The Crossover by E. Clay Page A

at INTERPOL.
    “Hiya, mate,” Carl said between drags.
    “Gabby is growin’ up fast; I hope you have a shotgun for when she gets older.”
    Carl popped his head just over the fence.
    “The world’s a scary place. I wish hormone-raging, teenaged boys was all I had to worry about,” Carl replied as he took his last drag.
    Carl spoke with such intensity it had to be work-related so I didn’t go there.
    “Clay, there’s a storm coming. Good night,” he said as he put his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe.

INTERPOL Morning Pass Down
The Next Day
    “Good morning, Clay and welcome back. A lot has happened while you were away. At the moment, we have no play in Operation Searchlight, so we remain in a holding pattern until we get the word. Any questions?”
    I shook my head.
    “Dismissed,” said the Branch Chief.
    I felt like an idiot for not reading the pass down messages before the briefing, but I overslept and walked in late.
    The agents and analysts gathered their notes and whispered amongst themselves. I felt paranoid. I tapped my coworker Ann on the shoulder as we headed to our office spaces down the hall.
    “Ann, there seemed to be a dark cloud floating around in pass down. I haven’t read the message traffic, what’s goin’ on?”
    “Clay, Operation Searchlight , that’s what. If the Press gets a hold of this it will be absolute pandemonium.”
    “Operation Searchlight? That must be a new Op. What is it? Terrorism, human trafficking, white collar?”
    I followed Ann to her office and she handed me a SECRET folder that read Limited Distribution Only.
    “Here, this should bring you up to speed. The latest message is an executive summary. Read the first paragraph.”
    After being in the game for a while it was hard to alarm me. This was an exception, it jolted me.
    “Oh, my god. All this in a week? How many deaths are we talking about?” I asked while speed-reading through the message traffic.
    Ann was normally a very bubbly woman and I had never seen her so serious.
    “Seven. There may be more. Whoever he is, he’s good, real good. I talked to our guy in London and he said it’s like chasing shadows. They got nothin’ to go on.”
    “Why do they call it Operation Searchlight. That’s a weird name for an Op?”
    “Maybe because they’re lost on this one.”
    I handed the folder back to Ann.
    Over the course of the last seven days a serial killer had emerged, randomly targeting women of all ages around Central London. All the women were found in the trunks of their cars; their bodies in large black duffle bags. No incriminating DNA traces were found on the padlocks or anywhere inside the vehicle. Comparisons to the Ripper case abounded within the department. This appeared to be the perfect crime, no witnesses, no motive and no end in sight.
    The work day zipped along and by the time I clocked out, I was a little too emotionally invested in the case. This wasn’t an episode from NCIS or Law and Order, it was real life. The reports I read were sanitized and redacted information was blacked out. The raw reporting, complete with pictures of the victims, had to be absolutely deplorable and unviewable. Each of the girls was someone’s daughter, maybe someone’s wife, somebody’s close friend.
    I parked my car in front of my house and noticed Louise carrying a blue wheelie bin to the curb.
    “Hey, Louise. I can always count on you to remind me it’s rubbish collection day. I’d better get my bin before I forget,” I said as I met Louise near her perfectly manicured front lawn.
    “Carl’s hardly around these days, somebody’s got to do it. After a long day at work, I can’t be bothered to wash up 1 anymore. In fact, I haven’t washed up for a few days now. Maybe Carl will get the message,” Louise commented.
    “Yeah, my son hardly ever washed up, he just let the dishes pile up. Since it’s just me now I only have myself to clean up after.”
    “Clay, I think you have a new neighbor.