Chapter 1: The First Case

The rain hammered against the roof of the car as Detective Karim pulled into the driveway. The wipers screeched across the glass, barely keeping up with the downpour. He cut the engine and sat still for a moment, staring at the mansion that loomed before him.The rain hammered against the roof of the car as Detective Karim pulled into the driveway. The wipers screeched across the glass, barely keeping up with the downpour. He cut the engine and sat still for a moment, staring at the mansion that loomed before him.

He’d heard of this house—the retired commissioner’s palace. Multi-million dollars. Marble and gold. Excess piled on excess. But until now, it had only been talk, whispers passed in precinct corridors or splashed across headlines. He had never seen it with his own eyes.He’d heard of this house—the retired commissioner’s palace. Multi-million dollars. Marble and gold. Excess piled on excess. But until now, it had only been talk, whispers passed in precinct corridors or splashed across headlines. He had never seen it with his own eyes.

And now, he saw it not as a monument to success, but as a crime scene.And now, he saw it not as a monument to success, but as a crime scene.

A murder scene.A murder scene.

The retired commissioner was dead.The retired commissioner was dead.

With his death came chaos, sharp and sudden. Orders rained from above—superintendents, ministers, faceless men in dark suits. Karim was the best, so they turned to him, naturally. But beneath their calls for justice, one fact hissed louder than the storm outside: someone had dared to kill a retired commissioner of police. In his own home. Under the supposed watch of five officers.With his death came chaos, sharp and sudden. Orders rained from above—superintendents, ministers, faceless men in dark suits. Karim was the best, so they turned to him, naturally. But beneath their calls for justice, one fact hissed louder than the storm outside: someone had dared to kill a retired commissioner of police. In his own home. Under the supposed watch of five officers.

The officers would lose their jobs, sure. That was inevitable. But punishment wasn’t the same as justice. This wasn’t just murder. It was defiance. The kind of defiance the powerful could never ignore.The officers would lose their jobs, sure. That was inevitable. But punishment wasn’t the same as justice. This wasn’t just murder. It was defiance. The kind of defiance the powerful could never ignore.

Karim pushed his door open, rain slapping his face instantly, and ducked beneath the tape stretched across the gate. He flashed his wallet to the uniform on guard without a second glance. His mind was elsewhere. On the number. Karim pushed his door open, rain slapping his face instantly, and ducked beneath the tape stretched across the gate. He flashed his wallet to the uniform on guard without a second glance. His mind was elsewhere. On the number. 

A single number, inscribed deeply into the man’s chest : 5.A single number, inscribed deeply into the man’s chest : 5.

What did it mean? A signature? A code? Was this a robbery gone wrong? An intentional murder meant to pass a message ? A serial killing ? What did it mean? A signature? A code? Was this a robbery gone wrong? An intentional murder meant to pass a message ? A serial killing ? 

The mansion rose before him, its glass windows glowing faintly against the storm. The house was everything Karim disliked: marble floors polished like mirrors, chandeliers dripping crystal, imported wood paneling that gleamed with oil. Every corner screamed excess, wealth paraded without shame. Karim wondered—not for the first time—how the man had managed to afford such splendor on a commissioner’s salary. The man had always been one of those rich chavs—loud, flashy, in the papers with his suits, his cars, his women. A public servant who never lived like one. There had been the case of money laundering raised against him just the previous month, one amongst many. Just like the others, the case had been shut for want of evidence. Perhaps this was a case of money deal gone bad. The mansion rose before him, its glass windows glowing faintly against the storm. The house was everything Karim disliked: marble floors polished like mirrors, chandeliers dripping crystal, imported wood paneling that gleamed with oil. Every corner screamed excess, wealth paraded without shame. Karim wondered—not for the first time—how the man had managed to afford such splendor on a commissioner’s salary. The man had always been one of those rich chavs—loud, flashy, in the papers with his suits, his cars, his women. A public servant who never lived like one. There had been the case of money laundering raised against him just the previous month, one amongst many. Just like the others, the case had been shut for want of evidence. Perhaps this was a case of money deal gone bad. 

The five officers posted outside had been hauled in for questioning, their failure a stain on the force. Five officers, a carved ‘5’—Karim filed the coincidence away. Perhaps that was an hint, perhaps not The five officers posted outside had been hauled in for questioning, their failure a stain on the force. Five officers, a carved ‘5’—Karim filed the coincidence away. Perhaps that was an hint, perhaps not 

The corridor buzzed with whispers. Some officers muttered that the man had it coming, that corruption always breeds enemies. Perhaps they were right, The commissioner’s money laundering case, like others before it, had enemies waiting. Karim however ignored them, the storm inside his head louder than their words. He pushed into the kitchen.The corridor buzzed with whispers. Some officers muttered that the man had it coming, that corruption always breeds enemies. Perhaps they were right, The commissioner’s money laundering case, like others before it, had enemies waiting. Karim however ignored them, the storm inside his head louder than their words. He pushed into the kitchen.

The sight hit him like a brick to the chest.The sight hit him like a brick to the chest.

The commissioner sat bound to a chair. His mouth gagged, his head slumped forward at an unnatural angle. The ropes binding the commissioner were tied with intricate knots, the kind that took months to master Blood pooled across the tiles, thick and black in the dim light. Splashes marked the cupboards. Fragments of brain and bone clung to the white ceramic like grotesque paint. The number engraved vividly into his chest with the stake used for the engraving sitting on the floor, the tip dripping with blood. The commissioner sat bound to a chair. His mouth gagged, his head slumped forward at an unnatural angle. The ropes binding the commissioner were tied with intricate knots, the kind that took months to master Blood pooled across the tiles, thick and black in the dim light. Splashes marked the cupboards. Fragments of brain and bone clung to the white ceramic like grotesque paint. The number engraved vividly into his chest with the stake used for the engraving sitting on the floor, the tip dripping with blood. 

Karim froze. His stomach lurched. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, cloying and sour. His nose clogged. His eyes burned. Tears pricked at the corners. Blood always did this to him. Always had. He had managed to keep that fact hidden from many at the precinct. He usually had his partner scout the crime scene while he used pictures to get a look. This was one of those nights when circumstances dragged Karim to the scene himself, no dodging the bloodKarim froze. His stomach lurched. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, cloying and sour. His nose clogged. His eyes burned. Tears pricked at the corners. Blood always did this to him. Always had. He had managed to keep that fact hidden from many at the precinct. He usually had his partner scout the crime scene while he used pictures to get a look. This was one of those nights when circumstances dragged Karim to the scene himself, no dodging the blood

“Closer look, Detective?” The forensic scientist, a calm young man in latex gloves, held out an extra pair. His voice was steady, curious even, as if this was routine.“Closer look, Detective?” The forensic scientist, a calm young man in latex gloves, held out an extra pair. His voice was steady, curious even, as if this was routine.

Karim’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw.Karim’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw.

“No. Just pictures. Bag everything. Send it to my desk.”“No. Just pictures. Bag everything. Send it to my desk.”

His voice was steady; his body was not. Three years as the best in the precinct, and he couldn’t afford to flinch. Not here. Not in front of them. Irene would’ve understood. She always did. She had been the first at the precinct to notice his aversion for blood. His voice was steady; his body was not. Three years as the best in the precinct, and he couldn’t afford to flinch. Not here. Not in front of them. Irene would’ve understood. She always did. She had been the first at the precinct to notice his aversion for blood. 

“You alright, sir?” the forensic asked, tilting his head.“You alright, sir?” the forensic asked, tilting his head.

“Yes. Just do your job. I need those pictures.”“Yes. Just do your job. I need those pictures.”

The man nodded and went back to work, snapping photos, cataloguing items, sealing evidence. Karim lingered a moment longer, staring at the scene, his breathing shallow and fast.The man nodded and went back to work, snapping photos, cataloguing items, sealing evidence. Karim lingered a moment longer, staring at the scene, his breathing shallow and fast.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t rage or a thief gone wrong. It was careful. Personal. Planned. Months of preparation, at least. The killer was long gone by now, but maybe—just maybe—there was a hint left behind. Or maybe this was only the beginning, the first in a line of killings waiting to be connected. Maybe the number meant something or many it was just there to mislead. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t rage or a thief gone wrong. It was careful. Personal. Planned. Months of preparation, at least. The killer was long gone by now, but maybe—just maybe—there was a hint left behind. Or maybe this was only the beginning, the first in a line of killings waiting to be connected. Maybe the number meant something or many it was just there to mislead. 

Karim turned away, blinking against the wetness in his eyes.Karim turned away, blinking against the wetness in his eyes.

There was a killer out there.There was a killer out there.

And he would find him.And he would find him.

   He left the mansion just after midnight. The rain hadn’t eased; it hammered the roof of his car, a relentless drumming. The streets were slick, reflecting the city’s neon in warped streaks. The wipers dragged slow, uneven lines across his windshield, and every sweep seemed to echo his exhaustion. His eyes burned. Too long staring at blood. Too long pretending he wasn’t drowning in it.   He left the mansion just after midnight. The rain hadn’t eased; it hammered the roof of his car, a relentless drumming. The streets were slick, reflecting the city’s neon in warped streaks. The wipers dragged slow, uneven lines across his windshield, and every sweep seemed to echo his exhaustion. His eyes burned. Too long staring at blood. Too long pretending he wasn’t drowning in it.

By one-thirty, he was at the precinct. The building that never slept. Light leaked from every window, turning the wet pavement gold. Inside, the hum of fluorescent bulbs mixed with the faint stink of burnt coffee and sweat.By one-thirty, he was at the precinct. The building that never slept. Light leaked from every window, turning the wet pavement gold. Inside, the hum of fluorescent bulbs mixed with the faint stink of burnt coffee and sweat.

A handful of officers were gathered in the briefing room. Their faces were pale, eyes hollow from hours without rest. Coffee-stained mugs stood like sentries on the table. Files were stacked high, leaning like tired towers. They looked up as Karim entered.A handful of officers were gathered in the briefing room. Their faces were pale, eyes hollow from hours without rest. Coffee-stained mugs stood like sentries on the table. Files were stacked high, leaning like tired towers. They looked up as Karim entered.

“Commissioner’s dead,” one muttered, as if saying it aloud might make it less unreal. He was Karim’s partner, Salako. He was a junior office but they got along well. He hadn’t been at the mansion—his shift started later, but he’d heard the news“Commissioner’s dead,” one muttered, as if saying it aloud might make it less unreal. He was Karim’s partner, Salako. He was a junior office but they got along well. He hadn’t been at the mansion—his shift started later, but he’d heard the news

“If he’s the fifth, where the h£ll are the other four?” another asked, slumping into his chair. His tie was loose, his shirt crumpled, his face a shadow of stubble.“If he’s the fifth, where the h£ll are the other four?” another asked, slumping into his chair. His tie was loose, his shirt crumpled, his face a shadow of stubble.

Karim’s gaze swept the room. “No assumptions. This might not even be a serial killing. I want case files on every homicide from the last six months. Cross-check for anything tied to the number five. I don’t care how small the detail looks. I want it all.”Karim’s gaze swept the room. “No assumptions. This might not even be a serial killing. I want case files on every homicide from the last six months. Cross-check for anything tied to the number five. I don’t care how small the detail looks. I want it all.”

His voice was flat, hard, unyielding. The kind of voice that brokered no argument. The men nodded and moved, the scrape of chairs filling the silence. They knew—the game was on.His voice was flat, hard, unyielding. The kind of voice that brokered no argument. The men nodded and moved, the scrape of chairs filling the silence. They knew—the game was on.

Karim stood behind his desk, staring at it as if the scratched wood might yield a clue. His mind ticked through possibilities, sifting through fragments of thought, when her voice came from the door.Karim stood behind his desk, staring at it as if the scratched wood might yield a clue. His mind ticked through possibilities, sifting through fragments of thought, when her voice came from the door.

“Detective.”“Detective.”

  Irene, the precinct’s lead forensic scientist, leaned against the doorframe, her coat damp. She’d been paged back from a date when the commissioner’s case hit the wire.  Irene, the precinct’s lead forensic scientist, leaned against the doorframe, her coat damp. She’d been paged back from a date when the commissioner’s case hit the wire.

“Detective,” she repeated, her tone softer now. “Heard about the murder. Do you need me to get you anything?”“Detective,” she repeated, her tone softer now. “Heard about the murder. Do you need me to get you anything?”

She walked toward him, a small, reassuring smile touching her lips. The kind of smile that once had anchored him when the job became too heavy. She would come in her lab coat, donning that bright smile whenever he had a case that kept him up all night. She walked toward him, a small, reassuring smile touching her lips. The kind of smile that once had anchored him when the job became too heavy. She would come in her lab coat, donning that bright smile whenever he had a case that kept him up all night. 

“I’m waiting for the pictures from the scene,” he said. “They should be here anytime soon. You weren’t there earlier. Where’d you go?”“I’m waiting for the pictures from the scene,” he said. “They should be here anytime soon. You weren’t there earlier. Where’d you go?”

She straightened a loose braid, and he noticed her face—freshly washed, faintly flushed.She straightened a loose braid, and he noticed her face—freshly washed, faintly flushed.

“I was on a date,” she said, dragging out the word date like a challenge.“I was on a date,” she said, dragging out the word date like a challenge.

He looked up sharply, eyes locking with hers for a fraction of a second, then dropped them back to the papers on his desk. They had been something once, back when he allowed himself to believe it might work. But he had ended it, with excuses that sounded hollow even to him. She had believed in them. Believed in him. He hadn’t. And he had left her heartbroken.He looked up sharply, eyes locking with hers for a fraction of a second, then dropped them back to the papers on his desk. They had been something once, back when he allowed himself to believe it might work. But he had ended it, with excuses that sounded hollow even to him. She had believed in them. Believed in him. He hadn’t. And he had left her heartbroken.

His jaw tightened. The pen in his hand pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore through.His jaw tightened. The pen in his hand pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore through.

“So… that’s it? You’re seeing someone new now?” he asked, his voice carefully flat, though bitterness leaked through the cracks.“So… that’s it? You’re seeing someone new now?” he asked, his voice carefully flat, though bitterness leaked through the cracks.

She paused, then smiled faintly, as if she hadn’t heard the edge in his tone. But Karim knew she had. He always knew.She paused, then smiled faintly, as if she hadn’t heard the edge in his tone. But Karim knew she had. He always knew.

#

He got home around four in the morning. His apartment was quiet, the silence pressing against him as he pushed the door shut. Two bedrooms, though only one he ever used. He had lived there all his life.He got home around four in the morning. His apartment was quiet, the silence pressing against him as he pushed the door shut. Two bedrooms, though only one he ever used. He had lived there all his life.

The walls still carried his childhood—family pictures boxed away in the closet, medals and plaques lined neatly in the cabinet in the living room. The television sat untouched, gathering dust. He rarely spent more than five hours at home. There was always another case, another lead, another long night.The walls still carried his childhood—family pictures boxed away in the closet, medals and plaques lined neatly in the cabinet in the living room. The television sat untouched, gathering dust. He rarely spent more than five hours at home. There was always another case, another lead, another long night.

Irene had once brought warmth to the place—her laughter in the kitchen, her books scattered across the couch. But like his uncle’s many lovers before her, she had grown tired of the life. Tired of a man who belonged more to the city’s crimes than to his own home. Karim knew it. He had inherited the same restless habits from his uncle.Irene had once brought warmth to the place—her laughter in the kitchen, her books scattered across the couch. But like his uncle’s many lovers before her, she had grown tired of the life. Tired of a man who belonged more to the city’s crimes than to his own home. Karim knew it. He had inherited the same restless habits from his uncle.

He flicked the switch, flooding the small living room with light. The silence pressed harder, almost physical. His head throbbed. He sat down on the edge of his bed first, rubbing his face, gathering thoughts before he could move toward the shower.He flicked the switch, flooding the small living room with light. The silence pressed harder, almost physical. His head throbbed. He sat down on the edge of his bed first, rubbing his face, gathering thoughts before he could move toward the shower.

Who could have orchestrated the retired commissioner’s murder? A syndicate within government, perhaps—one the commissioner was too close to. Or maybe an old feud, a grudge long simmering. But the number—that single number—what could it possibly mean?Who could have orchestrated the retired commissioner’s murder? A syndicate within government, perhaps—one the commissioner was too close to. Or maybe an old feud, a grudge long simmering. But the number—that single number—what could it possibly mean?

He stripped slowly, each movement heavy with exhaustion, and stepped under the shower. The water beat down on his skin, hot at first, then lukewarm, then cold as the heater gave out. He stood there, letting it wash the night off him, though he knew it couldn’t.He stripped slowly, each movement heavy with exhaustion, and stepped under the shower. The water beat down on his skin, hot at first, then lukewarm, then cold as the heater gave out. He stood there, letting it wash the night off him, though he knew it couldn’t.

Tomorrow, the city would wake to the news that someone had dared to kill a commissioner.Tomorrow, the city would wake to the news that someone had dared to kill a commissioner.

But Karim had an intuition. But Karim had an intuition. 

The killer had just begunThe killer had just begun