Ripton Sam, the Zetta Files 4

At 3:30 in the morning the phone rang. I was impressed. They discovered this one more quickly than I'd expected them to. Sure enough, it was Officer Montbrison calling to tell me they discovered another Ripton Sam victim. I told them I'd arrive in the morning. Nothing I could find out now that I won't be able to find out when the sun rises.

I got out of bed and was surprised to discover I was still dressed from the night before. Saves me some trouble. I was about to head downstairs when I remembered that it was full of noodles, and climbed out onto the fire escape. The window into George the Accountant's main office was locked, for some reason, but like my own window, it didn't take much effort to defeat the mechanism.

George didn't seem happy to see me. "Goddammit Swing, stay the fuck away from my window!" he shouted.
"I'm afraid that's not an option just now, Georgie."
"Well make it an option! If I see you in here again I'm calling the police!"
"Haven't you heard Georgie boy? I am the police."
With that I walked out, feeling smug. I tipped my hat to the secretary and headed on my way. It's the little things in life that make it all okay.

I made my way to the address I had written down. The street seemed familiar, but in this town most streets do. They seem familiar for a reason. I've been to most of them. I found the scene by following the police tape. Various cops mingled about, doing whatever it is cops do. The victim sure was dead. I didn't bother to take in all the details this time. I'd gotten the gist of it. Female. Naked. Dead. Dismembered. No signs of rape or struggle. What more does one need to know?

A flashbulb went off to my right. I turned to face the source, just in time to be hit with another flash.
"Don't you people have enough photos of dead people yet?"
"Good point, sir!"
This caught me off guard. Usually my snarky remarks to the media go ignored. This is the first time anyone's agreed with me.
"We've covered enough of these murders by now that the public has started getting bored of them," He explained. I love the media. Such an ethical profession.
"The readers are much more interested in the Hunt! Their attention is grabbed, and now the story of eternal struggle of good over evil must take place."
"Good verses evil, eh? I'm guessing you're no mere photographer, with phrases like that. You're a full fledged reporter."
"Harry Wilhelm at your service. And you are?"
"The freelancer. Yeah, I've heard of you. I'm Swing, of the Zetta Detective Agency."
"A private detective helping out on a serial murder case eh? How does that come to be?" His camera was slung over his shoulder at this point, and he'd pulled out his notebook and pencil with the speed and practice of a gunslinger from the wild west. The analogy was fitting for several reasons.
"Private parties were interested in my involvement."
"They still are, Swing, they still are! What can you tell me about the case?"
"Nothing. there's no story here besides the one you've been peddling for the past week."

I turned my attention back to the crime scene. The cops were pointedly ignoring the reporter, while at the same time glaring at me. A silent warning to shut the hell up before I said too much. Not like there was anything to say. There were no clues, no witnesses, nothing. I decided to have a look around. The reporter had gone back to taking pictures of the scene.

The trouble with Snowtown is that it's not laid out in what you'd call a logical manner. Its roads are feral, twisted things, and as such, it's very difficult to map. One's sense of direction frequently fails. To gain a proper sense of where I was I walked down the street, casually observing the buildings and businesses. I must've been more dazed by the events of the previous day than I'd thought, because I nearly walked right by the one landmark I should never miss without spotting it.

The pie shop. I was in THIS part of Ripton. The pie shop in which I spent a night trapped in the freezer. The pie shop in which I recovered a tracking device that had been eaten by a tame raptor. And now, the pie shop which was half a block away from a grisly murder scene. It made so much sense.

The pie shop was run by Miss Katters and Mr. Zebra. I had reason to believe that they were murderers, although I had no proof. They certainly seemed capable of it, and had the right amount of insanity. I hadn't considered that Ripton Sam might be female, or two people. I must be slipping.

If I was a clever man I'd have gone back to the police right then, and told them my suspicion. The idea tasted sour to me, though. They may be dangerous, alright, but they've never successfully done me any harm... It seemed that there was an unspoken alliance between us, somehow. I had to have proof before I handed them to the cops.

A stakeout was in order. Christ, I'd need to rent a car.