Luthervamplord
09-21-2006, 09:12 AM
As I made my way up the stairs I knew it was gonna be a long night. They wouldn't call me on my anniversary without there being something worth mention; especially at this time of night.
The air is thick up here, like my mum's homemade jam. And its quiet; although not unusual for a crime scene it seem more noticable here. I've already passed several officers and not one of them spoke; just gave me that look, like a warning to brace myself. Probably just rookies straight out of the academy...
I hadn't had chance to be briefed yet so have no idea what I've been called to see but from the area I'm going take a stab at a murder scene. But why call me out to a murder investigation, there are plenty of other inspectors on duty tonight and I haven't heard any chatter on the box about any other major incidents. There's something about this one, specific to me? But what? I don't recognise the neighbourhood, and my parents live out of state. Well, no use trying to guess at what you don't know. I'll know when I get there.
Its colder up here too now; reminds me of that night.... Stop it! You can't keep following this line of thought. The monster who did that is long gone; you have to move beyond it no matter how hard that is. Still, I can't shake this feeling of 'deja vu' and its getting stronger by the minute. Must be close to the scene now, but where are the on-lookers? The nosy neighbours and gawkers? Nothing about this place feels right, even for a crime scene it's too quiet. And that smell, like copper and ... fear.
I should be happy I'm not pushing my way past a large group of onlookers, staring intently at my crime scene but it unsettles me this time. The crime scene has to be pretty bad if they're keeping people this far away, but I don't see any crime scene tape or officers on patrol up here; What the hell is going on here! Calm yourself, there is no point working yourself up. The officers working this crime scene are obviously just asleep on the job. After all, with nobody up here to keep out, why waste tape?
I reach the 9th floor after what seems like hours of climbing stairs, though no more than two minutes have passed since I left my car at the door. Why am I so acutely aware of everything? As though seeing it in slow motion. Finally; another person! Maybe he can fill me on what happened here....
Before I reach the office, he turns and looks at me with a blank stare; like a man whos shutdown to deal with what he's just seen. He says not a word, just points at a door a few steps up on the right. The low level light of police standard issue torches emminates from the room, at least I won't be alone when I view the scene.
I round the edge of the door frame and step into the appartment.....
I 'awake' in my own apartment, sat at my desk with a brandy in one hand and a case file in the other. The scene flashes in my mind and I take a deep gulp of the brandy, finishing the glass. I reach for the bottle, sat next to the leg of my chair. The Bastard! Its him, it can only be him! No one else could...do those things to people. A headache takes me and the file slips from my hand onto the floor, spilling it grime contents across the cold wooden floor. Even in the poor illumination of my desk lamp, the images leap out at my eyes; crying for attention.
The crime scene was the residence of the Palter family, your standard nuclear family; Husband and Wife, both in their late thirties and two children; A boy aged twelve and a girl, only four years old. the mother was expecting, second trimestor. They even had a dog, an alsatian. All declared D.O.A by paramedics. A drunk homeless guy could have told they were dead.
The first 'corpse' I saw was the Husband; Lt Junior Grade Henry Palter, home on leave from the air core. A trained professional, he'd tried to put up a fight against his attacker. A hand print on the left forearm and forehead indicate he got fairly close to his agressor. The coroner named the cause of death as extreme traumer to the spine and cranial plate. The man was driven so hard into the wall, the cleanup crew was pulling pieces of his bone out of the wall four hours after I left the scene. Looking at the photo, it looks as though the corpse and wall are one messy object, the line obscured by the large splatter of blood that escaped from his body in the split second he hit that wall. But the worst part about the whole horror was his face; stuck forever in a wide open, cold stare; mouth open in an eternal silent scream.
We found the dog behind the sofa; the spine collumn was.... removed. The dog showed no signs of struggling; vet said it was like it knew it was in the pressence of a bigger predator that it knew it couldn't win against. The dog had simply laid there as his master was killed, and then the intruder had attacked him; just laid there and taken it.
Next was the two children, those poor little bastard. He played with them, made it into a game for his amusement; cat and mouse on a grander scale. We found multiple scratch marks across the walls and furniture where he lunged at the children. The girl had attempted to hide in the cupboard at the rear of the kitchen, the blood stains from the multiple scratches she had suffered tell us that. Two smooth holes at knee height in the door were the only signs of violence in the vecinity of her corpse. She had been looking through the grating, looking out for her attacker or her brother; and he had put her eyes out, killing her instantly due to shock. We can only summerise that he used his finger, as there are no tool marks and nothing was found at the scene that matches the hole size.
We found the boy in the oven, corener reckoned he'd been in there for two to three hours. The sick thing about it was that when an officer arrived on the scene the timer on the oven had gone off; the bastard knew how long it would take for someone to report the accident. The child had been folded over to fit in the oven, but had still been alive when his murder had turned on the oven. Like a sick joke, police found a cookbook ontop of the work counter; opened to a section titled 'How to Cook the Perfect Turkey'.
We found the mother in the master bedroom, lying on the bed; of all the corpses her's was the cleanest. In fact officers on the scene had attempted to wake her as they thought she had been sleeping. Corener's report states the cause of death as 'extreme loss of blood through two puncture wounds on the neck. Possibly an animal bite.'. What the report fails to mention is that less than a pint was found in the women, and yet not one drop of blood was found in the bedroom or on the bedsheets.
Rubbing my eyes, I reach for the gun I have in a hostle at my hip; just to make sure it's still there. If it is him, I'll soon need it. I know this guys M.O, been following him since I joined the force; in fact he's the reason I joined. My father was a police inspector too, had been following a particularly saddistic bastard he's entire career; claims the guy was sort of our families arch enemy. I didn't realise what he meant until I joined up. One night my father was reviewing a case file at home when the bastard decided to take him out. The sick f**k was after the file; wanted to see the appraisal of his work, didn't even give a damn about my father. My mum woke up the next day to find my dad sat in his chair, this chair as a matter of fact. He had a single, thin red line running across his neck. No sign of struggle, he had died instantly. I can still picture his face, eteched in my memory like a promise; this will not be me.
I have a son of my own, he's a fine strapping kid. Smart and strong willed; he'd make a great cop. But I don't want this life for him; the late nights and drinking problems are no life for my son. My wife; she's so strong for me but even she is afraid of me now, so strongly has the need to catch this sick son of gun dripped me that we don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. I don't blame her, I'm dead inside and will be until I get this guy in a maximum security cell.
I hear a sound behind me; like someone taking a deep breath, and I know he's.........
I love this family, they never fail to bring me the best photographs. And they always seem to father a son before I tire of them; a good family alround. I've been using this family now for several generations, and they have never disappointed me. The son is young, has much time to grow, to learn the hate that will make him seek me; to follow his father. I shall give him this time; I have others I can call on in the meantime......
The air is thick up here, like my mum's homemade jam. And its quiet; although not unusual for a crime scene it seem more noticable here. I've already passed several officers and not one of them spoke; just gave me that look, like a warning to brace myself. Probably just rookies straight out of the academy...
I hadn't had chance to be briefed yet so have no idea what I've been called to see but from the area I'm going take a stab at a murder scene. But why call me out to a murder investigation, there are plenty of other inspectors on duty tonight and I haven't heard any chatter on the box about any other major incidents. There's something about this one, specific to me? But what? I don't recognise the neighbourhood, and my parents live out of state. Well, no use trying to guess at what you don't know. I'll know when I get there.
Its colder up here too now; reminds me of that night.... Stop it! You can't keep following this line of thought. The monster who did that is long gone; you have to move beyond it no matter how hard that is. Still, I can't shake this feeling of 'deja vu' and its getting stronger by the minute. Must be close to the scene now, but where are the on-lookers? The nosy neighbours and gawkers? Nothing about this place feels right, even for a crime scene it's too quiet. And that smell, like copper and ... fear.
I should be happy I'm not pushing my way past a large group of onlookers, staring intently at my crime scene but it unsettles me this time. The crime scene has to be pretty bad if they're keeping people this far away, but I don't see any crime scene tape or officers on patrol up here; What the hell is going on here! Calm yourself, there is no point working yourself up. The officers working this crime scene are obviously just asleep on the job. After all, with nobody up here to keep out, why waste tape?
I reach the 9th floor after what seems like hours of climbing stairs, though no more than two minutes have passed since I left my car at the door. Why am I so acutely aware of everything? As though seeing it in slow motion. Finally; another person! Maybe he can fill me on what happened here....
Before I reach the office, he turns and looks at me with a blank stare; like a man whos shutdown to deal with what he's just seen. He says not a word, just points at a door a few steps up on the right. The low level light of police standard issue torches emminates from the room, at least I won't be alone when I view the scene.
I round the edge of the door frame and step into the appartment.....
I 'awake' in my own apartment, sat at my desk with a brandy in one hand and a case file in the other. The scene flashes in my mind and I take a deep gulp of the brandy, finishing the glass. I reach for the bottle, sat next to the leg of my chair. The Bastard! Its him, it can only be him! No one else could...do those things to people. A headache takes me and the file slips from my hand onto the floor, spilling it grime contents across the cold wooden floor. Even in the poor illumination of my desk lamp, the images leap out at my eyes; crying for attention.
The crime scene was the residence of the Palter family, your standard nuclear family; Husband and Wife, both in their late thirties and two children; A boy aged twelve and a girl, only four years old. the mother was expecting, second trimestor. They even had a dog, an alsatian. All declared D.O.A by paramedics. A drunk homeless guy could have told they were dead.
The first 'corpse' I saw was the Husband; Lt Junior Grade Henry Palter, home on leave from the air core. A trained professional, he'd tried to put up a fight against his attacker. A hand print on the left forearm and forehead indicate he got fairly close to his agressor. The coroner named the cause of death as extreme traumer to the spine and cranial plate. The man was driven so hard into the wall, the cleanup crew was pulling pieces of his bone out of the wall four hours after I left the scene. Looking at the photo, it looks as though the corpse and wall are one messy object, the line obscured by the large splatter of blood that escaped from his body in the split second he hit that wall. But the worst part about the whole horror was his face; stuck forever in a wide open, cold stare; mouth open in an eternal silent scream.
We found the dog behind the sofa; the spine collumn was.... removed. The dog showed no signs of struggling; vet said it was like it knew it was in the pressence of a bigger predator that it knew it couldn't win against. The dog had simply laid there as his master was killed, and then the intruder had attacked him; just laid there and taken it.
Next was the two children, those poor little bastard. He played with them, made it into a game for his amusement; cat and mouse on a grander scale. We found multiple scratch marks across the walls and furniture where he lunged at the children. The girl had attempted to hide in the cupboard at the rear of the kitchen, the blood stains from the multiple scratches she had suffered tell us that. Two smooth holes at knee height in the door were the only signs of violence in the vecinity of her corpse. She had been looking through the grating, looking out for her attacker or her brother; and he had put her eyes out, killing her instantly due to shock. We can only summerise that he used his finger, as there are no tool marks and nothing was found at the scene that matches the hole size.
We found the boy in the oven, corener reckoned he'd been in there for two to three hours. The sick thing about it was that when an officer arrived on the scene the timer on the oven had gone off; the bastard knew how long it would take for someone to report the accident. The child had been folded over to fit in the oven, but had still been alive when his murder had turned on the oven. Like a sick joke, police found a cookbook ontop of the work counter; opened to a section titled 'How to Cook the Perfect Turkey'.
We found the mother in the master bedroom, lying on the bed; of all the corpses her's was the cleanest. In fact officers on the scene had attempted to wake her as they thought she had been sleeping. Corener's report states the cause of death as 'extreme loss of blood through two puncture wounds on the neck. Possibly an animal bite.'. What the report fails to mention is that less than a pint was found in the women, and yet not one drop of blood was found in the bedroom or on the bedsheets.
Rubbing my eyes, I reach for the gun I have in a hostle at my hip; just to make sure it's still there. If it is him, I'll soon need it. I know this guys M.O, been following him since I joined the force; in fact he's the reason I joined. My father was a police inspector too, had been following a particularly saddistic bastard he's entire career; claims the guy was sort of our families arch enemy. I didn't realise what he meant until I joined up. One night my father was reviewing a case file at home when the bastard decided to take him out. The sick f**k was after the file; wanted to see the appraisal of his work, didn't even give a damn about my father. My mum woke up the next day to find my dad sat in his chair, this chair as a matter of fact. He had a single, thin red line running across his neck. No sign of struggle, he had died instantly. I can still picture his face, eteched in my memory like a promise; this will not be me.
I have a son of my own, he's a fine strapping kid. Smart and strong willed; he'd make a great cop. But I don't want this life for him; the late nights and drinking problems are no life for my son. My wife; she's so strong for me but even she is afraid of me now, so strongly has the need to catch this sick son of gun dripped me that we don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. I don't blame her, I'm dead inside and will be until I get this guy in a maximum security cell.
I hear a sound behind me; like someone taking a deep breath, and I know he's.........
I love this family, they never fail to bring me the best photographs. And they always seem to father a son before I tire of them; a good family alround. I've been using this family now for several generations, and they have never disappointed me. The son is young, has much time to grow, to learn the hate that will make him seek me; to follow his father. I shall give him this time; I have others I can call on in the meantime......