter four:

Chapter four

          My face was completely numb, my back was aching sore, and my neck was paralyzed. Why do I do this to myself? I often wonder. It took me all night to post up all the victim pieces together on the US map I bought on the way home. I came to a conclusion that Daniel kills every six months. He kills randomly but it’s mostly those who work in banks or deal with money. Clinton maybe knew Daniel but it’d be hard to know. Daniel probably knew every single one of these victims. Maybe not and it’s just a possibility. My phone was ringing; my mouth asked for coffee, my body wanted a shower and my mind wanted more sleep. I don’t do either instead I look over the map with the victims. I stare at one of the push pins I stabbed on the map so it would hang on the wall. I’m missing something I just can’t figure out what it is.

Daniel Riggs never gets caught, doesn’t even mind being caught on tape, and sometimes leaves evidence. Murders every six months, and hides somewhere he knows nobody will look. He isn’t stupid-more like intelligent-kills randomly, and doesn’t have a type. Well he does majority kills, those working in banks. But how does he know and why? I pull out my notebook and begin jotting down then stare into space. What’s his next move? Where is he headed? Who’s going to die next? I don’t know. Before passing out I watch the tapes a hundred times, then a hundred times again until I get sick of seeing his blurry face. He didn’t do much. Wearing a simple black shirt and jeans, he arrived walking alone, and wondered around the store for a few minutes. I could see Abigail’s face of panic as she just stood there, poor girl. He paid for the energy drink and left. The same way he came.

My phone rings again bringing me back to Earth. I rub my temples and look at the clock. It’s five am. I search for my phone in the kitchen. I stood very as I listened for the ringing. It was close but I couldn’t recall where I placed it. I looked beside my fruit basket, my coffee maker, and my flower pot. Nothing. I walk a few steps and enter my living room. There on the purple sofa laid my phone. My flat screen was on mute and then I remembered I was watching the news last night for about five minutes. This press conference wasn’t on my enjoyment side. Then again I agreed to it. I look at my missed calls, all from Kathy, so I dialed back and she answered immediately.

“Clinton wasn’t alone.”

~~~

          Kathy showed me the surveillance tape from one of the local stores. Clinton was walking along with his pal, Fred Potter. Apparently, they were going to work together. I waited no longer and headed straight to his home. Mr. Potter is a suspect, at least for me.

Stinking rich bastard, that is what Mr. Potter is. The things I would do to live in a wealthy home like this. Kathy rode along with me but it was still hard to keep my mouth from dropping. We approach the gate and a few seconds of silence passed by as we said goodbye to our dreams. We were only detectives and nowhere close to achieving something like this. Sliding my window down, I make an uncomfortable attempt to reach the button. Filthy rich bitch. Yes, that’s better.

“What is your duty?” a British accent comes from one of the speakers.

“We’re detectives here to ask a few questions to Mr. Potter.” There’s silence. I turn to Kathy who only shrugs. Great, I think. “Listen, ma’am, its important.”

More silence then the gate surprisingly opened. Without letting a second pass by I drive right through. Mr. Potter’s yard was amazingly beautiful with green bright grass well cut, bushes well trimmed, flowers beautifully blooming, and the road leading to his front door nicely clean.

Kathy cuts the silence, “Alright, so is there anything you want me to do?”

“Yeah,” I said shutting the car off. “Be very observant.”