This centers on a deranged woman's path to becoming a complete nihilistic and feral serial killer. Emma Woodburn was put in the asylum for eleven years after killing her own husband and ten-year old son, along with the aging mother of a detective.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Devil In White...", repeated forensic investigator Bill Cuddling, who had stormed the church along with other NYPD forensics and officers. It was approximately 6:30, and the attendants who were devastated and baffled at the sight of Father Moss' chest torn open and exposing his organs while a pool of blood was pouring down onto the holy ground of the Lord's House.
His body reeked of urine. His eyes were frozen in a face only Det. Towers could understand.
"I hate that look," Towers muttered to his high school buddy Bill.
"What look?" Cuddling replied calmly, " The look of not seeing it coming? Oh, it's not new for me either, detective."
"No. I'm talking 'bout this face right here," Towers corrected, "The look of.... fear. He was helpless. He knew he couldn't fight back at whatever monster was behind him. So, he stood there frozen as the killer dug the metal object into his back, then his abdomen, then his chest numerous times."
"Look at you, Towers. Already figured this thing out in seconds like you always do," Cuddling smirked, "And no wonder I didn't ask myself why you never speak of retirement." Cuddling wrapped the white cloth over Father Moss's corpse at approximately 6:32.
"It's been sixty years on the force, Bill," Towers went on in a gloating manner, "Sixty years of hell, mutilated bodies and sleepless nights for me. I ain't no old man. I can do this for another sixty years added if it doesn't kill me."
Cuddling chuckled, backing away as the ambulance and paramedics carry the body away.
"My advice, Towers, don't be a fighter," Cuddling said to his buddy, "Not everything that happens has a reason for it."
"Who's the Devil In White?", Towers muttered and ignored Cuddling's words in a voice that made him unsure of whether he was asking his buddy or himself.
Cuddling stood by Towers' side and gazed at the message encrypted in blood as well.
"An idiot, of course," Cuddling assumed, "We'll this young rascal in a few hours time. I bet you we will."
"How do you is the work of a kid this time, Bill?", Towers inquired him carefully.
"It's 2020. No one leaves a calling card these days, detective," Cuddling responded immediately," Even my nanny isn't that stupid. He wants us to make it seem easy."
"But what kind of killer gives himself a nickname and leaves it out there after the murder's been done, Bill?", Towers inquired his buddy again.
Cuddling looked less amused now.
"Is this a test?", he asked frantically.
But Towers teared his gaze away from him and walked on, leaving his buddy behind. Questions were illuminating in Cuddling's head.
