Chernobyl’s Revenge

II

Kreves and John were heading to the police station. The road was desolate, the rain grew more torrential, and as it bounced against the windshield, it made visibility increasingly difficult. The fog thickened over the streets of London, making it harder for Kreves to drive, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the case. He had to get there and search for any clue that might lead them to a trail. After driving for a couple of hours, he decided it would be safer to stop to avoid any accidents.

They pulled over at a roadside café. Its window display read "White and Black Coffee Shop" in large white letters. The café was almost empty, with only five people inside, the waitress, the cashier, and the cook. The establishment smelled of coffee and bread, a pleasant aroma for that rainy afternoon. They sat at a table by the window. The waitress approached and took their order. They both ordered a cup of black coffee. They planned to leave as soon as the road became safer.

They remained silent until Kreves, oddly enough, decided to start a conversation.
“Strange, don’t you think?” he said.
John raised his gaze but then lowered it again, pensive, and replied in a soft voice,
“Very strange… it’s like a ghost. We have nothing to track it. It’s unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What we need to do is piece the case together. Maybe everything will start to make sense. Perhaps we missed something.”
“I don’t think so, Kreves. You saw how he left the body. When it was placed, no one saw a thing. And the strangest part is that it happened at a time when those streets were quite busy.”
“I know, John. But we have to find him. It was a brutal murder. If we don’t catch him, the people of London will panic. I’m not letting this case be forgotten.”
“Alright, Kreves… but I advise you not to be too optimistic. This is a case of colossal magnitude. We’ve never faced anything like this. The last murderer this brutal was Jack the Ripper, and they never caught him.”

Kreves sighed. His partner’s attitude frustrated him, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. They decided not to exchange more words until the fog cleared. Then Kreves signaled John to follow him to the car so they could continue their journey. The rain had stopped, which comforted Kreves. He had always been uneasy about the rain, though he didn’t know exactly why he feared it.

When they arrived at the police station, both were exhausted. The case was mentally draining. They wandered through their thoughts about the murder as they headed to one of the offices to open the files and analyze the information provided by Dr. Abbat. They were stopped in their tracks by the police chief, Jonathan.

The chief was a robust man with rough features, light brown hair mixed with reddish tones, pale skin weathered by the sun and neglect, and an imposing height that commanded respect. He wore a black suit with a grayish trench coat.
“Officers, what can you report on the case?” Jonathan asked in a dry, curt voice that conveyed a hint of irritation.
“Captain Brown, the forensics team hasn’t found anything that can help us. We’re now going to review the material that—”
“Gentlemen, we can’t allow this case to drag on for too long. The public has already learned about the murder, and if we don’t arrest someone or make progress soon, this will spiral into mass panic—not to mention the danger of having a killer loose on the streets.”
“Captain, if you’ll excuse us, my partner and I will get to work immediately and catch this murderer,” John said enthusiastically, his earlier pessimism seemingly transformed by the captain’s words.
“I’m counting on you, gentlemen. Don’t let me down.”

The captain returned to his office, and the two officers decided to head to Kreves’s office on the third floor. The building featured white tiles, dark beige walls, office furniture, a few computers, and interrogation rooms.

Inside the office, a large window illuminated the space. There was a metal desk, two chairs, and a whiteboard where Kreves jotted down all his notes. They sat down and opened the morgue files, pulling out the little information they had: where the body was found and the state of the corpse. They hoped they had overlooked something or that they might find a clue.

It took them about an hour and a half to organize all the information, but it made no sense. There was no story, no motive. The only clear aspect was that such violence typically occurred in cases of passion or revenge. They reviewed the information again, scrutinizing every detail, but there was nothing—absolutely nothing.

Frustration mounted. There was no progress. The killer had ensured no clues were left behind. It was so flawless that it had to be premeditated and meticulously planned. But the officers couldn’t fathom how someone could commit such an atrocious act while leaving no evidence. Undoubtedly, it was the work of a brilliant mind—coldly calculated, with such brutal aggression that only someone profoundly deranged yet highly intelligent could perpetrate such a crime.

At around eleven at night, Kreves’s phone rang... another body had been found.