Tuemckey's THE PUZZLE(Piece A+B)

A.One piece at a time.






''Picture yourself in a new town. You're alone, you've no idea where you're going to and have no knowledge of your whereabouts. Now picture yourself in a back alley, badly lit. But not the type you see in films where you can always see your way around, but you're just acting accordingly.I mean the pitch black alley, 19th century old-London type of street. You hear your heartbeats pumping faster and faster, the blood running through your veins to your brain, in such frenzy you'd think it's missing a train, giving you adrenaline, making you filled with fear.Why would you fear a back alley? You can't see anything, but still, you're in a city, civilised people living in it, you know...So why would you fear a street that you wouldn't care about if you'd see it in broad daylight? Well, that's where I come in.You see, you should fear these kind os streets, cause at any moment I might pop out of the darkness and kill you. I love to kill. That's what I live for.I'm a serial killer.I haven't kept track of my ''customers'', but I'D say I've got a palmares of at least 14. And I'm just beggining. I don't wanna rush myself. I've got plenty of time.I don't wanna be known as the guy apprehended just after 3-4 months in the business, cause of a slight mistake. Besides I'm not choosing my ''clients'' on the base ''see them-kill them''. They choose me instead. You might see me in this dark alley, but if you're not my type, you'll be left without a scratch.Hell, I'll even help you get home. And I really can't say I have only one type of persons that I look for.I have to have some chemistry with them, some sort of silent agreement. I like to kill someone that is fun. You might ask how I know they'd be fun to be killed. I just do. It's a matter of seconds. Your profilers might tell you that I'm suffering of some sort of disorder of any kind just to make you believe they are justly payed. The truth is they've no bloody clue about what's happening in my head, or any other criminal head, for that matter. And I mean before, during and after the killing. Dream on!
You probably know from movies that we(serial killers) prefer a knife.It doesn't make any noise, it's light, it's less traceable and at the end of it, it doesn't leave the mammoth prints a gun or bullet might do.But I've told you enough already. I'm prepared to go out and have my next ''client''.Oh, and another thing. You won't ever catch me. I know you, but you've no idea who I am.
11:45 pm
Signed,
The Real Serial killer you're looking for.''





B.The pieces have another side to them.



The interior of a police station. Lots of cops inside, paperwork to do. Phones ringing. To put it shortly, Hell on earth. For some. Just another day at the office, for others.
-He's playing with us, the in-charge with the investigation officer said while putting down the letter.
It was the same letter, the same serial killer they were chasing after.But they had gotten it for half a year almost, same day every month, same writing, all the commas and spaces between words. At first they'd thought they'd been receiving xerox copies, but they were mistaken. Every note was perfect in mimeting the last one. This guy was taking time writing these letters and surely wasn't just an average bloodbath killer.A killer that thought. making him double the danger. The number of victims must've been smaller than that. Strangely, they'd received the first letter only two days after they've discovered the 3rd victim. And no other bodies were found up till now.So, either he had planned to only have a certain number of casualties on his name, unknown for now, or they had yet to find the remaining victims.
-He's toying with us, continued the officer.
He sounded angry, stressed, at the end of his powers. With the will of making it and trying harder, but with no hope of success. He looked his partners in the eyes, looking for answers.He was expecting any of his colleagues to raise their hands and pop the solution: ''I know this guy, he's my neighbour!'' or ''I think I know who he might be, the bloke that works at the grocery store I buy liquor from'' or ''I've seen him at the strip joint I'm member of.''The in-charge officer expected any of these answers. Any would do fine. They'd call it a day and pack home, chilling in the couch, enjoying a brew or a woman, watching tv, whatever.Instead nobody said anything. This silence was the type of silence one might imagine pirates thinking about the exact place of a treasure. They had no leads, no witnesses, no prints, nothing.All they knew was that he used a knife and that he must've been using one for a long time, cause he sure finished off his victims quicly.And strangely enough, the crime places hadn't been at all at the outskirts of the city, but just small, badly-lit, side streets of packed boulevards in the centre.
It had been almost half yaer since the first victim, since the case had started, the longest one they'd had.The higher officials had tried several times to shut down investigations due to the lack of evidence and evolution of the overall case, but to no good use. He knew he'd make it, eventually. He knew they'd find out the person behind everything and smile with pleasure, grinning at him while watching the life plus sentence being given.He didn't wanna give up. he knew his team members were to be trusted and they'd come along his ideas and will with the case, no matter where those might take them all.None of them had any real family to be waiting at home, except for a couple of here-today/gone-tomorrow girlfriends and a puppy dog. The in-charge officer was the youngest of the group, yet the most determined about his work. His work was more than a job.It was his passion, his hobby, his drug. And now, after six months on a case, he got caught in the net of obsession with it.
He looked his team once more in the eyes before he spoke.
-Ok guys, let's go through what we know and what we don't know again. Maybe we've been missing something.
-Again, sarge? We've been doing it for month now already, it won't change shit. We still won't know who he is, where's he coming from and why's he breaking our balls with his perfect letters.
-Stay with me here, Jay! Remember that you all have taught me a lot when I was a newbie. And even though I'm in charge of this case, and I'm deciding what and whatnot, I still have a lot to learn from you guys, so please let's get this bastard.I won't allow myself from letting half year pass before even having a suspect, or at least a motive.So, do I have you attention now? what do we know and what we don't know, but we'll find out? Talk to me...Mike?!
-Ok, we know he's killed three women. There's no record yet of the fact that they knew eachother and for the moment there's no connection between them. We can only assume he's killed more, if we take his ''words'' onto consideration.There are no monuments, no secret rendez-vous spots for any secret associations at or around the crime scenes.The 3 places where the crimes were comitted are far apart and have no connection. As far as we know. If you look on the map they don't form any geometrical form or myth creature or anything like that. Thus, he's not basing his preferences on any of that.
-Thank you, Mike, said James, the in-charge officer.
He was pondering the information, letting it sink in deep through his senses, his pores, his skin. He wanted this information to become part of him, take action to his actions, to his thoughts and ideas , to dictate his neurons his next move.
-So, we don't have a motive?
-Apparently not. Like I said the three women had not known eachother. Thus no way tracing back their relation to the murdere, if there was any.He's picking them through the crowd like products off the shelves of a supermarket, not bearing in mind the expiry date, tags and the likes.
-Hard to believe...
-Do ask him when you meet him, will ya, sarge? jay said sarcastically, laughing softly.
-Yeah, maybe I will....., James replied, still pondering the chance of it happening. Ok, what else do we have on paper?
-All three autopsies show the victims died from wounds made by a contondent weapon, in our case a knife.No sign of drugs, pills or any pharmaceutical products were found in their bodies. No trace of bruises or signs of violence on the body , it seems they came to him and didn't oppose much.
-It seems? the in-charge officer asked angrily
-Yeah...
-What do you mean it seems? Then it might aswell seem these murders weren't comitted cause there is no killer, it seems, cause we're not doing our job. It seems.Please guys, a lil bit more heart in this case. I know the captain has put us down so many times for not coming up with even a lead but stick with me. I feel like we've come a long way and right round the corner we might find the solution to this...puzzle of a case.
-Ok, let me finish then, Mick replied.each one of the victims was killed with a different knife.On the first two, american knives were used: a Centofante 3 by Spyderco and aHeavy Bowie 9''. The third one's european though, Miguel Nieto.All three hunting knives. Here comes the intriguing part.The tests and the autopsies have shown that the blades are the same with those that are widely available but the handles have been custom made. For a better grip, use, speed, force, you name it. The guy knows about knives.
-Is it possible to change the handle and still make it work?
-Yes, if you know how to do it. If me or any oy you would do it, chances are we'd cut our fingers off in the process of using it afterwards.This guy sure knows better.
-So, we've got no prints, thus he's using gloves. Maybe that's why he's replaced the handles, to fit with his specail gloves. Check into that, Jay, will ya?
-Yes, sarge...
-No witnesses...How come there were no homeless on the streets. The killer himself tells about back alleys.There must've been a hobo around.
-Actually no, sarge. Remember the mayor's ''Free the centre'' campaign last year? They took all the poor fellas off the nice city centre streets and threw them at the outskirts. Personally I haven't seen a homeless downtown in quite some time.
-Hmm..
-And I've made some extra investifations.
-Do tell, Jay..
-Have you ever heard of ''The Barbie syndrome''?
-What? You mean the women obsessed with having a body like the doll?
-No, it's the book..
-What book?
-''The Barbie syndrome''. It's by this indie writer Tuemckey Shakur.
-Indian writer?
-No indie writer, as in indie-pendent.It's about this japanese guy that's killing these teen prostitutes in Tokyo and they all are dresses like schoolgirls. But his actions are triggered by math ecuations. It's quite interesting.
-Do you buy that stuff, Jay?
-Some pal gave it to me a couple years back.
-So, you think our guy read this book and then decided ''ok, why don't I become a serial killer, it's great!''. I won't believe that shit unless I see the fucking book in his fucking collection. How does it end, by the way?
-Read it yourself, sarge...
-So, the victims might be, scratch that, sorry, might've been hookers. Any record on that?
-Not yet, but we're still checking it out.
-Good. Back to work now. Captain's waiting for me for lunch. Hope he's not hungry for human meat.



They were sitting in the police restaurant, face to face, just like normal clients, minding whatever business was, enjoying whatever was there to enjoy. The police didn't own the restaurant but if was known and called as such due to the fact that a lot of cops were having breakfast or lunch there. It was pretty close to their precinct.
-So, you see captain, this is a strange case to get to the bottom of it. No fingerprints, no witnesses. There was no blood at the scenes of murder.
-What are you implying now? Vampires?
-No, I'm just saying it's strange. That's why I'm telling you I need more time to get to the core.
-You had enough time, James. Half a year.That's enough in my book. You could've solved a dozen cases in that time.At least give me a lead, a list of suspects. I'm on your ass cause the mayor's on my ass on this other side.Follow me?
James nodded.
-Last week he called me up to his office and said''Your boys are worthless, you said you'd put your best on this fucking case and here we are, six months later, still with this fucking letter in our hands, trying to figure out how the fuck has he written it, word for word, so damn good''. What was I supposed to tell him?
James nodded again.
-I told him I'd give you another week and if still no results, then I'd close the case.
-What? Captain! Me and my team have been busting our balls to try and find just a piece of truth in this big pile of shit.I sense I'm close to getting this motherfucker, but I need more time!
-You don't have any, James! My meeting with the mayor was last week. You've got two days left! Let's just keep the victims' number at three.
-What if the victims are more than that? Just like he said?
-Every nutcase says that.They're the kind of people that'd think they killed Jesus or JFK. You can't believe a killer. You know better than that.
-It's the cop hunch, Captain...
-Cop hunch, huh?Let me give you a piece of advice, James. Leave the ''hunch'' at home from now on, just like I did ten years ago, and you might become something. Gotta run now, got another meeting with the mayor. See you James.
-Good day, captain.
-Likewise.
Both men stood and shook hands.
Despite the fact that the captain was part of the precinct and had backed everyone, aswell as kicking their arses, James knew little or nothing about him as a person.He had no recolection of the captain speaking about or even mentioning kids and a wife, and his house with the infamous 500 rare books library was quite an urban legend in its own right within the station.He found that strange, after all these years working with the captain, to be having so little info on him.He, and most of his colleagues thought the captain to be highly inteligent, although they had no evidence to actually back up their theory.
After lunchJames returned home, walking through the half-deserted city, due to a very cold autumn rain.Coincidence or not, he passed near a crime scene and he stopped there for a few moments.The alley looked dark, indeed, and uninviting for any stroller, but there was nothing to it so menacing, so evil, as the serial killer would put it himself.No black, hungry for blood tentacles creeping from beneath the asphalt, no ghosts screeeming eerie and softly, trying to lure new victims, no serial killers, waiting in the dark with custom made knives. Obviously, no fingerprints and no witnesses. It was quite an interesting place, actually.
Right around the corner, one of the most hip restaurants in town was greeting its customers and during evenings, when the serial killer supposedly attacked, a long queue formed outside its premises. Two blocks away there was a taxi station, buzzing with people of all ages and races, like a big bee-hyve. Could have been that the killer used on of the taxis to flee the crime scene easily.Or maybe the killer was one of the cab drivers. Maybe one of the customers refused to pay, thus making him comit a murder. And maybe, afterwards, the newbie killer got a taste of it and just continued with the whole thing.Not likely to have happenned, James thought.He just continued his was home. He was tired. His eyes hurt.
Ever since the first victim and first letter he accused this peculiar eye problem, as if something was stuck in his eye, bothering him from inside the cornea.He had made an eye test at some point, but the doctor had told him there was nothing he could notice at that moment and had advised him to take another test. Unfortunately he had no time to.
There was no familiar voice welcoming him home as he opened the door to his apartment and stepped on the rug. Not even a bark.He had no pictures of relatives hanging on the walls.He thought that'd bring bad luck for work. Maybe he should've started putting on some frames now, considering how the case was going.
It wasn't until he reached his bedroom that he noticed someone had broken in. Which was strange, cause his pay was not a sum thieves would be longing for. He wasn't , either. Was this entering related to the case somehow or just some petty burglar that chose the wrong target.There were no documents missing and after a thorough inspection he concluded that everything was still belonging to him, the only damage done would be a couple hours of cleaning and putting everything in order.
It had been an exhausting 6 months. First the case and the numerous sleepless nights thinking who the killer might be. Some more sleepless nights due to his eye problems. And now this, having his house penetrated by soemone that was clearly looking for something, but couldn't find it.
James decided she should announce some fellow colleagues, maybe they could get some prints. He wasn't in the mood to start another investigation now. He went for the phone but a split second before he dialed the first 9, he froze.He put the phone down and grabbed the envelope laying next to it. He ripped it open and read the note inside. He recognised the writing, infamous by now, the same one used in the letters they'd received at the station.
''Meet me here. We need to talk.''
He put on his jacket, packed with two extra clips for his gun and went out.