Genius

The curious thing about investigations was that until you found the bodies, there was still hope for the victims; they could be alive, just tortured and hidden. Hadn't most people believed that I was definitely dead because Alice never kept a person captive for more than a month? Her games and her curiosity were focused only for that short period of time, but I had survived. These victims could, too. It was possible.

"Take some time to compose yourself," I heard from beside me. I looked at him curiously and saw that he didn't offer much information through his expressions. "We will reach the first victim's house in a couple of minutes. I need you to be prepared to observe. Whatever you are thinking, however terrified or sad you are about the situation should not show on your face." I was almost shocked, his words though helpful were meant to be professional; but in my mind, his tone said much more than that. It was almost reassuring. I had not felt that for a very long time. Reassurance and trust didn't come easily to me anymore. I had been depending on myself for too long.

As he had said, we arrived soon. I looked up at the apartment building and noticed that even though it was an older building it was well taken care of. There were no guards, just a doorway which led to the stairway. We went up to the third floor and rang the doorbell.

A woman in her forties opened the room. She looked worn and suspicious of our arrival. I swiftly introduced myself to remove her hostility.

"Ma'am, I called you last evening asking for your time." Recognition lit up her face and she ushered her in. Sebastian seemed to be engrossed in his surroundings. He turned to the woman.

"Could you show me to your son's room?" The woman, though stunned, didn't question him and just led him to a room. The interior seemed untouched from the time of the disappearance so empty cans of Diet Coke and chips were stashed in a huge box, the computer on the desk looked old and second hand, but there were quite a few CDs of videogames placed nearby.

"Find out the places he frequented and things he liked. Everything." He entered the room and didn't turn back.

I guided the mother back into the living room and asked her questions about her relationship with his mother and his hobbies. Satisfied with the information, I went back towards Mr. Butler. He was still looking around, engrossed.

"Mr. Butler," I called slowly so as to not startle him. He turned immediately and gave me a questioning look. "His relationship with his mother was mostly good, but before the disappearance, he became distant and hostile towards her and threatened to run away. They came to an agreement soon, though. He loved videogames and often visits the arcades with his friends from school. His grades are average, he has no girlfriend, and he didn't want to go to college." I stopped.

"Is that all? It seemed like you have more to say." I hesitated.

"It might be irrelevant but… their family visits the farmer's market every week. Even if the mother didn't go, he liked shopping for groceries and commodities." I waited for him to answer. His mouth was open… as if in shock. He took one step closer and then in a sudden movement wrapped me up in his arms.

"Mr. Butler!" I exclaimed.

"Genius, genius," he chanted. "Alec was right to say that you are best suited for this job," he laughed to himself. "How did you find this out?" This was when he stepped back. I sucked in a breath and shrugged.

"We were done with the conversation and she seemed to be almost in tears so I tried diverting the conversation by referring to the bag of groceries. She did end up crying her eyes out," I mentioned uncomfortably, "but I found this out. Probably isn't of much use."

"No, it is. Thank you!" He pulled out his phone and quickly typed into it.

"There are two places this boy could have come in contact with the killer. The latest victim went to City Y with his friends to check out a market." He was rushing out of the apartment in no time. I was left to assure her that we would get back to her and Sprint after him to catch up. "You can do the other interviews," he informed when we were both strapped in.

Good job, I heard in my head.

I smiled, satisfied that I was able to do my job well.

Everything seemed to fall into place, the theories that he had told me unfolded like a story before my eyes. All the kids went to the cybercafes and arcades to play games and they all visited the market more than once. When we were walking back to the car, he turned his phone to me to show me something.

It was a map on which he had marked a considerable area.

"What is that?" I asked. The two points were the victims availed were marked, too. This area formed a triangle with the other two.

"The killer lives somewhere near this region. Inform them that I will brief them tomorrow morning." I nodded and pulled out my phone.

Seth was confused as to why we believed it to be a serial killer and wanted answers immediately. But Mr. Butler just ignored the request. Despite my nagging, he remained resolute.

"The last briefing I did was in DC, I am not doing it inside the car." Pride is his vice.

"The contents or credibility won't change if the location does," I commented, but he just ignored me.

"Mr. Butler and I have to assemble all the papers before the briefing, we can't do it before tomorrow," I apologized. It seemed that I would have to be the one taking the fall.

"Liar," I heard Mr. Butler mumble from beside me. I glared at it to shut his mouth and bid Seth goodbye. The excuse seemed to have worked.

It turned out that I was not wrong in saying that we needed to prepare. I ended up making a presentation with all the information and maps he told me to make. He had even come up with two possible locations where the bodies could be found.

We went into the station at seven in the morning to prepare for the briefing. I was left to copy all the relevant material and distribute it. Mr. Butler was wandering around the premises, doing absolutely nothing. He passed by me a couple of times but spared me nothing but a glance. We did come back when I was arranging everything and leaned against the wall.

"You don't like police stations, do you?" he asked.

"No one in particular likes to come here," I told him with a deadpan.

"Your dislike is personal," he began, "and your familiarity with due process indicates that you know someone who is a cop." I gritted my teeth and kept silent. "No. You knew someone who was a cop."

"You're awfully talkative today and looking down at everyone, I see," I taunted. "I hope you can keep your sarcasm in check when you brief them. They are respectable people who have worked here for a long time and do not deserve your criticism." I huffed and looked away.

"Miss Lewis, I don't know what made you think so, but sarcasm is a product of a difference in intelligence between the people engaging in a conversation. The cops have a different job than I do, I don't expect them to be able to do my job."

Clearly, I had offended him. He had walked away towards the conference room.

'He called me stupid…. A difference in intelligence.' I scoffed.

I am not in the same profession as you either; I don't deserve your attitude! I protested.

I took all the documents and went inside the conference room. I distributed the papers and then seated at the very back of the room.

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