Model Murder

In dark alley Addison parks his car.  He has stopped for a cigarette and he breathes it in like his life relies on it.  He recalls the meeting he had with his boss -  he needs to kill one model per week.  Addison shakes his head as his watch picks up on his excellerated pulse.

"Why a model?"  he asks.

In the back of his mind however he knows why -  models are poor people who parade themselves on the catwalk for fame or a dime, nothing more.

"I hate to need to kill the pretty ones;"  he mutters before he takes another drag of his cigarette.

A parade of models march through his mind, and Addison grows fever under his skin as he watches them float before his eyes.  Their faces are skinny, but their bodies are perfect.  He looks at them and grows awe, but his stare is covered by the sound of a gun which shoots one of the models who shrieks before they fade away.

"i hate having to kill anyone, but this job is a crime!"  tells Addison before he spies a young blonde woman walking past his windscreen. 

Addison narrows his eyes at the woman -  she is pretty and thin, but she is short; surely too short to be a model. 

Addison opens his passenger window and calls to the woman who turns around.

"I don't suppose you are a model are you?"  asks Addison. 

"Sure, I was photographed last year to attend a shoot!"  she exclaims.

"But did you get the job?"  asks Addison.

The woman blushes and shakes her head.

"No;"  she replies.

"Have you ever gotten any modelling job?"  asks Addison. 

"I won a beauty contest once;"  tells the woman.  "It was for a magazine, and they took my picture;"  she tells.

"What contest?  What year?"  asks Addison.

"Cover Queen magazine, 2001;"  tells the woman before she shrugs.  "It's just a small publication;"  she adds.

"Well that is something;" tells Addison before he pops the lock on the rear door of the car.  "How about you pop into the back and we can discuss about you making model headlines?"  he asks.  "I'm a manager;"

"Really?"  asks the woman as she grows breathless from the excitement.  "Sure!"  she tells before she slips into the back of the car.

When inside Addison locks the door and starts the car.  He then drives off -  the woman surprised and unsure about where he is taking her to, or what will happen when the car stops.

 

A dead body floats by the marshy banks whose mud has drunk her blood into the soil.  Two detectives - Carl and Andrew - look at the body of someone in their late twenties and sigh.  She has no wallet or identification, she is only a floating corpse that has been stabbed and dumped.

"What is the world coming to?"  asks Carl as he itches his nose.  "This is murder;"

"Contract;"  tells Andrew as he glares at the burnt fingers whose tips are ash black.  "Someone was paid to do this, those fingers have been burnt to prove an assassin did it;"

"But why?"  asks Carl as he shrugs.  "Why to such a beautiful person?"

"Money;"  tells Andrew before he steps away.  "It's always about money;"  he adds.

"Money!"  scoffs Carl before he too steps away.  "Let's pack this dead body up!"  he urges the men standing around. 

The body is dragged out of the water -  it is half frozen and stiff as a board.  Ice falls off its shoulders and splinters the frosted ground. 

"We had better get back to the office;"  tells Carl as he lights a cigarette.  "There is nothing left to do;"

 

A group of models parade themselves on the catwalk.  There are plenty of celebrity models, however Addison tries to ignore them as he catches the eye of Emma Wright -  a catwalk model who made her first break after she had finished one motion picture movie. 

"How are you tonight darling?"  asks Addison as he glares at Emma as she cringes over her runny right eye. 

"I'm a bit late!"  she gushes before she uses a tissue to blot her eye.  "I've got a tricky costume to put on!"  she adds before she stands up and pulls out a dress from the nearby clothes rack.

It is a rainbow fish-cut dress with scarves and pantihose to suit the new-age image.  Emma shivers as Addison leers and she turns towards him to inspect his attention -  it is directly on her, and she cringes.

"Do you mind?  I need to put this on!"  she gushes as Addison fidgets with one of the hairbands she has left on her dressing table. 

"Don't let me stop you;"  tell Addison as he leans to the side.

Emma narrows her eyes and then she pouts.  She turns her back and hurries to take her clothes off.  Her chest heaves as embarrassment catches inside of her chest, and she feels her fingers shake as she hurries to slip on her dress. 

A shout alarms the nearby models who rush to slip onto the stage.  Emma rushes to put her costume on, but Addison catches her arms and pushes them bhind her back.  Emma wants to scream but she is more then a bit turned on.  She hopes Addison is a millionaire as he pries the dress out of her fingers to throw it away.  More models race past, blind to the action that is happening in front of dressing table three; soon the backstage is empty.

"Let me go, I need to get onto stage!"  tells Emma as sweat pads her brow.

"You missed curtain call this time;"  tells Addison as he runs his fingers over her arms to her shoulders.

Emma feels the hairs on her arms become raised but she does nothing to warn anyone of Addisons advances.  As he fingers her neckline she thinks it is to brush her hair from her shoulders, however he catches her neck and squeezes and with buldging eyes Emma suffocates until she falls down dead.

 

Carl looks at the model whose legs stick out of the backstage garbage bin and he shrugs as his team take photographs and prints. 

"A dumpster kill!"  he seeths as he taps his pen upon his notepad.

"A young model named Emma Wright;"  tells Andrew as he inspects the legs for bruises.  "Well there doesn't seem to be any real damage on the body, let's take a look at her head!"  he adds.

The team of photographers turn into a team of body snatchers who pull the body out of the bin and place it on the cement below. 

Carl and Andrew drop their jaws as they see both eyes pulled out of their sockets, the lips mutilated, and the throat slashed in half!

"Knife wound;"  tells Andrew before he takes a photograph for his file. 

"Burnt fingers;"  tels Carl as he inspects the fingers.  "Another assassin;"  he adds.

"Who likes to pray on females;"  tells Andrew.  "Burning their fingers;"  he adds.

Andrew looks closely at Emma's pale neck and sees red marks on either side of the throat cut. 

"She may have been strangled;"  tells Andrew as he squnits.  "I'll circle various deaths before sending her to the forensic team;"  he adds. 

"Whoever is doing this is mighty tricky;"  tells Carl.  "Well have to interview whoever had last seen Emma to know more about this murder;"

"I did already -  the manager saw nothing, the models know nothing; there are no hints to solve this case;"  tells Andrew as he shrugs. 

"Then we'll pull the body into the lab and see what we can discover;"  tells Carl before he takes a picture and then leaves to write up a report in the car.

 

Lisa and Wendy are two sisters who have been modelling since they were kids.  They finish a night's worth of photo shoot before they leave the studio.  They feel dirty wearing their make-up outside, but their minds are not set on their faces only the money in their pockets.

"I want ice-cream!"  tells Wendy as she sucks on the nail polish on her finger.

"I want pizza!"  tells Lisa before she laughs.

The two sisters head towards their car, but are stopped by highbeam lights of a car beyond theirs. They put their hands up to their faces and squint -  they can see nothing!  However a shot makes Lisa's breasts explode and blood splinters Wendy and the white car next to them. 

"Lisa!"  screams Wendy as she watches her sister fall onto the cement. 

"Wendy!" mutters Lisa as she raises her hands up high to touch Wendy's fingers.

However another shot makes Wendy's head explode and she falls to the cement in seconds as a spray of blood falls from her temple.

 

Carl shakes his head as Andrew nibbles on his fingers. 

"A double murder!"  tells Carl before he steps back.  "Gun-shot - inventive!"  he adds.

"A double mistake!  We'll grab throse bullets and find that gun!"  tells Andrew before he scrawls a note down on his report.

Andrew lifts up a hand to inspect the fingers. 

"The fingers are clean;" he mutters as he scratches his head.  "A different person?"

"Long range killer;"  corrects Carl before he too bends over to inspect the fingers.  "This murder was planned;"  he adds. "The others were not -  the killer had to get too close to the previous ones to be able to choose his bait;"

"They all could have been planned;"  tells Andrew as he raises his brows.  "This is dirty work -  we'll have to think seriously what the link to all murders are;"

"All were women, three were models, all alone before being attacked;"  tells Carl as he shrugs.

"Maybe all of them were models?"  tells Andrew as he writes down a note.  "Maybe this is a model killer?"  he asks.

"Maybe;"  tells Carl as he scratches his hair.  "Or maybe the person likes women;" he adds.

"Maybe they went to the same beauty school?"  asks Andrew as he takes a monent to think.  "Maybe the killer is linked to the modelling industry?"  he asks.

"We'll have to investigate;"  tells Carl before he stands.  "Right after I have a shower;"  he adds before he scrapes his bloddied shoes on the cement.  "The blood stinks like rot when you dont clean yourself;"  he adds.

"So true;"  tells Andrew before he helps lead Carl back to his car.

 

Chrystine walks off the modelling stage and down the stairs that lead to a dark den where there are a range of mirrors.  Models flock and hurry to pack their bags before their leave -  they are dressed and gone in minutes while Chrystine sits untying her shoes. 

The stage manager Paul looks at Chrystine and smiles -  she is a fresh faced model who looks too amaeture for anything but one walk on the catwalk, and he enjoys her image a lot. 

"Want to join me for a drink?" he asks.

Chrystine looks up at Paul and shakes her head.

"No thanks, I don't drink!"  she adds as her fingers fumble on her shoe buckles.

"There will be a few people, not just me; you won't be alone if that's what your scared of;"

Chrystine knots her brows -  her sister had warned her not to accept drinks or nights out from anyone unless she wanted to end up on drugs and embarrassing highs; and with her school books under her brow she clears her throat.

"Look I just turned eighteen, I don't feel ready to drink;"  she declares.  "I'm finishing school in three weeks;"  she adds.

"So?"  asks Paul as he glares.

"So I need to go home;"  enthuses Chrystine as she rolls her eyes.  "Now go away I need to undress;"  she adds.

"How about you put your shoes on and check out the party -  it could lead to more modelling and big money;"  invites Paul undeterred by the brush off.

Chrystine pauses and glares at Paul -  he seems clean, but she had no idea if he is telling the truth or not.  She moves to shake her head, but she pauses -  she does want to be a model, and she does want to earn money; this party could be her big break!

"Well... okay;"  she mutters before she moves to buckle her shoes back on.

Chrystine stands up on wobbly ankles, and she walks towards Paul who catches her inside of his arm.  Together they walk into the party room where a large cheer is heard as they enter. Chrystine meets a lot of faces who smile as they pass her a drink.  Chrystine drinks and feels a warmth fill her, but that warmth turns into a slugginsh feeling that makes her near lose her head. 

Soon hands are pulling her onto a couch that is old and rickety.  It is then a hand grabs her throat as her vision is swept away by a barrage of blurs and spots.  Soon her throat is cut, and the voices turn into laughter as blood drenches her chest.

 

Carl looks at the body dangling off a fire-escape ladder.  He looks to Andrew who cringes as he lifts up the head and sees a bone-deep throat cut. 

"Murder;"  mutters Andrew as he feels his guts wobble.  "Murder!"  he declares as a portion of his brain grows upset.

"I've lost my head over this case;"  mutters Carl as he looks at Chrystine's burnt fingers.  "Models say they saw her alive backstage after the end of the show, but nothing else;"  he adds.

"Well then I guess we just call it murder;"  mutters Andrew before he lunges to the side where a small garbage can sits to throw up. 

"Bad breakfast?"  asks Carl as he glares.

"No, I've just fed my brain a rotten apple"  tells Andrew as he narrows his eyes.  "We can't give up on this case;"  he adds.  "Lives are at risk;"  he mutters.

"We'll keep working on it then;"  tells Carl as he writes down some notes. 

"Maybe;"  mutters Andrew as he shrinks away from Chrystine and the bin.  "We had better find some real clues fast or..."

"Or what?"  asks Carl as he raises his brows.

"Or I'll go on vacation!"  says Andrew as he narrows his eyes.  "To Koko Beach!"  he adds.  "Where blue waves, golden sands, met fresh breese which clear out the rotten stench of dead!"

 

Blue waves crash upon the golden sands as the fresh breese blows over to cool the warm skin of those on the beach.  Carl looks at Andrew as he leans back on his beach chair.

"This was a great idea;"  tells Carl as he smiles over his Island Punch drink.  "After thirty murders I feel like thinking about nothing but paradise;"

"Yes, that murder case was a professional on the war!"  tells Andrew as he too leans back in his chair.  "I am glad the case was shut, I didn't want to glare at another dead model corpse;"

"Maybe the fad will fade off;"  tells Carl as he smiles at a dog running along the shore.

"Maybe;"  mutters Andrew.  "Or maybe we'll have to shut down modelling?"

"Not likely!"  tells Carl as he smiles.  "The managers dont' consider death ugly, just unlucky;"  he adds.

"Well then let us consider ourselves lucky that we don't have to think about it any more;"  tells Andrew as he grins. "I am here to relax and forget;"

"'Relax and forget', that's a good motto;"  tells Carl as he crosses his feet.  "Let paradise wash us away;"  he adds.

"And the beaches clean those dead bodies off our fingers;"  adds Andrew before he closes his eyes to sleep.