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🕑 Added 2025-04-05 15:57:16 +0000 UTCAnatomy of a Killer
Chapter 45 – The Pond, Part 12
After pulling out the dismembered female corpse, a layer of white frost quickly formed over the severed parts.
While Ángel sprayed a special liquid on his hand, the white frost gradually dissipated, revealing some purple fingerprints, palm prints, and glove marks.
“If we look at the distribution levels, several fingerprints are still relatively fresh and complete,” said Larry, who could tell at a glance that this murder was much more recent than Ron’s.
Ángel quickly lifted them and took photos. Of course, he also had to extract the victim’s fingerprints first, which was the fastest way to determine her identity.
Soon, sirens wailed.
The team quickly arrived and placed the body on a stretcher.
Max, meanwhile, helped Ángel position the ruler and take pictures, while Larry and Sergeant Doakes returned to the living room.
“Do you already know who the killer is?”
Larry gave a sly smile and asked, “What makes you think that?”
“You knew long before that the murder method was identical to the ones used on the prostitutes, but you made a mistake in the cause of death, giving a preliminary report of drowning, when in fact, she died from a blow to the head.”
After saying that, the sergeant pointed out, “But you knew everything—the killer’s clumsy attempt to imitate every step but stopping at the point of cutting up the body.”
“So, tell me, what stopped him?” Larry asked in a calm tone. As exciting as this case was to him, he knew he couldn't lose control of his emotions.
“There are signs that the amateur killer wanted to cut up the body. We can find details of the cuts—those were made when the body was frozen and lifeless. But the supposed killer didn’t finish the job. It looks like he had second thoughts.”
After saying that, Larry pulled a set of files from his briefcase and handed them to Sergeant Doakes. “I took the liberty of comparing the murdered prostitutes’ cases—the method is the same. But there’s something…”
“I can see it. This killer is clumsier,” said Sergeant Doakes, who fully understood the type of murderer they were dealing with. One, the most sadistic, wanted to show the world his art of killing. The other, instead, wanted to hide what was initially an imitation.
Any forensic expert could say the idea of freezing a body was common; it would be typical for the average person with a large freezer to do so after draining the blood to make it lighter.
But luckily for Larry, a new murder had been found at Ron’s house. Ron had been killed by an apprentice, an imitator, someone insignificant. But in this case, the murder now appeared identical to the other two.
Having a profile of the killer allowed for a solid base to pursue him.
“We have the hidden profile of a fairly dangerous serial killer. Will you authorize a separate investigation?” Larry was already working on it separately, but having the department’s resources would make everything much easier.
Sergeant Doakes looked over the documents and said, “The media doesn’t know anything about this. From experience, I know the captain doesn’t want the connection between these cases to go public.”
“Of course not. These are two different killers; we’ll uncover the connection once we catch the Ice Killer.”
“Is that what you’re going to call him?” asked Sergeant Doakes with a smile. For some strange reason, he found Larry much more likable.
“I feel like something’s missing, but that’s where we’ll start.” Larry, before standing up, added, “By the way, the killer of the woman in the freezer must’ve found out we were here… I recommend you request backup and that we leave discreetly.”
“What could a killer do?”
“Not physical harm, no, but he’ll surely try to block our way,” Larry said, thinking through the possibilities. In this situation, he would stir things up, pressure the police department into making mistakes.
“Sergeant, I think you should see this.”
The sergeant stood up, looked at Larry closely without saying a word, and walked with the officer toward the exit. Sure enough, many police officers were outside the door, blocking the media.
When Doakes crossed the threshold of the front door, a rising murmur greeted him.
Across the police line, dozens of reporters raised their microphones and cameras as they pushed against the yellow barricades. Flashbulbs lit up the tense faces of the officers.
“Sergeant Doakes!” shouted a reporter in a red jacket. “Is it true that you found another dismembered body in the freezer of a victim from a previous case?”
“Are we dealing with a serial killer? Or is there more than one?”
“Why has the department withheld information about the connection between the crimes?”
“Was the killer recently there?”
“Did you get the cause of death wrong again? Is the department hiding its incompetence?”
The reporters shouted in desperation. The questions were becoming more incisive and dangerously close to the truth. Larry frowned and took a half step back. Doakes raised his hand to try to calm the crowd, but the swarm of voices was already out of control.
“Let’s go out the back,” Larry suggested quietly, glancing at the officer beside him.
The sergeant nodded and said, “Through the fire exit—let’s go.”
The media pressure had only just begun—and with it, the real chaos.
