Fifth Disappearance: Cassidy McCarthy Age: 25. Job: Shell Station Cashier. Priors: Marijuana Possession. Last Seen: Exiting her workplace and getting into her car. Street cams showed her driving into the fields, presumably to take a hit. Police found her car, empty, the following morning.

  The final day. This awful, awful, awful investigation-turned-morbid-art-show was almost over. The town was quiet, no one left their homes, no one worked. Everything was on emergency shutdown. No one but the police were allowed to roam the streets. Colby had sent out over 2/3s of the department to scan the streets, to knock on suspicious homes, just to keep an eye for this last kill. The remaining officers were stationed at the department, listening to any and all calls, taking notes on the reports coming in. Any non-essential employees had been asked to stay home as well. Joan, Colby, and Angelica remained outside the department. When the cameras were checked upon the discovery of the corpse statue, it was found that, due to some power outage the week before, the system was still in disrepair. Angelica had simply nodded at the information at the time. The killer had to have known that. Just another piece into the puzzle.

  As the three stood there, Angelica began to recount everything she had thought of.

  “When reviewing the evidence we’ve gathered… despite my initial outburst, we have more than we think. Instead of the victims, our killer has left other clues, clues he left on purpose. Each seal… they had a certain smell when cracked open. Lemon for Blan, iron for Kiln, and fish for Keller, with a pickle smell for the Tremblays. Cleaning solution, that lemon smell. Blood for the iron smell, ammonia for the fish, and formaldehyde for that pickle smell. All the smells connect somewhere, somewhere close to us. Then, the seals. That signature green shade, we’ve seen it before. Why not red, something more pronounced, more cliche? Our killer certainly loves the cliche, especially with a name that is shared with an Angel of Death, which might have a connection to a Nazi doctor…” Angelica paused, seeing if Joan and Colby were still paying attention. They were, but it didn’t seem like they understood what she was putting down. Understandable.

  “Our killer, despite how he talks, knows what he wants to say. Methodical in his words, if not a bit off-putting. And despite how he ‘wrote’ these letters, there are no mistakes. He’s checked for any errors and fixed them. His kills, while random, are what help us get a look into his mind and skill. He leaves no evidence, no trace of himself, meaning he knows what investigators are looking for. Each body is treated uniquely, giving each of them some form of identity. He finds something to nitpick and exploits it for their eventual display, so he has had to observe them at some point, meaning he is active in the community, just like most people here are. He counted on that. He’s methodical, artistic in the most morbid way possible, knows some stigmas around his name, but also has access to chemicals that are often used in the profession of death. However, he made two grave mistakes.” Angelica finished, smiling. Joan and Colby looked at each other confused. Angelica chuckled.

  “Our killer is some kind of doctor, highly involved with death, who will often have to make reports of varying degrees but with knowledge and no mistakes, who needs to know the patient or the victim very well to discern details, who is studied, who observes, who works with strong chemicals, and, most importantly, who has an affinity with the color green. But, those two mistakes I mentioned. The first was the call. Tracing calls has, admittedly, been quite difficult nowadays. But, why the coroner? And what was with those filters? Surely someone so sure themselves would just talk how they would, right? But, with the recent tapes from the… statue yesterday, our mystery caller sounds very much like the pleas of Mr. Tremblay, which could throw a hole in the whole ‘he’s a man’ thing, if it wasn’t for the cameras. Our killer certainly must have known about the cameras, or he would have placed the statue elsewhere. Now, given all the information, there’s only one individual who checks all the boxes…” Angelica said, and as if on cue, a green sedan appeared. Colby and Joan placed their hands on their guns, while Angelica simply watched. As the sedan parked, the driver door opened, revealing none other than Dr. Herman Amaros, the very man who hired Angelica in the first place.

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  “I deduce that you know who our Local Artist is, hmmm?” Amaros said, losing the old scientist demeanor and taking on a twisted jester, a smile too large for his face, limbs gangling as if they aren’t attached. Angelica nodded.

  “Gotta say, you’re the first person I have ever had to catch who got to do as he pleased until the very end. You were good, old man.” Angelica said, spreading her hands out in some grand gesture. Amaros chuckled, walking backwards, his hand moving to open the passenger door.

  “Don’t move a muscle, Amaros.” Colby demanded, gun already out. Amaros just laughed.

  “Tsk tsk tsk, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Chiefy. It’ll end quite awfully!” Amaros said, and as he opened the door, a woman fell from the car, still very much alive. The poor woman struggled against the ropes that she was tied in, gagged with an awfully aged sock, but what made all of this so frightening was the blinking gray brick. A claymore, set up with what looked like a remote detonator. Angelica snarled.

  “Really? This is your last masterpiece? An explosion? Doesn’t really fit your earlier work. You getting sloppy, Azrael?” Angelica spat out the last word, her disdain for the man growing more than ever. Amaros cackled, his eyes bugging out of his skull.

  “Sloppy? Sloppy! Oh, my dear investigator! This is a grand reveal! And a grand reveal must go off big! Imagine the headlines! Anton Police Department, Up in Flames: Local Artist’s Final Piece. And as it goes, this last piece will be my finest! The suits, the tarps, everything is finally over! And my art, with all its stains, will be memorized in local history!” Amaros cried out, hands out into the air like a crazed priest, revealing the small cylinder in his hand.

  “Local history? That’s how you want to be herald in? To be talked about? You’re crazier than I thought, and you made a hydraulic system powered by blood… a shitty system, mind you, but a working system. You grinded a poor woman and made her into paint. You burned someone, probably alive, and stuck him back inside his home. You even filled a man full of poisoned applesauce and nailed him to a cross. Those… those will never be forgotten, but a bombing? Really? Seems like you ran out of ideas.” Angelica stated, looking up to the sky. It was like those shitty fanfics she read as a kid, where the author just couldn’t get creative again.

  Amaros did not like the statement.

  “What would you know of art, Ms. Gedz? Do you really think you could make better exhibits? Such the critic, always so stuck up their own ass that they forget to read between the lines!” Amaros yelled, rage filling his words. Angelica chuckled. Colby and Joan, on the other hand, weren’t too happy… with either of them.

  “Angelica… stop instigating…” Joan whispered. Colby, still aimed at Amaros, glared at the killer.

  “Put the detonator down, Amaros.” Colby demanded. Amaros ignored him, all his attention now focused on Angelica.

  “I am the arsonist of the mundane, the painter of the pig, crucifer of the entitled, erector of the private, and destroyer of the thoughtless! I am an Angel of Death! Beauty in the end times! You wouldn’t understand, no one ever does!” Amaros said, hands shaking. The detonator was tight in his grip, but as Angelica got a better look at it, she smiled.

  “And yet you can’t even make a convincing detonator. Silver spray paint? Really? How many spy movies have you watched that make you think THAT’S the right color?” Angelica said. Amaros, seemingly stunned, looked down at the cylinder, a small moment. Just a few seconds– but a lot can happen in a few seconds. Angelica pulled out her gun, aimed at the hand, and fired, forcing it to drop. The sound of cardboard hitting the ground sent a quick respite of relief into Angelica as Amaros crumpled to the ground, crying in pain. Colby and Joan went swiftly into action, grabbing Amaros and forcing his hands behind his back, while Joan quickly untied Cassidy. What had appeared to be a claymore was nothing more than a fairly convincing tupperware with some clay molded around it, an LED light blinking.

  “No… my masterpiece… my ‘piece de resistance’… all ruined… the masses…” Amaros moaned, pulled up to his feet while Joan comforted the woman. Angelica walked up to Amaros, a hateful grin on her face.

  “Out of all the cases I’ve taken, of all the people I’ve worked for, of all the killers and kidnappers I’ve caught, you have been, by far, the evilest killer I’ve ever had the displeasure of apprehending. I don’t think it’ll take the jury long to convict you.” Angelica snarled, delivering a swift kick right into the freak’s nutsack. The pained face couldn’t make up for everything, but it was certainly something.