...
Almost every time we went out, Sophie would wear a cap.
"You really like caps."
"Well, the sun's blazing here in Luther. And overall, I just really like the look of it," she answered as we walked the streets, passing by a shop that sold headwear. She peeked inside with a tilted head, then turned back to me with glee. "Let's get you one too!"
And I practically got dragged in.
"Which one do you think would suit me?" I asked, scanning the colorful varieties on the shelves.
"Depends on how you want people to perceive you," she said while taking off her pink hat, swapping it for a white one hanging in the shop.
"Hm?"
"The first thing people see on you is your face, and if you're wearing a cap over it, it's your cap. So it decides a lot. I personally have multiple caps for different moods."
"I like black." I pulled one down.
"Nooo, that's pretty much telling people not to approach." She stopped me before I tried it on. "You should go for a lighter color that makes you look more outgoing. A dark color suggests you'd rather be left alone, and the opposite does the opposite."
I noticed the new white cap she had on and chuckled at my own thought. "So is this telling me something?" I pointed.
"You guess." She turned away, spinning her own pink cap on a finger, catching my gaze.
"Hmph." I didn't know what to do, really, even if I thought I got the signal.
All I did was return the black cap to its shelf.
...
And I pulled down the black cap from the shelf, purchasing it.
It's a vague signal. I would just have to hope she'd understand it. I rarely wear any headwear, so this should be eye-catching for her, but not for my fishermen.
Sophie was actually there, in the distance, wishing to approach until I walked out of the shop looking gloomier than ever with my new cap.
"I think she's there…" Jennifer pointed to an alleyway, one only empty for the living.
Sophie contemplated for a good while but eventually stepped away, refusing the idea of following me.
Jonathan put on his glasses, a piece of yellow talisman paper rolled up on its right temple. "I don't see anything."
"That's because she's not there anymore," Jennifer continued.
I was oblivious to what was happening behind me between the fish and the fishermen. So for all I knew, this cap stayed on even until night.
I went to a drugstore, bought a syringe, and asked, "Anything that'd increase urination here? Nothing potent though. Liquid is preferred."
And the front desk immediately provided me with what I needed.
"Our bait's under the weather, it seems?" Abdul asked the two others in the car I never noticed, resting his head on his palm lazily.
Jonathan stayed sharp on me, while Jennifer's eyelids were drooping in the backseat.
Then I went to the grocery store. Bought steaks, a six-pack of beer, and some other snacks for tonight with Matthew.
Now, Jennifer had really fallen asleep.
"Where the fuck is she?" And Abdul was losing patience in the passenger seat.
The driver was the calmest and sharpest but still had a confused frown on his face.
"Did she already jump? Or maybe she noticed us?" Abdul fired a barrage of questions at Jonathan beside him.
Jonathan scanned his surroundings before hesitantly answering, "… Maybe."
Then he watched intently as I injected a dose of drugs into a can of beer with the syringe I bought.
———
"Detective, I ain't got nothin' more to tell ya." He put his hands up with raised eyebrows, while Detective Chatman sat across the table from him in the interrogation room.
"Oh, I think you've got a lot more to tell me, Mr. Hill." Chatman leaned in closer. "You're already looking at… 30… 40 years? Might as well spill while you can." Mr. Hill being the leader of the kidnappers by the shipyard yesterday night.
"I don't know what the fuck I can spill." Hill crossed his arms.
"How about who you're working for?"
"Fuckin' hell…" Hill cracked his neck. "For the one hundredth goddamn time, I don't work for O'Neil."
"Come on, man. Just give me some dirt on the guy. You're already cornered; you might as well take that bastard down with you."
Hill held out his arms and shrugged. "You tell me how."
"Argh…" Chatman groaned, disappointed. "Fine. See you in prison."
"See you, bitch." Hill muttered as the door shut close behind Chatman.
Outside the interrogation room, waiting with his arms crossed and his legs shaking, was Matthew, his face suggesting curiosity.
"He won't give us shit," Chatman spat. "Motherfucker…"
"Hmph… How about I try, detective?" Matthew suggested.
"Drank too much coffee this morning?"
"Just one cup."
"Alright." Chatman nodded. "You try. But I'll be watching, so don't do anything funny."
"You know me, my guy. I wouldn't."
Hill grimaced as soon as the knob rattled. "What the fuck, man? I told your ass I ain't got nothing."
Matthew sat down across the table this time with a friendly face. "How are you?"
"Fuck you." Hill spat.
"... Tell us this was his work, and I'll promise you no jail time."
Hill spared him a glance after that statement, but Matthew didn't return it. Matthew got up and immediately left the room, leaving Hill bewildered inside.
As soon as the door shut, Matthew was shoved against a wall by an angry Chatman. "I said don't do anything funny."
"You heard that?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I fucking heard that. No jail time?"
"Come on, detective. Getting O'Neil is much better than pinning this nobody. I doubt he'd even do shit once he's outside without a boss."
"What about justice for his victims, huh? What about the three women that got dragged off from their cozy homes into that cold, dirty, bloody fuckin' container, and perhaps even more before them?"
Matthew couldn't retort. He just took the scolding until Chatman went back inside the interrogation room, dissolving the outrageous deal Matthew proposed.
"What'd you do?" Matthew's colleague arrived.
"I'm off my time, Vince." A frown carved into Matthew's face.
"Oh, alright… Bye bye?"
"Yeah, bye bye." Matthew didn't wave; he just left the precinct without another word.
He returned home to find me at his front door, ringing his doorbell repeatedly, my other hand holding our dinner in a plastic bag.
"Oh shit, sorry, Mo."
"It's alright, I haven't been here for long… Bad day at work?" I asked, noticing his frown.
"Uh… somewhat. I think I was just stupid though." And the door unlocked to his cozy landed house, far bigger and cozier than mine.
"Tracy's not home?" I asked, entering the dark living room.
"No. Why else would I agree to let you come?" He tossed his bag, shoes, and jacket to one side before sinking into the couch.
"Where is she?" I flicked on the light switches as if it were my own house.
"Pilates. The baby of gym and yoga," he said while staring blankly at the ceiling, visibly unhappy.
"As promised, steak and beer."
"You're cooking."
"Sure." I placed the six-pack of beer down on the table, the drugged can facing him, before heading into the kitchen with the steak.
As expected, Matthew immediately went for the drugged can. He downed that beer like a glass of water on a thirsty morning while I worked in the kitchen.
"So, wanna tell me what's up?" I raised my voice to reach him.
"Well, for starters, the Janitor killed again."
"Oof." I did know who the Janitor was as Matthew ranted about him very often. "Left the same bullets?"
"Yeah, it's a fuckin' insult to us cops. It's like a mouse wiggling its tail to the cat, knowing the cat will never reach it."
"You don't have to think of it like that. Serial killers like to leave their mark…"
"As a sign to the police, telling them 'haha, I'm still running around killing, same fucking ritual but I'll never get caught.'"
"Or as a sign to tell their victims' ghosts that they deserved what happened."
"You believe in ghosts?"
"Yes, I do." I even talk to them regularly.
"You know," Matthew rubbed his temples, "the Janitor does seem more and more like a ghost than a man with every passing day. So few signs of him after so many kills in the open. It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe he is a ghost."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"You said 'for starters.' What else is there?"
"He left one of his targets standing today. And I'm very positive that man works for O'Neil."
"Oof, part two." He also rants about O'Neil often, just not as much as the Janitor.
"He wouldn't admit it. And I lost it. I made a deal with a literal kidnapper… potentially rapist too: to strip all his jail time in return for intel on O'Neil."
"You can't blame yourself for losing it there. Leaving a pawn standing to attack the king. That's logical… just immoral."
"Yeah… Steak's smelling good."
"Thanks."
"Hey, I just noticed…" Matthew squinted his eyes. "Why are you still wearing that cap in here? Why are you wearing it in the first place, actually?"
"Just trying something new."
"Huh." He was probably too tired to pry. "I gotta use the restroom." He finally got up from the couch, and he'd be away for a while.
Turning off the stove, putting on gloves, I went to really work.