by Graham Smith
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Once she wakes up, we’ll have her talk to a psychologist. Perhaps the news of her baby’s survival will help her emotional state. All she’s doing now is babbling incoherently.’
‘I’ll be honest with you. When you came out, I got a glimpse of her. I think I may have recognised her.’
‘Who is she? Dammit, Boulder, you tell me who she is right now.’ The chief steps forward. For a moment, I expect him to grab fistfuls of my shirt.
Even the sullen nurse is looking at me with expectation.
‘I think she’s Lydia Young.’ It’s a lie. I’m still not sure who it is but I’m trying to buy us enough of an audience with the woman to make a positive ID.
‘Who’s Lydia Young?’
It’s the doctor who answers the chief. ‘She’s the administrator’s daughter.’ It’s not the strip lighting which makes his face looks pale.
I take a tentative half-step towards the cubicle. ‘Can I have a minute to see her, check I’m right?’
He steps aside and follows me in.
The figure on the bed is curled into a ball. I keep my distance so as not to alarm her, and bend down so my face is on the same level as hers. I take in every detail of her face: the pointed chin, high cheekbones, and opal eyes that pour tears. The woman’s mouth is pulled wide as sob after sob wracks her body.
Crouching here looking at this wreck of a human being, I can feel the MacDonald blood in my veins boil. Not just for her, but for all those whose lives have been shattered by the killers’ actions.
It isn’t just the victims who have suffered. Their loved ones will be torturing themselves, imagining their pain and fear.
I keep my voice as soft and gentle as possible. It’s almost a burr when I address the woman I suspect is Noelle Holten. ‘Hello, I’m Jake. We used to date. Do you remember me?’
The tiniest of nods interrupts her sobbing.
Now I know she remembers me, I need her to confirm who she is. ‘The doctor needs you to say your name, can you do that for me?’ He doesn’t, but she won’t know that.
She moves her head off her chest and looks at me with unseeing, tear-filled eyes. I last saw her less than twenty-four hours ago, but she’s aged at least a decade since then. Her voice when she speaks is faint, and slurred by whatever sedative the doctor has given her. ‘No… No… Noelle.’
‘Do you know who did this to you?’ I hear the doctor tutting but ignore him.
Noelle’s hands force their way free of the thin hospital sheet covering them. Clutched between white knuckled fingers is a cell phone with a pink cover. She slides it towards me. ‘Vi… Vi… Videos.’
I take the cell from her fingers and give her hand a gentle squeeze as I push the cell into my pocket. She doesn’t return the squeeze.
The doctor isn’t stupid but you don’t get to be a doctor by flunking out. ‘You tricked me.’ Curiosity sits where anger should.
I wait until we’ve left the cubicle before answering him. It’ll save me repeating myself to Chief Watson. ‘She’s Noelle Holten, she’s in her late thirties and lives on the other side of town.’
‘And the other guy?’ I pick up the chief’s meaning. ‘I’m guessing he’s her boyfriend, and father of her baby. I saw them at Gallo Vermiglio last night with a bunch of folks that looked like family. They were all celebrating. Noelle was radiating happiness.’
A burly man in a dark suit strides towards us. He’s almost a poster boy for the FBI with his upright posture and implacable face. He jerks his head to one side whilst looking at the chief. ‘A word.’
I guess he’s called Special Agent Doenig for information on Casperton and the law enforcers he’s likely to encounter. Even forgetting the uniform, Chief Watson’s iron grey hair and world-weary face are distinctive.
His lack of manners grates, but there are bigger issues at hand so I don’t call him on it. The dark hue of his skin combined with the brusque voice are good indicators of how seriously he’ll be taking this case.
He remains silent until we’re alone in a corridor. When he does speak, his eyes are on Chief Watson.
‘I’m Special Agent Gaertner. I’m guessing you’re the chief of police.’ He throws a disdainful glance my way. ‘This one of your detectives?’
I’m not insulted by his pre-formed opinion. If he thinks I’m one of the local detectives, it’s no surprise he’s classing me as a moron.
‘He’s Jake Boulder, a private detective who’s helping me out.’
Gaertner looks me head to toe as he reassesses. ‘I’ve heard about him. Report I got was of a bright fellow who got lucky.’
I wonder what else Doenig has said about me. The FBI may be a bureaucratic organisation at heart but it’s still staffed by human beings. Away from the public they’ll have the same water-cooler gossips as every office in the world. There will be friendships, rivalries and a general sharing of experiences relevant to the areas they work in.
The chief springs to my defence. ‘He’s a good man to have around. He’s been helping me on this case and I value his opinion.’
It’s the nicest thing the chief has said about me but it doesn’t have any effect on Gaertner.
‘I’m sure you do. The FBI however, does not work with civilians.’ Gaertner turns to me. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done so far. You can go home now. My colleagues and I will take it from here.’
The chief bristles and is about to respond to Gaertner’s flat monotone with one of his rants, when a pair of orderlies wheel a gurney past us. The patient on the gurney is either asleep or unconscious. If the orderlies’ expressions are any indication, his chances aren’t good.
I hold up a hand to silence the chief. ‘You know you can’t stop me running my own investigation don’t you? Four of the six victims are known to me and so is the survivor in there.’ I jerk a thumb towards the cubicle.
‘I don’t want you interfering in the case, speaking to witnesses or running your own investigation. If necessary, I’ll arrest you.’ Gaertner’s tone and face don’t alter as he speaks. All human emotion is missing from his personality, it’s as if he’s a trained robot. ‘And don’t expect the chief to deputise you again. I will not allow that.’
I walk away without arguing with him. I’d sooner disobey him than wheedle and beg for him to feed me scraps. Behind me, I can hear the chief’s remonstrations about this being his territory.
The inter-departmental pissing contest was always going to happen. I don’t need to hear it though.
48
Noelle’s eyes flicker open. Everything she sees is a blur. The drugs given by the doctor are stealing her consciousness. They’ve lessened the pain in her belly, but done nothing to end the agony in her heart.
Antiseptic smells and the beep of machines give constant reminders of where she is. Not that she needs reminders. She remembers everything, but wishes she didn’t.
The doctors have told her the baby is still alive but she doesn’t believe them. She remembers the measured punches working their way down her belly, the pain, and most of all the blood pouring from her vagina. The baby can’t have survived that.
Deep inside her, Noelle feels she could have coped with losing the baby if Oscar had been by her side. Together they could have managed the grief, healed each other and tried again. Many women miscarry. Few lose a baby to malicious violence; fewer still witness the horror she has.
In her bereft mind, the future looks bleak, unwelcoming. Everything she was looking forward to yesterday has gone. Stolen by maliciousness.
She can almost hear the platitudes friends and family will offer her. They’ll talk about time being a great healer, about God’s grand design. In time they’ll insist Oscar would want her to move on, find someone else and be happy again.
That’s not a future she can even hope for, let alone imagine.
Seared into her eyeballs is the image of Oscar’s decapitated head. Try as she might, she can’t picture his face any other way.
<
br /> Not only has the love of her life been taken from her, the memories of him have been eradicated. How he looked when happy, angry, sad or a thousand other emotions, has been erased. Over-written by his face in death.
Every time she tries to think of him, his gentle touch and ready smile, her mind shows her the horror of his death.
She’d known, when she was reading out the men’s words, that Oscar was going to be killed. It was only when she’d been given the sheet with her instructions, that she’d realised she was to be spared. The cruel way she’d been punched had stolen their baby. Robbed her of the life growing inside her. Never would she look at the child he’d fathered and see his face again.
The one thing stopping her from wanting to end it all, is a desire to see the masked men face justice for their crimes. That’s why she held onto her phone until she saw Jake. She knows she can trust him to investigate the video she made. Her instructions from the men had told her there’d be another one on there. That she was to show both to the police.
Jake would make sure the videos are seen by the right people. She had feared the patrolmen would pass her cell to Farrage or one of the other detectives. Even in the depths of her grief she had known they shouldn’t be the first to see them.
Noelle’s eyes close as the medication takes full control of her body.
49
I feel something dig into my butt when I climb behind the wheel. Reaching round, I pull Noelle’s cell from my pocket.
I’d forgotten she’d given me it. I ought to go back and give it to the chief or Gaertner. Curiosity gets the better of me.
The engine burbles as I drive across town. I call Alfonse and we arrange to meet at my place. It’s closer than his.
I want to see what’s on the cell before I hand it over. Now I know the FBI’s stance, I need to keep ahead of the game. Gaertner can arrest me if he wants, but I’m not giving up because of a threat that is three parts bluff. There are no laws against asking people questions. He can arrest me all he likes; I don’t plan on doing anything that’ll give him grounds to charge me. The best he can do is delay me.
Right now I could use some thinking time. Events are moving so fast I haven’t been able to arrange my thoughts.
I expect the chief to realise that I walked away too easy. He knows me better. Once he calms down and manages to get away from Gaertner he’ll be in touch. While the FBI will now bear the public responsibility for the case, like Alfonse and I, he’ll still want to solve it himself.
With luck, the chief will keep us in the loop in exchange for first dibs on anything we learn. If not, we’ll just have to manage.
Before I give Noelle’s cell to the chief, I want Alfonse to have a look at it.
He’s waiting at the door for me, his feet marching him back and forth. Restless energy is driving his limbs despite the fatigue on his face.
I don’t recognise the set of his jaw or the growl in his eyes. He’s not just angry, he’s murderous. He wants blood and he doesn’t care who knows it.
He speaks as I’m climbing out of the car. ‘This better be good. I have too much to do to waste time yakking with you.’
I let the jibe slide over me as I put my key in the door. He’ll apologise when he calms down. ‘The FBI have stamped their foot and want us cut out.’
‘So you’re quitting. Is that it?’
Alfonse’s hand lifts by way of an apology when he sees my face.
‘This has gotten bigger than just being about your cousin and his family. It stands to reason the FBI don’t want what they see as “a couple of amateurs” getting in their way. We’ll do our thing and let them do theirs.’ I hold up Noelle’s cell phone. ‘This might just give us the inside track.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘Noelle Holten’s. She’s the woman the patrolman picked up. When she handed it to me, she kept saying video.’
I hand it to him and he fiddles with it. He shows me the screen and there’s an image of Noelle’s head. She’s speaking but we can’t hear her words. Alfonse finds the button to turn it up.
We listen and watch together. His mouth hangs opens. Mine might be too but the words I’m hearing are too destructive for me to care about anything else.
When the video ends I get up and go for a pen and paper.
Alfonse replays the video in short segments while I jot down the words. In stark black and white they look innocuous until they’re read.
My name is Noelle Holten and I’ve been chosen to read out this statement because I fell in love with a beaner.
The Christians of America have had enough. For too many years our proud heritage and gene pool has been diluted by niggers, Jews, beaners, and a thousand other inferior races. We, The Christian Knights of America are declaring war on all lesser species. Our aim is to rid the country we love of all impurities. What is happening in Casperton is just the start. We have chapters in every state, every city. The white Christian population is what made America great. We built this country and now we’re taking it back. We shall not surrender. We shall not be defeated. If you’re not a white Christian you’re going to die. Die horribly screaming in agony. Leave our wonderful country now and we’ll spare you.
Offensive as the message is, I can’t stop reading and re-reading it. I hear Alfonse’s teeth grind as he does the same. He’s the first to speak. ‘This has to go to the FBI as soon as I’ve cloned it.’
He pulls his laptop from the case he always carries. He plugs in a USB lead and selects one of the multiple heads at the other end, and connects it to Noelle’s phone.
I go to my PC, type out the message and print six copies.
‘Shit.’
The intensity of Alfonse’s curse makes my head snap round. Alfonse is looking at his laptop. ‘What’s up?’
‘The video has been uploaded to her Facebook page.’ He grimaces. ‘It’s not the only one.’
I stand behind him as he shows me the other video.
A Mexican man is being held down by two men wearing Klan robes. His neck is placed across a post and a woodsman’s axe swings down. It takes three attempts to sever the head. A gloved hand grabs the head by the hair and carries it towards a tethered goat. The head is wedged between the goat’s horns and bound into place with a rough twine. The video ends.
I’m reaching for my cell to call the chief when it starts to ring.
‘What can I do for you, Kenneth?’ He must sense something in my tone as he says what he needs to say before ending the call without any greetings or salutations.
‘Don’t tell me he wants you to work tonight?’
‘No. It’s something else. Remember he said someone had been asking for me? Well Kenneth said the guy was there again today. Said the guy was gonna come back tonight around nine.’
‘You planning to meet him?’ Alfonse’s tone is sharp, but I ignore it.
‘Yeah. If I’m back in time.’
‘Back from where?’
‘Seeing Butch Augiers. Apparently he went there looking for me too. Left a message with Kenneth saying I should go see him.’
‘So, you’re going to go running, are you? I need you here, with me, working the angles. I’m good at running down the obvious and getting into online places where I shouldn’t be. You’re better at coming up with ideas, theories and lines to pursue.’
I wave away his compliment. ‘I’ll only be gone a few hours. I’ll drop Noelle’s cell at the station, go see what Butch wants, and meet you at the Tree around nine. You run a trace on the cell movement and get everything you can from it. Then carry on with looking into the people on the list. I’m convinced Darryl and Sherrelle were chosen for a reason other than their skin colour.’
‘Fair enough.’ He points at his laptop, his face full of anger and frustration. ‘They haven’t just posted to her Facebook. They’ve put it up on YouTube, Vimeo, Twitter, Google+ and LinkedIn. They’re telling the world, Jake. Trying to instil fear and cause trouble where there isn’t any.’
&
nbsp; ‘Are you able to take them down?’ The sooner they’re off the internet, the less potential they have to cause further trouble.
‘Of course I can.’ There’s professional affront in his voice. ‘You’d better check with Chief Watson and the FBI first though.’
He’s right. Interfering with evidence is a serious crime.
I’m reaching for Noelle’s phone as I dial Chief Watson on mine.
Alfonse is right about what they’re doing. Their stating that they’re not alone is the biggest worry. The only saving grace, if it can be called that, is there aren’t huge swathes of under-privileged areas filled with ethnic minorities. If this had happened in certain parts of New York or Los Angeles there would be race riots to contend with. Tensions will still rise when the news of this breaks, but at least it’s not happening in a place where racial unrest is already an issue.
50
A reception committee is waiting for me at the steps of the station. It’s safe to say they’re not impressed with me. Even Gaertner’s implacable face is covered with a scowl as I screech to a halt.
His hand extends without a word. He takes the cell from me and hands it to one of the two subordinates standing at his shoulder.
The subordinate wheels away and heads inside. I don’t need a Harvard degree to work out he’s Gaertner’s techie guy.
‘Listen to me, Boulder.’ Gaertner’s nose is a quarter inch from mine. If anyone else invaded my personal space this way, I’d spread their nose across their face with my forehead. However, FBI special agents get a free pass when I’m in the wrong. ‘I don’t buy your tale about forgetting you had that cell. I think you kept it back so you could continue your own investigation.’
His eyes bore into mine, defying me to deny his charge. I can’t. I’ve been busted and we all know it.
I hold up my cell. ‘It was a half-hour delay at most once I realised I had it, and it was a genuine mistake. Do you want me to get Alfonse to remove the videos?’
