Art Has No Morality (Phoebus x ChocolateStrawberry)

"You can't be serious..."

"The sicko got away with another one, hm?"

"He's getting more bold, sir. This one is right inside the door."

The red and blue lights raped the night air, signaling distress against the otherwise gray city. A heavy overcast shielded the stars from the grizzly sight. The rubbery stench of burnt flesh clung to the air, as the thick fog had. A troupe of police officers stood around a mass of flesh.

The body was feminine, and in her prime. Cut from the torso, entrails and spine spilled out from the corpse onto the cold pavement. They eyes had been gouged, leaving nothing more than a bloody hole in their wake. The assailant had, however, left two glowing LED's in the sockets. Her mouth was forced in an unnatural position, of unimaginable pain. Her hands were bound to one another, a forced prayer. The binding was a simple rosary,

Perhaps most gruesome of all were the wings on her back. Thin slices of muscular tissue was sliced from an unknown place. It was obvious that her legs had been used as the supporting bones of the structure. The meaty tendrils that clung to the bones were scorched. The body rest on a bed of feathers, black in color.

"Any clues on this one?"

"Of course not. We're not even sure where this girl came from."

The man, who was last to approach, sighed, looking down at the body. A quivering hand lifted a cigarette to pursed lips. A wisp of smoke curled in the air as he sighed, looking to the men. "That damnedable director harpie isn't down here, is she?"

The 'damnable director harpie' was down there. Ellie Klien double-checked the lighting as she pointed to where she wanted her cameraman to shoot. As sick as it sounded, this serial killer was teh best thing to happen to her. This was her big break! No more boring documentaries about flowers or nature. No, this was her ticket to the big times. A chance to get her name recognized.

"Are we rolling," she asked, straigtening the jacket of her suit. At the nod, she smiled. Speaking to the camera, she said, "As another body is found, the police are baffled. This crazed killer's motive has yet to be discovered. All that is left of his victims is an artfully posed body in the worst condition. Now, we can't show you the body, but believe me, it's nasty."

She looked up as the lastest police to arrive came over to her. "Ma'am, you are not allowed to film here. We've told you that before."

"I've got permission from your captain," she said, pulling out the written note. "Besides, you use my film, so think of it as a free service." Ellie wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to actually air her footage, but she'd try. What she really wanted was to get a chance to interview this sicko, to do what no other documentary has done before - talk to the killer before they went behind bars.

She made sure her blonde hair was still up in the prim bun she wore and continued, "This is the third body in nearly as many months. By now, this is officially classified as a serial killing. The city trembles at night while this killer -" She was cut off as the police decided to forcefully escort her out. "You can't get rid of me that easily! I have a job to do! I'll be back!" She hated it when they pulled the old red tape on her. She'd get this story if it killed her.

Turning to her crew, she sighed. "Come on. We can get some overhead shots or something." It was that detective's fault. He didn't like her, she knew that. Something about putting herself in danger, going where she wasn't supposed to, should stick to flowers, blah, blah, blah.

Maxwell von Maron was on the phone immediately with the hotel just across the street.. "Yes... Yes that's what I said. You give us 4 rooms, and use of the roof, and we'll give you credit, and full price of the room. We only need them for a few hours." He was an unremarkable man, of average looks. His eyes, a dull shade of gray, were permanently forced into a far-off gaze of perpetual boredom. His dark brown hair was drawn back, a thin gloss of pomade to hold it in it's place. He was dressed just as sharp as Ellie; setting the duo apart from the rest of the crew. He had to be. Maxwell worked as the logic behind the film. He was in charge of numbers, coordinating schedules, and making sure everything was in place.

"This shot is vi... I understand your concern... Fine, double it." His hand went to work on a small notebook, brow furrowed. He sighed, directing the camera men inside. "407, 1306, and 1211. Get going."

Maxwell approached Ellie, as the officer released her. "Your crew is in position. We have 3 vantage points, and police coverage on the ground. Don't ask me how I pulled that one off... he said, as he walked along side Ellie. He had only been with the production a little more than a month. However, he wanted to make an impression early. In the interview, he had told Ellie that he had a feeling on the project, and insisted that she take him aboard. He had been doing his best to live up to a promise he made her on their first meeting; make her life easier, both on set, and in life. Maxwell had also taken on the role of her assistant. He had her schedule worked out perfectly, give Ellie plenty of down time.

"I'm already on the phone with the museum, to see if we can get their footage."

Ellie jerked her arm away from the officer and smiled at Max. "Max, you are a life saver! Whatever you did, you have my full support." She was glad she had hired him. It took some convincing for her to get a personal assistant, but he was worth every penny. Seeing her despised detective walk out to make sure she left, she linked arms with Max. She could be reading him all wrong, but reality was all about perception.

"Okay, I want to know the second you get the museum footage," she said softly as they walked into the hotel. "And, as a personal favor to me, see if you can't dig up any dirt on Detective Stick-up-his-ass." She gave Max's arm a friendly squeeze and went up the roof. She knew her crew knew what to do, but she had to make sure everything was perfect.

Getting up on the roof, and knowing she wouldn't be in any shots, she took off her jacket. Underneath, she wore a very prim button-up shirt that made her look like a librarian in her mind. "Okay, we have the angles I want," she said, mostly to herself. "Do a sweep of the street, think like the killer would in approaching the museum. Oh, and if you can, try to zoom in on the windows. A few good mood shots would really make this thing."

Ellie couldn't help but smile. So far, this was working out great. Now, if only she could get in contact with the killer. She'd have to continue to play nice with the captain, in case the killer contacted the police. Knowing her luck, he'd contact some big news station before ever thinking of her.

He stood behind her, taking her jacket. The cloth was slung over a rail, as he took note of her words. Jotting them down, he nodded softly, silently agreeing with her statements. "We do have the hand held camera, you know. We could take some footage through the killer's eyes." Maxwell pulled a small camera from his pocket, offering it to her.

A buzzing came from his pocket. His phone. He snatched it from the depths of his pocket, turning his back to answer. "Yes? ....Perfect. Forward it to my e-mail. Thank you." He turned back to Ellie. "I've got your footage. And don't ask how." His voice rarely changed pitch, or tone. It was the same, no matter the news escaping his lips. His words were cool, and stated simply. "The first view said that this could be the one that puts a face to the killer."

Maxwell offered a small smile to this, knowing how much this news would mean to her. The smile was cut quickly, as he went back to his phone, calling the camera men, and giving them their instructions, stepping just a few feet away.

"As soon as we can get in without all those police, we'll do the shot through the killer's eyes," Ellie said. She tapped her fingers on the railing as she studied the police. Frankly, she thought they were useless. They had nothing, and they never let her close enough to get anything. "I wonder if you can sneak in and get the footage before they realize you're there," she mused, looking over at Max.

When his phone rang, she turned her attention back to the street. Her dark eyes followed the road as she tried to figure out how this guy would have brought his victim to the museum. Did he lure them there? Did he kidnap from one place and bring them in? If so, how?

"I've got your footage. And don't ask how. The first view said that this could be the one that puts a face to the killer."

Max's words penetrated Ellie's thoughts. This was perfect! She could have hugged Max for that. "Max, darling, I don't care if you had to sell your soul or mine to get it, thank you."
She grabbed her jacket from the railing. "Let's go see the footage. Hopefully, we got it before the police did. This would really help us out." She called one of the rooms the crew was stationed in and told them to take a break. She'd use it as a private room to see this holy grail of documentaries. Ellie was fairly tingling with excitement as she led Max to the room.

He walked closely behind her. His eyes lingered on the crew as they walked out. He nodded to each one, almost taking inventory of them, as they left. Maxwell's head poked out of the room, watching them turn the corner. A slight smile took his lips, as he closed the door behind him.

There was a laptop already set up in the room. Maxwell grabbed a chair, against the wall of the room, and placed it next to him. He meant this for Ellie, having taken the seat in front of the computer. His fingertips worked quickly, logging into his e-mail account. He clicked, and beckoned her over. "It's loading now."

Silent seconds went by, as they watched the load bar grow. Maxwell watched Ellie momentarily. He seemed genuinely pleased that he had been able to get her this footage. His attention snapped back to the computer, as a blip escaped the speakers.

"It's ready..." he said, hesitating for a moment. He clicked the play button. His eyes widened a bit in shock. This wasn't the footage he thought it was. This was footage of a cheaply made camera. Grainy, and poorly light images spilled onto the screen. The alabaster form of a girl was stretched out before the pair. She was stripped down, and looked as though she was drunk, or drugged. Shadows moved over her. The victim struggled weakly, As a hand appeared, injecting something into the girl. At first, her head slumped down, as though she passed out. Then her neck became ridged, as her mouth opened.

Silence.

Maxwell attempted to turn up the sound, only receiving the crackle of static as a response. The girl's eyes rolled to the back of her head, as she exhaled. The camera lingered on her face, staring at the dying girl. Minutes slipped by, the image not moving at all. Maxwell blinked, pausing the video. "Did it freeze?" He checked the task manager, and the cpu usage. After finding both suitable, he shrugged. "It looks like this is the end of the video... just a close up on her death rattle..."

"I don't get it... This is my informant's e-mail. He couldn't be the murderer. He wouldn't make it that obvious. What are we dealing with here?" As he asked the question, a reverb blasted through the speakers. It was meant to be a whisper, coming out as a crackling mess.

"Look for the art, not the artist Ellie..." Maxwell's gaze snapped to his superior. For the first time since she's met him, fright filled his gaze.

"Look for the art, not the artist Ellie..."

Those words did more for Ellie then all the sweet talk in the world. Unlike Max, her eyes held a feverish delight. A real message from the killer! Somehow, he had noticed her. A small part of her told her she should be scared, but she pushed that aside.

"Maybe the killer knows your informant," Ellie said. She reached out and touched the screen, tracing her fingers over the image of the girl. "I doubt your informant is the killer, too. That would be too easy. No, this guy wouldn't make it that easy. He's playing a game."
She had to find him. This was an invitation. He wanted her to play. And it thrilled her like nothing else to know that the cops were clueless about this.

"Don't let the police know just yet what we've got," she said. "I want to keep this under wraps. No one but us will know for now."
Look for the art, not the artist, she thought. He meant something by that. She frowned, staring at the paused image. Did he mean for her to give up looking for him? That couldn't be it, since he wanted her to look at his work.

"Max, can you do some kind of reverse sending thing," she asked slowly. "Send a message back to the killer? Let him know, I'll give his work my utmost attention and the lines of communication are always open." She licked her lips, thinking of how great this was all working out. She'd make the both of them famous. Though, strangly, for a brief second that whispered voice sounded familiar.

Maxwell nodded softly, in response. A few clicks were heard. "No good... looks like he was able to intercept the original message, and send me this. Just like the crime scenes, he doesn't seem to have a trace here.." He rubbed his eyes softly, in frustration.

"Whoever he is, Ellie... he's good," he said, as he stood up. He took his jacket, slipping the camera back into the pocket. "Later on, I'll see if I can get some of the distortion out of the sound clip. Maybe then we can have a better lead. For now, however, I'll go ahead and shoot the footage down below."

Maxwell stopped in the door way, looking back at her. His gaze was just as flat as his tone, giving his words an almost dismissive sound to them. "You may want to consider protection... or pulling back a bit, Ellie. It would be a shame to see the person so close to catching him end up as another..." His words trailed. Maxwell left her to fill the blank. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, before he turned, vanishing into the hallway.

Ellie gave a soft smile as the door closed. That was sweet. Maxwell seemed concerned for her safety. She almost believed Max was a machine, good at his job. This made him seem...human.

"All right," she said to the empty room. "If it gets too dangerous, then I'll pull back." She would, too. She didn't want to end up as some disgusting display for the police to gawk at. For now, though, she wanted to see how far she could go.

She wasn't going to just wait around for this guy to find her, though. He wanted her to find something, and she would. Look at his work? Maybe the clue to his identity was in there? She grabbed her purse and quickly walked out. She had left the folder with the previous crime scenes in the trunk of her car. She would start with the first before looking at this one.

Ellie made her way to her car, avoiding the police across the street. She had meant to look at these pictures in her apartment, but she was feeling fired up now. She cast a quick glance at the men on the street. Could one of them be this artist?

Maxwell moved silently across the street, slipping behind police lines. His eyes darted quickly, scanning the area. He watched the scene unfold, making sure to pick up every word. He'd need to debrief Ellie later on.

"What if it's that Ellie chick?"

"How would she have dragged that fatty up the stairs? She couldn't have, that's how."

"The simple fact is...we need more of a lead... the fed's will be creeping in on us soon enough..."

Maxwell's brow raised a bit, as he kept the footage going. He moved a little closer, trying to take in more of the conversation. If the feds are in, things are going to get really tight... Information is going to be hard to keep... Ellie is going to be watched like a hawk... He continued to watch.

There was one man, though, who was silent through this entire thing. He wore a gray coat, his gaze fixated at the victim. He was a member of the cold case unit. He was the best at what he did, having a near perfect record. This, however, was the one that stumped him.

Maxwell zoomed in on this guy, and the frustration marked on his face. He watched him, taking in the aura that he exuded. Something told him that the two of them would be getting familiar.

Ellie took the folders inside the hotel, clutching them close to her heart. She knew the cops saw her, but none of them approached. Making her way back to the room, she told her camera crew that once they had the shots, they could leave. She wanted to be alone to study the pictures. Somehow, she felt that if they saw her pouring over these gruesome shots with such intensity, it might worry them.

Each crime scene seemed to follow a theme. The recent one, though she had no pictures yet, seemed to scream "Fallen Angel" to her. The way he set her up to look like her wings had molted, the rosary, the position of her hands...the victim looked like a fallen angel.

She took out a pad of paper and jotted down a few notes per theme. If she knew the reason behind the artwork, maybe she would know more about the artist.

A few hours had gone by, Maxwell's watchful camera picking up as many details as it could. Forensics had come and gone, taking notes, samples, and pictures, before collecting the body, and leaving. The crowd had broken up, murmuring amongst themselves. Even Maxwell had taken to returning to the hotel, review the footage as he did. Most of the police had taken their leave as well, chasing various calls for traffic violations, and the like.

One shadow, however, remained against the building. The long coat-clad detective, walking amongst the pillars, attempting to understand where he could come from, how he could drop it off. He noted three cameras at the front, and made a note to ask for those tapes later. He stroked his chin softly, with a sigh. A gnarled, calloused hand withdrew from his pocket, a crumpled pack of cigarettes crinkling in the night air. He sparked one, the dank twilight smog mixing with a disgusting mix of cheap tobacco and marijuana. He never started using until this case. Whiskey just wasn't calming his nerves like it used to.

This was his life, though. Since the first victim was found. Each of these gut wrenching images had haunted him. The first was an older gentleman, in his 40's. His face had been cut off, and placed in his hand. The hole had been replaced with a floodlight, spilling out onto the pavement. His limbs had been held in place with thin wrought iron, that looked similar to vines. The victim had been found just off a walking trail, and against a tree. This had been another case of the torso being ripped; that time, just below the sternum.

He shook the thought from his mind, with a sigh. Another drag of his cigarette was drawn into his lungs. A flutter overtook his eyes, his tense shoulders relaxing. He turned, walking towards the station, to think; to beg the stars for answers.

The last thing he remembered, though, was darkness.

Ellie jerked awake the next morning, looking around the hotel room. She had fallen asleep reviewing her notes. Massaging the crink in her neck, she stood up. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Her original plan was to go home and sleep in her bed.

"Didn't even make it to the hotel bed," she muttered, moving her hands to the sore spot on the small of her back. A peek outside showed that the police activity had gone down since last night.

Picking up her phone, she had a feeling about which of her crew would still be hanging around. Sending a text to Maxwell, she invited him to breakfast. Then she went to take a shower and iron her clothes. If she had known she was going to be spending the night, she would have packed something new to wear.

As she got out of the shower, she could see some kind of activity further down the road in the direction of the station, but she was too far away to see what. Her heart leapt in her throat at the thought that it might be another Artist killing. The rational part of her mind told her that it could just be a druggie or a kitten stuck in a tree. Brushing her blonde hair, she decided to leave it down as she left her room to head to breakfast.

The distinct feeling of of being watched was the first feeling the detective had as he awoke. It was eerie: unnerving. He looked about in the darkness, attempting to see the source. His head jerked quickly, attempting to adjust to the darkness. As he moved, he found himself bound, by the hands. He seemed to be strung up, his form stretched. The detectives feet were barely touching the ground.

Dull pains started to make their presence known. A throbbing, cold pain in his eyes. This was unlike anything he's ever felt before. A slight shudder took his throat, as he was slowly becoming aware of what was happening.

It's not dark in here... The bastard took my eyes.

Somewhere else in the world, a phone was buzzing loudly against a mahogany night stand. Gray eyes opened slowly, greeted by a single, morning ray, which escaped the normally vigilant guard of his blinds. With a small yawn, he checked his phone, reading over the message. Never one for texts, he called up Ellie, getting her voice mail.

"Just received your message. I'll pick you up in 20." Maxwell took little time to get ready, having showering the night before. Cleaning the night before had always been a nightly ritual for Maxwell. He explained it, when he was young, as cleaning away the nightmares before they came. This ritual simply stuck with him as he grew up. He dressed quickly, choosing a gray suit, with a dull, blue tie. He pocketed a few items, as well as slipped on a watch. With a final check of the mirror, Maxwell took his leave.

His car was a simple, black sedan. It was quite old, but well kept. This had been Maxwell's first car, from his teenage years. He never felt the need to replace it, choosing instead to keep it very well maintained. The old DeVille was a high gloss black; a fresh coat of paint given just a few years prior. The chrome was well maintained. The car was, for lack of any better term, loved. The engine purred, as he turned the key. It crept along the city streets, it's large presence demanding subtle acknowledgment among the much sportier, compact cars of the modern era.

He arrived, as promised, in twenty minutes. He parked, walking into the hotel, making his way to Ellie's room. With a sharp knock, he announced his arrival, waiting patiently for his superior.

Ellie smiled as she opened the door. Her hair down made her look younger, more vulnerable. She looked different then the normal business-only Ellie Klein. She also had on no makeup, which added to her younger appearance.

"Good morning, Max," she said. "I wish I asked you to pick me up some clothes. I must look a mess." Her clothes from the day before were slightly wrinkled. To try and look like she was wearing something different, she kept her jacket off and her shirt had the top few buttons undone.

Taking his arm, they walked down to the hotel's dining room for breakfast. "I think I'm making some headway on this," she said softly so only he would hear her. "Each victim followed a theme. It's important to this Artist, something about these people just seem to make sense to him. I'm guessing it's something they did. Like last night's girl? She was dressed up to look like a Fallen Angel. Maybe she did something to make our guy believe she had fallen away from religion?" Ellie shrugged, "It's just a theory for now. I'm pretty stumped. The lasted is the easiest to try and theorize. How in the world do you figure out victim number one?"
Taking a bite of her eggs, she mused, "Though, he does do good things with lighting. It's sick to say so, but he does know how to use lights to his advantage." For Ellie, it was merely shop talk. When she did a documentary on butterflies, she amused herself by talking about them as if they had personalities. If thinking of this guy like another subject would keep her from having nightmares, then so be it. "Any thoughts?"

Maxwell took a sip from his coffee, as she spoke. Even as he drank, his eyes never left her. "Metaphoric value has been used in serial killings before. This, combined with the intricate nature of the slayings... and the fact that they are on display..." Maxwell fell silent for a moment, setting his coffee down. "Have you thought of the possibility that this is a public figure? You said yourself that he uses a good amount of light with his slayings. Think of the Tree Man."

The Tree Man was the first "piece" of The Artist's killings. A man, in his 40's, had been slain. His skull was severed, his face still attached to the bone. This mask was placed in an outstretched hand. In the cavity, a floodlight was placed. Light bellowed out onto the pavement. The Artist had taken time with this set up, having taken the trunk of another tree, and carved it to the contour of the trunk. The man's torso had been severed, and set upon this base, to appear as though he was growing from the tree. His limbs had been positioned with wrought iron, in the shape of vines.

"So, using the idea of light as a metaphor... combined with the fact that the light is implanted in the victims... Could we suspect the church? Or, perhaps a political group?" He lifted his coffee again, bringing it up to his lips. He falters for a second, "Is there some sort of connection to these people? Perhaps we should look into that"

Ellie nodded. "I think you might be on to something," she said. "Whoever this guy is, he has the ability to take his time with the set up. Nothing he's done has been a quick job." She pushed her eggs around her plate for a moment. "He can't just reserve the right to the areas, but he must know them very well. I mean, it would look suspicious if John Doe asked to use the museum and the park and the other sites on the nights the bodies were found. But if he knows the areas..."

She grinned. "Maxwell, I could kiss you. You are brilliant. If this Artist knows these areas, he might return there. We can go back to the crime scenes for added shots, and see if we recognize anyone still hanging around."

"Though," she added, finishing her coffee, "I need to get some fresh clothes from home. You don't mind, do you?" Ellie felt the thrill of excitement course through her. Finding this guy and getting an interview was her goal. She was sure she was on the right track. She just prayed the police didn't think of the same thing.

"You do know there is very little point to looking for people at those locations... Think about it, Ellie. We're surrounded by buildings. There are an infinite amount of vantage points here. If the killer is this good, he would know that he could be seen if he was out in public." Maxwell took a bite of his toast, dipped in the yolk of his egg. He chewed slowly, taking his time, letting his unfinished thought linger in the air. He swallowed, before speaking again. "Honestly, you would be better off attempting to triangulate a point of the three points, getting a tenant's list in possible buildings, and trying to find a connection in that locations.

He finished his toast silently, and nodded gently at her remark. "It would be my pleasure, Ellie. We'll need to find some sort of map, anyways. There is a bookstore near your apartment. We'll make the stop after." Maxwell left a crisp twenty at the table. The bill, save for a crease in the middle, was pristine, almost pressed. This was no different than many of the things in his life.

Ellie's smile slipped a little. "You're right," she said. "I guess I got a little too eager. I never would have made a good detective."

After eating and paying, they left. "If all the locations form a triangle, we can figure out his comfort zone," she mused. "That's what they do all the time on tv." She slipped her hand on his arm and smiled brightly. "Max, you are incredibly smart. I'd be so lost without you. Leave your car here, we'll take mine. We can come back later today to get a few shots without the police here."

Ellie never thought of how familiar she seemed with Maxwell. He was just someone who did their job well, and she felt lived for his job. He had no hobbies she knew of, never spoke of anything outside his work, and never complained if she asked him to come in early or stay late. He was the perfect employee.

Getting in her car, she could almost imagine the Artist watching her. Did he know she was looking? Was he waiting for the right moment to talk to her? What did he think of her interest in his work and life? Ellie surpressed a shiver of delight as she thought of actually meeting someone as dangerous as the Artist. She always did like the bad boys.

He remained quite on the way to her apartment, taking this time to focus on writing down the locations of the murders, as well are review his past notes. Her actions towards him, no matter how familiar, were always met with the same air of near indifference. It wasn't a stiff, or tense feeling, rather one of something that had been happening much longer than it actually was.

As they pulled to a stop, he looked over at her. "Would you prefer I waited for you down here? Or, shall I join you? There is a chance that I have the actual footage waiting in my e-mail today. I was able to contact my source, and inform him on what happened."

Ellie nodded. "Come on in. You can set up in my livingroom while I change." She led him inside. Her home was rather neat, filled with neutral colors and dark wood furniture. Pictures of her past work covered the walls. She left him in the livingroom and went to her bedroom. It was the only girly area of her house. She had a canopy bed, something she had always wanted as a child.

She changed out of her clothes and put on a dress suit. It was professional, but a bit more casual then her suits. The light pink color was not as intemidating as the dark colors she always wore. She put on her make-up and left to meet up with Maxwell.

"Anything good?"

He opened up his account, and clicked through a few links. His answer was stalled, as he read through the page. "It doesn't seem so..." He logged out, turning back to the room. His eyes lingered on the room, as he nodded gently, seeming to get his bearing of the place. "Nice place you have, Ellie. I must say, I do like your taste."

His gaze turned back to her, taking in Ellie's visage. His brow raised slightly, not quite sure how to take this new look. He was more acquainted with her darker, more professional attire. He wasn't sure how to respond to it, choosing, instead, to remain silent.

She noticed the slight quirk in his eyebrow, the only sign he even noticed what she was wearing. Ellie laughed. "Not to your liking?" She picked up her purse and slipped on some white pumps. "Relax, I'll be my normal self tomorrow. This is more of an adventure then work today."

Ellie picked up the various folders she kept on the Artist killings. Each victim had a folder, and so did several of her notes on the police. She figured she should start another one for the Artist himself. "Okay, let's see if we can't figure out what area he's working from," she said, moving toward the door. "Your contact didn't send you anything new, I take it?"

She was a little disappointed by that. A small part of her had been hoping to learn more about the Artist. If she was being honest with herself, that was one reason why she wanted to look nice. They'd probably go to his comfort zone, and she wanted to be pretty if they did.

He shook his head softly, as he logged out of his e-mail. "It seems not yet. My contact doesn't work until night, so it's not unreasonable to think that I won't get it until later." He went to the door, with a slight sigh.

"Alright, to the book store, if you'd please," he requested, opening the door for her. Maxwell lead her down the street, still silent, concentrating on the moment. He turned towards the book store. He walked in, grabbing a map, and throwing down a crisp 10. He took his change, and went to a table, grabbing a pen from his jacket.

"Alright... we've got a kill here...here... and here." he muttered, more to himself, as he drew crosses on the appropriate points on the map. "Now... Figuring that he would have about 30-40 minutes, on a good time to set up..." He drew three circles around the crosses. "Everything within the circle dictates where he could realistically start out, to be within walking distance of these sites..."

He traces an area of the map that was overlapped by all three circles. "Here. This is a likely place for our killer. Let's go to this area, and scout buildings."