by Graham Smith
I hear their complaints as I push and wriggle my way through. They range from queries about past deaths being related, to demands the killer be caught before he strikes again.
Lord help Chief Watson when he gets back from the nature reserve. He’ll be mobbed. If he stops to answer each person, there’s no way he’ll be able to do his job.
Seeing Harriet ensconced once again in her mother’s arms, I make my way towards them.
Olly is off to one side. He’s neither part of the crowd nor separate from it. Instead he’s hanging in limbo as he tries to gather information, while also being there for his family.
I can tell from his face he’s achieving neither and feels useless because of his failure.
Taking his arm, I guide him off to one side. ‘Are all your family here?’
His nod elicits a mental sigh of relief from me, as his eyes wander across the crowd.
‘Gather them up and tell them to leave the people on the desk to do their jobs. As soon as the chief has something to tell you, he will. All they are doing is making things harder for the police.’
I can see my words are being taken in, but his mind isn’t working at full speed and it takes a few seconds to process the data I’m giving him.
His gaze locks onto Harriet. ‘You’re right. The sooner we leave them to do their jobs, the sooner all this will be over.’
I cast my eyes across the reception area and see Kelly Oberton’s grief-stricken face, Mrs Halliburton’s mouth set with grim determination and a host of other faces filled with sorrow or anger.
Taking the coward’s way out, I slip unnoticed into the office where Alfonse was working earlier.
He’s right where I left him, staring at the screen in front of him with furrows across his brow.
‘What you got?’
There’s pain in his eyes when he looks at me. ‘I’ve now got fifteen definites before Kira and I’m working on the sixteenth now. Every one of them has been made to look like an accident or suicide.’
‘That’s surely enough to convince the FBI.’
‘Darla typed it up and made an official request when I had proof of six.’ He gives a helpless shrug. ‘The sooner they get here the better. We’re way out of our depth with this one.’
‘You gonna give up when they get here?’ It’s a cheap shot from me but I need to know where he stands.
His eyes flash. ‘Of course not. But this guy scares the life outta me and your name is all over the paper. It’s only a matter of time before you or someone close to you gets hurt.’
‘What?’
He hands me a special edition of the Casperton Gazette. ‘Darla brought this in earlier. Read page two.’
I take the paper from him as he turns back to his screen. There’s a hunch to his shoulders which tells me his mindset.
Alfonse doesn’t get angry often, but when he does it’s always with good reason. I open the paper and see the headline.
Local Man Shows Inept Police Way Forward
Below the headline is Ms Rosenberg’s name and a stock photograph.
Local hero, Jake Boulder, has stepped in to show Casperton’s
inept police force how to conduct a proper investigation. Not even a private detective himself, he has nevertheless proved to be a far more competent investigator than any of Chief Watson’s so-called detectives.
Regular readers of my column will be fully aware of the disdain in which I hold the town’s detectives. Never has the curse of nepotism imperilled the good townspeople so blatantly.
It is a poor enough state of affairs – Mayor Farrage is the current incumbent due to nothing more than a family name and a lack of credible opposition. That his college-dropout son is the town’s lead detective is risible to say the least.
Surely once this heinous killer is apprehended, Chief Watson’s new broom will sweep clean the ranks of his detective squad. Anything less than five competent trained detectives and he will be failing in his basic duty. Leaving Lieutenant Farrage in his current position neither serves nor protects us.
My sources have been adamant every breakthrough in the pursuit of the killer has come from Jake Boulder. I can reveal to you that I have personally seen him attending the locations where three of the victims have been found.
From my personal observations, it would not be amiss to suggest our new chief of police has more faith in a man with no investigative qualifications or training than he has in his highly paid detective squad.
I say the chief is right and we should all be thankful Jake Boulder, and not Lieutenant Farrage, is the man he turns to.
Should Jake Boulder ask you questions, I implore you to answer them honestly and without agenda. Lives may very well depend upon it.
I slap the newspaper onto a desk when I’ve finished reading it. ‘It doesn’t read well for Lieutenant Farrage. Or the chief come to think of it.’
Alfonse scowls at me. ‘Never mind them. What about you?’
‘It’s nice for the ego but other than that it doesn’t mean anything.’ A thought strikes me and it’s not a nice one. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘Jealous? No, you fool, I’m not jealous. I’m afraid for you. If you were the killer and you read that article what would you think?’
I wave a dismissive hand at him. ‘I’d ignore it as a piece of journalistic embellishment.’
‘Really? You’ve lived here as long as I have. Tell me, how often are her columns and pieces embellished? She may go over the top with her rhetoric but the logic and facts are spot on. She’s well known for preferring accuracy to sensationalism.’
‘So?’ I try to brazen it out but he’s got a point and it appears he wants to impale me with it.
‘Do you need words of one syllable?’ Getting no answer from me he continues. ‘If the killer is a local and he reads this piece what do you think he’ll make of it?’
I think about shrugging but decide against it. Instead I keep my mouth shut, lest I give him another reason to rail at me.
‘I’ll tell you what he’ll make of it if you won’t answer me. He’ll think you’re a threat. If he’s as deranged or psychotic as Dr Edwards has suggested to you, he may just think he’ll stand a better chance of not getting caught if you’re out of the picture.’
‘I don’t fit his selection pattern.’
‘No you don’t. But you’re an annoying fly buzzing around his head. Sooner or later he’s going to swat you and speaking for myself, I’d rather that didn’t happen.’
‘Thanks for caring but don’t worry. I can take care of myself.’
‘That attitude is why I’m worried.’
I’ve had enough of this. ‘Back off, Alfonse. I’m getting enough grief off Mother without you joining the chorus.’
He’s out of his seat in a flash, hands planted on the desk as he leans towards me. ‘So the great Jake Boulder is pissed because the two people who know him best are afraid he’s going to do something stupid and get himself killed. C’mon man, you’re too smart not to see that article has made you a target.’
He sits back down and makes a point of studying the screen in front of him.
Instead of pursuing an argument I can’t win, I pull out my still silenced cell, dreading what I’ll find if Mother has read the article.
Judging by the number of missed calls and messages, she’s read it and would like a profound discussion on its literary merits.
I read a few of the messages and send a short one back. There are no emoticons or snarky comments in my reply. Instead I try to placate and reassure her. It may or may not work but I don’t have time for anything else.
59
A commotion in the reception area has both Alfonse and I turning our heads. A sharp New York accent can be heard above all others and it sounds like its owner is trying to pick a fight.
Alfonse turns back to his computer as I walk across to the door. The voice I can hear is unmistakable and I pity anyone caught in the sights of Ms Rosenberg.
> I peek round the edge of the door to take in the atmosphere. It’s not good. Ms Rosenberg is haranguing both Chief Watson and the mayor.
The chief is standing his ground in the face of her questions, but the mayor is a quivering lump of jello. Every utterance from his mouth is a pile of stammered bull dressed up to resemble a decent soundbite.
Surrounding the trio, reporters from other news outlets are mingling with family members. Everyone is talking at once, and while the collective volume is increasing nobody is getting heard.
However compelling everyone’s thirst for knowledge may be, there are more important things for both those men to be doing.
Reaching for the light switch with one hand and a chair with the other, I plunge the room into darkness for the count of three. When I flick the lights back on, I’m standing on the chair.
I yell for quiet. As they start to obey, I hear my name being whispered by a host of different voices.
Every micro and Dictaphone in the room is pointed my way. I’m not big on making speeches, so I keep it short.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. For those who have questions about family members, I know this is a trying time for you. You’re worried about your loved ones. I would be too in your position. However, to best serve and protect those you love, Chief Watson must be allowed to do his job. If he’s talking to you he’s not catching the killer, is he?’
The room falls silent as they digest my logic.
After a moment a voice from the back rings out. ‘How do we find out about our families then?’
‘Good question.’ I point at Mayor Farrage. ‘I’m sure the mayor will be only too happy to provide a number of his staff to help out with keeping you all informed. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he has a contingency plan for just such a necessity.’
The mayor gives frantic nods. He’s obviously delighted to have been removed from the firing line into a position where he can be seen as a source of help for his constituents.
I point to the journalists who have pushed their way to the edge of my chair. ‘I’m sure that while all of your readers would like a statement from either the chief or the mayor, I think it’s fair to say they have more important things to be doing than writing press releases.’
There’s a few calls of ‘hear, hear’ and ‘well said’ from the back of the crowd.
‘However, I’m sure they also understand it’s vital the public are informed of what’s going on, so I would urge you to ask people to stay calm and use the information centre set up by the mayor, while leaving Chief Watson to catch a killer.’
I stop talking to take a look at my watch.
‘Shall we say Chief Watson will host a press conference later at…’ I throw a quick glance at the chief and count the fingers he’s showing me. ‘Nine o’clock.’
There are a couple of grumbles about deadlines, but the journalists are astute enough to realise the majority of the crowd is on my side. Calling me out will lose them readers.
‘Shall we?’ I usher the chief and the mayor towards the office where Alfonse is working only to be confronted by Ms Rosenberg.
‘Masterfully done, Mr Boulder.’ Grudging respect at being outmanoeuvred fills her voice and eyes.
‘Thank you.’ I lean into her just enough so I can whisper without invading her personal space. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put my head in any more nooses though.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’ Her tone is indignant, but the shock on her face makes a liar of her mouth.
I’m not prepared to let her denial be the last word. ‘Then you’d best read your article from the killer’s point of view.’
She regains control of her face, although I’m sure there’s a comment or two she’s biting back.
I close the door of the office and find Alfonse being introduced to the mayor.
‘Thank you, Jake. Thank you.’ The mayor’s face is full of gratitude.
Now isn’t the time to give in to the temptation of telling him only my friends and family call me Jake. I accept his pumping handshake and give him a curt nod. ‘You have any idea how to set up that kind of information resource?’
His smile goes, knocked away by the thought of having to do something other than be a crowd pleaser.
‘I’m sure one of your staff will be able to arrange a practical solution for you.’ It’s the chief who rescues him.
‘Yes, yes of course they’ll be able to.’
I press home my advantage as his smile is returning. ‘Good, because I want twenty men from you.’
‘What for, Boulder?’ There’s a scowl in the chief’s voice as I step all over his toes once again.
‘I want them to help your men guard Harriet’s family. You and all your men are stretched to breaking point. If the twenty men from the mayor can work in two shifts it’ll free up a lot of your guys. They can either work the case or get on with keeping order in town.’
I may be answering the chief, but I make sure my eyes never move from the mayor.
He licks his lips. Left and then right, just as he did when he was outside getting hassled by the crowd.
‘What type of men are you talking about?’
‘Big men. I don’t care if they are refuse collectors, teachers or your political advisors. As long as they are fit, strong and big enough to scare off most would-be attackers.’
‘I think that can be arranged.’
‘Don’t think, make it happen.’ There’s enough steel in the chief’s voice to repair the hole in the side of the Titanic.
The mayor’s back straightens and he draws himself to his full height. ‘When do you want them?’
‘As soon as you can get them here, please.’ I beat the chief to it, but it is a close thing. Him throwing one of his sarcasm laden replies at the mayor won’t help in the long term, especially if he has to sack the man’s son.
‘How many you got now?’ The chief is turning to Alfonse before the mayor has closed the door behind him.
‘Fifteen confirmed.’
A desk tidy flies past my head and shatters against a wall spraying pens, markers and paperclips across the room.
I look at the chief and see him forcing his knuckles against his temples so hard the skin is turning white.
There’s a feral look to his stare, but it’s aimed a thousand yards away. I imagine he’s thinking about what he’d do if he could get his hands on the killer. It’s something I’ve been thinking about too. At this particular moment, the chief is more likely to take the law into his own hands than I am.
60
The plate is slid onto the counter with a gentle burring scrape. I’m not hungry, but I know I need to eat.
I’ve forgone my usual chilli burger and settled for an old-fashioned plain burger. No cheese, no bacon, relish or anything save a few slices of raw onion. The server raised an eyebrow when I deviated from the norm, but the last thing I need today is more fire in my belly.
As expected it’s delicious. The meat tender and juicy, yet cooked enough to remove all traces of redness. There’s a couple of herbs added, but they’re so faint as to be unidentifiable.
While eating the burger I mull over the various things I’ve learned today; what must be done to prevent more lives being taken and various ways of catching the killer.
Nothing I come up with helps or makes any sense.
A thought about the way Oberton’s body was displayed is nagging at me. The cut across his belly reminds me of someone committing Hari-Kari but the way his head was half-severed contradicts what little I know about the act.
Using my cell, I Google the term. The first result directs me to Wikipedia. While not always the most reliable source, it gives a broad enough outline for me to see just how closely the traditions of Hari-Kari, or ‘Seppuku’ to give the act its proper term, have been observed.
The cutting of the neck is done by a ‘second’ or ‘Kaishakunin’. The aim is to cut the neck in such a way as to leave the head hanging as if bowe
d in shame. Reading on, I learn the ceremonial robes are often tucked under the knees to hold the body upright after the act has been completed.
As I finish the last of the wedges, I compare Oberton’s death to the others but come up with none which share the ritualistic elements. It’s as if he’s selecting the weapon or method of murder at random.
While it seems as if that’s what he is doing, I’m not so sure. His victims seemed unconnected until I realised how he chooses them.
Tracing back through Alfonse’s notes on the earlier victims, I look for a pattern or escalation in the weapons used, but with his latest kill, he’s downgraded from a gun to a sword.
He’s also changed from trying to mislead the investigators to leaving a blatant kill.
I’m getting nowhere with this train of thought, so I again try and figure out how he is identifying first the people who find his victims, and then their families.
There’re two parts to the solution and the first has to be that he’s watching the dump sites. The more I consider how else he could be getting this information, the more I’m convinced he’s got some kind of surveillance operation in place.
Once identified, he can trace the victim’s families in the same ways Alfonse and I have been following his trail.
He will have seen Harriet find Oberton today. Having got a face, he’ll have slipped into the crowd and followed them – her red One Direction T-shirt an easy thing to keep an eye on.
I remember following Olly’s car back to the station in a convoy led by a police cruiser. If the killer saw them getting into the car, all he’d have to do is run the license plate through the DMV website and pay the fee for a trace.
There may be a way we can use the site as a way to trace the killer. I call Alfonse and make the suggestion. He’s still sore at me, but agrees it may work.
I hope he gets a quick result. Either it will identify the killer or let him return to his task of tracing back the kills. I have a feeling the first one means something to the killer but until we’ve identified the first victim, we can’t make any assumptions or start looking for clues.
