Rain Rain Go Away 02

Rain Rain Go Away 02

As soon as Albarino walked into the conference room of the Westland Police Department, he was greeted with the following scene:

"Ridiculous." Olga Molozer said in a sharp voice, "I see that I'm not needed here; I'm going home."

Hardy said with a crumbling expression, "For God's sake, Olga– "

"Even God can't help you for this case," Olga said angrily, using wild movements to comb back her dark hair which had fallen onto her forehead, then reaching out to point at another person in the room: a tall man with healthy wheat-colored skin. "And obviously, this man, the Great Lavazza Mercader, is the only one who can help..."

"Please don't bring personal emotions into work, Molozer." The man known as Lavazza Mercader interrupted with a frown, somehow sounding oddly patient in persuading her[1]. "You know why I chose to do so."

[1]苦口婆心, idiom, meaning to advise or persuade someone like a benevolent-hearted old lady.

"Do I?" Olga tsked sharply; Albarino had never heard her speak in such a voice before. "From my perspective, I should know why you went to the manager's office and tell him that you thought I had significant flaws in my character, so wasn't competent for this job and persuaded him to reconsider renewing the contract with me; or should I know why you tampered with the crime scene –"

"You know in you heart." Mercader's voice was raised slightly. It probably wasn't Albarino's hallucination that he had put a very cold and harsh stress on the word "know". "You just don't understand. Because you only regard problems from your own perspective, and clearly you never care about the lives of ordinary people who get involved in the cases –"

"You made it sound like these people died because of me. However, in fact, no matter whether I got involved or not, others would still keep dying." Olga retorted, eyes flashing, "But actually, it's because of that unpublished book, The George Robo Case: Murder Without Motive –"

"The reason why it wasn't allowed to be published was that the victim's relatives might be affected –"

"Then you should have fucking told me when I showed you the first draft! Not on the day before I was going to submit the manuscript, driving to block my front door!" Olga's voice abruptly rose several decibels.

"How did I know you were going to write that part?!" Mercader's unfazed, serious mask seemed to have finally cracked. He frowned, "Your last section! That's not something normal people should read –"

"It wasn't on any of the confidentiality agreements I signed! Do you think that I wrote that part as a joke?" Olga stared at him, full of fury, as if she was about to flip Hardy's conference table over and onto his head. "I wrote the book for the trainees at Quantico and the students studying criminal psychology. As you know, he is a rare example. Or, is it that you are worried that if it is published, it will expose your –"

Mercader replied coldly and stiffly, "George Robo was actually the murderer. This is the result of the trial."

"I know he is the murderer." Olga stared at him sinsiterly, her voice twisted into a gasp spilling from between her teeth. "But I'm very certain that the last case was indeed committed by a copycat killer – and we weren't supposed to catch him originally. There's nothing wrong with everything else, but I couldn't tolerate this."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them, which Albarino, futilely, decided to break: at this inappropriate moment, he chose to cough twice.

– The three people in the room stared at him in unison.

"Um, pretend I'm not here, will you?" Albarino asked weakly, raising up his hand.

"Come on in." Hardy sighed deeply, waving his hand, "Al, this is Special Agent Lavazza Mercader of the Behavioral Analysis Unit; Agent Mercader, this is Dr. Albarino Bacchus, chief forensic pathologist of the Forensic Bureau in Westland."

"Nice to meet you." Mercader said grimly. The two of them shook hands, and Albarino could feel that the other's hands were hard, covered with rough calluses. Apparently, in addition to doing criminal profiling for serial killers, this special agent might have also arranged a lot of fitness programs for himself.

Their hands parted on touch.

"I've heard a lot about you." Albarino said, completely insincerely. Having only seen Mercader once before at some FBI lecture from afar, if Hardy hadn't introduced him, Albarino wouldn't have known who the other man was.

"I've heard of your name before." Mercader replied contemplatively, "You're on the news a while ago, as... the forensic pathologist who didn't kill his ex-girlfriend, correct?"

"My ability is much stronger than 'didn't kill my ex-girlfriend', Agent Mercader." Albarino replied pleasantly, frivolously making eyes at him.

"Agent Mercader, as requested by us, came to assist in the case of Johnny the Killer," Hardy said dryly, obviously going to great efforts to keep the conversation going smoothly. "My guess yesterday wasn't wrong, Al; the forensic pathologist found restraint wounds from long imprisoment and signs of sexual assault on that victim. It is now highly suspected that the culprit is 'Johnny the Killer'."

So this was how things were going: Johnny the Killer's case was an interstate serial killing case, which, under the system, was now being taken over by federal agents, but they would of course cooperate with the local police officers. And evidently, one of the people sent by the FBI was a guy Olga really loathed.

"So, I'm really tempted to ask," Mercader said to Albarino. "As far as I know, it hasn't been long since that case of yours. You should be on leave currently; why are you...?"

"The forensic pathology supervisor contacted me and asked if I wanted to join the case. I sometimes would participate in the crime scene investigation of serial killing cases, and he thought it would be appropriate to choose me as the forensic pathologist in charge of this case." Albarino smiled and replied, "So I answered him, yes, I believe that I've always been very interested in serial killers."

Mercader was silent for a moment, then asked, "By 'crime scene investigation of serial killing cases', do you mean the cases of the Sunday Gardener and the Westland Pianist?"

Albarino answered yes; unsurprisingly, he saw the other frown slightly.

"Let me translate for you," Olga interjected harshly, her residue anger having not yet vanished. "Neither the Gardener's nor the Pianist's cases are interstate cases, so the FBI can't intervene without the WLPD asking for help. Our Agent Mercader must be discontent about this in his mind; he can't wait to be the envoy of justice and apprehend those killers."

"Molozer." Mercader said warningly, "As the consultant for WLPD, you still haven't actually caught them; this is also the truth."

Olga stared at him, then replied, clenching her teeth in anger, "I definitely will know who they are before you do."

"Alright, alright," interrupted Hardy, the poor officer looking as frustrated as a teacher bringing a group of primary school students to visit the museum. "Agent Mercader, come with me and I'll show you and your team some information. Al," he flashed a fierce expression at Albarino, "you help me with handling this."

He didn't say what this "this" was, since he hurried off with Mercader in tow anyway. Albarino listened to their footsteps disappear along the edge of the hallway, before turning his head to ask, "What's George Robb?"

"Just like what you heard, he's a motiveless serial killer." Olga replied sulkily.

"Olga." Albarino said, sighing heavily.

"Fine. That was a case the BAU had dealt with before; the two of us had some... disagreements on that case. Not that we disagreed on the criminal profiling; that profiling was fine, but it was just –" Olga shook her head, stopping in her tracks. "A few things happened, Al, some unpleasant past events at work."

"Did you quit because of that?" Albarino asked.

"Not completely. It was also because he has a problem with the way I handled things, and because we had some disputes on publishing books." Olga shrugged. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with Mercader's professionalism, but we really can't get along."

"He seemed to be brimming with enthusiasm; is what you said true? He wants to catch the Westland Pianist and the Sunday Gardener?" Albarino asked thoughtfully.

"Undoubtedly, he wants to catch all the serial killers in the world. I think if you tell him that someone will commit a crime in the future, he's even willing to catch that person for a crime he hasn't committed yet – he protects the 'good people' in his eyes like how a shepherd protects his lambs, like how a mother swan protects the baby swans. " Olga snorted. "I guess that his problem with me mostly comes from the suspicion that I'm about to leave his team of 'good people' – but, believe me, Albarino."

Albarino let out a light "hm" from his throat, looking at her.

"You will see that excessive justice is just as dangerous as excessive evil." Olga said, in a warning tone.

"A very thought-provoking maxim." Albarino replied slowly, with a slight humor in his voice.

Olga shook her head, clearly unwilling to discuss that topic any further. Brushing over the topic, she said, "There's no point in talking about those things anymore. Can you let me see the autopsy report? You did bring it, yes?"

"Yes, I did." In the end, Albarino smiled helplessly at her, handing the manila folder he had been holding in his hand to Olga.

Olga's anger seemed to be soothed slightly. She took the folder and sat down on the seat nearest to her, starting to read through the autopsy report.

This victim's autopsy wasn't done by Albarino, because at that time they thought the case was an ordinary homicide case. He was at home on paid leave, continuing to watch the Shark Week documentary replays, cooking dinner for him and Herstal, et cetera, et cetera.

Albarino also only saw the autopsy report this morning after being called to the Forensic Bureau by the forensic pathology supervisor, but he had already gone over it on his way to the police station, and now he was already prepared and confident[2].

[2]成竹在胸, idiom, meaning have ready plans to meet a situation.

"It's very similar to cases in other states," Albarino said, reaching his hand out and pointing at a few photos in the report, showing a close-up view of the damage done to the victims' wrists and ankles. "Johnny the Killer imprisons his victims after kidnapping them; the victims' limbs had been tied up for a very long time – from the degree of injury, perhaps the ropes tying their limbs were never untied."

"If the victims were tied from the back, it is only natural that they cannot injure the killer through scratching when they're being sexually assaulted." Olga commented.

"Yes, the CSI also did not extract any test material from the fingernails of the victims that could be used for testing." Albarino pointed out, "Also, although the dead bodies had signs of being sexually assaulted, we couldn't find any semen."

"Had he worn a condom? Out of his anti-surveillance ability?" Olga guessed, then she shook her own head. "No, wearing a condom probably reduces the intimacy felt by the killer in enacting the sexual assault. It's also possible that he could have retrograde ejaculation or... anejaculation, perhaps. In fact, a lot of this kind of sexual offenders have sexual dysfunction, exceeding our imaginations."

At this moment, Albarino remembered Tommy's speculation that "the Westland Pianist had erectile dysfunction". He felt a bit amused.

"The previous victims had been missing for about a month before they were killed, but looking at them they weren't getting too thin either." Olga continued, flipping another page. "Did the killer feed them?"

"That seems to be the case based on the degree of digestion in the victim's stomach. He was probably killed three hours after his last meal." Albarino said. "Guess what kind of food we found?"

Olga looked at him, blinked, and smiled.

"Very good food?" She asked.

"Yes, we found meats such as steak, as well as something which must have been the remnants of dessert. For a serial killer's victim, this kind of food is clearly pretty good." Albarino said. That autopsy report also included photos of chyme; he really didn't know how these forensic pathologists were able to sift through the pile of contents in the stomach to find the residue of what the victims had eaten. "But, how did you guess that?"

Olga looked over at him, then her face showed an expression like she was observing a carnivore inside a cage. Slowly, she said, "Because the killer loved him – loved them, loved everyone he kidnapped."

"Interesting point," Albarino nodded. He said encouragingly, "Tell me about your criminal profiling before Bart and the others come back."

When Herstal's car's tires deflated, causing the electronic warning system to report the lowered pressure on the tires, Herstal slowly frowned.

It was just before nine o'clock in the morning. Herstal was driving to the northwest of Westland City, to the house of one of his clients – the gentleman had earned a large amount through quite dishonest means; he was living in a manor of a dozen acres large – to discuss with him details about his will. The rich old man had three sons and a daughter, so he should take extra caution in his it.

They had arranged to meet at 9:30. If things could have gone according to schedule, Herstal would definitely have arrived on time. But all he could do now was pull over in the turnout area and get out of the car to check what was going on with his tires: he found that the two tires on the right side of the car were gradually deflating. Several ten meters away, something was glistening on the sunlit road, which had most certainly punctured his tires.

"The targets the killer kidnapped all fit the same criteria: blond, tall, and handsome. He preys on such people as a substitute for some kind of his own desire." Olga said slowly, "Some people commit crimes following the same standard in order to vent their anger, like Bob Landon, but not for Johnny the killer."

"You said he loved them." Albarino pointed out.

"Yes," Olga gave an intriguing smile. "I think he's choosing 'lovers' for himself."

Things didn't seem too great. The object that made the Rolls-Royce's tires flat must have been something which was sturdy and hard; since the series of cars were all equipped with run-flat tires, there was no spare tire in the car.

Although it wasn't a problem to drive the car all the way to the destination, since there were specially designed fixed ring support which could prevent deformation of the tires in the best possible way – but the thought of driving a car with two flat tires all the way to meet his client, and then drive all the way back to Westland made Herstal in a bad mood.

Then, a noise came from the road; on the opposite lane a gray Ford sedan drove through the dusty road, coming to a stop next to him. A young man wearing a jacket jumped down from the car, looking in his early thirties, his black hair tied up into a ponytail on the back of his head.

"Other than the necessary restraints, the killer did not inflict any additional injuries on the victims at the very beginning of their imprisonment; the wounds due to restraint were to prevent them from running away. He even gave the victims pretty good food." Olga said, rubbing her fingers over the close ups of those restraint wounds in the autopsy report.

"But he also sexually assaulted them."

"Yes, because he thought he loved them. Since the image of the victims in his mad mind tended to be similar to that of 'a lover', of course he was inclined to have intimate body relationships with them."

This handsome young man, with a hand in front of his forehead to block the intense sunlight shining onto the road at this moment, shouted, "Mister, do you need any help?"

Whether Herstal wanted to answer him or not, clearly, the young man had come here spontaneously. At this point, it seemed impolite for Herstal to drive away immediately no matter what. He looked at the smile on the other's face – some unknown part of it made him associate it with Albarino, making people discontent – and said, "No, no thanks. I can drive the car to–"

The other had already walked by his side. At this moment, some details on the other person attracted his attention.

The beam of light in his black eyes. His standing posture, the tautness of his shoulders. The smile at the corner of his mouth and the small, dark stain on his sleeve.

Albarino said, "But they were still killed in the end."

– This was only in an instant.

Because in the next moment, the man lunged at Herstal, intent on nothing more than choking his neck with his hands, the lack of oxygen capable of causing unconsciousness in a matter of seconds. Herstal's fingers which were on the car door suddenly excreted force, and with a bang, he abruptly slammed the car door, which he had opened slightly, onto other's body.

The man staggered backwards, while Herstal abruptly swept towards the other's ankles at the same time, tripping him onto the ground.

Olga nodded: "They were murdered in anger; look at the stab wounds on the neck which indicate traces of excessive overkill. The killer continued to slice open the neck of the victim for some time after his death, to the point of nearly cutting off the whole head, right?"

"... He loved the victims he chose, yet at a particular moment he became so angry with his victims that he had no choice but to kill them." Albarino slowly sorted out his line of thoughts. "Why? Did he finally realize that the victims he chose were only a substitute for his illusionary delusion from inside his brain?"

The tarred road surface was rough and scalding. Herstal knelt above that person, one hand jamming his his throat, the other hand taking out a butterfly knife from the inside pocket of his suit – although knives without hand guards were never his preferred kind, since a number of people, in the process of committing a killing, carelessly stabbed onto the hard bone, causing the hilt to slide forward and cut the blade on the finger. For the CSI, a small drop of blood was enough for conviction – but he had no choice now. He jammed the young man's throat, a dexterous flip flinging the blade out from the sheath, then aimed and stabbed towards his eyes.

The other, in a panic, reached out a hand to shield in front of his face. The butterfly knife's blade pierced deeply into his palm, blood dripping along the blade's fuller, onto the young man's face in a hideous mess. A low growl of pain spilled from his throat as his other hand fumbled somewhere beneath him.

The other's arm was tense and trembling against the blade; it was nearly impossible to directly stab the knife inside. Herstal tightened his fingers which were grasping the other's throat, but at that moment, the other abruptly wriggled, using the force to lift Herstal off his body.

In the next second, something abruptly jabbed Herstal in the abdomen. At the very beginning, it was a spasm, a dull pain like being punched by something, and then –

It was a stun gun. Before Herstal's eyes sank into darkness, this was what he thought.

"Maybe that was the case. Maybe he found that his victims were not what he really loved, maybe he discovered that they weren't perfect enough, maybe he lost interest in them after a short while – or maybe because of rain; he recalled something in the past which made him angry, so he would kill his victims after the rain had passed." Olga said slowly. "Whatever the case, at the end of the day, Johnny the Killer will kill them... and then choose his next prey."

Author's Notes

1. Retrograde ejaculation: meaning that, during intercourse, you could orgasm, but no semen is ejaculated through the urinary tract. After intercourse, urine will contain fructose and semen, meaning that the semen flows wrongly back into the bladder.

2. Anejaculation: meaning that the penis can be erect and can have intercourse, but cannot ejaculate semen; or they can ejaculate semen in other situations, but not inside the vagina, so they cannot reach an orgasm or enjoy sexual pleasure.

3. Rolls-Royce cars are supposed to use strong run-flat tires, so that there is no spare tire on the car in order to make room for storage. But the relevant part in this story is written according to the setting of BMW's RSC run-flat tires, because not much information about Rolls-Royce run-flat tires was found.

In a nutshell, these tires have thicker outer layers, so they do not collapse after deflating, and have specially designed wheels that reduce deformation after the tire gets flat. This technology can, with the highest possibility, avoid burst tires and can maintain a very long distance of normal driving even after the tire gets flat.

Since the deflating of this kind of tires is very difficult to notice, a device monitoring the pressure of the tires is installed inside the car. So, although Herstal's car's tire hadn't burst, he was notified by the alert after the tires started leaking.

Additionally: Actually, if he didn't stop his car and continue to drive, it's fine. The run-flat tires can be used until he arrives at the destination. But how would a normal person not stop the car to check when the car alarm starts beeping?

4. This is a butterfly knife:

As a matter of fact, for this kind of knife without a handguard, it is easy to cause the tip of the knife to hit a hard object, then the hand to slide forward onto the blade; however, a butterfly knife has an easier composition than a dagger with one scabbard. Unsheathing the knife is easier as well.

Actually, theoretically if he brought an out the front switchblade, he can still unsheathe the blade single-handedly, but you'll have to think about if the spring had some problems, yes? (although strictly speaking, basically there isn't this possibility)

By the way, you can watch this video (from 3:28) in Mission Impossible 6: Fallout to see a beautiful blonde sexily unsheathe her blade: https://www.bilibili.com/video/av38153412

"The harmonious daily life mini theater for psycho serial killers"

Johnny the Killer: Really, a knife right at the start?

Al: I think, this is still a prop which still belongs to the category of a sweet family life.

Johnny the Killer: Really? A knife???

Al: (Smiles)