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Trick-or-treaters charged down the narrow side walk in a dash for the next house in the frantic search for candy. Jack Connelly watched the colorful band giggle and shout as they swung out and around the big man walking toward the porch steps.
“Sorry, Detective Jones, I enforce a strict age limit. No candy for the adults.” Jack set the big orange plastic bowl on the porch swing. “What brings you here? Any news on our friend, the “fisherman?”
“You newspaper guys love making names for serial killers. Well good news, or bad, maybe, we got him. Thought you would like to know. Maybe even celebrate.” He held out a six pack of beer.
“Come one in and you can tell me about it. I would like to write it up. Maybe even get the interview with him.” Jack scooped up the bowl of candy and held the screen door for the policeman. They sat down in the living room and opened a couple of bottles of beer.
“I ran down some leads and they finally panned out. It took a lot of leg work and man power. Never thought we would get this guy.” Jones tipped up the bottle and drained about half in one monstrous draw.
“You’re telling me. No forensics. No witnesses. Nothing. What did you say you did to finally catch up with this guy?” Jack pulled a pen and note book out of the desk drawer and drank a little of his own beer as he let the detective talk.
“No crime is perfect. We were after this guy for three years. Things piled up over time. You know the routine; we don’t tell the press everything. I was looking over the evidence and the files we had accumulated and something jumped out at me. There were little pieces – time lines, locations that narrowed things down.”
“So what’s his name?”
“You interviewed him. He said he was at the location of Janie Marvin’s dump site a week before and a week after her murder. It was his vacant property.”
“Milos Silvowitz?” It was hard for him to believe the diminutive and quiet scientist was a serial killer. A monster whose sliced his victims open and piled their insides next to the body he laid open like a fish gutted and spread out in the sun to dry. “I guess that explains the lack of physical evidence. Didn’t he teach forensic science at the university?”
“Yep. We had crossed him off our list, too, but things shaped up recently. I can’t tell you too much. We need to keep some things before the courtroom stuff starts.” Jones finished his beer and offered another to the newspaper man. Both drank silently until the second beer was gone. They finished and each opened the third. “You will never believe the stories he told when we caught up with him.”
“Like what,” Jack’s speech slurred a little, “what did he tell you?” He stopped writing.
“Oh just that he wasn’t in control of himself when he grabbed those girls and cut them up. He said that something had taken over his body. Kept control over it as it lured, trapped and butchered its way through the last three years using his hands and knowledge.”
The reporter put his tablet on the table and dropped the pen on the floor. He flopped back in the chair.
“He cried like a child when it left him. I am sorry, Jack. I drugged the beer. I really can’t do anything to stop it. You see it has been alive forever and I can’t, no one can stop it. But it’ll be ok. I really doped that beer, big time. You won’t feel a thing.” He drew the big hunting knife from its hiding place beneath his coat and smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks.