[b]Somewhere above Pennsylvania
12:14 PM[/b] 

The relatively tiny aircraft glided along the smooth nor’easters on the course for New York. They were roughly halfway there, only another 30 minutes or so to go, as Gerald poured himself a brandy over at the open bar. Thomas was sat in their alcove with the pictures of their case splayed over the little coffee table they had there. Thomas watched the imaginary scene unfold in front of him as he thought of every possible angle to the crime. A crime of passion? Probably, there was enough proof to show that this was amateurish, perhaps not even premeditated. All that considered, Thomas had a feeling this man was already a killer, already rushed headlong with a bloodlust. There were still several things Thomas couldn’t entirely work out: How is it, Thomas asked himself, that this person could, essentially, disembowel someone without getting his own DNA somewhere on the body or the crime scene? It was inconceivable, and most certainly unprecedented—well, not entirely. 

Gerald returned to his alcove with Thomas and took his seat. 

“Have you noticed the lack of contusions?” Thomas asked.

Gerald’s eyes flicked from over the rim of his snifter and checked the familiar photos. “Yeah, there’s only bruising around the obvious areas of trauma. Do you think that’s significant?” Gerald responded.

“I don’t know. Other than showing that they didn’t fight prior to him slicing her throat and cracking her spine, I’m not sure. Methodology? There’s nothing superfluous. It all serves a purpose to him. The blood sacrifice, the restructuring of her form, and, finally, the removal of her organs. One cannot be without the other, for him.” 

Josh listened to Thomas and Gerald, sometimes distracted by the case, when he was in-between ideas for this increasingly long email. It was hard not to pay attention to them, mostly because they were some of the only people talking. Josh hadn’t thought too much about the Butcher case in a while. They had a layover in the city before they could head upstate so he figured he had plenty of time. Besides, he’d spent most of the day before with the files and was only now getting a break from it, however brief. Josh only hoped that Mark was getting himself acquainted with the case. 

Thomas and Gerald started talking about the communication between the feds and the boys in blue. Gerald wanted to make sure they were able to have a perimeter around the hotel in order to search the place for clues. Thomas and Gerald both agreed that it was strange that the girl didn’t have any clothes or personal effects at all. They figured that the killer wouldn’t take her clothes without reason and decided to make that their first priority upon arrival. The pilot turned on the seatbelt sign and came in over the intercom, “Everyone please return to your seats, we are approaching for landing in five minutes.” 

Thomas buckled his seatbelt and looked over to Josh, who was staring off into space. “Mr. Rodriguez. Mr. Rodriguez, where are you going after we land?”

Josh shook himself back into reality and met Thomas’ gaze, “Upstate,” he responded with a dry humor as he tried his best not to give the mystery away too easily. 

“I suppose you won’t be getting on a plane in less than an hour?” Thomas responded smartly.

“You suppose correctly,” Josh admitted, strapping himself into the uncomfortable seatbelt. 

“Our scene is only 20 minutes from the airport.” Thomas said with a smile, looking from Josh across the way to Mark who’d set himself up in a portion near the front of the plane. 

[b]Brooklyn, New York
12:20 PM[/b]

Dennis finished reviewing his notes and stood from his desk, he placed the many folders he had stacked [i]on[/i] the dark wooden piece of furniture [i]inside[/i] of it, then stepped from atop the dais. Then he opened the top drawer of a finely adorned dresser, and retrieved a medium-sized wooden case from it. From his pocket Dennis produced a simple key and unlocked the tiny mechanism which kept the case shut. From the case Dennis drew a small .22 pistol, tucked it into the back of his pants, and then a flip-open knife, which he placed in his right pocket. 

The Doctor put his suit coat on and headed out of the heavy door to his office. He stopped in front of his receptionist, “Marcy, when Philip left earlier, did you notice anything?” Dennis asked with an analytical edge. 

“Well,” Marcy started, looking up from her desk, “he looked a little agitated. Maybe annoyed. It was hard to distinguish that from how he is every time, though.” Marcy said with a little shame in her last comment, she didn’t want to judge him, but Phil was grade A weird. And it was hard not to notice someone that weird. 

“Yes, I was afraid of that,” Dennis pretended surprise. In reality, he knew exactly how Philip felt, and he knew exactly how he got there. Dennis shook his head in disappointment and started to leave, he stopped though, and tapped his young receptionist’s desk. “I’m going out for lunch. I won’t be back until two, so I need you to do me a favor, and you must promise not to judge me” Dennis said with a smile. 

Marcy responded by smiling and nodding. Dennis continued, “I would like you to give Dr. Bishop a call, and invite him over to my place for dinner tonight. Make sure he knows how to get there.”

I don’t know why I would judge you for that, Dr. S.” Marcy said with a childish chuckle, writing her orders down on the huge calendar next to her.

He laughed a little himself, “well, some might consider my intentions…” the Butcher remembered the vibration of the solid metal hitting flesh and bone, crunching it and tearing it to bits, continued, “…unprofessional.”