The stench of horror hung in the air, as if the room itself was breathing shock. A charged, heavy silence pressed down on shoulders, then torn by Son's hoarse scream, ringing like an alarm bell:
"Jim! Jim! hold of yourself, man!"
Jim stood, his body taut, as if every bone in him was screaming what he had seen. His eyes were like a bottomless pit, a perimeter of darkness consuming him from within. He took a deep breath, trying to grasp what remained of his consciousness, then looked at Son, shock etched clearly on his face:
"What happened here? What in hell happened?" His voice trembled, charged with fear and surprise.
Son stood up, sweating profusely, rising like a man who had lost control of his mind, stammering:
"I really don't know, I truly don't. She was talking to us normally until suddenly she started screaming and her stomach started moving… I thought she was pregnant or something… but she wasn't brought in pregnant… I was completely confused… while she was screaming, I didn't know what to do or what to think…"
".... until suddenly a rat came out of her stomach… a filthy rat right there… I thought I was hallucinating… but it's real… There was a rat inside her all along… a rat placed precisely to emerge at the right time… The killer didn't just kill her, he scheduled her death. This is terrifying, Jim. This is getting out of hand, it's truly out of hand… But when the victim was in your car, didn't she complain of any pain or anything?"
Jim swallowed with difficulty, his eyes widening further.
He swallowed again,then slowly said:
"No, she didn't say anything… She was silent the whole time."
Jim added, in a quiet, detached voice, looking at the corpse before him:
"Did she say anything… here, while you were interrogating her?"
Son said, shocked:
"She didn't say anything decisive, just things that added to the mystery without clearing it."
At that moment, Jim completely shattered. All his words stopped, and he bent over, placing his hands on his stomach as if the entire world had collapsed inside him, while the forensic analysts entered. Jim vomited, whispering to them:
"Sorry…"
Son grabbed him by the arm, and they went out to the roof together. The wind was cold, the city beneath them like an incubator of sins, silent. They sat in utter silence, each drowning in his own frustration, their eyes searching for something to confirm reality.
Jim broke the silence, his voice faint but heavy:
"I know the killer… I know his address… and his name."
Son was startled, his voice shaking:
"Are you serious? But how… Jim?"
Jim fell silent, looked away, then said:
"The victim told me in the car."
Son said with anger mixed with astonishment:
"And why didn't the victim say anything during the interrogation?"
Jim moved his fingers unconsciously:
"I don't know… I think she was scared and in pain."
Son said:
"She only said she was alone in the room, and the kidnapper wore a plumber's mask… He'd come in, put down the food, and leave… She didn't see anything… couldn't distinguish anything… The killer didn't even reveal his hair color to her."
Jim said, shrinking into himself:
"What about the other victims?"
Son continued:
"She said she was alone in the room but could hear screams in the next room and the sound of chains… And on the day of her escape, she was suddenly drugged… then found herself on the bridge… the car was stopped… the driver was snoring… the car door was open… so she ran… but I think the killer let her go on purpose."
Jim said gravely:
"Yes, that's clear… He had confirmed her death before releasing her… It was just a matter of time for him."
Son said:
"No, not just that… There was a video tape in her pocket."
Jim looked at him in shock:
"Are you serious…?"
Son pulled out the tape:
"Here it is… I haven't watched it yet."
Jim snatched it from his hand, his eyes filled with determination:
"What are we waiting for, then?"
The two went downstairs, played the tape. The beginning showed a damp, silent wall… for five full minutes. Then the man appeared. A cold figure, dressed entirely in black, his hands behind his back, terrifyingly imposing.
The man said in a deep, modulated voice:
"Well… I suppose the message has reached its destination… but I doubt any of you will grasp the idea behind this message… Why was it designed in such a brutal way?… Sometimes… one is forced… to reveal the ugly things inside a person… to use methods on the same level of brutality… to become a monster to force the monster to understand… The whole thing… is an unmasking of the killer's truth… closer to you than you think… but you haven't discovered it yet… The killer… is you."
The clip ended. Son and Jim didn't focus on the words… but on every visual detail: the clothes, the movement, the shadows.
Jim said suddenly:
"Play it again… and pause at the three-minute mark."
Son did so:
"What is it?"
Jim pointed to the shadow of a cat on the screen:
"It's a shadow… a cat's shadow… The killer has a cat."
Son:
"Yes… I saw that… Do you really know who the killer is?"
Jim in a low, decisive voice:
"Yes… that's what the victim said…
.Why would she lie? The clip is edited and the killer's voice was modified to sound deeper."
Son said:
"His voice isn't natural… but what did he mean when he said: 'The killer is you'?"
Jim said:
"Every killer has his reasons… but often, all their special reasons belong in the trash… In the end, he's just a killer."
He stood and said:
"We have to go now… and bring the killer in."
Son:
"What's the address?"
Jim with a grim smile:
"Don't worry… I have the address… We're leaving now."
They went out, faced a jostling crowd of press. Questions, shouts, flashing cameras. Jim looked at Son sternly.
Son retorted, saying There's someone at the station who I think informed the press about another victim
A journalist:
"Is the fifth victim okay?"
Jim looked down, then at the camera, sorrowful:
"Unfortunately… she didn't make it. We did everything we could to save her… but God had other plans."
Another journalist:
"Have you identified the killer?"
Jim sternly:
"No… not yet. But I'll send him a message: We're coming… and we won't give you room to escape this time."
The journalist again:
"There are... rumors saying the victims are already captive, waiting their turns, and you are powerless to save them.?"
Jim looked at the journalist in silence until he unnerved him and moved him out of the way.
They got in the car. Jim smoked. Son was surprised:
" you didn't tell me you are smoking?"
Jim sternly:
"It's not something to tell … buddy."
Son replied," You're right, everyone has secrets, even the great detective Jim. Anyway, I think I'll need a psychiatrist after seeing a rat come out of a girl's stomach."
Jim said:
Believe me, we all need that.
They continued on their way until they reached a simple house on an ordinary, working-class street. Son rang the bell:
"I'm coming!" said an old voice from inside.
The door opened, revealing an elderly man:
Jim:
"Are you William kane?"
The old man:
"No… that's my son. Why? Did he do something again?"
Jim asked:
"Again!."
Son:
"We need your son at the police station… a case is linked to him… and we need some statements."
The old man shouted:
"What do you mean… my son? Are you accusing him?!"
His wife came out:
"Who are these people… and what do they want with our son?"
Jim ignored them. He entered slowly, his eyes watching every corner and every movement, like a hunter discovering his prey.
In the hall… William was sitting on a red sofa, his long blond hair flowing over his shoulders. His gaze suggested mischief and madness, cold, frozen.
But Jim didn't look at his eyes… He looked at the large black cat in his hands, and whispered:
"I've got you."