Impressions

— Inspector, they located the girl — said Johnny Curtis.

It had been almost a week since Kimberly disappeared. The last time, she was seen by her neighbor, skating down the street, her little Thursday post-ballet ritual. Despite public interest, the case would have gone unnoticed by the police if Kimberly weren't the daughter of an important woman in the region, events promoter Lucy Cleimber. When Kimberly was found inside an abandoned warehouse, the town was gripped by fear, as it was a warning that others could also die in the same gruesome manner. Her body was suspended by the feet, hung on a meat hook, and without a head. Later, her head was unearthed in Mrs. Mesdra's cornfield, two hundred meters away. There was no doubt; the brown eyes, red hair, and scars belonged to Kimberly Lancaster. Mrs. Lucy ended up committing suicide a few days after receiving the news.

— Mr. Curtis, was what was written in the letter not a lie? — Inspector Billy Nortgen asked.

— Agent Norman can confirm. — said Sarah, interrupting her friend.

— Agent Norman? — Michael frowned. — Who's that?

— Ellis Wallis Norman —, Sarah replied again — she's from the FBI.

Billy Nortgen displayed his white hair, wrinkles, and a protruding belly. A man closer to the end of his life than the beginning. Unlike the chief, Michael and Johnny were young and strong, their muscles bulging from their clothes. However, none of them, actually no Rox police officer, was intelligent enough to solve the mystery haunting the town.

I called Kimberly out of the library and asked her to take the books out of my car. She leaned on the chairs, and I locked the doors. Then she started screaming, so I hit her on the head with a crowbar. When we got to the warehouse, I disemboweled her. The cats ate. They ate everything, except her heart. That's in a box. If I wanted to hide everything, I would hide it without leaving any clues. But the police won't catch me. They can't catch me. And you, Mrs. Lucy, are a woman who deserves to know the truth.                                              

                                                 Quinn Solo

Quinn Solo apparently killed three other teenagers in the same district within a year: Stacy Henker, a rising model. David Orson, an elementary school student at Vice School. And Olivia Grace, the waitress at Gales Restaurant. However, it was only with the murderer's confession directed to Lucy Cleimber that the FBI began to act.

— Call Agent Norman — ordered the inspector.

Michael turned the doorknob, opened the door, and blinked for me to come in. From his look, he didn't realize I was listening behind the bug under the table. Being a spy goes beyond listening to conversations that don't concern us. I was a woman wanting to do my job among men. A woman who once lived there too. And doing agent work includes occasionally investigating the police. Policemen Michael, Clay, Johnny, and especially Billy Nortgen were suspects. Any of them could be Quinn Solo, or an accomplice, as the Rox police never got close to the killer.

— Excuse me — I said, entering the room. Before sitting in the armchair, I waved briefly and smiled.

— This is Agent Norman, she works for the FBI's intelligence department — said Inspector Billy Nortgen — Quinn Solo's whereabouts have taken on federal dimensions. So, from today on, you'll have a new member.

— I heard you were involved in the 9/11 investigations. Is that true? — Sarah asked, rhetorically.

— It's true. I was there.

Many ask how I discovered the terrorists' location or if their wallets were jammed in the airport toilet. They still question if I can help protect Portsmouth. I don't know either. But I know that the training, the nights I spent in enemy territory, it all had a purpose. They would decapitate me and sew my mouth shut if they caught me hiding, just like the Taliban caught Allan and put his head in a frying pan of hot oil. He died in agony while I ran to cross the barbed wire fence, hearing his high-pitched voice slowly fading away.

— Miss Norman, there's a man prowling around the Virginia perimeters. Cheriton, Charlotte Court House, Portsmouth, Courtland, Winchester... a man who dismembers people, whose face we don't know — Mr. Nortgen said — do you know where he is?

— Do you know if the killer is a man? — I asked.

— The people's comments say it's a man — he retorted.

— Mr. Nortgen, the people's comments aren't the police.

Lucy suspected her daughter was dating. Perhaps she knew who Quinn Solo was, but took that secret to the grave, just like the other victims did. Perhaps Quinn Solo was a man, but the initial indications pointed to a woman. I compiled Kimberly's biography and investigated her friends. She got involved and showed little romantic interest in men. Furthermore, all her previous relationships had been with women.

They nicknamed him the demon of the red flowers because they were covered in red tulips when they were unearthed. Many girls are still missing, and some will never have their bodies found. I say it with a heavy heart, but I know it's absolutely true. Collie doesn't make mistakes. His nose is very good. He would find something if there were things to find. Fear fills the streets now. Schools have been suspended. Everyone is afraid to walk around here. There's a curfew. Children can't cross the bridge anymore, not yet. But Quinn Solo, whoever you are, I will find you.

— Mesdra received the police notification — Michael said. — And yet she can't explain how a girl's head was buried for so long in her crops.

— Miss Norman, I want you to interrogate this woman — Inspector Nortgen ordered — and investigate her son as well. This will be your first job here.

Mesdra Curie was a sort of advisor to my mother, a long time ago, and my godmother. One summer before September 2001, I had fun on her farm, looking after her only son, playing with her foxes. Max was a good six-year-old kid back then. I know because my sister Sophia was also six. But unlike her, Sophia would grab my blouse and cry. She would throw sand in my eyes and cut my hair. Max wouldn't. Max was a good and innocent boy.

— Ellis, can I play? — he would say.

— Only at six.

— Ellis, the foxes are eating the eggs.

— Damn them!

— Ellis, can you cut my hair today?

— Not today.

He looked like his mother, a woman with dark hair, large black eyes, and tanned skin. I heard his father died at the hands of a troupe of gypsies.

However, twelve years later, Max wasn't the boy I used to lift and mess with his hair, disarrange his bangs, and scare away the foxes. Twelve years later, he was the prime suspect of being Quinn Solo. And he was the first person I saw when I entered the farm, lying in the shadow of the cornfields. He hadn't changed much, except for his height and his beard.

— Is Mrs. Mesdra around? — I asked.

— My mom went to harvest.

— What time can I see her?

— At four — Max smiled — wait if you want.

He remembers me. His smile seems sincere. Does Max have any chance of being the killer? Did his hands bury Kimberly's head where he's standing right now?

— Ellis, I know why you're here — he said, after a long minute of silence. — My mom told me you joined the FBI. She talks about you a lot.

— Your mom is a great person, Max. But strange things have been happening in the past few days. Things that need answers. Tell her I'll be here tomorrow to talk — I got into the pickup truck and left — Have a great day.

I needed time for all the changes to be made, especially the apartment rental bureaucracy and furniture replacement.

The reports weren't long in coming. Signs of sexual violence were found in the autopsies of the better-preserved corpses. The cause of death for the girls was asphyxia through strangulation, and the boy, David, by drowning. Gastric examinations deduced that they all died around the same day of the week and the same time, near dusk. The evisceration of the organs that weren't dissected was reluctantly authorized by the victims' families. There were no fingerprints on the tools left submerged in the sand, or blood drops from the criminal. Six days after Kimberly's death, the librarian who the girl had last visited, Rebecca Chari, also died.

September was warm. Sarah showed me new tourist spots in town and recommended a good veterinarian for dogs when Collie got sick. The two of us were as close as one could call friends. Clay finally admitted to Johnny that he was interested in someone, after going out five times with the same girl. And Michael, he had his good moments of humor. My intuition was right. None of them were Quinn Solo. If they were, introducing myself as an FBI agent would only hinder the investigation.

Unlike September, October was not a good month. There were protests outside the station. The residents wanted answers to the unsolved cases. Cases attributed to the same person. For a moment, it was as if that piece of the world had boiled down to the demon of the red roses.

— My daughter! My daughter! — said Beth Noan. — Where's Alice?

Beth had been arrested for a few hours after attacking Michael. She had overcome sadness and incomprehension, but not anger. Worse than knowing her daughter was dead is knowing she might be dead and never buried. Alice left before Kimberly and would never return.

— My daughter! Where's my daughter?

— Calm this woman down, please — requested Mr. Billy Nortgen.

When the cell was opened, I went in to see her. Her eyes were beautiful, but sad. The other officers were outside the bars, their guns aimed in our direction.

Mrs. Beth, your face resembles my mother's face. And my mother reminds me of my past. As a child, I saw many things I didn't want to see. My father was a terrible man who could change the entire atmosphere of the house. His smell still disgusts me. One day I heard my mom screaming and saw her red eyes. I asked what happened. She didn't answer, just asked me to take care of Sophia because she needed to deal with important matters. My mother got a new job, a new life somewhere else, but I still see scars on her face. Mrs. Beth, look at your face. It also has scars. They're different, but painful in the same way. Deep down, you know what happened to Alice, but you need to move on.

— Mrs. Beth, my name is Ellis — I spoke. — We need to talk.

— Conversations won't bring my daughter back — she replied.

— I'm a special FBI agent. I'm investigating Alice's case personally. We'll find her. I'm sure.

— Find her dead, you mean?

— Don't say that.

The spy was on the bridge, a beautiful and redhead woman. She looked me up and down. She resembles the others I killed, but there's no weakness in her eyes, no fear.                                            

                                                    Quinn Solo