Cheryl Collins was reported missing last week by her sister, Jennifer, after she couldn't reach her for two days. She and Cheryl were very close, speaking on the phone or texting each other several times a day.

She told police the last conversation she and Cheryl had was about Martin Sinclair. Cheryl told her he was inappropriately touching her and trying to get her to have sex with him, which she refused.

When the local police got the missing persons report, they immediately notified the FBI. Being stretched due to budget cuts and since there were similarities to other unsolved, suspected kidnappings in two surrounding towns, the chief knew this investigation was outside of his current manpower constraints.

The FBI's Newark, NJ office dispatched three agents to work the case. After stopping at the local police department and speaking with the chief, the agents left to question their prime suspect, Mr. Sinclair. Prior to speaking with Mr. Sinclair, the agents canvassed the area, speaking with neighbors on the block in Seaside Heights, NJ where Miss Collins and Mr. Sinclair resided. They arrived at Sinclair's home around noon.

"Mr. Sinclair, I'm Special Agent Sam Vorocco and these are Agents Dockery and Johnson. We're here to ask you a few questions about Miss Collins, your next door neighbor."

"What about her?"

"She was reported missing last week."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen her for a while. Why are you talking to me about her?"

"One of your other neighbors said you and Miss Collins were very close, and that your wife wasn't too happy about it. Is that true, Mr. Sinclair? Was your wife jealous of your relationship?"

"Whoa, hold on. I wasn't having a relationship with Cheryl. My wife is a very jealous woman. She accuses me of having affairs with everyone."

"Do you?"

"Where do you get off asking me these questions? I thought you were looking for Cheryl."

"We are, but we have to follow every lead, so if you were having an affair with her, it would be very relevant. We're also going to have to speak with your wife."

"My wife, why?"

"We're going to want to hear what she has to say about Cheryl. Is she home?"

"No, she went to visit her mother in Florida for a few weeks."

"When did she leave?"

"She's been gone for about a week."

"Just about the same time Cheryl went missing. That's pretty coincidental, Mr. Sinclair. I'm going to ask you to come with us to the police station. We'd like to ask you a few more questions about Cheryl's disappearance. Ooh, and we need your mother-in-law's phone number to get in touch with your wife."

"She doesn't have a phone."

"That's odd, Mr. Sinclair. Well then, we'll need your wife's cell phone number."

"She left it home."

"Okay, then just give us the address and we'll have an agent stop by and speak with her in person."

"I wish I could remember it, but it's one of those trailer parks near Orlando. I forget which one."

"Mr. Sinclair, you're not being very helpful. For your safety and ours, we're going to place you in handcuffs for the ride to the police station."

"Are you arresting me?"

"No, we're taking you in for questioning."

"I need to lock up my house, first."

"Agent Johnson can do that for you. Where are your keys?"

"In my front pocket."

Retrieving the keys, Agent Dockery handed them to Johnson. She walked up the steps and entered the house.

"Wait, why is she going inside? I didn't say she could go inside."

"You gave us the keys, Mr. Sinclair. She's making sure the house is secure for you, you know, closing windows, making sure the back door is locked, that sort of thing."

Agent Johnson called from the front door.

"Sam, you've got to see this. You better secure Sinclair in the car, first."

While Dockery secured Sinclair, Sam entered the house. The first thing he noticed was the number of empty whiskey and beer bottles strewn around the room, followed by various pieces of torn lingerie and several pairs of high heels.

After Sam surveyed the mess in the living room, he walked into the dining room where Agent Johnson was standing, staring at the table. This was definitely a crime scene. The table was converted to a makeshift bed, with a bloody pillow, two sets of handcuffs secured to the table to hold a victim's arms, and two leather belts bolted to the sides of the table to secure the victims legs were spread, wide.

Proceeding to the bathroom across the hall, Agent Johnson said: "There is blood everywhere in the bathroom, Sam."

"Okay, I want you to stay here and secure the scene. I'll get CSI to secure a helicopter and get down here right away. In the meantime, let me know if you find anything else we can use against this scum bag."

"Right."

When Sam left, Johnson searched the rest of the house, finding three large freezers in the basement. Cautiously, she opened the first, gagging as the tormented face of what would eventually be identified as Sinclair's wife, stared back at her. The mutilated body, frozen to preserve the deviant acts, was a crime photographer's dream.

Opening the second, Johnson saw what appeared to be several hands in plastic bags. They looked so surreal, as the flesh was bluish and the nails stood out with their brightly colored polish. There were five hands that Johnson could see. One had blue polish, another pink, two red, and one more that was black. One of the red hands still had an engagement ring and wedding ring on, making the scene that much more gruesome.

The third freezer was locked with double chains and thick Master locks. The CSI Team would have to uncover its grotesque treasures. Johnson called Sam.

"I have bodies and body parts in three freezers in the basement. I could only open two of them, the third is secured with locks and chains."

"Okay, CSI should be there within the hour. They're just getting to the chopper now. When they arrive, take one of their vehicles and meet us at the police station. I'm not going to speak with Sinclair until you arrive. I want to watch his reaction to your findings."

Johnson arrived an hour later.

"Okay, he's in the interrogation room. Johnson, you and I will question him."

Sinclair seemed eerily calm when the agents walked into the room.

"Don't tell me, you found the freezers. I knew you would. Which one of you opened them?"

"I did," Johnson replied.

"Aah, and tell me, Agent Johnson, were you able to get the chained freezer open? I don't think you did. It doesn't look like you've been vomiting," he laughed.

Sam spoke: "So why don't you just tell us what's in there. Describe it for us, you know you want to."

"It's my prized collection."

"Of what?"

"Of all the body parts I liked on various women that I killed. There must be about a hundred items in there: eyes, legs, feet, breasts, lips...mmm, I can see each one so clearly. They're all shrink-wrapped so no frost can block the view."

"So when did you kill your wife? Did she find out about your little killing spree?" asked Sam.

"I customized our table about four years ago. She was into kinky sex, so I used to buckle her into the restraints and we'd have sex several times a week. While she was at work I used to bring women home, get them drunk and strap them in. I had to silence her when she caught me having sex with Cheryl last week. She started yelling, so I strangled her and put her right in the freezer.

I had sex with all of them, keeping the parts I liked best from each one."

"What did you do with the rest of their bodies?"

"I would use them for bait. I did a lot of shark fishing. It was never a problem to dispose of the unwanted parts."

"You are a very sick man," Johnson said.

"You know, your eyes would look stunning in my freezer, Agent Johnson."

"Get him out of here!"