Detective Travis was now making her way through the people, too angry to talk to the hitmen, they stood unmoved and unyielding. Showed no emotion; they waited ready to protect the one man in custody. Five young women, some of them still children had been butchered for this man’s appetite. It wasn’t right that he should be protected when these children were starved of their rights.
Detective Patts was seen cutting through the dark to stride over to the standing officers who shivered like beaten dogs while waiting for instructions. This was not a good day for them. It did not ennoble them. They were not going to receive awards. Today, they had killed innocence and protected evil. It was a day that would haunt them for the rest of their lives; it would come to be known as The Day of Reckoning.
‘What the hell went on here?’ yelled Detective Travis in her protective vest. She was moving towards Patts ignoring the angry body of fury.
‘Someone shouted out fire at will,’ began Patts frowning at Travis; he wanted to defuse the situation, but the way she was handling it; she was stirring up a storm.
‘I have it that this is an emergency, one man is dead and another dangerously ill. Who called the order to fire?’ she turned to the rigid-eyed men, who believed they had done their duty when coming under attack.
‘Detective Travis,’ warned Patts trying to coax this angry woman out of the way because this was not the time to hold court. ‘Let’s get all the evidence first after we clear this crowd.’ He shook his head slowly and grimly and eyed the men before turning to Travis. ‘You can’t blame these men for what happened. The fuse had been lit, and it was about to go off. They were only doing what we ask them to do, protect justice.’
Turning away from Patts, Detective Travis had seen Cecelia quietly recording the fallen figures, the medics rushing to the people injured or in shock. Everyone inciting it to happen, but when it had, it came with disbelief. Each one of them could be killed and even worse the ones they loved. They had brought their children on the march for blood.
‘Did you see anything?’ Detective Travis's eyes were wicked with anger, the flecks of firelight inflaming her eyes. They were now raging on Cecelia.
‘I’ll give you my notes when I’ve finished,’ said Cecelia unemotionally, her voice had become the register of events while writing this small city’s history.
‘What did you see?’
‘People on both sides like firecrackers waiting to go off. I agree with Detective Patts, something was bound to happen. The mood was charged and strained; it was a wonder that only one person was killed.’
‘You think so?’
‘Don’t you? Do you believe these men came out to kill? In this case, justice asked for blood…’
‘This should never have happened,’ said Detective Patts turning away, hating what had occurred. ‘Why couldn’t people have just gone home when they were told to? What good has come out of this?’
‘I don’t know.’
Cecelia watched the now soberer crowd, people hugging each other, many crying. Their anger had been fed; they had climbed a steep hill, but they hadn’t found that welcoming peace on the other side.
‘Perhaps the only good to have come out of it is honor. I believe you should be proud of these men who stood up for justice. Anarchy has just been defeated—you can’t protect these people who expect to be given what they want because they are upset,’ said Patts.
‘There is only one problem with that,’ Detective Travis had listened to his impassioned speech.
Quickly, Cecelia turned to Travis, her eyes as big as her worries.
‘I don’t believe the man we have in custody is the murderer.’ Like Detective Patts, Detective Travis was also shaking her head. ‘This has been a bad day. If the mob had got through those doors and taken the man, many people could have been charged with murder. This entire case has been a mess.’ She walked off leaving Cecelia thinking.
If this was so, then the Slasher was still out in the night waiting for his next victim. Perhaps Mary Ann had been right.
Most of the people were now making their way home. No one was being charged with anything, no disturbance of the peace. A wise decision had been made to allow the people to go home and lick their wounds. It would never be tried again. But for the police, there was going to be an investigation, who shot who was going to have to be proved.
7
Difficult to get a cab with the roads obstructed as hundreds of people made their way back home. Nearer on the outskirts of the city with people thinning out, the noise of frightened citizens and the smell of gunfire left the world strangely empty. And in its vacuum crept those thoughts of an active mind. The world did not feel as safe as it used to.
Like some enchanted dream and sleeping soundly, Cecelia, at last, awoke. The world had changed and gone with predictability. She had fallen into the madness of threats and possibilities. When had the world become so menacing? Like the sorcerer in the story of Aladdin selling his wares, new lamps for old, the world of old and tried values had now been thrown away. Its box of rules given to those who claimed their new pots of rights. Everyone had rights these days. They jingled and jarred against the old trades. Where could these new practices and rough rules fit in? Nowhere. There are only so many rights to go around in a society of values. So, throw in the old rules for new rules to see if they work. A new society in the making will show how fashionable they are.
Does that mean people have to think differently and be different? Clip their wings in acknowledgment. We have a new family to accommodate. We must change, nothing can remain the same. Perhaps every hundred years or so, old rules have to be kicked into the dust to go forwards and not back. And if it is possible for everyone to live under these rules without any threat to their safety without any sense of unfairness… is that possible?
Cecelia hailed her cab, got into the car slamming the door. In that incredible moment when the car pulled off did her mind tax her with those unthinkable scenarios. A stranger’s car, was he the Slasher?
Looking at the back of his head, Cecelia traced her ideas. Supposing he was the murderer. Would she get home safely? Bartering her life for the desire to get home in comfort. Trust, she had to trust this stranger to take her home for a few dollars.
And she, watching the road ahead of him, was he trusting her as much as she had to trust him? Did he trust that she wouldn’t stab him in the back and rob him of his day’s money?
Distrust had crept into the car when Cecelia stepped in.
Just as she opened her door, Cecelia could hear the telephone ringing, pouring out its bells, calling around the house for someone to answer.
‘I’m just coming, hang on, hang on,’ she closed the door quickly behind her, dropping her bags, Cecelia hurried across the room. Hand hovering about to dip and grab when the ringing stopped. She sighed in exasperation. It was probably Phoebe to see if she got home okay. She would give her a buzz when she sorted herself out. It was good to be home after such a strange evening. Just before she left the scene of violence and fear, struggling to understand what had happened. A woman had screamed from the lessening throng, crying that the monster was still living when she had been one of the women he raped, but she had got away.
It changed the mood of the mob which had accepted defeat, licking its wounds wondering what had happened. Art Perry, Jo Young, and Scott Rogers decided they would fulfill the thwarted mission. The guns which were only meant to threaten and show and not to use were now in their hands. Three brave and defiant men stood shoulder to shoulder, strong boulders of outrage and gaining momentum. Their courage gathering strength as people moved out of their paths when seeing the guns in their hands. Tonight, someone else was going to die. Solomon’s law, a tooth for a tooth.
It was the hunter’s instinct to smell danger. The fifteen marksmen keeping their station had seen the three-soldier mutiny. Hackles stood; the smell of revenge howled in the night. This was the time; their job was not finished. Fingers wet from anticipation grip
ped the black steel and quivered.
‘What’s going on?’ said Detective Patts coming across to the huntsman, he had heard and sniffed the scent, there was a kill ready to be claimed. Scanning the skyline, three of the horsemen were coming out of the smoke. No one else must die tonight; death had been fed but not silenced. ‘Everyone, keep your barrels down.’ Worried now, Patts sensed the world hoping for peace.
But all three eyes were shot with survival, blue pierced, brown hatred. They were ready and untamed.
Art Perry lifted his gun to take out one of this line of men. Which one should he take? His barrel going along the line of the hated.
‘Art Perry,’ cried out Detective Patts running now in front of the men. ‘Put your guns down. There will be no more deaths today.’
A shot, a loud moving explosion reached its target with a thud. Detective Patts fell to the ground, his face now crumbling. He held out his hands to hold on to his life, but he was falling. It was that shock on his face that said no, this could not happen to him. He thought he could defuse anger, but vanity proved him wrong. His life had compacted and stolen while his eyes closed to the world.
For four seconds, no one realized what had happened until Art Perry threw his gun down and turned to run. He had hit the wrong man although now that his gun had discharged, he never meant to hit anyone, and now there was blood running onto the tarmac.
The two other men who had stood by his side felt the weight of their guns and dropped them.
With the cold eye of the observer, Cecelia was shocked by what had happened yet found herself still writing down how life was going on for these people.
‘Someone get a medic,’ ordered Detective Travis running towards her fallen colleague, her face set in arid determination while her eyes quickly ran over Detective Patts to assess the damage done. She pulled off her body armor and fell to her knees. ‘It’s okay William. You’ll be fine,’ she took off her jacket and wound it into a pillow to place beneath his head. ‘Just stay with us, William. We’re going to get you to the hospital. You are going to be just fine.’
Footsteps from behind with bags were running to the fallen. Two then three medics fell to the scene, checking Patts’s reactions and seeing where he had been injured.
Travis was in the way now, she stood and stepped back, her lips whispering prayers for a man she admired. For nearly four years she and Patts had worked alongside each other. He had been the one who smoothed her way knowing that if she ever had any problems, she could always go to him. Detective Patts was a good man, a friend, and a father to them all. This man could not die.
‘Get those three men,’ shouted Detective Travis reclaiming order to the chaos. ‘I want them in cuffs and locked up. Come on men; move it.’
Cecelia had written that the world went into slow motion, everyone belonged to a different timeline. If it had not been a tragedy, it could have been described as a comedy, as people ran into one another. Several people were booked and as many names of the still hanging around crowd were taken. The police were going to do this properly from now on. If this police officer died, then there was going to be retribution.
Many prayed that night including Cecelia; the stagnant air shot with gunfire hung around for longer than it should on such a still night.
Arriving home and intact yet her mind was fractured with these awful memories. When death arrives, it comes without any ceremonies to bargain or trade places. Who can it take if the person it had come for is already? It looks around, it’s not fussy. And those eyes had stared at her first before turning away. One day, those eyes would remain on her. She had tried to get these images out of her head, while she got herself a small glass of brandy. It was only now that she began to shake.
Now with the brandy in her hand, Cecelia went to see who had called. But the telephone started to ring again and was heralding the need to be answered.
‘Phoebe,’ Cecelia said when she picked up the receiver. ‘I’m home now.’
‘I am glad.’ But it was not Phoebe who answered, it was Mary Ann.
‘Mary Ann,’ Cecelia threw her hand to her lips, for the last few days she had forgotten about this woman. Again, that feeling of guilt smothered her, she had neglected this woman. ‘How are you?’
‘How are you?’ she spoke these words as if it was an insinuation. ‘I have been worried about you. I’ve been ringing you every day. I thought something had happened to you. You promised to let me know how you are, but you’ve obviously forgotten about me.’
‘I’ve been very busy—you do know I’m a journalist?’
‘But that isn’t an excuse for bad manners. When someone says they are going to give you a call, you expect them to do so. As I explained before, I was worried about you. I know that you don’t have anyone else in your life. You are like me, friendless.’
Hit by accusations, they popped in Cecelia’s ears, hitting her face, and asking for something which she could not give at least not to her, her friendship.
‘But you are not on your own, are you? Not anymore. You have a male friend, don’t you?’ It was a struggle to find the right defenses. ‘I thought he was looking after you…’
‘Oh, William. I look after myself. And yes, he is good to me, and I know he will make me happy. But he isn’t everything in my life. I am still entitled to have friends. You are still important in my life. I care about you very much, Cecelia, and William knows this; he is not jealous of you. You will like him when you meet him. But first, tell me where you have been. This is not a safe world for anyone.’
‘I’ve been away getting the story on the victims.’ Why was she having to explain anything to Mary Ann?
‘You mean you have been out of town?’ she was surprised, her voice spoke so. It suggested that she didn’t believe Cecelia.
‘Yes. These are the things that a journalist has to do.’
‘Like you interviewed me?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And did you take flowers this time?’ her voice was smiling.
‘No, not this time. I didn’t think the interview called for it.’
‘You mean, I was special.’
‘Why are you asking me all these questions? Don’t you believe me?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Cecelia. I didn’t mean my concerns to come across as an inquisition. You are of course, free to do as you like and go where you want. I was just worried about you. Where was it you went?’
‘Did you ring up just to check up on me? Because if you did, I don’t like it. I find it stifling.’
‘You are right, you are absolutely right, but it’s been such a bad time for me. I’m on my own all of the time, and I thought I would give you a call; it’s so nice to hear your voice. And you are right, I am selfish. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I heard what was happening on the news. Did you hear about it?’
What was this? ‘Yes, I did.’
‘It’s very frightening. People taking it upon themselves to give their own justice here in Alandra. How did you hear about it, Cecelia?’
This was too much. ‘I was going home when I saw it happened.’
‘You were there. You mean you were out there when the riot was going on?’
‘Yes, I was there.’
‘Do you know how dangerous that was?’
‘What are you trying to do to me, Mary Ann? Make me as fearful as you so that I won’t be able to go out as well?’
‘You’re right. It’s my neurosis coming out again. How you must hate me?’
‘No, no, I don’t hate you,’ now Cecelia was frowning. Everything had to be redirected back to Mary Ann because if she wasn’t involved in some way in the conversation then she didn’t exist.
‘Oh, please Cecelia, don’t be angry at me. I can’t help the way I am. You don’t have to live with me, but I do. I can’t just walk away from me. Please forgive me, please.’
Staring ahead, the inevitability of Mary Ann’s self-indulgence denied Cecelia having any interest in h
er own life. Again, it reminded her of her mother, Tina, the what-about-me person. And yet again, Cecelia knew how she would be.
‘It’s okay, I’m not angry at you. You haven’t done anything wrong. There is no need for you to cry.’ It had become a rehearsed platitude.
‘Cecelia, you are so good to me when I don’t deserve it. I’m so very lucky and grateful you came to visit me that day, you are such a special person to me. So, you were in Alandra then?’
‘Why do you ask?’ Cecelia’s back tightened from the question.
‘No reason why, I thought if you were, you could have visited me.’
What was it about Mary Ann’s voice which was so annoying? She used her well-trained reed with effect, the innocent high tone stung by the accusation, almost whining, but not quite. And then the sting in the tail wheedling through. You neglected me, how could you?
‘Even if I were in Alandra, it wouldn’t have mattered. I work, Mary Ann; you should realize this by now.’
‘Of course, I know you work. I know how important your job is to you as I understand that I’m not important in your life and that I care more for you than you do me. But that’s how it is, isn’t it? I accept all of that. I just thought if you were passing you could have come in and spared a couple of minutes with me. But I know you are hunting down the rapist all on your own…’
‘Mary Ann, I never said anything of that…’
‘No, you’re right. It’s me again overreacting. Oh, Cecelia, do you think I’m losing it?’ the moan of crying was being produced. ‘No wonder you don’t like me. I’ve never been the same since the attack. I’m imagining all sorts of strange things that he might be waiting in the house for me somewhere, and now I’m terrified of going about my house—what is happening to me, Cecelia? Why am I behaving like this? I feel like I’m losing control, and I’m terrified.’
‘Mary Ann,’ Cecelia stopped her in her tirade. ‘Why don’t you take up that offer from the police? You can have a woman officer come and stay with you. I should imagine the offer is still open.’
Sixth Victim Page 9