‘The Surrealist: Chapter Three, Part Two’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

The Surrealist

Chapter Three: The Crime Scene

Part II

“Well,” Detective McKinesy said crouching down near the sink in the apartment’s small bathroom “At least now we know how he disposed of the victim’s blood.”

John pointed to a small trail of blood droplets leading to the toilet. The detective, chief and officer Carter alone spent about two hours searching for clues , for anything that could lead them to this psychopathic killer, but they found nothing. Nothing except the shape of the marks on the victim’s ankles which suggested the victim being hung upside down, and the killer drained all the blood out of her body. The tiny trail of blood leading to the toilet confirmed that that’s what happened. But John did not want to learn facts about the crime scene, those were quite clear; he wanted a clue, a thread to follow which would lead him to The Surrealist. McKinesy found him once, he tracked him down five years ago, but he knew it’d be much harder this time, for the man who was given the name ‘The Surrealist’ by the press was very intelligent. However, Detective McKinesy believed that there’s no such thing as a perfect crime. With that thought in his mind, he continued searching for a mistake made by the killer.

There has to be a trace. with every contact between two items, there’s an exchange of energies.

John walked to the victim’s body –which still hung on the wall for the forensic team agreed to let the detective study the body while they took care of the finger prints. He dragged a small chair and stood on top of it to get a closer look at the victims neck.

“She was strangled.” Said John “You see that purple/blue hue right under her jaw?”

The two men just nodded their heads.

“Well, that’s a sign of strangulation, the old red white and blue. Blueish face, white lips and…” John looked down at them “Can you hand me a pen, Chief?”

John McKinesy took the Chief’s pen and opened the victim’s eyelid “… and bloodshot eyes. And these, my friends are the three signs of strangulation.”

“Well done Detective,” The Chief said “this means that he cut her up postmortem. It’s queer though, he never strangled a victim in his past killings, don’t you find it strange, detective?”

The detective stepped down from the small chair. “No, I don’t find it strange.” He said “That maniac gets bored easily, he changes his style with every kill but the scenes left behind him are all similar, the positioning of the victim’s body in some horrific way that resembles the surrealistic art.”

“You might be right.” The Chief said.

“Of course I’m right. He shot his first victim in the head about ten times, he bashed that girl’s head in with a bat, he slit that old man’s  throat and hung that watchmen from a beam in his shop.”

Some young officer came rushing into the apartment all red and drizzling with sweat, the young man ran to officer Carter and gave him a piece of paper, then whispered something in his ear and rushed back out.

“What is it Carter?” The Chief asked.

“Umm… it’s the report from the forensics team, they identified the finger prints.” Carter said hesitantly.

“Well, we already know that only the victim’s prints, along with the waiter’s and some other faint prints were found.” John said.

“That is true, the waiter’s prints matched the prints found here. The team couldn’t identify any of the faded prints.” Carter shifted his eyes from the Chief to McKinesy and back again. “The victim’s prints…”

“What about them?” John asked “What’s wrong with you Carter? Talk!”

“The victim’s prints do not belong to Angela Smith, they belong to Angela De Luca.”

“What?!” McKinesy yelled “De Luca? Holy shit! Are you sure?”

“It’s right here.” Carter said handing him the paper.

John read the piece of paper several times, the name ‘De Luca’ sprang out of the paper in dark ink.

The Chief stared, he knew damn well what that name meant and who it belonged to. “Angela De Luca, daughter of Vincenzo De Luca, the Godfather of the De Luca crime family and Don of the italian mafia in the city.” He whispered.

[End of Chapter Three.]

(To be continued…)

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About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Surreal, The Surrealist and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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