Sara Wolfe

*everything in this story is fictional, you should not believe what is said or done by the characters, or mentioned in the narration.



The lights flashed as the TV camera turned toward the most alluring house in Chicago . The wealthiest people in the city lived in the house; right then it was, and always will be, the object of interest. The reporter spotted one of the detectives who were now working the case. She walked up to him in her stilettos and dazzling suit, while still managing to look professional. She flashed him one of her brilliant smiles and initiated to ask him questions. “Mr. Ryan Morgan, how are you doing?”

“What are you doing, Ms. Dahlia? Don’t start to ask questions, because I don’t know any more than you do. Now, if you please, let me get back to my work.” Morgan strolled over to the caution tape and proceeded to the house. The senior detective walked through the door and was met by one of the other agents, John Kane. “So, Kane, what do we have?”

“Homicide. Two victims, husband and wife, it looks like. The killer left the murder weapon, a kitchen knife that came out of the victims’ own set of stake knives.”

“Is there anybody else who lives in the house? A mother, a brother, a child?”

“There are signs of the child, a girl, but she isn’t here. We were wondering if she was kidnapped aft-”

“Kane, Morgan, you have got to come see this. You wouldn’t believe what we just found.” The two agents followed the hurried footsteps of the officer. He led them around the two bodies to an open kitchen cupboard under the sink. “She’s in there.” The officer pointed to the cupboard.

“She?” Morgan questioned.

“Yeah, she.” The officer replied. Nothing in the world could have prepared the two agents for what they were about to see. They knelt down and peered into the cupboard. Morgan’s heart skipped as he caught sight of a little girl, about three or four years old. She was wedged in behind the pipes and was crying.

Morgan reached out a hand and she shrunk back in fear. “It’s OK. We’re the good guys; we won’t hurt you, honey. Why don’t you come out and we will get you looked at, OK?” Somehow, she suddenly jumped out and wrapped her arms tightly around Morgan’s neck and started sobbing. He shot a quizzical look at Kane, who shrugged, and picked her up, out of the cupboard. “It’s OK. What’s your name, sweetie?”

She didn’t answer right away. It took her awhile to calm down, and her sobs turned to periodic hiccups. A few seconds later she wiped her eyes and said, “M-my name,” hiccup, “Is Sara W-Wolfe.” She finished after some interruptions and stuttering. Sara’s eyes slid from Morgan’s gorgeous blue eyes onto the floor where her parents lay, dead. The agent saw her eyes widen as her gaze fell on the two dead bodies. Her breath caught in her throat, and then she shut her eyes tight and buried her head in Morgan’s shoulder. “Please, please, please get me out of here,” Sara said and shook her head.

Morgan was surprised at how dictated her words were, after just seeing her dead parents on the kitchen floor. “Please,” she uttered one more time and Morgan carried her out of the house.

As he walked out, he saw Amber Jacobson, one of the others working the case. She shot him a puzzled look and he answered, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me what later?” Sara asked, obviously hearing him. She leaned back and looked into his eyes. Her own were a brilliant sea foam green with some specks of sky blue. Morgan noticed that her expression seemed to be animated and intelligent when she didn’t have tears streaming out of them.

“Not you, Sara. I meant A.J. She’s also here to help.”

Sara peered over her shoulder at the pretty blonde haired, blue eyed woman standing behind her. “Hey, I’ve seen you on TV! Are you going to find out who killed my parents?” she asked wriggling out of Morgan’s arms and onto the ground. “Oh, I almost forgot! How rude of me. My name is Sara Wolfe and I am very pleased to meet you.” A.J. stood there, stunned. She couldn’t believe that this little four-year-old could actually be courteous and had such good grammar at a time like this. “Hello! It is even ruder to not shake an offered hand.” Sara said, batting long eyelashes at the still stunned A.J.

The agent snapped out of it and shook the little girl’s hand. “Great! Now that we have been officially acquainted, we can get down to business.” Both of the agents looked even more confused than ever. They had no idea what she was talking about and Sara sensed it. “OK, I know what you are thinking. Shouldn’t I be crying or throwing a fit or something, but I’m not that way. For one, I am actually six-years-old, not four, as I must look. And second, I can help you with your investigation, I sort of know what this woman looks like and I remember what she was wearing. I-”

“Wait a moment! Are you saying that the killer is a woman?” Morgan asked, absolute shock on his face.

“If that was a man, so am I,” Sara said to clarify her statement.

Morgan smacked a hand to his forehead and said, “That is why we haven’t caught this guy yet. It’s a fucking woman!”

“HEY! There are little ones down here. Watch your mouth, Mister!” Sara scolded. A.J. laughed at the little girl’s remark to her companion’s profanity.

“OK, so we have a woman serial killer and a six-year-old who, I think, has a bigger vocabulary than I do. This is going to be an interesting investigation.” Morgan said, kneeling down to talk to Sara with a lower voice so as not to catch the attention of the reporters.





Twenty-six miles away another investigation was going on. More reporters, officers, agents, and neighbors filled yet another street to see what exactly was going on in the run down house, which was this part of town’s object of observation. From the looks of it, the house could have been somebody’s dream house that had been abandoned, but the neighbors knew that a young couple lived in the house. The house was white with blue shutters and a white fence, the average American dream house, but the way it looked now you would think that the homeless and stray animals had taken up residents there. Most of the shutters hung off their hinges and the roof looked like it would fall in at about any second. The doors had rotten boards drilled and hammered on, as if to keep out whoever went to the door; the windows had screens but now glass, the police men wondered if they even kept warm at night. The siding was the worst; it had brown splotches that looked like decay, green spots that looked like some type of fungus, and over half of the pieces were literally falling off, and some had already.

The cars told their own story. There were two extremely expensive cars in the over grown driveway. One was a 2007 Porsche and the other was a 2007 Ferrari. Nobody knew where the two cars came from and the police guessed that they might be stolen but when they checked the glove compartments for registrations, they found that the cars were in the names of Diana Wolfe and Andy Wolfe, the two victims. The cars were in the most perfect condition they could ever be, they looked brand new; but the neighbors clarified that they had been there for about six years.

The beginning of this investigation started much like the first. A different reported talked to a different agent. The reporter was Allen Jacobs. He was in a crisp, black suit with a crisp, white and blue silk tie. He strutted, as if he owned the world, up to Jamie Collins. “Miss Collins, would you mind giving the people at home a taste what is going on here?”

“Mr. Jacobs, what a pleasant surprise! Now, what are you doing here?” Collins said to Allen, crossing her arms.

“Well, I just wanted to see what was going on.” Allen said defensively.

“You can’t see anything, but I can and don’t expect me to tell you what is going on.” She replied with a smile. Some of the people around snickered at him as he walked back to the van with his camera guy following. Jamie Collins walked to the house, ducking under the tape and showing the officer standing watch her badge. She finished her short stroll to the house, by ending up in the kitchen where the victims lay, blood pooling out in all directions.

Collins met up with one of her coworkers to see what the situation was. “Well, McGee, what do we have?”

“Double homicide, husband and wife it looks like. No signs of a struggle, it was certainly a surprise. I mean, look at this place, who in their right mind would live in a house like this. And their cars, have you seen them? Personally I would get a decent living space before getting cars. Then again, they could be stolen, but I don’t remember anything about a stolen 2007 Porsche or a 2007 Ferrari. Then again, I couldn’t have seen anything in the first-”

“Thanks, McGee. I don’t need any of your opinions. What else can you tell me, without any comments on how they live, please?” Collins said, irritated with McGee’s attribute to say whatever he wanted. She still wonders why Morgan had hired him in the first place. Sure he was smart, and very talented out in the field, but what about shutting up every once in a while? And what about-

“Collins? Are you listening? I’ve been telling you the whole thing and you haven’t been listening. Wow, and I thought I was free-spirited. Who’da thunk, huh?” McGee smiled as Collins shook her head.

“Never mind me, McGee. Just tell me again, please.” She answered, rubbing her temples. Even though he seemed a little cocky, she still thought that-

“OK, so they were stabbed, each fifteen times, with one of their own steak knives; which is still here. It is in the same line of what the serial killer we have been following is doing, but more extreme. It seems like he wants to obliterate his victims instead of just killing them. We’re going to begin processing right now.” McGee replied in the shortest amount of time as possible, because he knew nothing irritated his companion more than his rambling.

“Great. So let’s get started.” Collins said, happy he didn’t add any smart remark. The processing took a matter of hours and by the end, both Collins and McGee were more tired than ever.



Morgan escorted Sara into the FBI station and to his office. He offered the little girl a seat and she took it. She sat up so straight that Morgan thought she had a ruler taped to her back. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on what they had come there to do. A.J came walking in and the two agents started whispering in hushed voices. Sara spotted a pencil in a cup and a piece of paper that didn’t look important at all. She suddenly started to doodle.

First came the hairline. Then the jaw bone, nose, lips and eyes. Sara finished with thin eyebrows and long wavy hair, stopping at about where her shoulders would be. As she added highlights and shadowing, A.J. and Morgan stopped talking and stared at her. After a few more minutes, Sara stopped to admire her work, the two agents peering over her shoulders. “Who’s that?” A.J. asked.

“That, that is the person who slaughtered my parents,” Sara said simply.

“Whaaat?” A.J. and Morgan said together, looking at each other.

“Yes. Although, I don’t think you’ll be able to find her. She’s the serial killer from before, right? And there has always been a three month intermission between each killing, right? So by now, she is probably going to lay low. Probably skip the country and everything. Something tells me this woman plans ahead of time. So, she probably already has a plane ticket out of here. Possibly, to a country that isn’t so obvious, like Laos , or Cambodia . Somewhere she can hide out, and be kept hidden.

“She also probably had a car waiting for her to take her to the airport, a suitcase in the car. Another car waiting at the airport she lands at to take her to where she is hiding out. There will most likely be a nice little house or cottage or something waiting for her near a beach or lake. Something untraceable.

“She’ll probably buy a wig and some other things to keep her real identity a secret. Now, I think this picture is her true appearance. I think when she wears a wig, she is confused about her real personality. So, she ditches all of her fake façade, and makes a kill in her true form. She feels free and herself. And, quite frankly, I think she is mentally inapt to act on her own accord.”

“So? What,” A.J. started, trying to get it straight, “She has an accomplice?”

“More of like she is the accomplice. Like I said, she can’t act alone. So, in other words, she has a boss. Someone who will tell her who to kill and when to do it. Someone who will pay for her to lay low. Someone with a lot of money. A most unlikely person, somebody you wouldn’t expect. A person with a lot of power in the political world, it would seem incredulous to suspect that certain person.”

“So, if this is true, what would be their motive? Why would they want to have somebody kill for them?” Morgan asked, sitting in his desk, trying to digest what this six (Wow! Morgan thought, a six year old giving me all of this information! What would the press say?) -year old was saying.

“Look at the people who have died at the hand of the killer?” Sara paused, letting the two CSI’s think. “People who could run and get in the way in the political world! People who would most likely win if they ran for mayor or something. And another thing: think of the number of people who have been murdered at a time. Two people: most likely man and wife. So what does that tell you? Maybe, the actual killer feels sorry for the family of the people they have killed, most of which are the wife of men who are at the very center of politics, so they kill the wife as well.”

“So, you’re telling me that the very brain behind this is someone in the political world? Someone who wants to be the only political unit in the city. You’re telling me that that is the motive?” Morgan questioned again, surprised that a six-year old had thought of this, and after her parents died.

“That is only the surface,” Sara replied, making the CSI’s jaws drop.

“And what do you mean ‘only the surface?’” A.J. asked, now sitting in the other chair opposite Morgan.

“It is also possible that the ‘brain’, as you put it, is mentally unhealthy, like the person doing the killing. Another option is that, seeing as how the killer is a woman, that the ‘brain’ is a man controlling a faithful wife, fiancé, girlfriend, whatever, somebody who will do anything for him, and most likely, his money. And then on the other hand, as if there weren’t enough, they are in it together; like that one CSI: Miami, with Sienna and what’s-his-face, where they were in all of the robberies together and everything. Something like that,” Sara finished, staring back and forth between the two CSI’s.

“Huh?” Morgan sat back in his chair to mull over what had all been said. He wondered if this was all true and if they could go off of it. Also, how, in the world, did this little six-year old come up with all of this in, like, two minutes? And how does she know about the political world? What about all of the ways the killer could look, or could be controlled, or even how they would choose who to kill? A.J. was thinking somewhere along the same line.

Sara stared at Morgan and A.J. Trying to figure out what they were thinking. Concentrating on how Morgan drummed his fingers on his desk, how A.J. chewed the end of her pencil, how both of their eyebrows seemed to nit together in deliberation, how they both stared off into space.