The Key Killer

Chapter 6

The last photograph is a close up of the upper body's missing flesh, but it's so much more than just that. 

The woman's chest has been carved out with such precision, even parts of her ribcage have been sawn away in order to present her heart in all its glory. Every cut is made with purpose and intention, and absolute control. 

But the most significant detail is the black substance, coating the organ of interest.

Paint.

The colour is as black as a raven but entirely matt, with no sheen and no life.

It begins in the middle of the atriums, softly fading out into the heart's naturally brownish red towards its lifeless edges. Fine, sharp lines are filtering through, having been drawn with an eye to detail to presumably represent the arteries beneath the thin layer of skin. 

An expression of imagination and creative skill, like only a human could.
The totality of the Key Killer's visual craft is morbid and fascinating in coexisted unison.

All the ugliness of the world is contained within one artwork, yet obnoxiously beautified. In fact, the painted sculpture of organic tissue is so mesmerizing that Zoe finds a deep part of herself in appreciation for its sadistic beauty and raw emotional power.

Pushing the artist within underneath the surface, Zoe tries to figure out how to react with the analyzing eyes of the agents trained on her. But its too late by now. They've observed her reaction with undivided attention and it annoys Zoe immensely. 

With a flutter, the printed paper falls to the ground and her expression grows bitterly serious.

"Why are you showing me this?"

Agent Simmer seems to have had enough of playing pretend because he lifts up from the couch and begins to pace around her back. Entirely ignoring the warning looks of his younger protege.

"Truth is, Zoe, this monster has done some real shit. Trust me, I do not use these words lightly. The images you just looked at are child's play in comparison to the first three murders. I understand that must be unimaginable to you after having just seen such a horrible depiction."

Well, if he is going to play with open cards, so will she.

"I've seen photographs of the crime scenes of his second and third victim. Though I couldn't find anything about his first, the Cardinal," she admits quietly. "Don't bother asking how I got them. It's part of my job and I never release my sources," she adds immediately after with some more pepper.

She should be careful what she says around the FBI. Their intentions are not quite clear yet, and she reminds herself that her trust issues with the bureau are for good reasons.

"You won't find anything about the Cardinal, so don't waste your energy. It can be used more efficiently someplace else." Simmer continues to move up and down her living room, whilst McCarthy looks incredibly pissed. His cursing stare is fixated on his surprisingly talkative partner.

"Look, the Key Killer is immensely careful and quite frankly, we are not a step closer to him as back when we first found the Cardinal. No eyewitnesses, no footage, no DNA, just nothing," Simmer's restrained voice begins to show traces of frustration and impatience. 

"Every week there will be more innocent bodies and more unjustified deaths until he can smell his own flesh sizzling atop the chair. It's warmed up for that piece of shit already. But to get him there, I want to ask for your pointers."

Having listened attentively, it still takes her a couple of moments to understand.

"Me?"