Messages

The chief scratches his chin and looks around the room. "Any progress folks? After such a strong beginning, is this really how it ends?"

I'm getting Event Horizon vibes from that, but it's definitely not the titular spacecraft. I can't quite remember what the other main spaceship looks like in that film.

The chief rapidly calls all the hospitals in the area, but no-one matching the woman's description has been checked in for any injuries that could have resulted from a fight.

[I feel great personal humiliation at that typo. I have a copy of Poe's complete works sitting on the bookshelf next to my desk, it was literally in my eyeline when I was writing that passage. I have brought shame upon my family.]

[THE KS CASE]

THE KS CASE

FINAL CHAPTER

Collins knocked on the door and examined the porch. This was the last house they had to visit in Silver Creek, and Collins's hopes weren't particularly high. He could tell by looking at White's face that hers were practically submerged. The house seemed well-kept, nothing out of the ordinary. Probably another bust, he thought to himself as the door swung open.

He found himself looking at a petite woman, probably in her mid-twenties. Auburn hair, pale skin, relaxed posture. She was wearing a dressing gown, his knocking had clearly disturbed her from some peaceful activity. No different from any of the other residents he had spoken to today. In unison, he and White produced their badges, and Collins rattled off their standard opener. "Hello ma'am, my name is Officer Collins, this is Officer White. We are checking the area for anything suspicious as we've been given a tip that there has been some criminal activity in these parts. It's nothing for you to worry about, but if you've seen or heard anything unusual then we would appreciate if you could let us know."

A worried look spread over the woman's face. "Gee whiz officers, I hope it is nothing serious. Have you been talking to all the residents?" White nodded. "Yes ma'am, in fact you're the last house on the list." The woman's eyes widened with concern. "My, you folks must have been out here for hours! Please, come in, I've just made some fresh lemonade, I'd be flattered if you'd take a glass and a few minutes to refresh yourselves."

The woman stood back, opening the door wide and gesturing for the officers to come inside. Collins looked at White, and the pair communicated in a language of silent facial expressions which they had honed over their years spent patrolling together. He raised his eyebrows, asking if White wanted to oblige without saying a word. The corner of White's mouth puckered, what's the harm? Collins's lip curled, I guess so, and besides, I could use a cold drink. Collins and White turned back to the woman. "We'd be happy to take you up on that offer ma'am, thank you for your generosity."

The woman smiled as she led the officers down the hallway. The house was neat and proper. Collins threw a passing glance into each doorway. A living room fitted with leather furniture. A small bathroom. A room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Collins stopped and took a closer look at the third room. It was practically a library! In the centre of the room stood a high-backed leather armchair, and a small coffee table stood next to it, adorned with a ceramic coaster and a coffee cup still filled with steaming liquid. "Wow," Collins called to the woman, who was just leading White into the kitchen. "This is quite the little bookstore you have here! Mind if I take a look inside?" The woman turned to him and presented a chipper grin. "Not at all! It's my pride and joy." Collins gave White a look that signaled for her to be on the lookout, before stepping into the room.

He was surrounded by books on all sides, almost all of them hardbacks. Collins had a gut feeling that if he was to examine them, he would find that most would be original first editions - the entire room was dripping with literary ancestry. A brief scan of the shelves revealed that every book had been carefully placed in alphabetical order. There were plenty of authors he recognised, Edgar Allen Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury... but dozens of names which were complete mysteries to him. As he slowly looked around the open, square room he could hear White chatting with the woman in the next room.

It was at this point that he realised that the armchair wasn't the only furniture in the room. In the corner behind the door, there was a small desk and a hard wooden desk chair. The desk was narrow, just wide enough to hold its contents, namely a small notepad, a fountain pen, and an old-fashioned typewriter. Curious, Collins walked over. The typewriter looked untouched, like it could have rolled off the factory floor yesterday. It had a fresh sheet of white paper spooled halfway through, ready to be typed upon, but at the same time it looked arranged, as though the entire desktop was merely a display piece. His curiosity got the better of him, and he started to push on the keys. The CLACK CLACK CLACK of the old metal keys filled the air, drowning out the sound of the women talking in the next room.

"C - O - L - L - I -   - S"

Collins swallowed. He had heard the CLACK of the "N" key when he pressed it, yet there his name was, without that particular letter. Maybe he just hadn't pressed it hard enough. He punched downwards on the key with his finger, and the little arm swung forward to strike the page. Collins bent down to take a closer look. While the black ink had clearly left an impression on the paper for all of the other letters, there was definitively no mark being left from the "N" key. He began to sweat. Quickly he bashed the "E" key. CLACK! But again, nothing on the page. He tried "T" immediately. CLACK! Not a mark.

Quickly, Collins headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he heard the homeowner calling out. "Officer Collins, here's that lemonade..." Rounding the corner, Collins found himself only a couple of feet from the woman. Her left hand was holding glass of cloudy yellow liquid, while her right was in the pocket of her dressing gown. Collins tried to disguise the worry on his face, but he could tell the woman had noticed something was wrong. For the briefest of moments, Collins's mind worked overtime, trying to read the microexpressions on the woman's face, hoping to predict her next move. In a flash, her arm was moving.

Dropping his hand to his sidearm, Collins instinctively yelled out for his partner. He saw the revolver emerge from the woman's pocket just as he unclasped his holster. He was the fastest draw of anyone in their station, but the woman had gotten the drop on him. He was just starting to raise the barrel of his gun when the flash burst forth from the muzzle of the woman's pistol.

The bullet hit Collins square in the chest, and he dropped. He gasped for air as he hit the floor, his head spinning and his ears ringing. He desperately tried to focus his eyes on the woman, rolling on his side to get a better look. Amazed, he watched as White grappled with the woman, trying to disarm her. The first gunshot had been deafening, so to Collins the whole scene played out like a macabre silent dance routine. White's face was determined, stony, she was shouting something. The ordinary-looking woman's features had twisted into that of a shrieking shrew. The gun waved around at arm's length from the women, occasionally coughing forth bullets which tore through the walls and rained ceiling plaster down on top of them.

Eventually the woman got the upper hand, clobbering White on the back of the head with the handle of the pistol. White flopped to the floor, falling as a dead weight, landing hard on her head. The woman fled out through the kitchen, the last Collins saw of her was the now-empty revolver falling to the floor at the threshold of the hallway. Collins looked down at his chest. Great pain shot across his torso every time he inhaled, but he saw no blood. He fumbled his hand across the front of his chest and found something hard and metallic embedded in his uniform, just in front of his heart. It was the bullet which had struck him. The bulletproof vest he had started wearing after the bomb attack had saved his life. He may have some broken ribs and a punctured lung, but he was breathing.

The chief cracks the lid off a fresh bottle of whiskey and takes four long glugs straight from the neck. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, we found the killer's residence, but we have two more officers off the street. Collins is in hospital with a collapsed lung, and White's being treated for severe blood loss and concussion. Ullman has just started traction to get his leg back in working order, and Pangborn only regained consciousness yesterday. The house Collins and White were in belongs to a woman named Annie McGee. She works in a book store in Charlesburg. Her whole family's from the area, she went to the local schools and never moved away for college. By all accounts she's kept to herself, no criminal record. We've no confirmation that she is the woman who attacked officers White and Collins, but her appearance does match the description Officer Collins has given us.

"We've interviewed all of the film crew, for the most part they were able to give us some details about the production but not much information on the crimes. They're working on an adaptation of the novel "Revival" and they were going to use some of the natural beauty spots in the area as shooting locations. They got a subsidy from the local authorities as long as a certain percentage of their employees were locals, so they cast some minor parts from the area along with some of the smaller crew positions.

"The only one with any real insight to the killer was the director, Mike Flanagan. He says he's worked on enough Stephen King-related works to know the audience pretty well. He says that King's fans are some of the most dedicated, rabid animals out there. They seem to sniff out every detail, whisper, and rumour that's King-related as soon as it happens. He wouldn't put it past them to hack into the Intrepid Pictures systems to find out details of their production. He also said that if you put a gun to his head, he could hazard a guess as to who is behind this... At the New York Comic-Con panel before the release of Doctor Sleep, a crazed fan forced her way onto the stage, ranting and raving about how everyone associated with the production was going to hell for ruining Stephen King's books. The woman was put on the blacklist for media events. Flanagan couldn't remember her name exactly, but said it sounded like it was Irish in origin. "Amy McCoy" or "Audrey McGill" or something along those lines. He said this without being informed of what happened to our officers earlier and whose house they were in at the time.

"Nothing was found in Alphabet City, though I can't blame you for thinking outside the box. Now that our killer's home address has possibly been exposed, she'll REALLY be on the run. I suggest we put out an APB based on the description we got from-"

Out of nowhere, the phone on the corner desk begins to ring. The chief does a double-take. "What the... that hasn't rung in weeks! Everyone, get to your phones!" The chief hurries over to the desk and yanks up the receiver. A woman's voice speaks hurriedly.

Oh you think you've spoiled my climax? All good plans contain a failsafe so they will be successful! Once I get out of here, I'll put a stop to the destruction of the master's work, believe it! Kidnapping and murder are just the start, there is so much to take care of! Just watch me!

The phone line goes dead. The chief slowly puts down the handset. "Looks like we have one last chance to catch this maniac. All hands on deck!"

Apologies for the delay everyone, full update coming tomorrow!

I'm going to be busy with work for the next day or two so I probably won't get a chance to post any long/detailed updates. I just wanted to give everyone a heads-up and also thank you all very much for your kind words about my writing! I'm very glad you enjoy the little passages I've been adding.

Clicking in the button on his radio, Sergeant Pangborn called back to the station. "White and Collins, come in." He checked his watch and looked over to Leland, who was going door-to-door asking the residents of Schaalburg for information. Gillian's voice crackled through the radio, "White and Collins here, go ahead Sarge." Pangborn cleared his throat and leaned against his patrol car. "I want you two out in the prowler, ready to take off if we get a lead on another location. We might not have much time left." Gillian's reply was swift. "Roger that Sarge, we'll be standing by with the engine running." Pangborn smiled despite himself. He was happy to have White and Collins back as a team.

"SARGE! Get over here!" Pangorn spun around to face Leland, who was standing on the doorstep of a nearby house. Beside Leland stood a thin man with dark hair and a beard speckled with grey. As Pangborn started to stride towards the house, he called out to Leland, "What's up?"

Leland spoke to the man next to him. "Tell the Sergeant what you told me." The other man seemed a little confused, but complied. "Well, like I told your officer here Sergeant, my name's Michael Fimognari. I'm a cinematographer, I'm here on a location scouting trip for an upcoming film. We've been delayed because no-one on the team can get in contact with the scout that we sent out in advance so-"

Arriving on the doorstep, Pangborn cut him off. "Michael, I know this is sudden, but I need you to get out of the house now. Get everybody in the house out of there. We need to take you all to the police station IMMEDIATELY." Pangborn could tell by the look on the man's face that his confusion had only grown. "What do you mean? What's going on?" Pangborn dropped his hand to his waist and unholstered his service revolver. "Sir, I don't have time to explain the whole situation, but we believe we have received a direct threat against the lives of everyone from Intrepid Pictures and we need to get you to safety NOW."

Michael's face turned pale. "How did you know we were with Intrepid Pictures? Christ, that doesn't matter, I believe you." Pangborn watched as he turned into the house and shouted to his co-workers to leave. There wasn't any movement from the people inside, so Pangborn signaled to Leland to move in. The two officers moved through the house, repeating the conversation they had with Michael with each new member of the crew they came across.

Eventually they had cleared out the bottom floor of the building, and the two officers stood in the hallway by the front door. "Is that everyone?" Pangborn shouted to the small group out on the sidewalk. "Except Mike!" called one of the women. "He went upstairs to use the john." Pangborn turned to Leland. "I want you to stay outside with them, keep them together. Get in touch with White and Collins, tell them we've located the film crew and that we need extra hands to take them back to the station. And for God's sake, keep an eye on your surroundings. That maniac could be out there watching us." Leland nodded and headed outside.

Pangborn leapt up the stairs three at a time and made his way onto the landing. A handful of doors presented themselves to him. He approached the first one on the left and knocked. No answer. Same result with the second one. Frustrated, Pangborn hammered on the third door and was relieved when he got the chipper response, "Just a minute!" Pangborn sighed, then got back to business. "Mike, this is Sergeant Pangborn, you are in a dangerous situation and we need to get you to safety," Pangborn called through the door. He heard the sound of running water stop, before the door was unlocked and swung open. Pangborn was greeted by a round-faced, slightly-balding man in his forties. "What seems to be the problem officer?" he chirped.

Pangborn quickly explained the situation and found that Mike was more than eager to comply. Pangborn let Mike walk ahead of him across the landing - he wanted to make sure a police officer was the last one out of the house. Mike seemed frazzled by the situation, mumbling to himself as the two men descended the stairs. "I don't get it, who would threaten a film production, we're not doing anything illegal, we get all the right permits and permissions..."

CLICK!

Pangborn grabbed Mike's arm and told him to shush. He had heard something, a click or a switch or a clunk. Whatever it was, he couldn't hear it now. Pangborn felt Mike start to shift his weight to resume walking down the stairs, so Pangborn looked down. "DON'T MOVE!" he cried, and Mike froze in place.

Crouching down, Pangborn could tell that the board under Mike's left foot had been tampered with. It didn't fit squarely to the staircase, and looked like it had been removed and hastily replaced. Pangborn shut his eyes and let out a low, guttural groan. Goddammit. A hidden mine. Christ, this asshole was probably watching the house and saw us evacuating. I bet they activated the mine as soon as they saw us at the door, and I just got lucky on my way up by not standing on this particular stair. Damn it all to hell!

"What's wrong?" Mike stuttered, clearly none the wiser but definitely concerned. Pangborn thought for a moment about what to do, but after only a second's contemplation he knew what course of action he had to take. He slid up beside Mike and placed his own foot on the booby-trapped stair. "Mike," he said in as calm and collected a tone as he could muster, "I want you to get down this staircase and out to the street as quickly as you can. Now. Go." Mike didn't need telling twice. Pangborn held his breath as Mike stepped off the rigged board and he shifted his own weight onto it, and sighed with relief when nothing happened. In a flash Mike had disappeared out the door, leaving Pangborn alone on the staircase.

Pangborn weighed up his options. Obviously he couldn't stand on the staircase for the rest of his life. He could put in a call for the bomb squad, but they would be hours away. If he got tired or his foot cramped up and the pressure on the board changed, that could be the end of him. They could try putting something else on the stair as a weight so he could step off, but getting something heavy enough that would also fit onto a single stair in a residential house would be near impossible on short notice. He considered it a minor miracle that he had gotten the timing right in putting his own weight on the step, not to mention the stroke of fortune of the two men weighing roughly the same. It was just as Pangborn was settling on a course of action that Leland appeared at the doorway to the house. "Sarge...?"

"STAY BACK!" called Pangborn, stopping Leland in his tracks. "Leland, get everyone outside to a safe distance. Make sure you get the neighbours out of the houses next door too. Put a call in for an ambulance and the fire department. Hide yourself behind the prowler, and when the dust settles you get your ass in here ASAP. You hear me?" Leland paused for a moment, taking a long look and Pangborn. Then Leland nodded, and ran out of Pangborn's view. Pangborn could hear Leland shouting to the civilians to get out of harm's way, and couldn't help but smile. That rookie will go far, he thought to himself.

Pangborn reflected on the previous bomb that had gone off. White had managed to tackle Collins clear of the immediate blast site, and he escaped with relatively minor injuries. This bomb-maker probably didn't have the skills or resources to put together anything that would level a building. It was about an eight foot drop from where he was to the floor, and probably the same distance straight across to reach the foot of the staircase. Assuming that the bomb itself was directly under his right foot, and assuming he was recalling his high school math lessons correctly, if he managed to make it to the foot of the staircase that would put him about 12 feet from the epicentre of the explosion. He hoped that was enough. He put his gun back in his holster and fastened it. Didn't want that becoming a projectile. Well, enough time had gone by for Leland to evacuate everyone. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath and spending a moment to think of his wife and kids, Pangborn jumped.

The explosion shattered every window of the lower storey of the house. The ground shook, and debris was flung far and wide. Flames and plumes of dust shot out towards the road, and Leland felt the heat even protected behind the police cruiser. Car alarms three streets away started to go off. In the distance, Leland heard the approaching wails of emergency response vehicles. As soon as the ground settled, Leland ran for the entrance to the house. God, he hoped Pangborn was still alive.

The chief emerges from his office with a solemn look on his face. "Not much to say. Pangborn is in intensive care. The man he saved, Mike Flanagan, is the director for the next Stephen King adaptation Intrepid Pictures is making. No evidence left that points to the identity of the criminal." With that, the chief enters his office and shuts the door.

The chief drums his fingers on his desk. "Officer Ullman is still in hospital after getting a fire axe lodged halfway through his calf. The available units for searches are Sergeant Pangborn, Officer White, Officer Collins, and Officer Leland. Do you want to send two officers to Silver Creek and two to Smithers Industrial Complex at the same time?

"I've looked into flights to and from Salzburg, there's no airline flying those routes at the moment. I had such a strong feeling about that idea too, Salzburg seemed like it had great promise."

The chief scratches his head and wonders aloud, "Out of curiosity, when CaptainD first posted the list of numbers converted to letters, did anyone try seeing if there were any hidden words in that sequence?"

NOTE FOR REFERENCE:

Spoiler

Haha! You're in double trouble now! 19

Everything will be set for my finale soon. 8 Those dirty birdies will see, they should leave the Master's work alone and not cheapen it by twisting, distilling, and contorting it for the masses. 1 They have done it too many times now and I will not let it happen, not now, not here! So the dirty birdies may fly here, but they will get a surprise when they land. 3 THEY SHALL NOT CONTINUE. 1  This heresy ends NOW. 2

You will never find me. 7 I have 26 pieces left. 18 I can disappear. 21 I am not old, my bones do not creak. 2 Will I escape? 12 Does the quick, brown fox jump over the lazy dog?

Good luck NYPD

[close]

MAP FOR REFERENCE:

Spoiler

[close]

[Desire]

While I respect Bob Dylan as a lyricist and recognise the cultural importance of his work, his music has never been something that I'll choose to play. Occasionally I'll hear "Like A Rolling Stone" or "Shelter From the Storm" or "Blowin' In The Wind" on the radio and I'll happily hum along, but I've never found his music as a whole to be entirely to my tastes. I almost never find myself in the mood to seek out and play one of his records. Except...

I have listened to the album Desire probably hundreds of times. Maybe it's the fact that nearly all the tracks are storytelling songs in some way that makes me enjoy it. It's the only time I can say that all the mumbly slurring word stuff that Dylan is known for actually works for the subject matter, not against it. When I listen to this album, it makes me feel like I'm in a dark pub somewhere, listening to someone with an awful lot of life experience tell me tales of their life.

There's a couple of things I don't like about the album (in particular I don't enjoy the glorification of the gangster Joey Gallo in the track "Joey") but I find it exceptional in creating a mood and atmosphere that I don't experience anywhere else. I've heard some Tom Waits songs that get close, but never a whole album. I'm sure I'm missing out on other Bob Dylan goodness, but the man has written and recorded so much over the years that I've found it hard to cling onto the stuff I'v really enjoyed. This is the only instance where I can point to a single album and say, "All of that is for me," in some way.

The chief listens intently to your discussion, nodding along. "This is all very good speculation. Just one issue," he asks in a gentle tone, "If the first paragraph deals with one location, and the second paragraph deals with the other location, what the hell do the numbers mean? Are they just a red herring?"

Unfortunately the team uncovers no clues in Sheldonville.

Sergeant Pangborn and his team search Margaret Anne Penitentiary but see no indication that it is the planned destination of the film crew or the location of the killer's hideout.

The chief tries to contact representatives at AirBNB but as anyone who has used the service before will tell you, the customer support is atrocious. He spends an hour trying to get ahold of a human to explain the situation to before giving up and deciding that solving the killer's riddles will be an easier task than contacting AirBNB directly.

The chief spends all morning calling hotels, inns, motels, and any other temporary accommodation locations he can find in the area. He gets no decent leads, so he calls the Intrepid Pictures reception again and is told that as far as the receptionist can remember, the team will be staying in an AirBNB somewhere in the district, but has no information on where that might be.

LETTER FOR REFERENCE:

Spoiler

Haha! You'r  in doubl   roubl   ow! 19

v ry hi g will b  s   for my fi al  soo . 8  hos  dir y birdi s will s  ,  h y should l av   h  Mas  r's work alo   a d  o  ch ap   i  by  wis i g, dis illi g, a d con or i g i  for  h  mass s. 1  h y hav  do   i   oo ma y  im s  ow a d I will  o  le  i  happ  ,  o   ow,  o  h r ! So  h  dir y birdi s may fly h r , bu   h y will g t a surpris  wh    h y land. 3  H Y SHALL  O  CO  I U . 1  his h r sy   ds  OW. 2

You will v r fi d m . 7 I hav  26 pi c s l ft. 18 I ca  disapp ar. 21 I am  o  old, my bon s do  o  cr ak. 2 Will I  scap ? 12 Do s  h  quick, brow  fox jump ov r  h  lazy dog?

Good luck NYPD

[close]

MAP FOR REFERENCE:

Spoiler

[close]

The chief makes a phone call and reports back to you all. "The receptionist for Intrepid Pictures says that there's a team headed to Upstate New York as we speak, they flew in to JFK this morning and are traveling by road up there to finalise some shooting locations. But get this, he couldn't track down their booking info for where they are staying. Seems like all the data on the trip has been wiped from their records. This could be gross negligence or a malicious hacking attack, but the bottom line is that there's no record on where their destination is.

The receptionist said he'd try to reach a member of the team and would get back to me if he had any success. In the meantime, I bet the killer has left clues as to their planned destination in that last letter. We need to figure out where they're going so we can protect them!"

[THE KS CASE]

THE KS CASE

Chapter Six

Sergeant Pangborn was the first one to arrive back at their meeting point after splitting the team up to look for suspicious activity in Cunningham Centre. One by one, he was joined by officers White and Leland who both reported nothing out of the ordinary. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Please, let something show up, please..." he silently pleaded. Suddenly, there was a crackle over the radio. "Son of a bitch!" It was Collins. Pangborn quickly signaled for White and Leland to hop into a patrol car, while he squeezed the button on his transmitter.

"Collins, come in! What's going on?" Pangborn dropped into the driver's seat of his cruiser and turned the key, the engine growling with gusto. He swung the wheel around and pointed the car towards the area he had sent Collins. "Collins, are you alright?" With a flick of a switch his siren was screaming. Looking in his rearview mirror he saw Officer White at the wheel of their other patrol car, Leland beside her with his hands braced and his teeth gritted.

"Uh, sorry Sarge, false alarm... some damn pussycat just leaped out of nowhere and scratched the hell out of my neck." Pangborn rolled his eyes, and noticed Leland throw his hands in the air in the car behind. Pangborn gently pressed the brake pedal and turned off the siren. "Roger that, Collins. What's your location? We're en route." Pangborn checked his watch. Something really should have turned up by now...

"I'm just leaving the cemetery now. Nothing out of the ordinary to report here, didn't find anything at the mill or the..." Collins had trailed off. There was an uncomfortable silence. Pangborn went for his radio, but Collins came back. "Um, Sarge... There's something weird here." A knot started to develop in Pangborn's stomach. "Understood Collins. Hold the fort, we'll be there in less than a minute."

The patrol car's tires skidded on the loose gravel outside the graveyard. Pangborn pulled on his hat and got out of the car. Collins stood just outside the fence, looking towards the treeline. Pangborn approached and stood next to him. "What's the deal, Collins?" Collins didn't turn his head, instead he pointed in the direction of the trees. "That's the cat that scratched me..."

Pangborn turned his head in the direction that Collins had indicated, and the knot in his stomach tightened. A scraggly Maine Coon cat with matted hair was chewing on something a short distance away. It was sitting on what appeared to be a makeshift grave site. A flimsy cross made of branches was embedded in the ground, and dangling from the crossbeam was a sign with the word "CHURCH" scribbled across it in what appeared to be crayon.

Pangborn took a step closer, and his stomach finally sank entirely. The cat was chewing on the exposed bones of a human hand. It seemed that whoever was buried had tried to dig their way out and had expired mere inches from safety. It wouldn't have taken much effort for a feral cat to dig down and make a meal of the poor individual's arm.

With all the force he could muster, Pangborn threw his hat to the ground in frustration. Officer White and Officer Leland had just arrived, their faces pale and their eyes wide. Pangborn looked at each of his officers, his eyes burning. "We've got to CATCH this son-of-a-bitch!"

The chief kicks open his door holding a whiskey bottle and sweeps everything off the first table he sees. "The ONE thing I was holding onto, the ONE little shred of pride I clung to, was that no-one had died. I REFUSED to call this maniac a killer, because so far there was a body count of zero. Well I don't have that anymore goddammit!" The chief kicks the table for good measure.

"The victim is Daniel Wiseman, the guy from California whose blood we found on the shredded material. Single guy, no kids. From what we've been able to gather in the short time since we found his remains, he worked as some kind of freelance location scout for various Hollywood productions. He was staying at an AirBNB not far from the graveyard where his body was found. We searched his room and found some documentation linking him to what appears to be the same production as the other victims, but unfortunately the place was in a ransacked state when we arrived so the... ugh... killer probably made off with a lot of the important stuff to cover their tracks.

"We know it was the killer because they left us this." The chief holds up a single sheet of paper, clearly written using a typewriter.

Haha! You'r  in doubl   roubl   ow! 19

v ry hi g will b  s   for my fi al  soo . 8  hos  dir y birdi s will s  ,  h y should l av   h  Mas  r's work alo   a d  o  ch ap   i  by  wis i g, dis illi g, a d con or i g i  for  h  mass s. 1  h y hav  do   i   oo ma y  im s  ow a d I will  o  le  i  happ  ,  o   ow,  o  h r ! So  h  dir y birdi s may fly h r , bu   h y will g t a surpris  wh    h y land. 3  H Y SHALL  O  CO  I U . 1  his h r sy   ds  OW. 2

You will v r fi d m . 7 I hav  26 pi c s l ft. 18 I ca  disapp ar. 21 I am  o  old, my bon s do  o  cr ak. 2 Will I  scap ? 12 Do s  h  quick, brow  fox jump ov r  h  lazy dog?

Good luck NYPD

The chief takes a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. "This has to end, soon..." He starts to mumble to himself and heads back into his office.

MAP FOR REFERENCE:

Spoiler

[close]

(Below is an out-of-character explanation of the previous puzzle.)

Spoiler

Cunningham Centre was the correct location for the previous riddle, so I'm entirely happy to continue things even though some of the methods used to figure it out were incorrect. It wasn't like it was a blind guess on your part, there was a lot of thought put into it and in reality it wouldn't matter the reasons behind searching somewhere. What matters is finding the victims! It was fascinating to see everyone try so many different methods to figure it out!

The pentacle that led to Sheldonville was a complete coincidence! In fact, I was purposely staying away from the puzzles where the crime locations create a pattern on the map because that was such a key element of the Justice Killer case. I just happened to pick place names that created that pattern without even thinking about it.

The INTENDED clues that the poem contained are as follows. "In the middle of it all" was something you picked up on, which pointed towards Cunningham CENTRE. Similarly, the line "He is the centre of my world" was in the poem, again indicating Cunningham CENTRE. The final clue in the poem was the line "You sneaky clever little pigs." What's another way of saying a clever pig? A CUNNING HAM.

[close]

The four officers met up back where they had parked their cruisers, in the centre of Sheldonville. Sergeant Pangborn could tell by their faces that nothing had been discovered. He cleared his throat and addressed them all. "Thanks for doing such a thorough job. I know these constant searches are hard work, but as we've already seen by now, there are innocent lives at risk. Our job is to protect and serve the community, so that means putting ourselves in the firing line from time to time."

"You're telling me!" chirped Collins, before adding, "Come on Sarge, what the hell is the chief doing down there in NYC? Throwing darts at a map? Seems like we've been having no luck at all recently."

Pangborn gave Collins a warning look. "Easy, Collins. The chief has a team of experts working on trying to predict and prevent this lunatic's actions. The trouble with a mad person is that they're often incomprehensible, and no matter how much work you put in it all amounts essentially to educated guesswork. I do see your point of view here, don't think that I don't, but we've got to trust the team downtown. They know what they're doing."

"If you say so..." mumbled Collins under his breath. Pangborn let it slide, he wasn't petty, he knew how stressed out everyone must be. He couldn't help but wonder about the task force's methods though, he couldn't get rid of this niggling feeling that things just HAD to be simpler than they were making it out to be...

Sipping a coffee, the chief addresses you in a careful, considered tone. "So if I'm understanding you correctly, you want to send two officers to Cunningham Centre and two officers to Sheldonville. Who do you want to send where?"

Quintaros has nailed it! One of my absolute favourites, I very luckily got the opportunity to see a 35mm print version of it in a sort-of arthouse cinema when I was in college.