It was pouring down rain on a chilly November evening. The weather was unforgiving. Detective Liam Spierre stood in the ice cold shower and examined the markings on the door: “The Engineer lives Here”. “Yes!”, he exclaimed. “That’s it. I’ve got this insolent man!” Then he sank to the ground as the hooded figure behind him struck him hard in the back of the head with a Vernier caliper.

76 Hours Earlier…

Detective Spierre was assigned to the case of The Engineer today. It was as he had wanted: a serial killer who killed his victims in a grotesque manner using a Vernier caliper. It was ingenious. The calipers were heavy, and gave four or more options to the murderer. The weapon was always found at the scene of the crime, a mark of the killer. Along with it came the number of victims taken and a message, for good measure. Now interpretation of this message was in no doubt difficult. He’d kidnap a victim, leave an anonymous tip that they were missing, and then kill them. The body would be found a few days later.

Patrick Saltino lay dead on the floor of the restaurant. People wearing shoecovers walked all around him. They took all the necessary precautions not to disturb the crime scene. When Detective Spierre walked in, he ushered everyone out. He needed his peace and quiet. He looked at the victim’s information.

Victim: Patrick Saltino.

Cause of death: penetrative trauma to the skull.

Estimated time of death: Sometime in the last 18 hours.

Occupation: High school english teacher.

Close family: Wife, and two children.

Last seen alive: At home with family.

That clever man. He had chloroformed Patrick and his whole family. By the time someone called the police, Pat was long gone. Detective Spierre put on some gloves and a face mask. He didn’t want to disturb the crime scene in any way. He turned his attention to the caliper. He gently turned it over to find the message on the back. “To be, or not be! 4–24–15” He put the caliper in a plastic evidence bag and walked out of the restaurant.

Detective Spierre sat at his desk with the small cardboard box in his hand. 4–24–15 was a code for a locker rented by The Engineer through a series of decoys used to throw the cops off his tail. He opened the box. It contained a green arrowhead and a note. He opened up the note. It read, “I have something special in store for Sam Laksheek, Detective Spear.” He cross-checked the addresses of all the sports and hunting stores to the orders of javelins in the last month. He got one hit: 1890 Jehovah Boulevard. It was getting dark. As he neared the turnpike, it began to rain hard. The sharp cracks startled him as tiny pieces of ice smashed against his windshield. It complimented eerie, barren landscape that surrounded him in all directions. 15 minutes later, he arrived at his destination. Once he turned off his car, and stepped outside, it was pitch black. He turned on his flashlight and made his way to the entrance. He aimed the beam at the door. It said “The Engineer Lives Here”.

Without hesitation, he kicked the door open with his foot. On the table lay Sam Laksheek, with a Vernier caliper in his hand, a long gash running down the back of his scalp. In the kitchen, there was a pool of milk on the floor turning a slight red due to the puddle of blood nearby. He assumed that Sam had slipped on the puddle of milk and cracked his skull open on the hard tile floor of the kitchen and had simply bled to death. But the milk carton was nowhere in sight. The Engineer must have ruptured the milk carton and watched Sam die. He then carried his body and left it on the table, leaving the caliper in his hand. He put on his gloves to take the caliper out of Sam’s hand when he heard something move. He turned around to see a man belting out of the house. In no time, he sent the caliper flying his direction. It dug itself deep into the back of his leg and he let out a sharp cry as he fell to the ground. Liam ran after him and punched him in the face. He grabbed his shirt and yelled “Where is he?! You tell me where he is right now or I’ll bash your brains in!” The man just looked at him and spat in his face. In frustration, Liam picked up the caliper and struck him across the head with it – hard. The man screamed, pleading for him to stop, but Liam was too far gone. He began clobbering him incessantly, only to stop when the screaming died down. By then, the man’s face was horribly disfigured, his brain matter seeping into the ground below.

“People these days…”, he sighed, standing up, as a strange calm came over him. He turned around, wiping the blood from his face and was greeted with a baseball bat across the face. He lost his balance and collapsed to the ground. White hot pain shot up his head. Blood dripped from his nose into his mouth. He reached for the gun tucked under his shirt. Noticing this, The Engineer brought his bat down on his elbow. The scream resonated through the night as he dropped the gun and his arm gave out with a sickening crunch. The Engineer picked up his gun and pressed the barrel against Liam’s forehead. He pulled back the hammer as the chilling gravity of the situation finally set in. “Time to say goodbye, Mr Spierre. Or should I say … detective?”

CRACK!