“Sweet, we’ve got the gang back together!” shouted Stone jubilantly, much to the chagrin of the ring of detectives and policemen, aggravated by his antics.
“Stone, less reminiscing and more focusing on this case. Anyways, you were right about the murders but we’re still back to square one. What do you propose we do then to resolve that?” asked Klein as sincerely as he could, which turned out to be very little.
“What are you talking about? He is clearly connected with Emilia, hence ‘For Em!’ How ignorant can you get?”
“Stone, this guy clearly is a mass murder. Why the hell would you assume that this isn’t some random killing, or do you expect him to personally be connected with every single victim he’s had.”
“Don’t get me wrong, this guy is a serial killer, he probably has killed dozens of random strangers who have nothing to do with him at all. Hell, that one guy whose name escapes me probably just crossed paths with the wrong motherfucker, but he clearly has something to do with Emilia. That’s why I got one of my lackeys to examine witness reports and to see if he indeed does have any connections with her. In fact, there he is right there!” Stone pointed at a reserved, baby faced twenty-something in a business suit clutching a manila folder. Stunned at being recognized, he clears his throat.
“Well, yes. I have police sketches made from various witness testimonies,” he reveals a pencil sketch of a clean shaven well groomed Latino man in his early thirties with unnaturally pale, bleached skin that seemed to have been removed of all life and vitality. “And this is Eddie Dominguez, Emilia’s separated husband.” He produced a photograph with a face that looked remarkably similar to the sketch but with two distinctions that were ingrained into the back of Stone’s skull: a snarl from his upper lip that twisted his facial features and showed his true aggression; and pitch black eyes that seemed to be tunnels to endless and hopeless abyss, the last thing that god knows how many saw as their last sight in this world, as if the eyes themselves snuffed their living breaths out like a candle.
“Well, I stand corrected Stone. We appear to have got our man, so how do we get him?” inquired Klein, his interests piqued.
“Now that appears to be the tricky part. You see, the reason that Dominguez has eluded the grasp from the law for so long is he is a completely different beast. He is fickle, clever, cunning and can extricate himself from virtually any situation. I’m willing to bet that he has made some friends over the years, the type of folk that can make you disappear and reappear again. No doubt that he’s probably got some new documents from the Black Market that he made so that he can charade as something else. It’ll be very difficult to sniff this guy out.”
“So basically you went through that superfluous and completely unnecessary monologue to tell us that you have no plan whatsoever?” asked Marceau in a jabbing kind of way.
“Yeah, pretty much. Although,-“ Stone scans the file, places a sheet of paper and points at a line that read ‘1402 East Temple Street Plymouth, MN 55427’ and proclaims ,”That is a pretty damn good starting point.”
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