This is pretty much a direct continuation of last week's story (found here). This week I kept it pretty short, the challenge over at Terribleminds went up a bit late so I had to rush this slightly. I almost added another scene but I wouldn't have had the time to edit it properly. Anyway, enough rambling.
B & B – Interrogation
The man
rocked back in and forth in his chair, the metal legs clinking softly on the
floor with each pass. He pulled the
handcuffs tight, wrists worn red and raw from the pressure.
“A
poetic pattern retains inertia. A poetic
pattern retains inertia.”
Don stood
in the observation room, watching the lunatic through the mirrored glass.
“How long has he been doing
that?”
Derek Franklin, the department’s
head profiler, shrugged. “Ever since you
and John brought him in.”
Don hid clenched fists in his
crossed arms, “Do we even know who he is?”
Derek shook his head, “No I.D.
when he came in, and his prints didn’t turn up in any databases.”
“And he hasn’t said anything
else?”
“He asked if the tooth fairy
would visit.”
Don arched an eyebrow, “Seriously?”
“No. But you did knock out a tooth when you pistol
whipped him.”
“Forgive me for not caring.” Don
huffed.
Derek chuckled, “You won’t hear
me complain.”
They were cut off when the door
to the holding room opened and John stepped inside. For his part the prisoner didn’t react,
continuing to rock and mutter that same phrase.
Don watched as John let the door
click shut and crossed the room, he passed within reach of the man and Don
tensed, but the prisoner didn’t react.
John sat down across the table
and opened the thin folder he’d carried in.
“You’ve been linked to over a
dozen murders over the last year. All
young women, all taken from their homes, but no other connection we can see.”
The rocking stilled for a
moment.
John laced his fingers together,
“We’d like to know why.”
The man resumed rocking his
chair, “A poetic pattern retains inertia.”
“Is that why you killed these
women?” John asked. “Fulfilling a
pattern?”
“A poetic pattern retains
inertia.”
John leaned forward, “What does
that mean?”
“A poetic pattern-“
“Why did you choose these
women?”
The man slammed his hands on the
table, “A poetic pattern retains inertia!”
Don leapt for the observation
room’s door but Derek held him back.
John hadn’t even twitched, he
looked up at the man.
“Sit back down. You’re not fooling anyone.”
The man didn’t move, “A poetic-“
“Pattern retains inertia.” John
cut him off. “You’re not insane, stop
trying so hard.”
The prisoner sat back down,
tugging at the handcuff chains.
“Now,” John said, “Why did you kill
these women.”
The man smiled, the same damn
grin he had in the storage locker, “There’s a pattern.” He reached out and took the victim photos,
laying them out on the table.
“I played my role,” he said, “my
job is done. But my work is not.”
Don can barely see the layout of
the photos, and he doesn’t see the connection.
But he can see the look on John’s face.
It’s the same expression his partner gets when he finds the last clues
to a case.
As the last photo is laid on the
table the door to the observation room bursts open, a panicking rookie cop
almost falls into the room.
“Franklin, sir,” he pants,
“there’s been another murder.”
From the other side of the
soundproof glass the man looks up at John, spreading his hands over the table
he grins and points to an empty spot.
“A poetic pattern retains
inertia.”
