Killer Scents

A car horn blared behind her, jolting her in her seat at the same time the light turned yellow, then red. The irate driver honked again and yelled out his window. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Shouldn’t you be home baking cookies or something? Do everyone a favour and leave the big toys to the men.”

Becca sucked air through clenched teeth, reminding herself she wasn’t a cop on duty anymore. She turned the key off, set her bike on its kickstand, and counted to ten under her breath as she sauntered back to where the driver stared wide-eyed at her.

“Listen, why don’t you just turn yourself around like a good girl before things get ugly.”

Becca reached his door and jerked it open. “Get out.”

“What? Are you nuts?” He chuckled. “Trust me, you do not want me to get out of this car.”

Before the driver had a chance to move, Becca pulled him out of the car and threw him belly-up on the hood of his fancy Mercedes. She twisted his arm behind his back and leaned over him until her mouth was a whisper from the silver fringe of hair above his ear. “Listen, asshole, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. I suggest you learn some manners on how to treat a lady before you open that fat trap of yours again.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He strained to turn his face toward a group of bystanders. “Someone call the cops. She’s fucking crazy.”

Becca laughed, and so did most of the crowd.

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to call the cops on a little girl like me, do you?” She kept hold of his arm and pulled him upright, shoving him into the driver’s seat. “Now I suggest you take your sorry ass home and check your undies.” She slammed the door and strutted back to her bike while the crowd erupted in applause. Before she twisted the throttle, she glanced back.

“Have a nice day.” She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes over the rim of her shades. The driver mopped his damp forehead.

Her heart beat a hundred miles an hour as she rode away. What the hell did I just do? Becca hadn’t lost her temper like that in years. When she first joined the force she’d been reprimanded several times for her quick fuse, and had to quickly master reining in her anger.

Why now? Sure the guy was a chauvinistic pig, but he didn’t deserve to have her go all psycho on him. If she wasn’t so embarrassed about her behavior she’d turn around and apologize. She smirked.  In any case, I bet he thinks twice the next time he’s pissed at a chick on a bike.

When she pulled in her driveway, the sun had begun its descent. She’d normally eat out before heading home, but after her earlier altercation, she just wanted a nice, quiet house, microwave popcorn, and a couple of cold beers in front of the idiot box.

Talk about a stroke of luck. He smiled broadly, watching the motorcycle ride away. How will she feel when she learns her friend’s killer lurked outside in the shadows and watched her ride away? He snickered into his clenched hand. Probably not half as bad as she’ll feel when she finds out how much easier she made things for me.

Susan’s house sat back from the road. Meticulously manicured hedges skirted the edges of her self-imposed exile from the human race.

He didn’t have to gain entry under the pretense of delivering a flower. Thanks to Detective Talbot he slipped in through the unlocked door.

Sneaking up behind her added an element of surprise he enjoyed. The tea cup in her hand fell to the floor, shattering against the stark white ceramic tiles. With his hand over her mouth, he half-dragged her back into the living room.

Before he uncovered her mouth, he pressed his gun to her temple. “Now, you’re going to lie down on the sofa like a good girl. Aren’t you, Susan?”

He spun her around to look straight at her for the first time. Susan’s eyes grew big, and she started to sway.

“Oh, come on now,” he whispered. “You don’t want to miss all the excitement, do you?”

Tears slipped out from under lowered lashes seconds before she collapsed. By the time she came to, he’d tied her up and now straddled her on the couch. He‘d put on gloves and a mask, and all his tools were lined up on the coffee table next to them.

“Well, hello there. I trust you had a good sleep.”

Susan writhed beneath him, desperation in her cries. “Oh, my God! Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

“Justice, my dear, justice.” He picked up his bag and pulled out a soiled adult diaper. “Does this give you a clue?”

The putrid smell of shit filled the space between them and she gagged. “You’re crazy. What are you going to do with that? Are you a former patient of mine?”

He tilted his head back and laughed. “No, my dear, you were the patient.” Seconds before he stuffed the first piece of diaper in her mouth, he noted a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

His rain suit peeled off like a second skin and he tossed it in a portable incinerator along with the soiled gloves and wipes.

I’ll have to thank the detective one day for making things so much easier for me. To think Susan actually thought he was a former mental patient of hers. The corner of his lip twisted as he remembered the precise moment she understood—and how she literally pissed her granny pants when he revealed the needle. It almost seemed a crime to leave behind the beautiful lavender aster in her wrinkled hands.

“Now let’s see, where did I leave off?” He let his gaze skim the page of the journal.

Lori is obsessed with plastic surgery. One day the papers told of a doctor being butchered in his office. The same doctor Lori held responsible for disfiguring her with a botched surgery on her lips.

Could Lori have killed him? She was definitely angry enough to make it plausible. I confronted her today. She became very irate and stormed from the room.

Now I jump at every noise. The thought of her coming after me and suffering the same demise as the doctor brings me to tears....

He nodded decidedly and slid the bookmark down the crease of the next page, following the familiar handwriting.

Ready or not, Lori, here I come.

Chapter Three

In stunned silence, Becca sat on the edge of the leather chair. Since burying her partner of ten years, she’d become an expert at shutting down her emotions.

How is this possible? I just saw her a few hours ago. Why would anyone want to kill Susan?

“I want you to take me to her house now.” She stood and stared pointedly at Chief Thomson.

“You know I can’t do that, Becca. Please, sit down and I’ll try to explain what happened.”

She sat with a huff. “Okay, but I want to know everything.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “And I mean everything.”

Her boss sat behind his desk and rubbed his hands over his face. “It was The Florist.”

“The Florist? Are you telling me some guy delivered flowers and shot her when she answered the door?”

Chief raised a hand to halt her tirade. “Let me finish.” He waited until she settled back in her chair. “I’m afraid Susan isn’t his first victim. In fact, she is number four. The killer is a genius at covering his tracks. We have the best of the best trying to catch this prick, but so far he’s outsmarted us.”

“How do you know it’s him? There must be a least one person a day who is raped or shot by a stranger in their own home.”

“That’s not what earned him the title. He leaves each one in the exact same pose. The only difference is the variety of flora he puts in their hands.”