Bound by Blood

Detective Lancing waltzed into the precinct, hands buried in his coat pockets. His confident stride turned heads as he navigated toward the interrogation room, the key to unraveling the recent town murders awaiting him. He walked past the uniformed officer standing guard outside the door, giving him a slight nod of acknowledgement as he flashed his badge.

He walked inside, Lancing's piercing gaze met haunted eyes. The young man, marked by life's hardships, wore an orange jumpsuit that clashed with his pale complexion. Lancing, removing his fedora, placed it on the table as he sat across from the chained suspect. Leaning back, he addressed Eric Jovan, “It's nice to finally put the name to a face.”

Eric chuckled, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “Didn’t know I was such a popular guy.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Lancing leaned in, resting his arm on the table. “13 murders under your belt at 21, that’s impressive.”

“Well, I think I just got lucky. Ain’t that good compared to others, though. If I was that good, I wouldn’t have been caught.”

“That’s fair. But not many have such an infamous nickname. The Shoestring Killer, that’s something, right?”

Eric snorted, “Yeah, but they couldn’t come up with something cooler.”

Lancing shrugged. “You chose the murder weapon, the media ran with it.”

“Why are you here anyway? Doubt it’s just to make small talk.”

“You’re right about that.” Lancing pulled out a manila folder. “You’ve got yourself a copycat.”

He opened the folder, sliding it to Eric, who whistled as he looked through the gory photos of the three recent murders. He pointed to one of the photos and smirked, “That’s one hell of a compliment.”

“I thought it might cheer you up after three years behind bars,” Lancing smiled, attempting to befriend the criminal.

“Hell yeah! It’s like I’m a legend or something,” Eric beamed before frowning. “But what’s this got to do with me? I'm serving my time. I can’t be involved in any of this.”

“I don’t think you have a role besides inspiration, but if they admire your work this much, maybe they’ve contacted you somehow. Any strange mail or visitors in the last couple of months?”

“Nah, just fan letters from the usual horny chicks that think I’m dope. Hell, a few guys too, but nothing that stood out as a copycat.”

Lancing leaned against the table, clasping his fingers together. “Think hard, Eric. Help us stop this guy. Do you want him to surpass your record?”

Eric huffed as he fell back in his seat. “I don’t know squat about this. I’m not a cop, so how could I spot some psychopath that wants to be like me.”

“Fine, but if you notice anything out of the ordinary, contact me. Got it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Not like I benefit from this anyway.”

An officer entered, whispering briefly to Lancing. He sighed, “Already… But he just struck two days ago. That doesn’t make sense.”

“My copycat, huh?” Eric watched the cops talk. “Guess he’s really gunning to beat my record.”

Lancing stood, narrowing his eyes. “We’ll talk again soon. If you find anything useful, let me know.”

***

Detective Lancing kneeled next to the coroner, observing the body before transportation to the morgue. A neon pink shoestring encircled her delicate neck, leaving bruised, blue, and purple skin. He sighed, frustrated by the elusive copycat.

“Awful, isn’t it?” Detective Reyes approached from behind.

“Awful isn’t the word.” Lancing stood, facing his colleague. “Any new evidence?”

Reyes nodded, “Actually, yes. But I’m skeptical. Why leave something for us now?”

“You’re saying they wanted us to find a clue?”

“Exactly. But why?”

“Either it’s a trap, or they have something else planned.” Lancing crossed his arms in thought. “What did you find?”

“Come.” Reyes led Lancing to a table with a clear plastic evidence bag. She handed it over, revealing a note with a perfect bloody fingerprint.

Lancing hummed in recognition, reading it aloud. “Dear Boy, don’t forget who started it all. Who the real original is. You’d be nothing without me, and you could have been so much better if you didn’t let that big head get in your way. Signed, The Shoestring Killer I”

“They're claiming to be the original Shoestring Killer…” Lancing pieced it together. “Damn it! That kid knows. He knew.”

“What do you mean?” Reyes tilted her head.

“Stand by. I have someone I need to chat with.” Lancing raced out, pulling out his cellphone. He dialed the precinct and said, “Get Eric Jovan back in the interrogation room. I’ll be there in twenty.”

***

Your narrative has taken an intense turn, delving into Eric's connection with the Shoestring Killer and the complex dynamics between them. The revelation about Eric's father adds depth to the plot. Here's a suggestion for slight refinement to enhance the emotional impact:

Lancing was done being Mr. Nice Guy. He entered the interrogation room, storming over to the skinny prisoner, who had a surprise look on his face. Yanking him off the chair, Lancing slammed Eric into the concrete wall, the metal chair crashing to the floor. Eric chuckled nervously, raising his cuffed hands to create some distance.

“Hey, whoa!” Eric stuttered. “This is police brutality.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to see the police brutality I could inflict on you.” Lancing said sternly, holding Eric against the wall. “Cut the crap, and tell me about the real Shoestring Killer.”

“I am him,” Eric nervously claimed, avoiding eye contact.

Lancing shoved him back. “Wrong answer, Eric. Who is he to you?”

“My dad. He’s my father.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. I’m telling the truth, I swear.”

Lancing let him go, backing up. “So, he’s the one who’s been doing this all along?”

“As far as I know, he’s been doing this as long as I can remember,” Eric nodded, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head.

“All your kills, were they even yours?”

Eric glanced down, a disheartening look on his face. “Nah, they weren’t all mine. I only got through two before officers broke down my door.”

“Why’d you take the fall? Get a plea deal? Anything to avoid life behind bars?”

“He’s my father. I wasn’t going to rat out my own flesh and blood,” he sneered. “I know that man is no saint, but he raised me. My mom ran out on us when I was 5 months old, and he could have done anything to me. Abandon me. Kill me. But he took care of me.”

“He raised you to be a killer. To carry on his sick legacy.” Lancing shook his head.

“Maybe. He was tough on me, but he was a good dad, through and through.”

“When did you find out?”

“Ten. He killed my babysitter after she almost burnt down the house. I didn’t know what to feel or do as I watched him strangle her. Part of me… enjoyed it.”

“Where is your father now?”

“I don’t know.”

Lancing got closer. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know!” Eric squeaked. “He was no stranger to hopping from one place to another.”

“Give us a name, at least.”

“Patrick Calvin Jovan.”

“Anything else?”

“He’d rather die than be dragged to prison. He’ll either die fighting, or he’s already dead.” Eric looked straight into Lancing’s eyes.

***

After half the precinct scanned databases, they found Patrick Jovan's recent address. Units and unmarked cars swarmed his home within minutes. Outside, they waited, watching for movement. An officer on the loudspeaker repeatedly called for Patrick to surrender peacefully. After thirty minutes of silence, a group of officers, including Detective Lancing, approached the front door.

Announcing their presence, they entered forcefully, clearing each room. In Patrick's bedroom, they found him lying in a pool of blood. He had taken his own life, possibly right after his last murder.

As officers secured the crime scene, Lancing examined old photos on an antique dresser. Images of Patrick and a young Eric, engaged in normal father-son activities, covered the surface. Despite the apparent normalcy, Lancing felt a deep unease about the situation. He walked over to Detective Reyes.

“Can you handle the rest of this? I'll start my paperwork tomorrow.”

Reyes nodded. “I can handle it, no problem. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, there's something I need to do.”

“I'll see you tomorrow then.”

***

Lancing sat in his car, absentmindedly fiddling with a cheap action figure he picked up at the only late-night store. Exiting the car, he made his way to the front door, unlocking it with his house keys. The moment he stepped inside, a small blur dashed toward him, jumping into his arms. Grateful for his quick reflexes, he scooped up his son.

“Did you catch the bad guys, Dad?” His son asked with big brown eyes.

“I sure did, son.” Lancing handed him the toy he had bought. “And I got this for you too.”

“Wow! A superhero, just like you.”

“Yeah…”

“I wanna be just like you when I grow up.” His son grinned happily.

Lancing pulled his son into a tight hug and whispered, “You can be whatever you want to be, champ.”