Autopsy of a Mind

The rites came to an end and the people all flocked to Patrick's parents one by one. Words of grieve, how sorry they were, and all the social niceties were spewed. Nash and I waited until the end. I saw a group of children approaching her parents and the mother gave them a watery smile. 

I didn't hear what they were saying but I saw her smile drop and she glanced towards the coffin. It was a closed casket, so I didn't know why she was glancing back.

A few weeks go by and I look over the files over and over again. The drive to crime scenes and back, I couldn't help but go over all the faces I had seen.

"I just can't figure it out!" I exclaimed as I sat beside Sebastian on the bed. He was leaning against the headboard and browsing through a file.

"Tell me why you are feeling this way," he looked up and asked me. "Tell me about your reasoning. I trust your gut but you need to understand why you are feeling that way."

I processed my thought for a bit and gave him the facts. "The site where the body was found was not dusty enough to cause an asthma attack. Even if it did, it wouldn't be so severe as to incapacitate him. Moreover, he has no prior record of respiratory diseases." Sebastian nodded. 

"What else?" 

"I have been reading up on forensic sciences and... if someone strangled the victim gradually, there wouldn't be proper signs of strangulation or any type of force. On a child, it would be easier." 

"Good. That's a great point. Then tell me. What do you think happened?" his eyes were glowing. 

"It was someone the child knew. Someone who took him into that house in broad daylight and didn't cause others to even notice. There were no signs of struggle so they probably told him it was a game or something and then strangled him."

Sebastian's eyes flickered with emotion. "That is a good scene. Any suspects?" he asked. 

"None. I couldn't think of a single person. I first thought it was one of the parents, but I closely watched them. Their emotions couldn't be faked. Furthermore, in cases of child abuse and homicides, the methods are rather different. They usually don't strangle a child above the age of two. Usually, children who die at the hand of their parents have prior marks of abuse on their bodies." 

"You can't exclude that," Sebastian said softly. 

"I am sure because they let us perform an autopsy. A normal person doesn't know how advanced the police are. And they wouldn't be conscious enough to not leave marks. Then..." I just couldn't tie it together. 

"Who do you doubt, then?" he asked. 

I glared at him. He wasn't helping me at all. "Someone who was present at the scene. It wasn't accidental. If it had been, they would have called for help... or panicked and done something to hide the body. They didn't hide it. So, they were looking forward to their crime coming to light. They wanted to see first-hand how everyone reacted to what they had done."

"Good. You are on the right track." He smiled. 

"Why aren't you helping me?" I asked incredulously. 

"You haven't needed my help in the past two months, Evie. I am not going to start helping you now that you are independently solving every crime that comes your way. You have to be proud of how capable you are." I rolled my eyes. 

"I could figure this out if I talked to you. Give me a clue!" I asked. 

He chuckled. "Evie, I wasn't there at the scene. I can't tell you what happened. You were the one who saw everything. Dive back into your memories and find the people who looked suspicious to you. You are good at recognizing intent, remember?" 

I hissed as I dropped onto the bed. 

"Who could it be..." I kept thinking but no answer came to me. 

The next evening, another boy was found. It was in the same neighborhood. 

As we drove, I looked over to Nash. "I told you. It wasn't an accidental death or some freak disease. These are murders and by the look of it, serial murders." I looked out of the window. The street was still buzzing with activity. Like none of them saw what was happening in their community. There was a killer hiding in plain sight and I couldn't tell who it was. 

This time, it was in the shed of someone's house. The old lady who owned the house never went to her shed. Kids would often play in her yard, so she never thought much about anything. She hadn't seen anyone come or go but a teenage couple who had sneaked into the shed had found the boy, lifeless.

I knelt down beside the boy and looked at his lifeless, pale face. 

"It's a serial killer," Nash confirmed. "This shed is clean but still this boy is dead without a visible cause. If I guess properly, he died from a lack of oxygen, as well." The same medical practitioner came in and a look of grief passed over her head. 

She opened the mouth of the little boy, crossing her hand in prayer. "Definitely choked to death." The tongue was proof. Same as before. Only, this time, there was a marked difference. 

When she looked under the clothes, we saw blade marks. Initials. 

"It's a signature," I said under my breath. I squinted as I tried to figure it out. "CM," I read. The marks were so poorly done that it was hard to tell. 

"Hesitation marks and signs of ineptitude. This person has never used a blade. From what I can see, it is a blade from razors or something similar. Very easily accessible and sharp." The thin lines looked much like self-inflicted wounds apart from the depth of the cuts. Self-inflicted wounds were a little deeper because of the intention. 

"Definitely a shaving blade from a razor," I commented. "They didn't know how much pressure to apply either." Odd. "Like they have never used one before." My mind worked. 

"There's more," she said in horror. She pointed towards the pants and I finally noticed. Small stains of blood. Heaven forbid. 

I looked away as she checked. 

"Well, this is definitely not an accidental death," Nash groaned. "We have a budding serial killer on our hands. One that has just started to experiment with killing."

"Do you think they are developing a fantasy?" Which one? An attempt to mutilate the little boy's genital was made. Sexual deviance. Trauma. What was this killer reliving?

"Well, if we go by textbook, it is someone who has suffered sexual trauma... possibly in their childhood. They have a marked distaste for men, but a morbid curiosity as well." He pointed towards the lack of intention. "They were interrupted by something as well."

"So, by re-enacting their trauma, they are finally taking back the control that they lost?" I finished, albeit it sounded like a question. 

"Yes," Nash admitted. 

"The killer is going to watch us. He or she will see every moment of when we find. The initials... it means that they want to be caught. A signature like this is too pronounced," I commented. 

"Or it is an alias. It could mean something else, too, you know?" Something told me that it didn't. There was a lack of thought in the technique and I dared to say that this killer hadn't refined their art. Therefore, they were new to the idea of killing. Trauma aside, they seemed to lack in intellect, killing people in broad daylight and being interrupted. 

It just didn't scream like they were trying to get caught... no, this was about control. This was about a lack of control. Not that it narrowed down anything. 

"They definitely live in the neighborhood," I said. 

"And it is someone no one would expect to kill people." Nash looked around. We came out of the shed and the practitioner remained inside, sampling every surface.

I walked out and looked around. Patrick's parents were there and they looked horrified. They saw me and looked like they wanted to talk to me. Old people, middle-aged people, kids... There were plenty. Familiar faces? All of them.

Except for one. The expression was odd. She was smiling and staring at me. I walked over to Patrick's parents but kept my eyes on her.

"How have you been doing?" I asked. 

"Thank you for coming to the funeral. I wasn't feeling well towards the end, so I couldn't send you off." I bowed. 

"I am sorry I couldn't give better answers to both of you," I told them. I felt terribly guilty.

"Please don't say that. You tried your best." Both the parents asked about what had happened and I told them no details apart from an injured boy. "Are they terribly hurt?" they asked, their eyes watering. 

I didn't answer. They were luckier. Their boy had been pristine even in death. This child, not so much. "Do you know her?" I pointed towards the girl in front. 

"Carol?" Patrick's mother asked. "The one with the blonde hair?" I nodded. "Yes, she's Marie's daughter. She's an angel," she said. 

Is she now. "Yeah, I saw her at the funeral," I told her. "What's her full name?" 

"Carol Myers," she said, confused. "She's an obedient girl who helps everyone out."

So, I had concentrated on the right person. Now, I had to talk to her. No, I had to make her come to me. The question was... how.