The Jake Boulder Series: books 1 - 3

by Graham Smith

  ‘It’s our reptile house. We keep snakes and a variety of insects in there.’

  Norm catches glimpses of the public areas, so he decides it’s the perfect location for the kill.

  As Angus gazes towards the reptile house and recites a list of its inhabitants, Norm pulls on a pair of latex gloves.

  Next he removes the Tanto from his backpack, takes a silent pace until he’s behind Angus and crashes the sole of his boot into the tendons at the back of the older man’s knees.

  Angus drops to his knees. Norm reaches the same position a fraction of a second after him.

  Norm stretches his arm round Angus’s body and plunges the Tanto into the left side of his stomach. Pulling the Samurai knife to the right he opens the ranger’s belly, before drawing it three inches upwards.

  The wound is a total of eighteen inches in length as it traverses the bloated stomach. Angus’s hands clasp at it, trying to hold in the wriggling eels that are his intestines. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out. Shock from the sudden pain has immobilised his body.

  Norm removes the woodsman’s axe from his rucksack as he rises to his feet.

  He glances around. Seeing nobody watching him, he lifts the blade above Angus’s exposed neck.

  The axe drops.

  Five minutes later, he’s a quarter of a mile away, wearing his ghillie suit, and has his binoculars to his eyes. Ready to meet the next link in the chain.

  54

  I rifle through the pages printed from Kira’s journal until I find the one I’m looking for. Scanning down the page, I locate her cousin’s name.

  The entry doesn’t name the dead person, but there’s enough information there to get me started, or rather sufficient for me to ask the right questions of Alfonse and the chief.

  It’s the chief I call first. He listens in silence. When I’m done talking, he lets out a string of inventive curses about the killer, before telling me he doesn’t have a spare body with enough live cells to follow the lead I’m suggesting.

  I put Alfonse’s name forward and he agrees. He also suggests Alfonse goes to the station and gets Darla to show him how to use the police computers so he can go through their records.

  After telling the chief what I learned from Dr Edwards, I hang up and call Alfonse.

  With twenty minutes to spare, I embrace the chance to do a spot of uninterrupted thinking.

  There’s a lot to consider. Such as what motivates the killer; who his possible hero might be, and whether there would be any point in me also staking out Kelly Oberton’s father.

  It’s not so much that I don’t trust any of the Casperton police, it’s just they are all way out of their depth. I can’t think of one who has the subtlety and intelligence to stay unseen by someone as cunning as the killer.

  The peace is shattered by my cell ringing. I look at the display and see ‘Mother’. Since first seeing the newspaper headline, I’ve been waiting for her to call.

  It’s a wonder it’s taken her this long to find out.

  My finger hovers over the cell. If I answer it, there will be another narcissistic tirade dressed up as motherly concern. If I don’t she’ll keep calling until I do. Worse, she might even come looking for me. I may be the wrong side of thirty, but that won’t stop her voicing her concerns in a public place.

  I decide it’ll be easier to take the call here in the privacy of my own home; I press the green area of the screen.

  She talks for ten minutes straight without giving me chance to try and answer even one of her rhetorical questions. Realising there’s nothing I can say to calm her, I let her say her piece and promise to go and see her later.

  It’s a promise I daren’t break, much as I’d love to.

  55

  I find Alfonse has been afforded a side office in the station. He is sitting with a heavy woman dressed in a blouse loud enough to require ear defenders.

  Even while she’s teaching him about the computer system, it’s obvious she has the kind of personality you can’t ignore.

  Her voice has a booming quality and her round face has more than its share of laughter lines. The earrings she wears could be used as lures for barracuda and her fingers have more garish rings than Saturn.

  ‘Thanks Darla. I think I’ve got it now.’

  Darla is old enough to be his mother’s elder sister but the difference in their ages doesn’t stop her flirting with him as she leaves the room.

  In other circumstances I’d be ripping him to shreds over his new admirer. This is neither the time nor place, though I do flash him a grin to warn him of what is to come.

  ‘I hope to God you’re wrong, Jake.’ There’s fear in both his face and voice.

  ‘So do I.’

  As he gets to work, I lean back in my seat and think about the information Farrage’s men have given me.

  I’d given them a series of questions to ask the families of Donny Prosser and Wendy Agnew. Most of the questions were the same for both families but I’d added some questions to only be asked of Prosser’s family.

  Neither family had the slightest cause to suspect the victims were having the affair suggested by the way they were found. A check of their credit card statements further disproved the theory as every item listed could be accounted for.

  Both parties were more accustomed to family activities than solo pursuits.

  The final clinchers for me are the answers to the questions I’d had asked of Prosser’s family.

  He was left handed.

  He didn’t own a gun.

  He had no interest in guns.

  This contradicted the suicide tableau which had him using his right hand to hold the gun to his temple.

  Before I’d driven away from the scene, I’d sat in my car and mimed out the sequence of events for the deaths to be the murder suicide the crime scene suggested.

  Even pretending the gun was kept in a door pocket, there was enough time for Wendy Agnew to turn away from him.

  When I’d recreated where the gun must have been fired from, I’d had to twist and contort my body into an uncomfortable position to get my right hand into the right area.

  There were easier ways to position myself so I could fire with my right hand, but none of these put the gun in the correct place.

  When I’d checked their bodies for marks or signs of a fight, I hadn’t seen any fresh scratches or bruising where Prosser had perhaps held Wendy against her will. His body was also free of injuries, which told me any fight between them must have remained verbal. That it hadn’t escalated to any kind of physical violence before a gun was introduced made the two shootings even less believable.

  When I add all these facts together, it becomes obvious the killer is trying to deflect the police investigation by staging the bodies in a way that indicates something other than murder.

  The chief has done a good job rounding up all of the Oberton family. For the sake of their comfort, he’s even managed to get them into a hotel on the east side of town.

  I don’t know what security arrangements he’s made, but it’s a fair guess a number of detectives and patrolmen will catch a shift or two on sentry duty.

  Hearing the gruff tone of his voice accompanied by rapid footsteps, I stick my head out of the office door. ‘We’re in here, Chief.’

  ‘I’ll be there in five.’

  Leaving him to do whatever he needs to, I throw a questioning glance towards Alfonse.

  He doesn’t see it despite looking right at me. Or to be more accurate, right through me.

  ‘What you got?’

  ‘Uh?’

  I repeat the question without ire, aware his attention is focused on the computer and the information he’s extracting from it.

  ‘I’m sorry to say you’re right. I’ve found three before Kira and there are a number of deaths that have been ruled as suicide or accidents which may also prove to have been his doing.’

  I keep quiet as he reaches for the mouse again. Being right has never seemed
so wrong.

  I feel the determination compelling me to catch this killer being replaced by a cold anger. I no longer want the killer to pay for his crimes. I want him to suffer for them.

  My fury isn’t the religious eye-for-an-eye type. It’s the rage of the aggrieved, the empathetic person who’s seen too much suffering and needs to nullify the cause.

  I’ve no doubt the chief feels a similar way. Yet if I’m confronted by the killer I would not want to end his life myself. I’d rather he receives his retribution at the hands of the state than stoop to his level myself.

  Barring an insanity plea, he’ll be an odds-on favourite to spend a few years on Death Row before being strapped down and given a lethal injection.

  The idea of him having years of false dawns as appeals fail is one which pleases me.

  I’ve read how studies have proven Death Row inmates suffer in a way no other prisoners can begin to comprehend. After preparing themselves for death, they are given a stay of execution for one reason or another. Full reprieves are rare, but there are many reasons why the carrying out of their sentence may be delayed.

  By the time they make the final walk to the execution chamber they are so mentally weary of the torturous process they are looking forward to the escape death brings.

  I recognise this is a cruel thought, but I believe it’s no less than this monster deserves.

  ‘Well?’ The chief strides into the room. ‘Was Kira his first victim or not?’

  ‘She wasn’t the first. Without looking at coroner’s reports I can’t be sure, but I’ve traced four other deaths before hers which have the same connection between the person who finds a body and the next victim.’

  Four? How many deaths is this guy responsible for?

  ‘The son of a goddamn bitch. Are you telling me there’s been a serial killer at large and we’ve only found out after he’s killed nine people?’

  Alfonse fails to meet the chief’s eye. ‘Like I say, I need to verify the details, but that’s what it’s looking like.’

  A thought occurs to me. ‘What’s the time frame on these deaths – and were they recognised as murder victims?’

  ‘They span over the last three months give or take a week. Two were classed as suicides, one was misadventure and the other was a hit and run that was never solved.’

  ‘How far apart did they occur?’

  Alfonse checks the notes he’s made. ‘Working back from Kira, they were ten days, fifteen days, four weeks and three months.’

  The chief and I exchange a knowing look. The killer has escalated in the last few days, going from sporadic unconnected dates to regular daily attacks. It is classic serial killer behaviour right out of the big book of clichés and stereotypes.

  ‘At least he’s broken cover now.’

  The chief’s words stand at odds with his position within the community, but I know what he means. Until Kira Niemeyer was discovered as an obvious victim of a violent attack, nobody had thought to consider that a killer was preying on the residents of Casperton.

  By changing his methods, he’s alerted us to his existence. There’s no telling how long he could have stayed under the radar if he’d stuck to his earlier routines and kept passing the murders off as something else.

  Now we are aware of him we have a chance of ending his spree. Or at least of getting some help from the FBI. When all is said and done, one police chief, a squad of inept detectives and a pair of amateurs is nobody’s first choice to go after a serial killer.

  I look to the chief. ‘Surely the FBI will step in now.’

  ‘Once I have proof of this guy’s count I may be able to bring them in. Until then I can’t expect to, and I quote, “call the FBI for help every time one of my detectives comes up with a half-assed theory”.’

  His words leave a bad taste in my mouth. Their abandonment of him in his hour of need is typical of beaurocratic organisations. Always quick to protect their own careers, they’ll be only too happy to demand proof from the chief before allocating any of their precious resources.

  All possible future blame for a false call will lie at his door, while they’ll be safeguarded.

  A devil’s advocate may suggest they can’t come running every time someone cries ‘wolf’. While that position may be understandable, this is a case of life and death.

  I try another tack. ‘What about the commissioner in Salt Lake City? The mayor? Can’t they get you some help?’

  ‘The commissioner’s office told me I should contact the FBI as they have no spare bodies. And as for the mayor.’ He gives a snort of disgust. ‘He’s only helpful if you want something opened or have a camera to point at him. The rest of the time he makes his son look like a picture of efficient ability.’

  ‘You’re joking.’ I know Farrage is little more than a waste of space, but to hear his father is worse comes as a shock.

  ‘Believe me, I’m neither joking nor exaggerating. The mayor is brilliant at civic functions, but as a politician he’d be outclassed by a stuffed bear. The people in his office run this town while he swans about playing golf and posing for the camera.’

  ‘Never mind the mayor, you two.’ Alfonse’s voice is raised to attract our attention. ‘I’ve got another here. A Miss Ganderson was found dead on the college campus with a needle sticking out of her arm. The cause of death was a heroin overdose, but the coroner’s report says there were no signs of a history of drug abuse. Her death was passed off as someone who’d experimented and gotten it wrong. She was found by the sister of the next victim.’

  The chief’s face turns from puce to ashen and back to puce as anger and shock compete for control of his arteries.

  I make a slight change to the subject before the chief has a coronary.

  ‘This is all useful information, but it’s not going to help us catch this killer.’ I point to Alfonse but keep my eyes on the chief. ‘If he gets all the information and the necessary proof, have you a spare body who can write it down in cop-speak so you can present it to the FBI?’

  He nods. ‘Darla could do it.’

  ‘Then let them do that while we try and figure out a way to catch this guy.’

  The chief lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, relief of a shared burden in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Boulder. You make good sense.’

  We move to his office to give Alfonse peace to work. On our way, the chief stops Darla and informs her of what he wants done.

  ‘Sure thing, honey.’ Her tone is rich with her native Caribbean patois, but it’s the way she calls the chief honey which grabs my attention. From anyone else the word would be met with a scowl at best. On her lips it sounds like a natural term to use when referring to a boss.

  The chief and I stare at each other for a moment when we reach his office. I’m waiting for him to speak first but a wave of his hand indicates he wants me to lead.

  ‘I’m not convinced about the safety of the Oberton guy. I think you should bring him in. By force if necessary.’

  ‘I would agree if it weren’t for one fact.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He’s a vet. Spent time in ’Nam. Our killer goes after him – he may just bite off more than he can chew.’

  ‘It’s still a hell of a risk with a civilian.’

  ‘He’s under surveillance, remember?’

  I get what the chief is saying and I can see why he’s prepared to use Oberton as a tethered goat, but the Vietnam war happened a long time ago. Once-sharp fighting skills have had many years to dull.

  Age weakens the body far more than the mind accepts. I guess the chief is much the same age as Oberton and still believes his generation capable of putting up a good fight against a younger, fitter opponent.

  ‘Supposing your man does spot this killer stalking Oberton. What then? One man can’t be expected to take down a serial killer.’

  ‘He’s to call for backup and protect Oberton. If possible he’s to make an arrest.’ The chief’s voice is strong but lacks conviction. His eyes are
landing on everything except mine.

  ‘Seems like a lot for one man to do, doesn’t it?’ I keep my tone conversational but I can tell he doesn’t like what I’m saying.

  A hand slaps down onto the desk. ‘Have you a better idea? I’ve got no spare manpower and cannot guard every damn fool who refuses to heed my advice.’

  ‘We’re repeating ourselves. We went over all this earlier. I’ve been thinking about it and while I know you’re doing the best you can, I feel there’s more that can be done to protect him.’

  ‘You got a squad of detectives I don’t know about? Or perhaps a few trained bodyguards?’

  I pay no heed to his sarcasm. In his shoes I’d be way more caustic.

  ‘I’ve got me.’ I fix him with a determined stare. ‘Until something else happens, there’s nothing I can do but sit and think. I don’t believe the coroner’s report is going to contradict anything we’ve already worked out about the last two victims. If I’m going to be sat motionless, I may as well do it where I can be of some other use.’

  His head shakes left to right in a slow deliberate motion. ‘Thank you for offering, but there’s no way I can let you put yourself at risk like this.’

  I stand up. ‘Is there a way you can legally stop me from going where I want provided I don’t break any laws?’

  ‘No.’ He doesn’t move from his seat, but a hand snakes across the desk and lifts the telephone. A button is pressed on the console before he puts the receiver to his ear. ‘When did you last hear from Steve?’

  He listens with an inscrutable expression on his face then fixes me with a stare. ‘Last we heard from Steve was an hour and a half back. Everything was okay then.’

  ‘When’s he due to check-in next?’

  The chief’s face takes on a sheepish expression. ‘There’s no fixed schedule.’

  ‘Then at least get someone to message him that I’m going to be in the area too.’ The last thing I want is for some overeager cop to put a bullet in my back by mistake.

  He nods. ‘Is there nothing I can say to stop you going out there?’