Five minutes earlier, Jennifer had maneuvered through the dimly lit corridors of the precinct, her arms laden with a hefty stack of case files. She set them down with a thud on the worn desk, the sound echoing in the hushed room. Pulling a chair close to Ethan, she inquired with a tone of solemn professionalism, "Are these all the materials related to the Charles Ingham and Trevor Francis cases? Which should we delve into first?"
Ethan, his eyes shadowed with the weight of the investigation, responded without hesitation, "The forensic autopsy reports for both victims."
With practiced hands, Jennifer sifted through the stack, extracting the requested documents and handing them to Ethan. He accepted them, his focus sharpening as he absorbed the chilling details. The report on Charles painted a gruesome picture: a trace amount of sedative had immobilized the victim, leaving him vulnerable and aware. The killer, with a calculated precision, had used a surgical scalpel to meticulously dissect Charles's abdomen, layer by agonizing layer. Ethan's theories had anticipated brutality, but this methodical, excruciating approach was beyond his darkest conjectures.
"These cases," Jennifer murmured, her voice a hushed echo in the room, "they're the work of a particularly twisted mind. It's as if the killer relished not just the act of killing but in inflicting absolute despair."
Ethan's gaze met Jennifer's, acknowledging the chilling truth in her words. Most murderers sought quick, efficient means to their end. But this perpetrator had chosen a path of prolonged agony, a clear indication that their motive transcended mere murder; they sought to immerse their victims in the harrowing depths of despair.
"Did I... say something wrong?" Jennifer's uncertainty pierced the heavy air as she noticed Ethan's intense stare.
"No, you're spot on," Ethan quickly reassured, realizing his reaction might have seemed harsh. He diverted his attention back to the reports. The document stated that Charles's life had been cruelly snuffed out on April 4, 2021. "When did the police find his body after the report was filed?"
"The morning of April 6, 2021," Jennifer answered, her memory precise.
The timeline was unsettling. Charles had met his end on April 4, yet his body lay undiscovered until the morning of April 6. A whole day had passed – April 5 – with no intervention from his wife or the hospital. The crime scene had been poorly lit, the blood not coagulating as expected. It was only after someone had opened a door, presumably to air out the room, that the blood had begun to clot more rapidly.
Ethan's gaze returned to the report, where a macabre detail caught his eye. In Charles's case, the killer had sliced through the large intestine and placed a card marked with the number '0' inside. Trevor's case, equally chilling, noted his demise on April 30, 2021. "Trevor was found by a sanitation worker, correct?" Ethan queried.
Jennifer confirmed, "Yes, a sanitation worker tending to the middle section of Spring Street found the body. He filed the report on May 2nd."
Ethan leaned back, his mind piecing together the timeline. "So, there was an entire day's gap between the discovery of the two victims." It seemed the killer had likely abandoned Trevor's body in the early hours of May 1st. The autopsy report revealed more chilling details. Like Charles, Trevor had traces of a sedative in his system, but the brutality escalated. Trevor's wrists bore the gruesome marks of an electric saw, its serrated edge leaving a pattern of violence in the flesh. Curiously, the report noted bandaged wrists and marks on his elbows, suggesting restraint with a rope or similar binding to slow arterial bleeding.
Was the killer prolonging Trevor's life deliberately? The report further detailed the same method used on Trevor's feet, sawing through each layer agonizingly. But for his thighs, arms, and head, the cuts were direct, not layered. It painted a macabre picture of the killer's methodology: starting with the wrists, then moving to the feet when death didn't claim Trevor, and finally resorting to more direct means once he ceased breathing.
Ethan's focus shifted, "Where was Trevor initially found, before being left near the garbage bin on Spring Street?"
Jennifer replied, her tone reflecting the gravity of the situation, "His body was discovered beside a bin on Spring Street. The Serious Crime Unit scoured the area, checking road surveillance and interviewing locals, but it's been a dead end so far. They located Trevor's rented house yesterday, but it wasn't the scene of the crime."
Ethan turned his attention to photographs from the secondary crime scene, scattered among the files. A black suitcase, evidently used for transporting Trevor's body, showed signs of being dragged, its wheels marked by the effort. The underside of the case bore a mixture of soil and weeds, indicating a journey from a different location. He scrutinized the photos, noting the compressed surface of the suitcase, suggesting it bore significant weight. On the opposite side, 'Sundown Real Estate' was emblazoned in faded letters. Ethan's expression hardened with curiosity. "Was this suitcase Trevor's property?"
"Yes, the suitcase belonged to Trevor. Captain Bowen dispatched a team to Sundown Real Estate, where Trevor was employed. It turns out these suitcases were part of a company giveaway two years ago, awarded as fourth-prize items at their annual meeting. There were ten in total, each bearing the company's name."
She inserted a disk into the computer, the faint whir of the machine filling the silence. "We've also secured surveillance footage from Trevor's neighborhood. Here, from the evening of April 30, 2021, at 6 PM. You can see Trevor leaving his building with the suitcase. Tragically, it was the same night he was murdered."
Ethan, his gaze locked on the grainy footage, asked, "Do we know his intended destination with that suitcase?"
"Trevor was scheduled for a business trip. His colleagues at Sundown Real Estate assumed he was away on business when he didn't show up for work. He even had a flight ticket for 10 PM that night to New York. But he never made it to the train station, nor did he board the flight," Jennifer detailed methodically. "Captain Bowen suspects that something crucial must have happened to Trevor en route to the airport, causing him to alter his plans abruptly. He left his apartment, caught a bus that would pass by the airport, but what happened next is still unclear. The Captain sent a team to check with the bus company this morning, but we're yet to hear back."
Ethan probed further, "Any possibility he had to stay in LA for family reasons?"
"No, all of Trevor's family are back in his hometown. He moved to LA alone after university, so outside of his professional circle, he had few connections here," Jennifer responded, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There's a rumor, overheard during this morning's briefing. Apparently, Trevor was financially supported by a wealthy woman a couple of years back. She introduced him to her affluent circle, boosting his career in real estate. That's how he rose to a managerial position. Captain Bowen is looking into this angle, but the identity of this woman and the truth of these claims are still unknown."
In the hushed confines of the Serious Crimes Unit office, Ethan's voice broke the silence, his question sharp and focused. "Have we looked into whether Charles owned any properties managed by Sundown Real Estate?"
Jennifer's response was prompt, albeit tinged with a hint of disappointment. "We checked thoroughly. There's no connection - Charles had no dealings with Sundown Real Estate." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "Captain Bowen initially thought there might be a link between Charles and Trevor, but all the evidence we've gathered so far shows no correlation between the two."
After meticulously reviewing the case files, Ethan stood, a determined look in his eyes. "Let's head to the house where Trevor was renting," he suggested, a sense of urgency in his tone.
"Sure," Jennifer responded, eyeing the stack of documents. "Should I make copies of these?"
Ethan tapped his temple with a hint of pride. "No need. I've committed it all to memory." With that, he strode out of the office, Jennifer following suit.
As they walked, Jennifer voiced her admiration, laced with a hint of disbelief. "You memorized everything in one go? I've heard talk about your remarkable memory at the station, but I always thought it was just hearsay."
Ethan shrugged nonchalantly. "You've got a good memory too. You answered all my questions earlier without needing to refer back to the documents."
Jennifer's voice softened, a mix of frustration and determination evident. "It's different for me. Captain Bowen rarely lets me out in the field; I'm usually stuck in the office. I have to rely on these documents to stay in the loop. And it takes me several reads to remember everything," she admitted. After a brief pause, she continued, "I joined the force to be out there, investigating, not stuck behind a desk. But it seems like because I'm a woman, and maybe I don't look the part, they keep shuffling me to clerical work. Don't get me wrong, I can handle myself. I was on par with the guys during physical training."
Ethan nodded in understanding as they reached the elevator. "Desk jobs are crucial too, though. They're a vital part of serving justice."
Jennifer sighed as she pressed the ground floor button. "I know. But I became a cop to do more than just file paperwork. I want to be in the thick of it, upholding justice."
The elevator hummed its descent, and Ethan shifted the conversation. Once they reached the ground floor and exited the police station, Jennifer went to retrieve their car. Upon her return, Ethan, now seated in the passenger side, posed a new question. "Back in the office, you didn't share much about your take on the cases. What are your thoughts on them?"
Jennifer's voice wavered slightly, her words carrying the weight of uncertainty. "I've been pondering over the criminal psychology aspects. My professor used to say that murderers often harbor dark, unresolved experiences. These buried traumas, when they resurface, can manifest in extreme violence. Considering the brutality in the murders of Charles and Trevor, this killer must be harboring some deeply tragic past, don't you think?" She spoke while navigating the car through the city streets.
Ethan replied, his tone reflective, "True, many people endure hardships, but that doesn't justify turning to murder."
Jennifer glanced briefly at Ethan, a flicker of enthusiasm lighting her eyes. "In 'Insight,' Episode 3, you confronted the killer with a similar theory," she said, her admiration for the show evident. "I've watched the entire series. It's really well-done."
Ethan acknowledged her compliment but steered away from discussing the fictional series. He had other concerns occupying his mind.
Realizing the shift, Jennifer quickly changed the subject. "I've never actively worked on a case before. I just hope I can be of real assistance and not just a bystander."
Ethan remained silent, his gaze fixed outside the window, lost in thought.
Since emerging from his coma, Ethan had faced a world unfamiliar to him, missing seven years of technological advancements and global events. He had sequestered himself for six months after leaving the hospital, immersing himself in learning and catching up.
It was during this intense period of self-education that Ethan discovered his extraordinary abilities: a flawless memory and exceptional logical reasoning. Previously, he had been an average student, destined for a stable but unremarkable career in his father's bank. But now, he possessed talents that seemed alien to his former self.
In moments of introspection, Ethan couldn't help but feel disconnected from his past identity, almost as if he were more akin to Dennis, a character from his memories, than to himself.
Doctors had suggested that Ethan's ordinary life prior to the coma might have spurred his subconscious to construct an alternate reality—a life where he wasn't just average, but someone exceptional, admired for his intellect. This psychological coping mechanism had transformed him, in his mind, into a person living in a world vastly different from his own.
The accident had shattered Ethan's life trajectory. The cause of the accident remained a mystery, as there were no witnesses, and Ethan's own memory of the incident was limited. He vaguely remembered being on a steep, desolate mountain with pale, ghostly hands pushing him, and then he rolled down the hill.