In the shadowed dawn, Ethan's rented apartment loomed over a small square. With a detective's vigilance, he traced the perimeter in a steady jog, his thoughts churning as the city began to stir. At 8 am, he crossed the square, his stride purposeful as he made his way to the cafe.
The cafe, a quiet sanctuary at this hour, held only a few early risers. Ethan's eyes swept over the patrons, a practiced scan that stopped when they landed on Nancy. She was ensconced by the window, her presence unmistakable from the images he'd scrutinized on her social media the night before.
Approaching her, Ethan's voice held a note of admiration, "Impressive, Nancy. To think you deciphered this meeting place from a mere glimpse in a photograph."
Nancy's smile didn't waver as she replied, "You flatter me, Ethan. However, my discovery of this location had little to do with your cryptic photo. It was more about the neighborhood you inhabit, and this establishment being the only one of repute here." Her smile took on a professional edge. "On the contrary, I find your resourcefulness remarkable. Unraveling my true identity, navigating through my online persona, and initiating this clandestine meeting – I admit, I was uncertain whether you'd reach out."
Ethan straightened, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "The information at the press conference was a smokescreen, all but my name. Unearthing my actual identity wasn't a herculean task." He was about to summon the waiter when Nancy smoothly interjected.
"I've anticipated your preference – a double espresso, if I'm not mistaken?" She raised her cup, a mirror of his own taste.
Ethan regarded her, a mix of intrigue and caution. "Your research on me is thorough, Nancy."
"A public figure like yourself isn't hard to learn about. And, I might add, I'm an admirer," she said with an ease that belied the gravity of their meeting.
Ethan, cutting through the formalities, leaned in. "Let's dispense with the niceties, Nancy. What's the real motive behind this elaborate ruse to garner my attention?"
As he spoke, the waiter arrived with their coffees. Nancy cradled her cup, a sip punctuating her response. Setting it down, she leaned forward, her voice lowering. "At the press conference yesterday, if you were as attentive as I presume, you'd have inquired with the authorities about the two recent homicides in North LA, correct?"
Ethan nodded, his expression serious. "I'm aware of them. The first victim, a doctor, and the second discovered mere days ago. The major crimes unit is spearheading the investigation."
"The team in charge mentioned crucial evidence linking both cases to a single perpetrator," he recounted, a detail gleaned from his conversation with Matthew the previous night. "However, if you're seeking insider details from me, I'm afraid you'll be left wanting. My involvement in the investigation is non-existent."
Nancy's response was matter-of-fact, her gaze momentarily drifting to the world outside the window. "I'm aware that LA Insider has a solid connection with the police department. If I were after case specifics, I would have approached them directly. There's no need to extract anything from you." After a brief pause, she delved into the grisly details. "The first victim, Dr. Charles Ingham, was a celebrated surgeon at Kindred General. He was highly sought after, known for his impeccable skills and expertise."
Her voice took on a graver tone. "A week ago, a chilling discovery was made. Blood was found seeping through a ceiling, staining the walls of an apartment. When the police broke into the flat above, they were met with a horrifying scene. Dr. Ingham's body lay on an operating table, his abdomen gruesomely opened."
Ethan's hand instinctively reached for his coffee, but the usual comfort it brought was absent. The presence of Nancy, coupled with the grim narrative, stripped the morning of its tranquility. He missed the solitude of his own company, the simple pleasure of observing the outside world while sipping his espresso in isolation.
Nancy continued, undeterred by Ethan's growing unease. "Charles's death didn't occur at the hospital or his residence but in an abandoned apartment building, mostly vacant and awaiting demolition. The person who reported the blood was an elderly widow, living a solitary life. She had intended to sell her apartment and relocate to a nursing home. On the day a potential buyer was scheduled to visit, she discovered the gruesome stains."
Ethan's focus wavered, but Nancy pressed on. "The scene upstairs was macabre. An operating table set in the living room, surrounded by an array of surgical tools and medical equipment, mimicking a makeshift operating room. The police later unearthed a disturbing fact: Charles's wife confessed that he had been conducting private surgeries for years."
"Given his esteemed position at Kindred General, it's puzzling why Dr. Charles Ingham would engage in private surgeries. Was it not a question of money?" Ethan inquired, his detective instincts kicking in.
Nancy, her eyes not leaving Ethan's, replied with a hint of solemnity. "Money wasn't the motivator. Hospital protocols and costs barred many from even basic healthcare, let alone surgeries. Charles's wife revealed that he performed these operations pro bono. They were carried out in that decrepit building due to their unofficial nature." She paused, her coffee cup held mid-air. "Charles personally financed these acts of benevolence, but as time went on, his hospital salary proved insufficient. He resorted to secret private surgeries, using those earnings to subsidize treatments for the less fortunate."
Ethan's brow furrowed in concern. "But conducting surgeries without hospital oversight is risky. What if complications arose?"
"Patients' relatives signed consent forms beforehand. They were desperate, facing death without these surgeries. Even if complications occurred, who would they blame? They were grateful for any chance at life," Nancy sighed, the weight of the story evident in her voice. "However, the specifics of these surgeries, how many and on whom, remain unknown. That information lies with the Serious Crime Unit."
Eager to shift the topic, Ethan leaned back, his arms crossing. "What about the second victim? Share what you know."
Nancy's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Two days ago, a sanitation worker on Spring Street made a horrifying discovery. The victim's dismembered body parts were meticulously arranged in a suitcase." She reached into her backpack, retrieving a photograph which she extended towards Ethan.
Ethan didn't take the photo, instead leaning in to view it. The image depicted a black suitcase, its contents a macabre display of human limbs, head, and torso, all arranged with disturbing precision.
While such a sight might have repulsed anyone else, Ethan's expression remained stoic, his eyes analyzing the photo for over ten seconds. Finally, he looked away, his voice steady. "The victim was about 5 foot 10. This killer exhibits signs of OCD, evident in the orderly placement of the body parts. Dismemberment wasn't necessary for disposal; the body could have fit into the suitcase otherwise. This suggests a deeper, more twisted motive, perhaps deriving a perverse satisfaction from the act of dismemberment itself."
"Pleasure from such brutality?" she murmured, a mix of disbelief and dread in her voice.
Ethan nodded gravely, the weight of his years in law enforcement evident in his demeanor. "Precisely. The killer might have inflicted such cruelty while the victim was still alive. It's a harrowing thought, but one we can't ignore. If these two cases are indeed connected, then the savagery inflicted upon Dr. Charles Ingham wasn't an isolated incident."
Nancy's face was a mask of concentration as she put the photo aside and pulled out her phone. "The autopsy details from police forensics are beyond my reach, but I have something crucial. It's the link between the two cases." She showed Ethan a photo on her phone, a circle highlighting something inside Charles's body.
After a moment, Nancy scrolled to the next image, holding it up for Ethan to see. "And this was found inside the mouth of the second victim, Trevor Francis. A white card with the number '1' written on it."
Ethan took the phone, his detective's eye examining the numbers closely. "Curious," he mused. "If Trevor is marked as '1,' then Charles, being '0,' implies a non-victim, yet he was murdered. These numbers aren't just keeping count; they might symbolize something else. 'Zero' could represent an unknown factor..."
Nancy added, "Both victims had these cards prior to their deaths. Trevor Francis, the second victim, was a real estate manager. Unmarried. That's as far as my knowledge extends. The police department, where you have connections, will undoubtedly have more comprehensive records. That's why I needed to get your attention."
Ethan handed the phone back to her, finishing his coffee in a single, determined gulp. "Death Notification... wasn't that a trending web series? A killer replicating fictional murders?" He eyed Nancy, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "You're still trying to draw me into the investigation. But as you know, my role as a 'consultant' bounds me to confidentiality. I cannot divulge information from an active police investigation."
Nancy inhaled deeply, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm not asking for leaked information. What I seek is for you, Ethan, to personally delve into this case. Investigate it yourself."
Ethan rose from his seat, his movements reflecting the weariness of a man burdened by the complexities of his work. "I may hold the title of 'case consultant,' able to delve into any investigation at my whim, but what compels me to assist you in this?" He casually checked the time on his phone, a subtle indication of his readiness to leave.
Nancy held Ethan's gaze, unflinching. "You're correct. There's no compelling reason for you to help me. I'm well aware that you're drawn only to cases that stir your interest. The number of victims, their identities – such details don't sway you," she observed, her voice steady.
Ethan, unable to suppress a chuckle, stood up. "What you've described sounds more like the character I played in the series, not the real me. Our coffee meeting ends here. And just so you know, I won't be returning to this cafe tomorrow."
As Ethan began to walk away, Nancy called out, "Wait." She reached into her pocket and pulled out another white card adorned with a number, laying it deliberately on the table. Her voice dropped to a hush, laden with urgency. "Perhaps this could give you a reason?"