Stan: Chapter Three

Detective Charles Anderson stood at the coffee machine awaiting for his cup to fall and fill. It was 6am and way to early to be at work. He didn't get home until 10pm last night, by the time he had had some supper, checked his email and had a beer it had been 2am before his head had hit his pillow. Only to be awoken at half four. It had been his lieutenant requesting his attendance at a 6am briefing. He thought about arguing. Reminding him that he had been at work till nine the night before, and that today was actually his day off, but thought better of it.

'Best not to piss him off this early in the morning' was the thought that restrained him.

He had pulled on a fresh pair of clothes, just jeans and a T-shirt, was way to early to worry about what to wear, and jumped in his beaten up Volvo.
Now he stood there, sleep still in his eyes, awaiting a cup of machine coffee which seemed to be taking an eternity to arrive.
Finally the machines door started to turn and the cup came into view. Hot, sweet, and black. Anderson rubbed the days growth on his chin and took that vital first sip.

"Ah, fuck that's hot!" he exclaimed both in horror and pleasure at the same time.

"You would be complaining if it were cold!" came an almost cheery comment over his shoulder.

"Fuck you Rachel." Was all he could muster as a reply as she came into view.

"Love you too partner" Rachel said with a smile.

Detective Rachel Morris. Anderson's partner for the past five years. They were close and loved to tease each other. After all, with the amount of shit they had both seen, you had to laugh or you would probably end up shooting yourself.
Anderson looked her up and down, compared to him she looked like she had spent two hours getting ready before casually dropping by the station. Dark hair tied back in a tight pony tail, white pressed blouse, and neat and clean black trousers. Made him look almost like a slob.

"Any idea why we have been dragged in at this ungodly hour?" he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Don't have a clue!" was the reply. "But I'm guessing it's kinda important if we are coming in this early."

Anderson flicked his phone to silent. Was still too early to piss of the lieutenant and he was pretty sure having 'Back in Black' blare out from his phone in the middle of a briefing would do that.
He walked slowly into the briefing room. It was packed. He hadn't seen the room this full for a while.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he asked himself as he sat down beside Morris. A paper ball hit the back of his head as he blew on his still hot coffee.

"Oi! Anderson! You look like shit!" came the comment from behind him.

"You wife didn't seem to mind earlier, Larson!" was Anderson's quick reply. The entire room let out a laugh, Larson included.

"Right! Enough of this shit!" Lieutenant Tim Cook walked into the room, papers under his arm, striding with confidence. "Sorry to have dragged you out of bed, but the Captain is so far up my ass on this one I can see his face when I brush my teeth." The lieutenant placed the papers on the desk at the front of the room. Picking up the remote that was on the desk, he flicked the lights off and turned on the projector. "The reason you are all here, is because of this." he continued, pressing a button on the remote. A letter in red pen slide into view.

'Hiya Capt!
I hope this letter finds you well, fed and rested. Myself? I can't complain. Although recently I have found the need to come out of my six month slumber. Sadly the game I wish to play has become boring playing solo. I really need a partner to play.
You see capt, I have certain, well we will call them, needs. And I just can't seem to find any satisfaction. The seventeen souls I have slain satisfied me for a time. They each had their moment. But sadly that time has past, and to be quite frank, nobody noticing has rather pissed me off. So to you a challenge!
Bundy hit thirty. Atleast that's what you guys got him for. I admire his game. But I think I can beat that score. What say you? Think I can? Only another fourteen to go, and I win! Of course if you can stop me, you win. But if I win, you won't hear from me again. I can't say my score will not continue to rise, but you won't know of it if it does.
Of course your thinking I could be come kind of 'fruit-loop' looking for some attention from his local friendly police man. I could be you are completely right. But hopefully, you will see sense and take me up in my challenge. I'm physically hard thinking about it!

Ta-ta for now!!
S.
Xxx'

'I got dragged in at this hour on my day off for this shit' was Anderson's first thought. But before he could mention the idea, Larson beat him too it.

"How do we know this is real sir? Sounds like some kind of joke."

"Would I drag your fucking asses out of bed for a fucking joke, son!" came the reply. The lieutenant hit the button on the remote again, and Beth's mutilated head appeared on the screen. It was greeted by stunned silence from some, foams of sickness from others.

"Fuck." was the greeting from Morris. Anderson just sat there stunned for a moment.

"Fuck indeed Morris!" the lieutenant continued. "This came in the package with the letter. Delivered to the Captains house yesterday late afternoon." Anderson was still stunned. He stared at the head on the screen. The skin almost black, in patches torn from the skull. The hair matted and dirty. "What's more, the letter appears to have been written in blood. Who's we don't know. There appears to be multiple DNA. From a early report, the mouth and neck cavities seem to be coated in semen. It is believed that this was done post-mortem. Multiple times." the lieutenant concluded.
There were a few noises that sounded like people being sick in the back.

"After he had killed he decided to do that?" Anderson braved.

"Appears so." came the quick reply from the captain. "Anderson, Morris, I want you on this. Wait for the final reports to come in and see of you can find out who she is. Everyone else, put your feelers out. See what you can find. He said that he has done this seventeen times. Someone somewhere must know something. Dismissed."

Anderson and Morris got up, Anderson looking back at the screen where Beth's eye-less head was still staring back at them. Although he knew she had been dead for a long time, he couldn't help but notice that she looked in pain. Shaking his head he turned and walked slowly out of the room.
Morris caught up with him.

"Well that was a head fuck...oh shit, sorry no pun intended!"

"That's not funny, Rachel." was Anderson's reply.

"I know. I didn't mean it. Just didn't think before I opened my mouth. Fancy grabbing some breakfast. That report won't be done until after 9am." she asked, almost apologetically.

"I'm not hungry after seeing that! But I'll let you shout me a coffee if you like."

"Your on. But I'm driving. I'm not getting in that piece of shit you call a car." she chuckled.

"Hey!" Anderson defended. "The 440 is a classic!"

"OK, I'm not getting in that 'Classic' piece of shit" and with that they both headed out to the parking lot.