Justice Unserved, Nadia Siddiqui [brene brown rising strong .TXT] 📗

written letters and made phone calls and none of the local news trucks even want to touch it! They all seem to act like it’s just forgetful old folk and that’s nonsense. It wouldn’t still be in the papers if that was the case, no matter how bored people might get. That’s why I had to reach out to you. You’re not from here and I need help, Mr. Pettyfer. You can find out the truth of things and hopefully spare my father the same fate.”

“Is there any sort of pattern to the victims?”

“No, men and women, they are all of a certain age of course, but other than that, they seem to be all over the board.”

“That will make things a little more difficult.”

“I have faith in you, Mr. Pettyfer.”

She doesn’t need to. The company Nathan works for is more than efficient. This entire conversation is a formality. He’s just ticking down the boxes that the company has asked him to do. The path he is supposed to take is already laid out in front of him.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure this doesn't happen to your dear old father." Nathan reaches across the table and pats the top of Emma's hand in a comforting gesture and finally lays down his pen as their food arrives and their business talk fades away in favor of lighter background information about the town.

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“S

ubject appears to be early eighties, late seventies. Ligature marks around the neck and the skin has started to tear around the mouth, presumably from attempting to scream or screaming. There are broken vessels around the eyes from straining and it appears that the tongue has been removed. We have not found a tongue in the residence yet, but we will be keeping a close eye out for it. Minimal blood, probably due to poor circulation. The woman appears to have attempted to fight back due to the latex particles we found under her fingers so we assume the assailant was using gloves.”

The coroner has already removed the body from the scene but Sheriff Thomas Crane knows exactly what that body looked like. He knew every one of those details before they were told to him and not a single soul inside of this room is going to know why. They couldn’t have guessed it on their own and it’s more than a little satisfying to him that nobody has managed to find the common thread between all of these bodies.

It makes him feel powerful, knowing things that nobody else knows. He likes having the upper hand in everything he does and this is no exception. They called him out to the scene simply because the nature of the crime was so very violent. Sheriff Crane likes hearing how sick they think the person who did this is. If only they knew. He likes knowing that if these people knew the truth about him, they would be repulsed. Sheriff Crane likes it even more that they never will. He hasn’t become sheriff because he’s sloppy. He knows exactly what to do, and he is better trained than most of the other deputies inside of his department. “What else?” he asks while pulling on latex gloves and mentally laughing about the fact that if they had a way of tracing the latex under that old bitch’s fingers they would have known that these gloves were purchased in bulk by the police department.

“Well, it appears that she was ah…” The deputy pauses in giving his report, almost reluctant to say it. Sheriff Crane wonders for a moment if perhaps the deputy is thinking about his own grandmother. He wonders if the poor young lad is thinking about what he might do if he were to go to his granny’s house and find her in a similar state. Perhaps someday he might, perhaps in a few years she will be old enough to tempt him. Old enough to be the perfect helpless victim. They have lived long enough, and while Sherrif Crane is sure they might be missed by some if they have any surviving relatives, it’s not like they will be missed for long. He knows how the grief process works. It’s human nature to mourn, but whenever the person is older than you, a part of you always knew that someday they were going to die. It makes it easier to accept, easier to move on from, and ultimately makes it easier to forget.

“What is it, deputy?” Sheriff Crane barks at the boy, causing him to flinch in fear.

“She … she appears to have … well…”

“Out with it, do I need to assign somebody else?”

“N-no, Sherrif Crane.” The young man straightens himself and wills his facial features into stillness as he squares his shoulders. “The victim’s night dress was torn all the way up the back. There was blood on her legs; we have reason to believe that she was sexually assaulted before she was murdered, the coroner will confirm the details after his examination.”

“Sexually assaulted? You said she was eighty,” Sheriff Crane confirms. The young man looks queasy and Sherrif Crane can’t deny how good that disgust makes him feel. Luckily for Crane, he has mastered the art of deception and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. He’s mostly disapproving of the young man’s lack of professional decorum but the room doesn’t need to know that.

Every handful of years Sherrif Thomas Crane will change up his style. He knows that the key to not getting caught is being varied in the victims so that crime patterns cannot be created. He doesn’t pay for the extensive training that these sorry lot of foot soldiers might need if they were to even hope of getting anywhere near catching him. He knows this and it calms him. For years he