The team and Mrs. Seyer nodded before going any further. Slowly they crouch around the bookshelves of the library to the computer room. Before entering, a Swat officer slides a mini infrared camera under the door to see how many people are inside. Mrs. Seyer stands with the signal locater in her one hand, tucking a blonde streak of hair behind her ear with the other.
“Four people inside, sir,” the Swat officer reports to Detective Williams.
Detective Williams nods and shows the team to enter the library. They quickly shove the door open.
“Everyone get down! Get down now! You in the red, get down now! I repeat: get down now!” an officer shouted out loud followed by several other team members.
Mrs. Seyer looks up to Detective Williams, blue eyes sparkling with fear. It’s her first time out in the field. Her cheeks are deeply turning red. She nervously bites on her bottom lip – stomach trembling.
“No time to be scared, Mrs. Seyer. You need to hang in there and get used to this. From which computer is the signal binging from?” Detective Williams asks curiously.
Without hesitation she answers: “Computer five, sir,” she nervously replies and runs out of the library leaving the signal locater on the grey carpet. She runs out the building, climbs in a police squad car and waits for the action to be over.
Now that was something I never want to experience again. This part of the job bothers me, she mumbles to herself. “You come here now,” Detective Williams requested the man lying on the ground by computer five.
He nervously stands up and walks with his hands held high, to Detective Williams.
A team member hurries to the computer to check out his web activity. The email is open. He clicks on ‘sent.’ Nothing - an email to the man’s brother.
“Here is nothing, sir. Just an email sent to his brother whom is in Iraq. US Navy Seal,” he calls out from the computer.
“What were you really doing by that computer? I know that email isn’t what you were really doing. It must be encoded. You’re coming with us,” Detective Williams says while handcuffing the man before continuing. “Officer Matt, bring that computer with. Our cyber division must have a look at it,” he commands.
“Please, I didn’t do anything! You simply can’t do this. I have rights. This is a wrongful arrest. I will sue you!” he yells out to Detective Williams.
When the police arrived back at the Brackenfell police station with the suspected killer, George was waiting standing by the doorway. The police vehicles stopped in front of the station. Detective Williams climbs out and walks straight to George.
“We may have a break in the case. We arrested a suspect. We located him sitting by a computer at the local library. You need to remain very calm and don’t do anything stupid when you see him,” Detective Williams instructed.
As the alleged killer walks past George, he gasps in horror and grabs the man by his shirt.
“You killed her!” he shouted while officers hurried to calm him down.
“You all know this is crazy. I have done absolutely nothing wrong. The real murderer or whoever you are after is still out there. You have the wrong bloody guy!” the man yelled out to Detective Williams while being led to the booking room where he will be checked in.
Detective Williams walks over to George.
“So am I less of a suspect now?” he asks politely sweeping his eyes across Detective Williams’ face in search of an answer.
Within a few minutes of standing around and waiting for him to answer Detective Williams announces that George may go home.
Detective Williams’ phone buzzes - a new notification. It was a message from a police constable at the crime scene.
Detective, the killer has struck again. The body, however, is a day or two old. Victim bound to a chair - 725 Long Street.
While reading the message, Detective Williams’ face turns red of colour. George curiously stares at him before leaving the station.
The killer has struck once again. Two dead, one kidnapped. The killer is just near – it can be sensed.
Chapter 9
AGH Building - 1001 De Waterkant Street
George looks around in the street before hopping into his car. Everything seems to be normal. People were walking through the streets laughing, walking their dogs. No one raised a red alarm.
He puts the car into reverse and speeds out the driveway heading to Max’s house. After a few minutes of driving George reaches his house and parks the car on the pavement under a jacaranda tree in front of his house.
“Hey, Max, how are you?” he asks, reaching his hand out to greet him.
Max nods his head and lets George inside. He is shaking; face is pale and very nervous looking.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” George asks out of concern.
Max stares at George for a few seconds before answering: “I received another letter with a white rose. I’m not sure what I must do. I’m so bloody scared - too afraid to even go outside. Scared he is watching my every move. This lunatic still has Claire,” he cries out loud, shivering.
George grits his teeth and glares at him with a pinning gaze. He is really going through hell, he thinks to himself.
“The police have arrested a suspect. They traced the IP-address of the intruder on Anna’s computer. It led to a public library. Something is very off though.”
“Why? What do you mean?” Max asks with a frown upon his face, nervously biting his nails.
“The suspect kept on saying that the police have the wrong guy and that the real murderer is still out there. When I got told that I may go home, Detective Williams received a text message from someone. Instantly his face went blood shot red. I really think the killer is genuinely still out there. This is a serial killer, Max,” George says while reaching out for his shoulder.
Max stares at George deep in despair. Maybe it was the right thing to tell him or maybe not. He just needed to know what was going on. I just wish this bloody investigation can end and this guy can get apprehended for what he has done, he says to himself.
“Max, show me that letter.”
Max leads George to the kitchen. The window near the metal sink had been broken. A letter and a wilted white rose were attached to a rock tied with a ragged brown piece of rope in a form of a bow.
Carefully George takes the package out of the sink, unties the piece of rope and opens the letter.
De Waterkant. AGH Building - 1001 De Waterkant Street. No Police. No company or she dies.
George stares at the letter and crumbles it up.
“It’s a letter from the killer. He wants you to go where he is to meet him. However, you’re going to stay here. I will go. Hand me over your Beretta.”
Max stares at George without blinking an eye. He heads to his room and not before long he returns back with a gun in a brown leather holster. He hands it over to George.
He reaches his hand out, takes the gun and clips the holster onto his belt beside him.
“I promise you will be okay.”
George heads out the door, hops in his car and speeds off with the sound of screeching tires echoing on the tarred road.
He heads down the road climbing onto the N1 highway heading to Green Point. Speeding down the highway, he turns left by a blue board reading De Waterkant. After an hour of travelling George reaches the heart of De Waterkant and types 1001 De Waterkant Street into the GPS system. A lady with a robot-like voice gives him directions leading him to the AGH Building. In big red letters the three letters showed on the side of the building. George pulls up on the side of the building on the pavement and climbs out. Hurryingly he heads inside.
He quickly moves through the dark corridor with its flickering lights and walks straight into a black double door. It’s locked - chained. George pulls and pushes, kicks on the door but without any success the door stays locked. In the corner of his right eye, he catches a silver object hanging in the corner of the door frame – a bunch of keys. He grabs it and anxiously works
through the bunch in search of the right key which could unlock the lock on the chained door.
An unknown person sits bound to a chair in an empty conference room with a spotlight sprayed onto the person and blood dripping from drenched clothing.
George slowly walks closer, reaches for the gun behind his back, removes it from the holster. Looking around the room with the gun pointed and ready to shoot anything in his way, he walks up to the person. A mask replicating the singer, Madonna, disguises the face. In a distance the sound of soft classical music bellows through the conference room. The person sits still – not a sound escapes from the lips. George removes the mask - a woman with blood in her mouth is now revealed. A cut out newspaper article peeps from out her blue blouse. George takes it out and reads it:
CAPE TOWN. - A 22-year-old South African woman reportedly went through “a tormenting period” after her boyfriend kidnapped and kept her captive for three days in his home in Camps Bay.
The woman has not yet been found and the boyfriend was found dead in a gutter in Simons Town.
If anyone knows the whereabouts of the woman, please contact the local police.
George throws the note on the table where the woman is sitting and phones the police.
After minutes the police arrive. Detective Williams is first on scene followed by a team of forensics.
“Mr. Knox,” he says whilst entering the room.
George stares at him without blinking.
“What happened? How did you come about the incident?” he asks while standing ready with a notepad and pen.
Without hesitation George answers him; almost immediately after the words had rolled of Detective Williams’ lips.
“I was at my friend, Max’s, house. Upon arrival I had noticed that something was really off. Max was pale and shivering. He had informed me that he had received a second note. In his kitchen I found the note with a wilted white rose tied to a stone. It had been thrown through the window. This Barry guy instructed Max to come here, but I instead told him to stay at home and that I would go and look for Claire. I arrived here and found this lady seated on the chair - bound. I removed the mask to see who it was and I read the note just in case it was another clue from this psychopath,” he explains nearly out of breath.
Detective Williams walks through the entire crime scene with a tape recorder while the forensic team takes photographs and notes.
George gets shown out the conference room by a police officer and instantly heads out of the building. Max! He shouts out loud. He hops into his car and makes his way down to Max’s house.
The door is ajar. The smell of smoke and a slippery blood trail welcomes him. He slowly enters. Step by step George follows the blood trail which leads him to the master bedroom – the room where Max and Claire used to be happy and connect with each other. The door is shut - locked. George takes a few steps back to gain momentum and kicks the door open. Blood – everywhere – blood. Max is bound to his bed – gagged. A razor had been used to cut hundreds - or even more - tiny slits all over his skinny body. A gunshot wound presenting a mushroom-like shape sits smack middle of his forehead.
George walks to where the smell of smoke is originating from. Reaching the kitchen the smell gets stronger. He enters and marks that the microwave is on set for two hours. He quickly presses the stop button, grabs a kitchen cloth, holds it over his nose and mouth and opens the microwave. Max’s phone has been charred up beyond recognition.
George makes his way to the office in search of a telephone. Carefully placed on a pile of papers on a mahogany desk, a telephone rests. Before he could reach his arms out for the telephone to make a call, it rings. Instantaneously he answers.
“Hello.”
No one speaks – silence. A deep sound of breathing is heard. Suddenly a deep robot-like voice – a voice which is altered so it can’t be recognized – answers.
“Do you see what you have done, George?” the voice asks. “You got your friend and an innocent woman killed. I’m truly glad you found the newspaper article. Just bear in mind that it had actually been fabricated. No one would leave a cut out article there.” He laughs. “I instructed your friend to go to the AGH building and not you. If only he had went maybe things would’ve been different. I was watching you all along,” the voice says when a laugh escapes from its vocal cords.
Before George could talk, the line goes dead. He puts the phone back on its hook, takes it off and dials for Detective Williams.
The phone rings.
“Hello,” he answers.
“I don’t know what is going on, detective. I arrived at Max’s house after I had left De Waterkant. He is dead. Please get here as soon as possible,” George shockingly says before he could greet with a mere hello.
Sitting on the patio smoking a menthol cigarette out of nervousness he waits for Detective Williams to arrive. Smoke formed into little grey puffy clouds sailing away with the wind into the chilly breeze of Cape Town’s. Not before long Detective Williams arrives in his unbranded car followed by three branded police vehicles. George stands up, throws the half smoked cigarette butt on the grass, crushing it into tiny bits as if it were a bug.
Detective Williams climbs out of his car, dressed in a grey formal pants and black long sleeved shirt with his gun tightly hugging his hip. He approaches George with a notepad in his hand.
George yells out from the back of his vocal chords, nearly shouting at him: “Detective Williams! I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know what is going on and what we’re dealing with. I need this forsaken closure,” he says nearly stumbling over his words with a feeling of his tongue nearly knotting in his mouth.
They walk on to the patio followed by three uniforms following in the distance. They take a seat on the patio bench whilst the three uniforms enter the house.
“Are we dealing with a serial killer? If so, how does this Barry whoever work? Is there going to be another body?” George’s words were barely cold when a small white van and two cars with an Avis Car Rental sign slapped on the passenger side door, arrives. It’s the media. They must have sniffed the story out about the killings being the work of a very dangerous serial killer, George silently thinks by himself. Before Detective Williams could answer him, he stands up, walks across the lawn to where the media is standing, preying upon the house like hungry wolves for information about the story.
“Detective, is it true that these killings are all tied to the work of one person? Are we dealing with a serial killer? There have been four murders in the last few days. It is also alleged that a suspect – believed not to be the killer – was arrested for two murders and a kidnapping whilst another took place,” a news reporter from The Cape Times asks, burying Detective Williams with questions.
From the patio, George notices that Detective Williams is now becoming irritated with all the questions being asked and is slowly losing patience.
“No comment,” he said and walked back towards the patio.
He takes a seat.
“No, Mr. Knox, we are not dealing with a serial killer,” he says before continuing. “The term serial killer was coined in 1970 by the Federal Bureau of Investigations’ (FBI) Violent Apprehension Program’s director, Robert Ressler.” He clears his voice. “The cops in the UK called these type of murders of which a serial killer commits-crime in a series. It was also sometimes known as mass murders or stranger-on-stranger crime. So, in this case, we are dealing with a very dangerous mass murderer.”
George stares out far with a frown upon his face.
“Okay, how do they work? Is this guy going to strike again? He asks with a straight face.
“Mr. Knox, normally they do tend to strike again. They commit four or more murders in a very short period of time like we have witnessed,” he informs George before getting up and walking into the house.
George sits shocked with his hands supporting his head and stares at two wood peckers gradually walking on the lawn. A forensic pathologist vehicle ar
rives on scene and reverses up onto the grass in front of the house with the media flashing away with their cameras. The two wood peckers flapped their wings, nestling themselves into the nearby jacaranda tree. Just a few minutes later, the house is swarmed with media, police officials, pathologists and forensics.
After three long hours and with the sun shadowing behind the trees and houses in the neighbourhood, the police had completed their investigations of the crime scene. Persons in light blue overall-like clothing and blue plastic coverings on their feet, come out of the house with Max in a white body bag carried on a silver slab of steel with its wheels flapping left and right and around in the air. The smell of death burrowed up George’s nostrils, leaving his stomach to tremble.
Chapter 10
The Brown Paper Packet
George lays still on his bed, his heartbeat slowly faded away and sweat started to produce on his face and under his arms. What’s going on? he keeps repeating to himself. Am I going to die? Irrational thoughts were now gushing through his mind. Physically he became numb, mentally he became worried.
After a few moments he was accompanied by silence. George walked out of his bedroom and prayed to God that his religious aspects will now strengthen him for everything he has gone through. But with no success his prayers went unanswered. I thought God always answers upon your prayers when you are in need, he mumbled to himself, wiping a wave of sweat from his forehead.
Making his way downstairs, the house was immediately filled with tranquility. His heart started galloping like a race horse in his chest. George quickly realized that another panic attack was now banging against the walls of his chest trying to break through an aorta. Approaching the very last step of the eighteen step staircase, the telephone in the lounge starts to ring – ringing as if it was insane. Making his way to the lounge, he unhooks the telephone and answers.
“Hello,” he says while searching for air to breathe.
“Mr. Knox, it’s Williams. Check your email. I’ve sent you a brief history of Barry Inns. I want you to know what we are dealing with. Be cautious,” he said and immediately dropped the call.
Mystery of The White Rose Serial Killer Page 4
