HOME | DD

Description
Gray Area
By Alex M.

Another murder had occurred, this time near Olympia, Washington. I was on my way to the scene of the crime. I suspect it’s the work of the Ladies’ Man, a serial killer that has already killed nine women who were all young, pretty and, according to their case files, suffering from some form of depression. That was his preferred victim. I finally had something challenging to work on, since helping to identify the disembodied feet that kept washing up on the shores of Richmond in 2008 with the local police.
It was late at night, a little past 11, and the sky was covered with Washington’s gray clouds. With it came the rain. I drove through the dense forest that reached up towards the clouds. Hidden in this dark forest was a small suburban neighborhood. The place was high end; comfortable yet expensive houses. The scene of the crime was in the home of a wealthy couple. Their daughter, sadly, was the victim.
As expected, police had taken up most of the streets of the suburb. There were people, some with umbrellas, gathered around one particular house, the victim’s home. I could see some reporters and camera men from different news networks interviewing nearby neighbors. There was so much abuzz, the people didn’t mind the heavy rain falling.
I pulled up behind a police cruiser of a close colleague of mine, Officer Carl Simmons. Stepping out of my car with an umbrella in hand, I could see Carl approaching me as fast has his large legs could carry him across the marshy front lawn.
“Hey, Jordan. Glad you could make it here on such short notice,” he greeted, already huffing just from walking over.
“That’s my job,” I said, forcing a smile to mask my exhaustion. “So, who reported the murder?”
Carl pointed to a young man sitting on the veranda fronting the front entry next to two other police officers. I learned that the victim’s boyfriend, Randal Hopkins, was the one who discovered the body. Judging how deep his face was buried in his hands I could tell he was a mess. I really don’t like questioning people on the verge of tears, but I needed answers. I walked over to the officers, asking if I could talk with the witness. Soon as they gave us space, I had a chance to talk with him.
“Randal? Hi. I’m detective Sterling. I thought I might ask you some questions about what you saw.”
The young man, still sniffling, managed to look straight at me with his brown eyes bloodshot from crying.
“Yes. My girlfriend, Marianne,” said Randal in between his sobbing. “I-I took a bus from town to get here. I was out of town for a while, and I don’t own a car. I was going to surprise her today. It was her birthday.
“But when I got to the house I found the door was open. She would never leave her front door open. I stepped inside to see if she was all right. Her body was torn up! Her beautiful face was gone! Her hair, eyes, and even her breasts!”
That description of the victim seemed very grim. However, he’s got to be exaggerating this a bit. It seemed a bit much for a killing.
“Who would do such a horrible thing?” Randal bawled.
Randal sobbed some more. He wasn’t going to tell me anything else. A torn up body, I needed to see the damage myself. I needed to see the body for myself to see what was truth.
Stepping inside the house, I could sense that the others were unnerved by something. They appeared… horrified. Maybe there was some truth to what Randal was saying.
Passing down the corridors of wealth and power, I saw a familiar face, Tamara. She was the forensic specialist I’ve helped a couple of times in the past, and helped with identifying some of the mystery feet of the Northwest.
“Jordan,” Tamara said in a rather unenthusiastic manner.
“You seem glum, today. So, what’s the victim’s story?” I asked.
Tamara stared at her notes with the grimmest look on her face.
“Victim’s name, Marianne Claude. Her parents are pretty big people who are well connected in the lumber industry. They are currently on vacation in Mexico, leaving their daughter home alone.”
“So let’s say, she brings home a handsome, possibly rich, looking young man to fool around with, behind her boyfriend’s back, and that’s what gets her killed. A crazy new boyfriend.”
Tamara sighed, “Seems like it. This looks like the job was done by Jack the Ripper himself.”
“What?”
“Let’s just say, it’s not a pretty sight, Jordan,” Tamara warned me, pointing down the hallway where some policemen were gathered.
I thought little of it, and went over to look at the body. Walking down the white corridors of the house I could feel the wealth and power overwhelming my being. When I got to the room, it was currently filled with other examiners. They were dusting for prints, and taking lots of pictures around the victim’s bedroom.
The peculiar smell of metal in the air told me there was blood, and lots of it. I wanted a closer look at the body. I weaved my way through the technicians to see the body splayed out on the bed. The instant I laid eyes on it, I got Tamara’s warning.
Randal wasn’t exaggerating the details. The victim’s face, eyes and hair were missing, leaving a very fleshy skull. Her bloody chest told me her breasts were missing as well. The smell in the room upset my stomach. I needed some air. Making my way outside, I breathed in the refreshing cold air.
As I took a big breath of fresh air, Carl came running to my side to see if I was all right. He’s always been worried about his colleagues.
“Jeez, Jordan, you look a little pale. Pretty awful sight in there, huh? This doesn’t look like the work of the Ladies’ Man.”
“No kidding,” I replied, as I regained my composure. “This isn’t the work of the Ladies’ Man. This was someone else.”
From what I recall from case files, the Ladies’ Man has always killed his depressed victims and left their bodies lying in a peaceful manner; eyes shut, new white dresses devoid of any signs of blood, and not much of a scratch on them. From reports, death came from the killer’s syringe that was filled with sodium thiopental.
This crime seemed familiar like one of those crime dramas I watch on TV. This looked very much like similar killings happening across the US done by the one killer some people have dubbed the Assets Stealer because the killer did not only just take cash and jewelry he took things he liked about his victims, such as their hair. He, too, killed pretty, wealthy, young ladies but they were mutilated in some horrible manner.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” said Randal who happened to be standing nearby.
“It’s horrible, whoever did this to your girlfriend,” I managed to say, trying not to sound too sick.
Randal was quiet. I knew he was upset. Given the fact he had no real mode of transportation I offered to take him back into town in my car. There wasn’t much I could do here anyway. I would have to look into the case back at my office.
I started driving through the dark forest thicket. The ever-present grey sky above did nothing to help light our way back towards down town. I could tell the kid was still rattled about the whole ordeal. I could hear him muttering under his breath, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked.
There wasn’t an instant response. Then I could hear his breathing becoming heavier.
“What they did was cruel!” Randal yelled, slamming his fists onto my taped up glove compartment.
“Whoa. Take it easy, there.”
“Shut it!”
*Click*
Before I knew it there was a revolver aimed at my head. As if the weather wasn’t enough to chill me to the bone, the threat of death by bullet did it.
“Pull over, detective!”
I quickly did what he asked, and pulled over on the side of the road. The sound of gravel beneath my tires did nothing to calm my nerves as I came to a stop. Randal turned off my car. The lights were off. Just complete darkness surrounded us. Soon, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Unfortunately, that didn’t improve my situation.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep him calm.
“What I want… is to find whoever butchered Marianne, detective,” said Randal through clenched teeth. “I cannot allow that man to get away without cleaning up his mess.”
“Heh. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
The butt of the gun struck my head. I could feel warm blood trickle down from my forehead.
“This is not a laughing matter! That man gave her a disgusting death! I’m supposed to be the gentleman, and end her sadness, to end that life in the least disgusting manner possible. A way one can leave this world without fear of growing old.”
Now that sounded crazy. What was Randal going on about? It seemed like Randal was determined to become involved in the case. However, I felt like he was taking the death of his girlfriend a little too much, wanting to play the hero. But what did he mean by, “I’m supposed to be the gentleman”? Could he be… the Ladies’ Man?
“She deserved a better death,” Randal snarled, not even looking straight at me.
He was clearly unstable, lashing out violently. I didn’t know how to handle this situation. I never thought I’d wind up as the victim in a hostage situation. I may have helped give closure to the people whose feet washed ashore all those years ago, but this was a life or death situation. However, curiosity was getting the best of me. I needed to know more about what he was planning.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, hoping for a reply that didn’t involve me getting a bullet in my brain.
“Help me find this son of a bitch who desecrated that poor angel. I know of your work, detective. You helped identify victims and criminals alike for the police. You’re the envy of all detectives on the West Coast that no one would let you get more fame than you already have. You’re really good at what you do.”
I could see that he did his homework on me. I didn’t know what to think at that moment. Was he the real culprit? Is this just an act? On one hand, he had a gun at my face, and I want to live. On the other hand, this could be the opportunity to nail two possible killers…
“Uh, okay. I’ll help you,” I blurted out. “If that gets your fingers off that trigger, I’ll help you find this killer. I swear.”
I’m not sure if he bought it as cold sweat ran down from my head to my chest. But Randal seemed convinced. He lowered his gun. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Start the car,” he said as if nothing happened.
I reached for the key and gave it a turn. As the engine started up, a lot of things rushed through my head. Why help a criminal who is seeking justice? What’s to stop anyone from seeking their own brand of justice? It all seemed gray to me, like anything in Washington.

Description
Gray Area
By Alex M.

Another murder had occurred, this time near Olympia, Washington. I was on my way to the scene of the crime. I suspect it’s the work of the Ladies’ Man, a serial killer that has already killed nine women who were all young, pretty and, according to their case files, suffering from some form of depression. That was his preferred victim. I finally had something challenging to work on, since helping to identify the disembodied feet that kept washing up on the shores of Richmond in 2008 with the local police.
It was late at night, a little past 11, and the sky was covered with Washington’s gray clouds. With it came the rain. I drove through the dense forest that reached up towards the clouds. Hidden in this dark forest was a small suburban neighborhood. The place was high end; comfortable yet expensive houses. The scene of the crime was in the home of a wealthy couple. Their daughter, sadly, was the victim.
As expected, police had taken up most of the streets of the suburb. There were people, some with umbrellas, gathered around one particular house, the victim’s home. I could see some reporters and camera men from different news networks interviewing nearby neighbors. There was so much abuzz, the people didn’t mind the heavy rain falling.
I pulled up behind a police cruiser of a close colleague of mine, Officer Carl Simmons. Stepping out of my car with an umbrella in hand, I could see Carl approaching me as fast has his large legs could carry him across the marshy front lawn.
“Hey, Jordan. Glad you could make it here on such short notice,” he greeted, already huffing just from walking over.
“That’s my job,” I said, forcing a smile to mask my exhaustion. “So, who reported the murder?”
Carl pointed to a young man sitting on the veranda fronting the front entry next to two other police officers. I learned that the victim’s boyfriend, Randal Hopkins, was the one who discovered the body. Judging how deep his face was buried in his hands I could tell he was a mess. I really don’t like questioning people on the verge of tears, but I needed answers. I walked over to the officers, asking if I could talk with the witness. Soon as they gave us space, I had a chance to talk with him.
“Randal? Hi. I’m detective Sterling. I thought I might ask you some questions about what you saw.”
The young man, still sniffling, managed to look straight at me with his brown eyes bloodshot from crying.
“Yes. My girlfriend, Marianne,” said Randal in between his sobbing. “I-I took a bus from town to get here. I was out of town for a while, and I don’t own a car. I was going to surprise her today. It was her birthday.
“But when I got to the house I found the door was open. She would never leave her front door open. I stepped inside to see if she was all right. Her body was torn up! Her beautiful face was gone! Her hair, eyes, and even her breasts!”
That description of the victim seemed very grim. However, he’s got to be exaggerating this a bit. It seemed a bit much for a killing.
“Who would do such a horrible thing?” Randal bawled.
Randal sobbed some more. He wasn’t going to tell me anything else. A torn up body, I needed to see the damage myself. I needed to see the body for myself to see what was truth.
Stepping inside the house, I could sense that the others were unnerved by something. They appeared… horrified. Maybe there was some truth to what Randal was saying.
Passing down the corridors of wealth and power, I saw a familiar face, Tamara. She was the forensic specialist I’ve helped a couple of times in the past, and helped with identifying some of the mystery feet of the Northwest.
“Jordan,” Tamara said in a rather unenthusiastic manner.
“You seem glum, today. So, what’s the victim’s story?” I asked.
Tamara stared at her notes with the grimmest look on her face.
“Victim’s name, Marianne Claude. Her parents are pretty big people who are well connected in the lumber industry. They are currently on vacation in Mexico, leaving their daughter home alone.”
“So let’s say, she brings home a handsome, possibly rich, looking young man to fool around with, behind her boyfriend’s back, and that’s what gets her killed. A crazy new boyfriend.”
Tamara sighed, “Seems like it. This looks like the job was done by Jack the Ripper himself.”
“What?”
“Let’s just say, it’s not a pretty sight, Jordan,” Tamara warned me, pointing down the hallway where some policemen were gathered.
I thought little of it, and went over to look at the body. Walking down the white corridors of the house I could feel the wealth and power overwhelming my being. When I got to the room, it was currently filled with other examiners. They were dusting for prints, and taking lots of pictures around the victim’s bedroom.
The peculiar smell of metal in the air told me there was blood, and lots of it. I wanted a closer look at the body. I weaved my way through the technicians to see the body splayed out on the bed. The instant I laid eyes on it, I got Tamara’s warning.
Randal wasn’t exaggerating the details. The victim’s face, eyes and hair were missing, leaving a very fleshy skull. Her bloody chest told me her breasts were missing as well. The smell in the room upset my stomach. I needed some air. Making my way outside, I breathed in the refreshing cold air.
As I took a big breath of fresh air, Carl came running to my side to see if I was all right. He’s always been worried about his colleagues.
“Jeez, Jordan, you look a little pale. Pretty awful sight in there, huh? This doesn’t look like the work of the Ladies’ Man.”
“No kidding,” I replied, as I regained my composure. “This isn’t the work of the Ladies’ Man. This was someone else.”
From what I recall from case files, the Ladies’ Man has always killed his depressed victims and left their bodies lying in a peaceful manner; eyes shut, new white dresses devoid of any signs of blood, and not much of a scratch on them. From reports, death came from the killer’s syringe that was filled with sodium thiopental.
This crime seemed familiar like one of those crime dramas I watch on TV. This looked very much like similar killings happening across the US done by the one killer some people have dubbed the Assets Stealer because the killer did not only just take cash and jewelry he took things he liked about his victims, such as their hair. He, too, killed pretty, wealthy, young ladies but they were mutilated in some horrible manner.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” said Randal who happened to be standing nearby.
“It’s horrible, whoever did this to your girlfriend,” I managed to say, trying not to sound too sick.
Randal was quiet. I knew he was upset. Given the fact he had no real mode of transportation I offered to take him back into town in my car. There wasn’t much I could do here anyway. I would have to look into the case back at my office.
I started driving through the dark forest thicket. The ever-present grey sky above did nothing to help light our way back towards down town. I could tell the kid was still rattled about the whole ordeal. I could hear him muttering under his breath, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked.
There wasn’t an instant response. Then I could hear his breathing becoming heavier.
“What they did was cruel!” Randal yelled, slamming his fists onto my taped up glove compartment.
“Whoa. Take it easy, there.”
“Shut it!”
*Click*
Before I knew it there was a revolver aimed at my head. As if the weather wasn’t enough to chill me to the bone, the threat of death by bullet did it.
“Pull over, detective!”
I quickly did what he asked, and pulled over on the side of the road. The sound of gravel beneath my tires did nothing to calm my nerves as I came to a stop. Randal turned off my car. The lights were off. Just complete darkness surrounded us. Soon, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Unfortunately, that didn’t improve my situation.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep him calm.
“What I want… is to find whoever butchered Marianne, detective,” said Randal through clenched teeth. “I cannot allow that man to get away without cleaning up his mess.”
“Heh. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
The butt of the gun struck my head. I could feel warm blood trickle down from my forehead.
“This is not a laughing matter! That man gave her a disgusting death! I’m supposed to be the gentleman, and end her sadness, to end that life in the least disgusting manner possible. A way one can leave this world without fear of growing old.”
Now that sounded crazy. What was Randal going on about? It seemed like Randal was determined to become involved in the case. However, I felt like he was taking the death of his girlfriend a little too much, wanting to play the hero. But what did he mean by, “I’m supposed to be the gentleman”? Could he be… the Ladies’ Man?
“She deserved a better death,” Randal snarled, not even looking straight at me.
He was clearly unstable, lashing out violently. I didn’t know how to handle this situation. I never thought I’d wind up as the victim in a hostage situation. I may have helped give closure to the people whose feet washed ashore all those years ago, but this was a life or death situation. However, curiosity was getting the best of me. I needed to know more about what he was planning.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, hoping for a reply that didn’t involve me getting a bullet in my brain.
“Help me find this son of a bitch who desecrated that poor angel. I know of your work, detective. You helped identify victims and criminals alike for the police. You’re the envy of all detectives on the West Coast that no one would let you get more fame than you already have. You’re really good at what you do.”
I could see that he did his homework on me. I didn’t know what to think at that moment. Was he the real culprit? Is this just an act? On one hand, he had a gun at my face, and I want to live. On the other hand, this could be the opportunity to nail two possible killers…
“Uh, okay. I’ll help you,” I blurted out. “If that gets your fingers off that trigger, I’ll help you find this killer. I swear.”
I’m not sure if he bought it as cold sweat ran down from my head to my chest. But Randal seemed convinced. He lowered his gun. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Start the car,” he said as if nothing happened.
I reached for the key and gave it a turn. As the engine started up, a lot of things rushed through my head. Why help a criminal who is seeking justice? What’s to stop anyone from seeking their own brand of justice? It all seemed gray to me, like anything in Washington.