• Two gunshots to the back of the head and stab wound to the left of the neck. This had been the fifth murder by the mysterious serial killer. No known detective or investigator could detect who this mass murderer was. I was new to the world of investigation ,only being a detective of a year, and this was my biggest case ever.

    "So, this is the famous trademark kill by Lefty Two-Hands," I asked in curiousity.

    "Yes ma'am."

    I leaned over the half naked woman's body studying over the shots entrance. Curved...how odd. Apparently are shooter had held the gun in a sideways manner and curved him arms. The bullets were more than likely lodged in her cranium, but from what I have heard the bullets are not able to be matched to any known firearm in the city. They had tried many materials to match the homemade gun, but still no match. The bullets were of a crude material, more than like homemade also.

    "I see that the bullets entered in a curve Mr. Jones."

    "That is correct Ms. Angelou, the bullets in all his victims are all in lodged in the left side of the cranium."

    "Exactly as I thought."

    I searched the floor for any blood dropplets, but there were none to be found. Obviouslly she was killed in another place. The stab wound was deep enought to punture the air pipe. The blood around the wound had enough time to become crusty. Her temperature was low enough to show she had been dead for quite some time. There were tiny drops of water all over her body.

    "Mr. Jones?"


    "Were the other victims frozen before found at the crime scene?"

    "What? No, actually the others had been murdered the same day. Why do you ask such?"

    "Well our victim has water drops on her body, her temperature was ten below zero, making it impossible to figure her time of death."

    "How odd. All our other victims had been at the temperature of sixty degrees, showing they had been dead for five hours atleast."


    Looking through the room I saw no pictures of the woman herself, but of completely different people. I picked up the picture on the side table beside the couch she was on. A elderly women, a younf boy, a young girl, and a middle-aged women and man were standing in the picture. I took the picture outside, ignoring the gleaming object in the corner of my eye. I studied over the picture, then the house. This picture was the picture of the real owner of this house.

    "Mr. Jones! Come here quickly!"

    "Yes, what is it."

    "This house is not the deceased womans house, it is an attirely different persons."

    He took the photo out of my hand in a quick manner. He looked over it, then paused.

    "That woman in the red dress was last weeks victim."

    I looked at the picture, he was pointing at the middle aged woman. We stood there awe-struck as we stared at picture in the middle of a yard of a perfect house, in a perfect neighboorhood, on the perfect street, with a perfect murder on our hand. We had noticed the car pull up behind the other police cars that were there with us. We had not heard the children screaming and crying, the elderly woman moaning in agony, as she was tackled back away from the house when trying to run to the house.

    To be continued...