23rd July 1954. 10:54 am.

"What do you mean you lost him!" Commander screamed
horrendously loud right into this scrawny looking
officers face. "You have to find a trace now!" He
said furiously as he slammed the victims file onto
his antique deep dark oak desk nearly hitting the
officer. You come closer to the desk in order to
take a look at the file. "Give him a break Joseph"
You say calmly with a raspy broken voice. These
cigarettes really do no good. "He's just a kid, barely
knows his way around". As you pick up the brown folder
into your hands and open it, a picture of the gory
crime scene greets your eyes. "Eww, nasty... James
McDowell, thirty four, no living relatives, lived by
himself on a farm twenty miles from the city. Poor
fella, no wife or..."
"Why do we even care about such cases, he's a second
class, would've just written suicide into the file
if not those goddamn media hyenas." Responded captain
to your excruciatingly boring monologue. "Now all
the newspapers will be writing about a would-be
serial killer, and incompetence of...". You halt his
rant and respond condescendingly. "Cut it. This city
does not give a damn about peoples lives. You don't
have to remind Joseph. As to you officer, keep it up,
good job kid" As you say this you close the file and
put it back onto the desk. Gotta get going, the case
won't solve itself. You exit captains office and put
your trusty ecru fedora and similarily colored knee
length trench coat. This is not going to be a happy
day. The fact that it is nothing extraordinary does
not make it better. You get into your car and drive
to investigate his life. Who knows, maybe someone
cared about James McDowell...