The Ace of Spades Murders-1st Part

Chapter 1: The Body in the Alley

The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and suffocating, swallowing the neon glow of Blackwood City’s streets. Detective James Callahan hated nights like this—the kind where the air clung to his skin like a second layer, where every shadow seemed to shift just beyond his vision.

His phone had buzzed at 3:17 AM. A body. An alley. No details, just urgency.

James tightened the belt of his trench coat, the leather creaking in protest. His breath came out in short, visible puffs as he stepped out of his car, the flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars painting the brick walls in eerie hues.

Another night. Another corpse.

The alley behind the old Grand Majestic Theatre was narrow, the kind of place where the city’s glamour faded into something darker. The stench of damp concrete and rotting garbage filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Officer Ruiz stood at the mouth of the alley, his face pale under the streetlight. "Detective," he nodded, stepping aside. "You’re gonna want to see this."

James moved forward, his shoes crunching over broken glass. The victim lay sprawled near a dumpster, her limbs arranged almost delicately, as if she’d been placed there rather than dropped.

A woman. Early forties. Expensive clothes—a tailored navy dress, now rumpled and stained. Her face was untouched, porcelain skin still flawless, but her neck…

A silk scarf, deep crimson, was wound tightly around her throat, the fabric biting into her flesh.

Strangled with her own scarf.

James crouched beside the body, gloved hands hovering over her wrist. No defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle.

She knew her killer.

"Who is she?" James asked, his voice low.

Detective Sarah Reyes, his partner, stepped into the light, flipping open her notepad. "Eleanor Voss. Socialite. Philanthropist. Wife of Richard Voss—you know, the shipping magnate?"

James exhaled through his nose. Rich people. Always messy.

Sarah continued, "She was last seen at a charity gala at the Montclair Hotel. Left alone around 1 AM. No witnesses after that."

James frowned. "No security cameras in this alley?"

"None that work," Ruiz muttered.

Of course not.

James reached into Eleanor’s coat pocket—something crinkled under his fingers. He pulled it out.

A playing card.

The Ace of Spades.

His blood ran cold.

Sarah’s brow furrowed. "A card? What’s that supposed to mean?"

James didn’t answer immediately. He’d heard stories. Old cop tales whispered in precinct break rooms.

The Card Killer.

Twenty years ago, a murderer had left playing cards on his victims. Five bodies. Never caught.

But that was decades ago. A ghost story.

"Bag it," James said finally, handing the card to the forensic tech.

As he stood, a movement at the edge of the crime scene caught his eye. A figure lingered just beyond the police tape—an old man in a tattered overcoat, his face half-hidden under a newsboy cap.

Their eyes met.

The man’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"She’s the first," he rasped. "But not the last."

Then he melted back into the fog.

By dawn, James and Sarah were sitting across from Richard Voss in his penthouse, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The man was composed, too composed, his hands steady as he sipped his whiskey.

"You’re telling me you didn’t notice your wife was missing until the police called?" Sarah asked, skepticism sharp in her tone.

Richard’s jaw tightened. "We have separate bedrooms. I assumed she’d come home late and didn’t want to disturb me."

James leaned forward. "And where were you between 1 AM and 3 AM?"

"Here. Asleep."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

Richard’s eyes darkened. "No. But if you’re implying—"

"We’re not implying anything," James cut in smoothly. "Just covering bases."

A tense silence stretched between them. Then Richard set his glass down with a sharp clink.

"Find who did this, Detective. Or I will."

Back at the morgue, the coroner, Dr. Eli Greene, peeled back the sheet covering Eleanor’s body.

"No sexual assault. No drugs in her system. Cause of death is asphyxiation—manual strangulation, then the scarf was added post-mortem."

James frowned. "So the killer wanted us to see the scarf."

Eli nodded. "There’s more." He lifted Eleanor’s locket, prying it open with a gloved hand. Inside, folded neatly behind a tiny photograph, was a slip of paper.

James unfolded it.

Five words, written in precise, looping script:

"Five will fall before the truth is told."

That night, James sat at his desk, the case file spread before him. The Ace of Spades. The locket’s message. The old man’s warning.

Sarah dropped into the chair across from him, tossing a folder onto the table. "Eleanor’s financials. Large withdrawals over the past month—all cash. No explanation."

James rubbed his temples. "Blackmail?"

"Or paying for silence."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Officer Ruiz stepped in, his expression grim.

"Another body just came in. Male. Drowned in his bathtub."

James stood. "Who is it?"

"Marcus Doyle. A reporter."

Ruiz hesitated, then added, "They found a playing card on his desk."

James’s stomach dropped.

"King of Hearts."

To be continue........