First Kill

Episode 4: The Truth In The Stories

Hanson Police Department,

03/09/1985.

Two days after the murder.

Agent Lopez walked in with two mugs of hot chocolate milk. He smiled as he placed them carefully on the table.

"One for you and one for me." Agent Lopez shared the mugs.

"Thanks." The killer responded sharply.

Agent Lopez sipped the chocolate milk lightly.

"So how do you like the beverage?" Agent Lopez smiled.

"Just get to the point." The killer replied impatiently.

"What are you talking about?" Agent Lopez placed the mug down.

"You said you had a story. So tell it."

"Oh, I almost forgot. You see, this chocolate milk is absolutely delicious." Agent Lopez scoffed.

"Man, are you going to tell the story or what?" The killer sat up, he wriggled his hands in the cuffs. "I didn't know these things hurt this much."

"Well, how would you know? You've never been arrested. The agent smiled. "Okay, storytime."

On a warm morning, in Chicago, a call woke me up. You see, I was really tired, I was still working on Richard Ramirez.

I got up and answered the call, it was Detective Smith.

You see, I had met Detective Smith when I was giving a talk about serial killers in Chicago about two months ago.

She seemed genuinely interested in the subject, I mean, most cops aren't even that interested in criminal psychology, but she was and she knew quite a lot too.

I offered to buy her a drink and we spent most of that night talking about serial killers before she left I gave her my phone number and asked her to call me if she ever wants to talk.

So, when she didn't call for about month, I figured she had forgotten about me.

So, seeing her call out of the blue like that baffled me, you see, I didn't know it was a professional call.

So yeah, I picked the call and she started talking really fast, it seemed she was driving or something. So I calmed her down, she went on to tell me that she had just encountered a rather 'strange case' as she put it.

She told me she needed my help and I immediately booked a flight to Hanson.

The next day, she picked me up at the airport and we drove straight to the precinct.

We greeted you on the way in, you remember? Oh, I'm sure you do.

We spoke to Detective Murphy, who then decided to hand over the case to us.

Then, we immediately drove off to where the first body was found and then to where the woman was murdered.

Now, we thoroughly observed that crime scene and nothing seemed right.

Blood splatter angles were all wrong.

You see, let me tell you what really happened.

That morning after you watched Richard Ramirez on TV and you felt 'motivated' you went into your car and begun searching for your first victim.

You then spotted Mrs Alicia, of course, she was elderly, seventy-eight years old, that's old--and weak, won't really put up a fight.

You drove over to the poor woman and offered her a ride, she got in and you drove her home, you offered to help her get her stuff inside, she accepted.

So now, at this point, you were really happy with how well it was all going.

You had her there and like a teenage boy who tries to experiment if he's gay by sucking a d**k, you probably picked something that could do the job, you see, we found your prints all over her knife, and yet no blood was found on it.

So like a teenage boy who tries to experiment; you freeze, you are not gay, you are not really a killer, heck, you didn't even kill your stepdad, saying 'we' there's no 'we' your mom killed him not you.

She looks at you and you can't even do it.

Now, she asks you to get her pills for her and you did. She took her drugs, and a few minutes later she slums.

You know what we found in her blood?

Chlorpropamide, a drug for diabetes, now, for someone like Mrs Alicia, her dosage would be, say a hundred milligrams, but you know how much we found in her blood?

Over six hundred! So, poor Mrs Alicia probably didn't know her dosage as her nurse was always the one who gave it to her.

So, after she slums, you probably rush to her and find that she's dead.

What an opportunity, 'why don't I claim this one' you probably thought to yourself, and what did you do?

What your good ol' mama would do, you go home grab a chainsaw, as multiple witnesses said they saw you with a chainsaw.

So, you use the chainsaw and chop poor Mrs Alicia to pieces.

You pack the body up and dump in your boot.

But you didn't still feel that rush you felt that day with your stepdad.

You knew, deep down that you didn't kill Mrs Alicia, you had to fix it, you needed that rush.

So what do you do? With Mrs Alicia still riding in your boot, you drive off for your next prey.

Little Missus Sarah, now she's a teenager, right?

She'd be relatively easy to deceive, you pick her up in front of Jason's Diner, little did you know that she had just broken up with her boyfriend.

You offer to drive her home, but she probably says that she doesn't want to go home, you were amazed by how good it was going.

So, you drive her to your home, made her feel comfy, and you might have probably gone to use the toilet or something, and when you come back out she's lying on the floor, wrist slit open with your knife.

Now, that's what I'd probably call 'bad-freakin-luck' I mean, what are the odds. Another kill, which isn't still yours.

What do you do next? You grab the chainsaw again and chop little Miss Sarah.

Into your trunk, she goes.

Now, by this time, it'd have probably gotten dark.

I mean, you know that you're pretty dumb right? Why would a serial killer slit the wrist of a victim and then chop them to pieces?

I mean, I thought it was your style, but then, when I spoke to her ex-boyfriend and he told me about how she threatened to kill herself, after they broke up; it all made sense.

Now, you probably noticed that Detective Smith and I were catching up to you, and you freak out, I mean, you were just getting popular, the 'talk of the town' so what do you do?

You head into that party and stabbed her four times in the gut, run out the back, and through the front you re-enter.

I mean, you didn't even try to hide it, always sneaking around the detective's desk, asking her about the investigation, listening in to our conversations.

I mean, who would suspect good ol' Greg Johnson, the new guy?

Or should I call you Greg Sullivan, which would explain the 'GS' that was carved into those poor ladies bodies.

You are so f*****g dumb Greg.

I wanted to ask you this so badly, if you hated your stepdad so much, why then would you take his surname 'Johnson'? I mean, it baffles me.

Now, I'm going to end my story by telling you this: you are not special, you are not a serial killer, no one will know your name, you were born a nobody and will die a nobody.

Nothing special, just an i***t who sneaks into a cop's house and stabs a cop, and gets caught the same day.

I mean, when I saw you at that party, I knew immediately that it was you.

I mean you went from an accountant to a precinct janitor, to a murder convict. Dumb f**k!

Greg's chocolate milk had gone cold, Agent Lopez's smug smile enraged him, he bounced off the chair screaming.

"f**k you! f**k you!"

Agent Lopez just smiles at him.

"Detective Smith was your First kill and she'll be your last."

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I'm thinking of starting a Crime-Mystery collection based on The Agent Ricky Lopez character. A few short stories where he solves cases that are not what they really seem. Tell me what you think?