Three days.
That's how long it had been since the last body in the alley, and Linda Martin had hardly slept since.
Her office smelled faintly of stale coffee and printer ink. On the far wall, a corkboard glowed under the desk lamp. Three photos were pinned there: three young men, each with the same bright yellow mask balanced above their faces.
Linda stood back, arms crossed, eyes burning. Below each picture, she'd scribbled the details:
Mark Hughes. 25. Local gym trainer.
Ethan Walsh. 19. Community college student.
Darren Cole. 22. Westfield College student.
Three names, three lives. She'd traced lines between them, written notes, circled theories. Same gender. Same age range. Same end.
Her marker squeaked across the board: Target: young men only?
She capped the pen and stared. On paper, it looked clean. Too clean.
But nothing linked them. Different schools, different jobs, no shared addresses, no overlapping social circles. Just three normal young men in a city full of them.
Her jaw tightened. She pressed her palms to the edge of the desk until her knuckles went white.
There has to be something. Nobody kills at random, not like this. There's always a pattern.
The knock on her open door dragged her out of her thoughts.
Detective Rowe leaned against the frame, smirking. He was older, graying at the temples, the kind of man who wore his experience like armor. "You've been staring at that board all night, rookie. Find your magic answer yet?"
Linda forced her shoulders straight. "Not yet."
"Didn't think so." Rowe chuckled. "Look, don't take it hard. First big case? No shame in drowning a little. Serial guys like this, they eat rookies alive."
Another cop passing by added, "Don't worry, Martin. When you crash and burn, the captain will give the case to the grown-ups." Laughter followed him down the hall.
Linda's teeth clenched, but she kept her voice even. "The captain assigned me this case because he knows I can handle it."
Rowe lifted a brow, clearly amused. "If you say so."
"And Mr.Rowe I would appreciate some privacy when I'm working on a case , i hope you understand" Linda said with mock sweetness but irritation dripping in it.
"I see .. rookie got some attitude? Let's see how long the attitude of yours stay in intact without breaking."
The cop chimed in, " hey , I bet on $100 she will voluntarily quit out from the case in pressure"
Linda's irritation peaked now her voice was firm,"Excuse me , I kindly insist you both to have your conversation somewhere outside my office"
Rove smirked seeing her patience slipping slightly and the cop rolls his eyes not taking her serious.
When they both finally walked away, the silence returned, thicker than before.
Linda turned back to the board, but the photos seemed to mock her now. Three blank stares, three yellow smiles.
Her marker hovered over the last victim's name, then dropped. She couldn't shake the frustration boiling in her chest.
Why only young men? What connects them? Why these three?
She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. Her mind ran through the crime scenes—alleyways, empty streets, late hours. No witnesses, no prints, no weapon. Just that damned mask, grinning like it knew something she didn't.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at it.
Incoming call: Greene.
She answered. "Martin."
His voice came sharp, rushed. "Detective—you need to get down here. We've got another one."
Her pulse jumped. "Same pattern?"
A pause. "Yes and no. Mask on the face. Throat cut. But… this one's different."
Linda grabbed her coat. "Where?"
"Riverside Park. Near the benches."
The line clicked dead.
Linda's gut twisted. She was already halfway down the hall before she realized her hands were shaking.
Different, Greene had said. Different how?
The car ride was almost tense .. her mind was mess already because of no connection link and zero clue about the killer.
By the time she pulled up at the park, flashing lights painted the trees in red and blue. Officers milled around, tape fluttering in the night breeze. Linda ducked under and pushed forward.
Then she saw the body.
A young woman lay sprawled in the grass, pale hair fanned around her head like a broken halo. A bright yellow mask sat over her face. The same mocking smile.
Linda's breath caught in her throat.
Her neat little theory shattered in an instant.
The killer wasn't targeting young men.
He was targeting whoever he wanted.
And that meant nobody was safe.
PLEASE SUPPORT,
WITH FRUSTRATION,
DETECTIVE LINDA MARTIN.