Notorious part 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Beginning of a short story

Submitted: February 14, 2012

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Submitted: February 14, 2012

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The murders had gripped the community intensely for the past 3 years, they had all seemed so random, each death appeared separate from the rest- all different MO's.  It had taken police a long time to realise they were dealing with a serial killer.  No DNA left at the scene, little forensic evidence, witnesses were vague at best. It was only after a complete review of the evidence that one single thing was consistent with all the murders- one tiny sliver of glass had been pressed into the eye of each victim. 

The press had dubbed 'him' the "Massfield Murderer"- a pun on Mossfield, the area just outside the city where the murders had taken place, and the fact that the latest body took the total up to 57- and had spread fear and panic throughout the southwest. Every week they would publish a photofit image which bore no or little resemblance to the previous weeks image.  The police seemed to be at a dead end. 

DI Gleason sat at his desk, nursing a coffee.  The piles of paperwork on his desk appeared to make it sag in the middle.  All the collected statements, scene of crime reports, victim profiles, known felons in the area- all here, and all had to be re-read and catalogued.  Gleasons eyes sagged much like the desk, he'd had little sleep in the last two weeks, the murders had escalated from one every couple of months- they'd investigated two in the past three days. 

His desk phone rang- a sure sign it was an internal call.  He lifted the receiver, and listened.  His scowl grew deeper as he took in what the front desk Duty Sergeant was telling him, his brow furrowed tighter.  "Are you sure he's not another nutter?" he enquired, feeling anger rise in him, too much time wasted on people owning up to the crimes, wasting police time. The Sergeant sounded adamant. 

"Hold him", Gleason almost barked down the phone.  He grabbed his jacket and stood up.  He turned to his colleague, DC Anna Grey.  She looked up from her laptop.  "What's up, Gov?"

"Front desk just called through.  They've got another one admitting to the killings.  Another waste of time, no doubt...except he's got photographs which could be incriminating"

DC Grey locked her screen, stood up and said, "We'll, lets get down there and see, shall we?"

They took the stairs, part of Gleasons fitness regime, and Grey swiped her card to let them through the doors into the civilian reception area.  The Duty Officer looked up eagerly. "He just walked in... couldn't stop him talking... asked for you by name... he's in Interview Room 2"

Gleason nodded his thanks, and swiped into the secure corridor leading to the interview area.  A constable stood by the open door of room 2, and straightened as the Detective entered, handing the lead detective a thick manilla envelope.  Grey said "Thanks, wait outside, would you?", and closed the door after him.  The two detectives stood looking at the man sat on the opposite side of the table. "Morning, sir", Gleason started, "Can we start with your name?"

The man stood up, offering his hand.  Neither officer proffered theirs.  He shrugged, letting his hand drop.  He was mid-thirties, thin- almost skeletal, a weak looking man.  He had thick black hair which rested on his collar, angular features, sharp eyes, thin lips.  He appraised the two Detectives in front of him, his eyes resting on the envelope in Gleasons hand.

"Of course, of course", he said, "First things first.  My name is Michael Fitzmaurice, and I am responsible for every one of those 57 murders. And in there", he nodded to the envelope, "in there is the proof you've been looking for"


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