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Walking the Line (Razgriz and Beautiful_Disgrace)

Alicia was silent for a moment as she looked down at her hands. She didn't remember very much from those years considering they were the worst of her addiction. But she realized she had seen something important...so she'd try her best to recollect it. "I wasn't...in the right mind when I gave the police my statement. I can describe what I remember a little better, even if it's a little hazy. I was going to...my distributor. While I was walking, I heard gunshots. A lot of them, just ahead of me. I was so scared and I was going to run...but I waited for it to stop because I didn't want to run passed the place and get shot on accident..." Alicia paused when the waitress brought her coffee. She took a moment to recollect her thoughts before continuing.

"Anyways, it finally went quiet. I started quickly walking ahead, until I heard someone calling for help outside of the house. I think it was a male...I don't know why but...I stopped. Then I started walking towards the side of the house, since I didn't see anything from the front. By the time I got to side...I heard another shot. And then the voice stopped calling out. Again...I have no idea why but I just ran to the backyard. Then I saw her...she was covered in blood. She was limping too, like she had been injured on the leg. She was climbing over the back fence, but before she did...she looked back at me. And for a moment we just...stared at each other.

She was young, she couldn't have been older than sixteen. Despite that, she had me scared. But her eyes..that's what I remember the most. They were dark...empty. They reminded me of death. It almost felt like she was staring deep into my soul for that single moment. Like she was deciding whether or not I had a right to keep living. Then she climbed over the fence and ran off." Once Alicia finished she took a sip of her coffee...straight black.

"There weren't any reports of prints on the fence...." Alicia stated curiously with a tilt of her head. The other strange part was the fact that the suspect was seen limping...if she had been shot or grazed DNA should have definitely been left behind at the scene.

"That's why no one would believe me...they just thought I imagined the whole thing." Alicia's voice had a hint of bitterness. "She had black hair and dark eyes...she was wearing a white dress. I know what I saw."
 
Stanson quietly sipped at his own brew while Alicia recounted the events of that night. Everything seemed consistent with what was given so far. The gunshots, her going towards the scene of the crime...But then new details came that weren't in the original report. She never mentioned that she was limping, nor that the girl had climbed the fence.

Not that the last bit mattered; like Alison said, there weren't any prints found anywhere. Even on the fence itself. A hell of a lot of blood, but nothing else. Black hair and dark eyes, wearing a white dress. Not a very apt description, but it did give them something. For her to get away like that, she had to have lived here for some time. Maybe she was a local, but without more information, they would have no way of knowing.

Michael then patted one of her hands, letting his own rest on top of it for a bit with a gentle squeeze, "I know you did, and we appreciate your assistance." But still something else was bothering him; there was no way she could have hopped a fence and not torn something.

"Alison, was there any reports of fibers from the scene? Anything that happened to get snagged and torn off?" he then asked his partner; it might be a long shot, but then this whole thing was. At the very least, it might give them something to go off.
 
"They didn't tell me if there were. Suppose we could go back to the station. I've been meaning to take a look at their files...so we can get some exact dates on when the murders seemed to start and when they stopped. That way we can compare those dates to ours." Honestly if what Alicia said was true, there were too many things out of place. If the girl was injured, there should have been DNA somewhere. Her blood should have been blood on the fence. Or a trail. Either these police weren't very bright, or the evidence was cleaned up somehow.

"I know I didn't see her with a gun," Alicia began softly as she looked at her coffee. "But I think that she murdered all those men. Even if she was just a child...she looked like death himself. All that blood wasn't hers...it belonged to those men. She wasn't a normal girl..she was a ghost. A spirit of vengeance." Alison listened to the woman quietly as she raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? You were reported to be on drugs at the scene. Drugs can cause hallucinations and make things seem more intense. Did she looked lost? Scared at all? We are talking about a teenaged girl.." Alison pressed as she straightened up a bit. If this was how she was talking when she was questioned by the police, it was no wonder they didn't take her seriously.

"I'm sure. Definitely sure." Alicia mumbled in response. "She knew where she was. She knew what she did."
 
The way Alicia talked about this girl, she made her seem like some kind of boogeyman. A tale crafted to scare children and for adults to tell them just for that reason. Still, if there was even an ounce of credence to her story...Then they were looking at someone who had been doing this for a while. Whose overt resistance to capture would lead her to research any and all forensic countermeasures.

Still, it definitely seemed a visit to the local office was in order. They would need to go through what they could find. Provided Janesville PD didn't skimp on any details about the crime scene. Or happened to 'misplace' evidence. Regardless, he finished writing down his notes and polished off his own cup of coffee.

Just in time too; their food had arrived. "Alright, thanks" he said to the waiter as he dropped off their order. "What say we eat? Then, Alison, let's head over the precinct. See if the officers can't help us locate something of use." Just like that, his phone beeped; flipping it open, he saw a text message. From Mell in Ballistics.

".50 caliber bullet. No hits on weapons from any past crimes with same MO."

Great, thought Michael. They figured out it was a fifty-caliber weapon, but he should have known better than to expect it was used before. Showing the text to his partner, he added, "Guess we have another question to ask when we get there." He then turned his attention back to Alicia, "Alicia, I want you to think real hard. Had you seen that girl anywhere before? Anywhere at all?"
 
"She looked familiar, but I don't know where I have seen her before. I never saw her again after that day." Alicia began as she looked down at her food and started to unwrap her flatware. She tried to think more but she just couldn't recall anything. Everything back then was so fuzzy...she just couldn't remember!

"Do you have any children Alicia? Is it possible you might have seen her at a school? Waiting on a bus stop?" Alison asked casually as she reached for the bottle of ketchup on the table for her potatoes.

"My children were taken away from me back in '96. I...it might be possible that I recognize her from the Middle School they went to. She looked about the same age as my oldest boy would have been..." Alicia's voice cracked a little as she spoke about that bad memory. She missed her sons...but even now after she cleaned up her act, she knew she couldn't take care of them the way their new parents did. It was enough just to be able to talk to them again. Since they were eighteen and twenty, they could see her whenever they wanted to.

Alicia tapped the table with the tips of her fingers before she looked at her partner to see what he was thinking. She wasn't surprised in the least that nothing came up from that .50 cal bullet. They needed to find something here. Anything.
 
Michael tapped his fingers on his utensils as they ate; it was an aggravating case because it seemed like they were getting nowhere fast. Hopefully, they would find something more at the police office. Anything that would give them a lead.

Regardless, they finished their meal in peace and soon, Michael and Alison were off in their rental car towards Janesville Police Department. Approaching the front desk, the officer - a stout man of about five-foot-six with buzzed red hair, pale skin, and green eyes - looked up from his paperwork and asked with a slightly distinctive Irish accent, "Can I help the two of you?"

Michael then showed him his badge, "Detective Stanson, this is my partner Detective Sinclair. Illinois Gang Task Force. We need to speak with your Captain, Charles Aagaard." Raising a brow, "Gang? We don't have any gang trouble here. Haven't had nearly anything for a while. Not since someone took the big players to the cleaners." Stanson then shot his partner a look as if to say 'Great, a supporter.'

"We're not looking into what happened here. We're looking into the person that 'cleaned the big players'. We think whoever's responsible grew up around here." Giving a nod, he just said, "One moment, I'll get him." Moments later, a man with a goatee in a clean-pressed suit came out from a back door and motioned the detectives to his office.

"Detectives, please...Have a seat. I was told by your Captain that you might be knocking on my door. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?" he then asked, presenting the usual pleasantries once they were inside. "I'm good, thanks." said Stanson, to which he replied, "Straight to business then. Stuard gave me the run-down on why you're here...And I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what we can provide that might be of assistance. You can call me Chuck by the way." Stanson straightened in his chair, "Well, having a look at your case files would be a great start."
 
"That and any evidence you may have found and hopefully kept. We heard an interesting story from Ms. Alicia Sanchez that the suspect that was spotted back in 2000 climbed the fence and was possibly injured on the leg. I believe her when she told us what she saw, even if there were supposedly no prints found on the scene." Alicia was feeling a little uneasy. They seemed less than eager to help. Sure, it might have been because they actually didn't have any evidence. Her and Stanson were in the same boat...

But a teenaged girl should have been sloppy. Something should have been left behind...something that might have been over looked. It was disheartening though to realize that perhaps the only thing that would be able to help them find this girl was a time machine. "Also, please don't take any offense to this question. But how serious did you take that one and only witness at the scene? Did you investigate her claims? Did you do any police sketches and attempt to search for the girl that was seen?"
 
Chuck narrowed his eyes as Detective Sinclair began poking around; truthfully, they didn't have much to go on. They had the report that the witness gave: A young woman in a white dress, soaked in blood, was seen hopping a fence with some difficulty. Like she'd been injured, as the woman herself had put it.

"Now, Detective, I get you're trying to do your job. But let's make one thing crystal clear: My men do the best they can, and always have. We took her statements, despite her 'incapacitation', and followed up her story to the best of our ability. We canvased the area for the missing woman, but either no one was willing to talk or no one had seen a woman fitting that description."

"That being said, our case files are open for your perusal. We can put you in one of the back rooms if you want to look over some of the stuff. Don't have much use for them at the moment, now that crime's down to three-quarters of what it was." Stanson sighed, "Alright, that'd be great."

Moments later, the two were set up and boxes began coming in. First it was a couple, then a dozen. Then two. Then four. They just kept coming. "Uh, are you sure these are all related?" Stanson started to ask as it reached nearly a hundred boxes. "Trust me, we kept a section dedicated to this vigilante. Had to...We were starting to run out of room." replied Chuck, a slight grin crossing his face; soon, these two would see just how much she had done.

"Have fun" the Captain stated, leaving the two to their work. Over a hundred boxes stacked up on all walls of the room. Running a hand over his face, he just said as he pulled the first box, "Alright, let's get to work." It was light; no real artifacts from the perpetrator. There were more forms for the items than items themselves in this one. Going through it, he found - surprise, surprise - a whole lot of nothing.

They were going to have a long day...That much was certain.
 
The only good thing about all this was that they kept the cases in order, from the earliest to the latest. Of course Alison worked right alongside with Stanson to make sure of this before she came to that conclusion. It was a long day indeed, but these cases were similar. The photos of the crime scenes were brutal and violent...just like their killer. But one thing didn't match up. It was the dates of the crimes...they were spread apart. They wren't back to back like their killer. Even the latest cases were spaced out. And the last known killing happened a few weeks after their cases started.

"I don't get it...this is the work of the same person. The habits are the same, but the frequency is different. Our killer strikes nearly every single night...Sometimes multiple times. But I see no instances of multiple incidents in this killers file." Alison sighed heavily before rubbing her temples as she hunched over the current file she was looking at. "What do you think, Stanson? Think this is our guy? If we don't figure out something soon, our office is going to look like this too."

Box after box...Janesville didn't have as much media coverage as Joliet did, so this sort of incompetence could be looked over. But over in Joliet, they couldn't let this happen. They couldn't go years without catching this murderer...it was clear that they didn't plan to stop until...well until they were satisfied and moved somewhere else.
 
"Definitely. I think you were right in this where they started. The patterns indicate an opportunity killer. She catches someone in the act, or stumbles across something, and then bang. Anyone nearby gets nuked." he explained; the patterns were random and consistent with the relatively low crime rate of a town like Janesville.

He continued to dig through the case files, the hours going by slowly but surely. He was finding plenty of evidence of crime...But not of the one who committed them. Eventually, however, he did find that one case Alison brought up. Multiple homicide. GSWs point blank range. But then he found something. Something that Alison had said wasn't in the original report.

It was a piece of fabric. White, with specks of blood on it. Thin and wavy. He then found a picture attached to the evidence bag: This was found on the fence. "Hey, Alison...Look at this. The case that brought us here. I think that 'unreliable witness' just turned reliable" he said as he held up the package to her.
 
Alison looked at the strip of fabric carefully before she took the file from him. "Hmm, so the girl was there. No fingerprints though...just this." She said thoughtfully as she took the back from him and stared at the piece of cloth. Where did they go from here? The girl was definitely involved somehow. If she had been a victim, she would have gone to a hospital or the police. She disappeared on purpose, she knew how to get around without others seeing her..and she pulled off a good disappearing act for no one being able to recognize her all those years. This was a small town...

"What crazy world are we living in where I'm thinking our serial killer is a young girl who's been killing since she was a teen..." Alison shook her head and placed the back down with the shredded cloth. Perhaps it would lead them somewhere, perhaps not...either way, she was sure that the person who they were looking for committed all these murders here in Janesville as well as Joliette. "I don't know, Stanson...we still don't have anything solid, just some vague description and this piece of cloth. Got any ideas of where to go from here?"
 
Accepting the return of the package, he put the box back into the wall of containers that they had been going through. "Well...Let's see if we can't have the crime lab analyze it. It's been a while right? Have to imagine it's gotten better. Our girl might be smart...But she's not THAT good."

It was funny because Captain Aagaard had just come back in to check on them; after a brief discussion, he informed them it might take a couple of hours or so before they had any results. Which meant more time for them to dig for evidence.

And as the hours ticked by, eventually one of the lab techs did come back. "Detectives, I think we might have something." he said; giving Alison a nudge, he commented 'Told ya' before following the tech back to the lab. "So, this sample you had us retest...At first we found only the blood of those who were dead at the scene and nothing. But tests showed another DNA signature that the first test didn't..."

Stanson let out a sigh of relief, "So, who do we have?" The lab tech sighed, "Unfortunately...It doesn't seem their DNA is in the system. All this shows is that who were was wearing that dress was definitely at the scene of the crime." Alright, that was a step in the right direction, but didn't help them figure out who it actually was. Only that it solidified the girl in the dress was a real person.

"Seems like we have some canvasing to do...We need to go around asking the locals if they remember anything." he then told his partner.
 
"Alright," Alison said with a somewhat relieved sigh. Okay, at least they didn't come here for nothing..Alicia wasn't hallucinating. "But first, can we get something to eat? We've been here for hours." She gave Stanson a pleading smile. Man, that was a lot of work...hopefully it paid off...hopefully they could find something else even if the DNA wasn't in their system.

And why would it be? This was a teenager. Not a hardened criminal.

*****
Unfortunately for Sinclair and Stanson, they didn't get a single lead around town. Even the area where the murder happened, no one claimed to see a girl that night. It seemed that the PD of Janesville actually did try, since they had more than a few people tell them that they already answered those questions years ago. It honestly didn't make sense to Alison. How could a girl that age be capable of killing so many people? Not psychologically, but physically! She had gotten injured at the scene, but she was obviously well enough to make a get away. For a girl to be that skilled with guns was just mind boggling to Alison.

What was more was that there was no one checked in at the ER that fit Alicia's description that night. So the girl was obviously intentionally hiding away. Everything pointed in her direction at being the killer. The motive was questionable...she obviously had a grudge against gang members and criminals, but why? Was someone close to her killed by a criminal? Wronged? Or were they dealing with just a grade a nut basket who thought they were some super hero?

All of these questions filled her head on the trip home. It wasn't a complete bust, they had an idea of the killer and her DNA possibly. But so far they weren't even close to spotting her for themselves. They needed to figure out where she would try to hit next. Problem was Joliet had a plethora of criminals...so it would be hard to predict where she'd strike just yet.
 
Well, at least the trip wasn't a complete bust. Though they didn't learn anything about the identity of this strangely talented teenage assassin, they were at least able to give strong evidence that the cases in Wisconsin were directly related. Plus, reviewing the case files in Wisconsin gave them a better idea of the killer's motives. It wasn't just gangs or robbers. It was rapists, murderers, and kidnappers too. Drug dealers and smugglers were also on the list.

The only question Stanson was: What would drive a teenager to commit such violence? A lot of innocent people were definitely hurt by the actions they committed, and some number were bold enough to try apprehending wrongdoers on their own. And even fewer still had done what this girl was doing, but they always slipped up. Somehow, someway. Not her though; all these years and all she left was the fact that she was at one place in one state.

And these thoughts continued to pervade the detective's mind as he and his partner returned to their posts the next day. Though they were only gone for about two days, it seemed like what was a wave of killings had taken a pause. Maybe the killer hadn't found anyone yet, thought Stanson. But then, there were similar times where there was a slight lull between cases.

But just when he was getting comfortable, his desk phone rang. "Detective Stanson" he answered immediately, standing up as he was fed details. "That's not our department, route to Homicide" he then stated. Hanging up, he then joked as he sat back down "Guess we're working unrelated homicides now." Just then, he heard "Stanson! In my office!" It was Stuard, and he sounded VERY unhappy. Giving his partner a look as if to say "Now what?" he got up and went to the Captain. Moments later, after a soundless but obviously heated debate, the detective re-emerged.

"Police found a stiff when the landlord went into her apartment after another tenant claimed a rotten smell was coming from her room. Body was found a couple of hours ago. Building's over in Shorewood. Let's go" he then told his partner as he went to get the car ready.

They soon arrived at the address and were allowed in to investigate the scene; there they found a woman, a very familiar woman. Stanson had to cover up his nose from the stench; he could see where the body had begun to collapse, and it was fairly obvious their Jane Doe She was tied up and shot in the head. First responders said it was Anne Hartt, the woman who was originally on trial for the suspected murder of her late husband Gary Hartt, a prominent hedge fund manager in the area. With her husband gone, it ensured that she was set for life as he had a very hefty life insurance policy on him. She had gotten off on a technicality; some idiot in Homicide tried to break into her house and got caught in the process, leading to key evidence being thrown out and ensuring her freedom.

The place was exceptionally tidy save for some scuffs on the hardwood flooring. And there was Anne, her head lolling lifelessly to one side and streaks of red running down from the entry point. Behind her, brain matter and blood - very dry - stained the wall.

"Why are we here again?" Stanson asked, to have a CSI state "Ballistics came back matching a gun from one of your cases. Results came back really quick." Stanson quirked a brow, "Which case?" "That slaying a couple of days ago in that warehouse. The gun belonged to the one of the dead gangsters." Stanson still was confused, "If you're suggesting these are related, that's a bit shaky. The MO's different. Phew, that freaking reeks. Can we talk outside?" The investigator nodded, and soon they were all clear. "How long was she like this?" asked Stanson, to which the investigator said, "The ME's still on the way...Suffered a blow out, but based on what I know, I'd say two...maybe three weeks. The doc'll have a better idea when he gets here."
 
Alison was glad to get out of that room, honestly. She'd have to go back in to do some investigating, but for now she'd be glad for the break. She'd never get used to that smell of a decomposing body. She had been quiet up until now, mainly because she didn't really understand why they had been assigned to this case in particular. Not until they were told what the murder weapon was, and who it used to belong to. She sighed heavily as she folded her arms. It's not that the murders weren't still happening. It was just that their killer didn't always use .50 cal bullets in public to take down a man, nor did she always mercilessly slay a group of gang members in a single night without getting shot herself.

No, she was going after anyone who murdered people. This was her brand of justice. Who knew how many more murders she was responsible for. There could be cases floating around in the Homicide Department that were caused by her. It was truly disturbing....but this was the first time she had ever seen their victim tied up. Shot in their own apartment. Usually the victims were taken by surprise. Did their killer do this for a purpose?

"I think this our killer, Stanson...We know that she sometimes likes to take the weapons off of her victims and use them for her witch hunts." It was at random, sometimes she did and sometimes she didn't. Back in Janesville she always did it. Here? It was a toss up. Maybe now she only picked up more weapons when she was running out of bullets. Either way, Alison suspected that the killer had an arsenal of guns at her disposal.
 
"I'm certain it is too" Stanson nodded; though if she was using guns she stole from people who stole it, no doubt she would need to hide them all somewhere. He couldn't help but imagining firearms laying in the most unlikely of places, stored in different areas throughout the city.

Still...He was concerned. Did she feel something personal related to this case? Did that explain why she tied up this woman?


*19 days prior*

Anne Hartt was resting in her home, the trial now behind her. She was currently on her laptop, her long red hair shiny and sleeked from the hot shower she stepped out of, her lithe body wrapped in a white fluffy robe.

"Hmmm...I think New York would be a great place to settle down. I've always wanted to go to the Big Apple...But that stick in the mud never had time for me. Oh well, at least I'll have time for myself." she snickered, browsing through a selection of rather high end homes. Her husband having mysteriously died, she was the prime suspect. Being the sole beneficiary of his will, using her charm to woo him, she was set for life. She could do whatever she wanted. Only way she wouldn't be able to enjoy it was if something happened to her, then his kids would get all the money. Not like that was going to happen though; she'd be able to ensure they never saw a dime.

As her fingers tapped away at the keys, having switched tabs to do some online shopping, she remained entirely complacent. Not realizing there was still a predator on the loose. After a while, she decided to get some beauty sleep; standing up and brushing the wrinkles from her robe, her dainty unshod feet walked across the floor to check that her door was locked. A hand curled around the knob, twisting it fully from her forgetting to lock the bolt in place.
 
Honestly she had been following this scum since she had caught wind of this certain incident on the news. Gary Hartt was nothing but a familiar face and nothing more. Adrian had seen him in the park, where she liked to frequent when she wasn't on the hunt. Being in touch with nature made her feel more...human. More often than not she felt like a machine that was only designed for a single purpose. Either way, she observed others and sat quietly in the same spot every weekend. Gary, as she had identified him as after reading about his murder, had three children she assumed was from a previous wife. Watching them play together was nice and she even talked to his youngest daughter once after she chased after her ball that rolled down the hill. It was...nice.

But now that little girl was missing a father. She would never see him again, all because of some greedy snake in a pretty dress. Adrian knew that her half assed murder would land her in prison, so she left it alone...until she heard that her trial was throne out thanks to some idiot who had to break into her home for evidence instead of finding whatever she left behind at the scene...or getting a warrant. Honestly, that was just fine to Adrian. Because now she had an excuse to go straight to her door and put a bullet through her head. It was a much more fitting punishment.

It wasn't like a locked door would have stopped her, but it was quite convenient when the door knob began to twist. Adrian immediately pushed the door open in that very second. She pushed it hard enough to slam her in the face with it, and she quickly slipped inside. She didn't wait for her to recover, she simply pulled out her gun and cocked it menacingly as she shut the front door. "Scream and I pull the trigger." She said as she pressed the barrel against the bottom of her chin.
 
Anne's yell of surprise got caught in her throat as she was forced back, falling on her back and feeling the cold chill of the metal barrel press against her jaw. She stared wide-eyed at the intruder, not moving and certainly not uttering a single peep. Who was this person? Why was she doing this? Her thoughts became even more jumbled when she cocked the hammer, that one little finger now able to decide her fate in an instant.

Finally getting some courage to whisper, Anne croaked, tears beginning to collect in the corners of her eyes. "Please don't....T...Take whatever you want! The safe's in my bedroom...I have jewels....money in there! Just please don't shoot me!" The intruder would be so lucky; being they were in Illinois, the wall and floor insulation was extra thick so her voice wouldn't carry through at all.
 
"I'm not interested in your money," Adrian muttered as she unzipped her messenger bag and pulled out some twine. She made quick business of tying her up before she started dragging her deeper into the apartment. Somewhere away from the door. "Get up. Move your ass." She kept her voice low despite the thick walls. She was overly cautious..but that was because she wanted to spend a few minutes talking to her. She didn't understand...she didn't understand why a wife would shoot her husband in cold blood like that just for something as stupid as money. She had it all anyway being married to him, so why?

Once she was against the wall of her living room, Adrian stood over her as she looked around. It was a very nice place...more than she ever had growing up. She still saw traces of where a man used to live, but it looked like there were no kids. Not even pictures of them. She was right...those kids did not belong to this woman. "Why did you murder him?" Adrian asked calmly, as if asking a conversational question over dinner. Now that she was tied up, Adrian had time to pull out her silencer for her weapon of the night: a USP 9. "Don't even try lying to me. If you do, then you waste my time. And I hate wasting time."
 
Anne wanted to scream, but the threat of her life being ended muted any sounds of protest even as she was forced to the other side of the room. Even as she was thrown into a chair, nearly falling over but being able to stabilize herself, she could only watch as this unknown woman stood across from her. For a moment, nothing happened...But then she saw her screw something on to the end of the gun. She wasn't naive enough to not know what that was: A silencer.

Even with the insulation blocking the sounds, the only way anyone would hear her was if someone walked by the front door when she screamed. But still, she asked her question, and thought that maybe she could buy a few more minutes. Try to talk her out of this.

"Murder him? Did you not hear the verdict? I was cleared on all charges. I didn't murder my husband!" she then whimpered, conveniently ignoring her advice about lying. "And who are you to barge in here asking such questions anyway? I doubt you even knew the man!"
 
Adrian's eyes twitched slightly in agitation before she pressed the barrel against the woman's head. "He had kids..." She mumbled as she twisted the gun back and forth, grinding it against her perfect skin painfully. "They loved him...he loved them." She could only imagine the pain they were going through, she could only remember what it was like to lose her own father. A pained expression came across her face at the memory she could never forget, the way his lifeless body looked as he was shot right before her eyes while she hid in the utility closet. No...she couldn't do this right here. She couldn't show any sign of weakness. Weakness made them prey on her..being weak was bad.

"Verdicts...mean nothing. Only truth. Your case may have gotten thrown out, but the truth still remains. You took away a father from three children. And for what?! What was so fucking important, huh?! Answer me, bitch!" Before she knew it a gloved fist struck the woman right across the face. She grabbed her by the hair before she could even realize that she had been struck and made her face her again. The barrel was against her forehead once more. "One last chance...or I pull the trigger."
 
Anne's eyes squinched as she felt the end of the silencer rub her flesh, turning it raw from the friction. She could hear the outrage in her speech, condemning her for robbing his children of their father. The man who loved them, cared for them. She wanted to love the little brats, she really did. But it was all he talked about: His children. How he was so proud of little Bethany, how playful and adventurous his son Nathan was, and how Amanda looked so much like her mother. Her REAL mother.

Well, where did she fit into this equation? It wasn't like the little snots really cared about him, right? They only were so affectionate because they felt like their mother abandoned them. And they wouldn't accept her as their new mother. Because she wasn't REALLY their mother. "You don't underst..." she started to say, but soon recoiled as she was smacked across the face and then harshly pulled to have her facing the muzzle of the gun once more.

Little did she know of the pains her husband went through, and how close their family had truly become. The only reason she was named the beneficiary was because he was confident that she would be an excellent mother to them in case anything happened. And the children had even called her 'Mom' on several occasions.

And when this woman threatened to pull the trigger, she decided to just say what was on her. "I was everything to that man. I was a woman in his life, the ONLY woman. But he wouldn't have me. No, his children were more precious than I was. I sacrificed everything for that man, but between his work and taking care of his youngest, he had no time for me. That and all that money...Squandered on those little brats of his. What do they know about it? They don't care, they're not going to miss it."

She then smiled and added venomously, "So go on, kill me if you want. But then ask yourself...Would you really deprive those darling children in need of a mother? How will you explain to them that the one they called 'Mommy' can't be there anymore?"
 
Stupid...it was all just so fucking stupid. Adrian was about to pull the trigger hearing such flimsy reasoning on why this selfish bitch murdered her own husband. But then she challenged her. She made her think more about the children. Adrian had simply assumed that she had never been mother enough to these girls, but...apparently they called her mommy. Being an orphan herself, she couldn't help but just think about it. For maybe...sixty seconds. She then started to laugh, at first softly...but then the volume became louder and louder until she stopped suddenly, the smile disappearing from her face. In place of it was a cold and resolute stare, the corners of her mouth settling into a frown.

"No. Those children are in danger with you. That's why you can't be allowed to live. If you can murder your own husband, then you can murder his children too. Fuck your money. Fuck your jewels. It's all going to them now. I'll see you in hell." Adrian's finger pulled back the trigger, and that was it. That familiar spray of blood was all over the wall, and on her. Not that she cared or even noticed. Adrian would not take any of her money...because it wasn't hers. It belonged to Gary's children and they would need it. She sighed heavily and put away her gun. Her job was done here...another murderer getting what they deserved.

******
She couldn't get it out of her head. That woman's voice...those words...they echoed over and over. Adrian hadn't bothered cleaning up at that woman's apartment, but she always had a change of clothes at the ready that she changed into when she had a moment of privacy somewhere in an alley. Clean up wasn't hard, but she still needed to get home. And yet she felt like she could barely breathe. She was angry...she was so angry at that woman for what she did. For such a stupid reason. She didn't get enough attention, so she took away the only person in the life of those children. The ones she called brats. This....this was annoying. She usually felt better after killing the people who made her angry with their evil...but not this time.

She couldn't help them. She couldn't help those children and that's what hurt her. She knew she did the right thing, but she still felt bad because they wouldn't understand. Those children would never understand why they lost two people in less than a single month. So lost in thought, Adrian ran into a garbage can while she moved through a back alley. She cursed underneath her breath, took two more steps and collapsed by the trash. She couldn't breathe...her chest hurt! It was...it was because she wanted to cry but she refused. Weakness was...weakness was something she left behind a long time ago. She'd just...stay here until she could catch her breath. She'd wait until the numbness took over and dulled the pain....
 
*Present Day*

Stanson still stood there, wondering why this kill was so different from the other ones they dealt with. And the unavoidable prospect of how many others might be out there. How many cases that were waiting to be found. And even more clearly, why she needed to be stopped. As fast as possible.

And just like that, the medical examiner turned up to examine the newly found corpse, bringing a gurney loaded with his many tools of the trade. It was an elderly gentleman, dressed in navy blue pants and a similar-colored jacket cover a light blue undershirt and red necktie. Grizzled graying facial hair bestowed a sense of age and wisdom onto his demeanor, as one would expect from decades of dealing with the dearly departed. Using their bodies as a canvas to reveal the finer details in the portrait of the crime.

"Well...Coliforms are out in force." the ME commented, making his way over to the body. "How long ago was she..." Stanson started to ask, to which the doctor replied, "Looks like plenty of maggot activity. Thoracic cavity's sunk, skin's a nice creamy pale. I'd say about 18-20 days ago was when she died. C.O.D.'s fairly obvious, but the examination could reveal some more details. Come on, Jimmy...Let's get Miss Hartt down to the morgue." He and his assistant slowly lifted the body onto the gurney, the doctor stating "Easy kid...Intestines are probably gunk right now. Don't need that sloshing around in there too much."

"That's a lovely mental picture" Stanson thought as the body was removed from the scene. He wasn't expecting them to find anything if this girl was as careful as she was with everyone else. "Well, let's get to work, shall we partner?" he then asked, heading back inside.
 
Alison always did have trouble with scenes like this. Her first time smelling a decomposing body resulted in her vomiting...very embarrassing but ever since then her stomach got tougher. It was a relief when the body was removed from the scene so they could do their business without smelling the rotten flesh. The smell still lingered but it wasn't as strong...after a few minutes she was already used to it while she went right to work on the evidence.

There didn't seem to be any sign of a struggle, but the victim was tied up. Knowing their perp, she pulled a gun out and threatened the victim. Naturally anyone with a gun pointed at them would comply. She walked into the bedroom and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place at all. Nothing taken or ransacked. She looked into the open closet and there was a safe. It looked untouched but that was the first thing she dusted for prints on since the killer had a history of taking the cash that gang members had accumulated.

There were a lot of prints there, but they could easily belong to the victim. From the looks of it, she had been in and out of there frequently. Not that it wasn't to be expected considering the settlement she got from her dead husband.

After she finished in the bedroom she joined Stanson back in the living room. "Nothing's out of place in the bedroom...find anything out here?"
 
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