Three Cigarettes and a Jane

Detective Rosa Kane flicked her Zippo, the small flame momentarily illuminating the harsh lines etched around her eyes. The acrid smell of burning tobacco mingled with the antiseptic stench of the morgue, a combination she’d grown disturbingly accustomed to. She inhaled deeply, the nicotine a temporary balm against the gnawing unease. Three Jane Does in as many weeks. Three young women, all with the same vacant stare and chilling lack of answers. She stared down at the latest victim, her face pale and still under the harsh fluorescent lights. This one was younger, barely out of her teens. Long, dark hair fanned out on the sterile metal table, framing a face that should have been vibrant with life. Now, it was just another puzzle piece in a grim, unfolding tableau. Kane stubbed out the cigarette on the floor and muttered, "Damn it."