Broken Witness
Chapter Seven..
He seethed, oh how he seethed. His anger getting the better of him finally caused him to snap, his fist colided with the wall "Thomas you moron! You gave me away! No worry... We'll pick up the pieces and start again, this time, we'll find a new agent. Jones, he was useless a mistake the whole time." The blood on the floor made his shoes slippery. The body of Samuel Jones lay only inches away. Kicking the agents body, no movement or groan confirmed his demise. 'So sweet that smell. Metallic, reminds me of the rest, only... Pleasing, so much more. Thomas, you did that right today, so maybe I wont beat you, or give you away, maybe I'll let them know. Knowledge gets you so far. So we'll need better cover, it can be arranged. Who would guess where we were staying? Who would know?"
The back of the house, a hose pipe, there was one, he had seen it. He trailed down the side of the house into the back drenching his shoes in water, the blood dripping from the sole. Now sprinting he left the garden, onto the street, into the car and into the night. "And now Thomas, learn from the teacher. We cannot be seen."
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Crime Scene One Oh Three.
Special Agent Leon Stella pulled his Mercedes onto the curb, no care for the tires. Unlike the care with which Taylor McLuskie parked her Corsa. Close to the curb, touching, but not on it. Rolfe in the passenger seat of Stella's car menouvered himself into the open where, after grabbing his case, the new addition to the agents accessories - complementary from Stella on his find - followed the older agents to the crime scene, under the police 'do not cross' line and into the back yard of Samuel Jones.
Stella came to a dead halt, looking away disgusted at the sight. Gut wrenching. Blood, more blood no matter where they looked. Did a person have so much? Approaching with caution, taking off his shoes replacing them with plastic slip ons and pulling on a tyvek suit Stella knelt by the body of the Agent he had been speaking to only half an hour previously. Calling to Rolfe and ordering McLuskie to analyse further south, the gate for instance which had been left open.
Ryan Rolfe pulled latex gloves over his hands, kneeling by Stella he gulped as he looked at the body. Now cold and white. Following Stella's instructions, using two fingers he opened the victims mouth. That was what he was to call him now. No longer an FBI Agent, no longer a superior officer, now simply a victim. The young Agent gipped at the sight, an explanation as to where much of the blood must have come from was no longer necessary instead plainly on view.
"He cut out his tongue..." The disgust in Stella's voice, obvious. He had been to many crime scenes, only very few were the victims treated so badly. All they could assume was this had been a lesson to Jones about speaking out. Something he clearly should not have done. With his own gloved hand Stella lifted the jacket and shirt from Jones's body. "Yes, this is our guy. Notice the trade mark?" Rolfe nodded at the stabs, the same knife. The same strokes. Leftn handed all of them.
"Agent Stella! We have foot prints." Quickiy rising to his feet he sprinted to McLuskie who was photographing the prints. Stella knew for once they had solid evidence, but knew also this meant only one thing. The killer no longer cared about hiding his identity, he knew it was out in the open and he knew what he was doing next. Stella dreaded the thought, it was going to be far from pretty.
The back of the house, a hose pipe, there was one, he had seen it. He trailed down the side of the house into the back drenching his shoes in water, the blood dripping from the sole. Now sprinting he left the garden, onto the street, into the car and into the night. "And now Thomas, learn from the teacher. We cannot be seen."
............................................................................****.....................................................................................
Crime Scene One Oh Three.
Special Agent Leon Stella pulled his Mercedes onto the curb, no care for the tires. Unlike the care with which Taylor McLuskie parked her Corsa. Close to the curb, touching, but not on it. Rolfe in the passenger seat of Stella's car menouvered himself into the open where, after grabbing his case, the new addition to the agents accessories - complementary from Stella on his find - followed the older agents to the crime scene, under the police 'do not cross' line and into the back yard of Samuel Jones.
Stella came to a dead halt, looking away disgusted at the sight. Gut wrenching. Blood, more blood no matter where they looked. Did a person have so much? Approaching with caution, taking off his shoes replacing them with plastic slip ons and pulling on a tyvek suit Stella knelt by the body of the Agent he had been speaking to only half an hour previously. Calling to Rolfe and ordering McLuskie to analyse further south, the gate for instance which had been left open.
Ryan Rolfe pulled latex gloves over his hands, kneeling by Stella he gulped as he looked at the body. Now cold and white. Following Stella's instructions, using two fingers he opened the victims mouth. That was what he was to call him now. No longer an FBI Agent, no longer a superior officer, now simply a victim. The young Agent gipped at the sight, an explanation as to where much of the blood must have come from was no longer necessary instead plainly on view.
"He cut out his tongue..." The disgust in Stella's voice, obvious. He had been to many crime scenes, only very few were the victims treated so badly. All they could assume was this had been a lesson to Jones about speaking out. Something he clearly should not have done. With his own gloved hand Stella lifted the jacket and shirt from Jones's body. "Yes, this is our guy. Notice the trade mark?" Rolfe nodded at the stabs, the same knife. The same strokes. Leftn handed all of them.
"Agent Stella! We have foot prints." Quickiy rising to his feet he sprinted to McLuskie who was photographing the prints. Stella knew for once they had solid evidence, but knew also this meant only one thing. The killer no longer cared about hiding his identity, he knew it was out in the open and he knew what he was doing next. Stella dreaded the thought, it was going to be far from pretty.