Chapter 18: The Miserable Duo

The world teems with countless individuals, each unique. Just as no two leaves are identical, even fewer people share the same traits.

For Victor Black, this meant tailoring his methods to each target. Some proved easier than others.

Take John Wilson. His wealth, status, and connections painted him as formidable. Yet his estranged wife made him a straightforward, almost pleasant hunt.

Then there was David Smith—a dim-witted, cowardly gangster. A simple ruse sufficed to bend him to Victor's will.

But the third target, a woman, posed a far thornier challenge. Eliminating her without leaving traces demanded meticulous planning. And for that, Victor needed one thing: **money**.

*"Where do I get it?"*

Slumped on his sofa, Victor brooded. His childhood wealth had vanished long ago, stolen alongside his family's lives. Since then, he'd relied on his mentor for shelter, education, even the car and safehouses. Now, as a teacher, his meager salary barely covered expenses. His savings? A paltry £20,000—nowhere near enough.

The infamous "Ghost Butcher" was stumped by poverty.

After hours of deliberation, only one option remained: Margaret. But with Scotland Yard surveilling her day and night, extracting funds would be perilous.

*"Seems she's the only way,"* Victor muttered, shaking his head. The irony wasn't lost on him.

---

**London, June**

The sweltering heat clung to the city. Inside a black van parked near St. Mary's Primary School, two detectives endured their own purgatory.

Mark Carter took a drag of his cigarette, the air thick with smoke and the stench of fast-food containers. "When does this end?"

Neil Baker glanced at the school gates. "When we lock that woman up. Till then, we're living in this tin can."

For two weeks, they'd monitored Margaret—cold pizza, stale coffee, and sleepless shifts. Colleagues joked they were the "Miserable Duo," a title they'd earned.

"My wife thinks I'm having an affair," Neil grumbled. "Says I reek of grease."

"Lucky you. My girlfriend nearly called the cops—thought I was running drugs," Mark shot back.

Suddenly, Neil stiffened. "Movement!"

At the school gates, a deliveryman handed Margaret a package. She signed, tore it open, and tossed the wrapper into a trash bin. Her hands trembled slightly as she inspected the children's books inside. Minutes later, her son dashed out, and the pair drove off.

The detectives lunged for the discarded packaging. Mark dialed the courier. "Scotland Yard, ID 2587. Who sent this?"

A bored voice replied, "Customer privacy's protected. Unless you've got a warrant—"

"This is a **murder investigation**," Mark snapped.

A minute later, he hung up. "Sender's blank. Package came from East District Post Office—a surveillance blind spot."

Neil sighed. "Report it. And take the heat when the boss chews us out."

---

**Scotland Yard Conference Room**

Thomas Wilson reentered as James Morrison dissected the case. "The Ghost's motives: random kills, revenge, or vigilante justice."

"Random's off the table," Goodman countered. "His targets are adult men, not vulnerable groups. No trophies taken—just taunting calls. This isn't a psychopath."

Sebastian leaned forward. "So? Revenge or vigilantism?"

Thomas spoke up. "John Wilson and David Smith weren't saints, but their records show no extreme crimes. If the Ghost's a vigilante, why them?"

Alan adjusted his glasses. "If it's revenge, there must be a link between the victims. But my investigation found **zero** connection—direct or indirect."

Goodman shook his head. "It's revenge. A vigilante would tie the method to the crime. Wilson's greed? Smith's vices? The kills don't match. Only revenge fits."

Jack Wilson shrugged. "Both theories hold. We're stuck."

James massaged his temples. "Let's adjourn." He turned to Thomas. "Any updates?"

"Margaret received a package. Mark and Neil are chasing leads—probably nothing."

Sebastian's eyes sharpened. "Details?"

As Thomas recounted the delivery, Alan's fingers flew across his keyboard. Within minutes, he smirked. "Send me the tracking number. Let's see what the Ghost left us."