I see bad times today... Who: Kevin (Open) Where: Warehouse district of NYC When: Mid-Morning What: Another day, another crime scene...
Well, he couldn't be more blunt than if he was hitting me with a bat," Kevin grunted as he looked at the walls, scrawled top to bottom with "I am Rumpelstiltskin" in permanent marker. The smell of the dried ink was almost enough to overpower the smell of blood. Almost. "It's got 'Fairy Tale Killer' written all over it." He peeked at the nearest uniform. "That was bad, wasn't it?"
"Somewhat, sir," the other responded softly.
"They can't all be gems," he muttered, then crossed to the body which was still being photographed.
It was the sound of the chainsaw that had led the "witness" here, and once he'd gotten the storage unit open, there was only one thing he could do: puke. With this done, he'd called the police, and here Kevin stood.
He studied the remains for only a moment, not seeing much besides the leftovers from a horror movie, so it would seem. The coroner would have to put this one back together to make sense of who he was since what was left was mutilated almost beyond recognition. The most Kevin could surmise was that the man was a vagrant, nothing more. He turned his attention to the rig that had been set up. It was workable, not the work of a genius so much as someone demented enough to think about a very unique suicide for more than a few seconds.
"So what do you think the cause of death was?" he said to the photographer and didn't receive even a chuckle. "Come on, now. That one was a little funny." He stepped back and examined the blood spatter. "Self-inflicted, like the others. So far as I can tell, he brought this down on himself. Dust for prints on the chainsaw just in case... if you can with all that blood, but I think I'm right." He looked down at the body again. "But unless this guy decided to spend all his booze money on a chainsaw and magic markers when a gun would've been a lot quicker and cheaper, I'd say he was pushed to do it."