The Blonde Butcher

Chapter One

Most of my life has been average. I have never done anything extraordinary. I worked extremely hard to get to where I am now. It's not easy being a female detective in a career that is predominantly male. This is a real dog-eat-dog world. It's not like I dreamed about being a cop my whole life, I mean this wasn't my first choice. Sure, I had dreams of becoming a dancer and a doctor, but neither really stuck. My family never understood why I chose this life. They don't realise what this all means to me. All this started about two months ago. Our city hasn't been this worried about a killer since the '70s with The Killer Clown. It took the police more than six years to catch John Wayne Gacy and by that time he'd killed about 33 young boys. I don't think Chicago can handle another serial killer. So many young lives were lost and now it's happening again and so far, we have no possible suspects. This killer is smart, cautious and aware. He doesn't make a move unless he knows at least one person sees him. It seems silly to willingly allow someone to see you kidnap someone else, but he does and I haven't decided whether he's the dumbest person alive or the smartest. It has become a fashion in most police departments to slowly give up on cases like this, many police officers lose hope in ever finding the killer, but there are some, like myself, who will never stop until they find them.

Every morning is the same in my house. I wake up, have my morning coffee and sometimes I sneak a smoke in when I'm having a bad week. I'm sitting on 25 cigarettes and it's only Tuesday. I get dressed into one of the many insipid detective uniforms I own, a pants suit. I rarely put on makeup, it just seems like a waste of time. I stare at my board in my living room. Every day I try and find new clues, just something that can lead me to believe that I can catch this guy. I lock my house, get in my car and drive to work. Here is another pile-up. Traffic is a universal nuisance, I'm sure. Whenever I'm stuck in traffic I play the recording of the witnesses who all claim to have seen a man grab the victims, push her into a car and drive off. No licence plate, tinted windows and a different car every time. It seems impossible to solve this case and after every dead-end, a little piece of me breaks away. I think it's shards of my hope breaking away and somehow building a barrier between me and the killer. Music starts to sound from my pocket. I hear Bishop Briggs' voice and realize someone's calling me.

I dig my phone out of my back pocket and answer, "Shawkat." It's my Captain, "Yes, Captain Morris. I haven't arrived yet, sir. I'm stuck in traffic..." and then he spoke those three words that always make my hair stand on end, 'There's another one'. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Police siren goes on and cars part like the sea in the story of Moses. It's quite poetic because what awaits me on the other side of this ocean of cars is anything but the Promised Land. The latest crime scene is just a few minutes from here. I drive as fast as I can to reach the latest victim. I can't help but chuckle. What more could he possibly do? I arrive at the crime scene and make my way towards the body. I pass under that infamous yellow tape. She catches my eye and I instantly regret asking that question. What I see before me is the stuff of nightmares. This is the work of a true killer, a terrifying killer. I feel the chills running up and down my spine.

I whisper to myself, "You poor girl."