Autopsy of a Mind

Chapter 166: Trusting Us to Tell The Truth

"Why? Are you upset that I want to solve the mystery?" I asked without emotion. She looked startled for a second before a smile bloomed on her lips. 

"I was wondering why you sprinted to us and called us," she chuckled. 

"When you have an infamous serial killer coming back again, I think it is my duty to find them before someone else dies." She blinked.

"I did hear there was a chance he was back. But you are all keeping it hush-hush."

I sighed. "If this is about you getting an exclusive news piece on the topic or getting an interview from someone working on the case, don't try. You'll make the situation worse than it is." She paused and looked at me intently. "Now, if you can give me a moment of silence, I need to figure out this cryptic message."

This time, she complied. 

[Can I trust you to tell the truth?]

And then the cryptic riddle that was added to it. I blinked and took my phone out to write it down.

"Read the letter. It's BTS," I said, the moment Nash picked the phone up.

"Explain," he said immediately. I could hear that he was typing in the background. 

"Are you working on the new list?" I asked. 

"Yeah. You would think there would be fewer people in it, but nope. It's a rather long list," he sighed. 

"Good. The letter asks us to believe him and not the other guy who sent the package. It's a printed-out piece of paper. A4 size paper with one sentence and a cryptic riddle we need to solve. Looking at the kind of stationery, it's not the accomplice."

Nash cheered on the other side.

"I have already sent it to you. Look it over. We can solve this. It's an address, I am sure."

I hung up the phone and looked at the reporter. "You didn't hear any of that. If you pay attention to the rumors and speak about it to the world, someone will die. More than one person will die. And we will know you were part of the reason why it happened." I hadn't known I was manipulative before this moment. The tone in which I told her this information was evil, but it came from my heart. 

If anyone caught wind of this, especially the accomplice who had kidnapped Evie, she would be gone. I would never be able to find her, even if I caught the BTS Killer. 

"There are lives at stake?" she squeaked. 

"Why else did you think he sent another letter? He didn't come back even on the anniversary of his killings. And now he is suddenly back and asking for attention?"

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She trembled. "Ah, so he is going to kill."

"Which is why you should make sure to track people around you. If you have people calling you about the matter of people visiting the station apart from me, you need to call me immediately. Understood?" I insisted. 

She nodded vehemently. 

"It's time for you to prepare for your show," I said as I glanced at the wall clock. She followed my gaze and then stood up abruptly. 

"I'll not talk about this," she told me. 

"I won't thank you," I responded. There was a burst of anger in my belly that I couldn't cast out. Her words had ignited something in me. Like I was supposed to be dispassionate about cases if it didn't have anything to do with it. 

It made me question what I had been like before I met Evie. I had chased killers and criminals alike to save lives, yes, but never with as much anger and desperation as this moment.

A body does not lie, I would tell myself. But the body was someone, wasn't it? Someone who wasn't saved.

I pressed my hand over my face as I spiraled into the thought process.

Evie You turned me into a human.

I squeezed my eyes shut for the longest time before taking in a cleansing breath and looking at the sheet of paper once again.

According to the profile of the BTS Killer, he tries to act smart in his messages. But he is not a highly intellectual man who is capable of complex machinations. In that strand of thought, I knew not to expect an expert code. 

Moreover, he wanted the message to be easy to absolve himself and mislead us. To drag out the time required to take back the credit for where it was due. 

I scrambled the letters together, taking in the clues before arriving at a tentative response. 

"I think he planted a package somewhere in the railway station," I told Nash. 

"Yes, it's somewhere people won't look. It seems like he is having personal communication with the police and doesn't want to involve public speculation, right?"

I hummed in agreement. "Any idea what these numbers are?"

Nash was silent for a second. "They could be platform numbers, train numbers or" we spoke the answer at the same time. 

"Locker numbers." That was it. 

It would explain everything. The lockers could be rented out for a period of time and the renting process was anonymous. Not many people really used it because of the number of people who were always frequenting the station but those who traveled frequently and didn't want to stow away their luggage in the hotels and spend extra money used this technique. It was not a farfetched idea. 

"Take a few people to the station and search through it. I will wait for the anchor to return and question her." I stopped and wondered if this was too much work. "Do you want someone else to do it?" I offered. "I could go myself," I said finally. 

"Sebastian, time is running out. I don't have time to listen to you sulk and wonder if you are the only one who cares. I am taking the analyst with me and we will have some clues, okay?" he said quickly. 

I felt relief. It wasn't enough for me to smile, but it was something.

"Okay."

Now, all I could do was wait.

Two hours. I waited for two hours. I couldn't do a single thing in that time other than wait for the anchor or Nash to tell me something new. I supposed it would take time for him to figure out how to convince the railway authorities into giving him the key. 

And I didn't want to disturb him by checking up. 

Finally, I saw the anchor saunter back into the room. She looked tired and her makeup was slightly blurred at the corner of her eyes. 

"Dr. Butler, do you mind giving me a moment to rest? I'm tired from the show," she said softly.

I had seen the show running in the other room and watched her grit through most of the segments. She was deathly frightened and trying to hide it behind a smile. 

Her co-host even asked her if she was feeling unwell and she just waved it away. Her expression was better after that, but I could see that it was taking a toll on her. 

"Thank you for not saying anything," I had to say. If I needed answers, I had to get to the bottom of this matter. 

She looked up, surprised but delighted. "It's no need. As a reporter, I get carried away thinking about getting an exclusive. Sometimes it is dehumanizing the way we think. I understand that you are doing good work and it is your responsibility to protect people from these vile killers. I apologize for pushing your buttons."

I couldn't very well tell her why she was able to push my buttons. If people knew, I would be thrown out of the case and never allowed to see the files. They would claim I was biased and chuck out my credibility. I knew I was not out of my mind or reason because of Evie's absence, but I also knew how it would look to others. 

Sebastian has finally lost it, they would say. And at this crucial moment, I couldn't allow anyone to question my authenticity and experience.

"Let me know when you are ready to speak," I told her softly. 

She nodded and after a drink of cold water, she took the seat opposite to mine. "What do you want to know?" she asked. 

"You were the one who received the first letter, right?" I asked. 

She nodded. "It was so many years ago but I remember the details vividly." She shuddered. "It was scary finding out that he was watching our show every morning and he was talking directly to me. He knew what was going on in my life and hoped that I would do well. And I was so worried that I would be his next victim that I slept at night with a gun under my pillow." She gulped at the memory. 

I knew what she meant. I had seen the panic Evie felt every night the lights would go off, her eyes straining in the darkness to find movement.

"Was there anything in it that stood out to you?" I asked. 

I could tell she was trying to remember. And then she nodded. "It was strange that he knew what the inside of the studio looked like. Like he had been inside our studio before. That was what made me sure that it was someone who had at least been inside. Maybe a delivery person or something?" she said tepidly. 

"Most news stations look similar, don't they?" I enquired.