I read the article… How ridiculous. Who’s playing whom?

Fourth Slasher victim gives police lead

 

The fourth Slasher victim, an off-duty call girl, was found late last night. Police believe the killer didn’t realize the woman was a prostitute when he picked her up.

This latest murder comes on the tail of the FBI profile of the killer. According to the FBI, police are looking for a white male in his early to late thirties. He is a blue-collar worker or possibly a security guard.

Blue-collar, my ass. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve got their attention now.

It’s broad daylight, a risk I wouldn’t normally take, but my patience is running out. Sophie’s almost ready to be mine.

At her apartment block I randomly press apartment numbers. Someone buzzes me in. The security door releases and I walk up the three small steps into the main foyer. She’s on the third floor, apartment 310. I take the stairs, head down. No one can see my face. At her door I look around. The coast is clear. My lock-picking gun gently hums and within a few seconds I’m in. I don’t have as long as I’d like, but I can’t resist being inside her apartment once more.

I look around. It’s immaculate. I must have her.

I survey each room, spending the longest in the bedroom. I look through her chest of drawers, her closet, her makeup and her jewelry. I smell her clothes, letting myself become accustomed to her scent. I saw her in a beige, low-cut blouse. I hunt for this item and find it in the dirty-clothes basket. I take it up to my nose and inhale deeply…

She smells beautiful. I can’t wait until she’s really mine. I keep the blouse to my nose and turn around to look at her bed. I’d like to lie down, smell this blouse and picture her naked…but I don’t have time. I put the blouse back in the basket and move to the kitchen. It’s spotless.

I open her fridge: cottage cheese, yogurt, milk, eggs, crisp vegetables, chili sauce, a few different curry pastes and a bowl of leftovers—chicken curry. I check all the cartons and jars. They’re all fine, nothing past its use-by date. People really have no idea how many germs are out there, especially in dairy. But maybe she knows. I have to look after my girls. Keep them healthy for me.

The leftovers? They could be swarming with listeria and other bacteria. But it’s too noticeable, too obvious. I don’t want her to guess I’ve been here.

I leave, frustrated. I haven’t made my mark. I’ll come back another time.