The Larynx


    Snap! Snap!

    It was 2:30 AM, and the flicker of cameras, accompanied by the equally dimming street light created a surreal atmosphere before the shop. On the pavement of the footpath lay the body of a woman, sprawled face-first on the floor, in a pool of blood. She seemed to be in her twenties, had blonde hair, and was wearing a purple velvet jacket along with what appeared to be a creamy white skirt. By her side lay her purse, its contents partially protruding from it, revealing a mini wallet and pieces of paper. She wore maroon heels. Her right shoe was missing.

    Ronald crept up close to the body, and with the glove in his hand lifted up the chin of the woman. Her eyes were still partially open, and she had smears of blood stuck on them. He turned his gaze to her neck, almost on instinct. Her throat had been slashed, rather cleanly, and jutting out of it was a mass of flesh.

    Her Larynx.

    His brief inquest complete, he carefully shifted the woman’s head back into place and got up.

    Yep. It was him alright. It had all the hallmarks of a McBenzie murder. And this was his fourth in a month.

    “Damned bastard got another one”, muttered Benjamin.

    Ronald looked towards Benjamin. Fox and Martini were standing beside him. Behind him, two coroner’s men were busy taking pictures and samples from the scene. Four other NYPD men were near the cars, making notes. It was a quiet night, and nobody was out.

    What on earth was she doing outside at a time like this?

    The town of Damestead was usually quiet, and nightlife was practically non-existent. Still the lights of many stores remained on despite being shut, like the one here.

    Four kills in this small town, huh?

    Ronald brought out a cigarette and lit the lighter on its tip. He took a strong puff and exhaled the smoke into the still, dry air of the night. It had gotten breezy lately, autumn being around the corner. And somehow, his coat was not sufficient protection against it.

    “Fourth one in four weeks”, remarked Fox. He was a slim guy, with middle height and tiny freckles all over his face.

    “Not if you count today as the next day, then this would be the fifth week”, said Martini. He was the chubby one of the lot, but not more, and couldn’t really be considered fat.

    “And always at night”, said Fox.

    “I swear I’ll tear him apart after this, that son-of-a-bitch!”, Benjamin was clearly angry now.

    “Now let’s just pause for a moment. Fox, when did the last one take place?”, asked Ronald.

    “Well today’s Tuesday, and it happened on Monday of the previous...”.

    “Though we don’t know the timing of this one yet, it sure as hell ain’t recent”, interrupted Martini.

    “Well, these folks here will establish that soon, though I’d say definitely around three to four hours must have passed”, Ronald said as he let loose another puff of smoke from the cigarette.

    “And so?”, snapped Benjamin.

    “And so we know that he is well beyond our reach for now”, replied Ronald. “As a matter of fact, we should call it a night and pick up on the case in the morning. We don’t have all the forensics yet either”, said Ronald.

    “And it’s not like tomorrow’s off”, said Martini.

    “Damn!” Benjamin kicked the side of the pavement and cursed again, this time from the pain he now received on his foot.

    “Alright, better pack up guys”, Ronald signaled to the men near the cars, “Two stay behind with the forensics team, we’re leaving”.

    Murmuring sighs of agreement, the rest of the group separated and headed for their respective vehicles. Ronald and Martini had arrived on their own, while the other two went for the two NYPD cars by the pavement, some distance ahead.

    Ronald sat in his Jaguar and watched the others drive away, all in the west, until only the forensics team and two NYPD men remained. He put his keys in the ignition and fired the engine, but somehow it didn’t start. He tried again but still, it wouldn’t work. Frustrated, he was about to get out of the car when it finally started on his third attempt. The engine gave a wheezing sound before stabilizing. Looking over at the crime scene one last time, he finally drove past the aisle and into the east lane.

    Four murders in four weeks.

    Somehow that resonated in his brain as he drove down the lane toward his home. The street lights were mostly on, though some were dimming as was the case back by the store.

    They were all by now thoroughly familiar with the case. Bruce McBenzie. That was his name. He specialized in killing young, blond women in the middle of the night. He would always cut out the larynx from their necks as a sort of mark. He always took away the right shoe.

    It had been going on for four weeks now. McBenzie, identified by the note he left by his first victim (and his name was all that was written on it), had started his spate of killings in pursuit of an unknown objective. The police had yet to discover his identity and had no leads. They weren’t even sure if he lived in Damestead or if he really was a man. The more they delved into it, the more it seemed like this person was mocking them.

    Presently Ronald reached the end of the lane, blocked by a T, and turned left. There, again to his left, was his home, the second house. He parked his car in the already open garage, as he had left it, and got out of the car.

    He yawned. It was 3:03 AM now. Quite late. He had to get back to work tomorrow and work up the case. He freed the keys from his car, went over to his house’s side door, opened it, and went inside, the garage door locked shut behind him. Removing his shoes and setting them aside, he removed his jacket and threw it alongside his cap to the living room sofa and then locked the side door. He made his way to his bedroom.

    “Oh, honey! You’re finally back! What took you so long?”

    Startled, Ronald found the haggard figure of his blonde wife Josie in front of him, by the bedroom door.

    “For a moment there, you shocked me! What are you doing up at this hour?”, asked Ronald.

    “What were you doing at this godforsaken time out anyway?”

    Knowing it to be fully useless to argue with her, he abandoned the conversation and made his way to the bedroom, too tired to change as drowsiness engulfed him.

    “Oww, where are you going now, at least change first”, said Josie in exasperation, though she too made her way after him to the bed.

    “I’m too tired dear, perhaps later”, mumbled Ronald, who had by now fallen face-first on his side of the mattress.

    Josie laid down beside him, ready to sleep herself, and lifted up the blankets on top of herself.

    “By the way, dear. Did you perchance notice my right shoe along your way to the room? I’ve been unable to find it since you left. It was a gift from mom, and I was so looking forward to wearing it this morning”, asked Josie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Cops lined up outside Ronald’s house at midday the next day. Inside Fox and Martini were already examining two corpses when Benjamin arrived.

    “Well, I’d be damned”, exclaimed Benjamin, clearly distraught. “I’d have thought it would take a bit more time. Got him too, this time”.

    “Well, I told ya that the fifth week had started. That woman last night died at 11:00 PM”, retorted Martini.





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