Gone After the Wind

Chapter 36: Candy Filimon

Chapter 36: Candy Filimon

The wrench in their stomach as they traveled back to Rosegold were far sickening than of that the time they walked on the forest park where Florence Sykes had been discovered. Mind in haywire, Cara almost slammed the car into posts and wide fences for several times, leaving Eric breathless on his seat, and panicking as though their next destination would be the hospital. Faucalt's call had been a life savior. His chilling account of what happened provided Cara the right amount of distraction that could keep them away from the dangers of her exhausted mind.

"You mean she's alive?" Eric reiterate. His eyes widened.

"Very much so," Faucalt answered in a flat tone. "Her neighbor was alerted because of her scream. Lucky for us, they weren't a bunch of ignorant neighbors. They didn't hesitate to check in on her, and at first, they thought it was a minor accident. It never occurred to them that it was something serious. When they got in, they saw her in the bathroom, naked, and swimming in a pool of blood. They didn't see the face of the attacker, but they saw a green van parked at the back of the victim's house when they barged in."

"Where is she now?"

"At the hospital. Getting tended from her serious injuries. She's critical, and it's getting serious as minutes goes by. We have to wait until a day before we could talk to her. As of the witnesses, they've provided a pretty much useful statement that correlated with the evidence we've collected so far." He sighed. "When are you getting here? It's been an hour since I called you. Can't you get any easier means to get here fast?"

Eric glanced at the road sign, and breathed out a sigh of relief. "Already passing I 40. If the weather will side with us, we'll make it by thirty."

"You better. Well, it's not a problem if you won't make it. Moore's here. I can always lean on her. She equates more than two people, anyway."

Cara scoffed, and mumbled, "Then all the more reason we should hurry up."

"What's that? Did I ask you to talk, Black? You know the best thing you could ever do when I'm talking is shut up. I'm surprised you still have the energy to piss me after Meredith talked to you. How was it, by the way? I bet you almost s**t on your pants, huh?"

Cara smirked, and beckoned Eric to pass the cellphone over. He did so, with a frown and a warning look. "It was entertaining, for the most part. He was diligent enough to amuse me with words of forced wisdom and lethal threats. I wouldn't be able to experience that if not for your strict obedience, Sir. However, I didn't get repelled the way you wanted me to. s**t on my pants? No. Relieved? Sure did, because I know now how fast can a snake go up the tree."

"Yeah, keep that tone going because that won't last long. Don't push your luck too much. You may not feel it now, but I'm going to make sure that confidence will be burned, Black. Don't test me," he hissed, and the line went dead.

"Was that really necessarry?" Eric asked.

Tossing the phone to him, Cara looked back with feigned innocence. "What?"

"That," Eric pointed out. "Having a go at him like that. I know it's not easy to deal with his bullshit, and I, sometimes had to fight myself not to put my gun in his mouth. I understand your frustration, but you have to pick the right time for it, Cara. Pick on him all you want, just don't do it in the middle of the case."

"Trust me, it doesn't make any difference if I do this now or tomorrow. The insecurity of that man knows no bounds and propriety. He'll fry me whenever he wish, and who am I not to return that? He asked for it, I gave it. That's called justice."

"Yeah, right. Why did I even try giving an advice?" Eric muttered, shaking his head.

Cara chuckled. "Don't worry, I heard you. I'm still gonna keep that in mind."

Sighing, Eric pressed the automatic button, and the window rolled up, shutting the winds that began to take advantage of the deserted land, assaulting them with heightened violence as they entered the city. "I doubt."

Cara smiled but the sincerity behind slipped away in a blink as she ruminated every word that Faucalt said. Rather than feeling embarassed she equalled his unprofessionalism with the same amount of disrespect and rage, she was prickled by hatred and regret, not for Faucalt, but directed to herself. How come she let him reach the point where his second language and prime hobby is to exert insults at her? She shouldn't have become that tolerant, and patient. Why did she believe that he'll change eventually?

It will take a whole shift in a universe for antagonistic individuals to feel empathy and see reason. They don't transform overtime. If persecuting someone is what they go for, they won't stop until their grandiosity isn't feed well enough. Change will be the last thing anyone should hope for them, and if they do start showing signs of redemption, either it's part of their scheme or there has been a disturbance in the pattern they've been following—

Cara almost hit the brake when the meaning of that thought spread in her brain like a spilled oil, coating her clueless mind with another line of unexplored ideas. Exactly... why the perp suddenly changed his tactic today? He attacked in broad daylight, in a most unexpected time when almost everyone is resting in their homes, making the chances that he might be seen carrying those ordeals higher and riskier.

Did he become sloppy? Or is it an act of desperation? Desperate for what?

Eager to get the answers right, she stomped on the accelerator, hard as she could, and slinked through the growing traffic on the highway, ignoring Eric's squeal and the traffic lights up ahead. They arrived at the scene earlier than intended. The neighborhood, as Faucalt so brightly pointed, was indeed an exclusive one. All townhouses looked to have been built on the same day, and operated by the same man. It's impossible to tell them apart nor see any distinction. Each one had a terrace, a doubled garage, and a squared prosperous lawn.

It would probably take forever before one could find the right address. Thanks to the maximized security, they didn't fell to that ridiculous dilemma. Once their ID had been confirmed, an officer led them to the Filimon residence, the first house on the third street and the only one that garnered so much audience.

Bystanders already piled up the sidewalk. The officers did their best to handle the curiosity and buzz pouring at the scene, barking at them, and issuing warning whenever they get too close to the barricade. Cara and Eric's entrance didn't cause any commotion as they were too busy speculating and peering inside the house desperately.

Faucalt stood at the front door, instructing an officer with his natural mean face and condescending voice.

"You tell them that, or I will issue a complaint about you. My patience is wearing thin for these reporters, and if you don't do something about it before I do, I'm gonna get my hands on your badge. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir." The sweating officer nodded, and walked away as if scorched by his stare.

Cara looked at the officer with a sympathetic glare.

"Is everything okay?" asked Eric, noticing his mood, as well.

"It was. Until those good-for-nothing blokes thought it's modern to let the media in. Damn rookies. Always have to spoon feed everything," he replied with a shake of his head, almost rolling his eyes. "So? How come you got here early?"

Eric glanced at Cara. "We found a fast and a safer route."

"Heaven sent. I was this tiny far from giving the control over Moore. You're lucky Geilman is a being a pain in the ass. I got distracted for a bit." He opened the door as he spoke, and Cara and Eric followed suit. The foyer is impressive as the lawn. Ridiculously wide as a normal bedroom, and filled with ostentatious furniture probably cost over more than a thousand bucks.

Her eyes feasted upon the vast living room. For a minute, she couldn't spot anything remarkable. Until she saw the corner and she immediately stopped on her tracks.

"I don't see any family pictures. Unmarried or simply alone?"

"If it appears so, then it is," answered Faucalt, nonchalant that it was Cara who asked that.

To avoid getting the same response, Cara nudged Eric, urging him to take over. She fell back behind, watching the two men and listening half-ears.

"No past marriages or abandoned children?" Eric asked.

"Got married once but it ended quickly because her husband was a boozer. She won the custody of their son, and the divorce settlement went over her savings. That happened eight years ago. You could see how she's moved on."

"Any news about the kid?"

"Social services placed his whereabouts as unknown. No one knows what the victim did to him or where did she send him into. Whatever choice she made, it provided her a pass to live comfortably."

"So she's a mother, living off the back of her husband's money, and as what she likes to show in society, she's a lively, ready to mingle woman. She fits the pattern well. Except for the fact that our perp decided to attack her in daylight. That's the only inconsistency that he didn’t bother to clean. Why would he do it when there's high possibility he might get seen? It's a high-risk environment. He might consider attacking her at night but it's not a guarantee that no one will see him. And more importantly, why did he violently attacked her when he got all the options to carry out his mission through something else? Say, kidnap her or do it at midnight. Why did he risk it?"

They reached the landing of the grand staircase. Faucalt turned to them, a confident smirk splayed over his lips.

"I'm sure Moore has figured that all out. No need to hurt yourself thinking about that."

Cara's mouth was about to open for a retort but Eric's cautious eyes shut her up.

"Save it, please," he reminded.

Not wanting for another argument to develop, Cara shrugged. They slipped through the wide door Faucalt briskly entered in. The room smelled of bludgeoned flesh and a flowery fragrance. The ugly mixture trickled Cara's nose, pulling her lips into a frown and making her stomach turn for a bit. Cringing, she covered her nose with the corner of her elbow and scanned the room.

It was spacious and well decorated. A king size bed was pushed to the center wall. Two singular rooms were on the either side. One led to the victim's wardrobe area and the other housed a huge bathroom. Doors of the two had been snapped open, filled with CSI personnel and police officers, working through the crime scene and combing through the victim’s belongings.

Two squared windows had been installed to the right area of the room, allowing a peek to the adjacent house and a tiny view to the front street. The left was opened. Purple flowered curtains danced along the wind. Cara's eyes dropped to the bedside cabinet. Still no family pictures. She picked up a torn piece of a flyer, squeezed below the lamp and the wall.

In dire need of a plumber?

We got you! Just dial this number and your problem will be solved!

The number was crossed out by a black ball pen, replacing it with a cellphone number, scribbled using a red marker. A bright pink lipstick mark squished next to it, tainting the sheer smoothness of the paper and its harmless intent for marketing.

Pulling it out from lamp, Cara immediately pressed the cordless phone but it was unresponsive. She checked if the batteries had been removed and sure enough, the sockets had been emptied. She clicked her tongue, pissed that she expected it hadn’t been touched. Of course the killer would remove it. For a man who had been on a deranged killing spree for months, such task would come out as trivial. It’s his top priority to make sure nothing can bother him and to make sure the crime would be carried out perfectly without his crafted routine getting ruined in the process.

That’s a fact that Cara can’t disagree with. But seeing his work lately, Cara can’t deny the slight sloppiness and indecisiveness that oozed like a smoke. Particularly on this case. If he had time and energy to remove the batteries, why leave the advertisement? This could lead to a potential witness.

That can occur if the intended recipient of the invitation gladly accepted the cryptic message on the flyer.

She put it in a zip-lock and pocketed it in her trousers. She joined the flock gathered by Moore inside the small space of the bathroom. Standing on the center, she demonstrated the scenes they accumulated from the witnesses. Her sweet, plain voice didn’t influence the air of authority she demanded and the round-up of attention that she wanted.

"She was barely breathing when they found her here,” stated Moore, pointing the spot that had been cloaked with blood. “Fully naked, our victim splayed in a fetal position. Her face was almost unrecognizable. It was evident the suspect grabbed her from behind. Hadn’t been so, she would have been facing the door instead of the tub. The attack was spontaneous and direct, it didn’t leave room for the victim to respond and fight for herself. So, we’re free to assume that the suspect had been hiding here before she went in and long before she arrived from work. The question is, how did he get in?”

“From the window, perhaps?” Eric suggested. “The left side had been opened. That would have provided him--”

“Too conspicuous.” Moore shook her head, chuckling. Cara’s eyebrow lifted at the interruption, glancing at Eric who’s forehead creased in confusion and slight amusement. “And too stupid of him, too. That could’ve given the neighbors a ticket to see his face. Considering no one came forward reporting such precious information, that window is safe from inspection.” Her head perked up and her eyes shot through Eric. “Tell me, how long have you been in the force, Detective?”

“Nearly a decade,” answered Eric. “What that does have to do with--”

“It’s a reminder, Detective. Your years of experience should have taught you the inconceivable mistake of underestimating a criminal. Let alone, a serial killer who’s already claimed three lives in a span of several months. Perhaps it’s time to upgrade the thinking, Detective. The killer you’ve been chasing is now skillful at his work. And yet, your mind seemed to haven’t aged a day,” Moore explained, tilting her head in a mocking manner. She broke a smile. An unapologetic and sinister one that could entirely set off anyone’s nerves.

Except for Eric who didn’t even flinch nor muttered a reply. He simply shrugged off his shoulders, chuckled and shook his head. Though they’re both already used to being mocked by newbies, it’s different when their proficiency are being criticized. Especially Eric.

Whose years in the force and his incompetence are the aspects of his life that can make him squeamish and sentimental when questioned. These offends his sensitivity and Cara would be a bad, heartless friend if she’ll let that off the hook.

Stepping forward, Cara joined the crowd. “What do you have in mind, then? What fantastic theory do you hold that provided you the right to insult one of the brightest detective the force has ever hired and technically, someone who’s had more experience and grip than the rest of you here have?” Cara asked, molding her tone between being commanding and playful. Her question startled everyone inside, grabbing Moore’s attention specifically. The arrogant, impertinent rookie’s back straightened up, watching Cara like a hawk as she walked near.

“You’ve had a lot to say for a rookie who hasn’t even been around for a year. That attitude will get you nowhere. Why don’t you fix that first before calling out something that doesn’t even fully concern you?”

“Cara,” Eric called, somewhere behind her.

“Watch your tone, Black,” Faucalt interfered. “You’re not in the right position to berate your co-workers. That’s my job. And telling the truth doesn’t go against my rules. Cut her some slack and contain your s**t. You’re embarrassing yourself, Detective.”

Cara chuckled and laid out her hands. “How is correcting her unprofessional behavior ridiculing me? If her biased criticism doesn’t deserve attention then why is mine seemed unacceptable to you?”

Faucalt advanced for a retort but Moore, surprisingly, stepped between them, raising her hands in a surrender motion. “That’s enough. It’s my fault, Sir. Detective Black is right. I shouldn’t have said that. Detective Eric is my senior and it’s absolutely unethical of me to speak to him that way.” She eyed Cara, the wheel of emotions moving around her eyes didn’t indicate a single drop of regret or even shame. She’s taking accountability to make herself a hero, not because what she did was rude.

“Detective Sautner, I apologize for that. My desire to keep this investigation alive and swiftly done has gotten thhe better of me. I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said, feigning repentance.

Cara shook her head, in awe of her charisma and lethal ability to mask convincing emotions. Only a sociopath bearing extreme manipulative tendencies can do that. It wouldn’t be shocking if Moore fits the criteria of being one.

“Very brave of you, Moore. It’s a good thing you have the guts to admit your mistakes. Let alone, apologize to your seniors,” Faucalt applauded, giving Cara a side-eye and a mocking smile. Everyone in the room glanced at her.

“Accepted. It doesn’t matter to me what you mean. You’re free to say anything that you want. Just don’t expect that everyone will agree with you.”

“Thank you, Detective. That’s very illuminating.” Moore bowed slightly. “As to Detective Black’s first question. I do have a theory to back up my statement that the perp can’t be looked down upon. If you’re interested to hear it, walk the crime scene with me.” Moore glanced at Cara before inviting every CSI personnel and every officer to follow her.

They did. Moore looked like a strict history teacher as she walked away, the crime scene serving as the museum and the officers trailing her appearing as curious students, thirsty for knowledge and eager to be in awe. Faucalt led the group, being the one who’s waiting to be impressed by his beloved assistant.

Cara and Eric played the role as the stubborn, rebellious students, getting left behind. They remained still, silent and observant as Moore and the group walked down the hallway.

“Faucalt trained her well,” Eric said, moving to Cara’s side. “She’s inherited every ghastly part of him. I’m curious. What kind of lethal therapy did he forced her into that put him in his footsteps so accurately?”

“Beats me. Regardless, we have another disease to avoid.”

“Are we gonna follow her?”

“Nope. I’d rather collect my own facts. Come on.” Cara tapped his shoulder, exiting the room and going the opposite direction of Moore’s little tour.