Mystery: Quest for Justice: (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Thriller Mystery) (3 page)

"So, this is not just a hoax?" I asked him.

"No! Why would I do something like that?" he asked me, looking dead serious.

"Well, other people have done this sort of thing in the past, mainly for media attention. Do you get noticed, John?" I said, getting rather excited.

"I am not making this up!" he yelled, becoming more and more furious.

"Alright, calm down. You just have to understand our point of view. You see, we are not sure you are the killer yet, because we have no evidence either way, other than your confession. So, do you want to move on to that now?"

He nodded, again looking at the floor. His body language showed me that he seemed remorseful or ashamed at what he had done, if he had done anything at all.

"Right," I said, trying to think of a way to phrase what I was about to say. "I want to know the details of their deaths. How did you kill them?"

"I stabbed them all to death," he said, as plainly as he could.

Again, I felt that sort of presence around me. Inside, the nerves in my arms were shaking. The feeling was awful. It was just the way he said that. It was as if someone would say, "I got a drink," just in a casual tone. It was like he saw absolutely no wrong whatsoever in what he’d done.

"Could you go into a little bit more detail than that?" I asked him, pulling myself together.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I want to know things like where it happened, how you covered it up, and anything else you want to tell me. Let's start with the first murder. Go into as much detail as you can, if you want to prove you are the killer."

I felt like I was getting somewhere now. I wanted to see if he knew the details of the deaths, because details like those are rarely released to the press. At the same time, Graham was looking for police records, and Patricia was looking for the press records, to see if those details were actually released to the press, so I knew it was important to get as much information as possible from this man.

"Well, in the first murder. That was Josh Davis, I think. Yes, it was. It was at a party," he started.

"O.k.," I said, writing things down in my notebook.

"I think it was someone's birthday or something. Anyway, I wasn't invited, but I was there, watching him from the darkness. He was just chatting to people, and did dances and things, like at any normal party. I remember he did this really funny chicken dance. Oh, sorry, I'm getting off track here."

"It's okay," I said, trying to make him as relaxed as possible.

"Anyway, he went outside for something, probably a cigarette, and I called his name. No-one else was around at the time. I then grabbed hold of him and stabbed him several times. Since this club was just outside the woods, I had little trouble putting him there."

"Why the woods?" I asked him, feeling there was some significance.

"I...I don't know. I just did," he said, looking very unconvincing.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" I asked him.

"Not for that one, no," he said. "That was a pretty simple murder."

"Okay, so are you going to talk to me about the second one?" I asked him, feeling awkward about the nice, peaceful tone of voice I had to use when discussing something as horrific and violent as this.

"Well, in the second murder, that one was quite simple as well. I watched him go out with his dog for a walk, and I followed him until he reached the woods. This took a while, but I'd been watching him several times, and he liked to go out on long walks, anywhere and everywhere. Anyway, I followed him until there was no-one else around. I then jumped on him and stabbed him to death. I left the body there, and there was no other sign of life around but the dog."

I just sat back. This was extraordinary. I could not believe what I was hearing. This was the first time, in all of the murder cases I had come across, that the killer actually confessed without any evidence against them.

"Can I move on to the third murder?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied, letting him do all the talking.

"Well, the third one was quite risky. I was following him, hoping he would go into the woods. I knew he would probably go into the woods a little bit because it was a shortcut home from school. School used to end at four o'clock, so it must have been about five past four. Anyway, he walked down an open street, but he saw me, with the knife! He asked me what I was doing, and I couldn't think of an excuse on the spot, so I knew I had to kill him there and then!"

I was shocked at how well he spoke. It was like it was scripted and rehearsed, everything he said. Perhaps he had prepared what he was going to say before he’d come.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add to that one?" I asked him.

"No, except I had to leave him in the street because I knew that someone in the houses opposite had probably been watching."

"That's strange," I said out loud, unintentionally.

"What is?" he asked.

"Are you sure nobody saw you?" I asked him, quite puzzled by what he’d said.

"I don't think so," he said. "But I don't know."

"Was this a quiet street?"

"Yes. It was really quiet, actually. I couldn't see anyone in their houses, so maybe it was just luck."

"And the fourth murder?"

"This was the final one," he said, rather enthusiastically. "And in this one, I had to set a trap for him."

"Go on," I said, interested to discover what he had to say.

"Well," he replied, "I had seen Richard flirting with another girl, so I wrote a fake love note asking for him to meet up in the woods,"

"How did you get it to him?" I asked, feeling like I was on top of the case.

"I slipped it through the vent in his locker, when no-one else was there. There was no closed-circuit TV at the time, either, so I was very lucky."

"O.k.," I said, "and then what happened?"

"You'll know the rest, really. After school finished, I watched him walk into the woods, where he expected to meet his crush. I then stabbed him about eight times, like the rest of them."

"You stabbed each of them eight times?"

"Roughly," he replied. He looked like he was being honest about the whole thing. As time went on and he spoke more and more, it was becoming less and less likely that he was making the whole thing up. I was half-expecting him at any moment to jump up and say, "Ha ha! This whole thing was just a joke!" but he didn't.

"So, there is nothing you want to add about any of the murders?" I asked him, ready to take more notes.

"If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you."

"O.k. Let's move on to the motive," I said, ready to finish the interview. "Why did you choose to do this to those people?"

"Well, Josh, Daniel, Steven and Richard were always making fun of us."

"Us?" I asked, intrigued by the possibility that this man had friends.

"Me and my friend, Laura. I don't see much of her now."

"Alright. What things did they do?"

"They used to play little pranks on us, but on me in particular. About a week before the first murder, the group of them grabbed hold of me in the woods and threw me in the river!"

It was then when I clicked. I had established a connection between the places where three of the four bodies were found, and the motive for murder.

"They sound very immature," I said, trying to keep him talking.

"Yes, and I had this all of the time."

"Well, that's about everything I have to say to you at this moment in time, but I will definitely come back to you later. What's going to happen now, is you are going to be charged, and we'll look at this in a bit more detail. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"There is one more thing I would like to ask you," I said.

"Fire away," he said, clearly trying to make light of the whole situation.

"Do you take medication for anything?"

"Yes," he replied, "because I am schizophrenic."

"Alright," I said, knowing that my suspicions had been confirmed. "So does anyone look after you?"

"My cousin. Her name is Monica."

"Does she know you are here?"

"No."

This was very interesting. I now wanted to talk to Monica to see what she had to say about the whole thing. I left the room and talked to my colleagues. Graham and Patricia had returned with the news we’d all been waiting for.

"He's not making it up!" cried Graham.

"Right," I said, getting very excited.

The five of us gathered round in a circle, looking at all of the evidence collected at the crime scenes. In the witness statement of the first murder, it was written that Josh Davis did a chicken dance before he left the building. That was exactly what “John” said. In fact, everything that “John” said matched the details of the murders. The number of stab wounds matched, as well as the places the bodies were found and times of death.

"Furthermore," said Patricia, "None of these details were released to the press. I triple checked."

"You know what this means?" said Miranda. "The man in that room is the Minot Hacker!"

We were about to charge this man, but we realized we did not know his real name! We needed to contact someone close to him, and in the interview, he’d said that a woman named "Monica" cared for him, and that she was his cousin. However, there was no way we could trace this Monica without more information, because this man did not have a phone number – he hadn’t even told her he was coming. So we asked him where he lived, and, to our astonishment, he told us. He said that Monica did not live there, but that she checked on him three times a day to make sure he was alright. Mitchell sent Graham and Miranda down to the house while we waited for new information. As a matter of fact, I wanted to speak to Monica myself. Did she know he was the killer all these years? I just thought it was very unlikely that twenty years had passed by and not a word had been breathed to connect him to the murders. Although not certain, it was probable that Monica knew about this.

Within thirty minutes, Graham and Miranda arrived back at the station with Monica. I was ready to ask her a few questions and hopefully things would make a little bit more sense about "John's" life. When Monica entered the room, I could see that she was about forty years of age, she was quite tall for a woman, and had long, black hair. Looking at her, you'd think she was friendly enough, but I knew by now never to judge a book by its cover.

"Hello, Monica, I'm Tammy Williams," I said, trying to take things slowly.

"Can somebody tell me what this is all about?" Monica said, looking very agitated and confused.

"I will. I will. We just need to take things slowly," I said, trying to reassure her, even though I knew that what I was about to say to her might shock her.

"Why am I here?" she continued. "And where is John?"

"John?" I asked, not knowing that his real first name was actually John.

"My cousin! He has problems, and he's gone missing!"

"Did you report this to the police?" I asked, going into a little bit more detail with things.

"No," Monica simply replied. "I thought he might turn up again. This isn't the first time he's been here."

"Is John a schizophrenic?" I asked, diving right into the investigation.

"How did you know?" said Monica.

I wanted to keep her as calm as possible.

"Well, I've got some bad news for you," I said. "So prepare yourself."

"He's dead!" she screamed, letting herself get out of control.

"No!" I said, rather firmly.

"He's done something, hasn't he?" said Monica, with a tear in her eye.

"You could put it that way," I said, trying my very best to prepare her for what was about to come.

"Will you just tell me?" said Monica, obviously impatient and anxious to hear the news.

"Well, John came to us last night, and well, do you know about the Minot Hacker?"

Monica looked at me, still puzzled.

"Yes?" she said, almost choking with whispering.

"Well, he's confessed to those four murders."

Monica said nothing after that. She just sat there, her face motionless. Her eyes were still, staring down at the floor, and her mouth didn’t move. It was like looking at a photograph. Not one part of her body moved, and for a second, I thought she’d died of shock. I decided to leave her for five minutes, and I made her a cup of tea.

When I returned, she seemed to have processed the shock slightly, even though she still looked bewildered. "Right then, Monica," I said to her, ready to move on. "You are not under arrest yet, and you are free to leave at any time."

"Is John here?" Monica asked, the second I finished talking.

"Yes, but you can't see him yet. Do you understand?"

Monica looked disappointed, but she nodded slightly, not looking in my direction.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions to help us with our enquiries."

"What proof have you got that it's him?"

"Well, we have quite a bit of evidence, actually, I replied, "and I will come to that in a moment. For now, I want you to answer these questions as truthfully as you can. Can you do that?"

Monica nodded.

"Alright then. Let's start with John's name."

"What about it?" asked Monica.

"Well, what's his last name?"

"Doe," replied Monica, not twitching one bit. I was not expecting that reply. So, John was telling the truth about his name.

Monica continued to speak. "I know it's a stupid name, but that's his name!" she added, almost crying.

"Okay, and are you his caregiver now?"

"Yes. When my mother died, I stepped in. There's nobody else now, you see."

"Alright, Monica, and how long have you been caring for John?" I asked, still in shock about his name.

"About two years now."

"And you come in to see him three times a day?"

"Yes. Has John told you that?" said Monica, clearly eager to know what John had been saying.

"He has," I replied, unwilling to give away any more information. "And how long to you visit him every time you come in?"