Big Book of Little Stories

Killer: Part One | Unlucky Fourteen.

It was three years ago when Victor Hughes first met Kylie Baker. She was only twenty-one; blonde, blue eyes and pretty in the way that made you look at her twice. Her friends all said she was the life of the party. Her parents claimed she was a good girl, who could make the best lemon tart in the world. Victor never got to know if those things said about Kylie were true, because when he met her; she was dead.

There were others too, all just like Kylie. Once again Victor only ever met them spread out on his desk as he went through their case files.  Autopsy reports went alongside their photographs from a better time, smiles frozen and filled with a youth that would never leave. It was the other photographs that stopped him though. Any dignity they had left was removed by the coroner, who made lists of their injuries and announced the cause of death was all the same. Severe head trauma after what could only be described as barbaric torture.  

Small town serial killers were not something Agent Hughes would waste his time with. He typically worked alone. It's said he is the best of the best at solving the worst of the worst cases that came in and clearly the killer took offence at his lack of interest by sending him an invitation all of his own.

Victim number nine; Carlee Hughes.

"Agent Hughes, we think we've got another one!" Agent Fields was gone as quick as he came and Victor rubbed his dry eyes before standing. 

Another one. 

"I'm coming," He mumbled, lifting the coffee cup to find it empty. Probably a good thing; it would have been stone cold anyway. Maybe even from yesterday.

"Did you hear? Steps of a church this time!" Agent Lance greeted as she slipped on her jacket. 

"Of course," Victor mumbled. It was public and not the first time a victim had ended up outside the house of god.

"Have you slept? You look like shit!" She mused as they left. Victor didn't answer.

Despite having worked with Carla Lance for ten years, he didn't really know the woman who so often sought out his attention. He didn't like small talk and he didn't like people. It was why he was so good at his job; being able to stay detached. No family or wife to demand his attention; except for Carlee and now he really was alone. After her death, he had no choice other than getting involved with this asshole.

It was then he noticed something different about Carla and finally paying attention, he realised her honey blonde hair was gone, dyed a rather unnatural shade of red. He knew why. Like so many other females these days, it was to make herself feel safer. 

Arriving at the crime scene, it only added further justification to his colleuge's change of hair colour. The killer, apparently like most gentlemen, preferred blondes. The media had already swarmed outside the containment lines; it was impossible to deny that there was serial killer terrorizing the city. The newspapers gave the murderer the name Barbie Butcher, because of how the victims all looked.

"Sick bastard!" Victor spat as he rolled on the blue gloves in preparation for getting a better look.

All of the woman, while blonde and undeniably attractive, were not the airheads the nickname had you believe they were. Victor felt as if he knew every single one of the victims; their families and friends. Each word that filled each case file would be forever imprinted in his memory, and he took offense to seeing them treated so unfairly by the media because of their hair colour. They weren't all he had memorized. 

He knew everything about the killer too, well everything except one tiny detail. His actual identity. They had their suspects, but what good were they if he couldn't put an end to this? Walking through the small crowd of police officers whose faces were lit up with flashes of red and blue from the lights on top of their cars, Victor made it over to stand beside Carla near the steps of the church. Victim number thirteen, Tyra Danes, had to be the last. He couldn't keep doing this anymore.

Kneeling down closer, there was something familiar about Tyra's face. Had he known her? Unlikely. He didn't really know that many people.

"That poor girl." Carla sighed, coming down to kneel beside him. "What was her name again?"

"Tyra Danes," Victor answered through gritted teeth, before the pair were moved aside for the forensic team to do their job.

"Tyra Danes as in Ty from the coffee shop?" Horrified Carla threw her hands up to her mouth; her professionalism out the window. 

That was why she was familiar. A feeling of dread had Victor's stomach churning. It was too close to home. The chatty, friendly barrister worked in the cafe down the road from their office and knew all of their orders. It didn't matter to Victor that she had put a love heart or smiley face on his cup every single time she served him, he wasn't interested, and now?

Now he was more determined than ever to catch this bastard.

It was later that night when Victor sat in the dark with nothing other than his desk lamp on to keep him company that he started to look at other details of the victims. All were locals. Four of the thirteen went to the same university. Their occupations varied, yet he noted that victim eleven, Chelsea Braids, worked at one of his more frequented steakhouses. 

With new eyes he looked over their occupations, trying to work out if he knew any of them and ever since Carlee - the answer was yes. How did he not see this before? Was the killer following him, doing it on purpose to mess with his mind? Thinking about what Chelsea would have looked like in the restaurant uniform, he did know her. She always gave him the side salad free of charge and since he was a creature of habit, his steak always came out medium-rare without him even asking.

All of the last few victims had the same story. Were their random acts of kindness to him getting them killed? 

Instantly he wrote down all the places he went to, which was limited as if he liked a place enough, he didn't bother going anywhere else or new. Crossing out the places the last  four girls had worked at, he had a list of ten businesses varying from restaurants, supermarkets, a gym and a news-agency.

Could the next victim be from one of these places?

He didn't really want to wait and find out.

"Agent Hughes, you're still here?" Carla appeared in his doorway, and thanks to the dim lighting in the room, she looked almost sinister in the shadows. It didn't help that her hair was now a deeper shade of red; more like blood than tomato. 

"Yeah, I think I'm onto something actually." He didn't go into more detail and even if she asked, the answer was already known. He didn't like to share.

"Great. Should the Director be getting his pen ready to sign off on another bonus?" Her tone was playful, yet Victor didn't need a distraction. Not now at least.

"It's late Carla, shouldn't you be home, with whats his name?" Victor tried to keep it pleasant.

"Oh we broke up a couple of weeks ago. He was a doctor and our schedules clashed too much!" She sighed, and to his annoyance, took a seat opposite him. Carla leaned on the desk, folding her arms so her more than ample cleavage appeared to only increase insize. "Maybe, if you're not doing anything you'd want to come over and we can over the case together?"

He knew exactly what that meant; it wasn't the first time. "No."

"No?" She repeated, yet she took it in her stride, "all work and no plays makes for-"

"A solved case. Good night Carla. Drive safe!" Victor ended the conversation and relucatntly Carla left. 

By the time he was gone, it was nearly midnight when Victor arrived home, and the sight of the old red beetle on his driveway didn't bother him. He'd just got out the car when the woman emerged, dressed in nothing but a killer pair of black heels and a matching black trenchcoat, Victors smile was instant.

"Heard about unlucky thirteen. Thought you might need some stress relief?" Carlee's best friend, Jill stalked towards him and the caramel shade of her blonde hair appeared much lighter under the streetlight. 

Carla was right. All work and no play wasn't good for you, but Victor never played. He had Jill and her methods of stress relief, which was exactly what he needed; when he needed.

"You know me too well!" Victor sighed, already eager to get inside with his rather special visitor.

What he didn't expect was to find her dumped beside a childrens playground four days later making her victim number fourteen.