Autopsy of a Mind

"Miss, is something happening here?" I heard. The crack of his voice was like any other older man's, but the smoothness of his tone was jarring. He was not curious in the least. Instead, he was fishing for information… talking to Evie to catch her attention.

I could hear Evie take pause. The slight shuffling of her feet as her sneakers scraped against the road. I imagined the wheels turning in her head as she put the dots together. 

She recognized him. 

"I don't know. I'm just standing around waiting to find out myself," she said with a chuckle. It was strained but I could sense that she was not looking directly at him. This was probably when she sent out the text. She would try to keep him in that place until the officers came out. 

Possibly take him in as a witness and get him to speak in an interrogation.

"Young lady, you shouldn't stand in abandoned places like this. There are lots of dangerous people walking around the streets these days."

There was silence for a second. "Sir, do you live around here? I saw the police people asking around, too." Her voice was lower, almost conspiratorial.

"Why? Do you want to ask me questions?" he asked, sounding amused.

"I'm an amateur writer. I heard some weird things on the police radio and followed them. Do you know who lives here?"

Three seconds ticked by. "The guy who lives here… he was a plumber. Quite famous in the area too. Don't know what happened to him but he moved away a couple of days ago," he said truthfully.

"He lived alone?" Evie asked. "What's his name?"

The man started to laugh. "Missy, you don't need to pretend anymore," he barked.

And then everything went silent.

I couldn't even hear the sound of struggle. Mostly, black boxes picked up on such sounds. Even if there were three people trying to overpower her, she would at least make some noise, right?

I pressed pause and turned to Nash. "Get this to the forensics team and augment the sound, will you?" I asked.

I eyed the officer who was still standing and beckoned him forward. "How is the house positioned?" I enquired. 

"Dr. Butler, the house is positioned in the corner. So, Miss Lewis might not have seen someone creepy up from the side alley and ambush her," he mentioned.

I nodded. "By the lack of noise, they used some very strong sedative to knock her out. Do you have an ID on the person who owns the house?"

The officer shook his head. "Not yet, but we are looking into it."

I hummed in acknowledgment. "Run a search on all the properties owned by the perpetrator and his family, alongside any recent workplaces or storage units that they have visited in the recent past." I clicked on the other tab and looked at the exposed wall. "The exposed white brick wall can also be a wallpaper used to replicate the pattern from before. So, don't just look for what you think the building looks like, okay?"

I scrubbed my face with my hands. 

Nash spoke up from beside me. "I'll call the cyber-crime department and ask them to search through the website and the dark web to see if any footage of Evie's has been uploaded as of yet." 

I glanced at him and saw him push himself off the floor and go to his desk.

Within seconds, several calls were made.

"There will be no footage posted," I said calmly. Nash lifted his head to look at me. "He doesn't want to give Evie away and he will not share any part of Evie with the world."

"The accomplice?" Nash asked, his voice quivering. 

"He's allowing this serial rapist duo to take Evie because he has plans to help her remain unscathed. He will use the other kidnapped girls and test Evie." And that was what I was scared of. 

"That also means that there is no way he would allow them to stay at a place owned by the family, right?" Nash concluded. 

I was unsure about that. "It would be hard for him to acquire a space of his own and sponsor the duo, don't you think? It is likely that the location of this building she is being held at is close to the house."

"Or they used a car."

"Which would mean it was meticulously planned. And how would he be able to meticulously plan this?" I thought. "Very few people know the details of the BTS case. Even if he did see the folders, there might not have been enough time for him to go into the details and get everything in place to send to us." I was thinking out loud. 

"The ID he sent… how does one slip out evidence from cold cases dating back to thirty years? They should be in the police headquarters, right? And very few people have access to it." Nash knew the procedure better than me.

"That is what keeps nagging at me. Something is amiss, and I can't figure out what," I hissed. 

"We need to look at this case with a fresh pair of eyes," Nash said quietly. "You need to place the Elegant Butcher case files beside the Magician case file, McCain's case and Carol's case to get a better picture, right?" he said. 

"But there is a strange inference between the accomplice and criminals, too." I paused and turned to him. "I am sorry for snapping at you. I know you did your best… I just… can't think properly." I gulped.

"You should go home and rest, Sebastian. You are not in a state to work and solve mysteries." I shook my head in protest. "You look like you are about to collapse or bomb the building!" he gasped. 

"You know I will do no such thing," I said firmly. "I just need to lock myself into a room and figure this out, okay?"

"I can't allow you to lock yourself in."

I glared at him openly. "Then what do you want me to do? Sit at home and think about everything that I could have done to prevent this? It makes no sense…" I whispered. "I can't go home… I can't go home…"

"Nothing will happen to her, Sebastian. You have to trust—"

I scoffed. "Trust? What do I trust in? Trust that somehow my immense love for her will protect her from all harm? I'd be a fool to think that. The only thing that is reassuring me is the accomplice's motive. He wants Evie and he won't kill her."

Nash slapped his hand against the desk. "And that is the first step. No matter what happens to her, we will find her and we will make sure she recovers."

I shook my head vehemently. "There is only so much a person can handle. And I think Evie is standing on the edge. I have to find her before anything happens to her."

I felt the moisture roll down my cheeks. In the deafening silence of the room, I was sure that I could hear the teardrop, accumulate at the tip of my chin, and then plop down and bounce off the ground.

Everything was in vivid detail. Everything was so sharp that it was hard to concentrate. I sucked in a deep breath and thought about where to start.

Lists. 

Lists always helped people get a bearing, right?

I opened Evie's notepad and started to write out every lead I needed to pursue.

"The grain of sand is being analyzed."

"I need to find out the list of evidence found at each crime scene and especially the ID card we received."

"Look at all related cases with a fresh light."

And that seemed to be everything. 

I sagged. "Time to start," I whispered to myself and sprinted to my little office room.

I threw the door open and pulled out all the files on the BTS killer case that was available to me.

I had pictures and lists of everything from the ID cards and ropes found on the scene. To the letters the media houses received. There were also some handwritten notes that I hadn't paid much attention to, but now I would need to look at them closely to see if I was missing something. 

The victim's ID? It had not been found in the victim's house. The family might have recovered it later on. I had to check for that. 

So, for the first time in my life, I picked up the phone and called the family of the victim. The victim's mother, a woman who was now in her late seventies picked up the call.

I mustered up all the human decency I had learned from Evie and spoke to her as a detective should. I hoped and prayed that I didn't sound like a man possessed. I hoped and prayed that I didn't sound like I had lost the most precious thing in my life. 

Because that was exactly how I felt.

And in the half-hour conversation about the victim's life and the circumstances, I found out more about the person than I had ever wanted to know. I imagined Evie in her place and I felt the bile rise in my throat. I couldn't stop the woman from speaking. 

Until finally, she cried and told me what I wanted to know. Her daughter didn't like to take pictures after her teenage years. The mother had searched far and wide for some pictures but never got her hands on them. Even the identity card hadn't been recovered.

I slid down to the floor as I looked at the files that surrounded me. Another mystery unfolded in front of me. The police didn't have the victim's ID, neither did the family.

Then how did the accomplice get his hands on this crucial piece?