Young Writers Society

Suspect 009, Chapter 1

Maybe he'd drink some Earl Grey today, or perhaps Ceylon.

Lieutenant Kasimir Alexander Heimm was staring out of the car window, his eyes bouncing from one shop window to the next. A butcher, a hairdresser, a fishmonger flew by. Fish for dinner was a good idea. A perfect source of Omega 3, and delicious when grilled with orange. He made a mental note to stop by and continued watching the streets, screening the shop windows for something interesting.

He tore his eyes from a particularly garish shop festooned with Christmas garlands and fixed them on the badges on his jacket lapel. 5 badges, one for every 5 criminals. That was a total of 25, and after today's mission he would earn his sixth badge, along with the title “Colonel”. Kasimir felt a surge of pride which would have been labelled uncharacteristic by the few who knew him, but then again, how many 28 year old colonels could you find in this world?

“Not a lot” Kasimir muttered under his breath, grinning. The driver in front of him looked at him through the mirror, asking a silent question. Kasimir shook his head and held up a hand. He was alright, he was better than ever. He was ready.

Some people would have thought it careless that Kasimir chose not to think about his tasks as he set out on his way to finish them, but he thought otherwise. Too much thinking and planning would always lead to flaws because they made you relax. When plans don't work, or when something you haven't quite thought about jumps up at you, he always said, you're prone to making a rash mistake and these mistakes could cost you things more dear than your own life.

Kasimir knew that all too well.

The people populating the streets started to dwindle, and finally disappeared completely. Instead, there were wooden barricades and red ropes surrounding a house. He was here.

The driver ran to open the door of the black Buick they'd been riding, and three police officers came running towards him. What a day for running, Kasimir thought as he stood waiting for them.

The officers stopped and took off their hats at the much younger Kasimir. The oldest one, who must have been about 50, spoke up.

“Lieutenant Kasimir, sir. The situation is very grave indeed, very grave.”

Kasimir raised an eyebrow as he started to frown.

“What is it?”

The elderly officer took out a piece of paper and started reading to refresh his memory.

“The suspect, as you know, is Suspect n.9, the person who's been terrorizing the streets of Berlin for the last 3 years. I am sure you're familiar with his case. Today, we have received numerous reports by police officers and civilians alike that a suspicious figure with shocking red hair was seen lurking around this street. The descriptions they gave matched the profile of the suspect we published and distributed several months ago. So far, we have not received any news of hostages or kills but I dare say the news aren't far off. Years of police chase had no effect on him, we have no hope but you, Lieutenant.

“Of course. I will see to it that this monster stops for good. Please scour the perimeter and give me a warning shot if you notice anything strange.” With that, Kasimir pulled out his Glock and turned his attention to the buildings.

What he was facing caused him minor worry. This was a group of 4 apartments of 6 stories each. The possibilities were endless, and unless he were really lucky he would have to spend hours looking. Behind him, 4 groups of 24 officers each moved into the buildings. 4 people for every floor. He was alone save for a small group of police officers.

Instead of going inside, Kasimir took the time to observe the buildings carefully. Old and rundown, these were perfect buildings to commit murder. He watched the windows, looking for any sign of movement as he circled the area, his ears straining to hear the smallest of noises. Behind him, the police group divided and ran into the buildings to join the officers, probably tired of seeing no action.

“Hello.”

Kasimir spun around. There, clad in a hood and black robes which contrasted with his shock of red hair, was the Suspect n.9 sitting in a tree.

“Hey.” Kasimir responded as his grip tightened on the Glock. “Are you number 9?”

“Yes and you're Lieutenant Kasimir. I've been wondering what you looked like up close.”

“Now you know. Am I meeting your expectations?”

“I wasn't expecting you to be this old.”

Kasimir frowned slightly, which was received with a grin from the suspect.

“I get that a lot. And I wasn't expecting you to be so young, to be perfectly honest.”

He looked the red headed youth over. He could not have been over 19. Small freckles dotted his pale cheeks, a glow of playful menace lit up his deep green eyes. He was almost taller than Kasimir who stood at 6ft2in, and lanky like a skeleton. He had no visible weapon except a black backpack he was hugging.

Were there multiple suspects? This child who looked as fragile as a toothpick was the one behind all these monstrous murders? How come?

“I know what you're thinking Lieutenant. I don't look like a person capable of such acts. How come you're so surprised? You of all people should know to never judge a book by its cover.”

“Maybe you're right. Appearances do not matter in the least. Reasoning and motives do. Why do you do this?”

The suspect laughed wildly, his entire body quaking with laughter. He almost looked like he was convulsing in pain. The tree branches shook almost as wildly as he did. All in all, it was a comically frightening spectacle, like something you'd see in a play.

“Do I have to have a reason? My only reason is that I want to do this. I enjoy causing strife and pain. I revel in the misery of others. Tears are my ambrosia, grief and anger are my euphoria. This is what I live for.”

Kasimir's eyes narrowed in disgust. Of course, not all criminals seek something logical was something they'd taught him in school, even though he disagreed with that idea. To him, every criminal soke something perfectly logical. It didn't always have to be about money or jewels or power or sex, it could be as simple as happiness or laughter. Some criminals may be grossly disproportionate he thought, but never illogical. Here was the suspect, killing because it made him happy. Probably a result of serious trauma.

“Of course. You enjoy killing. How come you haven't killed me yet? We've been talking for a good while.”

“No, no. I couldn't kill you. You and I, we're equals. I've seen your work, what you do for a living, and I want in. We will spend our years chasing each other until one or the other dies.”

“What if I killed you right now?”

“I don't know about that. What if you did? Could you?”

“Sure” Kasimir said as he raised and aimed his pistol just as the suspect took something out of the backpack he'd been clutching. A baby. With a smile, he held the baby in front of his chest.

“Kill me, and the baby is either shot, or falls down the tree. Either way, it'll die along with me.”

Kasimir froze, the Glock in his hand shaking. What could he do? If the baby fell from such a height, it would surely die. Could he catch it? Was he willing to risk it? No.

Kasimir put down his Glock for the time being and just stared up at him. Maybe he could try to put his guard down.

“You're right. I can't do it today. I guess you won the battle for today.”

“Don't get me wrong Kasimir, but this isn't a battle. It's a game of chase. There's never a winner. You're doomed to chase me forever.”

With that, he stood, did an agile leap off the tree and sprinted off, baby in hand. Kasimir chased wildly after him, cursing his stiff pants, but to no avail.

Kasimir spat bitterly on the ground as the suspect ran off.