A Killer Paradox

 The Perfect Crime

It was very dark, and the night was dead quiet to the extent that one could faintly feel the bristles on the nape of their neck. Detective Sarah Langdon stood sideways with hands on her hips in a shadowed area in Soho. The fog was beginning to lift and the first faint signs of dawn were beginning to creep through. The city was asleep, but in Sarah’s head there was a whirl of the pieces of the case that have occupied her mind for the past few weeks. 

It began with a basic case of the missing person—one Emily Brooks, reported to have vanished after leaving the office one evening. She was a software engineer, smart, and had dreams for her future, and nobody could think she had enemies or the reasons for that. As days stacked up, one realized that Emily’s case was not in any way a simple one. 

Sarah obviously had gone deeper into Emily’s life, and she had discovered a lot of things that hinted at something more than a disappearance. The more she went deeper into the investigation, the more she found that Emily was into something nasty—something that made her find herself in the crosshairs of very dangerous people who would do anything to ensure that Emily could not testify. 

But the real mystery was a series of messages in the form of vague threats scribbled on the whiteboard that featured in Sarah’s office. They were penned in fine, almost bureaucratic writing, and what was written was of things that had not yet come to pass but, in time, did indeed happen. They cautioned on the losses in lives, the happenings of catastrophes, and snapshots of treachery that transpired as prophesied. 

The most recent note that was slipped under the door was given just a few hours ago, and it sent shivers down my spine. It read: "Killers always read their next scripts at midnight, but this time, believe me, one of your loved ones shall be the victim. 

Then Sarah felt her heart race fearfully when she read those thousand words. She had spent the last few hours or so struggling to make any sense out of it, to try and understand who the next person could be on the killer’s list. Nevertheless, everything she did was not enough to get rid of this feeling that she is naked, or, to put it differently, she has lost something essential that is difficult to discover without help. 

 

She looked at her wristwatch: 11:57 PM. Three minutes until midnight. It was okay for him to make her sweat a little, but Sarah could not afford to lose concentration. The author of these notes was toying with her, and she was certain that she would go down one day soon; the hunt for the author continued. 

 

And so, as seconds elapsed, Sarah looked around the alley sideways with her fingers lying on the check on her hip holster. The street lamps sent a faint light through the darkness, and every formation sent a chill down her spine. Now she felt the predator and prey in herself, just sitting and waiting for the attack. 

 

Then she looked at the time on her phone, which indicated past twelve (00:01), and her mobile rang in her pocket. Sarah reached one hand for the paper, slowly pulling it out, but she was still not sure whether she would find a new riddle. But it was not a text in that it rang and vibrated, informing us that the CEO of a major company in the United States was on board. 

 

 It showed an unknown number on the caller ID. 

 

 Sarah paused for a few seconds, then replied. “Detective Langdon. ” 

 

 “Hello,” Sarah greeted, trying to sound casual “You’re quite a tongue; it's lovely to meet you, Detective. ” She then heard the man’s voice in a reply, a reply that sounded like ice: “Good evening, Detective. ” Still, coldness gathered in her stomach, finally setting and leaving her trembling; it was a voice she knew—it echoed her nightly torment. 

 

 ‘I guess it’s your turn to ask, my dear,’ I said with a smile, ‘Who are you?’ “What do you want?” 

 

 A voice is heard chuckling and, although it was not loud, the lack of sincerity filled Arisa with apprehension. Still, Sarah has remained nothing but a relentless follower of mere speculations and that has to change tonight, he declared. 

 

 “Well,” Josh began cautiously, “Mother said that if we moved with you, then we would have to be married. ” “Who’s the next target?” 

 

 There was a silence, and in the short break, all which filled Sarah’s ears was her own gasping.

“The victim is already dead, Detective,” the voice said finally, its voice as if laughing at me and me alone. ‘And the killer... well, that’s the paradox, isn’t it?’ 

 

 Sarah’s blood ran cold. Vera gasped and frowned, looking at Olga, unhappy with her question, “What do you mean, what am I talking about?” 

 

 The voice went on as if solving a riddle, saying, “The answer is right in front of you. ” “But you are too close to see it, Sarah. Think. Who in the world can commit the perfect crime?” 

 

 Before Sarah could reply, the telephone connection was cut. 

 

Panic surged through her. The victim was already dead. But how? There was no possible way for someone to have been killed in that alley, and she was not aware of it because she had been standing there all this time watching and waiting. 

 

 Unless… 

 

Sarah gasped, though more in realization than in pain, for a dire thought had just entered her head. She twirled on her toes and started for her car at a brisk, comfortably uneasy walk; her thoughts scrambled. The voice had declared that the killer was an impossible phenomenon that could not be understood with the help of common reason. But what if the mere murderer was a man who had already been buried six feet beneath the earth? It could be some person who had tried to stage a death in order to carry out a crime free of any interference. 

 

Carrying her purchases to her car, she stepped down once again to the sound of her phone’s ringing. This time, and unfortunately, it was a text message that I received from my wife. 

 

 The first time the voice said to the detective, “Look in the trunk, Detective. The truth is waiting. ” 

 

Battling with the keys, Sarah's hand shook terribly as she moved closer to the trunk; her heart was racing. It made her cringe. She felt as if she already knew what she was going to see, but she needed to see it for herself.

Taking a big yawn, she unlocked the trunk, gasping for a moment before she lifted the lid. 

 

 There, lying still and white, Emily Brooks. 

 

 And beside the girl was a note which was stuck into the rounded top of her blouse, all stained with blood. 

 

 “The full circle has been made. The criminal is now a corpse. But could you substantiate it?” 

 

 A gasping Sarah backed off, her thoughts in disarray. It had to be Emily who was the killer, but how can she be a killer if she is dead? But if she hadn’t been the killer, then, as D suggested, who was playing this wicked pranks? 

 

Soon, as the night was slowly getting closer, Sarah understood that, and that was only a very small part of this great mystery, which would challenge all her impressions about life and death, the world, and the universe.