9. Scarlett #3
I slam my elbow back into his chest, and he chokes on air, the sound bringing me immense pleasure, as I take a step forward into my nightmare of mess and meet the eyes of a middle-aged man wearing a dingy gray ballcap, and permanent grease etched into his darkened fingernails.
"Agent Scarlett Lyssa," I nod, really not wanting to shake hands and get any of that on me.
Yeah, I'm a bit of a snob, fucking sue me.
"Garnier," I hear behind me as he finally moves to my side, and I can relax my rigid posture. "You think you might have caught our perp on camera?"
Right back to business, am I really all that surprised?
Jasper's a professional just like I am, and he knows full well the stakes in this case are high.
Ashmaker will keep dropping bodies one after the other if we don't catch him.
He's rapidly escalated; it hasn't even been forty-eight hours since the last body.
"Zory. Yeah, my cameras aren't great, to be honest. I use them mainly just as a deterrent to keep the kids around here from breaking into the shop and stealing parts.
" Zory rubs at his unshaven chin, and I'm surprised when he isn't left with a dark mark.
A small shudder runs through me, and I force myself to focus on what he's pointing at on a small monitor on a metal shelf.
The monitor displays a partial view of the alleyway behind the shop.
You can clearly see the dumpster in view and part of the next building.
The light is muted, deep shadows making it hard to see much, and it doesn't help that the image is a bit grainy.
I'm instantly skeptical that we're going to be able to use any of this, that is, until Zory presses a button and the image begins to shift and move.
In the recording, we see a dark figure in all black stepping out of the shadows, moving with purpose to the dumpster, grabbing trash from it, and then spilling it all around the partially visible, prone form of George Weston.
Who, now that I know where to look, is bleeding out on the ground, and whose pale face is directed up at the rainy night sky, minus any eyeballs. Holy shit! That's Ashmaker!
"Fuck," Jasper whispers next to me.
Once the figure is content with the placement of the trash, they pull something from a dark bag and spill the contents of a bottle all over George and the trash.
I watch transfixed as they pull a lighter from a pocket and set a piece of cardboard on fire, before dropping it in George's littered lap, and in an instant, a whoosh of flames erupts around him.
The figure is careful, never turning towards the camera and allowing us to see only his dark profile, nothing discernible that we can use to identify him, and he's wearing gloves that we watch him discard into the flames.
He knew it was there the whole time, damnit.
Disappointment tries to infiltrate me, but I push it vehemently away.
We watch as he packs up his bag again, placing it carefully on his shoulders before racing out of the alleyway. "We'll need a copy of this video," Jasper breaks the tense silence. "Fuck, we've caught him on tape murdering Weston."
For some reason, I don't share in Jasper's excitement. I hold my breath, hoping there's more, something, anything we can use to identify him and help us catch this guy. The only thing we've got at this point is that Ashmaker is smaller in stature than we originally profiled.
I refuse to look away from the video as it continues to play, with just the flames burning away at George's body, and the slight rain doing its best to quash them. There are just a few small flames left still smoldering, and that doesn't make much sense, based on how badly the body was burned.
I'm just about to turn away, and make a comment to Jasper, when another dark shadow catches my eye in the corner of the screen.
It moves with hesitation and restraint, ensuring that it's almost out of the frame.
I quickly glance at Jasper, but he's already turned away, answering a call on his phone, and Zory is to the side, busy speaking with Officer Bruce.
The shadow moves towards the body, hugging darkness to disguise its movements.
I quickly use my back and shoulders, to block the screen from prying eyes, as I lean closer.
The shadow stops and materializes into a much larger frame than the original killer, completely dressed in all black, but there's a slight hint of something bright white near his face, just out of direct sight.
He pulls something from his bag, and my jaw drops as I watch him lean over the body, and carve a shape into the wall next to George with a large blade that glints in the meager moonlight, he stomps viciously on George’s chest with what can only be described as insane rage.
Then soaks the body with something that not only reactivates the flames, but also causes them to soar, before turning and running from the alleyway.
Fuck, there are two of them, one committing these crimes, and one helping to disguise them.