The Murders that Bind Us [S. Sakamaki]

The Lipstick Killer

The winds howled through the thin, cramped streets of London, carrying an icy cry parted from the lips of a frantic woman. Grey clouds above wailed, coating the stone paths, causing her black heels to slip. Her chest slammed into the brick wall belonging to a closed shop, causing a groan to leave her throat as she pushed herself off, scurrying down the lantern lit roads.

The young woman's red skirts were heavy as she dashed, her tears mixing with the heavy rain which fell down her rosy cheeks. She'd only been on her way home after a hard day at work… and now she'd become a victim.

Mary had seen the wanted posters, she'd seen the poor sketches of the hooded man's appearance. She didn't know his name or the price he was worth… but she knew he was dangerous. Infamous throughout London. She was doomed.

"I already told you," she screamed as she skidded, slamming into the man's hard chest, "there's no reason to run." She could see his eyes gleaming as he gripped her bony shoulders, slamming her back against the wall, hard. She lost consciousness as her head connected with the wet brick; she never regained her consciousness.

-_-_-_-

Jessamine Clarke was a young woman who'd been raised by her dear father: Elias Clarke, a famous doctor within England. She was pale with small curves and rosy cheeks. Her lips were heart shaped, painted a gentle strawberry pink and her eyes were upturned and small, a soft brown which looked orange beneath the candlelight which she sat behind.

She was dressed in a white nightgown with a pale robe draped around her shoulders. She leaned over the dark desk in her father's study, eyes trained on the printed letters beneath the candlelight.

'The Lipstick Killer Strikes Again'

The telephone screeched as she caught the thin pages between her thumb and forefinger, causing her head to turn ever so slightly. With a long sigh, she stood from her seat, carrying her candle to the rusty machine, licking the cool metal cone to her ear.

"Detective Clarke." Her voice was deep as she placed the candlestick on the table, twirling the thin wire around her finger.

"Ah, Detective Clarke, we need you immediately! There has been another victim."

"Whereabouts?"

"Chessington Avenue."

"I will be there soon." With that, she placed the telephone down and let out a long sigh, dragging a slender hand through her dark curls.

The carriage was bumpy as its thin, wooden wheels rolled along the uneven streets. It was black and small, fit for only two people but occupied by one. The wheels shrieked as the carriage came to a halt, the horse pulling it sneezed, alerting the passenger of their arrival.

Detective Clarke was dressed in a pair of long, black trousers and a white shirt with tight cuffs but loose sleeves and a thick waistcoat which embraced her torso. Long hair had been scooped up and concealed within her father's esteemed top hat and she leaned against a long, black stick with her dark, gloved hands.

"Detective Clarke!" Sergeant Smith's voice was rough as Jessamine stepped under the barrier rope put up by the police. "We received reports of screams at ten past midnight, we got here too late, it seems." Clarke nodded her pointy chin as she followed the man past the officers taking notes and guarding the area. The rain was still heavy, drumming against the top of her hat, sliding down the sides and dripping from the brim with the slightest movement.

The body was as horrific as the others had been.

Red lipstick had been smeared across the deceased woman's face, decorating her like a clown. Clarke frowned as she knelt beside the victim, using her teeth to remove her glove before pressing her fingertips to the body's wrist. "Still warm." She tugged her sleeve back on, eyeing the blade protruding from the woman's chest. "Have you dusted it?"