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‘Yes we are,’ Ella said. ‘I’m Agent Dark and this is Agent Ripley.’
‘Chief Vasquez,’ the man said with a New-York-meets-Spanish inflection. ‘Thanks for getting here so promptly. Three murders in three days is a cause for concern, even in a place like this.’ Vasquez stepped aside and welcomed the agents inside. Ella stepped into a carpeted hallway that sat somewhere between tight and cozy. Ella saw a stack of mail on the table, weighted down with a set of keys. Beside the door sat one pair of sneakers, one pair of wellington boots. Ella concluded that Miles Rampell – the homeowner – lived here alone.
‘Can you talk us through what happened?’ Ripley asked.
‘Got a call this morning when the victim didn’t show up for work. But I don’t need to talk you through anymore, not when you can see it for yourself. Everything’s untouched.’
Ella glanced at her watch as she did mental arithmetic. ‘The body’s still here? Even after, what, three hours?’
‘Yup.’
‘Coroners didn’t remove the body immediately? It’ll affect the autopsy results if it’s left to decompose.’
Chief Vasquez scratched his chin and said, ‘Well, our perp, uh…. did us a favor.’ He opened the door into Miles Rampell’s living room. Two forensic technicians swept the room while a uniformed officer kept guard at the patio door. There was no body, just a pool of blood trailing from the living room to the adjoining kitchen – the floor of which was scattered with produce. Packaged meat, broken eggs, spilled milk.
‘I don’t see him,’ Ripley said. ‘Just a mess.’
Chief Vasquez headed into the kitchen, tiptoed around the debris and pulled open the silver refrigerator. There was no light, just a grim sight that forced the air out of Ella’s lungs in one violent gush.
‘Jesus wept,’ Ripley said as she briefly glanced across the room. Ella’s stare was fixated on the image of Miles Rampell’s body unnaturally folded and crammed inside the refrigerator. The poor victim seemed too large for his amateur coffin, like a ship in a bottle that had been shaken and ruined.
‘Christ, this poor guy.’
Ella's training kicked in, pushing back the initial shock. She began to assess the scene, noting the position of the victim and how he’d been unceremoniously forced inside the compartment, the condition of the refrigerator, any signs of a struggle. But her mind couldn't help but wander to the person Miles Rampell had been, now reduced to a mere piece in a disturbing puzzle.
‘Yeah,’ said Vasquez, ‘forensics said the temperature will keep the body in pristine condition, so we thought we’d leave it here so you guys could see the scene for yourself. You know, get into this killer’s head. Do that psychological magic you do.’
Ella took a few steps back and surveyed the scene as a whole, piecing together how this bizarre murder might have played out, Carter’s requests be damned. A trickle of blood began to seep out from inside the fridge.
‘He was attacked prior to being stuffed in there?’ she asked.
Vasquez nodded. ‘We haven’t got an up-close look yet, but from what we can see, Mr. Rampell was stabbed at least once in the stomach.’
Ella followed the trail. ‘So, our unsub has utilized a knife this time. He’s progressing. He suffocated both of his previous victims, but he’s added a new element to this kill.’
Vasquez looked back at the body in the refrigerator. ‘I can see why. This guy isn’t small. Our killer probably needed to get the upper hand right away.’
‘Indeed,’ Ripley said as she circled the kitchen, ‘but the question is why he bothered to stuff the victim in a refrigerator. It’s surplus to requirement. Miles would have bled out regardless, but our unsub went above and beyond to create this little theater effort.’
‘The necessary components of murder don’t tell us a whole lot, but excess…’ Ella said. ‘Excess tells us what this guy really wants.’
Vasquez stepped back, dodging a pool of liquid on the floor. ‘And what’s this tell you?’
Ella went first. ‘That our unsub is a bullet of pure rage. A human monster driven by either vengeance, despair or uncontrollable anger. On the surface, he’s friendly, approachable, unassuming. But once he’s secured his victims somewhere private, the mask comes off.’
The chief put his hands on his hips, looking unconvinced. ‘And you got all that from this?’
Ripley jumped in. ‘Agent Dark is right. There’s no sign of forced entry from what I can see, meaning our killer conned his way inside. He strangled both of his previous victims, but he’s upped his game here. That suggests his rage is building, and he’s trying to relive the high he got from his first kill.’
‘How so?’
‘The third victim is significant because it’s the moment when killers feel compelled to take more risks. The thrills are lessened by this point, so they have to up the ante. More brutally, a different murder weapon, a different environment.’
‘Killing is a drug to these people,’ Ella added, ‘and like any drug, you build up a tolerance.’
‘And then there’s the overkill,’ Ripley said. ‘Nine times out of ten, overkill suggests a personal connection between killer and victim.’
‘Overkill? From what I can see, the victim was only stabbed once.’
