Mystery: Quest for Justice: (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Thriller Mystery)

by James Kipling

  I just sat back, astonished by the horrific encounter that Sally had just recalled to me. I felt so sorry for her.

  "Do you think it's the same killer?" she said.

  "It looks that way," I replied.

  "Could you do one thing for me?" Sally asked.

  "What's that?"

  "If you ever do find this person, could you come and tell me about him? I just want closure."

  "I will," I replied, "but there are a couple of questions I need to ask you. Did you actually see what he looked like?"

  The inevitable answer was no, and I knew that she was going to say that anyway. He had covered his face up with a hat and glasses. She told me she remembered him as quite broad, but that was it.

  "Did you note what car it was? Did you get the license plate?" I asked her, knowing what the answer to those questions would be too.

  "I wish I did," replied Sally, "and we could have nailed him."

  "Don't worry," I said. "I won't give up until I find out who it is!"

  "Do you have an idea?"

  "We have somebody in custody, but I now think it might not be him."

  I was so confused. At the time, Sally would have been a young girl, so the killer had imagined her as Alison Green, Ian's sister. That was the evidence I needed. I now had proof that the killer was imagining killing somebody named "Alison," and probably did the same for the rest. I knew it was probably Ian Green, but there was still one other person I had in mind.

  Shortly after Sally left, the boss told me that he’d found out about a person who lived near the field where the bodies were found. He had telephoned the man, who said he would be willing to speak to me, so my next stop was that house.

  The house was actually half a mile away from the field where the bodies were dug up, but it was the nearest building to it. The inhabitant of the house. Thomas Baker, had lived there for nearly all of his life, so he might, just might have seen something all of those years ago.

  I knocked on the door, and he invited me in. I went straight to the question. To my pleasant surprise, Thomas had actually seen something. He described one night in the late 1980s when he saw a mysterious figure, presumably a man, walking through the back fields of his house wielding a sharp knife. He was wearing very large goggles and a gun shield. He also wore a helmet. Earlier in the night, Thomas thought he heard a scream, but he could not be certain. He asked him what he was doing, all dressed like that, but the man just looked at him and moved on.

  I returned to the station, thinking about what Thomas had told me. It was fairly clear that the person Thomas described was the killer. However, why would he be wearing large goggles and a gun shield? I ran those two things through my head several times. Goggles. Gun shield. Goggles. Gun shield. Suddenly, it came to me. I did not solve the case completely yet, but I knew that I was way farther forward. Something that somebody had said to me earlier just came to me, and it strongly linked in with one of the items described. Could this solve the case? I wondered.

  Chapter 23

  The thing I realized was that Eve Roberts, the first victim, carried pepper spray due to her attack. So, before killing Eve Roberts, the killer wore goggles to protect himself from the pepper spray attack, leaving Eve defenseless. However, that did not answer the question of how the killer knew that she carried pepper spray, nor did it answer why the killer wore a gun shield. I decided to look further to see if someone who was murdered by this maniac had been convicted of carrying a gun. As a matter of fact, one of the male victims, John Crawford, was convicted of accidentally shooting someone hunting in the woods! This showed that he carried a gun around, which explained why the killer wore a gun shield, but how did he know?

  Suddenly, it came to me. The only possible explanation for this was that the killer had read the police reports – it was the only possible way of finding out. I was beginning to get excited now, because I had realized that the only people who could have access to those files were the people working in this station. I was so excited that I told the boss.

  "Oh my God!" he cried, as if he were mortified at the sight of a ghost.

  "What is it?" I asked, surprised at his reaction to the fantastic news.

  "The only person who had access to those files...the only person who handled those files back then was Barry Scott."

  "Who was he?" I asked.

  "He's still here. He's a police officer now, but he used to handle files here years ago. I used to be acquainted with him, but now we don't really speak since we're in different parts of the station." The boss was still in shock. "Do you think it could be true?" he said to me.

  "It looks that way," I said, "because how else could the killer know what to wear for each person?"

  "I know," said Mitchell, putting his hands on his head. "Don't arrest him yet, though, because there is not enough evidence. It's only assumptions."

  "I know," I said, trying not to get overexcited.

  Just then, I remembered something else: in the list of people who bought an axe in between the years of 1990 and 1991, Barry Scott was on that list! Could this be really happening? Did we finally have him?

  Obviously, that meant that the killer was not Ian Green if it turned out to be this man, but there was another possibility: Evan Green. Since he was not called that any more, I did some research into Barry's background to see if he was born Barry. Mitchell gave me all of the details, and I typed them up into the computer for a birth record. Could Evan be the real killer?

  After a couple of minutes, that theory was disproven, since I found a valid birth record for Barry Scott, so Barry Scott was not born Evan Green. Evan simply was untraceable.

  "So, we still can't make an arrest?" I asked Mitchell, trying to think of a reason why this random police officer would kill random people.

  "No," Mitchell replied, "there is still not enough evidence. There is no DNA to link him to the murders, so we... or you need to get a confession out of him."

  I knew there was a lot on the line here. If I did not manage to get a confession out of him, that would mean justice would not be brought to eight families (or at least eight, there could have been more we did not know about). I was frightened.

  When I saw this man, however, I was astounded that I had seen him before during this investigation: he was the police officer who brought Ian Green in, claiming that he had found him in the field. I was now convinced it was him, and that I had seen the full story now.

  Barry, who lived near the Green family, obviously liked to kill people, for whatever reason (perhaps he was psychologically damaged himself due to physical or sexual abuse). He was also a very intelligent man, since when he started killing, he chose a deserted spot so that nobody would hear him. However, he deliberately left clues in order to frame Ian Green: every murder victim looked like one family member except for Ian; the survivor claimed that the killer was saying 'Alison' (Ian's big sister), and Ian was apparently lurking around the field where the bodies were found. He only said the name of Ian's big sister so that in the future, it would point to Ian Green, should the bodies ever be found. However, he was not as smart as he thought, because there were gaps – gaps that led us to him, and now, he was about to get caught out, at least I hoped he was.

  Mitchell sat him down in a room and tried to keep him calm by suggesting it was only a talk, and he was free to leave the room at any time. Meanwhile, I was staring through the glass at him, and Miranda approached me and said, “It’s definitely him. One hundred percent."

  "I know," I replied, satisfied now that this man was indeed the killer I was searching for.

  Mitchell left the room, leaving Barry on his own to wait. He then lifted his head, and looked at the mirror, knowing fine well that we were behind it, watching him. He grinned slightly, as he gave me a psychotic look. I was very apprehensive now as I knew that I was dealing with a complete and utter psychopath.

  Chapter 24

  I really had no idea how to approach this "talk". This man was clearly ve
ry intelligent, so it would take a lot to make him confess. He must have known that we were on to him, and that was what made me scared. I just took a deep breath, and entered the room.

  "Hello, Tammy," he said, in a plain tone of voice.

  "Hello, Barry," I replied, echoing his tone.

  "Before we proceed," Barry began, "I just want to remind you that I can leave this room any time I want. This is just a talk, right?"

  "Right," I replied, trying not to stress him out.

  "So, what do you want to talk about?" he said, sitting back, with his arms over the chair.

  I knew he had it all planned out. He knew exactly what he was going to say – he'd had this day planned for years.

  "I want to talk about the serial killings, Barry," I said, "and I'm trying to create a profile of the killer, and discover his motives behind the killings."

  "Well, I can give you a little information," he said, almost grinning. "I can give you my thoughts and views about what a serial killer thinks like. Although I don't know myself, because I am not one myself..." He paused and looked at me. "I've come across a lot of maniacs in my time, being on the police force."

  "So, then," I said, fairly interested in what he had to say, "What does the killer enjoy about killing people?"

  "He likes to see people suffer," he replied plainly. "And he likes to be in control. He likes to hear the begging, and the desperation."

  "So why does he kill them?"

  "Oh, there could be many reasons. Perhaps he just gets a buzz out of killing people. It might be a sexual desire, but in some cases, they might be imagining killing someone else."

  I paused for a second. I hated this man so much.

  "So," I said, "why does he pick on people with families?"

  "It makes them more desperate to escape – they fight more because they know they have a reason to live, even the old ones."

  "And why murder a child?"

  "Because he wants to see how a child would react. Children think and act differently than adults." He laughed a little.

  Inside I felt sick. All the time, he was giving little hints to me that he was the killer, even though I already knew that.

  "So, what you're trying to say is, the killer chooses a variety of people because they like to choose a variety of ways. They would get bored if they just kill one type of person all the time?"

  "That's what I'm saying," he said. "And it looks like the killer in this case was like that."

  I decided to put more pressure on him.

  "So, how does it explain how the killer knew to wear protection from certain individuals?"

  "That's where you're off track," he laughed. "I've heard about your investigation into this," he said. "And you did not pick up on the fact that the killer wore both the gun shield and the goggles at the same time."

  "And?"

  "Well, if the killer was killing the person who carried pepper spray, why would they choose to wear the gun shield? And vice versa."

  I stopped for a second. Barry was right.

  "Perhaps the killer just likes to wear those for every person, just in case they did actually escape, so they would not be able to be identified later. You're not so clever now, are you?" he laughed and laughed.

  I felt ashamed. I got it wrong! I knew I had to move on.

  "So, you like reading?" I asked him.

  "I love it," he replied.

  "What kind of books do you read?"

  "Well, I like to read a variety of books. What about you? Don't tell me! I can guess!"

  "Go on then."

  "Well, you like to read detective stories. You're completely obsessed with them, aren't you?"

  "Where did you get that idea from?" I cried, feeling very insulted.

  "I can just imagine you now, sitting in your house on a Sunday afternoon, digging into those Agatha Christie books!"

  As a matter of fact, I did actually like to read detective stories – this man could read me as well!

  "Let's move on," I said, determined to catch him out.

  "What is there to talk about now?" asked Barry, grinning slightly.

  "Let's talk about why you bought that axe!" I cried.

  "Ha!" he yelled. "You're not going to catch me out there, Tammy!"

  "What do you mean by that?" I asked him.

  "Once again, Tammy is going in the wrong direction."

  "I'll have you know I've solved every murder I've investigated!"

  "And how many is that?" he said, "Excluding the gang killings, which are easy! Well, let's see, there was the Anne Le Trevell case, the Rupert Christen case, and recently, those serial killings from the other week. Congratulations! What a fantastic, world-class detective!" he laughed. "Do you really believe you can solve any murder that's thrown at you?"

  "Maybe," I said, in a quiet, timid voice.

  "Wake up, Tammy!" he cried. "Every detective has at least one murder that they don't solve! Probably more!"

  "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," I said, "and anyway, I see you've done your homework on me."

  He smiled and nodded his head.

  "There was one more murder I forgot to mention." He stood up and walked closer to me, went right up to my ear, and said, "Your grandmother’s."

  "And I solved that, too!"

  "Well, it could have been prevented!"

  "No, it couldn't have!"

  "Yes, it could! If you discovered that diary before she was killed, she might still be here today!"

  "Nice try, Barry," I said, "but you can't get to me."

  "I am," he laughed. "And now that the person who killed your grandmother is now dead, you feel that justice was not properly served. She only died a few months after going to jail for it, so you feel she should have suffered for much longer, making her life Hell."

  "You still aren't getting to me," I said, completely defenseless.

  "Just think about the way she was killed, Tammy. That knife went into her, oh, seven times? That's the usual amount of stab wounds a killer applies to their victim."

  I tried to hold back the tears, and just about succeeded, but I knew that he saw.

  "You've never got over her murder, have you?" he said, whispering.

  "Well," I said, "I've done my homework on you, as well!"

  Barry's face soon turned upside down.

  "So, you were turned down for being a security guard in a supermarket, failed the physical for been a fireman, and oh, this is the best one: failed the test to become an ambulance driver!"

  I gave out a hysterical laugh, while Barry glared at me.

  "Is that why you killed all those people, Barry?" I asked him. "Because you resent the public?"

  Barry just simply told me, "That might be why he killed those people."

  "No, Barry, let's face it. It was you who killed those people! I know it, you know it, and the rest of the team standing watching us knows it!"

  Barry simply turned around to face the door. "I'm done talking," he said.

  At that point, I felt so desperate.

  "No, you're not," I said to him.

  "Yes...I...am," he said firmly, opening the door and walking out.

  I followed him out of the room. Barry then turned around, and said to me, "Do you like hunting?"

  I was in shock. "No, I don't," I replied.

  "Well, you should try it. I might take you one day."

  I smiled, and turned to the rest of the team. I let him walk out of the building, because there was no evidence to convict him.

  "That's it, isn't it?" I said, with tears in my eyes.

  "I can only assure you that justice will be done one day," said D.I. Hobsworth.

  "How?" I said, crying now. "How is he going to get caught out?"

  There was no reply to that. I knew he had gotten away with murder, and that was that. It was the first case where I had not brought justice to the victims nor to their relatives.

  I walked over to the investigation board, which contained photographs of a
ll eight victims. One by one, I pulled the photos down from there, knowing that nothing had changed for any of their family members. Those photos were haunting me as I pulled them from the wall and stuck them into a cold case box. Although the families knew the truth about each disappearance, the most important part had not been sorted out. I was almost sick. When I left work that day, I decided I needed a drink. When I entered a local pub, I was both shocked and vexed to see him there. He was laughing with friends, and one even offered to buy him a drink. He looked at me for a second, but then went back to his socializing. He was living a good life, and I could have stopped it. They asked for my story. I have told it. Enough.

  Chapter 25

  As the crowds came rushing through the airport, my parents and I just stood there amazed at this beautiful sight. There were many couples together, and many families with their excited children ready to go to Disneyland. This was truly the place to be, I thought. I had never experienced such a happy atmosphere in one place. It was the perfect way to relax, following the tragic events of the previous weeks. We (or my parents) had chosen to fly to France. The expenses of that would have meant that the flight would not have cost much more anyway, so there we were, standing at the airport in Paris, waiting for our taxi to take us to the hotel.

  "Now, promise me you're going to relax," my mother said, anxious about how I was feeling.

  "You've asked that about six times already, Jane," my father said to my mother.

  This was their first holiday together since my grandmother was murdered. My mother seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing now and moved on with her life. After all, it had been four years.

  "Well, Tammy has experienced a lot of stress these past few years, Joe," my mother kept saying to my father quietly, "and this last case just topped it all off!"