The Discovery of a Body at Sea by coast guard usa
Several miles off the coast, the coast guard usa discovered another body that morning. It was the corpse of a young woman—exquisitely beautiful, with a perfectly proportioned figure. She was completely naked, save for a vivid red bandana scarf tied tightly around her neck. Her eyes were wide open, slightly swollen from prolonged immersion in the water.
This was the fifth such body recovered from the sea in the past few months. The previous four had washed up along distant shores: Germany, France, Spain, and the coastal regions of the Arab-Indies archipelago. Like this one, those bodies had also been nude, each with an identical red bandana scarf knotted at the throat.
The postmortem on the fifth victim revealed something chilling: before her death, the girl had been subjected to unimaginable brutality. Newspapers erupted once more with scathing criticism of the police and authorities. Wild stories began circulating. Most papers—and most people—whispered that the killer was some malevolent spirit. Yet they were puzzled: if it was a demon, why did it not drink the victims’ blood like a vampire?
The police remained utterly baffled. They had failed even to identify the women—no names, no addresses, no nationalities. But one detail linked all five bodies: each face bore a grotesque, frozen smile. And every victim had long, golden-blonde hair.
The Group of Girls in Rome’s Market Square
In the bustling heart of Rome, amid the lively chaos of a crowded market square, a small group of young women stood together in an open corner. Their faces glowed with practiced smiles. Like the bodies from the sea, every one of them had long, golden-blonde hair.
A few of the girls chatted idly, their laughter light. At first glance, two or three might have passed for daughters of respectable families, but their movements and clothing betrayed their profession. They wore outfits designed to reveal far more than they concealed—one stunning beauty in particular had chosen a scandalously brief ensemble that left her pale, gleaming skin on full display, an open invitation to indulgence.
Then a man approached. A camera hung from his shoulder; dark sunglasses obscured his eyes, and a cap was pulled low over his face, making identification impossible. He stopped near the group, raised his camera, and began snapping photographs.
Suddenly, the lens lingered on one girl in particular—an extraordinarily beautiful seventeen-year-old with a flawless figure and cascading golden hair. The photographer beckoned her closer. When she obeyed, he asked her name. Receiving no clear answer, he smiled and dubbed her “Jody.”
He spoke softly, telling her he was searching for fresh faces for a new film. Her face, her body, even her voice—everything met the exacting standards required for a leading lady. If she wanted to become the heroine of his movie, she should come with him now.
To seal the offer, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, withdrew his wallet, and pressed a thousand-lira note into her hand—an advance, he said. The rest would follow once she signed the contract.
Jody’s heart raced with joy. Never in her life had she held so much money at once. On her best days—and nights—she might earn ten or twenty lira, and often her clients paid her only once or twice with a meal thrown in.
Jody’s Dream of Hollywood Stardom
Her companions crowded around, congratulating her with genuine excitement. Jody beamed, her mind already soaring far beyond the Roman square. At last, the moment had arrived to fulfill her dreams. Once she passed the screen test, she would go to Hollywood. She would buy a magnificent villa, own luxurious cars, employ servants and perhaps even a husband. She would wear the finest clothes each day, win the world’s heart with her acting, and be visited by admirers from every corner of the globe.
And so, lost in those glittering visions, she followed the stranger without a backward glance.
The Fake Film Studio
Lost in her dazzling daydreams, Jody followed the cameraman to his apartment without a second thought. When they arrived, three men were already waiting inside, bringing the total to five.
In one corner, a man lounged in an armchair. He wore a flat cap pulled low, dark glasses concealing his eyes, and a black coat despite the chill in the air. A cigar dangled from his lips, and he kept wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
The second man was the cameraman himself. The third posed as the director, issuing calm instructions. The fourth was a giant—towering and broad, like some mythical ogre come to life.
As soon as Jody entered, the “director” ordered her to strip and lie down on the bed at the far end of the room. Eager to please and still buzzing with excitement, she quickly obeyed, shedding her clothes and stretching out naked on the sheets. Around her neck, she still wore the red scarf she had tied that morning—the only scrap of fabric left on her body.
The director beckoned the giant closer, whispering instructions. Then he switched on the camera and aimed it at the bed where Jody lay waiting.
At the signal, the hulking man leaned over her and began his work. The scene grew more intense with each passing minute. Expressions of pleasure flickered across Jody’s face.
Suddenly, the man in the armchair barked an order: “Finish it.”
The command reached the giant’s ears like a thunderclap. His massive hands shot upward with lightning speed, clamping around Jody’s throat. His grip tightened mercilessly. The smile on her face twisted into something grotesque and frozen as life ebbed from her body.
The man in the chair rose slowly, dabbing his forehead once more with the handkerchief. He drew a deep, satisfied breath. “Another woman,” he murmured. “Vengeance taken.”
The fifth body recovered from the sea—off the coast of Ireland—was Jody’s. That very night, it had been spirited from the apartment and dumped far out in the water. With no identification possible, no one ever learned who she had been or what horrors she had suffered at the hands of those beasts.
Meanwhile, Lord Destrang was summoned to Scotland Yard. Newspapers had begun publishing wild accusations against him, dredging up every scandalous detail of his life. Yet the true story remained hidden from them.
For days, Lord Destrang appeared at headquarters, denying everything. Exasperated, the secret police finally confronted him with the film—one he himself had produced. Only then did he admit his presence in it. Following his pointers, the other three men were swiftly arrested, along with the accomplices who disposed of the bodies.
Lord Destrang was a coward at heart, consumed by a thirst for revenge, though he sat in the House of Lords. His circle consisted of the vilest thugs and degenerates. His masculine charm made him wildly popular among women—especially young girls—but his secret weakness was soon discovered. Disillusioned, they would cut him off forever.
He had even married: a dissolute woman named Norma, drawn from the same sordid world. The union was doomed. Norma learned of his inadequacy early on. Already free-spirited, she became utterly unbound after the wedding. Lord Destrang desperately wanted her closeness, her exclusive devotion, but she fled from him. Her days and nights dissolved into debauchery; his reputation and status meant nothing to her. She craved only life’s pleasures.
Driven to madness by the situation, Lord Destrang concocted a monstrous plan—to conceal his shame and exact revenge for his humiliation at Norma’s hands. With the help of his criminal friends, he set it in motion.
Jody’s death proved the spark that ignited the blaze. Public outrage and relentless media criticism finally forced secret services across Europe into full action. They hunted every possible lead, raiding known criminal dens. Still, the case stalled.
Then a sixth naked body appeared off the Florida coast—red ribbon at the throat, appearance matching the others. American authorities joined the manhunt, widening the net dramatically.
The U.S. team photographed the victim’s open eyes during autopsy. Advanced technology enlarged and clarified a faint reflection captured in the cornea: a man in a flat cap and dark glasses. Nearby loomed another enormous face, much closer.
Around the same time, police seized a snuff film from a luxury hotel in a Spanish coastal town—a notorious haven for criminals. It showed young women subjected to unimaginable cruelty.
In a dimly lit room at Scotland Yard, high-ranking officers from secret services across Europe gathered around a screen. The seized film played.
On the bed lay a naked young woman, red ribbon around her neck. The giant loomed over her. His hands rose—and strangled her.
As she died, a man appeared on screen: flat cap, dark glasses.
The moment he materialized, a British officer ordered the projector stopped. They replayed the segment repeatedly. The face was familiar; he was certain he had seen it before.
The American chief then produced the photograph extracted from the Florida victim’s eyes. The resemblance was unmistakable.
It was decided: copies of both images would be distributed to every European agency, alongside Britain and the United States, until the killer was identified.
While these events unfolded, trouble brewed within the group. They demanded half a million pounds from Lord Destrang, threatening to kidnap and murder Norma if he failed to pay on time—and if he still refused afterward, to take him to court.
Lord Destrang cared nothing for Norma’s safety. His only terror was a trial: exposure would strip him of all power and cost him his seat in the Lords. That, he could not allow.
The deadline imposed by the criminals was so tight that Lord Destrang could not even seek help from the police. When the allotted time expired, Norma was abducted—and then brutally murdered.
When newspapers published photographs of her body, the shocking truth emerged: the corpse recovered off the Florida coast was none other than Lord Destrang’s wife. The identification created an immediate crisis for him. He could never have imagined that Norma’s remains would become the key to leading the police straight to her killer.
The Funeral of norma
Her funeral was conducted with all the pomp due to a lord’s wife. Hundreds mourned in the procession, among them the Scotland Yard officer deeply immersed in unraveling the mystery of the enigmatic bodies. As he walked with the cortege, his gaze suddenly fell upon Lord Destrang. The lord had his hand pressed to his face, futilely trying to stem the tears welling in his eyes.
In that instant, recognition struck the officer like lightning. He had seen this face before. Memories flooded back—the film shown in secret at Scotland Yard, the image extracted from the reflection in Norma’s dead eyes. Suspicion hardened into certainty.
The moment the burial rites concluded, he contacted headquarters, urgently requesting a warrant for Lord Destrang’s arrest.
The revelation sent shockwaves through the entire secret service. High-level meetings convened, and it was decided: before any arrest, the lord would be questioned.
Under interrogation, Lord Destrang finally confessed everything.
“I was raised in an environment surrounded almost entirely by girls,” he began, his voice steady but laced with bitterness. “It shaped me—infused me with traits more feminine than masculine. When my parents died, I inherited the title and took my seat in the House of Lords.
“My deepest desire was simple: for women to adore me, to pamper me, to treat me like a king obeying my every command. But no girl could stay with me long once the truth emerged. The rejection tormented me. It twisted me into a sadist. I fell in with a crowd of thugs and degenerates.
“Among them was a woman named Norma who frequented our gatherings. Our constant encounters drew us together, and one day we married. But my mother disapproved; Norma never received the status of a true lady.
“After the wedding, norma discovered my secret. She grew distant, contemptuous, She resumed her old libertine ways—leaving the house to carouse with strangers, even bringing them home.and performed acts in my presence that I could not endure, yet I could not stop her. My position forbade any extreme measures.
“Revenge festered in my heart. I became consumed by it, and decided to punish Norma through other women. I formed a gang, specifically recruiting a gigantic man of immense strength to play the role of executioner in my vengeful scheme.
“Norma always wore a red ribbon around her neck. That is why we tied one on every victim.
“My agent would lure innocent girls—those with no family, no one to miss them. We investigated thoroughly. Greed and dreams of stardom drew them into our trap.
“In our fake studio, we stripped them bare and tied the red ribbon. Then my colossal accomplice would fulfill my dark desires. When the girl reached the height of ecstasy—exactly then—I would order her strangled.
“Proof exists in the film you seized. After death, the giant satisfied his own lusts. Then the body was dumped at sea.
“I even had Norma killed. The staged kidnapping was meant to deflect suspicion from me. The night before her murder, my men took her to a secluded flat and tormented her. Under duress, she promised to live as I wished.
“That day, every member of the gang took their pleasure with her. They urged me to spare her afterward, but I refused. In the midst of it all, she recognized me despite my disguise. Her eyes widened in horror.
“She screamed: ‘Lord Destrang! No matter how many masks you wear, no matter how you change your face—I know you! If I escape this, I will see you hang!’
“My patience shattered. I ordered the giant to strangle her—at the peak of her forced ecstasy. We left her eyes open, never imagining they would betray me through their final reflection.
“I was exhilarated by my triumph. I celebrated Norma’s death. But I never dreamed the police would reach me so swiftly.”
Newspapers splashed Lord Destrang’s arrest, the confirmed charges, and his chilling confession across screaming headlines.
When the case reached trial, after days of harrowing testimony, the court delivered its verdict: Lord Destrang and all his accomplices were to face a firing squad.
On the day of the public execution, as the volley of shots rang out and the condemned men cried in agony, witnesses swore they heard faint, echoing laughter amid the echoes—a ghostly chorus.
People whispered that it was the innocent girls, finally avenged, their spirits mocking the monsters who had slaughtered them merely to sate base, animal lusts.
Thus, through relentless pursuit by American and European police and the unyielding hand of justice, a merciless killer met his grim and fitting end.