Eliza Haque is just another ordinary girl. She has a loving family, and even more loving friends. Recently having just graduated out of Imperial with her Criminal Psychology degree, she finds herself unemployed. What could be more frustrating than n...
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Third POV
Within a darkroom, only screens were the source of light. And within these walls, surrounded by millions of words lay a mystery. A mystery that is yet to be solved. Chaos, some may describe it. But it all connected, somehow. There was an explanation for everything. The main question being, who is he?
"He's going to strike," Sam says, his eyes roaming over the several screens in the dark room. He has been restless, searching and searching for more clues. Whatever spying Eliza had been doing has had no help so far, apart from that spontaneous stalking she did with following Dave Russell.
"Babe," Leanna says, getting up to massage his shoulders, "we'll find him soon."
"It may not be soon enough, he's going to strike again. It's been two weeks, and tomorrow is a friday." He thinks over the situation again and again. "Another girl, Leanna. Someone is going to die and we haven't gotten any new clues. He seems to be killing a girl every fortnight."
"Let me go undercover," Leanna pleads me, and he sighs, turning around to look her in the eyes.
"Love, you know how I feel about this... I can't risk you, not after everything we've been together. Call me selfish but I am not losing you." She sighs, and walks away from him. He runs a hand through his hair, grabbing a stack of paper nearby. His eyes skim over the forensic reports of the dead victims, focusing on the highlighted words. Culprit is possibly a male due to the upper body strength needed to strike a hit as bad as this.Young male in early twenties.
"Surely it can't be the model, he's too pretty and dainty to have this strength. And that Russell? Surely not, but he's the one who has revealed the most." He rewinds footage back to the scene where Eliza had followed Dave. "C'mon there has to be something," he whispers to himself. He quietly observes the man dressed in black, with the handkerchief. "Ugh," he groans when he can't seem to find anything that could help. Then his eyes catch something, the graffiti spelling out jacka$$ with the jack written as if blood was dripping down. Frantically looking through the forensic notes again, he spots a link. ShakeAway cups with jack written in black marker, with the victims blood pooling inside the already finished milkshake. Surely that couldn't be a mere coincidence?, he thought to himself. He opens up google on his phone, and types in the word "jackass" into the search engine and enters hit.
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