Campanula flower:
The campanula flower is frequently used as a sort of "thank you" gift, as these blossoms are often thought to represent gratitude. They are also given as symbols of affection, as they are sometimes said to symbolize constancy and everlasting love, as well as humility and delicacy.

He leaves behind this flower as his last gift to his art, the victims.

cannibal
/ˈkanɪb(ə)l/
noun
a person who eats the flesh of other human beings.

He is feeding on his victims.

"Campanula Cannibal has been in prison for the last four years. You helped the police arrest him. Remember?"

"Yes, that's what I thought, Nathan. Now, there are only two possibilities. One, someone is trying to copy Campanula Cannibal. Two.." Joyce drifts off.

"Two, the original Campanula Cannibal is still out there. He never got caught," I finish her thought.

"Nathan, there is a third possibility as well. Three, both the first and second possibilities are correct," Joyce says reluctantly.

. . .

I patiently wait in the interrogation room. After a while, three police officers bring Campanula Cannibal, the original one -or the one we thought was the original one- to me.

"Long time no see, officer Byles," he says boisterously, with a grin on his face.

"Did you really kidnap 27 people four years ago? Were you the one who committed over 23 murders, leaving Campanula on their chests and feeding on their organs?"

"Byles Byles Byles. You ask too many questions. Isn't it your job to figure this out? But since you came all this way, I'll tell you this; an artist shall never deny his art. All the bodies I left for the world to discover are my masterpieces. Don't offend me by doubting me," grinning from ear to ear.

"I know what you are trying to do. How about you tell me this? How could a loser like you- who gets caught so easily- be Campanula Cannibal," I say, smirking - belittling him as much as I could.

His smile disappears. Suddenly, he lunges at me, aiming for my throat.
"I told you I did it! You can't take away my credit! I'm the one who killed these people! It was me! It was ME," he screams.

The police officers rushed in to restrain him.

After this meeting, one thing was clear. The person before me was NOT the Campanula Cannibal. I stand up to leave.

"I'll let you meet your master soon. Here. In prison," I say to him before leaving.

I hear him cursing as I walked away.

. . .

8th July 2017. 9:57 p.m.

"Nancy, I'm fine. You should not worry about anything. I'll be there this weekend. I will make sure to bring Joyce along as well," I say.

"Okay. I was planning to invite Joyce anyway. My baby bump is bigger now. I wish you were here to see it," she says from the other end of the phone.

"I miss you more, Nancy."

*Sound of glasses crashing and shrieks from the other end of the phone*

"Who's there?! Mum! Dad!" Nancy calls out to her parents while I'm on the line.

"Nancy? Are you okay? Nancy?"

"Nathan. Something is wrong. Nathan, can you come over soon, please?" I hear Nancy crying on the other end - her voice almost a whisper.

"Find a place to hide. I will be there soon, okay?" I assure her, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

My palms are sweating. I'm shaking. I can't lose Nancy.

I radio the police station closest to Nancy's parents' place as I rush there.

It takes me forty minutes to get there.

When I get there, I see the driveway swarmed with police cars and ambulances.
I could feel a throbbing in my head. The blaring sound of the sirens started to fade away as I entered the house. I was numb.

I see police officers inspecting the house and taking photographs. Photographs of the floor soaked with blood.

I move past the officers and fall to my knees when I see the bodies.

Nancy and her parents are covered in blood. Their eyes wide open. Chest stationery. Their bodies bruised. Campanula flowers on their chests.

. . .

15th July 2017.

"Samuel couldn't reach your phone, so I came to find you. Nathan, you shouldn't drink so much. Take a leave from work." Joyce's voice was low. I could hear her sobbing now.

"I have to find Campanula Cannibal. I'll kill him with my own hands, Joyce. I will. I won't give up now. Let's go," I say to Joyce, my voice flat, emotionless.

"Where?"

"Samuel just texted me. They found another body."

. . .

16th July 2017.

I hang pictures of the victims on the board and draw connecting lines with a marker - adding all the details we have uncovered thus far.

"So the first six bodies we found, along with Nancy and her parents- total 9- all had Campanula flowers on their chest. But the victim we found yesterday had Trumpet Creeper on his chest. So we have two killers on the loose. No serial killer who kills for recognition would change their signature move, and since both of them left flowers on their victims, it suggests that they want to be recognized. The similarities between the MOs are the flowers on the victims and evidence suggesting cannibalism. The difference, their killing techniques," I explain to my team members.

"Chief, the forensic report is here," Angel reports to me.

"What does it say?"

"The body we found yesterday was killed before the rest of the victims."

I walk to the board and add the details.

"Could it be that the killers are challenging each other?" I mutter.

. . .

3:45 a.m.

"Joyce, Joyce!"

Joyce sweats heavily.

"I killed Nancy slowly. You could see the bruises I've left on her baby bump and entire body. Should I do the same to Nathan? I shall make you pay for your deeds," the voice whispered in Joyce's ears.

Joyce's eyelid flung wide open.

She finds herself drenched in her sweat and decides not to go back to sleep.

. . .

*Indiscrete chants*

Sixteen disciples bow to their master.

Master is now dressed in a red robe, with his face hidden beneath the red hood.

He points his right index finger to one of his disciples. She, the disciple, walks to the master.

The master whispers into her ear as she looks off to the distance.

. . .

18th July 2017.

"Chief, we were able to identify the first six bodies. And," Quin said.

"And?"

"Two of them were part of the kidnapping that happened in 2013. They captivated 27 victims, including Dr. Joyce. Dr. Joyce helped us identify them. Rest are local criminals, involved in crimes related to theft and robbery."

I nod and try to hide my concern regarding Joyce.

"Okay. So this is what we know thus far: The victims seem to have similar characteristics in terms of their criminal pasts. The killer targeted criminals only. They weren't killed at the same time but at regular intervals. The killer has a distinct personal style of killing, and the wounds on the bodies seem to suggest that the same individual committed all of the murders. We are looking at one killer here."

The team members nodded.

I scribble on the whiteboard as I say the following out loud,
"The killer's height is between 5'9 - 6'2 and he has a masculine physique. He must have had immense strength to chop off the head from the bodies that cleanly. He alone tortured and killed six men, all about 5'7 tall. Now check the places where the victims frequented the most. We suspect that the killer was someone the victims knew or someone with strong communication skills since the killer did not use any violence to force the victims to go with him."

. . .

19th July 2017.

"The ones who were involved in kidnapping worked in the same place, and the other four bought drugs from the same drug-dealer, Chief."

"Let's check out the workplace first."

. . .

The following day, 1:50 p.m.

The street is narrow, and a bit crowded. The humid air is heavy, with a rusty smell.

We meet the owner of the workshop the victims worked at.

I show the owner my badge.
"We are here to ask a few questions about your workers."

"I fired them long ago."

"Why?"

"They barely did any work and spent their entire day drinking with the owner of the workshop right beside mine," the owner said with an annoyed expression.

A man passes by us. The owner points at that man.
"That's the owner of the workshop."

The man looks at us, and my eyes meet his.

"He's the drug dealer as well," Angel whispered in my ear.

The man understood by our gesture why we are here and started to run. We ran after him as he pushed people who were on his way and continued sprinting without seeing left or right.

Suddenly, a truck strikes him out of the blue. He flies and lands on his belly, bleeding extensively.

. . .

In the ambulance.

"Why did you kill those nine people?" I ask.

"I only killed six men, whose body you found in pieces. They are my works of art," the man said, grinning despite being on the verge of dying.

I show him Nancy and her parents' photograph.

"These three are not my creations. If I killed them, their bodies would've looked like masterpieces."