The Murder Code

The first body was found on a Tuesday, propped against the city library's marble lion, a black chess knight clutched in his hand.

Detective Eliza Quinn crouched beside the corpse. No wallet, no ID. Just a perfectly folded note tucked in the man’s coat pocket:

1A 3C 4F 2B

Black to perform. Discover the truth.

Eliza handed the note to her partner, Detective Malik.

“Some kind of code?” he asked.

“Chess notation,” she muttered. “But this isn’t just a move. It’s a puzzle.”

By Wednesday, the second victim had been found at the botanical garden, this time with a white bishop in his pocket and another note:

5E 2A 6C 3F

The game goes on.

The city was holding its breath. Two bodies in two days, both posed like mannequins, both with cryptic chess clues. Eliza couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t random. A message was sent. a problem. Back at HQ, she spread the notes on the boardroom table, side by side with a chessboard. She ran simulations of the positions.

She murmured, "What if it’s not just about moves?" “What if it’s locations?”

Malik hunched over. “Like a map?”

Eliza nodded slowly. “Coordinates, maybe. What if these are addresses instead of moves in a game? Thursday, 2 a.m.

Eliza sat in her apartment surrounded by coffee cups and chess books. She finally cracked it: the codes corresponded to positions on a grid overlaying the city map. A twisted chessboard of real locations. The first one took you to the library. The second, the garden. The third—she traced her finger—landed at an abandoned warehouse near the river.

She called Malik.

“Meet me in South Point. Include backup. I think the third body will soon be found. They found her beneath a broken skylight, lying in a perfect square of moonlight. A white queen placed carefully beside her head.

The third note was typed like the others:

Checkmate comes in four.

Next move: 7D.

He waits beneath the ticking.

Malik read it aloud, his face pale. “Ticking?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Clocktower.”

They arrived at the old Sinclair Clocktower just before dawn. Inside, gears turned with the steady grind of time. And beneath the massive pendulum, a man sat cross-legged, waiting.

A final chess piece—a black king—rested on the floor in front of him.

“You’re early,” the man said, smiling like he’d been expecting them.

Eliza drew her weapon. "Hands in a visible location for me." He complied.

“My name is Julian Wren,” he said. “I assume you’ve enjoyed the game.”

“No one enjoyed it,” Malik snapped.

Julian nodded. “Then you missed the point.”

They read him his rights before cuffing him. As he was led away, Julian called over his shoulder, “The code was never just about murder. It was about why.”

Eliza stared at the board in the evidence room on Friday morning. Four bodies. Four notes. A game of chess played with lives. But Julian Wren wasn’t a killer for pleasure—he was making a statement. She pulled his file: former cryptanalyst, lost his wife in a botched police raid two years ago. Charges were never brought. She glanced at the initials of the victims. All were involved in internal investigations. All had signed off on the raid.

One final note had been recovered from Julian’s coat pocket at the station. It said:

Justice is not a linear process. Sometimes, it must be played like a game.

Malik intervened. “DA’s filing charges. He doesn't deny any of it. “He wanted to be caught,” Eliza said. “He left a trail meant to be followed.”

Malik nodded. “So, is it over?”

Eliza didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted to the board one last time. Black king under control. White queen poised.

She replied softly, "No." "Checkmate was never the focus of the game." It was about who was watching.”

She turned off the light.