Your Move, Detective.
Mockingbird is a notorious detective with a paranormal inclination, who is also acclaimed for her efficiency and skill. She has been given a challenging case regarding a killer who leaves letters addressed to her at the crime scene, each one more infuriating than the last. She has received the latest autopsy and letter.
Mockingbird was no fool, she hadn’t ascended to a renowned status for lazy analysis. Once more, her eyes skimmed the letter, picking it apart as if it wasn’t the fortieth time she’d done so, and once more the words remained a generic villain monologue. A veil to mask the true danger lurking within the author, she believed.
Your move, detective. That parting sentence made her blood boil, because she had no idea what her next move was. Three people were dead, a fourth missing, and she had nothing to show for it, no leads, and no suspect. Throwing the letter down, Mockingbird turned her face to the window, rubbing at her blue eyes, they felt tired and heavy, willing her to give up for the night. Newfound determination surged through her bones, no, there was work to be done.
The young detective stood, her crooked fingers lifted her silver mask from where it sat upon the desk, she fastened it over her face in a swift movement, securing it tightly before letting her hands fall to her sides. Mockingbird could be criticized for many things, but not one disbeliever could criticize her for her refusal to back down from a challenge.
Cracked lips pulled back into a wry smile, there may be no specific suspects, but she’d encountered killers like this before, they usually had a gap in their lives, a void they filled with stereotypical agendas. If forced to profile a potential murderer off of the evidence they had alone, she’d assume the perp was a male, for the mutilation done to the female victims was extensive, possibly pent up aggression fueled an attack with sexual intentions. Likely, it was a man who would be commonly rejected, the mundane or monotonous, not hard to pick out in Ashlock. If she had to take it further, he may not have had a strong female role model growing up as she was either abusive or neglectful.
Only that profile clashed with the personality presented in the letter, so there were two guilty with the potential of there being more. One being the mastermind, the one who premeditates each killing, and then a lackey with the dirty hands.
The author of the note was well articulated, educated, basing her assumptions off of that, they were a white collared worker at the very least. That demographic was a tad bit harder to pin as Ashlock was a corporate city with thousands upon thousands of companies and call centers based within its boundaries. The unemployment rate was at an all time low, and many civilians worked typical office jobs at default as they tended to be amongst the easiest to obtain.
Well, whoever was orchestrating the attacks knew how to cover their tracks.
Perhaps they were of higher standing than she was giving them credit for. After all, Karla Anderson had worked in Josfield Tech as a Sales Executive, it would make sense if she opened her door to a co-worker, or a CEO...
However, Harvey Josfield had already been cleared from suspicion.
Mockingbird opened the case file on her computer, tucking her limp black hair behind her ear, if she was remembering correctly... Ah, there, Karla was applying to other jobs for a higher pay grade, the officer in charge of interrogating Josfield had stated that Karla believed she was being underpaid, and had begun seeking other establishments for employment.
So it was entirely plausible that she’d open her front door to a representative of a company she’d applied for, or better still, the CEO of a company. While the latter was more wishful thinking, it would help narrow down the list of people Mockingbird needed to talk to. Immediately, she snatched her phone up and dialed the number supplied by the police.
On the third tone, he picked up, “Hello, this is Harvey Josfield speaking.”
“Hello Mr Josfield, my name is Detective Mockingbird, I’m working on the current murder case involving your former employee Karla Anderson. You said in the interview with Ashlock’s Police Department that she was looking for other placements of work, as she believed the paycheck to be unacceptable, or at the very least not up to her standards, correct? I’m curious as to if she elaborated upon which companies she was applying for.”
After a few moments of stunned silence, Josfield stammered, “Ah, Detective, it’s truly a pleasure- um, yes, well, she mentioned a few in our last discussion, such as Langford Communications, Bradley & Sons Insurance, and if I remember correctly, Equity Tech.”
That caught her interest, Equity had also been the preferred place of work for second victim Lauren Hewitt. Was there a connection, or was it mere coincidence?
In murder cases, coincidence was an elusive concept.
“Thank you for your time, your input has greatly helped me, I’ll keep in touch- oh, before I go, could you make a list and send it to the superintendent? I’d like to take a closer look at the companies she applied for, thank you.” He muttered a few phrases of confirmation, and some parting words, then she hung up, feeling rejuvenated. Her toes tapped upon the wooden floors in uncovered glee, while this potential lead could bring them no closer to the killer, it was better than waiting for another corpse to be found.
Evening settled over Ashlock, the bright lights of the deceptive city cast a flurry of colours over the darkening sky. In her modest apartment on the fourth floor, Mockingbird felt invincible, beating away the awful kernel of dread that had threatened to unfurl hours before. White teeth flashed in the dying light when the detective clutched the note in her hands once again, her lips were twisted in a sneer and a grin, a challenge accepted.
“Death,” rough and unforgiving, her brutal tones barked for her partner. He appeared in the doorway, his expression unimpressed, one eyebrow arched in question, “I know the next place to look.”
“Oh?” He drawled, his gaze flickered over her frame, “you look excited,”
Detective Mockingbird wasn’t entirely sure she could argue with him, her eyes had lost their heavy weight, and her spine straightened at the idea of finally getting somewhere in the stalled case. After weeks of flogging a dead horse, after two months of being toyed with, and ridiculed by an anonymous threat, Mockingbird was bending the killer’s rules, changing them to suit her tune. This murderer underestimated her, expecting her to dance to the whims of the law, but little did he know she was held to no restraints. Her moral compass could not be compared to the pure holy righteousness of the police force’s, oh no, the detective had her own game she loved to play.
Besides, she wasn’t world renowned for having a moral backbone.