“So, he told you everything about the note?” I asked her.
“Yes. He said he saw me write a note to him, and used that as his opportunity to kill Richard!”
“Right,” I said, very interested about the way this story had unfolded.
Now I was back to square one.
“I think I’m done here,” I said.
“Can I go now?” she asked me, preparing to get up.
“You do realize that your cousin is still in custody?” I asked her.
“There’s nothing I can do for him now, is there?” she asked me.
“No.”
“He really is the killer, isn’t he?”
I looked at her. Monica was genuinely telling the truth.
“Look Monica, I will get to the very bottom of this,” I vowed. “And I know for a fact that there is more to this story than meets the eye. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“I can’t think of anything at the moment,” she replied, her hands together as if she was praying.
“Then you are free to go,” I told her.
This was getting more and more puzzling by the minute. So, if what Monica said was true, John was the one who saw her writing the note to Richard, so he used that as his opportunity to kill him. I had more to think about in my bed that night, of that I was certain.
For now, however, it was time to give John his phone call. About half an hour after Monica went home, John was given his phone call, and I stood right next to him.
He slowly approached the telephone, and I watched him as he dialed the numbers with great care. Staring at the wall, he put the telephone to his ear, and waited not more than two seconds.
“Hello,” he said. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Are you alright? I’ve been so worried about you. No, I don’t know when I’ll be home. I don’t think they’ll ever let me out.”
I looked at him, since he was looking at me when he said that.
“I love you, Mother,” he said, suddenly.
In an instant, I grabbed the phone off him, and put it to my ear. I did not say anything, but when I put the phone to my ear, the person on the other end of the line had hung up.
I got very excited now. I had to trace that phone call to make sure that somebody was actually talking to him.
Within ten minutes, another police officer on the team had traced the call, and proved that someone was actually on the other end of the line.
“It’s Monica,” I said. “I just know it’s got to be Monica.”
“How do you know it’s her?” Miranda asked me.
“Because that’s the only person he talks to.”
I knew that John could have been confused between his mother and Monica, but that also made me think that Monica could have been pretending to be his mother all along. Either that, or John was just very confused. Either way, I inferred that Monica was on the other end of the line, and Graham and I telephoned Monica and asked her for an alibi. She said that she was at home when that happened, about ten minutes before. This meant that no one could prove where she was at the time, so we were no further forward with the case. Thinking that this direction of the case had come to its end, I decided to turn back to the mysterious house Monica had mentioned before.
Chapter 8
The first thing I knew I had to do was find out who was living in the house in 1992. The only way of doing that was to look at the 1991 census records showing who was living there. Since I was on the police force, I was granted access. I knew that by finding out who was living in the house at the time, I would be one step closer to finding out what the ‘bad thing’ was that John had done.
I was quite shocked by who was living in the house at the time. Two people, named Joseph and Maria Doe, were both in their sixties at the time. I knew it was likely that these people were related to John, possibly grandparents. So, the next step was to search for John’s father’s parents. They came up with two different names than the ones in the census record. Then I thought, brother of John’s grandfather? This led me to do some further research. I searched the birth records for John’s grandfather and found out that John’s great-grandparents were named Antony and Elizabeth. I then searched for Joseph Doe’s parents. Indeed, his parents were also named Antony and Elizabeth. I now had proof that the people living in that mysterious house were John’s great-aunt and great-uncle. This meant that John would have been able to visit the house on several occasions. I had so many questions I wanted to answer, but the most important one was, were these people involved in the murders? It was a possibility, since they seemed like rather bad people, judging from what John told me. Monica did not know about the owners of the house because she was not related to them – she was related to John because her mother and his mother were sisters.
I did some more research on the internet, and found out that both Joseph and Maria were now dead, and they had been since the late 1990s. That was another lead gone, I thought. I wanted to know more about these people. I wanted to know more about their personality. Now, the only living person who knew them was John, as far as I knew. I was thinking about talking to him again to find out more about them, but I had something else to do first. I wanted to gather some piece of evidence about these people, something that John could not lie about. If I started to ask him questions, I knew that John might lie about them. At first I suspected Monica of being the murderer, but now, I could not help but feel that Joseph and Maria Doe were the real killers, framing John to set him up and convincing him that his mother was really alive. Perhaps I was going off track a little, but maybe not.
Then, I had a thought: if these people died over ten years ago, someone might have moved in there by now. Then I thought, is there a chance that John kept going to that house after their deaths? There was only one way to find out.
Within twenty minutes, I found myself back at the house again. This time, I was extra careful not to trip over that hidden lump of metal on the ground. I slowly walked up to the house, quite apprehensive about who I was about to see. What was I going to say to them? How was I going to explain this? I saw that a car was parked outside the house, so somebody definitely lived here, and someone was inside there right now. I knocked on the door and a friendly-looking woman answered.
“Hello,” she said, looking slightly confused about what was going on.
“Hello,” I replied. “I am Detective Tammy Williams. Don’t worry!”
“What’s this about, then?” the woman said.
“Well, I know you might be a little bit taken back by this, but I am making an enquiry into the previous owners of this house.”
The woman shrugged her shoulders. “I never met them,” she said.
“Well, I don’t know how to break this to you,” I said to her, “but there is a chance that the previous owners of this house were serial killers!”
“What?!” the woman cried. “Did you hear that, Dave?”
“What was that, Sherry?” a man asked in the background.
“This is, well, weird!” she cried.
“I know, but there is one thing I need to ask you, and it’s quite important.”
“Come in if you want,” the woman said.
“Thank you,” I replied, allowing myself in.
“So, what was it you wanted to ask me?”
“Well, I might need both of you for this,” I said, feeling rather tense over the fact that the house I was sitting in possibly once belonged to psychotic murderers.
“Come here a minute, Dave,” said Sherry.
“Well, I wanted to know, have any strange people come to this house?”
It did not take Sherry long to reply.
“Well, it was a few years ago now...” she started.
“Go on,” I said.
“But I remember it quite clearly because it was that odd!”
“Okay.”
“Well, this one time I was in the kitchen, and I heard a knock on the door. I an
swered, and there was this man standing there. He looked rather shell-shocked when he saw me. It was like he did not expect me to answer. I asked him who he was, and he turned his head and looked at something in the garden. I don’t know what. He then nodded his head slightly. It was like there was someone else there with him, hidden away.”
“Right,” I said, becoming very intrigued. “Can you describe this man for me?”
“Well, not really,” Sherry said. “He was just a plain man, really. There was nothing distinctive about him at all. He had sort of black and grey hair, stood about average height. That’s all I can give you. I’m sorry.”
I fully understood what Sherry meant. When I looked at John, I could barely remember his face when I left him, because his face was so easy to forget.
“I need to ask you one more thing,” I said.
“Go on then,” said Dave.
“In what year did you move to this house?”
“It was 1998,” Dave replied.
“Can you give me a month?”
“It was in October.”
I was relieved to hear that. Maria Doe had died in September 1998, so it was impossible that someone could have moved in and moved out within a few weeks.
Before I left the house, Sherry told me something else.
“I almost forgot!” she cried.
“What?” I asked her.
“Well, this one time I saw an old woman running around in our front garden, quite sneakily.”
“Really?” I asked, even more intrigued now.
“Yes! I only saw the back of her, but she had grey hair, and she was wearing a yellow cardigan.”
“Was she really?”
“I could not believe my eyes!”
“Was this before or after the other event?”
“Well, I think it was before, but I cannot be completely certain.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Sherry. You have helped me out a great deal!”
“Really?” said Sherry. “Oh, and you’ll tell me if these people do turn out to be the killers, won’t you?”
“You’ll probably see it on the news,” I said, leaving.
I was very pleased with the results. I now had much more to work on and to think about.
Chapter 9
I went to work the following morning. So far this week, I was actually enjoying my work. I knew that as each day went by, I was getting closer to solving the murders. In addition, I had never come across something as challenging as this since before I joined the team. Originally, I thought I was going to enjoy my job here at the police force, but it was not the same when there were two rival gangs in the city, and we were the ones trying to take them down. I was fortunate to get away from all that, for a while, anyway.
I was about to start work when a fairly old woman stormed into the station and headed to my work desk. Although initially I thought I had never seen her before, I did sort of remember her, perhaps from when I was driving through the housing project.
“I saw you at the estates!” the woman cried.
“Who are you?” I asked, curious about what this woman had to say.
“My name is Helen Potters, and I live right across the street from John Doe.”
“Okay,” I said. “And why have you come here?” I asked, getting right into it.
“I know that you’re investigating John Doe for some reason.”
“I am,” I replied. “But for now, I can’t tell you why.”
“I understand that. I don’t care about that,” she said, in a rather pushy manner.
“What is it you want then? Do you have some information on John Doe that we might not have?” I asked, becoming very impatient with her.
“Yes, I do!” she cried. “And it might help to solve your case!”
“Why don’t you sit down and tell me the story, then?” I asked her, not knowing if I’d heard what she was about to say already, or whether it was something completely new that would make a great deal of difference in the case.
“Well, I was out in the front garden, planting some flowers I bought, and I was talking to Laura. I know that John always goes on and on about his dead mother. Well, I know she’s dead! I seen her dead myself! Anyway, when Laura left, I was the only one on the street, so nobody else saw this. After a minute or two, this car pulled around the corner. I didn’t see who was driving it at first. I looked again, and I saw John get out of the passenger seat. I thought nothing of it because someone could have been giving him a lift. Suddenly, though, this old woman just got out of the car! John then linked arms with her and helped her inside! He then shut the door!”
“Right,” I said. “That’s very interesting.”
“Well, does that help?” the woman said, quite proud of herself.
“It helps a great deal,” I said, “but I need to ask you a few more questions about this.”
“Go on, then.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, it was about two weeks ago, now.”
“Right,” I said, fascinated by what she had just said. “And can you describe this woman to me?”
“Well, I only saw the back of her, but she had grey hair, and a yellow cardigan.”
“A yellow cardigan?” I said, feeling as though it were a eureka moment.
“Yes,” Helen simply replied.
“Last question,” I said. “Can you describe the car for me?”
“Well, I didn’t get the license plate, or even the make of the car! I know it was dark red, and that’s pretty much all.”
“Thank you for your time,” I said, letting her out.
I now had more notes to go over, as usual. I then thought to myself, do I trust this woman? I knew she could not be making the whole thing up, because two people now have said that there was an old woman with a yellow cardigan around John. This was amazing. I now knew that someone had been dressing up as an old woman, and it wasn’t John! But the question was, why? Why would someone want to do this? I knew this person was likely to be the murderer, or had had a strong role in the killings.
However, my trail of thought was disrupted, as D.I. Mitchell told me I was needed for another case, because the gang situation in the city was getting out of control. I just wanted this gang thing wrapped up forever, but it seemed to continue nonstop. I also wanted to get on with the case. I knew it was only going to be for a day. It was a shame, because I now had to focus my thoughts on the gang killings, and not on the Minot Hacker case.
As the work day ended, I received a phone call from someone who I never wanted to see or speak to again, my ex-fiancé, Danny. I had not spoken to him for three months, and I was glad he was out of my life. I genuinely thought I was going to have a wonderful life with him. I had believed he was the one, but he betrayed me. I don’t know why, but I picked up the phone.
“What is it?” I asked him, eagerly waiting for a reply down the other end of the line.
“It’s Danny,” he said.
“I know it’s you,” I said, with a rather threatening voice.
“I just called to see how you are doing,” he said, for whatever reason.
“I thought I was behind you forever!”
“Tammy, the last time I saw you was when you solved the Alexandra Cross case, and I told you there and then. You just left, without really discussing it.”
“What is there to discuss?” I asked, convinced I was never going to get back with him. “You were hiding the fact that I was not the one!”
“Well, you are!”
“Well, why wait for three months and then call out of the blue, eh?”
“I couldn’t find the courage to talk to you,” he said, his tone of voice changing to be more sad and persuasive. I imagined the puppy dog look he would pull if we were talking face to face.
“And why do you think that is?” I said sarcastically, before almost putting the phone down.
“Wait!” he cried.
“What?” I said, growing frustrated with him.
“The reason I broke up with you is because we were spending too much time apart. Why don’t we give it one last shot?”
“Even if we did, I would consider my work a top priority in my life. I don’t know why, but my work is very important to me.”
Danny did not reply, even though I could still hear him there breathing down the phone.
“Goodbye, Danny,” I said, stopping the phone call and switching the phone off.
Frustrated and now totally distracted, I decided to just forget that phone call and talk to my colleagues about things for the last few minutes of the day.
“So, how are you getting on with the Minot Hacker case, then?” asked Patricia.
“Well, it’s very confusing,” I said.
“Do you think it was this mysterious man?” asked Graham.
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” I replied. “I have reason to believe there was someone else involved.”
“Why do you think that?” said Miranda, trying not to show that she was jealous of me because I was involved in the case and she was not.
“Well, John’s mother is dead, but I have witnesses who claim that they saw an old woman with John on several occasions. I think there may have been somebody dressing up as John’s mother for some reason.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” asked Patricia.
“It sounds a little fishy to me,” said Graham.
Perhaps I was taking my eye off the ball a little, or perhaps not. I went to bed that night unable to sleep because of my train of thought. I thought about what I was going to do the next day to progress even further on the case.
Chapter 10
The only thing I could do at this point was research the great-aunt and great-uncle of John Doe. Nothing more could be done, because every other lead I had investigated came to a dead end. I just hoped that everything would soon come together and explain all of this madness. One thing was certain – I was much closer to solving the murders than anyone was a week before. That was what motivated me to work – the fact that I was getting closer and closer to solving the case. I had to admit to myself that this was the most challenging case I had ever come across, because it was just so confusing and there were so many questions that I could not yet answer.
The Untimely Death Box Set Page 48
