Evil doesn’t look charming; it’s ordinary.
Marco goes to that park with candied apples and hands them out to teenagers who seemdifferentto him—vulnerable teenagers in need of some help.
“Look at this, M,” Adam calls out to me. I stand behind him and look at the CCTV footage dated a week ago, when the last Sweet Day was. It shows Marco with a bunch of candied apples,asking a young girl, around age ten, if she wants one. Then she does something he didn’t see coming, she refuses. The bastard has become so brazen in his approach that he didn’t know this slipup was happening.
“Is he fucking running away?” I ask Adam.
“He is. Marco runs to a van parked nearby and races off. But—” Please give me good news, Adam. “—one of our team members followed him to a house a bit outside of Sarajevo. And, M, he got him.”
I put my hands on my hips and laugh.
We fucking have him.
“Yes, we fucking have him. Did he scout out the place to see if there’s any movement in the house?”
“He did, and he saw one girl in the house. Our guy is still there, observing. M, the girls are all very young.” That last word came out all angry, and I understand why. This is truly sickening.
“I’m going to torture him until he begs me to send him off to Hell.”
“I wasn’t done.” He points to Sara, indicating I should go to her. “She’ll explain everything to you.” I go to Sara, and she looks worried.
“You better sit down.” So I do. Sara sounds clinical in her explanation.
“Until the next one arrives, I believe he does unspeakable things to girls. He rapes them, tortures them, and after a month, death ensures.”
“Is it because a new Sweet Day ensures?” She nods and then proceeds.
“He only kills when he’s ready to bring home the next one. That’s his reset button.”
“Meaning?” I listen to Sara explain everything in great detail. She is in her element.
“Meaning he can’t let two of them exist at once. It breaks the illusion—that he’s their savior, their only one. He needs a clean slate before he starts the next fantasy.”
“Fucking hell.” I run a hand across my face. It’s been a while since I encountered this level of depravity.
“This is just my assumption. I would have a lot more to go on if I had him right before me.” I raise an eyebrow at Sara.
“I know that he wouldn’t be alive if he were here,” she waves a hand at me. “Anyways. He doesn’t lose control—he maintains it. That’s the difference. He’s not sloppy, he’s ritualistic.”
“We already knew he was smart.” Sara wiggles her finger at me and grins.
“Until a week ago. He made a grave mistake of approaching the daughter of a cop.” Even the most sophisticated killers make mistakes due to arrogance or a lack of it. Sara and I are establishing a pattern, and we have it.
Besides going to that park once a month, after work, he goes to his second residence and arrives at 4 p.m. on the dot almost every single day. He stays there until 7 p.m. and does his thing.
“Wait, you need to see this, guys,” Adam calls out to us. We huddle around him, and he points to Marco leaving with his van. For the first couple of seconds, I don’t see what he’s pointing at, until I see it.
A car with scratched plates is following our predator.
“Who the fuck is that?” I ask Adam.
“I don’t know. I wish I had the CCTV footage of the last five months.” I grab my phone, dial Kanita, the head of the Municipal Control Center, and put her on speaker. I own this fucking city because I have dirt on all of them.
“Kanita. How may I help you?” Her professional voice fills the room.
“M here, Kanita.” What follows is a sharp intake of breath from her.
“How can I help you?”
