by Kim Knight
His eyes flicked to the clock. It was almost nine-thirty at night.
A rumble in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch time. He knew it would be another TV dinner for night for only one.
Heading back to the freezer, he took out a salmon and pasta dish, popped the plastic film, then placed it in the oven.
I wonder what she’s doing tonight. Madeline came to mind, and so did the possibility of seeing her again. I can’t believe we ran into each other twice.
As the oven warmed up his food, he headed back to the sofa and picked up his phone.
8
Puzzle Pieces
Madeline Sloane
Madeline relished the high-pressure water raining down on her while in the shower. After being soaked in the rain on her way home from the bar, the hot water warmed her to the core.
Now that Chris had fixed the leak and descaled the shower head, the water beat down on her skin fiercely.
Mmm. He’s cute. She lathered up under the water.
Since she had arrived in Amsterdam three months ago, keen to get over her ex, she hoped that the universe would bless her with a new love interest. She had even joined Tinder, Match.com, and E-harmony, as well as a few off-the-wall dating apps, in hopes that they would bring someone new to her.
Daniel, nope not my cup of tea really…hmm, Alex? Nah. She pondered over the men she had exchanged messages with or had dated, here and there. No one really managed to grab her interest for anything long-term.
She stepped out of the shower and felt clean, refreshed, and finally warm.
In the living room, she heard her phone buzz on the kitchen table.
Madeline wrapped herself up in a towel and headed over to it and without thinking, answered the number without seeing who had called.
“Hello.” She anchored one end of the towel between her cleavage, keeping it snug around her body.
“Hey beautiful,” said a familiar voice. “How are you?”
“Chris, twice in one day.” Madeline smiled in surprise. “Nice to hear from you again. How did the rest of your day go?”
“Oh, the usual. Clients cursing me out because they wanted me there earlier, ya know.”
“I said I was sorry about that.” Madeline chuckled. “You’re not gonna let me live it down, are you?”
She heard Chris’ deep laugh on the other end of the line.
“Nope, damn right. But if you join me for dinner this week, just maybe, I’ll forget it,” he teased her.
Madeline flopped on the sofa and chewed on her lip.
Mmm…dinner? She toyed with the idea.
“As friends,” Chris told her as if sensing her hesitation. “No pressure for anything.”
“Okay, cool. Why not?”
“Friday any good for you?”
“Sure, sounds great.”
“Okay, it’s a date. I’ll text you details of the restaurant. Do you have a preference?”
“No, you decide. I’ll eat almost anything.”
“Great. So how was your day?”
“Well, after you left, I went down to Amsterdamse Bos to check out the scene.”
“Woah! No way. The police let you hang out there?”
“No, they didn’t” Madeline laughed down the line. “Far from it. Us reporters, well, we’re the Devil himself to the police. They practically escorted me out of the park. But I wanted to see what information I could get to write up an article for the paper.”
“I see. These murders are really getting to you, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say so.”
Madeline shifted the phone to her other ear, then headed back to the bathroom for her dressing gown. The chill in the air was starting to bite at her.
“There’s a manic on the loose,” she said. “And the police aren’t making any progress from the research I did online.”
“What makes you think that? They can’t tell the public everything. It would place the suspect one step ahead.”
“Easy. A simple Google search. The number of girls with unsolved cases shows they’ve not gotten any closer to finding the suspect.”
“Don’t let it worry you. You’re safe with me, okay?”
“Uh-hum. Sweet.” Madeline sniggered. “I better get going, Chris. I need to get dressed and get some work done.”
“Hold on. So, what did you find out?” Chris asked with curiosity. “You never said. What did the police say?”
“Not much. They just gave me a name, Suzy Chan. But the whole world knows now because the news broke earlier this evening.”
“Hmmm, keep me posted on what you find.”
“Will do. Let me catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Not a problem. Talk to you soon. Bye, Madeline.”
Madeline ended the call and flopped back onto the lumpy sofa. Her eyes moved over her old, shabby apartment.
This serial killer needs to be caught, she thought.
She hopped up, headed back to the bathroom to add some lotion to her skin, then dressed in a pair of pyjamas.
Settling herself at her laptop, Madeline pulled up her earlier Google search and read through each link in detail. She even jotted down a few key notes.
From what she had gathered online, it appeared as if all the girls—Ana De Jog, Lotte Van De Berg, Fenna Bakker and Zoe Van Dyk—were all, in some way or another—linked to the city’s Red Light district.
I need to head down to the district again sometime this week and see what else I can find out.
She sat back in her chair in contemplation.
How can the police not pick up on this? Or am I jumping to conclusions?
Like Chris had said, they would not divulge everything they know to the general public and place the suspect at an advantage.
Logging off of Google, she pulled up a Word document with a half-finished article.
Earlier in the day, she had focused on covering other aspects of news around the city. She named it, saved it, and closed it down. Opening a fresh document, she started to write an article to submit to the editor of De Telegraaf, highlighting the link she had discovered between the Red Light Girl’s disappearances.
9
The Coroner’s Office
Dr. Cleveland
The Following Morning…
Dr. Cleveland pulled his mask over his mouth and nose, then adjusted the overhead light above the cadaver exam table. Just as always, he lowered his head, and said a few words of respect for the deceased.
After almost fifteen years in this line of work, the routine never changed, only the bodies.
Reaching for a pair of latex gloves on the table to his left, he slid them on, then pulled back the white vail sheet, to reveal who he would be working on.
His eyes roamed over the female cadaver on the table, looking for obvious signs of what could have led her to her demise. He noted the puncture wounds on her neck, highlighted by red blotches. Picking up the camera, he adjusted the flash, then took a picture of her profile.
He leaned in closer to inspect the wound. There was dried blood from what his naked eye could make out, so he noted this and planned to swab the area.
Plucking his pencil from behind his ear, he reached out for his clipboard, then circled around the table.
“Height, uhm…five-foot-two at a guess.” To be sure, he dug deep into the pocket of his gown and pulled out a tape measure.
He placed one end by the head of the woman, and made his way down to her feet.
“Not a bad guess. Five-foot-four. I’ve been doing this too long,” he said with a chuckle, then placed the tape measure back in his pocket and focused on his clipboard.
Though the bifocal section of his glasses, he glanced at the list information on the official form. One by one, started to check off the routine items.
“Okay, name—Suzy Chan. Sex—female. Age. Hmmm, mid-thirties. Ethnicity.” Dr. Cleveland glanced down at the woman. “Asian-Chinese.” And he ticked the box.
Gently, and
with the utmost care, he lifted one of her eye lids.
“Eye colour—dark brown. Hair colour—dark brown with blonde colouring. Tattoos? Hmm. Let’s see.”
He placed the clipboard down, stuck his pencil behind his ear, then took some time to examine the body face up. Her clothing had already been removed for the forensic examination.
Hmm. Single pierced ears. He recorded that bit of information.
At a closer glance of her head, face, neck, chest, and arms, he saw no visible signs of body art, tattoos, or cosmetic alterations of any kind. A quick check of her navel, revealed there was no piercing there. He eased her over onto her side and saw no tattoos or markings along her back either.
“Nope. Nada.” He placed her down, then reached over to his clipboard. With his pencil he made a smooth swipe on the box to confirm that there was no presence of any other body art except the single ear piercings.
He looked over his spectacles at her face. It was bloated, and she appeared pale.
“Okay. What happened to you Suzy? Talk to me.” He made his way over to the station where his medical swaps were.
“Just like all the other girls, you ended up here, too,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve seen too many this last year, I tell ya.”
Dr. Cleveland grabbed a few supplies—swaps, cotton wool, plastic containers, and tweezers. He made his way to the table, placed the items on a tray, then focused in on the neck area of the body where he noted the puncture marks and blotches. He adjusted the lamp to focus in, and as he did, his eyes widened.
“Bingo.” Tweezers in hand, he plucked a hair from her upper body by her shoulder. It was mixed in with her own shoulder length hair. “No this doesn’t look like it belongs to you, little lady.”
He held the hair up to the light for a closer examination.
“Too short. Too light. Nope.” He shook his head. “Not yours.”
Carefully, he dropped the evidence into an open plastic container, then firmly screwed on the lid.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Looks like your neck took a lot of impact. But with what?”
He leaned back down and drew the light closer to her neck. Gently, he pushed her hair away and checked for any further stray hairs. There were none, at least, not that his neck eye could see. Turning the head of the body to the right, he exposed the true glare of the red blotches and puncture marks. Two holes stood at attention.
“I was wrong, Suzy.” A sigh left his lips. “This is a full puncture.”
The skin had been torn. Without moving his eyes from the area, his hand located a swab that he swiped over the torn skin and holes. Once finished, he then deposited it into another plastic container and closed it. Next, he used his tweezers to pluck out a specimen of dried blood, and then he also dropped that into a separate container. Once the lids were firmly screwed on, his grabbed his Dictaphone, then pressed play.
“Two puncture marks to the left hand-side of the neck, roughly a couple of millimeters in size. One inch apart. Upon observation, the full area of the neck is discoloured—red, swollen, and bruised. Damage appears to be from excessive force to the area.”
He clicked the pause button, moved around to the other side of the body, cleared his throat, and then pressed play.
“Right hand-side resembles the left—no puncture marks. However, excessive, brute force used. Hair, most likely human, found on the left shoulder area, marked as Specimen A.” With a jab of his finger, he stopped the recording.
Slowly, he conducted a thorough examination of the body, then once done, he methodically and in fine detail, he performed a final sweep from head to toe. There were no other obvious signs of force, puncture marks, hairs, or foreign fibers.
He picked up her hand and checked her nails.
“No chips, hair, dirt, or tissue under the nails.” A brief pause for a breath followed. “A swab has been taken from both the left and right hand—all ten fingers.”
The Dictaphone hummed, recording the spoken information until he turned it off.
At the bottom of the table, he separated her legs and examined her intimate area at the “Y” of her legs.
He picked up the Dictaphone and pressed record once again.
“No evidence of bodily fluids, on the body or between the legs. A swab will be taken to be sure. No evidence of excessive force between the legs either.” He cut the recording, placed the device on the tray, then plucked another swab for use.
With a steady hand, he inserted the cotton-tipped end into her vagina and moved it around to get a good sample. Once done, he extracted it with care, then pulled the overhead lamp toward him to take a closer look at the material collected.
He retrieved the Dictaphone again, and pressed record.
“No blood found from the internal swap. The sample will be tested for semen.”
He placed the recorder in his pocket, then examined the feet and toes of the body.
“Everything looks okay here,” he said to himself.
But to be sure, he took a swab from between each of her toes, and under her toenails to be sure, then added those to a plastic container and secured the lid.
Making his way around the table to her face. He opened her lids, first the left then the right, shining a flashlight into them. Once done with her eyes, he opened her mouth and did the same, swabbing it, then placed the sample into a plastic container.
Methodically, he went down the memorised list, swabbing her nostrils, ears, and he inspected her teeth, tongue, lips, gum, and the inside of her cheeks—noting nothing out of the ordinary.
“Let’s hope it’s enough.” He took one final glance over her. Satisfied, he picked up his notepad and made some more notes.
He placed the individual plastic containers inside a lab box along with the sample of the all-important random hair.
A knock at the door broke the silence in the room.
“Come in,” he yelled out.
Sonia, his assistant and trainee coroner, stuck her head around the door. “Doc, anything for me to take for testing?”
“Ah, good timing.” He waved her inside. “Come and take a look at what I have for you.” Camera in hand, he snapped a few pictures of the cadaver.
“Over there on the table.” He nodded over. “I just need to add the labels.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll do it.” Sonia approached and stood next to him.
“Good, girl. Okay, the hair is Specimen A. The small swab, B is internal. And the others, as marked, are from the ears, nose, mouth, fingernails, and toenails. All in that order. And the last sample at the end is from the neck.”
Sonia pulled some additional labels out from the drawer. “Got it.”
“You busy today?” Dr. Cleveland asked.
“Not really. I can have this back to you ASAP.”
“Excellent. I’ll leave you to it.”
Sonia smiled over her shoulder at Dr. Cleveland. He pulled off his gloves and threw them in the waste bin.
With care, he covered Suzy’s body and wheeled the table over to the fridge. He opened one of the many window drawers, lined up the table, and then slid her inside.
The little freezer door snapped shut, and he double checked it was locked. Turning on his heels, clipboard tucked under his arm, he headed toward the door.
“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he called out, then left the room.
10
Needle in a Haystack
Detective Janssen
Janssen sat at her desk with the unsolved case files of the missing girls surrounding her. She munched on a crisp Granny Smith apple and studied the open file in front of her.
It was only ten and the morning had progressed well. Last night, after she and Gibson had decided how they would handle the case, her partner was on the way to visit the victim’s roommate this morning. Left alone, she started to make headway with the cases left open.
But she had a wall of trouble. There was a lack of witnesses, clues, and possible suspects. Sh
e and the team where left stumped and had been for the last six months—ever since the disappearances and murders had started up again.
The criminal had been careful not to leave any evidence while committing the crimes. And after reviewing the evidence, she was positive the perpetrator had acted alone.
So, why the gap between killings? Why now?
“This does just not make sense.” She leaned back, deep thought as if to pinpoint what she had missed. “All these girls are from the city, linked in some way. They’re dancers or entertainers, but that’s all.”
Closing the file, she pulled up Tess Van Dijik’s case. She had been reported missing just two weeks ago by her mother.
Janssen’s eyes moved over the missing person’s report. Pulling out her notepad, she made a note to call around again to see her personally. She could see from the file that her officers had called. They had even posed enough questions to her mother, but she wanted to take a deeper look.
A witness had had come forward from the appeal and confirmed they had seen Tess talking with a dark-haired man at Dam Square just outside the erotica museum on the day she went missing.
Need to follow this up too, she thought and made a swift note.
She picked up the phone and punched a few numbers.
“Hello,” the junior detective answered.
“Denz,” she said as soon as he answered. “This morning, I need you to question the witness who came forward on Tess Van Jijjk’s case—follow up on that led again.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“The file is on my desk if you need to review anything.”
“Okay, I’ll be over for it in minute,” Denz confirmed.
Janssen dropped the phone on its receiver without so much as a thank you or goodbye. As soon as she did, it jumped to life.