David Daugherty, Head Detective of Jefferson Law

I had been chasing this man for months.

Years, even.

It had been going on for so long, I lost track of time.

;

I had been living in my office, drinking water from water bottles and eating my coworkers' food.

They slipped it in through the little mail slot in my door.

I slept on my desk chair, and only when I was tired. Which wasn’t often, on account of the excitement of my case.

;

I hadn’t seen my family in months, maybe even years.

Again, I don’t know what day it is.

I’ve forgotten what my wife looks like, what my kids look like.

I don’t remember they’re names.

;

I’m skinny, and I stink. My shirt is loose. My pants would slide down if not for my belt.

This all fit long ago.

;

All four walls of my office are covered in photos, maps, files, names.

Red strings are pinned across the walls, making a bright spiderweb that I see everyday.

Every.

Single.

Day.

;

My coworkers say “David, are you okay?”

I respond with silence, scurrying around the room. They probably think I’m dead.

I feel it.

;

I haven’t seen sunlight.

I haven’t had fresh air.

My office is hot.

It’s dark too.

;

But, no, I am not obsessing.

Because, after months (or as I have pointed out, probably years) of living in my office, putting a case over my own health and well being, I have done it.

;

This morning, I finally unlocked my office door. My coworkers turned to the sound, then held their noses at the smell.

I have a beard now. And long hair. I’m skinny and malnourished.

With a gravelly voice I haven’t used in forever, I speak.

“Hello, everyone,” I cough out, then breathe in. “I have solved it.”

;

Silence.

;

I speak again.

“However long ago, our boss assigned me a case. A supposed serial killer was running through the streets, killing with no obvious pattern; Am I correct?”

Scattered nods.

;

“I didn’t understand the weight of my case until about a month after. One of our own, Aaron King, was killed. I asked for an autopsy report, and that’s when I found something that stayed the same: How the killer killed.”

I could feel the wheels turn.

;

“The report said that Aaron had multiple limbs missing: his arms, legs, and head. They only found out it was Aaron because his company ID was found 4 feet from his body. Exactly 4 feet. Another 4 feet from his ID was Aaron’s arms. The fingers were cut off, 2 inches apart from his hand. 4 feet after that, Aaron’s legs. The toes were also cut off, also with an inch apart.”

;

“This was when I concluded something. After further research, I realized that every one of his victims had the exact same thing happen. They were also found in the exact same place. The same alleyway and the exact spot. The chalk outline had happened so much, there were divots in the ground.”

;

“That was when I realized that our killer had to have OCD. My sister, Helen, has OCD. She is obsessed with even numbers, especially the number 4. She takes four bites of food, has to click each foot four times on the ground, and hits her fingers against her arm four times. Our killer has killed 44 people, exactly even. After going over hospital records, I only found 5 people who have confirmed OCD.”

;

“They are Pearl Owens, Bessie Campbell, Ezekiel Yodor, Robert Cane, and Helen Matthews.”

;

“Um, sir, we already figured-”

I shushed the blonde coworker, saying “Wait.”

;

“I set to work immediately. I referenced, then cross-referenced, then crossed that cross-reference. I scratched out Helen, my sister, because it couldn’t be her-”

“But sir-”

“Ma’am, please stop interrupting me.”

;

“Next, I had to check what symptoms each person had. In my findings, I discovered that Ezekiel had a strange symptom where he obsessed over the smell of cleaning products. All of his little wallflower things smelled of cleaning supplies, so I knew it couldn’t be him. The other three (Mrs. Owens, Ms. Campbell, and Mr. Cane) all had some sort of number or measuring fixation. Strange to have 3 suspects all have the same obsession, but I ignored that.”

“Sir, don’t you mean four-”

“Oh my gosh, is she a new hire or something?”

“Sir, she has been here for a year.”

“Oh. Well, I must have been in my office that long. Whatever, can I continue? Without  any distractions? Thank you.”

;

“Where was I, oh, yes, I remember. I could tell I was nearing the serial mass murderer, but I wasn’t sure who it was. It could have been Pearl, Bessie, or Robert, or possibly all three, but this was clearly a 1 person job. So, I hunted for alibis. They each had strong alibis, but I finally got it. Just a few days ago (I presume), I was sitting on the floor, eating a stale slice of bread I had been saving from a few weeks ago.  I hadn’t gotten food in about 2 weeks, so I started stocking what I had and writing it down on a sheet of paper so I knew how long until I got hungry.”

“Sorry, sir, we thought you had died.”

“It’s fine. Anyway, while I was eating my bread and crossing off one of the tally marks for bread, I had an idea. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t looking close enough. I drew inspiration from the bread, since on the outside it looked like a regular piece of bread, but the inside was hard and gross. So, I stood and walked to my computer, looking up the file I had acquired, which included the interviews of each suspect.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but the culprit is already in jail-”

“Okay, can we put her in another room?”

“No, sir.”

“Ugh…”

;

“So, I looked in the files and discovered a new update on the file of Pearl Owens. That’s when I found out: Pearl had been murdered by the serial killer! Obviously, that crossed her out. The reports were still coming and someone can’t kill when they themselves are dead. So, I moved on to the other files, and found out that Bessie Campbell had been murdered too. Same way, same place (later found out same time) and I realized that that left me one suspect.”

“Two suspects, sir, if you count Hel-”

“Ugh, what is your name, ma’am?”

“Um, Margaret Pearson, but-”

“And how long have you been working here?”

“Well, a little over a year, but-”

“And how long have I worked here?”

“Um, I am not sure, sir.”

“30-”

“35.”

“Oh, thanks Gary, 35 years. I think I know what I'm doing.”

“Yes sir.”

;

“Anyway, like I said, I had one suspect left: Robert Cane. I did a little double, triple, and quadruple checking, but today I decided I had enough evidence to incarcerate him. So, I would like-”

“Um, sir-”

“What is it!”

“Uh, I just got a call-”

“What, from the annoying agency? Cause that’s all you’ve been since I frickin came out of that office.”

“No, from the police.”

“What?”

“Robert Cane died. And, right after, another victim was found.”

“Oh, um-”

“Sir, I know you know what that means.”

“Uh, that he killed before he killed himself?”

“No, he was killed in the serial way. And, just like all the other victims, his head can’t be found.”

“Bu-but there are no other suspects!”

“Yes there is sir.”

“Who?”

“Helen Matthews.”

“What?”