“These are the photos from the crime scene,” I spoke softly as I pushed Valentine the file. He was hesitant at first, but once he touched it, I saw a glim in his eyes.

“Am I supposed to be seeing those?” An honest smile had formed on his lips which he tried to cover with his palm. Apparently, it was impossible to hide his own excitement.

“Yes and no. These shouldn’t be taken outside the station without the Chief’s notice.” I replied and waved at the waiter. My mouth needed more than just a not-so-clean glass of water and the conversation ahead of us required something even stronger.

“You are risking a lot, then. Thank you.” The young man had a certain charm on him, which had caught my attention on our very first meeting. Was it the soft tone of his voice or the awful politeness within each word and movement? Or maybe it was I who was not that accustomed to good manners, and my expectations of people’s behaviour were never that high.

“I got the Chief’s approval for the test run, Mr. Soar. He wasn’t excited about it, and he will not be easily convinced. Charles believes that your presence will cause more damage, but it is in your hands and mine to prove him wrong.”

I looked at the waiter’s reflection on the window beside me, as he approached us. “I’ll have a glass of whiskey, neat,” I ordered.

“And your company?”

“Just water,” Valentine spoke with an apologetic gesture. The waiter nodded and walked to the bar.

“You are not a friend of alcohol?” I dared ask, knowing already the answer.

“Only during special occasions, detective. Certain pleasures should be enjoyed rarely, so they can create that bitter-sweet longing.” he remained silent for a moment and then added, “When you find the killer, detective, I promise to drink with you.”

When the waiter approached us, I gladly grabbed my drink, taking but a small sip. “I want you to pay close attention to the pictures and read the report.”

He scattered everything in front of him and lost himself within the papers. In between short breathings, he’d take a small sip of water, so small that for a few moments, it seemed like he was not drinking at all.

“Interesting,” he murmured as he brought closer two photographs. One was an up-close of the victims hanging and the other was from the morgue. “You can barely tell the difference between a doll and these poor souls.” It was a grim conclusion, but a very honest one. The freshness of their skin was unnaturally preserved, and their bodies seemed alive, frozen in time.

Then I saw young Valentine squeezing his bluish eyes and bringing one of those pictures closer. He seemed puzzled. It reminded me of those silly games where you were presented with two identical images and you had to find their differences. It was supposed to help with your perception skills, but they were a pain each time.

“What seems to trouble you?” I took the liberty of asking.

He rubbed the back of his head, pouting slightly, and then looked at me, unsure, hesitating of replying.
“I might be overthinking,” he admitted.

“Speak your mind, Mr. Soar. Anything you say might actually be a piece of this puzzle.” I emptied the drink in my mouth and looked over at the bartender. I waved my hand and pointed at my glass, requesting a refill.

“Alright. Most killers wouldn’t go to this extent if they didn’t want to show, to tell something through their actions.”

“A killer kills because there is a desire for blood or power play.” I interrupted.

“Ah, now these are the Chief’s words that come out of your mouth, detective. They can’t be yours.”

“Alright, then. What is your theory?”

“Those who murder for the sake of violence, leave the body behind. They will wipe away as much evidence as they can, but they will let people see their crime. The rush of knowing what you did wrong and being chased for it, for some can be enough stimulant. And it is even greater when they turn this process into a cat-and-mouse game. That’s where we have the power play. Multiple and almost constant incidences that only grow greater the killer’s satisfaction.” He stopped as he noticed that same boy who had served us before, coming towards me once again. The moment he was gone, Valentine kept on explaining to me. “Then we have those who kill without it being their prior intent. Petty thieves, for example, feel too threatened and they have no other way to defend themselves but to kill. They might not do it again and they are always most likely fleeing the scene leaving a trail behind them.

“But, there is also another kind; the ones who through the murder achieve some higher personal purpose. They know it's wrong. They might even be the most innocent people, leading the most decent lives, but one event in their minds might make the idea of killing inevitable. Sometimes it is pure curiosity. They want to know, to see with their own eyes the outcome of their actions. There is no remorse there, no empathy for the victim. There is also the occasion of a person who is delusional enough and wants to take matters into their hand because no one else can. Usually, they are the ones who make you question your own morals. What would I do if I were them.”

I knew all he was telling me. Cold-blooded murderers who believed that taking lives was a fun game. Who enjoyed the chase and somehow were getting high from the scent of blood, and the thought of ending a life could send their self-esteem sky high. I had met scums who would count with their hands the people they killed and their smiles were wider than the sea. My partner was killed by one of those monsters, and till that day I never felt bad for pulling the trigger and taking them down. The world was turning into a better and brighter place each time they were locked behind bars or were faced with death; the same black hooded figure that turned them on. As for the less fortunate ones, the cowardly ones, those who were raising a weapon and their entire being was shaking from fear, I pitied them. I felt sorry for them and often couldn’t decide whether our society was at fault or their own families. They weren’t demons, they were unfortunate souls who had found refuge on the wrong side. Those and the junkies were the greatest problems of our country; an infestation some would say, but who was really at fault?

I picked up my glass and tilted it against my lips. I felt its cold surface and licked the tip as all the faces of those whom I killed and convicted swirled in my mind. Some were everyday boys, with fathers who worked hard to raise them and mamas that were worried sick of their fate. Others were ruthless gangsters, no remorse there. And then a name took over my thoughts. A tight knot formed in my throat. I tried to calm down with some whiskey but it was no use.

“I suppose you understand what I am talking about, detective?” his piercing gaze sent a shiver throughout my body. It felt like thunder striking me one after the other. I cleared my throat. I wanted to tell him about poor Jackson Hackerville, to lift that burden off my shoulders. As I opened my mouth, as I felt my lips parting, part of myself pulled me back. It was not time. Such a confession shouldn’t be done with a stranger.

Or perhaps the stranger was a better choice than a friend?

“Mental issues. Crazy people who have no idea what wrong and right are. I know. They end up locked up in asylums and are forgotten by God” I spoke hastily. He must have understood my hesitation of answering honestly, that’s why he simply nodded off my reply and began placing the pictures back inside the folder.

“Do you believe in God, detective?”

“Don’t we all?” Religious discussions were never my thing. Everyone had the right to believe in anything and in my field of work you’d either believe in God or you would stop doing so.

“As I expected.” He chuckled and that raised my curiosity.

“Am I entertaining you, Mr. Soar?”

“I find the lack of creativity in your answers quite amusing, yes. Of course, this might be happening because we don’t know each other that well yet. You keep your truths close to your heart. You are an only child, correct?”

I rubbed my temples. “Yes. My mother was not so fond of raising a big family.”

“Ah, an unconventional type of motherhood. What about your father?”

I smirked. “You are the professional, you will tell me.”

“I am not a mind reader, detective.” He chuckled once again and straightened the sleeves of his crimson shirt.

“And I am not one of your clients, Mr. Soar. If I needed to talk about my past, I would have done it years ago. Right now, all I want is to solve this case before we find more bodies.”

“Highly unlikely.” The young man rested his arms on the table. My stare was enough for him to start explaining. “We need to learn about one another to work together. Don’t you think that it’s going to be easier this way? Like…partners?”

I avoided his look, in a childish attempt to avoid his question. I got myself into it. I even promised Charles to get to the bottom of it with Valentine’s help.

“Anyway,” he managed to see how uncomfortable I was. “Did you determine the cause of death?”

“Not yet.” I rubbed my eyes and exhaled deeply. “The bodies are currently being examined. Most likely though, it’s poisoning.”

“Merciful, humane.” He commented, sounding impressed as he nodded his head. “He didn’t want them to suffer, perhaps.”

“There was no violence in his actions. They died before getting hung up on the chandelier. What surprises me, though, is that none of them fought for their lives.”

“There would have been marks on them, am I correct?”

“Exactly. The skin holds scratches and bruises.” I began explaining. Valentine had left to the side the records and focused on me. I continued. “If I add enough pressure to hold you down, you will bruise. No chemical product can erase that. The victim can scratch the offender in an attempt of breaking free, those actions still leave marks on both bodies. All four boys had none.”

“So they trusted him.” What else could explain this?

He didn’t say anything for a while and neither did I. I knew it was going to be a difficult riddle, finding what happened to them, but no one can ever be prepared for the actual challenge.

“I need to see those bodies, detective. Do you think this is something that can be arranged?” he was eager to learn and there was no reason for me to hold him back.