The Crimocopoiea: The Face-Off Killer #5

The Crimocopoiea: The Face-Off Killer #5: Detective Ansen Cole was sitting in his car parked near the sidewalk on Wilson Street. The corner alley where the latest victim...

The Face-Off Killer #5

Detective Ansen Cole was sitting in his car parked near the sidewalk on Wilson Street. The corner alley where the latest victim of the Face-Off Killer had been found was only a few steps away. Try as he might, Ansen couldn't dismiss this detail from his mind as he looked out of the window, waiting for his girlfriend Miranda to get back from the bakery with a giant cake order for a friend's birthday.
Ansen suddenly had an urge to revisit the crime scene again. The murders were fresh on everyone's mind lately, and Ansen, being the first responding officer to the first murder, was caught up in the frenzy too. He wanted badly to catch the bastard who was killing and defacing innocent women. He was spending a lot of time thinking about it...this was a perfect opportunity to try and get some insight in the case.
Ansen got out of the car, locked it, and first looked in at the glass-fronted bakery. Miranda was busy deciding the kid of cake she wanted. Knowing her, Ansen figured he had about 10-15 minutes to kill before they could go on home. So he walked up to the alley again, and stood at its entrance. He scrutinized his immediate surroundings, trying to notice anything which stood out while shielding his eyes from the hot sun.
Suddenly he noticed it. Right across the street, from where he was standing. Why hadn't he noticed it before? It was there, all the time- the possible opening that may help the Boston police crack the case, even if it helps a little.
Right across the street was an ATM. Outside the ATM, a little above the huge neon signboard for the ATM, was a CCTV camera. It was, of course, kept there for security reasons. Ansen knew that the CCTV camera had a range where it could sweep a 180 degree area, including the front and both flanks of the street outside the ATM, every few seconds. Which meant that the camera's range included the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. Couldn't the camera have captured the killer the previous evening? If they could get the footage...
Excitement flooded Ansen's body, sent a tingling sensation down his spine and made his breathing quicker- finally a breakthrough. He immediately proceeded to call Lance Carter and tell him the good news. Of course, it would mean ditching the 'day out' with his girlfriend and going back to the police station, but Ansen knew Miranda would understand.
                                           *********
Lieutenant Will Masters of the Boston PD Homicide sat in his office, feeling a mixture of empathy and chagrin. The cause of his state was Mrs. Lizzie McBride, the mother of Danna McBride, the latest murder victim of what was increasingly being known as the 'Face-Off Killings'. He had called Lizzie to the station to talk about her daughter's death- the part of his job that Will both hated and dreaded. He always felt so helpless before the grieving kin of the victims- he wished he could do something to alleviate their pain.
"Are you okay, Mrs. McBride?" he asked the stately woman seated in front of him.
"I'm ok, Lieutenant. It's just that...you don't get called everyday to the police station to answer questions about your daughter's death," she replied, her voice even.
Masters felt another stab of pain at this statement. He and Lizzie both were trying to make sense of Danna's wanton murder...but Masters wondered if murder of innocents had any sense to be made at all.
"I just wanna ask some questions about Danna that might help me catch her killer, Mrs. McBride," Will said, kindly.
"Please go on, Lieutenant," Lizzie replied, not showing any external signs of grief.
"Was Danna acting differently in the days before her death? Anything you might have noticed?" Will asked.
"No, Lieutenant. Danna was fine. We were very close, Danna and me. She would tell me everything- parties, girls, boyfriends, clothes, her academic experiences- everything. I would've known if something was wrong. In fact, Danna was pretty excited about an upcoming function where she was going to be felicitated for her research papers. That's why she went to the sale at the mall, hoping to get some branded clothes to wear for the occasion at a cheap price. The same evening when she..." Lizzie stopped speaking.
"So you don't suspect anyone in Danna's murder?"
"No. Danna was well-liked among friends and peers. She wasn't popular, but people adored her for her simple, earthy nature and good character. Enemies? I don't think so. I can't fathom why anyone would wanna kill my daughter," Lizzie replied.
Will felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
"Will you excuse me a second, Mrs. McBride?" he asked her, kindly.
She nodded in reply.
He fished out his phone, and accepted the call seeing that the caller was Ansen Cole.
"Yes, Detective Cole," he spoke, in a low and somber voice.
"Oh really? What is it?"
"That's great. Come to the station ASAP ans we'll chart our future course of action," Will replied, and hung up.
His favorite cop, Ansen Cole, had made a possible break in the case. Will could feel his hair stand on end- he was so excited. He wished he cold share the news with Danna's mother, but he knew he couldn't talk about the case to her; plus it was too early to say anything concrete about the new lead.
Will couldn't wait to see the surveillance videos, and if they had the bastard killer on tape.

The Face-Off Killer #4

Nobody saw the dark van pull at the mouth of an alley on the corner of Wilson Street and Twine Street. It was already dark, and people were rushing about, rushing home from work or last-minute shopping. Nobody saw a figure clad totally in a black jumpsuit get out of the van. Nobody saw the person open the rear door and drag out a dark plastic bag, then throw it on the ground.
From behind the ski-mask on his face, he looked about checking for any curious eyes fixated on him. Not finding any, he proceeded with his job. Dragging the plastic bag behind him, he stepped into the alley. He realized he could've come at a later time, eliminating the need for discretion. Next dump-site wouldn't be an alleyway, he decided.
He dragged the bag deeper into the alleyway, and stopped when he'd reached the dead end. Undoing the knot at the top, he let the bag fall and watched as a hand slid out of the bag. He proceeded to drag more than half of the body attached to the bag- he didn't feel like taking the garbage bag with him that night.
He positioned the body a certain way, stopped for only a few seconds to check out his handiwork. He fished out a can from his trouser pocket, and sprayed it over the Dumpster behind the body. Smiling at the perfect tableaux he had managed to create, he walked back to his car. He needed a nice dinner and cold beer before his night shift at the hospital.
Nobody saw him get back into the van and drive away.

2 hours later

The man stood at the mouth of the alley, considering his options. The street was empty, except for a few cars  on the road. This was the right time to do what he wanted to do, away from the judgmental eyes of other people.
He stepped into the alley, when, only a few steps later, the smell hit him. It was different than the usual smell of urine and garbage characteristic of such places.
"Holy shit! A rat die here or what?" he exclaimed, scrunching his nose and taking out the roll of cocaine from his pocket. Smell or no smell,  he had to get his high here.
He walked towards the huge Dumpster which he planned to use as a support, when suddenly his foot hit something solid and he fell down.
"What the hell!" he muttered, as the smell of something rotting hit him so strongly it made him gag. He moved his hands about, trying to get his bearings in the pitch dark surrounding him. And touched something both smooth and solid. First it felt like a hand, then a neck.
He quickly withdrew his hands, somehow managed to sit up straight and fished out his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it, and by the light it emitted, he tried to see what it was that he had fallen on.
Bit by bit, he made out legs, a torso, hands and then he made out a face. Which is when he screamed his guts out.

Fifteen minutes later

"You get any sleep before you came?" Detective Carter asked his partner Ansen Cole as he arrived in his car.
"Nah! Just hit the sack when I got the news. So, is it our missing woman from the mall?" Ansen replied, holding a Styrofoam cup in his hand.
"Don't know. Face missing but it's a woman all right. Will know more when Dr. Styles is done with her," Lance Carter replied.
"Great. So we basically have nothing to go on right now," Cole said warily, taking a sip from his cup.
"No. So we'll just hang out at the station all night, waiting for any other crimes on our watch," Carter replied.
Cole looked at the stretcher being carried into the coroner's van by the people in blue overalls. He wondered  who was killing these women, and how many will have to die in this manner before they could catch him.
"Oh, the message from the last time was here this time too. Same damn message," Carter said.
"Great. At least we know this is the same guy who killed Ashley Browne," Ansen observed.
"Yeah, and he's probably on the look-out for his next while we chase our tails here," Carter commented.

The Face-Off Killer #3

Detectives Ansen Cole and Lance Carter stood in the cold, sterile autopsy room in the basement of the CSI headquarters. In front of them, on a gurney, lay the body of Ashley Browne, the first victim of a bizarre murder involving slashing of vital arteries and peeling off the facial skin. Across from them stood the portly coroner, Dr. Styles, explaining the autopsy details.
"The death resulted from slashing of the radial and carotid arteries, and the resulting exfoliation. The facial skin was peeled off postmortem. It has been done perfectly, with a surgical precision, so the killer has done this before. The victim had been tortured before she was killed, as is evident by the numerous lacerations on the body. There is evidence of repeated sexual assault. Also, she was bound with something like aluminium cords, as evidenced by the ligature marks on the hands and feet," the doctor spoke without pause.
"If the face was peeled off perfectly, it means that our killer is a professional. Might be a medical professional- like a surgeon?" Ansen asked.
"Yes, it is possible, Detective," Dr.Styles replied.
Lance felt his pager vibrating, and immediately took it out of the small pouch attached to the waistband of his trousers.
"Oh God!" he exclaimed, looking at the text on the small blue screen.
"What happened?" Ansen asked his partner.
"Another woman has gone missing from a mall. Her family just reported her disappearance," Lance replied.
"Let's go. Thank you, Dr.Styles," said Ansen Cole, and both men rushed out of the autopsy room.
"Most welcome, Detective," Dr. Styles said to their retreating backs.


**********
"Please...leave me alone. Please..." the woman spoke in between tears, as she struggled to set herself free from the ropes binding her tightly to the bed.
"You see, my darling Azalea, I can't do that! I can't let you go again!" he replied, walking about his workshop, collecting his 'tools', the ones he would use on 'Azalea'.
"I'm not Azalea...I'm Danna. Danna McBride. puhleessss...let me go. I promise not to tell anyone," the woman spoke, crying even more copiously as the adrenaline rushed in her blood, and she felt fear and panic surge within her.
"Shut up! Shut up, bitch! You're Azalea, you lie to me! I know you lie to me! Everybody lies to me!" he shouted.
The woman continued to cry.
Not being able to take it anymore, he sealed Danna's mouth shut with duct tape.
She still continued to make noises through the tape.
"Feisty one, aren't you, Azalea darling! Let me take away some of that aggression," he said, gleefully, as he walked towards the bed with a metal pick in his hand.
He felt a strange rush of ecstasy as he saw the woman's eyes widen in fear.

The Face-Off Killer- #2

Somewhere in Boston, at a shopping mall
He lingered about near the fountain near the entrance of the mall, holding a bag in his hand and pretending to wait for someone. The mall was crowded with women- there was a sale on at one of the outlets on the ground floor, and women were thronging the area to grab their share of branded clothes in cheap and save money. It was nearly six in the evening, and the sale wasn't getting over soon. Evening was also the perfect time to kidnap victims, after all.
Which was very good for him in two ways. One, he had hundreds of women, especially young nubile ones, to choose from. Two, the crowd meant the mall security guard wouldn't pay much attention to him.
The crowd of women swelled by the minute. He suddenly felt hungry- he hadn't eaten anything since he had left work two hours ago. Not wanting to lose sight of his prospective victim pool, but not wanting to collapse from hypoglycemia either, he rushed towards the cafe on the same floor, and decided to have a burger.
He was back within ten minutes, in his earlier position near the fountain. The whole of the ground floor was a sea of people, both because of the people who had come for other purposes, and the ladies who had visited for the sales especially.
But he didn't lose sight. He knew where to look, how to look, when to look and how to choose his next prey. That's why he considered himself the perfect hunter.
Time passed as the process of influx-efflux of customers in the mall continued. Finally, it was nine p.m., and the mall was about to close. Almost everybody had left, except the mall staff, and the women still at the sale, haggling over the few remaining items of clothing.
It was among these stragglers that he had found his next 'Azalea'. She was a petite, luscious blonde, who had been here since early evening and had taken a lot of time to pick her dresses. Finally she was paying her bill at the counter, and had four plastic bags brimming with clothes to carry.
He smiled at his luck- women having a tonne of shopping to carry without anyone to help, were easier to corner in a deserted parking lot under the cover of darkness.
The blonde, having paid her bill, picked up her shopping bags and walked out of the outlet, towards the elevators. He subtly followed ten feet behind, knowing she was going to her car parked in the basement lot. He smiled again as he felt so lucky. Basement parking lots afforded a lot of privacy, especially at this time of the evening.
Anticipation bubbling inside, he followed his quarry as she stepped into one of the elevators. He stepped into the other elevator, and they both were the only ones going down.
He couldn't believe his luck. Azalea was going to be so happy.

Excerpt- The Mumbai Marauder

25^th January, The Feminista Office

11.30 a.m.

Mia was in one of the stalls in the ladies’ washroom, taking a piss, when she heard loud footsteps come inside. Seconds later she saw four pairs of feet, two of them in blue high heels and the other in pink flat heels.

“Can you believe it, Pia? Mr. Nagaraj  complimented me on my dress ya!” one of the women spoke.

“Really? OMG, Priya! When did this happen? What did he say exactly? Tell me, tell me na!” the one called Pia asked excitedly, her voice high-pitched.

Mia’s ears pricked up at the mention of Dev’s name and she listened to the conversation outside with rapt attention. Pia was the illustrator for The Feminista, while Priya was technical editor.

“This morning, when he came to the office to meet Mia Ma’m. He said that the color of my dress brings out my skin tone very well! Nice, no!” Priya replied, sounding like a teenage girl whose crush had just spoken to her for the first time.

“Yeah! Yeah! Very nice. Do you think he likes you?” Pia asked, in a conspiratorial tone. Mia could hear the laughter in her voice; she could also hear her own heart thumping against her rib cage.

“I don’t know ya. But, you know what…I think I…well…” Priya said, and started giggling like a schoolgirl.

“What? Tell me na!” Pia said, also giggling.

“I think he was staring at my boobs while he was talking to me ya. He probably thought I didn’t notice…but I did,” Priya replied, giggling.

“Haaaawwwww! Really? Nice that you’re wearing this low-neck thingy. But isn’t Mr. Nagaraj going out with Leena Bansal? Aren’t they living together now?” Pia asked her friend, her tone caught between conspiratorial and curious.

Mia didn’t even breathe for fear of missing a word in the conversation.

“Ha! Like that matters at all! I honestly don’t understand what he sees in that ugly bitch! I mean, she has those extra large boobs…and that ugly brown hair! And have you see those cigarette stained teeth? She looks like a beggar, for all I know!” Priya said, in a mocking tone.

“You’re right, honey! His relationship with Leena’s not gonna stop him from savoring other delights. Especially not with all that cellulite on her thighs. I mean, he wasn’t exactly celibate when he was with Mia Ma’m…” Pia replied, laughing.

“Ya, I know. He played around like the playboy he is. I don’t think our Mia Ma’m has any idea what her beloved ex-boyfriend was up to while she was gone on her numerous foreign trips!” Priya replied, mockingly.

Mia felt a possible cardiac arrhythmia coming on.

“Oh ya! While she was busy providing social service to the world’s women, Mr. Nagaraj was banging people here- day in and day out. Not anyone from our office though. Only those girls from other magazines and news channels. How I would’ve loved to have a piece of that perfect ass!” Pia sighed.

“Really? Dear lord! How I would’ve loved having a piece of him too! But I guess he was too afraid of his girlfriend. How she would’ve emasculated him had he screwed anyone from her own employees! Maybe that’s why he chose a PR girl like Leena,” Priya said, in the same mocking tone.

“Yeah! I wonder if that’s the reason he dumped her. The stuck-up bitch Mia Ma’m is, he would’ve felt so suffocated ya! She is too much of a  fire-brand feminist to keep a gorgeous boyfriend like Dev Nagaraj. I do think he has more degree of freedom with Leena,” Pia replied.

“You’re right, sweety. How can anyone tolerate that jumped-up self-righteous feminist ideologue? Besides, she’s so ugly. What with all that fat, and that chocolate brown skin! How could a hunk like Dev Nagaraj bear to sleep with such a hag beside him?” Priya replied. Both women burst out laughing. Mia sat on the toilet, stunned out of her wits.

“You know what, Pia? You’re right about Dev’s degree of freedom, now that he’s free from Mia’s clutches. Now no one can stop him from mingling with people in this office. I say we try our luck?” Priya spoke again, her voice full of anticipation and excitement.

“Really? What do you mean ya?” Pia asked, mirroring her friend’s tone.

“We try impressing him at that party tomorrow night! You wear that purple chiffon dress, while I’ll be in that black strapless dress you got for me! Party’s the perfect place to get him to jump us!” Priya said, her excitement levels increasing.

“You clever girl! That black dress accentuates your breasts perfectly!” Pai replied, amused, and both women laughed loudly.

“I know. Let’s go the parlor today evening! Do you have that Loreal lady’s number? I lost it when my phone got lost last week!” Priya said, her voice a screech.

“Preparing for the battleground, eh? I’ll book an appointment for this evening right now! Come on!” Pia replied, giggling. Both women exited the bathroom, with Priya joining her friend in the ridiculous fit of giggles.

Mia rested her elbows on her knees, put her face in her hands, and wept silently.

The Face-Off Killer #1

The Face-Off Killer

Somewhere in the city of Boston

“Good lord!” exclaimed Detective Ansen Cole, as he looked at the sight in front of him with something bordering on morbid fascination.

“What an inapt thing to say, Cole! All godliness has deserted this world…that’s why stuff like…this happens,” his partner, Detective Lance Carter, said in reply. He was looking at the sight before him with more of disgust and abhorrence.

Cole didn’t reply to his partner, but kept on looking with the same expression.

In front of them, lying spread-eagled on the ground, was a corpse. Stripped completely naked, with the throat and wrists clearly slit. From the anatomy, it was clear the corpse was that of a woman.

But the fact  baffling the two detectives was the face of the corpse…or rather a lack of it. The facial skin had been completely ripped off, leaving only a bloody mass of flesh in its place.

“Cole. Cole! Look over there,” Carter nudged his partner sharply in the elbow, making him snap out of his staring and concentrate on his partner’s words.

“Huh? What?” Cole muttered.

“Look over to the wall…there’s something written over there!” Carter repeated, pointing to the wall in front of them, which indicated the dead end of the alley they both stood in right now.

Cole followed the direction of Carter’s outstretched hand.

His eyes landed on something written on the wall. Even in the daylight, it wasn’t bright enough for him to make out what was written. So he inched closer to the wall, taking care to sidestep the corpse and avoid any crime scene contamination.

‘AT MY REQUEST NEVER SHALL YOU SCOFF, LET’S PLAY A GAME CALLED FACE-OFF’.

This cryptic, weird message was written on the wall. The letters had a dark red hue.

Cole assumed that it was nothing but red spray paint.

“Do you think it’s been written in the victim’s blood?” Carter asked Cole, and now his voice reeked of morbid fascination.

“Bah! Don’t be so melodramatic, Carter! It’s obviously red spray paint. Haven’t you seen enough graffiti in your patrol days to be able to tell dark red spray paint from blood?” Cole chided his partner lightly.

“Sorry. This whole face-off thing is giving me the heebies-jeebies. We can assume the killer wrote this message, right?” Carter replied.

“Yes, of course. Makes perfect sense. The victim’s face ripped off…a different kind of face-off…literally face-off.” Cole replied, thoughtfully.

“Who called us here? Can you remember?” Carter asked his partner.

“Dispatch said an anonymous caller had reported a body lying here. That’s about all I know. Did you see anyone on the way in? I know I didn’t.” Cole said to his partner.

“Nopes.  Didn’t see anyone here. Funny thing, eh? Why would someone call us here, to a crime scene, and then scarper?” wondered Carter.

“Well, there are two possibilities. Either he is the killer, whose idea of fun was to commit this grisly crime and then call the cops to his own crime scene. Or he was some other kind of shady character, who happened to come here to do his business and chanced upon this,” Cole replied.

“Hmmmphhh. The crime scene people will be here soon. Only they can tell us more about this murder now. Let’s get out of here…the sight and smell both are killing me,” Carter said, wrinkling his nose and turning his face away from the body.

“You’re right. Let’s leave,” agreed Cole, and both detectives hurriedly walked out of the alley.

Somewhere else in Boston

He caressed the face in front of him, his fingers touching the skin delicately, like a passionate lover trying to fill his senses with the ecstasy of feeling his beloved.

“Oh! Azalea! My dear, sweet Azalea! The love of my life! Why, why did you have to leave me, huh? Why? Why? Why did you break my heart?” he said, his voice low, melancholy.

The ‘face’ he was touching was actually skin ripped off from his first victim. He had torn off the face in one clean go, using a surgical instrument, leaving behind only a bloody mass of flesh and the bone underneath. This ‘face’ he fitted neatly over one of the numerous mannequin face models he had in his ‘workshop’, which was the basement of his house. The face had adjusted nicely over its plastic support structure, giving an impression of a real face, albeit disembodied. The red, full lips, the pert nose and the blue eyes and the fair skin. All he needed to do was get a proper wig to fit the face.

That wasn’t a problem- he had hundreds of wigs of various colors in his collection. The woman he had killed was a blonde, so he chose a blonde wig from his collection and placed it neatly atop the ‘skull’.

The result astounded him, gave him immense pleasure and a shot of ecstasy that a dose of morphine couldn’t equal. He was so impressed by his work that he started dancing about the room in joy.

“Azalea! Azalea! I’ve done it, Azalea! I’ve brought you back in my life! I’m so happy. Now we will live happily ever after…with the others, my dear Azalea!” he screamed, prancing about the room like a child who has received the best Christmas presents of his life.

He admired his work from various angles. He took numerous photos of ‘Azalea’ on his digital camera. One of the images from his collection would make a good screensaver on his laptop.

Then more screensavers would come, when the ‘others’ would come. The other faces, from other women; faces he needed to bring back Azalea completely. He had been rejoicing because, even after losing practice for a long time, his first ‘job’ had gone pretty well. But now he had other jobs to finish, for bringing that one job to completion- the job of resurrecting Azalea completely.

The next morning, somewhere in Boston, two separate articles appeared in the same newspaper

Woman’s body found in alleyway; police mystified

Boston: In a hocking development yesterday, police found a corpse dumped in an alley on Maple Avenue. The corpse, according to sources, is that of a woman in her late twenties. The corpse was completely naked, and had its throat and wrists slit. But the most horrifying and baffling fact is that the corpse’s face had been completely ripped off. The police are experiencing great difficulty in identifying the victim because of the lack of any ID, and, well, the victim’s face.

Woman went missing from home day before yesterday; hasn’t been found yet

Boston: In a strange incident, a twenty-eight year old woman, Ashley Browne, mysteriously disappeared from home on the day before yesterday, and hasn’t been found yet. She went missing sometime in the evening, says her husband, before he got home from work. The husband, Roger Browne, contacted the police yesterday morning itself, but they refused to register Ashley as a missing case because of the 24-hours policy and the fact she was an adult who could hang around on her own. When a worried Roger further pleaded with them to look into her disappearance, their response was nothing short of hostile.

“They accused me of having bumped off my wife and then reporting her as missing to the cops,” a bewildered Roger says.

The police’s blatant refusal to investigate this disappearance even after 24 hours have passed is as mystifying as the whereabouts of Ashley Browne.

Ashley is blonde, petite and was last seen on the morning of 24^th March, day before yesterday. If you happen to see her anywhere in your vicinity, please call her husband on this number….

“Carter! Carter! Ashley Browne! I think our victim is Ashley Browne!” yelled Cole, as he abandoned his coffee and croissant and ran off to find his partner, clutching the newspaper in his hand.