Chapter 2
It was a dreary November afternoon in 2012, and the team and I had finished for the day. It was another fairly routine day, as usual: going out to investigate a murder, waiting for a post mortem, looking around the crime scene for evidence. Nothing else was involved in my job. Sometimes I would interview the killers, but that was usually done by another person. I was bored and wondering if I’d made a good career choice when I took this job… and I was only three months in!
I was sitting at my desk like the others, caught up in some random conversation before packing up my things to leave for the night. We were not allowed to leave the building for another five minutes, so we were just chatting to pass the time. I had four other colleagues.
The first was Miranda. She was in her thirties, and looked the most professional of all of us. She had long, black hair (which she sometimes tied back) and wore very little make-up, though she really didn’t need to wear any. She wore the same business-like clothes every day, and was determined to solve any murder that came her way. She was a bit like me, in a way, but Miranda had more experience, although I wasn’t sure which of us made the best detective. Miranda often talked about her achievements, although she didn’t brag. One of the pictures on her desk was of her winning an award for something, but I never knew what. She was friendly, but not a person to be enemies with.
The other woman on the team, aside from me, was Patricia Harrison. She was deputy head of the team, and she looked in her late fifties. She was a rather plump woman with short, blonde hair. If you listened to her speak, you would never guess that she had done so well in life, because she sounded like a stereotypical northern housewife.
Then there was Graham Mitchell. He was originally from New York and had lived in North Dakota for about thirty years. He was in his late forties, even pushing fifty, and he was very tall, with fairly long, brown hair. He was obviously a fun-loving person and always tried to lighten the mood slightly. However, he seemed to remain in the background sometimes when I was partnered up with him for a few murder investigations. Perhaps he was not confident enough, or perhaps he was not cut out to be a detective. I had nothing against him, but I just thought that everyone else on the team was more intelligent or all the ball than him.
Finally, there was the boss, Clive Mitchell. I sometimes got confused because there were two people with the same last name on the team, but since we had to address the boss as D.I. Mitchell, we just decided to call Graham, Graham, and he was more than happy with that. I struggled to form a reasonable opinion of the boss – he seemed to have no personality at all. I rarely spoke to him, only when I needed to. I had never actually had a proper conversation with him. He was always very dull and depressing to be around. Perhaps that was just his way, and perhaps he liked it like that. I think that everyone else on the team felt the same way as I did, because they hardly spoke to him either. I had heard that he had a family, so it was possible that there were problems there. I never found out, though.
Just before we left, I decided to ask the others about their past experiences before entering this job, because although I had worked with them almost every day for three months, I’d hardly had a chance to chat with them, because being a detective was hard work, and there were very few breaks during the day.
“So,” I asked everyone on the team, excluding Clive Mitchell, who was sitting in his office reading something, “what did you all do before this job?”
“Well, Tammy,” begun Miranda, “I was always a police officer, from my early twenties. I worked my way up since then. It’s always been my passion, solving crime.”
“I see what you mean, but I wasn’t always passionate about crime solving,” I replied.
“No?” asked Miranda, an intrigued look on her face.
“No. It was only a few years ago when I solved my first murder.”
“But you weren’t a detective then?” Patricia said, joining in the conversation.
“No. I was only seventeen at the time,” I replied, trying not to look too proud of myself.
“I think I heard about that,” said Patricia. “And I’ve also seen you in the newspaper a few times. You were the one who solved the Alexandra Cross case, weren’t you?”
“I was,” I said, feeling rather modest about my accomplishments.
“Well, there’s nothing that complicated in this job,” said Graham, who had also read about the Alexandra Cross case. “It’s just the same old thing here.”
“What about you, Graham?” I asked. “What did you do before you came here?”
“I was a police officer for a lot of years,” said Graham, “and I just worked my way up from there.”
“Can I ask you something?” said Miranda, in a friendly tone of voice.
“Fire away,” I replied, knowing what Miranda was about to say.
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but how did you get the job without becoming a police officer first?”
“I knew you were going to ask that,” I laughed. “Well, I was fairly lucky, actually. I got my degree in criminology and I joined the police force.
“They must have seen your potential,” said Graham. “I mean, they must have known how good you were at solving murders.”
“Yes,” said Patricia, trying to move the conversation on. “Anyway, like Graham said, this job is so boring. There’s nothing exciting, is there?”
“I love a challenge!” I cried, desperate for something unique to come along. “I’m sick of these gang killings, day in, day out. Can’t they just all make peace?”
“Then we’d have no job!” laughed Patricia, switching the television on. “Here’s something for you to watch.”
It was the six o’clock news. I hadn’t noticed this morning as I went to work what day it was. On the television the news reporter said, “Today is the twentieth anniversary of the first killing in Minot. Twenty years ago today, Josh Davis was brutally murdered in the woods on the outskirts of Minot, a small town in North Dakota.”
“That’s near us, isn’t it?” asked Graham.
“Just a couple of miles away,” replied Patricia.
The news anchor continued to speak. “To this day, the killer, known as the ‘Minot Hacker’ has never been caught, and the families of the victims are still waiting for justice. But at this point, it looks as though the killer will never be found, as there has never been any DNA evidence to link anyone to the murders.”
“It’s so awful,” I said, feeling sorry for the relatives of the victims.
“It boils my blood!” cried Miranda. “Just knowing that the killer is still out there makes me feel sick!”
“After all these years, the killer might even be dead now,” said Patricia, trying to reassure Miranda.
“It’s a shame there’s nothing we can do for them. Sounds like there are no leads whatsoever. Their files are just packed away in a box somewhere, like so many others,” added Miranda.
“Anyway, it’s time to go,” Graham said, before he got too down.
I was the last person to leave the building, since everyone else was so eager to get home. Even the boss left before me. I suppose that was a good thing, since it showed that he trusted me. I took my time – I had nothing to look forward to anyway. I was going to call my mum, and that was it. Even though we lived in the same town, we were a fair distance apart, so I didn’t really get to see her too often, because I had lots of work to do. Still, I was proud of my job and it made me happy, so it was worth it.
After I packed my things and put on my coat, I was finally ready to leave. However, as I put my coat on, I saw somebody enter the room – a person who I’d never seen before in my life. He was of average height and had grey hair. It was very difficult to tell how old he was, because when I first looked at him, he seemed rather young, but after a couple of seconds, he looked very drained and ill. His face was as white as a sheet. He was dressed all in black – black trousers, black coat, and even a b
lack bowler hat, which he took off when he came into the room.
This mysterious figure looked extremely apprehensive about something, but I had no way of telling what it might be.
“Can I help you?” I asked him, trying to get more information about his character.
He tried to speak, but could not. When he opened his mouth, his voice trembled.
“Ye...y...y. N…n..no... I don’t know!” he cried.
“Take your time,” I said. I was beginning to get nervous myself, and I didn’t know why. There was something odd about this man and I wanted to know what this was all about.
“Well...”
“Have you come here to report a crime?” I asked him, seeing that the man was in shock from something.
“No,” the man replied quickly. “Well, yes.”
I was very intrigued, but totally confused at this point. I really wanted to know what had brought him here by now.
“Have you just seen something?” I asked him, “Or has somebody just done something to you?”
“Give me a minute,” the man said. “I’m not sure I want to do this.”
It was only now that I realized he was shaking vigorously. He was clearly a man who was mentally ill. He then put his head in his hands and scratched his forehead with his fingertips, showing that he was thinking about something, or that he was really feeling stressed.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You can talk to me.”
“Well, I don’t know how to put this, but...”
“Yes?” I said, growing more and more desperate for an answer.
“I, I am… the Minot Hacker!”
Chapter 3
Obviously, this was a massive shock to me. Two minutes earlier, I had heard about the killings, and now the person standing right in front of me claimed to be the one who caused them? I was just lost for words. The man in question just stood there with his hands out, implying that he wanted me to arrest him. After a confession, I had no choice but to take him into custody, so I signaled the officers on night duty to come in and keep an eye on him through the night. I also worried he might commit suicide, so I made sure he was on suicide watch before I returned home.
On the way home, I almost crashed from not concentrating properly; I was more focused on what had just happened. This was the first truly dramatic event that had occurred while I was on the police force. I was beginning to become excited at thoughts of the future. Could he really be the killer? After all this time, could the parents of the murdered boys get justice? I was hoping I had what it took to solve the murder. Of course, it could have been a hoax, and the man could have taken drugs or been completely deranged, so he may have not murdered anyone at all. I just had to wait until morning. It was a lead, either way, and that was the most important thing for now. I knew I had to sleep on it, and think of things to say to him, if I got to be the one to interview him.
Morning finally came and I got to work and told my colleagues the news. At first, none of them believed me, but after a few seconds of thought they realized I was dead serious about this. I would never joke about something like that, and they knew it.
“What on Earth?” said Graham, breaking the silence, and saying out lout what they all were wondering. “Why would he do that?”
“Well, it was the twentieth anniversary yesterday,” said Miranda. “Perhaps he wanted to play a huge prank on us.”
“Yes, but why?” I said, fairly confused about the whole thing. If he wasn’t the killer, why would he get himself into trouble for wasting police time? Still, there was a case a few weeks before where someone claimed to have seen a murder, and there had been no such thing, so there were people out there who were capable of making up stupid things like that.
“I think it’s too early to judge yet,” said Patricia. “I want to hear what he says first.”
“And there might be a way of catching him,” I said.
“What’s that?” asked Patricia, who had not thought of the obvious.
“Well, I don’t think they released how the boys were killed. If these details, didn’t come out, then we can easily find out whether this man is lying or not. If he truly wants to make us believe he is a murderer, for whatever reason, we can catch him out.”
“That’s a good idea,” replied Patricia, “but it will not necessarily work. We have to wait and see how things turn out first.”
The boss then arrived. He was the one to choose who would interview the subject.
“Right, I’ve heard the news,” he said, “and obviously, this is a very big deal. Soon the press will arrive, and they will want to know all of the details.”
“How will they find out?” I asked him, not intentionally interrupting to be rude.
“These things get around, Williams, and quicker than anyone would expect. As I was saying, this is the biggest case we’ve had in years. I don’t want to put pressure on you all, but it is imperative that this gets sorted out, and soon. The families of the victims will be waiting to find out more, so even if this does turn out to be a hoax, I want it resolved quickly!”
The four of us just stood in silence, listening for what he would say next.
“And I’ve decided who will interview him. Williams, since you’re already acquainted with him, I have a feeling he is more likely to be willing to talk to you. Make sure you ask the right questions, and don’t screw this up!” Mitchell said.
“I won’t, sir,” I replied, eager to talk to the apparent serial killer. I was also apprehensive at the same time, because this could be it – the people of Minot had been waiting for twenty years to find out the truth about the tragic disruption of their small town, and this might finally be it. To be frank, I would be bitterly disappointed if it turned out to be a hoax, and I would be so angry. I would do everything in my power to make the sentence as long as possible for a person who wasted valuable police time and caused such a fuss. I didn’t even know his name, so that would be a good place to start.
He was ready. Whoever this man was, he was sitting in the interview room, waiting for me to come in and talk to him. Before I entered the room, I studied him through the glass window, watching his every move, trying to see what he was feeling at the moment. He was shaking slightly, and his fingers were moving around on his hands a lot, so it was obvious that he was nervous.
“Funny, isn’t it?” said Miranda. “We complain that we don’t get a challenge, and the next day, this happens!”
“Yes,” I said, more concerned about what I was going to say to him. I had interviewed suspects several times before, but this person was different. I didn’t know why. I was tired of waiting, so I decided that this was it. I was about to potentially talk to the infamous Minot Hacker.
I entered the room and he looked at me, watching me like a predator. I said nothing, and he said nothing, until I sat down. There was nothing else in the room but the two of us, with two chairs and a table to separate us. No tape recorder was present for the time being, because it was only the start of the investigation, but there was closed-circuit television watching us.
“So, are you going to tell me your name?” I asked him, unsure about his reply.
“John Doe,” he replied quickly.
“Well, that’s really original, isn’t it?”
He said nothing. He did not look at me. Instead, he stared at the floor.
“What’s your real name?” I asked him.
“John Doe,” he replied, slightly annoyed this time.
“So, John,” I said, slightly sarcastic, “What made you come into the police station last night and confess to the murders?”
“I...I don’t know,” he replied. “I...oh! The guilt. It was too much for me! I couldn’t take it anymore.”
I froze for a second. It was quite unusual, the way he acted.
“Okay, so you decided to come in on the twentieth anniversary of the first killing?”
“Yes.”
“Any partic
ular reason for that?”
“No.”
“Do you want attention or something?”
“No!”
“So, you’re telling me that it is just a coincidence that you just happened to confess to us on an important anniversary?” I asked, quite frustrated with him already. I knew this was going to be a long interview, because I was not going to give up easily.
He nodded. He did not seem so sure, but I wanted to move on and come back to that later.
“So, you are genuinely the murderer?”
“I am,” he said, looking me right in the eye for the first time.
That shocked me, for whatever reason. I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt goose bumps when he said that. It was like some other presence in the room was trying to tell me to believe him.
“So, this is not just a hoax?” I asked him.
“No! Why would I do something like that?” he asked me, looking dead serious.
“Well, other people have done this sort of thing in the past, mainly for media attention. Do you get noticed, John?” I said, getting rather excited.
“I am not making this up!” he yelled, becoming more and more furious.
“Alright, calm down. You just have to understand our point of view. You see, we are not sure you are the killer yet, because we have no evidence either way, other than your confession. So, do you want to move on to that now?”
He nodded, again looking at the floor. His body language showed me that he seemed remorseful or ashamed at what he had done, if he had done anything at all.
“Right,” I said, trying to think of a way to phrase what I was about to say. “I want to know the details of their deaths. How did you kill them?”
“I stabbed them all to death,” he said, as plainly as he could.
Again, I felt that sort of presence around me. Inside, the nerves in my arms were shaking. The feeling was awful. It was just the way he said it. It was as if someone would say, ‘I got a drink,’ just in a casual tone. It was like he saw absolutely no wrong whatsoever in what he had done.
The Untimely Death Box Set Page 45
