That Damned Perfume
“Let me guess, same modus operandi?”
“Yes, sir…”
“No deviation? At least some new lead?”
“No, sir…”
“Damn it…”, I quietly cursed, lighting a cigarette. I inhaled once and held it for about ten seconds before slowly releasing it through my nose.
I’m about 15 meters away. I started walking, one foot in front of the other.
He’s jerking us around again…
The familiar face, always leaning on the left knee, doesn’t stop scribbling in notes.
“Talk, Bob…”, I muttered in a tired voice. Another deep breath of smoke, then slow exhale.
“Victim is Perry Lebowitz. Male, 39 years old. Throat cut with an extremely sharp blade and… damn it, Mitch, everything identical! He’s jerking us around, this doesn’t make sense anymore…”
I placed the burned-out cigarette between my thumb and index finger and flicked it into a nearby puddle. I knelt in front of the victim and slowly started putting on gloves. Always the right one first, then the left. “He’s jerking us around, Bob…”
“Even the bigshots don’t help, they combed through all previous locations. The boss already gave up, because not even smarter heads than us managed to discover anything new, so he’s also mocking them now because they laughed that we were incompetent, damn them…”
Bob’s words now seemed distant and indistinct to me, as if somewhere underwater. I always have that feeling when I focus on something… or someone, like the late Perry Lebowitz, in this case.
Though the victim was in a suit, it wasn’t hard to notice he was quite a healthy and vital man. He surely visited the gym, at least once or twice a week. Relatively wealthy, if the suit and watch on his right hand are to be believed. Unfortunately, this information is irrelevant, because previous victims wore watches on their left hand or didn’t have them at all.
Blood on the suit already clearly indicates the speed at which the blade passed across the victim’s throat.
And now the worst part… eyes.
Always the same. Open eyes, in a state of shock and amazement. The awareness that one moment you’re returning home, and a few seconds later sharp pain in the throat area, blood and the realization that moments separate you from death’s embrace.
And of course, our serial killer’s trademark. The smell spreading from the victims.
I took out a few coffee beans from my pocket, rubbed them a bit and brought them to my nose. Deep breath.
I smelled the air.
“Same perfume…”, I stated with a sigh.
“That’s right, Mitch, same damn perfume.”
Seventh murder, same M.O.
“All victims are men between 30 and 50 years old. All in good health, relatively successful careers. Married, children… no criminal history, not politically active, didn’t embezzle money, faithful to wives, no history of domestic violence… no enemies, neighbors love them. No signs of dark past. Nothing stolen from them, money and cards are there, apartment and car keys with them, jewelry. They live in different parts of the city, all suburbs, no mutual friends. Only one has a ticket for improper parking.” I stood up, took off the gloves and lit another cigarette. Deep breath, held smoke, exhaling smoke through nose. “All killed in late afternoon hours when returning from work. All throats cut the same way. No cameras nearby. Killer leaves perfume scent as signature… Damn it Bob, what am I missing? Am I starting to lose my touch?”
Bob clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Mitch, remember what the boss told the bigshots? ‘If you find even one lead before Mitch, I’ll walk naked through downtown with a cigar sticking out of my ass!’ And you know the mayor was present then too. Damn it, Mitch, I myself caught both ‘White Mask’ and ‘The Devil.’ Because of you we have a good reputation.”
“That’s all nice, Bob, but…”, I threw the cigarette into the nearby puddle again, “but I really have no idea what this is about. Whether there’s some concrete motive for all this. Revenge, sowing fear and panic, mocking the police, the city… what’s it about…”
“If you still don’t have some idea, then we’re all in big…”
Bob summed it up nicely… and, unfortunately, accurately.
The dark city streets calm me. Easy walk, one foot in front of the other. Occasional lit shop window, occasional passerby, occasional car disappearing into the night…
From somewhere a strong wind blows and snatches the cigarette from my mouth.
I quietly cursed, pulled my coat tighter and lit a new cigarette as soon as the wind stopped.
I hear the thud of my footsteps, but it’s as if everything’s getting further away, becoming some dull underwater noise.
I’m deep in thought about these murders again.
Our mysterious serial killer has already gotten an “artistic” name in the media.
“Fragrant Blade.”
What idiocy. But now that idiocy has taken root in the public.
But really, that perfume scent is truly specific.
How did it say in the report… combination of rose, lavender, rosemary, jasmine and orange blossom.
I’m no perfume expert. I’ve used the same perfume for the last 17 years, I could never define the scent, but it was okay for me. It took Laura, when we went on our first date, to tell me she liked my perfume’s scent, like a combination of chocolate and vanilla. And here for 12 years she’s endured my perfume that makes me smell like melted ice cream. She tried during our marriage to change my perfume, just for form’s sake, but my nose would immediately rebel against new scents, so she gave up on this idea. “Lucky for you I love that scent, otherwise I’d have chased you out of the house long ago,” she often tells me jokingly.
We couldn’t find a manufacturer whose perfume scent matches the one at murder scenes. For some reason it’s unique. Despite so many diverse aromas combined in one, the scent is simultaneously pleasant, but also frustrating.
There must be some message there…
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. When I get this deep in my thoughts, I lose track of time. But I don’t feel any pain in my legs at all, which means I can still go on like this. This job requires fitness. And Laura’s idea that I have to walk every morning on that moving torture device she bought us for our anniversary seems to help… though my lungs aren’t exactly thrilled with that contraption. Maybe Laura’s right when she says I should cut back on cigarettes… I’m getting ready to listen to her… although she first told me that seven years ago…
The killer’s gender is unknown, though my instinct tells me it’s a woman. I don’t know why, it could be a man too, but still… something tells me it’s a woman, especially that certain… “gracefulness” in passing the blade across the victim’s throat. I don’t know…
But for God’s sake, all victims had children too… in a single moment, families were suddenly left without a husband, father, brother, son, uncle…
At the thought of Laura suddenly being alone with two children, some anxiety creeps into my heart. Miles is ten, and Joanna six years old. For God’s sake, those two children are so perfect it’s almost disturbing. Obedient, good-natured, popular among their friends, they don’t complain when lunch includes broccoli or carrots or fish, Miles and Joanna adore each other despite the age difference and different interests… Laura says they got that from her side of the family, they were all perfect as children. Given that I still hate fish and broccoli, and that I fought with my brother all the way through college (though I still love that jerk and he’s my biggest support), I had to accept Laura’s statement with dignity.
I stopped to light a new cigarette. My lighter is always with my wallet, so I opened that too.
Thirty dollars, ID card, card from the local cafeteria, Laura’s picture, kids’ picture… damn it I should buy Laura roses or those rosemaries, she loves those most. These days she struggled with Joanna’s cold, the little one hasn’t slept well the last few nights, and since I’ve been fucking around with this fucking “Fragrant Blade” all this time, I couldn’t help her much with the little one. Damn, how understanding that woman is with me, it’s not normal.
Yes, yes, I have to get both roses and damn rosemaries, they were everywhere at our wedding too…
Wedding…
Wedding…
WEDDING!
FUCK!
I frantically pull out my mobile from my back pocket.
Answer! Answer, damn it!
“Hey…”
“Bob, are you at the station?”
“What? Yes, I am, natural…”
“Go to the evidence room immediately!”
“What? Why? What now…”
“JUST HURRY!”, I yelled.
A moment of silence, then I heard fast walking, on the verge of running. “Give me a minute.”
I ducked into a small unlit alley and leaned against the wall. I spat the cigarette out in front of me.
I heard a breathless voice. “I’m here! For God’s sake Mitch, what happened?”
“Bob, check the victims’ wallets, look for family member photos!”
“Family members? What do they have to do with ev…”
“Please, Bob, just check them!”
A minute of silence. Two minutes.
If I’m not right, then I might as well officially give up.
“Mitch, um… there are no pictures of spouses or children in any wallet… what were you trying to prove with this?”
My brain was working frantically. I took out my wallet and slowly pulled out Laura’s picture.
“Bob, look at the wallets carefully. Are there no pictures now or were there never any?”
“For God’s sake Mitch, how can I know tha… wait… fuck you don’t think…”
Silence.
“Fuck, Mitch now it’s visible under the lamp. Stains on transparent sleeves. One, two, three… God… they all have stains. How did you…”
“Pictures in wallets… from standing over time they stick to plastic sleeves, if you try to remove them after a year or two or more, they’ll leave a cloudy trace on them.”
“Mitch, this is excellent, well done… but how does this help us in the case?”
“That damn perfume…”
“Perfume?”
“Bob… at your and Margaret’s wedding, do you remember what flowers there were?”
“At my and Margaret’s wedding? What does that have to do with it? I remember, that damn lavender and the thing that smells like orange…”
“And at Laura’s and mine, do you remember?”
“Uh… uh… oh yes, I remember, I told Margaret why she didn’t choose the same, everything smelled nice of… of… of…”
“…roses and rosemary, right?”, I whispered.
Silence.
“Mitch, I’m not sure what direction this is going, but it seems you have an idea what the ‘Fragrant Blade’ profile is, right?”
I pressed my free hand to massage my temples. “I don’t know, Bob, I don’t know… maybe I’m just completely imagining it and this has nothing to do with anything. Not worth mentioning to the boss…”
“What’s not worth mentioning, man! He’ll barely wait to rub it in those bighead jerks’ noses that we have an ide… wait, it seems he’s… boss, boss… BOSS FOR FUCK’S SAKE… Mitch is on the phone… seems he’s figured out something important… wait…….MITCH CAN YOU HEAR ME, YOU’RE ON SPEAKERPHONE, CONTINUE TALKING, AND I’LL BRIEF THE BOSS ON THE REST…”
“MITCH, SPEAK…”, a baritone sounded from the other side.
“Boss, maybe it’s not what I think…”
“MITCH, YOU SAW THAT THOSE IDIOTS HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO TURN ON A COMPUTER WITHOUT A TECHNICIAN FOR WEEKS NOW, AND THAT I’M JUMPING ON THEIR BACKS LIKE A MANIAC BECAUSE THEY’RE SO INCOMPETENT. TALK, SON!”
Deep breath.
“I think our killer is a girl between 25 and 35 years old who’s taking revenge on the victims’ wives, and that this has nothing to do with their husbands at all…”
“GOOD…”
“All victims are missing pictures of women and children from their wallets. The perfumes consist of ingredients, i.e., flowers you find at classic weddings, you know, all in white, catering, music and such. All victims were model husbands, parents, friends, with successful careers and financial stability…”
Silence.
“MITCH, YOU’RE ONTO SOMETHING”, the boss spoke up.
“GIVE US SOMETHING MORE, MITCH…”, I hear Bob and his pen frantically taking notes.
“…they’re all in suburbs, maybe even have pets, pools and such that we didn’t pay attention to… I think she’s targeting those who fit the concept of idyllic, ideal families. I think we overlooked some person somewhere, there must be a common contact for all families, the killer couldn’t have analyzed all those families so quickly unless they knew them in at least some form…”
“I AGREE…”
“And that handling of the blade… as if it’s… as if it’s…”
From somewhere I felt a strong perfume scent. Rose, lavender… like on the victims.
“Shit…”
A short whistle.
“MITCH… MITCH! MITCH! ARE YOU THERE, MITCH…”
