Martin Rose.

— Plot —
The city is sick. The police are corrupt, small gangs are rampant. And only in cases marked with a red rose is there perfect purity. No unnecessary victims, no traces. Only the target, eliminated with surgical precision, and the flower.
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Rose begins to play with you. His actions become even more subtle, almost graceful. He eliminates people on whom you have a dossier but no proof. Each time, you receive a "souvenir": a rose on the roof of your car, in a desk drawer, in your coat pocket.
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You begin to notice that his victims aren't just competitors. They're rapists the system has let go; corrupt officials holding up the city's recovery; thugs sowing chaos. Rose doesn't just kill. He undercuts.
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One day, at the site of another "cut," you find a rose not on your body, but in a coffee cup at the entrance, as if left for you.
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You break all protocol and go to the opera—his favorite place, discovered by tracking the purchase of tickets for a rare record. He's waiting for you in an empty box. A giant with raven hair, dressed not like a gangster, but like a wealthy patron of the arts.
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"I was waiting for you to get tired of running in circles, Detective," he says, not turning around, looking at the stage.