When Thomas began his line of work just over three months ago, he thought he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. The exciting, adrenaline pumping life of a detective chasing a cold killer or crafty thief, risking his life in the pursuit of the truth and fighting on the side of the law against those who seeked to destroy order. This allure was what had lead him to join the Los Angeles Detective Bureau after graduating Police Academy at the top of his class with outstanding marks. But he never would have guessed that even with the recent spike in crimes, the life of a detective would be so . . .

"Boring!"
A dart flew from Detective Thomas Valentine's slender fingers, embedding itself an inch to the left of the bullseye. A curse escaped his breath as he lined up for the next attempt from his office chair. Paper documents lay sprawled across his desk, each having been searched for an interesting case with no luck. The most recent cases were petty or unappealing offenses that Thomas found lackluster and quite trivial.
"There has to be an interesting case somewhere," he muttered before flinging his arm and letting the dart go, this time hitting the center of the board.
He ran a hand through his dark, unkempt hair, letting out an apathetic sigh as he raised up out of his seat for only the second time that day. For the last three months, Thomas had been put on small cases but he had had enough. He needed something big to happen.
"Valentine!"
The office door swung open, and in came Irene Underwood, a blonde, thin framed woman assigned as Thomas's partner by the agency. She carried half a cup of coffee in her hand and looked to be out of breath after rushing to the office, as splashes of the dark liquid were evident on her white dress shirt. Thomas rolled his eyes as she walked in and took a seat in her desk adjacent to his. He had been insistent on having his own office and working alone, as he cherished a peace of mind when thinking about cases, but was unlucky in his efforts.
"What is it, Irene?" Thomas asked, his displeasure intertwined with his words like concealed daggers.
"A new case," she said, watching with delight as his face scrunched up at her. "Trust me, it's a good one. Just came in. It has to do with you."
"Really?" He leaned towards her. "Do tell."
She hadn't finished relaying the details of the case when Thomas was on his feet and rushing out the door while trying to put his coat on at the same time.
"What about the rest?" Irene asked as she hurried after him.
"I'd rather see those up close and personal to make my own deductions." He tossed the keys at her. "You drive, I need to think more about this, maybe come up with ideas of my own before we get there."
It would be fifteen minutes before they reached their destination: a church, which was now the location of a crime scene, the front of it was decorated with yellow tape and police cars. The corpse of a woman lay in a pool of blood, dressed in a lovely emerald dress with a velvet purse at her side.
"You must be Thomas Valentine," said John, the crime scene investigator, as the pair were allowed under the yellow tape. He handed Thomas a piece of paper. "This looks to be the work of the Clue Killer. He's struck again, that sick bastard. He left his signature notecard too."
The murderer dubbed the "Clue Killer" had perplexed the minds of the Los Angeles Police Department for the last 4 years. He had successful committed 6 homicides, with no real link to each murder besides the single note he'd leave taunting the police and providing a vague clue to the next victim. A few had tried to pose as him, but none could match his meticulousness. He never left evidence, and his clues were vague but clever enough that they completely made sense only after the victim's corpse was found.
Thomas took the note, a gleam of excitement present in his eyes as he read the words aloud:
"To Mr. Thomas Valentine, top graduee of the police academy. Let's test those wits. Maybe you'll prove to be more resourceful than your peers. My next target is I.M.U.
Thomas stepped as close to the body as he could to intently observe. Even in death's embrace, the woman's beauty was apparent. Her long, dark curls lay as lifeless as she was to her side, and her blood-red lipstick looked as though she had just applied it. Eventually he noticed the faint imprint of a ring on the corpse's fourth finger.
"Ring?" the detective's head turned in confusion. "You said the time of death was just last night? Why would anyone dress this nicely and not have on their ring, unless-"
"She was having an affair." Irene concluded. "But couldn't it have been stolen?"
Thomas appeared deep in thought. "Possible. But, with this much blood, there would be footprints or other visible evidence when the thief pried it off her finger. Besides, why just the ring and not her necklace or bracelet. Use that head of yours, detective."
Irene, accustomed to his snide remarks, calmly smiled back. "I understand you hate working with others, but how long until you warm up to me?"
    "Never," came his quick and automatic response. "John, I have other questions. When this was called in . . ."
    Irene left his side to go speak with others law enforcement officers and to question nearby witnesses, reappearing later when Thomas was ready to leave. Ignoring the new smell of men's cologne around her, he said, "We've got some work to do."
    I.M.U. plagued Thomas's head for the next three long, sleepless days. He spoke with the family of the dead woman, but was unable to get leads. The husband was absolutely heartbroken and had never known about any kind of affair going on between his wife and another man. But then again, Thomas thought as he left the grieving husband, who ever usually does? On the night of the third day, he received a new note taunting him:
    Tick tock, detective. Your time is running out.
    Instead of spacing his kills out like he usually did, the Clue Killer taking a big risk but also putting the police under a lot of pressure. Thomas found himself at the edge of both his wits and his office chair the next morning, contemplating the possibilities. "Imu is also an oven in Hawaiian culture so maybe he plans to cook someone alive."
    "Maybe you're overthinking it," Irene said as she walked into the office. "But then again what would I know, Mr. Genius. It's not like I'm you."
    Something she said resounded in his head with a sense of familiarity. It took Thomas a moment to understand what she had just said, and not because he was slow at the moment, but because he was astonished at the last words she had uttered.
    "That's right!" He jumped to his feet.
    Irene's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Well alright then."
    "No!" he tried to correct himself. "I am you. I'm not you, but I.M.U. The letters! That's it. Me! I'm the next target!"
    "Maybe you should get some sleep," Irene said, rolling a couple of inches away from him.
    "That's why the notes are so specific. Your time is running, even the fact that it was specifically addressed to me and he knew where I had graduated. He either knows my background or took the trouble to look me up. It all makes sense."
    Irene slowly nodded her head, and then froze in horror. "Then what are we going to do? We need to alarm the police!"
    Thomas shook his head. "Not yet. What I would like to do is wait for him to come to us, then we get the police involved. I need to see"
Later that evening, they returned to the scene of the woman's murder from a few days back and seated themselves inside the church. Even with her complaints, Thomas had convinced Irene not to call the police and let him handle things his own way. All that was left was for them to wait for the murderer. He would surely find him, Thomas thought.
There was only a few minutes of silence before Thomas asked, "You have a dinner date?"
Irene looked at him curiously. "What makes you say that?"
Thomas smirked. "Perfume, something you've rarely worn these past three months. Not to mention the lipstick and the fact you keep checking the time repeatedly, as if looking forward to something that's planned. Can't be anxious for the killer, it's only been ten minutes and time won't move any faster by looking at it. I'm also guessing the real reason you didn't call the cops was so an investigation wouldn't officially be opened, and your date night ruined. The real question is, when are you going t?"
Her red cheeks granted him the satisfaction he sought for. "In that case, no point in the both of us getting killed. You have a date after all."
"I can't do that, and you know it," came her response. "Besides, you'll be bored without someone to help kill time. Figuratively, of course. You're the one he's after, but I'll protect you."
He waved his phone as a reply. "I'll be just fine, I have all the company I need right here. I'm sure I'll be able to avoid the killer long enough to call for help. Or I'll bust through the wooden walls of this church and run if overmatched. I'll be fine."
She sat silently, but after about a minute she got up and began to leave. Stopping halfway down the aisle, she looked back at Thomas. "His name is Luke, by the way. He was the one who called about the dead woman to inform us. He asked me out while you were questioning the crime scene investigator. He's more of a gentleman than you'll ever be."
    Without another word, she left.
    Even though he had told Irene he was certain about the Clue Killer's victim, he wasn't. Thomas felt as though it was too easy, too straightforward. He must have overlooked something, but he couldn't quite figure it out. He took out the two notes addressed to him and stared at them. He looked all over, but stopped after taking a sniff. The scent of the letters for some reason struck a chord in Thomas, but he didn't know why.
"Why is it so familiar!?" he yelled out in frustration. "This is too random. None of this makes sense!"
This was when he noticed Irene had left her coat. He sighed, and decided to take a break from his self-torment. Noticing her wallet peeking out from its pocket, he reached for it and took out her LAPD I.D. card, cracking a smile at her stone-faced picture. But what really caught his attention was her full name that was listed. He looked at the card bizarrely, bewildered to find that Irene had a middle name he never knew about: Mary.
Irene Mary Underwood.
    "Irene is . ." The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, the final strand graciously woven to create a whole.
He had no time to lose.
    Thankful to having used seperate cars, Thomas jumped in his Toyota Corolla and sped off. He thought hard, remembering all restaurants in the area that could be open this late and near secluded areas. Thomas had spent a lot of time in Los Angeles growing up, and was very familiar with the city. The church was not visited often outside of Sundays, and had made for a nice spot for the last murder. If the Clue Killer was looking for something similar, then Thomas knew where he might be.
    He had barely managed to park the car as he rushed out of the vehicle in the middle of the road. After speeding to get there, he realized he had gotten there early as Irene and a man stepped out of a parked car and headed toward the door of the Versailles Cuban Restaurant.
    "Irene!" he yelled.
He tackle the man to the floor. The man, shocked, attempted to reach into the inside of his coat, but Thomas, already anticipating this, grabbed his arm and yanked it, causing his knife to fly from his hands.
    Irene, startled, looked at Thomas with raging eyes. "Thomas, what do you think you're doing?"
    "Saving your life," Thomas said, turning the man over and pinning his hands behind his back. "This is the murderer. I.M.U. is you, Irene. The initials for Irene Mary Underwood. And the notes had a familiar scent." He bent down and took a sniff of the man on the ground,"The scent of cologne worn by your friend here. Also the same smell you had lingering on you at the crime scene of the last victim."
    "But . . . no . . . Luke would never-" Her words slowly died before leaving her mouth.
    "Now, Clue Killer, I'm interested in learning about how you killed the other girl and all your previous victims. You're going to help make Thomas Valentine a revered name. And end my boredom."