dannnex

Perfection

Feb 13, 2015

Today is an important day. It’s the 65th anniversary of the most glorious cday of my life. The darkest day in the life of many others. The day that I can’t ever tell anyone about. The day that I must tell everyone about. The day I gained my secret. On this day, 65 years ago, I murdered Ms. Jane Ann Wright in cold blood. She was the first of many. My name is Blake M. Fulton, and I am the one you have been searching for. 

***

Head Detective Jonathan Wright watched from within the surveillance van as Fulton put down his pen. The withered husk of a man stood up from his desk and limped out the door of his study and into the back of his house, out of sight of the surveillance team. Wright set his binoculars down and turned to the man sitting next to him, Officer David Stevenson.

“He’s been writing in that journal for days now. I bet that’s it. I bet he’s finally confessing. It’s criminal psychology 101, every killer, deep down, yearns to be found out. If nobody ever finds out about what he did, then what was even the point?” 

Stevenson sighed. “I dunno Jon, I’m still not even convinced that Fulton’s our man. The department’s been keeping tabs on him for years, since before either of us were even on the force. You’d think we’d have found something incriminating by now.”
“You don’t know Fulton like I do Dave, the man’s a snake. I’m certain he’s our man, I just need to prove it.”
“I thought that Fulton was writing a confession right there. Why do we need to prove anything if he’s about to hand-deliver it to us?”
Wright gave Stevenson a pointed look. “You don’t get it, do you? While killers like Fulton want to be found out, they definitely don’t want to go to prison. If Fulton truly is writing a confession, that means he’s confident in a plan he must have to avoid that consequence.”
“What plan could he possibly have? He has nowhere to go, no family, no friends. We’d be able to follow him easily if he tried to make a run for it.”
Wright picked up his binoculars again as Fulton returned to the study. “When you’re as determined and deranged as he is, there’s always one final escape route.”
Realization dawned on Stevenson’s face. He opened his mouth in a silent oh. Jonathan nodded. “We need to find some way to convict Fulton before he takes one final life. His own.”
***

I’ll always remember the first time I took the life of a living thing. I was 12 years old, and I found a mouse beneath my bed. I still remember exactly how it wriggled in my hands as I squeezed the life out of it. That feeling of complete control, of being the absolute arbiter of life and death if only for a moment…it became what I lived for. It was more pleasurable to me than any drug. However, like a drug, I eventually grew numb to its effects. I needed more. A stronger dose, if you will. I decided to kill someone. I chose my target, a girl who lived a few streets away from me. I spent weeks following her, learning her habits. Then, after weeks and weeks of planning, I acted. I was swift. Clean. Precise. Everything went exactly as planned. There wasn’t a bit of evidence connecting me to the crime. In some ways, the satisfaction of simply doing something that perfect was more enjoyable than the actual act. 

***

Officer Stevenson leaned back in his chair as he ate a bagel that he’d picked up on the way back to the precinct. “Surely there’s some way for us to check that book he’s writing,” he said through mouthfuls of cream cheese. “Can’t we just send someone to go grab it?” 

“How in the world did you get through the academy Dave?” Detective Wright said with a chuckle. “We can’t enter his property without either a warrant or probable cause, and I thought you were cutting carbs this month.”

“It’s my cheat day. Don’t we already have probable cause? He’s a suspect in a murder investigation!”
“...not exactly.”
“Whatdyu mean by that?”
“Fulton isn’t a suspect. Hasn’t been for years.”
“Then why’d the chief send us down there to watch ‘im all week?’
“Uh…She didn’t.”
Stevenson looked at Wright incredulously. “You mean I spent all week stuck in that van with you, thinking I was being paid overtime, and I wasn’t? At all?” Wright nodded. 

“...you’re lucky I like you, Jon. Anyway, if Fulton isn’t a suspect, why do you think he’s our guy? Why are you even looking into this cold case at all? What’s so interesting about it?”

“Trust me, Fulton’s our guy. And this case isn’t just interesting. It’s the reason I joined the force.”
Stevenson turned to look at Wright. “Say what now? How are you so invested in this case that’s older than you are?”
“The file’s right there Dave. Check something for me. Who was the first victim?”
“Uh, Jane Ann…Wright. Oh. Your mother? No, that doesn’t make any sense, she was only 15.”
“My aunt. My father’s baby sister. I grew up listening to stories about her, my dad never got over her death. I became a detective in the hopes of finally figuring out what happened to her.”

Stevenson nodded solemnly. ”Honestly Jon, I’d always wondered why a guy like you would become a cop. I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”

***

Jane was the last of my kills to be fueled by my boodlust. As I got older my desire for that feeling of control waned. Instead, I was hooked by the thrill. Planning it all out to be sure I wasn’t caught, hiding from the police. The excitment was what kept me going. I went on to commit 14 more homicides over the next 30 years. Each one was perfect. The crimescenes were spotless. They never suspected a thing.

***

Stevenson burst into the room with a massive smile on his face. “Jon, I’ve got it. I know how we can catch Fulton.”

Wright put down the file he was reviewing and looked up. “What?”

“I know where we can get some evidence on Fulton. His book.” 

Jon sighed. “Dave, we’ve been over this, there’s no legal way for us to get his book. If we get it illegally the judge will declare a mistrial and he gets off 100% free.”

“What if I told you there was another copy of his book. One that we could get really easily.”

“What in the world are you talking about Dave?”

“Listen, you’re always talking about criminal psychology and stuff right? Well that got me thinking, what’s one thing we know about our killer?”

“Well, we know that they likely derive pleasure from the kills judging from the fact that there were multiple unrelated victims. We know they enjoy the thrill of it, as they leave the bodies for us to find. We know they’re a bit of a perfectionist judging by how clean the crime scenes are-“

“Exactly!” Dave yelled. “So that means that if Fulton is our killer, he’d be a perfectionist too right?”

“Yeah, I guess… Dave, where are you going with this?”

“What’s Fulton writing his book with?”

Wright’s eyes widened. “…a pen. Dave, you’re a genius. Get in the car, we’re going to make an arrest.”

***

Fulton stood up as a knock rang out from his front door. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the cop car parked by the side of the road. Then, he smiled. It’s not as if they have anything against me. It’s been years. He opened the door. 

Two officers stood there, one taller and slightly lanky. The other looked like he needed to lay off the white bread. “Blake Fulton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Jane Wright, Oscar Bowen, and many others. You have the right to remain silent.”
Fulton took a step back in surprise. It had been years since the police had even questioned him. He smiled again. “All right,” he said in a weak, gravelly voice, “I plead the fifth.”

The tall officer smiled, and suddenly Fulton felt a stab of fear.

“I don’t think the fifth can help you here old man.” The officer held up a leaf of papers. “You see, right here I have a very clear confession, written by your own hand. The thing about using a pen is that you can’t erase any mistakes that you make, can you? And being the perfectionist that you are, the only solution was to throw out the entire paper.” The other officer spoke up. “And you don’t need a warrant o go through someone’s trash.”

Fulton was shocked as the officers handcuffed him and led him to the squad car. I was so close…so close…