Arrogant Poet

by Lee Nizan

Actuary of the Future, October 2023

The following story is shortened from the original entry into the Society of Actuaries’ Speculative Spectacular Fiction Contest. View the full-length version of the story submitted for the contest.

Detective Bert Kowalski slumped forward at his desk. He took a sip from his coffee mug and pretended to shuffle through an old case file, careful not to make eye contact with anyone walking by. It was early Monday morning, and he wanted nothing more than a few minutes of peace and quiet to shake the cobwebs from his mind. He glanced over at the largest stack of papers on his desk and became irritated at the initials “AP” scribbled in block letters on the top folder. Without warning, a deep, commanding voice broke the silence behind him.

“Young buck, how was the weekend?” boomed his partner, Detective Bill Callahan. He was large in stature, with silver hair and an imposing presence that made evident his many years on the job. Kowalski sighed to himself. He took another swig of his coffee and spun around in his chair.

But before he could respond, Callahan’s phone rang. He put the phone up to his ear, never saying a word. Staring ahead, he listened intently for a minute, then slammed the receiver down with force.

“Grab your jacket, let’s go,” he growled to his partner.

Kowalski stood up slowly and muttered, “Please tell me it isn’t the AP again.”

Callahan shrugged. “Grab your Interscamper.”

Kowalski compared destination coordinates with Callahan and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and held down the flashing green button. Typically, he was able to teleport with no trouble at all, but this morning was not one of those trips. The pressure on his head and chest pushed down like a ride on a lightning fast roller coaster. In a flash, he felt the solid ground of his destination and immediately dropped to a knee. The unique smell of sulfur and burnt rubber from the Interscamper teleport hung heavy in the air. He looked up to find Callahan staring down at him stoically, with an almost imperceptible glimmer of a smirk on his lips.

“You haven’t even had your breakfast yet, young gun, and you’re gonna lose your lunch already?” Callahan let out a booming laugh and walked away briskly. “Keep up.”

Kowalski did feel nauseous, but he quickly jumped to his feet. He jogged to catch up to his partner, exasperated at where his gut told him this might be headed. “It’s the Poet again, isn’t it?” cried Kowalski.

Callahan accelerated as he approached a filthy alleyway on his left. He purposely didn’t acknowledge his partner’s question, which only further annoyed Kowalski.

As the detectives passed through the police barricade deeper into the alley, the disgusting smell of garbage and grime filled the air. There was an overflowing dumpster about 20 meters ahead on their right, and at its base was a young man, bloody from multiple stab wounds. Kowalski approached, careful to avoid the broken beer bottles and unknown liquids strewn about the alley. He touched his glasses to connect back to the station.

“Ava, please confirm connection,” he quietly murmured as he paused to look at the victim. His head was leaning against the filthy dumpster, and his body had shards of glass protruding from the stab wounds. The vile stench churned his stomach, and he took a step back to collect himself.

“You okay there?” asked Callahan, who hadn’t bothered to look up from his notepad as he scribbled away.

Kowalski composed himself and began to scan the crime scene with his Sylix glasses. As he logged the evidence virtually, he mentally noted that there was no sheet of paper on the victim’s body. “Hey Callahan, no poem! Looks to me like a bar fight that ended here. We might have this one solved by dinner.”

Callahan grunted in Kowalski’s general direction, clearly not buying the overly simplistic explanation. Kowalski felt a vibration on his Sylix and heard Ava’s voice.

“Hey there Bert. I’m receiving your data now.”

Kowalski sent his commands to the Sylix and continued to scan the scene. “Ava, this looks like a pretty simple one. Brutal for sure, but this doesn’t look like the other AP crime scenes to me. This one is too messy, and no pointless poetry anywhere to be found.”

Ava replied, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Bert. From my preliminary calculations, there’s a high probability that it’s a match to the Arrogant…”

Kowalski cut her off harshly, “Well, you’re not here at the crime scene. I respect what you do, but not every murder has to be the work of that lunatic.”

Ava took a long pause and muttered, “Sorry Bert, but your scans found something near the victim’s right hand. In the neck of the broken beer bottle.”

Kowalski stood frozen as Callahan slowly approached the victim. He carefully poked a blood-soaked sheet of paper out of the bottleneck. Kowalski’s stomach turned, and his demeanor soured. Callahan began to read:

Sixty-two degrees
Everything in bloom
Silhouette of trees
Light fills up this room

Drowning in warm light
Cascades through my mind
Worries burning trite
Floating yet entwined

Bursting with this bliss
Now my thoughts float free
Tranquil reminisce
Pouring over me

Callahan finished reading the poem and glanced at Kowalski, who was frantically shaking his head.

“You have no idea how much I want to catch this madman,” he grunted. “He’s so smug. What the hell does that even mean? Drowning in warm light? Carefree feelings pouring over him? You know the media is going to eat this up. I don’t get how anyone finds this lunatic remotely interesting. And why do we even release this garbage to the media?”

Ava chimed in through the Sylix saying, “You guys know that releasing this poem gives us the best chance of catching him, right? Based on historical probabilities, we increase our odds of finding the killer as quickly as possible if we make his work public and hope someone will recognize the verbiage. The Arrogant Po…”

Kowalski cut her off, saying, “Yeah, I remember what you actuaries said in the last staff meeting. If we don’t release it, he’ll leak it himself because he’s a narcissist and wants attention. Well, I know you have a certification from your little organization, but I have a degree from The Real World University. Back in Callahan’s day, actuaries stayed behind the desk calculating insurance premiums where they belong.”

Ava quietly muttered, “Bert, that hurts. You really don’t seem like yourself today. I have an FSA as a Crime Scene Actuarial Analyst, and I’ve helped you solve numerous cases over the years just like this one…”

But Kowalski had stopped listening. He was walking toward the crowd of curious onlookers and tapped his glasses to begin a new scan. He had spotted a suspicious middle-aged man in a plain, black baseball hat in the crowd of bystanders, and his instincts told him to take a closer look. As he approached the crowd, the man abruptly spun away.

“POLICE!!!!” shouted Kowalski as he dashed toward the crowd. He stumbled over the police tape and fought his way through. Losing sight of his target in the chaos, he sprinted out of the alleyway toward the main road. Unsure of which direction to turn, he snapped his head left and took a few steps forward. Not seeing anything, he spun around and saw a flash of yellow light a hundred yards away. He slipped as he tried to sprint and fell forward. Regaining his footing, he raced ahead, jamming away at his Interscamper all the while. He desperately hoped to catch the tail of the teleport to obtain the suspect’s coordinates, but as he reached the vicinity of the flash of light, all that remained was the awful smell of sulfur and burnt rubber.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” he screamed in anguish. He paused, staring ahead in disbelief, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to defend himself but recoiled from his partner’s imposing voice.

“HEY, THAT’S ENOUGH,” yelled Callahan, staring steely-eyed at the young detective. Kowalski dropped to a knee.

“I’m sorry, Callahan. I was so close. That was him, I know it.”

“Bert, you do NOT know that. You just chased a random bystander. He was scared. I’m not surprised he ran. You had no grounds to do that.”

Kowalski was fuming and began to snap back. His head ached, and he quickly reconsidered, saying, “Sorry Callahan. I just want to catch this guy so badly.”

“Let’s get back to the station and regroup,” said Callahan despondently. They grabbed their Interscampers and traveled back to the station.

Later in the day, the detectives met Ava in the Crime Scene Analysis lab for a debrief. Kowalski stared down at the floor while Ava waved her hands in the air and hovered various images from the crime scene in front of them. Callahan gently kicked Kowalski’s shoe.

Kowalski stuttered, “Ava…I’m…I’m sorry about my comments earlier. I know how hard you worked to get your RSA credentials. And your team has helped us solve so many past cases. I’m just sick and tired of this guy creeping around under our noses. Let’s work together to find this psycho.”

Ava chuckled and replied, “FSA. And it’s okay Bert. I know how hard it is for you to be at the scenes, doing the groundwork while I’m in the office crunching the data. But we’re a team, and I want to catch this guy just as much as you do.”

Callahan smiled and ruffled through his notebook. Ava and Bert caught each other’s eyes and smirked at the veteran detective’s antiquated methods, a vestige of a bygone era. Callahan slowly continued to flip through his notes and said, “So Ava, what’s the probability that this murder was the work of the AP and not a copycat?”

“This is still just a preliminary analysis, but looking solely at the poem in isolation, it’s a 90 to 95% match, based on the poems from the other six murders.” Kowalski felt his body tense but allowed Ava to continue. “Adding the other evidence that you collected from the crime scene, the probability increases to almost 98%. Note the angle of the stab wounds, for instance.”

Ava waived her hands and several of the images hovered toward them, expanding in size. “Note that the entry angles are indicative of a right-handed individual, and the depth of the wounds indicate a similar velocity as to murders 2, 3, and 4. Personally, I don’t see how this could possibly be the work of a copycat.”

“What about the poetry?” Callahan questioned. “Have you been working on a handwriting analysis or psychiatric profile?”

Ava responded, “We’ve been analyzing that as well. But we do agree with your previous theory that the AP might be ex-military or possibly even law enforcement, based on our underlying actuarial models.”

As Kowalski considered the possibility, a tiny flash of yellow light appeared directly behind him. He recognized the teleportation scent and quickly spun around to see a small sheet of paper land on the floor. He immediately grabbed his Sylix, and barked, “Ava, trace the origin and standby.”

He hurriedly grabbed the paper, and his stomach hit the floor as he recognized the handwriting. “AP,” he blurted out.

Callahan grabbed the note out of his hands and threw on his Sylix, scanning the cryptic message.

“Ava, decipher this message immediately. And keep a trace on the origin of the source.” He grabbed Kowalski and sternly commanded, “Stay close.”

With that, they grabbed their Interscampers and were off in a cloud of light, teleporting to the location of the message’s origin.

Kowalski was the first to gain his bearings this time. He looked over at his partner who had just landed and was surveying his surroundings.

“Phipps Botanical Gardens,” Kowalski shouted to his partner. “I don’t like the feeling of…”

His words were cut off by frantic screaming in the adjacent room. The detectives sprinted past the orchid display into the next room. There was a small crowd forming near a young woman’s body, lying prone near a display of hyacinth. She lay lifeless, stabbed multiple times in the torso.

Kowalski was the first to reach her. He checked for a pulse but found none. He was linked to Ava through his Sylix, and she yelled, “I’ve already sent for back up. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do for her. The suspect has moved to the next room.”

Next to the victim’s right hand was a batch of purple hyacinth, many of the flowers stained red with blood. Under her hand lay a familiar-looking piece of paper. Callahan grabbed it as Kowalski tore off to the next room. “WAIT!” he shouted.

Callahan hastily grabbed the sheet of paper to allow his Sylix to quickly scan it. “Ava, read this to us, and begin your analysis. I need to find Kowalski,” he barked, as he pursued to the next room.

With Ava’s help, Kowalski had already found the Arrogant Poet’s trail and wasted no time with his first teleport. Skillfully, he landed and spun around in a room full of colorful, floral displays. He quickly found the remnants of his target’s previous teleport, and the scent was stronger than the last.

“Not this time,” he said through gritted teeth.

Through his Sylix, he heard Ava’s rhythmic voice:

Regret creeping in, complacent heart.
Watch the hourglass, scatter apart.

Kowalski grabbed his Binding Beam and set the charge to maximum stun as he chased on. He clutched tightly to his Interscamper and quickly traversed to a room full of bonsai. He immediately caught the gaze of the Arrogant Poet whose eyes shone with excitement. The Poet laughed maniacally and disappeared in a yellow flash. Kowalski had attempted to take aim, but he was a second too late to pull the trigger.

Regret sinking in, though all the pain
Pounding and pleading, always in vain

Kowalski teleported, while shouting, “AVA, NOT NOW. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR THIS GARBAGE.”

He landed in a hot and stuffy room, full of cacti. Just ahead, he saw a flash of yellow light. Without hesitation, he aimed his Binding Beam and shot a ray, connecting with his target.

To his horror, it was Callahan who appeared in the yellow fog. His body seized as he fell to the ground. His muscles painfully contracted, and he found himself temporarily paralyzed.

Change flickers to hope, yields to folly.
Churning and burning, melancholy.

Kowalski yelled in disbelief at his horrific mistake. “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

He spun around to find himself face to face with the Arrogant Poet. Before he could react, a knife drove deep into his side, causing a searing pain to shoot through his body. He fell limp to the ground, gasping for air. The Poet raised his knife again, his eyes flickering wildly with rage. Kowalski screamed out in anguish as the Poet drove the blade deep into his chest. He reached for the knife, but all hope was lost as he found a blood-soaked sheet of paper with familiar handwriting pinned tightly to his chest.