Mystery of The White Rose Serial Killer

by Zalman S. Davis

  “How are you, Mr. Knox? Would you like something to eat or drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’m just fine,” he answers without hesitation.

  George sighs.

  “Officer, could we please get this over and done with?” George asks politely and watches the constable as she looks him in the eyes.

  She nods her head.

  “Sure,” she quickly replies.

  “When you arrived at home, did you notice anything that was out of place or just not right?”

  George rolls his eyes and answers fast.

  “No.”

  “Mr. Knox, I’m going to cut the crap. I know I’m not going to get anything out of you with these polite questions,” she says short of hair.

  “What!” George screams at her without thinking straight.

  “I know what happened. I know that you killed your wife, Anna, because she wanted to start a family and you were just not ready or just too selfish. You also knew that if you killed her, her life policy of three million rand would pay out. That’s why you staged her body as if it was a suicide,” she said with a voice tone filled with shock, placing the voice recorder closer to George.

  George sits with his hands handcuffed to a silver table, not understanding anything the constable is telling him. He doesn’t register.

  “Mr. Knox,” she says out loud.

  “Sorry, constable, I didn’t hear what you had said. Can you please repeat the question?” George asks politely.

  “I know what happened. I know that you killed your wife, Anna, because she wanted to start a family. You also knew that if you killed her, her life policy of three million rand would pay out and that you staged her body as if it was a suicide,” she repeats even louder.

  George drops his head and stares at the metal table.

  “So, how did your wife die, Mr. Knox?” she asked with a serious voice tone.

  “I’m not sure, officer. She might have been murdered. I know she was. That’s the only valuable explanation I have,” he says with his voice menacing.

  The constable looked at him with a question mark on her forehead.

  “Stop, according to statements you had said that she might have committed suicide because she was hanging. Why didn’t you realize from the beginning that she had been murdered and why did you take so long before calling us, the police?” she growled.

  George looked at her pressing a glare and suddenly narrowing his gaze to the table, listening to her go through documentations lying on the table.

  “I didn’t see from the beginning that she had been murdered and her body just posed as a suicide. It was when I cut her loose to provide CPR; I realized that she had been beaten. I didn’t call the police immediately because I was devastated and couldn’t think straight at that moment. My dead wife was lying before me on the cold hard ground of our basement,” he says in an antagonizing voice.

  The constable smirks.

  “What about Claire?”

  George stares at her in disbelieve and turns his head to the one sided viewing mirror.

  “Get this woman out of here!” he yells and starts pulling his hands from the handcuffs trying to break loose.

  “Oh gosh,” she shakes her head, picks the documentations up from the table and stands up to walk out. Before walking out she smirks at George.

  “This isn’t over, Mr. Knox. We will find out if you had anything to do with your wife’s murder and Claire’s disappearance. Do not leave town,” she says with a smirk on her face.

  George sighs out of devastation. Her facial expression is dangerous. She wants to get me, he says to himself.

  Detective Williams enters the interrogation room with a police officer in uniform.

  “Alright, you may go. You made a wrong move being so rude, Mr. Knox. I do understand that you are grieving but this is standard police procedure. Questions will be asked that will intimidate you. You have nothing to worry about. You didn’t commit these crimes. You are free to go,” he says while unlocking the handcuffs.

  George stands up, rubbing his wrists while walking out.

  “Oh and, Mr. Knox,” Detective Williams continues.

  George turns around and stares at him.

  “If we don’t have ample evidence tying you to these crimes we will produce you to the court and we will get family and friends to explain to the Honourable Judge what kind of person you are and how things were with you and your wife.”

  “I’m innocent,” George yells at him. “I’m telling you. Get everyone you possibly can. They will too tell the same story,” he continues while barging out of the interrogation room, slamming the wooden door hard behind him.

  Chapter 7

  The Media Talk

  George sits behind the desk in the study and turns Anna’s laptop on. The screen is still black with the words Game over bouncing all over the screen.

  He now only has a limited time before the cops start reeling him in again for the murder of his wife and the disappearance of Claire. The thought of Max accusing him of being the killer whizzes through his head.

  George stands up from behind the desk and makes his way downstairs. Cars are parked out front. People are standing all over. He peeps through the blue curtains in the lounge and notices that it is the media.

  “No!” he shouts out loud balling his fists.

  I need to prove my innocence as soon as possible, he thinks.

  He takes his cellular phone from out his pocket and takes a seat on the sofa near the window. Immediately he logs onto his Facebook account and searches for the socalled Barry Inns. George types his name in and it pops up within a few seconds of searching. I’ve got you now; he says murmuring under his breath.

  He stares at the name and sighs. His hands start to shiver and sweat. He starts to tremble out of fear and without hesitation he types a message:

  Barry or whoever you may be, you need to hand yourself over to the authorities. I don’t know what you want from me but you are jeopardizing my career and my life. I know without a doubt you killed Anna and I know you are holding Claire captive if she is alive.

  George slams the send button hard with his index finger on his touch screen phone.

  After a few minutes of no reply, he sees a message reading: Barry is typing … His message pops up; sweat is now dripping from George’s forehead.

  Do you really think in your right mind that I will bloody hand myself over to the cops? I’m a killer, George. I’ve killed 25 people and I’m nowhere near done. Your wife was lucky number 26. It’s really an achievement. You should try it out sometime I just wish I could start getting medals for it. Ha-ha. Yes, I have Claire. She is not dead yet. I will torture her first. Now, goodbye and good luck with prison for the murder of your lousy wife and the kidnapping of your pathetic best friend’s girlfriend.

  A great idea comes to mind. George snaps a picture of the message and immediately messages it to detective Williams.

  Detective Williams did talk about tracing the killer’s IP-address, he says to himself in a positive voice. He picks up the phone and calls Detective Williams.

  The phone rings.

  “Williams, hello,” he answers.

  “It’s me, George,” he says fast before continuing. “Did you get the text message Barry had sent me?” he asks desperately.

  “Yes, I have received it. We can try tracing the IP-address but I doubt that it will help. This guy is a vicious killer - a mastermind. For all we know he might be using a public computer,” Detective Williams says breaking any hope George had.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouts out with his mind mentally losing its cool. He hangs the call up. Out of frustration he throws the cellular phone through the window drawing the media’s attention.

  The media started moving forward onto George’s property and snapping photos of the broken window with glass laying all over the cobble stoned pathway.

  “We are live from 111 Alexis Drive, Brackenfell, where it is alleged that Mr. George Knox is inv
olved in the gruesome death of his late wife, Anna. We had just heard a window break and as you can see behind me Mr. Knox had thrown his cellular phone through the window,” a woman reporter says.

  Camera lights flashes all over. George closes his eyes in irritation and takes a seat. Why me? Why the hell is life so complicated? Why! Why! he pleads while a sigh escapes from his mouth. He rests his hand on the headrest of the sofa staring at the telephone hooked on the wall. He stands up and slowly walks closer and closer.

  He takes the telephone of the hook with his jelly-like hands and dials for the police station.

  “Brackenfell Police Station, Constable van Niekerk,” a woman answers.

  “Yes, may I please speak with Detective Williams?” George asks politely.

  After a few seconds of silence the woman answers.

  “Sir, Detective Williams is currently not here. May I take a message for him?” she asks with a now clear coloured accent.

  George stares at the ceiling, penetrating it with a deep gaze before answering.

  “No, but can you please get rid of the media trespassing on my property? 111 Alexis Drive,” he says with a harsh tone and hangs up.

  George wants to log onto Facebook again and send Barry a message but quickly comes to realization that he has thrown his phone out the window.

  “Ah, the media!” he says while walking out the front door.

  The media crew are now sitting under the tall palmetto palm trees out front. George calls them closer. They stand up; start running closer while snapping away with their cameras.

  “Dear media,” he says while looking at the cameras. “My wife, Anna, has recently been murdered. I’ve now been accused of being involved in this notorious act. My name has made many headlines in newspapers, on the TV and other media sources throughout the nation. I was taken in by the police for questioning and I now only have a limited time to prove my innocence before I get called in front of the court of law. I call upon you to help me. I—”

  “Mr. Knox, is it true that your wife had wanted a baby and out of being not ready to start a family, you allegedly killed her, staging her lifeless body as a suicide?” a reporter calls out holding the microphone towards George.

  He ignores the question and continues from where he had been interrupted.

  “I would like to send a message out to the real killer responsible for my wife’s murder. I know you are maybe watching this, but if not, I know you will read tomorrows papers. I urge to you to get my name at least cleared from the police’s list of suspected persons. I need my life back. I also urge you to release Claire who you have now taken hostage. We will pay you an amount of two million rand ransom. Please stop what you are doing and hand yourself over to the police. You have caused enough misery,” George says while tears trickle down his cheeks dripping onto his chin.

  “Mr. Knox, are you only sending these messages out into the world so that your name will be cleared from the list of suspected persons? Another reporter shouts out while snapping away with her camera.

  In the distance a double cab police vehicle arrives with its blue lights flashing. It comes to an abrupt still stand in front of the house. Six police officials climb out in their blue uniforms.

  George slowly walks along the cobble stoned pathway to meet with the police.

  “Attention all media officials,” a police officer calls over the vehicle’s siren. “You are on private property and need to leave immediately before you get prosecuted for trespassing.”

  George’s face lights up with a smirk. The media starts packing their cameras and equipment up, climb in their cars and speed off leaving exhaust fumes behind. It’s not long before the police officials climb into their vehicle and leave.

  George is now left alone outside. The wind gently blows through his hair making it fall in his eyes. His blood shot eyes are burning from the wind blowing. Just as he is about to enter the house, a white unbranded car with a private registration plate instead of the government’s B for police, arrives. After a quick stop, a man climbs out. George immediately recognizes him as Detective Williams and walks closer.

  “Detective,” he says but the detective does not answer.

  “Are you looking for trouble?” he asks after a few seconds, yanking George by his arm. “You just used the media to get your message out! The public will now want answers and this might also scare Barry off,” he says while gripping George’s arm tighter.

  George starts to squeal out of discomfort.

  “What was I supposed to have done, detective?” he asks loud, nearly shouting. “I need to prove my innocence before I get brought before a court of law. You and your team need to trace that blooming IP-address,” George bolders out, turns around and walks inside.

  Inside he stares out the window and sees Detective Williams climb into his car and speed off into the distance.

  Dumb nut! George says to himself, scratching his head.

  Chapter 8

  The IP Address

  The wind was howling and the smell of rain was in the air. Lightning and thunder were ruling the now dark African sky. A dry season has passed.

  It’s 08:00 a.m. and George is still in bed. Suddenly the bedside phone starts to ring.

  “Hello,” he answers still have asleep.

  “Mr. Knox, It’s Detective Williams.”

  George sighs. What does he want? He thinks to himself.

  “Yes, what can I do for you today, detective? George asks politely.

  “Would you mind coming down to the station please? We are going to trace the IP-address and see if we can get any leads as to where Barry Inn might be.”

  George hesitates before answering.

  “I’ll be there in forty five,” he answers and drops the call.

  He gets up, hurries to the bathroom, showers and gets dressed. He quickly hurries down the stairs skipping one or two, takes his car keys hanging by the front door and leaves for the police station.

  After a few minutes of driving and George’s stomach tied up in a knot of fear, he arrives at the police station. Before climbing out of the car he sits and thinks for a few moments. Are we going to find him? What’s going to happen? He thinks again.

  He climbs out of the car, locks the door and walks inside the station.

  “Detective Williams please,” he asks at the information desk.

  “Right this way, sir,” an African male constable leads him to Detective Williams’ office.

  “Mr. Knox, please come in and have a seat,” he welcomes George in.

  George haves a seat.

  “Can you explain to me exactly how the tracing of the IP-address works and how this guy could possibly cover his tracks like you have mentioned before,” George asks curiously.

  Detective Williams stares at him without blinking.

  “Okay. This is what happens,” he says and stands up from behind his desk, walks to the window. “No, let’s go. Let’s go down to the lab and go talk there. The cyber division can explain how everything works,” he says and walks to the door showing George out first.

  They walk down a long grey painted hallway with flickering lights and come to a standstill by a door with a sign written in silver letters: Cyber Unit.

  They enter the room.

  “Good morning,” a woman with red hair, dressed in a green overall-like uniform greets them.

  George nods his head acknowledging her greeting.

  “Mrs. Seyer, could you please explain to Mr. Knox on how the process of tracing an IP-address works and how a culprit can possibly cover his or her tracks?” Detective Williams asks the lady.

  She smirks. “Well basically with the IP-address you can identify where the intruder is who is trying to hack your computer or other device or who already has as in this case. Once we have identified the IP-address we can find out where the connection is coming from and that will help us pin point the exact location as to where the intruder might be.”

  “Okay and how does this intruder c
over his or her tracks? Detective Williams said that it might have been possible that he had covered his tracks because he is clever,” George says while standing arms crossed.

  Mrs. Seyer continues.

  “The very first thing the intruder does is to unset the history file and history save on your computer which he had done on your wife’s laptop. The following step will be is to unset the watch preventing any scheduled commands that the system administrator has configured. This allows him to be fully under the radar.”

  George stares at her in confusion.

  “The attacker also makes sure that the command history is disabled. It gets written to nowhere. And then he attacks owning the entire system,” she continues while smiling at George. “This is what we had done to see if there was any activity on the laptop. That is how we found out you were using the laptop.”

  George rolls his eyes. I don’t actually understand what had been explained to me, he huffs. He quizzically raises his eyebrow and answers: “So basically you guys hacked Anna’s computer like the intruder and he can’t see that you have done so because he too is under the same radar?

  “Yes, sir, that is correct,” she smirks.

  “Okay, good. May we please proceed with tracing this guy? It is about time that he gets caught,” George says briefly.

  “Alright, sir, I will need to hack into your wife’s Facebook account and trace him through the messages which will give me the IP.”

  After a while of searching for the location of the IP-address, there’s a hit. The signal is binging from a local library in Durbanville.

  “Sir, you need to stay here while we go check the place out. It’s for your own safety,” Detective Williams instructed George before leaving the cyber unit room.

  “Are you sure about this address?” Detective Williams asks Mrs. Seyer.

  “Yes, sir, I’m very certain that this is the library,” she says while walking with the signal locater in her hand.

  They enter the library followed by the Swat team dressed in black, armed with AK47’s.

  “Good, let’s go in and take this guy down. We want this person alive if possible. Only react with fire if he starts shooting,” Detective Williams instructed.