Historier

The Fish Tank

The crime scene is located in the American Gardens building, on West and 81st street. In the middle of the living room a rather large pool of blood has been shed. A chaotic surrounding indicates some kind of fighting took place here. I still don’t know if all the blood is from a single person or from a group of fighting individuals – the NYPD Technicians are working on their tests on the blood. A trail of blood leads us into the bedroom, where a huge glass tank is placed, filled with water – bloody, in front of a wall of mirrors – some chains are hanging from the corners of the tank. Chunks of meat are floating in the water, I never saw anything like this before in my life. Imagine a big bowl of tomato sauce, only it smells like a dead animal or at least something rotten. Air fresheners are placed around the water tank, maybe in an attempt to dim the stench of death, or even in order not to alert the neighbours of the event that took place here some time ago. Behind the water tank, facing the mirrors, is a Sony digital XP9 video camera, and on the bed is a digital, Canon DC3000, camera with the flashcard removed from it. There’s no doubt that the thing that took place here was carefully planned and a few details indicate that the victim was chosen anything but randomly. The sound of a splash of water rips the silent and investigating thoughts in my head. I turn around in a flash as I shout to the NYPD crew working in the apartment – “what the hell are you doing?!!” the only problem is, that none of them are in the bedroom with me, I’m assured about this by the Tech. Supervisor from the police department.

I move towards the tank, looking at the bloody water. The chunks of meat are moving, indicating that something did splash in the water. By no chance can I see through the dirty glass of the tank, nor see through the water from the top towards the bottom of the tank. I find whatever is in the water a valuable clue about what happened, so I’m about to order the tank emptied. The NYPD crew insists on me to join them in the living room. Though I still find the tank more important, I move into the living room. A brown envelope with the handwriting “a gift for Detective Donald Kimball” is handed to me from the Tech Supervisor. The envelope was found under a pillow on the couch – the scary thing is – I’m Donald Kimball. Like the brain behind the happening knew I would be in charge of the investigation. I open the envelope. Inside I find a smaller envelope, and a video tape. Rushing to the Phillips 838 SuperDrive VCR in the living room – I insert the tape, and press play. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

The video tape contained the answer to what happened here from act 1 and until it was all over. A date, always shown when using a digital camera, tells us when the scene took place – January 23rd, four months ago – this is the reason for the rotten stench all over the otherwise stylish apartment. On the tape I see how a person, male, is tied with barbed wire, and given paper cuts all over his legs and upper body, unable to scream in pain due to the mouth gag he’s wearing. After the cutting he’s receiving several punches to the head and body, in order to make the struggle smaller for the next act. He’s dragged into the living room, and put into the giant water tank, big enough for him to kneel and be covered in water to his shoulders, and chained, so that he can’t get up, or fight for his life. The killer makes an extra effort to make this an unfair battle for the victim, as he cuts him again a few times, so that even more blood is shed in the water. Because of the mirrors the victim can see his own naked body, placed in the water tank, and with no chance of escape. The mouth gag is removed, and the victim’s tongue is cut out with a pair of scissors. A smaller tank is rolled into the living room, behind the large tank, and the victim is trying to turn his head to see what’s to happen next – but he can’t. Imagine the fear printed in the eyes of the helpless victim, as he sees the piranhas starting to flock around him, all he can see is what the mirror allows him so see, and they taste the blood in the water before they all attack. The face of the dying tells me about a pain unknown to man, a feeling of total helplessness and fear even greater than seen in war. No doubt that his life is passing through his thoughts these dying seconds – his last minutes alive, no tongue, and no possibility to express the pain, nor the opportunity to cry for help. The only option is to die in pain, fear shock. After a few minutes the large flock of piranhas, maybe 50-70, has eaten most of his stomach, and his entrails are now exposed to the merciless predators of the water tank. The head of the dead, half eaten man, falls forward into the water, and only little resistance is met as a piranha is taking a bite of his left eyeball.

The NYPD crew and I are all speechless after viewing this tape. Pictures, taken every 4 hours, are in the smaller envelope. Piranhas ate an entire person in little over a month, everything is gone, hair, flesh, eyes, bone, the only thing to identify the victim by is the few teeth we hope to find in the water tank, after removing the piranhas.

I now see no further reason for me to stay around, so I decide to grab a cup of coffee in the squad car. As I walk out of the door, I see the name tag on the door next to the one with the killing – the name is “P. Bateman”, in one split second it all adds up, I see the connection. Now I need to find the killer.