Jasjit Singh is a 25 year old currently living in the rainy state of Oregon. During the day, Jasjit works in the EDA (Electronic Design Automation) field, and at night, he writes short stories.
He has a bachelors degree in Mechanical Engineering. He likes science fiction, programming, playing tennis, and of course writing. He is an avid fan of mystery, suspense and science fiction (Conan Doyle, and HG Wells are favorites, among others).
Jasjit Singh says his personal philosophy is; "You can change the world, one word at a time."
JasJit Singh says, "I welcome feedback. Let me know what you thought of my story. You can reach me at jasjit@teleport.com
To Catch A Killer ©Jasjit Singh, March 1999
Frederick was eager to try out his new camcorder. It lay among the opened package wrappings on his kitchen table. He had just purchased it a few hours ago, and had been impatiently reading through the Users Manual, configuring the machine as instructed. Now, he thought it was finally ready to begin recording. With a whoop and a skip he jumped up from his chair, opened his refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of beer.
He walked over to his apartment window and peered out at the clear night sky, full of brightly shining stars. "What a clear sky," he thought, "a perfect night for making a movie." He drained his beer, picked up his camcorder, and headed outside.
It was, as usual, a busy night on the main street. Traffic was always bustling, at all hours, in downtown. He turned up his coat collar, put his hands in his pockets, and looked down at the pavement. He was looking for a good vantage point. Here, there were too many people. There was also too much noise, children screaming, taxi and car horns blaring, angry drivers cursing, and the general drone of a shopping district.
"No," he thought, "this will never do."
He turned off into one of the many side-streets. Almost immediately, he found himself in an other world. The noises of traffic and weary late-night shoppers was left behind him and faded away. Instead, he was faced with a dark alley, with no lighting. Overfilled garbage cans lined the street on both sides, while the faded red brick of the surrounding buildings towered up to the sky. Pools of stagnant water stood not far from the garbage cans, where flies and other insects made their home. A repugnant stench crawled up to Fredericks nostrils and attacked him. He wrinkled his nose, and then put his arm up in front of it to block the smell.
He walked forward. His eyes took a while to adjust to the dim surroundings. Soon, he reached a wire fence that was blocking his way. He stood behind the fence, peering into the darkness.
Frederick was just turning around to head back to the main street when he heard a noise. It sounded like someone kicking a garbage can. And it came from the other side of the fence. Quickly, he swung around and climbed the fence. Noiselessly and skillfully, he was over the top and then down and on the other side. He crept along silently, until he located the origin of the sound. Now he could hear voices. Raised voices. It sounded like they were arguing. The voices were coming from a dark corner of the alley.
Frederick crept closer. He strained his eyes to see, but it was too dark. But he was close enough to hear the voices now. One was a man's voice, rough and angry and loud. The other was a woman's voice, shrill and protesting. But he could barely make out the words. "How dare you!" the woman was yelling. "After all I did for you! I gave you all the money I made. And now you're telling me this!?" "You messed up! You shouldn't have told Janey about me. Why'd you tell Janey about me?
Why'd you go and do such a stupid thing?" he roared back.
Frederick found a strategic location behind some neatly arranged garbage cans, and hid himself behind them.
"I told you from the start, you don't tell anyone about me, you don't tell them who I am, what I look like, when we meet, nothing!" he was shouting at her. Frederick winced.
Suddenly there was a strange noise, like she yelped. Frederick strained to hear.
"Let me go, let me go!" the woman screamed.
Frederick stuck his head up above the tops of the garbage cans. He pulled his camcorder from his inside coat pocket, and aimed the lens in the direction of the man and the woman. It was a spectacular machine. In low-light conditions, it used the ambient surrounding light to enhance the picture, so that Frederick could actually see the two people he aimed the camcorder...and clearly. He could even make out their features. He could see the waitress uniform that she wore, the name tag that read "Maria" on her uniform. He could see the ugly scar that ran down the man's face. The black leather jacket that he wore. And the way he towered over her small body.
But Frederick noticed none of these things. Because his attention was distracted by what the man was doing to her. He had grabbed her by the shoulders, and was shaking her violently. She was screaming and pounding his chest with her fists, to no avail. Finally, he threw her back against the wall, and advanced upon her. His large hands closed around her throat, and he began to strangle her. Frederick gasped. He was struck with fear. Paralyzed. He wanted to help her. He wanted to run out and save her. But his legs refused to move. Instead he was glued to his hiding place, palms clammy with sweat, looking through the camcorder.
The man lifted the woman up into the air, and thrust her violently against the wall, squeezing the life out of her. She began kicking with her legs, her hands clawing at his, which were wrapped around her throat in an iron vice grip. She struggled and squirmed, but nothing loosed those killing hands. She began choking, and made strange gargling sounds. The man saw her eyeballs roll back. Encouraged, he doubled his efforts. Eventually, her feeble kicks subsided. Her body stopped convulsing. And she went limp in his hands, and her body sagged down, helpless, and lifeless.
He let go of her and she fell in a crumpled heap onto the ground. He snarled.
Frederick was shaking. His body was covered in sweat, and he felt chills running up and down his spine. He was shivering. He looked through the viewfinder, and saw the huge brute of a man looking down at some prostrate shape on the ground, his large hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Frederick knew that she was dead. Suddenly a feeling of nausea overtook him. He turned, but he was disoriented. He stumbled straight into the garbage cans, sending them crashing onto the street, causing a loud clamor.
The man swung around, alert, alarmed. Frederick cried out and began to run. His legs refused to carry him. They felt heavy, wooden. He stumbled onto the ground, and lifted himself up again, glancing back to see the silhouette of the man walking forward toward him.
Frederick grabbed his camcorder, which lay on the ground among the scattered trash that had fallen from the garbage cans. He tucked it under his arm and started for the wire fence.
He didn't get far.
A powerful hand grabbed his coat collar and jerked him back.
Frederick found himself facing the man with the ugly scar on his face. He was looking at Frederick in spite. "Gimme the tape," he snarled, under his breath.
"I - I, I can't," stammered Frederick.
The mans eyes narrowed. "Listen, I don't want to play any games with you. The tape."
He held his open hand in front of Fredericks face, waiting for Frederick to place the tape in it. Frederick shook his head.
"I can't give you any tape, because there isn't any tape," he managed to blurt out. He realized his voice was shaking. The man inclined his head. He looked at Frederick suspiciously.
"See, look, its a new model," said Frederick, displaying the camcorder.
The man tore the camcorder out of Fredericks hand. He dropped Frederick to the ground, and began inspecting the machine. "There are no moving parts," explained Frederick, standing up. "It's a new model. They just came out with it. Its all solid-state."
"Well, then I'll just be keeping this solid-state camera of yours," replied the man, sneering at him.
"No, you don't understand," said Frederick. "It's too late. Its already gone. It's out. When I was recording, it went out to the relay at my Internet Service Provider. The live video went out and was broadcast on the Web. And it was also archived on the disk for the backup on the ISP. The world has seen it."
With a shock the man realized the antenna that was attached to the camcorder. His face contorted in despair as he noticed the blinking message on the viewfinder screen :
"Broadcasting. . ."