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When Evil Breeds

The sun was perched high in the cloudless afternoon sky painted on a crystal blue canvas. The intense marmalade stream of sunshine crept between the heavy beige curtains that draped over the window of Agent Mark Carson's moderately sized office. He had spent the majority of the morning sipping his hot mug of coffee and going over case files of the Delta Hills case. It had now been one and a half years today since he was assigned the most difficult case of his career at the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Over thirteen known murders and every single operandi Modus completely unique, not even the most minuscule piece of evidence had been left behind. Each one of the victims had been carefully selected, studied, and then with perfect execution brutally murdered. Mark's large mahogany desk was a torrent sea of manila colored folders arranged and stacked in neat uniformed piles. He spent the better part of the week going through all the case files separating them by date and locations desperately trying to find any pattern that could be used to compile a composite profile. His main goal was to find a strand of similarity to determine if the cases should be considered negative for serial relationship. Neither the local police department or the Bureau had been successful in revealing any leads that would bring the case any closer and avoid from being boxed up and stored alongside with the thousands of other cold cases that lined the walls of room #314. Mark's head was pounding from the combination of lack of sleep and an overabundance consumption of caffeine. The cool gentle caress of the oscillating fan had even stopped to help him stay cool and alert. His sweat soaked and half buttoned dress shirt and matted blond locks were just another sign of how this case was sucking him deeper to the borderline of obsession. He had tried many times to give up instead of fighting the foul air of defeat that loomed inside his office walls. He agonized over the four hundred or more already wasted man-hours that had been needlessly spent trying to find the perfect killer. Mark thought back to his training at Quantico where he had been primed to believe there was no theoretical possibility of a perfect serial murderer. Not that it was within reason that one person could commit a flawless premeditated act, but to continue killing in a succession without the smallest imperfection could never happen. Forensic technology advances made it next to impossible

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