02/09/2013: Journal Entry 01
You can say I remember Wolf fondly. A sort of fondness that only a detective can have for a case well-solved.
Wolf is a serial killer with a life-sentence and no chance of parole for the murders of 11 people; 6 women and 5 men. He was called "The Red-Light Wolf", because he terrorized the red-light district downtown; killing off both customers, strippers and prostitutes. He got his name from the signature he left us; a tell-tale bite-mark on the victims' necks (the impression was sadly not from his own teeth, otherwise we would've caught him quicker. It was from a pair of customized fake teeth that were molded to seem like a hybrid between a wolf's teeth and a human's teeth).
He was my first case when I got out of the academy in '04 as green as green can get. It took around a month and a half before he was caught. I was the one who caught him. But as he tells me often; "I wasn't caught. I let you catch me. And only you."
He claims he would never have 'let himself be caught' if I hadn't been there. I guess he either found me a worthy opponent at his level of intelligence, or he found me likable. He still do it seems.
We have a sort of symbiotic relationship. In return for advice and help with cases and a look into the mind of criminals that he offered me, I gave him things he could entertain himself with. Books, extra time with the jail computer that he was allowed to use under surveillance, rubick's cubes, cold cases and mysteries from the cold case derpatments (the more he works with cases, the more information he can give me on new cases), better food for a number of days, a better mattress, posters, pictures, board games, small hobbies like sewing and pottery (under surveillance of course) etc. He likes his creature-comforts and to have something for his mind to do.
But right now, Wolf's case is not important. One day I might write down everything I know about him to get him out of my mind, but right now there's far more important things to take care of.
I got the call yesterday evening about a robbery-homicide downtown; in a little shop around a corner. The shop clerk was shot down dead and the cash register was empty. There were cameras put up but they were sadly only dummies to scare off the smaller predators. The clerk lay in a pool of blood behind the counter with a bullet-wound square in his forehead. No exit-wound.
At first glance, it seemed like a robbery gone bad. But something kept nagging me. There was something wrong about the scene... When we returned to the station, a colleague, John Langdon, merely noted it down as just another robbery but I didn't think so. My gut told me otherwise.
The evidence we had gathered told me nothing so far, thus I returned to the scene to see what I might've missed at the first look-over. As I entered the shop I noticed something almost immediately. It was clean. Far too clean. At a robbery you'd expect a bit of distruption from struggling or from haste to get out or from grabbing merchandise. But there was nothing. Not even as much as a broken bottle, a tilted magazine stand or a toppled-over bag of chips. Or the classic of left-over dollars from getting out in a hurry.
The next thing that struck me was where the clerk was found behind the counter. He was a little too far from the register for my liking. It seemed as though he had stumbled away from the register before he was shot.
Then there was the cash register. It had been broken open.
No normal robber would kill the clerk first then break open the cash register. A robber would've told the clerk to open the register and put the money in a sack rather than do it himself. This was to avoid putting his fingerprints everywhere.
This was not a robbery. This was a murder. After that, I knew I had to contact Wolf, because we had next to nothing on the perpetrator(s). The fingerprints on the cash register all belonged to the store cerk. It had been broken open with a crowbar or the back of a hammer. The clerk had been shot with a 9 mm. And that was all we knew. But Wolf could pull so much more information from what we had gathered.
And best of all? He was on my side. For now. I called the jail earlier this day, around 2 pm, and asked to be put on the line with Wolf. As always, exactly 8 minutes went by as they got Wolf out of the cell and to the phone.
"Good afternoon, Detective Crow," the rather charming voice purred on the other end. Wolf was a charming man as are all psychopaths on some level.
"Good afternoon, Wolf," I greeted with the same politenes he showed me.
"What do you wish of me this time, my dear?" He had a knack for calling me names like 'sweetheart' and 'dear' and such. I let him. It didn't hurt me in any way, after all.
"Who says I want something from you?" I joked lightly. A light chuckle on the other side.
"You always call when you want something, my dear. You rarely call for a mere talk." I nodded to that, even though he couldn't see it.
"Guilty as charged. I do have a case for you." Another soft chuckle in response. Wolf was a cheery guy at times. But depending on his facial expression when he was cheery, you'd know when it was a relatively harmless amused cheery mood, or a more... lethal sort of cheery mood.
"You know the drill, my sweet; bring me every detail of it and I'll tell you my price," he purred to me. He set the rules for the game. I simply followed.
"Same proceedure as always, Wolf... It's a robbery-homicide. Store clerk dead, cash gone. There are no signs of struggle or haste; in fact the place is far too clean to my liking. The cash register is broken open with a crowbar or the back of a hammer. The clerk is around 9 feet from the cash register, shot with a 9 mm in the middle of the forehead -no exit-wound. All fingerprints on the register belonged to the clerk," I finished the list of things we knew, and stared at the phone on speaker.
A brief silence followed as Wolf processed the information. I could almost hear the gears turn inside his head through the phone as he calculated the reward he wanted in return for the information he could give me.
"Alright, I'll bite. I will need a nice breakfast for every day in two weeks," he stated and I could almost hear the grin in his voice. I smiled with a light shake of my head.
"The usual dish of bacon, scrambled eggs, fried toast with gouda cheese, sausages, strawberry yoghourt, orange juice and Earl Grey tea?"
"Oh, you know me too well, my darling, too well," he purred, and silence followed as he began thinking, processing the information.
"...It was a murder, covered to look like a robbery. Quite clumsily too. It was impulsive, not pre-meditated."
"Could it have been a frantic attempt to cover up an accident?" I asked.
"No. If it had been, the bullet wound wouldn't have been in the head. It would've been somewhere in the chest; in the height of your hand. It couldn't have been a threat from a shaky, nervous youth either. There would've been tell-tale signs," he concluded, his tone becoming that special chime it always became when he explained things. To be honest, I could listen to him for hours like that.
"This... this was someone the clerk knew and he was afraid of him. Could be a drug dealer, could be a gang member or someone he had pissed off once... It started out as negotiation, perhaps the clerk pleaded for his life in the process... and it ended with a bang. The killer then panicked, wanting to cover the scene so police wouldn't look into it, and broke open the register and took the money..." Another silence followed as he let me soak up the information like a sponge. Then he continued:
"You're looking for a guy who hasn't worked behind a counter in all of his life, who is probably involved in some thuggish affairs, and who knew the store clerk. Look to his friends and family... Oh, and check the shop door next time you go there. There might be fibers left over from a fleeing culprit." He ended his conclusion for me.
"Are you sure it's only one guy?" I asked, wanting to be sure.
"No. There might've been others, but I would say between 1 and 2 people. More would've caused a rucus and some chaos within the shop," he explained. I nodded, even though he couldn't see it still.
"Thanks Wolf."
"You're welcome, my dear. I eagerly await your return with great anticipation," then the phone clicked and the call was over. He always says the last line before hanging up. He is a man of habit, after all. After the call I began researching on our vic to find his family and friends, as Wolf adviced me to. I've decided to contact them tomorrow about the loss of the clerk, so I have a bigger chance for the autopsy to be done by then. Dr. Drymann shouldn't have another corpse before this one. 'Business is slow,' he would say.
For now, my day's work is done. I had been thinking about calling Wolf for a talk, but... no. I'll wait until this case is closed, when I have the time for such leisures.