The rain hadn't stopped.
By morning, the streets were slick and gray, and the air hung heavy with that wet, metallic scent of a city trying to wash itself clean — and failing. I walked into the precinct, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. The smell of burned coffee and damp coats hit me instantly.
Alex was already at his desk, head down, flipping through a thick file. He didn't look up.
"You sleep at all?" I asked, dropping my soaked jacket on the back of my chair.
"A little," he replied. "I started compiling the old case files you mentioned."
"Good," I said. "We'll hit those later. First, we're going to look at the evidence again. I want those smile balls in front of me. All three."
We moved to the evidence room. Officer Traynor was already expecting us. She eyed me with mild suspicion — I didn't blame her. I'd come early in the morning asking for a bloodied toy ball. Not exactly textbook procedure.
She handed us the boxes.
We took them to one of the lab tables. I put on gloves, opened the first box, and removed the ball from the first murder. It was pristine. No visible blood. Almost cheerful in its simplicity — a perfectly round yellow ball, maybe two inches in diameter, with a red smile painted on.
Then the second. Slightly squashed, faint traces of blood along the edge. The smile was distorted from being shoved into the victim's mouth.
Finally, the third. The most disturbing one. Dried blood streaked across the curve of the smile. It felt heavier somehow, like it held a deeper message I hadn't yet understood.
"Look at this," I said, pointing at the bottom of the third ball. "This one has markings. Ink. Maybe a pen?"
Alex leaned in. "Still looks like part of a shape. A curve. Not a full symbol."
"Exactly. What if each ball has a piece of something? Like a puzzle?"
He nodded, taking the first ball and rotating it under the lab light. "This one… here." He paused. "Tiny mark. Barely noticeable."
We did the same with the second.
There. Another faint stroke of black ink, almost invisible against the yellow rubber.
Three pieces of a larger whole.
I grabbed a notebook and sketched them side by side, carefully recreating the shapes from each ball.
"Looks like part of a circle," I muttered. "Maybe a spiral. But not enough to tell."
Alex was already ahead of me. "If this continues, each new victim gives us more of the symbol. It's deliberate."
"So the killer's building something," I said. "Not just a body count. A message."
Back in the office, we pinned new notes to the board.
Symbol? Three parts?
Why the smile?
Victims: unrelated.
Method: inconsistent.
Clue: smile ball.
I rubbed my chin. "Let's go back to the first victim."
Marjorie Langston. Retired schoolteacher. Found in her study, neck broken, eyes gouged out. Smile ball placed on a bookshelf behind her, almost like an ornament.
"Why a schoolteacher?" I asked. "No enemies. Lived alone. No history of abuse. It doesn't make sense."
Alex pulled her phone records and digital footprint. Nothing unusual.
"Check social media?" I asked.
"She didn't have any," he replied.
"Convenient."
Next up was Victor Renn, a 44-year-old bus driver. Died from blunt force trauma to the head. No signs of struggle. The smile ball stuffed in his mouth.
A little more aggressive. A little.. more personal.
Still no connection to Marjorie.
And now Jacob Ng, the insurance clerk. Dismembered. Body posed. Smile carved into his face with surgical precision. Ball placed in front of him like an offering.
The violence was escalating. The presentation was getting more theatrical.
"Three victims," I said. "Three different methods. No weapon consistency. No physical evidence. No surveillance. But the balls…" I stared at the drawings. "They're what tie it all together."
Alex flipped through a new file. "I cross-referenced similar cases from six years ago like you said. There's one… but the M.O. was different. No smile ball. Just a staged body."
"Show me."
He handed it over.
Name: Daniel Weiss.
Occupation: College professor.
Cause of Death: Exsanguination(bleeding to death). Body found seated, hands folded, eyes open. No sign of struggle. Mouth sewn into a faint smile.
"No ball," I noted. "But the smile. The staging. Could be an early kill. Pre-signature."
I tapped the photo. "Where did it happen?"
"Riverfront District," Alex answered.
That made me pause.
"So far," I said slowly, "we have victims in Westside, South Ridge, and Midpoint. And now a cold case in Riverfront. That's four different parts of the city."
"Almost like the killer's circling something," Alex said.
I stood up and grabbed a city map from the drawer. We marked the four locations.
Sure enough — when connected, they formed a loose arc. Almost a circle.
"What if this symbol," I pointed at the sketches from the balls, "isn't just an artistic message. What if it's a map? A path?"
"You think he's moving in a pattern?"
"Not in the victims. In the geography."
Alex traced the shape with his finger. "Then the next strike… would be northeast."
We exchanged a glance.
"That narrows it down," I said. "Not much, but it's a start."
We spent the next few hours combing through the northeast precinct reports — recent disturbances, suspicious activity, missing persons.
Most of it was noise. Domestic calls. Petty theft. Drug busts.
But one entry caught my eye.
A noise complaint called in two nights ago. No response from the residents. Officers knocked, no answer. Lights were on. Filed as non-urgent and forgotten.
"Let's check it out," I said.
The apartment building was older, three stories, cracked paint peeling from the walls like old skin. The hallway reeked of mildew and cigarette smoke. The reported apartment was 2B.
I knocked.
No answer.
Alex jiggled the handle. Locked.
I picked it easily. Old lock. Cheap.
We stepped inside And froze.
The smell hit us first. Metallic, coppery. The stench of rot.
The lights were off. Curtains drawn.
Alex found the switch and the room lit up.
A body lay slumped against the far wall — a woman in her twenties, eyes open, mouth slack. Her wrists were bound, but there were no wounds. No blood.
I approached carefully.
"She's been dead maybe a day," I said. "No signs of violence."
"Overdose?" Alex asked.
"No. Look at her lips."
They were tinted… blue.
I checked her throat.
"No bruising," I muttered. "No signs of strangulation. But no pulse. No breath. It's like…"
I paused.
Alex had stepped toward a nearby table. "Leo."
There it was.
A smile ball, sitting neatly on a silver tray. This one was green — a new color — with a darker red smile. The ink marking was clearer now, forming a crescent.
"Fourth piece," I whispered.
I bent to examine the ball. The smile was different this time. Wider. Crooked.
"She wasn't dismembered. She wasn't even posed," I said. "This one… it's like the killer got bored."
"Or wanted a change."
"No, this was deliberate. Still calculated. Still part of the pattern. But…"
I looked around.
Something was off.
"There's no chaos here. No mess. This wasn't improvisation. This was transition." I muttered.
Alex took a step back. "You think he's evolving?"
"No," I muttered. "He's perfecting."
I stood up and looked around the room. "Search everything. Furniture. Bathroom. Closet. Anything that doesn't belong."
We swept the apartment for thirty minutes. Found nothing. Not a hair. Not a fiber.
Just a corpse and a smile.
Back at the precinct, the ball joined the others. Four pieces. Now, the symbol was beginning to take shape — a spiral, curling inward.
I stared at it for a long time.
"This isn't just a signature," I said. "It's a countdown."
"To what?" Alex asked quietly.
I didn't have an answer.
But I knew this wasn't random anymore.
It never was.
"We should go home for now and rest. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow." I replied. Alex nodded and left, "See you tomorrow then." Alex said before leaving.
I went to my own home with my thoughts and slept in the bedroom.