The Untimely Death Box Set

by James Kipling

  I wanted to find out, but first I needed to know more about the family, and if any of them were still alive. It was most likely that Evan, the brother, or Alison, the sister, would still be alive, and the others would probably be dead, although I wouldn’t be shocked if they had turned to drugs and ended up dead one way or another, considering the upbringing they had endured. And it would not have been their fault. I hadn’t yet decided if I felt sorry for Ian or not, even if he turned out to be the murderer, because although what the murderer did was beyond evil, the evil would have been forced upon him, although some would not have seen it like that. Some would have wanted justice for the people who suffered such awful deaths, and I did too in a way, because it was still unforgivable, despite the horrific upbringing. I just knew that evil does not appear—it has to come from somewhere.

  I turned on the computer to do some research. Firstly, I discovered each of the names of the family members by looking for birth records, including Ian’s. Ian was born in 1966, making him forty-six now, and when the first murder was committed in 1988, he would have been twenty-two years old, which, unsurprisingly, was similar to the age when serial killers first started killing on average.

  Now that I had the names, I needed to find out which ones were already dead. It didn’t take long, and as I expected, all of the members of Ian’s family were dead, except for Evan Green. Evan had apparently changed his name to something else and was now untraceable. He got out while he could, I thought, leaving his brother to suffer alone with the monsters he was living with every day of his life. Evan just wanted to forget it all and move on. However, it was rather interesting that Alison, the sister, was dead. She would have only been around fifty today, so it was quite unusual. I then discovered that she had committed suicide—she took an overdose of pills and left a note, saying how much she hated the world and how glad she was to finally be getting out of it. Perhaps Evan leaving the family gave Ian the motive to kill him, I thought.

  The other family members also died in intriguing ways. Both of the grandparents had died in their homes on the same day. The autopsy report said that it was merely a coincidence—that they had both died of old age on the same day, but I found it still very interesting. Thomas, the father, had died of cardiac arrest, at the age of fifty-six. Iris, the mother, had died of liver failure due to her alcoholism. The aunt had died in a fire due to smoke inhalation, and the uncle had died in a car crash, at the age of twenty-eight. I didn’t know why, but all of these deaths seemed to be very suspicious. Although half of them were seemingly natural, it was too coincidental that four members of the same family would die of unnatural causes (or even five if Iris was included). Maybe Ian had murdered some of them himself and discovered that he enjoyed watching them suffer. If so, would he want to repeat it again?

  I knew that enough was enough. While I was feeling ready to arrest Ian for the murders, I didn’t have what I needed to charge him yet. I was now very suspicious of him, almost too suspicious. But I swore an oath to myself before entering the job, to never assume anything without concrete evidence to support it. I needed to gather more evidence against him before I charged him, but I knew I didn’t have much time.

  At the end of the day, after not having made much more progress in the case, I left the station for the night. As I was leaving the building, I received a phone call. I looked at the display and it was Danny, my ex-fiancé again. I cancelled the call. I was sick of him making these phone calls, and if he didn’t stop soon, I was going to have him arrested for harassment. I had made it perfectly clear to him that I wanted nothing to do with him ever again. He broke my heart, and nothing was ever going to change that. Thinking of that made me consider my life. Although relationships hadn’t gone that well for me, and things were really quite busy for me at the moment, I did want to try and find space for someone in my life at some point. I had always been a bit of a loner. At school, I had one only boyfriend and that lasted for about three weeks. Nobody ever really liked me in that way and I didn’t know why. I knew I wasn’t ugly, so it was probably because I was too focused on my school work and later, my career. Throughout my school life I had pushed boys aside, and continued as an adult, and that was what had gotten me here today. But now I was determined that one day, I would find the one. I knew I would eventually, no matter how long it took.

  After that depressing moment, I decided to forget about it all and move on. I went on home and went back to reviewing the notes and information about the case so far.

  Chapter 21

  I returned to the station the next day, thinking it would be business as usual and I would pick up where I left off. I hadn’t been at it too long before another potential lead presented itself, in the form of another relative of one of the victims saying they wanted to speak to me with new information I had not heard before. I was excited to see what it was, to see if it got me anywhere, and most importantly, to see if it gave me any more evidence to convict Ian Green of the murders.

  “Hello,” said the woman, who appeared to be in her late sixties.

  “Hello, I am Detective Williams, what can I do for you?” I asked her as politely as possible, just to show that the case of her relative was in good hands.

  “Well,” said the timid woman, “I am...was, I mean, the daughter of Fred Lesley.”

  “That’s right,” I said, showing her that I had at least thought about her father. “He was the elderly man.”

  “Yes,” she said, apparently nervous. “Anyway, the news said that you have arrested Ian Green. I came in as soon as I could.”

  “Well, not exactly. We brought him in for questioning, and consider him a ‘person of interest at this point. We have to be very sure and the evidence to proof any charges.” I replied, beginning to get excited at the thought that this might lead somewhere.

  The woman continued. “Well, I think I have more evidence to help convict him, if he is guilty.”

  By now I was very excited. Hopefully this woman was correct, and Ian Green had slipped up somewhere.

  “Please, tell me,” I replied.

  “Well,” she said, “I don’t know where else to start, but at the beginning.”

  “And that is a very appropriate place to start,” I said, trying to be as reassuring with my voice as I could, while pushing her to tell me about this evidence as quickly as she could.

  “Well, it started a few months before my father was killed. I was going to see him one day, and when I left, it was getting dark, and I got the fright of my life when I saw Ian Green standing outside my dad’s window!” she cried.

  “Really?” I said, glad that my hopes were correct.

  “Yes. Me and my sister got the fright of our lives. We asked him what he was doing and he just said, ‘Sorry, I was looking for something.’ But that wasn’t the first time we seen him there. We’d seen him for sure twice after that, me and one of my brothers, and then we think we saw him a few other times after that, peering into my father’s window.”

  “But you can’t say for certain that it was him the last few times?”

  “No, because it was really dark, but we can only assume that it was him. He must be a head case anyway. Why would he peer into an old man’s window like that?”

  “Well, hopefully, I’ll find that out for you,” I replied. “But the only explanation I can give you right now is that Mr. Green has problems.”

  “Well, does that help?” the elderly lady asked.

  “Yes ma’am, it does actually,” I said. “It helps a lot.”

  I was now more confident with the case; more confident that Ian Green was indeed the killer I was searching for.

  Then, out of the blue, something came to me. Elizabeth Beckett, the elderly woman, was murdered with an axe, and not everyone buys axes these days! Even the type of axe was identified, so if I found the record of purchase for that specific axe, I would be able to find more evidence that pointed towards Ian Green. There was a chance (no matter how sm
all) that Ian Green could show up on a record if the shopkeeper had bothered to keep such records, or could remember the transaction, though it was an awfully long time ago.

  I felt a pulsing through me—I knew that something good was coming. Would this the breakthrough I was looking for? After an hour of looking for shops that sold that specific type of axe, I was fortunate enough to be able to trace one such shop in the area, and it was the only shop that sold that type of axe at the time in Minot. I was pleased with the results, but knew the search was not yet over.

  I arrived at the shop, which was still there. To my luck, it was actually the same shopkeeper who had been there for over twenty years. I showed him my badge, and he seemed willing to help.

  “I know you might find this strange, but I am investigating a cold case killing,” I told him.

  “Let me guess,” said the shopkeeper. “Are you the one investigating the killings that were on television?”

  “Yes...how did you know that?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Just a guess,” said the shopkeeper. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Well,” I said, trying not to laugh with embarrassment, “I am investigating a murder that happened over twenty years ago. It was done with a very specific type of axe, and this shop is the only one in the area that sold them.”

  The man looked shocked. “You mean he came here?” he said.

  “It is very possible, sir,” was my simple reply.

  “And I’ve spoken to him?” he asked, still showing a shocked facial expression.

  “Looks like it, we’ll see. I need to know if there are any records that document purchases in 1990 and 1991.”

  “As a matter of fact, there are,” the man said, smiling. He went into another room, and after a few minutes time came back out with a box. “I don’t rightly know why I’ve kept all these records all these years, they sure take up a lot of space in the back, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of them.”

  He then opened the box and asked me what type of axe it was. After flipping through some reports, he dug into the box for a few more minutes, then he responded.

  “It looks like there are five people who bought this axe during that time. Barry Scott, Melvin Sykes, Daniel Broughway, Harry Thudd and John Hughes.”

  I was devastated. Ian Green was not mentioned in the records. I checked them myself, but there was still no Ian Green. Now I was more puzzled than ever.

  “Is there a chance the purchase was not recorded?” I asked.

  “No ma’am, I swear on my son’s life, I did not miss the record. I filled out a receipt for every purchase, always have. There is no possible way that I would miss it.”

  “How about someone else. Surely you don’t work every day?”

  “I do ma’am every day. Every Monday to Friday without fail.”

  “Any break-ins?” I said, desperate for an explanation to this.

  “No. There has never been a break-in here either.”

  I sighed. “Well, if you think of anything, contact the police, please,” I said to him.

  “Actually, there is one thing,” the man said.

  “Oh, go on then,” I asked, desperate for more information.

  “Well, just this one time, in about 1990 or so, somebody acted a bit strange, and it made me very suspicious. “He came up to me. He was wearing this sort of cowboy hat and some sunglasses so I couldn’t see his face. He was quite mysterious to start off with. Anyway, he put the axe down on the table, and he said, ‘how much?’

  “I told him it was $20, but that I had a cheaper one. Pretty much the same, but for only $12. Then he ran his fingers down the blade, a couple of times.

  “‘I like this one,’ he said. He pulled out $20 and handed it to me. I went about recording his details and things. I asked him if he chopped a lot of wood, making conversation and all.

  “‘No,’ he told me. That’s what I thought was strange. What else could you use an axe for except chopping wood?”

  “Do you know his name?” I asked him, hoping and praying that he would say ‘yes.’

  “No,” he replied. “I’m really sorry, I just don’t remember, but if I’m right about the date, it should have been one of these five.” He pointed to the record book.

  “Did you not think of reporting him to the police?”

  “The police? Why would I?” he replied. “It’s a free country, and buying an axe isn’t a crime. I didn’t think he was going to go and chop somebody up.”

  “Then what did you think?”

  “I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t seem right, but ma’am, I’ve seen a lot of strange things over the years!”

  That shopkeeper gave me some fantastic leads. Was that mysterious man at the shop the killer? It was strange that he wore a sun hat and sunglasses indoors, too. For whatever reason, he did not want to be seen, and perhaps that was because he did not want to be identified later. This killer is clever, I thought to myself, but hopefully, not as clever as me.

  I returned to the station, and had just settled in to work on the information provided to me. It seemed like I hadn’t been at it all that long when I was astounded by news of another visitor… another relative of a victim. This must be my lucky day, I thought.

  This time it was a young woman.

  “I need to speak to you about my mother, Irene Ford,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said, hoping to get more information in order to make sense out of this whole thing. “We can sit down in here,” I said, leading her to what we called the ‘soft interview room.

  We got our drinks sorted out and sat ourselves down, my primary goal being to make her feel comfortable with me.

  “So, what is it you want to tell me?” I asked her.

  “Well, I have some information which may or may not be of help to you,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said, at the ready with my pen and notebook, as always.

  “Well, this one time, only a couple of days before my mother disappeared, we were driving along in the car through the woodsy part of town, and we were pulled over by a police car.”

  “A police car?”

  “Yes. It was a dark night, and a policeman got out. I could hardly see him. I know that he was wearing a sun hat and sunglasses, which seemed very strange to me although I was only nine at the time. Another strange thing was what he said to my mother.”

  “And what was that, ma’am,” I asked.

  “He said, ‘Hello, missy.’ She asked him why he stopped her, and he said, ‘Well, I think you know the answer to that,’

  “‘I haven’t been speeding, if that was what you’re asking,’ she said.

  “‘You have, too,’ the man said, in a sort of cheeky tone of voice.

  “She denied it, saying, ‘I haven’t! I was going thirty miles an hour!’

  “‘You know that’s wrong,’ he said, ‘So I need you to step out of the car.’

  “I got scared when she said, ‘You’re not even a policeman, are you?’

  “He just laughed and said, ‘Do you like hunting? Maybe we should go hunting sometime.’ My mother just drove off then fast, and really upset. She tried to hide it from me, but I could tell she was scared.”

  “Did she report this to the police?” I asked, learning more and more information about the potential killer.

  “She did, but it didn’t seem like anything was done about it, and about four days later, my mother went missing.”

  This was extraordinary. I now had people who had seen the killer. At least, I assumed it was the killer, anyway. It may have been the same man—the sunglasses and hat were strange in both reports. It also might have been Ian Green. I hoped that I could work a lead from there, but I wasn’t quite sure where to go from here. Since it was the end of the day, I decided to go home as usual, and see what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter 22

  As it turned out, I received even more information about the killer. The be
st tip yet, bigger and better than any previous information I had received. When I entered the station, a woman of about forty came up to me.

  “Are you the one working on the serial killings case?” she said.

  “I am,” I replied, “what can I do for you?”

  “My name is Sally Juxton,” she said, “and I have some information that might help you. Is there anywhere we can go?”

  We sat down, and I asked Sally, too eagerly perhaps, what she wanted to tell me.

  “Well,” Sally began, “I was once kidnapped by a person who I think was the killer.”

  “What?!” I cried, expressing my shock and excitement at the same time. I had never thought there could be a survivor like this. As excited as I was, my training was reminding me about hoaxes, false witness accounts, fake tips and all the other crazy things that happen.

  “This was in 1995. I remember it really clearly,” she added.

  “Please, tell me everything,” I said, still in shock about what I’d been told.

  “Well, this is embarrassing. I was out one night, and I was quite drunk, so I got into one of those taxi things. Not like a regular cab, you know, the ones that wait outside of the clubs acting as taxis?”

  I nodded, knowing how dangerous some of the people who drove them were.

  “Anyway, I got in and asked the driver to take me home. As I said, I was still quite drunk. He started talking to me, asking me things like, ‘do you like hunting?’ and ‘have you ever seen any horror films?’ I thought it was strange, but didn’t think that much of it. Anyway, half an hour later, I was beginning to get worried, because it only took twenty minutes to get home. As I began to get scared and time went by, I sobered up pretty quickly. I asked him where we were and he just said, ‘you’ll see.’ He laughed, then he told me I was going to die tonight. That was how he put it, “You are going to die tonight.’

  I was in shock. I tried to open the door, but it was child-locked. I tried to scratch away at his face, but that didn’t stop him. Suddenly, I realized we were out in the middle of nowhere, and he was dragging me out of the car. He told me to stay where I was or he was gonna shoot me right there. I couldn’t see anyone. I don’t think we were even on a road by then. There were no cars, or no buildings in sight. He then told me we were going to play a little game. It was called ‘run away from the killer’ or something like that. Anyway, he got a chainsaw out of his trunk, and turned it on. I was terrified and I started to run. He started to run after me, laughing like a maniac. He chased me through the fields. I eventually got into the woods without him catching me. I decided to hide in a bush somewhere for the time being. After about five minutes, I heard his footsteps again, and he was whispering, ‘I’m coming to get you, Alison. Oh, Alison? You’re not going to get away.’ I don’t know why he called me that. It all went quiet, I tried not to breathe. Suddenly, he revved up his chainsaw again and I just ran for it. I ran and ran. It must have been longer than an hour. At one point I got into the field again where I started. I was shocked when I saw a hole in the ground. I thought maybe he had dug a grave for me or something. I somehow managed to get onto a road without him finding me. It must have took two more hours before I found help. By then, he was gone.”