Friday night, alone in my office working. Not that I was making any progress whatsoever. The information Warren got me was inconclusive to say the least. There had been five murders so far which was the suspected with high probability to be the work of the same serial killer. However the only lead for this was the MO which was consistent in all cases, including things that had not been released to the press. There was however no DNA evidence from any of the crime scenes thus far. The thing I found odd was that not only was the identity of the killer a mystery, but so was the victims. They were all Jane Doe’s, that is, until his latest victim ‘Molly Hannigan’. All the victims were found in home’s not belonging to them and seemingly had nothing to tie the victims to them either. Now, why did the killer leave a bloodied library card belonging to the victim tucked behind a door at the latest scene of crime when he had done an impeccable job of leaving the place without anything that could tie him to the crime and had never on a previous occasion left any such obvious clues, none at all for that matter, as to the identity of his victim. This was most confounding.

Not getting anywhere with further contemplation on this I panned my head over to the TV which was showing the news. I figured I better check if there’s anything new on this killer so I turned up the volume.

“…has increased it’s market value by almost 25% over the last six months. Kindness Corporation is introducing a new updated software for their Personal Home Environment Care Solution within the next month. If you have not yet installed PHECS into your home, now’s the time! I promise you, you will love it. I know I do.

In other news, ‘the skinner’ has struck again. His last victim being another middle-aged female of average build with no clues as to either his nor his victim’s identity. Sources report that this time there has been a message carved into the flesh of the victim. However authorities are currently withholding information on what exactly this message contains.

This is Lacey Shirley for the K3 News, brought to you by Kindness Corporation.”

A message… this was peculiar. Why would the killer suddenly carve a message into the body of his latest victim? I needed more information on this new victim and in particular I had to find out what was in this message. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get Warren to get me information again so I had to try to find what I needed the hard way. I had to break into the morgue.

I was home, sitting at my desk filled with newspaper clippings and notes, trying to figure something out about this crime that had gone past both the police and the major newspapers. So far I knew just as much as everyone else it seemed; nothing.

I took a stroll around the room in an attempt to clear my mind. All I could think about was wondering how someone could commit a crime so revoltingly terrifying without leaving a single clue behind. Although I was sure the police hadn’t made all their intelligence available to the common public, they still seemed rather clueless. Not that I claim to be an expert on people, but I did catch some hints down at the crime scene and if that course in psychology I took back in college was anything worth I think there might be a slight chance that I’m probably right. Thinking about it made me less sure of myself, so I decided to give an old friend a call.

I hadn’t spoken to Warren since college, but he was my roommate and I knew he was quite the wiz when it came to computers. The question was how did I ask him to help me? “Hey, remember me ol’ mate? Could you please hack the police department’s computer server for me? I need some info on a crime investigation. You’ve seen it on the news I think, they call him ‘The Skinner’.” For some reason I felt that might put him off. Instead I decided to ask him out for a friendly beer to ‘catch up’.

The next came and it was time to go meet my friend. As I entered the bar he was already sitting down. At first I could barely recognize him. Years had past after all.

“So, how’s life been treating you?” he asked.

I replied with the usual sentimental nonsense and asked about him. Apparently he’d gotten married two years back and was still enjoying the married life to the fullest. Well, at least that’s how he put it. Unfortunately I wasn’t very interested in what he had to say nor was I interested in continuing conversing about myself. I did however endure the rest of this meaningless debate in order to have a slight chance of getting what I was really after. For some reason this reminded me of dating.

After about two hours of conversation and three Budweiser’s later I finally popped the question.

“So, I remember you being real talented with certain not-so-legal computer activities.” I said.

He smiled a bit, but then clearly stated that those things were of the past. I bought us another round of Bud’s while trying to get him to open up on the subject. In fact, it took me almost two more hours and four more beer before I got him to confess he knew quite I bit more than he wanted people to know. He was basically at the point of bragging about his skills. Apparently his wife knew nothing. It was his secret dirty little affair. His version of a mistress, I suppose you could say.

When I finally asked him what I wanted him to do for me he looked at me as if I was kidding. He didn’t seem to keen on the idea of breaking in to police files at all. The first thing someone would do in this position would most likely be attempting reverse psychology, like that ever worked on anyone. I, however, was far more devious than that and went straight to threatening to tell his wife about his controversial ‘mistress’. It really does sound more harsh than it really was though, I mean, it wasn’t the gunpoint kind of threat but more like when you tell your children to eat their dinner or they’ll have to eat their leftovers for breakfast. He was an old friend, sort of, but I was in desperate need of information and desperate needs require desperate means. Besides, if hard feelings developed between us as a result of my harshness I could always blame it on the alcohol later. Pretty much the same excuse not to call a woman after a one-nighter. “Hey, it was the beer, I thought you were good looking.”

Before the night was over I had finally convinced Warren to help me get a hold of whatever information the police department had on the case and I was one step closer to finding out something that could get me on the right track.

So much blood. I felt like I could barely move around the room. People bumping into each other on constant basis as if they weren’t even trying to avoid it. Although, I assume avoiding to contaminate the crime scene was of more importance than showing manners to your fellow co-workers. One could venture off and think however, that perhaps this was nothing but an excuse for them to disregard respecting and purposely pushing people around, maybe as a way to vent from all those countless office hours they’d put in or maybe they simply enjoyed it. In any case, I wasn’t here to analyze human behavior, evidently. My job, or hopefully my job-to-be would be in journalism. However, without any real education and no prior employment the opportunities were far from lining up. This meant going freelance. It’s impressive how a nice suit and a childrens’ plastic police officers’ badge combined with some smooth talking could get you into a local crime scene investigation.

The victim was female, about average in height and weight. I would attempt to approximate her age if it wasn’t for her “condition”. It seemed our killer had a thing for flaying people alive, leaving them lying on the floor bleeding to death. They would surely have died much prior to this didn’t the killer first pump his victims full of a certain pain suppressing agent.

I did my best not to look directly at her. After all, I didn’t want to get a sudden case of nausea and throw up all over the place. That, I’m sure, would attract unnecessary attention to myself and most plausibly reveal I had no official business here. Unfortunately plans don’t always go as intended.

Running out the backdoor covering my mouth with my hands I could catch a glimpse of at least two cops following me. I didn’t have much time looking around further though, since I was busy kneeling over a pile of grass, vomiting. It didn’t take the cops long to figure out who I really was or what I was doing here, but at least I managed to find something out as they forcefully escorted me off the premises, a piece of paper held by one of the police officers containing information on the deceased. Unfortunately I was thrown out too hastily to actually try to read very much from it. I did manage to catch one thing however… the victim’s first name, “Molly”.

This story is dedicated in loving memory to “Molly” (2000-2010).