Mystery: Quest for Justice: (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Thriller Mystery) (2 page)

Just before we went, 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 for a couple of months, and then the boss just went up to me one day and said, 'do you want to be promoted to detective?' I was so shocked. I thought it took years as a police officer to become a detective."

"It usually does, said Miranda, trying not to sound resentful or jealous of me for becoming a detective so quickly.

"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 had not noticed this morning as I went to work what day it was. On the television the newsreader 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 newsreader 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 fighting for justice. However, it looks as though the killer will never be found, as there has been no 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!"

"The killer might be dead now," said Patricia, trying to reassure Miranda.

"It's a shame there's nothing we can do for them. We have 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. 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 did not 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 black bowler hat, which he took off when he came into the room. This mysterious figure looked extremely apprehensive about something, but I couldn’t tell what.

"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.

"Y...y...y..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.

"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 and confused at this point. I really wanted to know what he wanted 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 I realized he was shaking vigorously. He was clearly a man who was mentally ill. He then put his head in his hand and scratched his forehead with his fingertips, showing that he was thinking about something, or that he was very 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 am the Minot Hacker!"

Clearly, 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 he was the one who caused it? 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. I had no choice but to arrest him, so I signaled the officers on night duty to come in and keep an eye on him through the night. I also suspected he might commit suicide in custody, 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, and 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 be 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 I had to think of things to say to him, if I were the one to interview him.

Morning arrived and when I went 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. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, it was the twentieth anniversary yesterday," said Miranda. "Perhaps he just wanted to play a huge prank on us."

"Yes, but why?" I said, fairly confused about the whole thing. If he was not 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 was 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 the press released how the boys were killed. If the press did not release these details, then we can 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 who chose who to interview.

"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. 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 most likely to talk to you. Make sure you ask the right questions, and don't screw things 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 disruption of their small town, and this might finally be it. To be frank, I would have been bitterly disappointed if it turned out to be a hoax, and I would have been so angry, I would have done everything in my power to make the sentence as long as possible for a person who wasted valuable police time. 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 looked at 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 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 talk to the potential 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 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 particular 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, since 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.