From The Shadows (Blaze series Book 1)

by David Carter

  “I’m not sure; I’ll do my best.”

  After a few minutes, she said, “I’m sorry, no one comes to mind. But I promise to call you if I think of something.”

  Ryan and Hampton got up to leave and thanked Sharon for her time, before making their way back to the car. As they walked away, Sharon gazed after them, admiring Ryan as he walked past the courthouse across the street, which triggered her mind into reliving the moment when she’d delivered the guilty verdict at Blaze’s trial. She pictured the judge delivering his sentence, locking him away for a minimum of five years, before banging his gavel to seal his fate. This suddenly gave her an epiphany.

  She quickly yelled across the street. “Detectives, wait! I think I know who you are looking for!”

  Ryan and Hampton sprinted back over to her. “Have you thought of someone?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes! I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before!”

  Hampton impatiently said, “Well, spit it out, then! Time is of the essence!”

  “Judge Matthew Jones!” she exclaimed. He is the judge of the Glendale courthouse, and is an extremely traditional, diehard Catholic. It makes sense that I overlooked him, as just about everyone in town calls him Jonesy!”

  “Is he a large man?” asked Hampton.

  “He could be mistaken for a hippo at the zoo,” she said, and giggled.

  “Thank you, Sharon! That certainly gives us something to go on,” said Hampton.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know if he has a strong dislike for homosexuals in any way, do you?” asked Ryan.

  She scoffed at his question. “Matthew Jones is one of the proudest homophobic bigots in Glendale! It’s common knowledge that he goes off to the city and other larger towns to join all the anti-gay protests, and it’s rumoured that he has wrongfully sent innocent men to prison simply because they were gay. I can’t testify to that, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if it were true.”

  Ryan pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and dialled the Glendale Police Station. The officer on duty was one of the two he had spoken with at O’Brian’s house earlier this morning.

  “Get your asses over to Judge Matthew Jones’ house and arrest him on suspicion of the murder of Luke Turner and the attempted murder of Karl O’Brian, now!”

  He clicked off, and in a matter of seconds, heard sirens blaring as two Glendale Police cars sped off into a residential area just beyond the main street where Matthew Jones’ house was located.

  Ryan was on cloud nine after such a fast breakthrough. “You did real good, Sharon,” he said, and beamed. “I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled back, then went to say something, but stopped herself.

  “Something the matter?” Ryan asked her.

  “It’s nothing...”

  “Are you sure?”

  Her heart pounded harder than a bass drum in a brass band. “Are you free tonight?” she asked. “Perhaps we could discuss the case further over coffee?”

  “Well sure I am… I think,” he stuttered in surprise, looking to Hampton for his approval, who urgently nodded as if to say, “of course you are free, you stupid idiot.”

  Sharon blushed. “I’m sorry, it was inappropriate of me to ask—”

  “Please, don’t be sorry,” Ryan cut her off. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. How about I pick you up and take you out for dinner after I’ve dealt with Mr Jones, say, seven o’clock? I know a fantastic restaurant in Milton City you would like.”

  “It’s a date,” she said with a smile that could’ve melted the polar ice caps.

  Hampton left them to nut out the finer details of their evening and sat in the car. When Ryan finally joined him, he scolded him, saying, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What?” replied Ryan innocently.

  “You nearly blew it with her, you imbecile.”

  “I didn’t expect her to ask me out! Like I said; she caught me off guard.”

  “Well you had better make a damn good impression on her tonight, young man. She could be a keeper.”

  Ryan watched her walking back towards The Greasy Axle, her delicate body gliding across the pavement. “Jeez, I think you could be right,” he agreed.

  Hampton’s face turned serious. “Right, that’s enough relationship advice for one day, lover boy. We’ve still got a job to do.”

  Ryan slammed the gear lever into drive as he said, “Damn right we do, old timer. I think it’s time we had a wee chat with Mr Jones.”

  Chapter 27

  Jones sat handcuffed to the table in the middle of the interview room at the police station. “What is the meaning of this!” he yelled furiously.

  Ryan and Hampton were watching him through the small, square window in the interview room door, deciding on the best approach to draw a confession out of him. Hampton said, “Fancy a round of good cop/bad cop?”

  “Only if I get to be the bad cop,” Ryan answered.

  He was in no mood to be messed about with, and had a reputation for getting a confession from his suspects even if things had to get a little bit rowdy.

  “Crap. I wanted to be the bad cop,” protested Hampton. “For some reason, I really want this bastard.”

  “All right then, I’ll compromise; let’s play bad cop/bad cop instead.”

  “That’ll work for me.”

  Hampton went in first while Ryan waited outside for a moment, putting on his game face. Hampton stood staunchly opposite Jones on the other side of the table in the tiny room. He folded his arms and bored holes through Jones’ eyes with a stare that clearly showed he was not there to be his friend.

  Ryan walked in and slapped a pile of photographs on the table in front of him. The picture at the top of the pile was the disturbing image of Luke Turner lying face down on his bed with a golf club sticking out of his anus and a Bible verse carved into his back. His head lay in a large patch of crusted blood that had gushed out from where his throat was slit.

  Jones turned his head away, refusing to look at the pictures.

  Ryan asked him, “Where were you between the hours of nine and ten-thirty this morning?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything, as I have nothing to do with any of this,” Jones said indignantly.

  Ryan’s patience faded a shade or two. “Well, if you have nothing to hide, you won’t mind telling me where the hell you were this morning then, will you?”

  Hampton noticed Jones nervously tapping his foot. He said to Ryan, “He knows something, all right. Perhaps you just need to persuade it out of him. Would you like me to turn the cameras off and leave you two in private for a few moments?”

  Jones sat bolt upright. “I went out for a walk! That’s the honest truth! I swear!”

  Ryan picked up the photograph at the top of the pile, leaving the next one visible for Jones to look at. It was of O’Brian, just before he had been loaded into the ambulance, his body resembling a pin cushion. He calmly said, “Can anybody verify your whereabouts while you were conveniently out walking?”

  “I’m not sure, I don’t think so.”

  “You didn’t talk to anyone?”

  “No, I went for a walk. I didn’t talk to anyone, and I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Okay, let me paint you a picture here, Jonesy. You are the judge of a small country town, and I’d say that you know every person that has ever lived a day of their lives in this small town. But on the day that two homosexual constables were brutally attacked, one savagely mutilated to death, and the other just hanging on by the skin of his teeth, you just happened to be out for a walk around the exact time the crime took place, and not a single person saw you, or spoke to you while you were out and about?”

  “Yes!” urged Jones.

  “Bullshit!” shouted Hampton. “You’re sweating like a pig, and you’re twitching worse than a teenage boy with Tourette’s syndrome watching a porno!”

  Ryan was sick of getting nowhere
, so he said, “Steve, would you kindly give me moment alone with our guest?”

  “No problem. Would you like me to turn the cameras off, too?”

  “No, leave them on. I want his confession on video. We can always edit any unofficial content out later,” he said, and coldly stared at Jones, who sank back in his chair, deflated.

  Hampton left the room. Ryan said, “All right, Jonesy, you have two choices: I can either be the good cop, or I can be the mean cop. For example; if you can tell me even the slightest bit of useful information, I will loosen your handcuffs and get you a cup of tea. On the flip side, if you keep propping up your story with more bullshit and lies, you will be walking out of here with significantly fewer teeth than you walked in with. And if you even think about trying to nail me in court for it later, I’ll write up a report saying you provoked an officer to the point where he had to use submissive force against you in an attempt to stave off an unexpected surge of aggressive behaviour. At worst, it’ll cost me a measly few hundred bucks for me to get an officer to sign it and stay quiet. I’ve done it before, and I’ll most likely do it again. So, do we understand each other?”

  Jones looked as if he was ready to spill his oversized guts, but instead he stood firm. “I know absolutely nothing about the photos, and I want to see my lawyer, now!”

  Ryan said nothing. He changed his point of attack. He decided to let his actions do the talking, bluffing the judge into a confession. He casually removed the cufflinks from his shirt sleeves, then started rolling them up, unveiling his toned, muscular forearms. He clicked his neck left and right, as if limbering up for a scuffle. “What’s it gonna be, Jonesy? Left or right cheek first?”

  Jones was mortified. “You can’t do that! I’m a man of the law! You are making a terrible mistake!” he said anxiously.

  “Right now, your job title doesn’t mean diddly squat to me. Start talking or you’ll need an ice pack for your jaw.”

  Jones decided to play hard ball, and defiantly said, “I will not give in to your violent threats. I am innocent, and I want to see my lawyer this instant!”

  Ryan quietly chuckled. “You won’t require a lawyer if you don’t start talking. You’ll more likely be requiring an X-ray. I was really hoping you would be sensible and choose the good cop. But right now, you are definitely leaning towards the other cop.”

  “But why would I try to kill Karl and Luke?” squealed Jones.

  Ryan replied, “Well, for starters: I know for a fact that you are an anti-gay activist, and that you proudly stand against homosexuals in protest of their lifestyle while aiming to strip away their human rights, dignity, and free will, all in the name of hate and religion. And do you know what, Jonesy? I find that extremely intolerant of you that you can’t leave people alone to be who they are. It doesn’t sound very Christian-like now, does it? Who the hell do you think you are anyway, God?”

  Jones said nothing as he stared downward, undeterred by Ryan’s comments.

  “I also know that you may have unlawfully sent homosexuals to prison because the Bible says that being gay is a sin. Karl and Luke were in a sexual relationship, and the person who attacked them clearly left a message saying that God condemns homosexuality. The Bible verse inscribed on Luke’s back clearly stated that their guilt is upon them, therefore justifying his execution. I interviewed Karl at the hospital, and he virtually gave me your name as the suspect. I have also been told that the person who called in the murder was breathing heavily on the phone, just as you are doing now. So, unless you want to be living on soup for the next three months, you better start bloody talking!”

  Ryan drew back his arm to take a swing at Jones’ chubby left cheek. Just as his fist was closing in on his overstuffed face, Jones screamed, “All right, all right! I’ll tell you everything I know! Don’t hit me! Please!”

  Hampton came dashing back in. “See! I told you the lying prick knew something!”

  Ryan’s fist stopped an inch short of clobbering Jones’ jaw; the perfect bluff. Ryan rolled his sleeves back down and buttoned them up. “The bad cop can return at any time you choose, but for now, the good cop is back in the room. Do you understand me?”

  Jones nodded his balding head, which glistened with beads of sweat. Hampton leaned forward with both hands flat on the table. “Start from the beginning, Mr Jones.”

  Jones bowed his head and closed his eyes, mumbling a short prayer. When he was done, he said, “I know how bad this is going to look, hence why I felt it better to hide the truth from you.”

  “It was you who tipped off the hospital, wasn’t it?” interjected Hampton.

  Jones exhaled a long, deep sigh. “Yes, it was me who called the hospital,” he answered, exasperated.

  He told them about the message the Watcher had delivered to his letterbox, and the story about the murder of Eric Thompson’s son, George Walker. He revealed to them the existence of his secret club, The Protectors of the Past. After explaining about his club, he told them about the telephone conversation he had had with O’Brian before he’d come storming over to his house to have it out with him.

  “Just who the bloody hell do you think you are?” asked Ryan. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s wrong to run a town through a secret club getting people to do what you want while suiting your own purposes and beliefs?”

  “The members of the club have a duty to run this town according to God’s will!” he replied emphatically.

  Ryan grabbed Jones by the collar of his shirt, heaving him up from his chair, causing the handcuffs to dig deeply into his fleshy wrists. “No, you bloody well don’t! You have a duty to run this town by the laws set in place by the government of this country! Glendale doesn’t need the secret interference of an overweight judge and his band of merry men who have long since passed their expiry date!”

  Hampton saw Ryan on the verge of losing control. “Both of you just shut up and calm down! We are getting way off topic here,” he said sternly.

  Ryan calmed himself, after roughly thrusting Jones back in his chair, making him feel much better.

  Jones broke down in tears.

  “Cut out the water works and sharpen your memory, Jonesy,” said Hampton. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened this morning when you went out for that stroll of yours.”

  Jones strained as he leaned forward to rub his tearstained eyes with his chastened hands. He remembered back to this morning’s events and started unravelling the truth to what had transpired.

  “I knew the Watcher had given Karl and Luke a twenty-four-hour deadline to confess the errors of their ways before God at the Glendale Christian Church, and I was genuinely worried for them. This morning, when I went out for my usual morning walk, I thought I would check in on them to make sure they were okay.”

  “How noble of you,” said Ryan sarcastically.

  “It’s the truth,” snapped Jones. “I arrived at their house and noticed the door was ajar. I used my elbow to nudge it open further, and the house was deathly quiet. I called out to Karl and Luke, but all I heard in response was the chorus of cicadas buzzing outside. At first, I assumed they weren’t home, because unlike in the city, it’s common for Glendale folk to leave their doors and windows unlocked when they go out. There is very little crime here. I walked inside and had a look around, hoping to find the house empty, but what I found was something that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Hampton, listening intently.

  “As I walked down the hallway to their bedroom, I saw the grip of a golf club suspended in mid-air through the doorway, which tickled my curiosity. I walked in to see how the illusion was possible, and needless to say, I was mortified to find poor Luke in such a heinous state.”

  “What about Karl?” asked Ryan.

  “He was on the floor, lying down on his back, slowly bleeding out from at least a dozen fresh stab wounds on his chest and abdomen, with a baseball bat smeared with blood sitting next to him on the
floor. From the gash in his skull, it was obvious he had been beaten over the head with it. Unbelievably, he was still breathing, and I swear he understood me when I asked if he could hear me. I ran to the phone and dialled the hospital. It was then that I realised how bad it would look for me if I was found at the house with two brutally attacked, gay, police officers. So, I left the house and walked through the maize field out the back of the property until I came to the road on the other side. Then I walked back into town and went straight home. I made a cup of tea, I toasted some crumpets, and had a snooze on the couch—that is—until the police came crashing through my front door and arrested me.”

  Hampton unlocked Jones’ handcuffs, telling him to stand up. He then ordered Jones to follow him out of the room, leading him to the rear section of the station to one of the cells. As they walked along together, Hampton said, “While I’m inclined to believe your story, I want you under our noses where we can see you so you don’t suddenly disappear on us. If we can corroborate your version of events you will be free to go, and you can consider us as detectives doing our jobs thoroughly to save your town from a potential psychopath. But until that happens, you will stay in one of these cells and enjoy three extremely average meals a day until we are satisfied we can release you back into the wild with the rest of your pathetic, homophobic friends.”

  “Fine; if that’s what it takes to prove my innocence, I’ll do as you ask. But I want it on the record that your partner threatened me and came within an inch of physically assaulting a man of the law!”

  Hampton scoffed at him. “Never mind the fact that you were withholding vital information from us as a key witness!”

  “I was only protecting myself. The way he conducted himself is highly unprofessional and illegal.”