Dawn was still a faint suggestion on the horizon as Detective Joan Bridges pulled her car into the building’s parking lot. Over the main doors, just visible in the strobing lights of the police cars parked out front was the name “Spring Hill Middle School.” As the 32-year old blonde woman got out, she saw her partner, Ralph, had beaten her here and was chatting with the officer standing guard in front of the school. 

“Glad you could make it, Joan.” Ralph said with a smirk as she approached. He waved aside the beat cop and motioned for her to follow him into the school. “It’s his work, there’s no doubt. We’ve found his Miss September.” 

“Is she…” 

“Alive, like all the others, though pretty rattled from what the cop was saying. I was just about to head in and see the scene myself.” Joan followed Ralph into the dark, empty school, past rows of dark lockers and doors leading to empty classrooms. 

For some time now, since January of that year in fact, the two detectives had been chasing after a serial kidnapper. They, and the press, had dubbed him “The Pin-up Kidnapper’ for his unusual MO. Once a month, he would abduct some random young woman and leave her somewhere in strict bondage. Thus far, he’d never directly hurt any of his victims and, though terrified by their ordeal, none of them were expected to suffer any long term harm. Still, you couldn’t let people go around kidnapping women every month and besides, it was embarrassing to the force, letting him elude them for so long. 

“He nearly missed his deadline this time.” Ralph commented, as they walked. “It’s October first as of…” He checked his watch, “Five hours ago.” 

“Well, now he’s got a whole month longer to find his Miss October…” Joan replied. They had come to a classroom which, unlike the others, was brightly lit and occupied, light and noise spilling out into the hallway. 

“Who was the first person to find the victim?” Joan asked. 

“Morning Janitorial crew.” Ralph explained. “They came in to get the building ready for the day’s classes, heard her calling for help and went in. When they saw the scene, they called us.” 

The two went into the classroom. It was full of forensic techs, busy dusting for fingerprints or searching for other clues that might finally crack the case. Ralph pointed to the front of the classroom, where the large teacher’s desk stood. From the way some of the smaller student desks were out of place, Joan could tell the big one had been deliberately shifted to its current spot.

“That’s where she was when they found her. She was tied up, sitting on top of the desk.” The desk was empty now, apart from a selection of ropes and white scarves, neatly laid out and a stack of photographic printouts. Joane picked up the latter and started to flip through them. 

“Well…” She said out loud to no one in particular, “The boys in forensics were certainly…diligent in documenting the crime scene.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the forensics team were suddenly focusing very carefully on their fingerprinting, sheepish expressions on their faces. 

The photographs indeed showed the crime scene, most of them focused on capturing the victim from every possible angle and pose. They showed a young woman of 25 or maybe 26, quite good looking. She was dressed in a style that might be thought of as ‘vintage, sexy schoolteacher’: a tight, white blouse, tweed skirt, dark stockings and heels. A pair of horn rimmed glasses and hair tied in a prim bun completed the look. After dressing her, her captor had opened the front of the blouse, exposing a set of perky, round breasts. The skirt had been hiked up high enough it was quite clear that, apart from the stockings and garter belt, she had nothing else on underneath it. 

Once she’d been dressed the part, their sexy schoolteacher had been stringently bound and gagged. A plaid tie, of the sort common in school uniforms, had been tied between her lips, holding in a wadded up cloth which, according to the forensics teams, had been a pair of vintage white silk panties. 

After that, her arms had been tightly bound together at the elbows and wrists, hands palm to palm, with some of the white cotton rope, now laid out next to the photographs. More rope lashed her arms to her chest, loops running in horizontal bands above and below her bare breasts.

The woman’s legs were tied as well. An old fashioned wooden yardstick was tied to her knees at either end, forcing her to keep her legs spread wide open. Her ankles had been tied to the legs of the desk, keeping her in place, seated on the front edge. 

Joan flipped through the rest of the photographs, noting with some amusement how the expression on the woman’s face had gone from terror, to relief, then embarrassment and finally annoyance at how long the forensic photographers were taking to ‘document’ the crime scene and finally untie her. 

While Joan was doing this, her partner took out an oversized manila envelope with the word ‘Evidence’ stamped on both sides. Opening it, Ralph slid out an old wallhanging calendar. Written on the cover was a year: “1955” and the words “Damsel in Distress Pinup”. The rest of the cover showed a painted image of a young woman, dressed in the style of a 1950s housewife, tightly bound with rope and gagged with a scarf, detective style, mugging to the viewer with an expression of piteous distress. 

Setting the pin-up calendar on the table beside the photographs, Ralph flipped it open. At first, he went too far and ended on October 1955, showing a blonde woman in what might have charitably been described as a policewoman’s uniform someone had taken a pair of shears to with a will, standing up against the bars of a jail cell, arms and legs spread eagled by cuffs with an old fashioned night stick tied between her teeth as a gag. 

A moment later, Ralph turned back a page to show the pinup for September. It was, as close as might reasonably be expected, an excellent match to the photographs of the kidnapper’s victim. The positioning of the desk, her pose seated atop it, the outfit, the bondage, even the rude messages scrawled on the blackboard by the naughty students who’d taken mean old ‘teech’ hostage were diligently recreated, albeit in dry erase now, instead of chalk. 

“It’s his handiwork alright.” Ralph said, shrugging. As if there had ever really been any doubts. 

“Is the victim still around?” Joan asked. “I’d like to hear her account, while it’s still fresh.” 

They found their victim seated in an ambulance, being looked over by a paramedic who assured the detectives she’s suffered nothing worse than some sore limbs from being tied up so long, minor dermal abrasion where the ropes had rubbed bare skin and a good scare. 

The victim, a Miss Carol Lewis, actually was a teacher in real life, and it was, in fact, her own classroom in which she’d been tied up all night. That seemed to fit with the kidnapper’s MO. April’s secretary, June’s nurse and August’s maid had all worked in those careers, though obviously not as sexy until the Pin-Up Kidnapper had gotten to them. 

Despite her trepidation and obvious desire to put the whole ordeal behind her, Miss Lewis ran the two detectives through everything she’d gone through the last 24 hours. She’d left the school the afternoon of the previous day after classes and driven home to her apartment. Everything had been normal until around 6 pm when she heard a noise from her bedroom. Walking in to check, she’d been surprised and taken prisoner at gunpoint by a man she described as middle aged and heavy set, wearing baggy clothes and a mask, the same description many of the previous victims had given. 

The man taped Carol’s hands and feet, then gagged and blindfolded her with more tape. She was carried out the bedroom window, it was a ground floor apartment, and put in the trunk of a car and driven somewhere. After he’d carried her inside and removed the blindfold, Carol was surprised to find herself back in the classroom she’d left mere hours before. He seated her at a student’s desk and she’d watched him set things up, rearranging her desk to match the set up of the picture, setting up lights and getting out the costume and ropes. 

Taking the gun out again, the kidnapper cut the tape binding Carol’s wrists and ankles and forced her to strip naked and put on the costume, with the exception of the panties and tie. The former was balled up and stuffed in her mouth, tied in place with the latter. The man had then proceeded to truss her up, just like she had been found. The man switched on the stage lights and photographed her, with as much enthusiasm and diligence as the forensic’s team had. When he was done, he’d casually packed everything up and departed, leaving poor Carol to struggle in vain until she was found by the janitors several hours later. 

Aside from filling them in on the details of the crime, including the timing of her abduction and, roughly, arrival at the school, Carol could tell the detectives little else. She hadn’t seen her kidnapper’s face. Aside from assuring the young woman she would not be harmed, so long as she cooperated, and giving her orders, the man didn’t speak to her. Though he’d hardly been shy with her body, especially in arranging Carol’s breasts, nestled between the ropes, the kidnapper had made no overt moves towards her while she was helpless and seemed to treat her more as a living, poseable doll to model then a person. 

Joan and Ralph thanked the young woman for her assistance and then headed for their respective cars. “I’ll file the report back at the station.” Ralph told Jean. “You check up on those leads we discussed, see if tonight sheds more light on any of them.” 

Joan nodded, watching her partner drive off before she went back to her own car. Deep in thought about the case, she climbed in, fumbling for her keys. She’d just gotten them into the ignition when someone lunged up from the back seat and grabbed her. 

The young woman’s eyes went wide with surprise and fear as a hand pressed a bunched up rag to her mouth and nose. She caught a chemical smell, coming off the cloth and recognized it as chloroform. Hurriedly, she exhaled, holding her breath, but already she’d gotten a whiff of the drug. The man’s other hand grabbed the detective by the shoulder, pushing her down into her seat, as the drugs did their work. 

“I was interested in seeing who it was that was looking for me with such diligence.” The man whispered to Joan’s ear. She struggled feebly, unable to hold her breath much longer. The second dose of chloroform hit her hard and she swooned. “And I’ve been most interested in making your acquaintance in particular…” Everything started to go dark for Joan. The last thing she heard was the voice of her kidnapper, “You’ll make a wonderful Miss October…”