Five Twenty

Do you know those incredibly cool and entertaining mysteries and detective stories with happy endings? Well, if you're looking for that kind of story, you might as well stop reading now, because this isn't an ordinary story.

The target, aged 25, was walking down the dark and gloomy road. It was 5 PM, on Christmas night, in New York City. The target was a woman, I can't for the life of me remember her name, so let's call her Cindy. She was walking home on 43rd street from a Christmas party at her friend's house. I know 5 PM sounds early, but in the dead of winter, it's already nightfall. He was walking behind her, his footsteps light as to not make a sound. Suddenly, he stopped. It was time. He took out a syringe full of a misty grey liquid. He took three steps back, and started running, straight for Cindy. He jumped onto her back, syringe in hand, and - before Cindy could utter a word - he planted the syringe in her shoulder. When she plummeted, face-forward onto the misty pavement, he skilfully jumped off her back, to land upright next to her. He took her lifeless body and dragged her to the nearest lamp-post.

That fateful night, a young policeman, having only recently graduated the New York police academy, was walking to the pub with his fellow graduates, on 44th Street, when they all received a call on their walkie-talkies from the Sergeant. "10-4 people 10-4, between Broadway and 43rd Street, go. I repeat 10-4". The entire graduate class of 2014 panicked. This was their first assignment, their first duty as members of the police force. However, the young policeman, Tom Finch, wasn't panicking at all. He had seen Silence of the Lambs at least a hundred times, read all the detective stories and his favourite book was Sherlock Holmes. In retrospective, he didn't know what he was doing, but he kept his calm. Tom rushed to the nearest police car, turned on the blazing lights and revved the engine. He sped away, knowing where he was going, because that was what he trained for these last few years. This moment feels kind of cliché, like the end of a cowboy story, but - sorry to break it to you - it isn't.

He arrived at the scene first, only to find absolutely nothing. Sergeant Simons arrived soon after, and Tom voiced his concerns, "I don't see anything... Do you think it was a prank call?"

"No..." said the sergeant thoughtfully, "do you know what day it is? The number of the day please. And the time." Tom gave him the time and the day; the 25th of December 5.35 PM. The Sergeant sighed, "I knew it dammit.".

"What are you talking about sir?" said Tom, who didn't really understand his boss. By this time, the entire NYC police force had arrived. "Oh, my god! What is that?" said a panicked voice, pointing upwards, "What the hell is that?!". They all looked upwards. Some gasped in horror, some started silently crying, and some didn't even flinch. A body, hanging by a single rope, was swaying in the wind, in a comatose manner. It was quite clear the hanging person was dead. The Sergeant looked down, took his phone out, told us he was going to call the fire department, as well as forensics, and left. We had nothing left to do but go home and regret our choice of joining the police force.

The next day, only half of the '14s (a nickname for the 25 graduates of the class of 2014) came to work. The other half, Tom Finch excluded, called in sick. "I know it's been a rough start for you, but if you're here, then you might as well start on the murder case. I want four of you on bikes - or cars, you choose - patrolling the city and six of you at your desks to take calls. The rest of you come with me, except if you are faint-hearted, or light-headed at the sight of blood." The Sergeant turned around and left, expecting the rest to follow him. Tom Finch looked around. "Is nobody going?", he said and all 12 of them shook their heads. Tom Finch had no choice but to follow the receding footsteps of the Sergeant. Three seniors, as we called the officers that graduated before us '14s, followed as well.

"So," he said, laying all the files and pictures on the conference room table, "we know that three people have been murdered in the past three months. All on the 25th of that month. And forensics places the time of the three deaths at approximately 5:20 PM. You know what I say?", Tom shook his head silently, "One is random, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern." The silence weighed down on all of us as he said this. We were all staring at the table, trying to work out links between the victims. Suddenly, one of the seniors, grey hair, blue eyes, 5'7, three teeth missing, and a dirty American accent, exclaimed "I've seen him before! He used to be on the force, until he got kicked out for some reason... Yeah, I remember him. He hated us the moment he got fired." You know those moments in movies where the main characters look at each other, at a computer screen or a table, and back to each other? When ominous music plays? Well that was basically what all five of them felt, in that cold and uncomfortable conference room.