“Four patrol officers right now, they should be parked outside and will take turns to walk around the house. Although there should be a shift change shortly.”
I nodded as we climbed into the car and headed back to the station.
A large group of reporters had congregated outside, and we were met with microphones shoved in our faces and a barrage of questions, none of which we answered.
I left the two guys to carry on to the incident room while I diverted to the restrooms. After taking a piss, I leaned on the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror above it.
My skin was pale, dark circles were obvious under my eyes. My hair was a mess and I couldn’t actually remember the last time I combed it. I could smell the faint odor of sweat born from fear, tiredness, and spikes of adrenalin. The black t-shirt that I wore was wrinkled. I picked up my badge that hung on a chain around my neck and tucked it in the neck of the t-shirt, while I splashed cool water over my face. I needed something other than coffee to revive me. I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and held it over my face.
“You okay?” I heard. The chief had entered the room.
I pulled the towel away and looked at him in the mirror. “Yeah,” I said, as I crumpled the towel and threw it in the trash.
“You got time for an update?” he asked. His question had me frowning. He didn’t normally ask, but demanded.
“Sure, let me grab some notes,” I said, leaving him lowering his zipper and stepping up to the urinal.
“I’m going to update the chief,” I said, when I caught up with Corey and Dean.
“You gonna tell him about that newspaper article?” Dean asked.
I paused before answering. “I don’t know, to be honest. I guess I have to at some point, but I want to be sure there is a connection before I do.”
It could be nothing more than our killer had spent some time scouring the Internet and stumbled across that article. It was nearly twenty years ago. I grabbed a file from the desk; a file that Dean had kept updated and walked toward the chief’s office.
I took a seat in front of his desk, opened the file and took out the two photographs that Eddie had sent and Dean had printed off. I heard the sharp intake of breath.
“Jesus. So how does this fit in?”
I told him our theory on greed, explaining that Vicky had the letters carved into her fingertips. I also told him that Mr. Chapman had rounded up the rest of the kids and whether we had the budget or not, I’d instructed a twenty-four hour armed patrol around his house. The chief nodded, finally accepting our killer was targeting those kids.
“There’s another thing. The wall in the attic? Most of the pictures were of me. Corey believes he’s fixated on me and that these killings are a build up to something else.”
“How many sins left, Mich?” the chief asked. His use of my first name surprised me.
“Four, and three friends. So, I haven’t voiced my concerns yet, but maybe one of those sins is going to be allocated to me.”
“Then we need to get you some protection.”
“I have all the protection I need. To be honest, I’m sort of hoping I’m right and I’m next. At least that way he has to come out of hiding.”
Bait. If I put myself out on show, leave myself in a vulnerable position; perhaps I could draw him out. I had an idea.
“Call another press meeting. Let’s appeal directly to him. I’ll speak, see if I can make a connection with him,” I said.
“Mich…”
“You got a better idea?”
The truth was, there was not one officer in that station, myself included, that had any idea how to move this forward, how to catch the bastard.
The chief shook his head. “Go home, get presentable. I don’t want him seeing you dishevelled. He’ll know he has you riled.”
I’d coached enough parents of missing children in the past to fully understand where the chief was coming from. Our killer could not see any emotion from me, nothing that would allow him to feed off that, to get off on that.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a half hour,” I said, then rose and left his office.
I caught up with Dean and Corey and informed them of the plan. Corey opted to accompany me back to the house, and we took his car, leaving mine at the station.
“You know how to play this, yes?” he asked, as we drove.
“I do. I’m going to appeal to him directly. We’ve done all the ‘witnesses come forward’ bit, so if I can speak to him, encourage him to come forward, he might make contact.”
We arrived at my house and left the car in the driveway. I fished out the key from my jean pocket. As soon as I walked through the door, a sense that someone had been in my house hit me. I raised my hand as I came to a halt. Corey understood and stood quiet as we listened. When I was satisfied that I couldn’t hear anything, we slowly walked to the kitchen. I scanned each room quickly as we passed. The back door and windows were closed. I rattled the handle on the back door, finding it still locked. It was as I slowly turned around that I noticed it.
Sitting on the table was the green cardboard file that held the last case I’d worked on while in the FBI. Corey took a step toward it.
“Not sure you should have that,” he said, quietly.
“I got permission. But that file wasn’t open the last time I was in this room.”
I specifically remember sitting with Eddie and having coffee, looking at the closed file in the center of the table.
“You think…?”
“I do. He’s been in here,” I replied.
We took a walk around the small house, checking all the rooms, rattling windows to see if one slid open. All were locked.
“Let’s take a look outside,” Corey said.
We rounded the house, looking for footprints or disturbance of the grass and bushes. Again, nothing was found. I started to doubt myself. Had I opened that file? I was tired, agitated. I remembered back to that morning, I’d wanted to speak to Eddie but she was preoccupied with her reporting. But I couldn’t shake off the sense that someone had been in my house.
I left Corey in the kitchen, flicking through the file, while I took a shower. With just a towel around my waist, I walked into the bedroom. The bed was still unmade and I threw the duvet over it, straightening it as best I could. Housework and I weren’t natural companions. I grabbed a white shirt and dark pants, some underwear, and then dressed. I wouldn’t wear a suit because I didn’t want to come across as official.
Before we left, I checked all the windows and doors again. I also collected up the cold files and took them with me.
“You want to get the locks changed?” Corey said, as we climbed back into his car.
“I will, I’ll give someone a call. Maybe it’s me; imagining something that wasn’t there.”
I shook my head of the doubt before I allowed it to creep too far into my brain. Someone had been in my house, that folder had been closed when I’d last seen it.
I didn’t have time to wait for the locksmith before the press conference but made a call anyway. I’d ask Frank to call in at the station and collect my keys. He was someone I’d known for a long time, and we’d used him in the past when we’d needed to gain access to a property.
Reporters were still waiting around outside the station; they had been informed that I wanted to make a statement. Corey and I pushed past with a promise that I’d be back out in a few minutes. I checked in with the team to see if there were any developments before I made my way back out.
I held my hand up halting the questions that flew at me as soon as I stepped back out of the station door. We didn’t have the room inside to hold a press conference.
“I’d like to appeal to the public to come forward with any information, no matter how small or insignificant you feel it is. We know a blue Ford pickup was seen at Montford School, the evening of the seventeenth. We’d like all owners to come forward and help us speed up the process of listing those vehicles registered, and we
thank those that have so far volunteered with the DNA testing.
“Now I want to appeal directly to the perpetrator.” I kept the tone of my voice soft and even. “I believe you want to make contact with me, and I’d like to hear from you. I understand the message you’re trying to send, and I want to give you the chance to come to me first. You know that we found your wall. You also know you left me a very distinctive clue, so it’s in your interest to come forward now. The net is getting smaller, come in and talk to me.”
I didn’t thank the press for attending; I ignored the questions and refused to speak anymore. I simply nodded and walked back into the station. I wanted the killer to know I had that newspaper article, I couldn’t say that directly but I hoped I’d given him enough of a cryptic clue to understand. Now we would be back to the waiting game.
One of two things would happen. The one I was hoping for was that he would make contact. The one I was dreading was he’d go after one of the kids. I instructed Dean to organize upping the patrols around the Chapman house. I knew Mr. Chapman had called into the station, wanting an update when Vicky had been found. I hadn’t had a chance to speak directly with him; he’d spoken to Samantha instead. She’d reassured him that we were doing all we could; we had no news to share with him but that we still considered Louis and Kay at risk. He was getting agitated, wanting to move to a more secure and secret location. Our problem was, if they moved out of town we wouldn’t be able to control their protection.
As for Alison, we’d tracked down her parents. Thankfully they were still abroad and had extended their vacation. They had chosen not to tell Alison until it was safe for them to return. I had no doubt she’d be thrilled at the prospect of an extended break.
“You have a call,” I heard. Dean was standing at the incident room door.
My heart started to pound and I quickened my pace.
“Before you get all excited, it wasn’t him, but the lawyer you left the message for.”
“Okay, I'll take it over here.” I moved to one corner of the office for a little privacy.
“Mich Curtis,” I said, as the call was connected.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Curtis. My name is Ralph Cooper, although I’m retired now, I took over from Mr. Webster. He was the one who represented you.”
“I was hoping to be able to speak to Mr. Webster,” I said.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Mr. Webster died some time ago.”
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. Then a thought hit me.
“Can you tell me how he died?”
“Sadly, he was murdered, some months now.”
So you want to talk to me now, do you? Now, after all this time you want to sit down and have a nice cozy chat? Over a coffee, perhaps? Maybe we’ll head to the diner and grab dinner as well! Although my cock was hard and throbbing at the sound of his voice and the sight of him, acid boiled in the pit of my stomach with hatred. I didn’t give a fuck he’d revealed details of my truck, it wasn’t even registered to me. I didn’t give a fuck about his DNA testing, the name I used was false, obviously. Well, not completely false. I chuckled. Oh, Mich, you have such a shock coming to you. I wondered how he’d fare when he discovered the truth. I knew we were close to the end. Mother would finally be proud of me.
She had a role to play and the time for that was soon. She’d gone beyond stinking and weeping all over the floor. I looked at her. Her skin resembled old, cracked, shrivelled leather. The hair on her head was patchy and grey, brittle to the touch. I’d tried to wash it but gave up after clumps attached to pieces of scalp would come away in my hand. She was held together with bolts and pieces of wire. I picked up the small bag of makeup I’d bought. I wanted Mother to look pretty.
I brushed some rouge on what should have been cheekbones. One side of her face was drooped, the bones underneath the skin shattered. The pink powder made her look alive and I smiled. I picked up a red lipstick, trying to stop the shake of my hand as I colored in lips that had long since withered to nothing. I made her new lips. Over the years her blue irises had turned a chalky white. I smiled, I just had to find a screwdriver to take out the chalky white ones, and insert the new blue ones.
I whistled while I fixed Mother some new eyes. “Now, don’t you look all pretty?” I said, staring at my handiwork.
Using the lipstick I wrote one word on the wall above her head.
E N V Y
“What did you find that is a distinctive clue?” the chief asked, as he walked in to the incident room.
I was still on the phone to Mr. Cooper. I placed my hand over the receiver.
“Give me a minute?” I asked, holding the receiver up, not that he could have failed to notice I was on the phone.
“One minute, Curtis.” We were back to surnames. He stomped from the room. I noticed Corey look at me.
“Mr. Cooper, can you give me details of how Mr. Webster died?” I asked, resuming my telephone call.
“All I can say was that it was a pretty gruesome murder.”
The word ‘murder’ shuddered through me. “Go on,” I encouraged.
“He was found in his home, I can’t recall all the details. I’m sure the police would be able to tell you more but he was stabbed, something like fifty times. His tongue was cut out, they didn’t find that.” It was clear that Mr. Cooper was struggling with the memory.
“Do you happen to know which police force was involved?” I asked.
“The Force,” he replied. From memory, The Force was the internal name for the RCMP, or more informally, the Mounties.
“I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Webster, I just needed some details on my case. I’ll get in touch with the police to see if they found his killer.”
“I can forward you details of your case, you’re entitled to any information, and as far as I know, his killer was never found.”
We said our farewells with a promise from him to email over what details he had, and I’d let him know what happened with the case on Mr. Webster. I stood and walked over to Corey, explained what I had found out, and asked if he could use his influence to contact the Mounties and see what happened. I needed to speak to the chief. As I walked to the chief’s office, I was still undecided on what to say.
Chief waved me in as he saw me approach. I waited a little while for him to invite me to sit. He placed his elbows on his desk, rested his chin on his clasped hands, and stared at me.
“What clue do you have that you haven’t told me about?”
I took a deep breath. “The killer knows me.”
His eyes widened. “How do you know this?”
“The wall was full of pictures, photographs about me, you know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Among all of that was a newspaper article, about me, when I was arrested for murder at age sixteen.” I didn’t think I’d consciously made the decision to come clean until that point.
His arms slid, leaving his jaw hanging open.
“Tell me you just didn’t fucking say that,” he said. I didn’t reply.
“I was innocent, the case fell apart. I had an alibi. The man who killed my father was shot, not by me,” I lied.
“And this is on your fucking file, huh?”
“No. I wasn’t charged,” I repeated.
“Fucking arrested, charged, or not, that should have been disclosed. Jesus, Mich, what the fuck…” At least he’d used my first name.
“All I ever wanted to do was be in law enforcement, since childhood. I can’t remember the application, but I’m sure it doesn’t ask if I was arrested of a crime, only if I was found guilty.”
“Don’t try that bullshit on me, I’ve been in this fucking job too long. You know damn well, if you were ever arrested for anything, even a fucking speeding ticket, it needed to be disclosed.” He sighed and ran one hand over the side of his face.
“This article, it was pinned to the wall, yes?”
“It was.”
“And you took it? You rem
oved evidence from a scene, without allowing it to be processed. No doubt because you didn’t want anyone to find it. Where is it?”
I’d transferred the folded article from my jeans pocket to my pants when I’d changed earlier. I reached in for it and slid it across the desk to him. I watched as he unfolded the paper and read.
“Fuck’s sake, Mich. You know I gotta suspend you, right?”
“You can’t! We are too far into this investigation, and I’m the key, you fucking know that.”
“I know, not only did you fucking lie on your application, you’ve removed evidence from a scene. Then you’ve told the fucking press about the stolen evidence.” He held up his hand to halt the words about to leave my mouth.
“I’m going to ignore this fucking thing, for the moment, Mich. I actually don’t know how to deal with it other than calling in fucking Internal Affairs, and I don’t want those pricks all over my station. But you took evidence from a scene…”
“I’ll get it processed, document it.”
“And say what? It just happened to fucking fall into your pocket. Shit, I’m too old for this. I’m supposed to retire in a couple of months.”
“Chief, I’m the key. I’m putting myself out as bait here, I’m going to draw him in. He’s fixated on me; all the time that I’m still involved in this investigation, I’m safe. If I’m suspended, I don’t have protection. He kills me, then what? Can you live with that?” His mouth moved at a pace his words couldn’t keep up with. It was a low blow but I continued. “Suspend me after, I’ll totally accept that. But hear me out. That lawyer…” I pointed to the photograph in the article of us on the steps of the police station. “Dead, murdered, had his tongue cut out.”
“Get out, we’ll deal with this when this case is done, okay?”
I gently nodded, thankful for the temporary reprieve and returned to the incident room.
“Still here?” Dean said, with a smirk.
“For the moment. Now, do we have anything?” I asked him and Corey.
“You’re not going to like this.” As Corey spoke, the fax machine whirled to life.
A Deadly Sin: An epic dark thriller that will have you wanting to leave the lights on. Page 11