The rain had stopped by morning. The streets gleamed under a weak sun, reflecting puddles like broken mirrors. My back ached from leaning over crime scene photos all night. Coffee in one hand, badge in the other, I felt the familiar tension settle in my chest. Today, we had work to do. Real work.
Alex was already at the precinct, tucked into his corner with that quiet intensity he always carried. I poured myself a cup of coffee and watched him for a moment. He didn't even notice. Typical.
"Morning," I said.
He nodded without looking up. "Morning."
I stared at the evidence board. Three victims. Three smile balls. Three different ways to die. Random. Horrifying.
"Alright," I said, exhaling sharply. "We go over everything again. Every detail. Every photo. Every witness statement. Maybe something slipped past us."
Alex typed, brows furrowed. "Sure. But… I don't see patterns. Not even little ones."
I nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's the problem."
First, we revisited the schoolteacher's apartment. Late twenties, lived alone, neat as a pin. The smile ball had sat on her desk like a mocking sentinel. No struggle. No forced entry. Nothing but her body and the little yellow toy.
I crouched near the desk. "It's like he just… walks in, kills her, leaves this… thing, and walks out."
Alex tilted his head. "Careful. Calm. Controlled."
"Random too," I said. "If he were methodical, he'd repeat something. Do the same thing twice. But no."
He shrugged, typing notes. "Or maybe he's just… bored."
I didn't reply. Didn't want to think that way. But part of me knew he was right.
Next was the bus driver. Mid-fifties, lived alone in a cramped apartment. His smile ball had been shoved into his mouth. The positioning was deliberate. Malicious. Mocking. I wanted to throw up every time I thought about it.
"See this?" I asked Alex, crouched beside the victim's desk photo. "First one: ball on the desk. Second: in the mouth. Third: front and center, covered in blood. Is he escalating? Testing us?"
Alex shook his head. "Or… just… changing."
I frowned. "Changing how?"
"Randomness. Chaos. He's experimenting with placement. Trying different… reactions."
I swallowed. The thought made my stomach twist.
Back at the precinct, we spread the photos across the table. Coffee cooling in our cups, fingers smudging paper, our eyes searching for connections that weren't there. None.
No common traits between victims. Different neighborhoods. Different professions. Different ages. No enemies. No debts. No warning signs. The city felt like a board for a game I didn't know the rules to.
Alex leaned back in his chair. "Maybe that's the point. He wants chaos. Pure, messy chaos."
I glared at him. "And maybe he's good at it. Too good. Everything is too clean otherwise."
We went through witness statements again. Same story every time: neighbors heard nothing, saw nothing. No vehicles. No strange faces. Nothing. The killer left nothing.
"Goddamn it," I muttered. "No prints. No DNA. Nothing. We're chasing shadows."
Alex nodded. "Then we watch. Wait for him to make a mistake."
I didn't answer. Watching, waiting… that didn't sit well. It never did.
By afternoon, we were back at the third crime scene — the insurance clerk. Same story. No struggle. The grotesque grin carved into his face. Blood-stained smile ball. Front and center.
I crouched near the ball, staring at it. "Look at this. He's careful. He's deliberate. Yet… nothing here tells us who he is."
Alex leaned over, "Maybe he's trying to send a message. Not to us. Not to the police. But… someone."
I shook my head. "I don't think so. Messages require understanding. This… isn't a message. It's chaos."
He didn't argue.
Later, we pulled in tech to examine the balls. For prints, DNA, residues. Anything. The first two were clean. The third… smudged, but nothing usable. The killer was careful, meticulous even. No mistakes. No trace.
I rubbed my face, exhausted. "You know what this feels like?" I asked Alex. "Like he's two steps ahead. Like he's watching us, laughing while we scramble."
Alex didn't respond. Just wrote notes. Calm, focused. Calm where I felt panic.
By evening, we were reviewing surveillance from around all three crime scenes. Nothing. No vehicles, no strangers, no anomalies. The streets were quiet, empty. The city itself unaware of the predator walking among them.
I lit a cigarette, staring at the screens. "If he's careful, he could be anywhere. Could be anyone."
Alex glanced at me. "That's why we need to stay sharp. One slip, and we catch him."
I wanted to believe that. But deep down… I wasn't sure if anyone could catch him.
Back at the precinct, we mapped the victims' locations on the whiteboard. Sprawling across the city, random. Nothing connecting them.
"Look at this," I said, pointing at the map. "First victim over here. Second over here. Third over here. No clusters, no radius, nothing. He could strike anywhere next."
Alex nodded, scrolling through the notes. "And he will. Exactly when we least expect it."
I lit another cigarette, staring at him. "You ever think about why someone like this exists?"
He didn't answer right away. "All the time," he said finally, voice low. "But some things… you don't understand until it's too late."
I didn't want to hear that. Didn't want to think about it. But it hit me anyway.
Night fell. The office emptied, leaving only the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of floorboards. I stared at the board, at the smile balls, at the victims. The randomness, the cruelty, the mockery. It wasn't just a case. It was a nightmare.
I thought back to old files. Serial killers I'd studied. Most left patterns, rituals, messages. Even the most deranged. But this? Nothing. Pure unpredictability. Chaos perfected.
Alex came over, carrying his laptop. "I've lined up the scenes again, cross-referenced everything. Still… nothing."
I rubbed my eyes. "Good. At least we're thorough. But… this guy's good. Too good. And he's enjoying it. Every strike. Every smile. Every panic he causes."
Alex finally spoke. "Then we stay sharp. We watch. We wait. Like I said before."
I nodded, though I didn't feel reassured. Waiting felt like a trap. Dangerous. But it was all we had.
Walking home through the empty, wet streets, I felt the weight of the day settle on my shoulders. Images of bodies, smiles, and balls haunted me. Somewhere out there, the killer was planning his next strike. Anywhere. Anyone.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. We didn't know him. We couldn't predict him. And yet, somehow, I felt he was already moving. Ahead of us.
And there was nothing I could do about it. Except hope the next victim wasn't someone I cared about.