Editor's Note: As this story deals with the tracking of a serial killer, it contains couple of scenes of violence necessary to the plot. If this offends you, please read no further.
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The phone rang and startled him from a sound sleep. Wearily, he reached for the receiver, "Hello?" and he adjusted his eyes to the dark room.
It was the station, "Lieutenant, we need you to go to 415 Bowers. We have a homicide," and he fought to wake up and come to grips with the information being fed to him as he scrambled for a pen to write it down.
"Yeah, be there as quick as I can," he said and hung up the phone, looking at the Big Ben clock on the nightstand, 3:53 AM. He pulled his clothes on and made himself a cup of instant coffee before grabbing his keys and heading out the door, it was a 15-minute drive to the address he was given and he hoped the coffee would make him coherent by the time he got there. It had been a rough couple of months, his wife had left him, and the caseload was getting to be too much.
He slapped his blue bubble light on the dash and turned it on as he neared and the patrol officers waved him through as he pulled up alongside the usual parade of police and rescue vehicles that had come to symbolize the crime scene. His partner Vince met him at the curb, "Young woman, early 20's, Caucasian, pretty," Vince rambled on as they approached the front door, "But this one is a little off Frank," and Vince got suddenly quiet
"Odd, how?' Frank asked as he made his way to the upstairs bedroom, "The killer removed certain trophies from the body. Unusual trophies, Frank," and he stopped dead in his tracks. Serial killers often took trophies of their victims, sometimes a necklace, or even their panties, what could be so unusual? Vince nodded towards the open door and Frank walked through, he saw a young white female who looked to be about 22 years old, long blonde hair, pretty face and an exceptional body, but then Frank's eyes locked on her breasts, her nipples were missing!
"What kind of a sick fuck would take someone's nipples as trophies?" he asked Vince and Vince just shook his head, "Dunno, Frank. And that's not all; she had a lot of bleeding from her vaginal area as well. We'll have to wait for the autopsy results to find out what that's all about," and Frank stared at the pretty young girl, his thoughts turning to his own daughter. Vanessa was 25, just a couple of years older. He made the rounds; trying to gather what information he could from everyone on the scene before he headed back to his car, the night sky giving way to daylight. Frank drove home, the scene etched in his mind as he tried to rationalize what had happened, 'A rape maybe, or maybe a burglary that turned into a sex crime,' his mind thought, but he would have to wait and see.
He showered and dressed and headed to the station house, the images of his early morning investigation running through his mind. He plopped down behind his desk and Vince deposited some papers in front of him, "Ginger Franklin, age 23. Moved here 4 months ago from Muncie, Indiana. Parents are being contacted right now; she worked at Lerner Technologies, over in the office park, secretary. No kids, no known boyfriends, well liked at work, not much else Frank," and Vince sat in the chair beside Frank's desk as Frank rubbed his eyes.
His phone rang and he picked it up, it was his wife, "Get me a cup of coffee, will you Vince?" and Vince took that as his cue to get lost, he hated it when Marilyn called Frank at work, it made him hard to be around for hours. "I have retained a lawyer Frank, we need to settle this so we can move on with our lives," and Frank could feel the burning anger deep in his gut as he listened to her try to sound like she was doing him such a favor, "Look Marilyn, I'm not the one who went out and found some fucking pill pusher to fuck!" heads turned as his voice raised, but everyone knew that he was not one to deal with when he was angry and they all returned to their work.
"Bernie is not a pill pusher Frank, he is a physician and maybe if you had found a little time for me, I wouldn't have had to go out looking," and there it was, the guilt had come home to roost. She was right, 70-80 hour weeks had destroyed their marriage, he just wanted to blame it on the good doctor, "Whatever Marilyn, look, I have work to do. When I get an attorney, we'll exchange numbers, ok?" He drummed his pen on the desk, "I loved you Frank and to a certain extent, I still do, but I was dying inside. Please take care of yourself and look for an attorney, ok?" and he felt his heart sink once again, "I will, got to go," and slammed down the phone.
He picked up the file and started perusing it, no sign of forced entry, preliminary autopsy results showed that she had contusions on her wrists and ankles, indicating she had been bound, they had also found several tears in her vagina 'This is one sick fuck,' he thought as he read on and discovered that a criminal history check had shown that she had filed charges against her father for sexual assault, but dropped them before the case made it to trial.