Buried: Mystery Series (My Murder Mysteries #2)

by H. B. Rae

  I knew he had it all planned out. He knew exactly what he was going to say – he'd had this day planned for years.

  "I want to talk about the serial killings, Barry," I said, "and I'm trying to create a profile of the killer, and discover his motives behind the killings."

  "Well, I can give you a little information," he said, almost grinning. "I can give you my thoughts and views about what a serial killer thinks like. Although I don't know myself, because I am not one myself..." He paused and looked at me. "I've come across a lot of maniacs in my time, being on the police force."

  "So, then," I said, fairly interested in what he had to say, "What does the killer enjoy about killing people?"

  "He likes to see people suffer," he replied plainly. "And he likes to be in control. He likes to hear the begging, and the desperation."

  "So why does he kill them?"

  "Oh, there could be many reasons. Perhaps he just gets a buzz out of killing people. It might be a sexual desire, but in some cases, they might be imagining killing someone else."

  I paused for a second. I hated this man so much.

  "So," I said, "why does he pick on people with families?"

  "It makes them more desperate to escape – they fight more because they know they have a reason to live, even the old ones."

  "And why murder a child?"

  "Because he wants to see how a child would react. Children think and act differently than adults." He laughed a little.

  Inside I felt sick. All the time, he was giving little hints to me that he was the killer, even though I already knew that.

  "So, what you're trying to say is, the killer chooses a variety of people because they like to choose a variety of ways. They would get bored if they just kill one type of person all the time?"

  "That's what I'm saying," he said. "And it looks like the killer in this case was like that."

  I decided to put more pressure on him.

  "So, how does it explain how the killer knew to wear protection from certain individuals?"

  "That's where you're off track," he laughed. "I've heard about your investigation into this," he said. "And you did not pick up on the fact that the killer wore both the gun shield and the goggles at the same time."

  "And?"

  "Well, if the killer was killing the person who carried pepper spray, why would they choose to wear the gun shield? And vice versa."

  I stopped for a second. Barry was right.

  "Perhaps the killer just likes to wear those for every person, just in case they did actually escape, so they would not be able to be identified later. You're not so clever now, are you?" he laughed and laughed.

  I felt ashamed. I got it wrong! I knew I had to move on.

  "So, you like reading?" I asked him.

  "I love it," he replied.

  "What kind of books do you read?"

  "Well, I like to read a variety of books. What about you? Don't tell me! I can guess!"

  "Go on then."

  "Well, you like to read detective stories. You're completely obsessed with them, aren't you?"

  "Where did you get that idea from?" I cried, feeling very insulted.

  "I can just imagine you now, sitting in your house on a Sunday afternoon, digging into those Agatha Christie books!"

  As a matter of fact, I did actually like to read detective stories – this man could read me as well!

  "Let's move on," I said, determined to catch him out.

  "What is there to talk about now?" asked Barry, grinning slightly.

  "Let's talk about why you bought that axe!" I cried.

  "Ha!" he yelled. "You're not going to catch me out there, Tammy!"

  "What do you mean by that?" I asked him.

  "Once again, Tammy is going in the wrong direction."

  "I'll have you know I've solved every murder I've investigated!"

  "And how many is that?" he said, "Excluding the gang killings, which are easy! Well, let's see, there was the Anne Le Trevell case, the Rupert Christen case, and recently, those serial killings from the other week. Congratulations! What a fantastic, world-class detective!" he laughed. "Do you really believe you can solve any murder that's thrown at you?"

  "Maybe," I said, in a quiet, timid voice.

  "Wake up, Tammy!" he cried. "Every detective has at least one murder that they don't solve! Probably more!"

  "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," I said, "and anyway, I see you've done your homework on me."

  He smiled and nodded his head.

  "There was one more murder I forgot to mention." He stood up and walked closer to me, went right up to my ear, and said, "Your grandmother’s."

  "And I solved that, too!"

  "Well, it could have been prevented!"

  "No, it couldn't have!"

  "Yes, it could! If you discovered that diary before she was killed, she might still be here today!"

  "Nice try, Barry," I said, "but you can't get to me."

  "I am," he laughed. "And now that the person who killed your grandmother is now dead, you feel that justice was not properly served. She only died a few months after going to jail for it, so you feel she should have suffered for much longer, making her life Hell."

  "You still aren't getting to me," I said, completely defenseless.

  "Just think about the way she was killed, Tammy. That knife went into her, oh, seven times? That's the usual amount of stab wounds a killer applies to their victim."

  I tried to hold back the tears, and just about succeeded, but I knew that he saw.

  "You've never got over her murder, have you?" he said, whispering.

  "Well," I said, "I've done my homework on you, as well!"

  Barry's face soon turned upside down.

  "So, you were turned down for being a security guard in a supermarket, failed the physical for been a fireman, and oh, this is the best one: failed the test to become an ambulance driver!"

  I gave out a hysterical laugh, while Barry glared at me.

  "Is that why you killed all those people, Barry?" I asked him. "Because you resent the public?"

  Barry just simply told me, "That might be why he killed those people."

  "No, Barry, let's face it. It was you who killed those people! I know it, you know it, and the rest of the team standing watching us knows it!"

  Barry simply turned around to face the door. "I'm done talking," he said.

  At that point, I felt so desperate.

  "No, you're not," I said to him.

  "Yes...I...am," he said firmly, opening the door and walking out.

  I followed him out of the room. Barry then turned around, and said to me, "Do you like hunting?"

  I was in shock. "No, I don't," I replied.

  "Well, you should try it. I might take you one day."

  I smiled, and turned to the rest of the team. I let him walk out of the building, because there was no evidence to convict him.

  "That's it, isn't it?" I said, with tears in my eyes.

  "I can only assure you that justice will be done one day," said D.I. Hobsworth.

  "How?" I said, crying now. "How is he going to get caught out?"

  There was no reply to that. I knew he had gotten away with murder, and that was that. It was the first case where I had not brought justice to the victims nor to their relatives.

  I walked over to the investigation board, which contained photographs of all eight victims. One by one, I pulled the photos down from there, knowing that nothing had changed for any of their family members. Those photos were haunting me as I pulled them from the wall and stuck them into a cold case box. Although the families knew the truth about each disappearance, the most important part had not been sorted out. I was almost sick. When I left work that day, I decided I needed a drink. When I entered a local pub, I was both shocked and vexed to see him there. He was laughing with friends, and one even offered to buy him a drink. He looked at me for a second, but then went back to his socializing. He was living a goo
d life, and I could have stopped it. They asked for my story. I have told it. Enough.

  The End

  ***

  Sample of Minot Hacker My Murder Mysteries #1

  http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B018KEDCF2

  Chapter 1

  Deep in the woods of Minot, North Dakota, a rabbit hopped out of a bush and over to a small puddle for a drink of water. Although it was a hot summer's day, the many trees had blocked the light from reaching the puddle, preventing it from evaporating into the hazy air, so the ground was still rather moist. The rabbit sat by the puddle for several minutes, taking occasional sips of water, watching the world go by, the flies that flew, the creepy crawlies crawling, and leaves waving in the gentle breeze. Nothing at all could be heard, nothing but distant sounds of life outside the woods, and the tiny movements of other life forms nearby.

  All of a sudden, the peace and tranquility of this normal, natural day was disturbed by a group of youths rushing to get out. The rabbit, alerted by the sounds of the footsteps, leaped into the undergrowth, away from the apparent danger. Four people rushed past, and the rabbit watched in safety as they passed. They ran silently and said nothing. Slowly, the rabbit emerged from its hiding place and returned to the puddle. It then looked towards the distance and continued watching the four people running as fast as they could in between the trees.

  The year is 1992. The week after that strange occurrence, a group of friends gathered in Minot’s main housing project. This housing was fairly rundown, and many of the houses were boarded up due to the violence and drug dealing in the area. However, this did not stop a group of seventeen-year olds from leaving their homes during the day or night. Five boys and two girls stood outside one of the boy’s homes, standing around, doing very little, like teenagers do. Four of the boys – Josh, Steven, Daniel and Richard – were the best of friends. They had always been together since childhood, and they were always seen together whenever they left the house. Monica and Laura, the two girls, were good friends, but not best friends. In fact, the only thing that connected them was the other boy, John. He lived down the street, and he was standing outside his house, wondering what on Earth he was doing, talking to the other boys. Monica was John's cousin, and Laura was a friend, or a potential love interest.

  "So, are you going out with your girlfriend today, John?" asked Steven, mocking John and Laura for being such good friends.

  "Shut up, Steven!" Laura cried, determined not to let him get to her.

  "Don't start on me!" shouted Steven, not wanting to be shown up in front of his friends.

  "Alright, alright," Monica said, trying to calm everyone down before yet another fight started.

  "My mother would not like you saying those things," said John, who was scarcely able to control himself.

  There was silence, and both Monica and Laura began staring at John. The four other boys burst into laughter.

  "That's not funny," said Laura. "You're all sick for laughing at such a thing!"

  "He's such a weirdo!" cried Richard.

  "No, he's not, said Laura, moving closer to John.

  "Are you two together forever?" laughed Daniel.

  Laura was outraged by now. She did not want anyone to hurt John. She was in love with him. Monica saw this, but she cared about other things too much, so she let it slip from her mind.

  "Why are you standing there doing nothing, John?" Monica cried, trying to get her cousin to fight back.

  John just stood there, motionless. He did not know what to do in this situation. He had never once considered or planned what to do should this situation arise in life, so he had to be spontaneous, and he stood and thought, doing nothing else.

  "For once in your life, just stand up to them! And Richard, you should be ashamed of yourself!" Monica added, looking at Richard. "I thought we were friends!"

  Richard continued to laugh. "I'm sure you'll get over it by tomorrow!" he said, winking at her.

  The boys then decided to leave, because they were getting bored with messing around with a social outcast. When they left, Monica knew she had to do something to calm John down, so she started a new conversation.

  "Anyway," said Monica, "are you thinking of coming to my friend's mother's wedding anniversary in a few days?"

  "I don't know," replied Laura. "I don't really know them that well."

  "I suppose, but there is also Mr. Brown's 100th birthday on the same night, so it is going to be very busy! Almost everyone in Jackson Road will turn up!"

  "I'm not sure. I might be working yet!"

  "You're working now?"

  "Yes!" cried a proud Laura. "I think so, anyway. I've been looking for some work experience recently, and the agent helping me has found a few jobs for me. Mainly in hotels. It's something to help get me started."

  "That's brilliant!" cried Monica, trying to keep talking to distract John until he had forgotten completely about what had just occurred.

  John remained silent throughout the conversation, even though he was standing in between the two women.

  "Anyway," said Laura, "I'd best be off!"

  When Laura left, Monica started talking to John.

  "Have you taken your tablets?" she asked him.

  "Yes. You know I always take my tablets," replied John. "What sort of mother do you think I have if she does not allow me to take my tablets?"

  "John, we've been through this..."

  "And I'm telling you, my mother is not dead!"

  "She is!"

  "She's in the house, right now!"

  Monica shook her head. She was growing increasingly worried about her cousin. "There's no talking to you, is there?" she said to him, almost crying.

  John did not seem to hear. Instead, he cried, "I'm coming, Mother!" leaving Monica on her own. Monica then turned to the house and looked in the window of the bedroom where her dead aunt used to sleep. She could not believe her eyes for a second when she thought she saw the curtain move. It was only for a fraction of a second, but she knew it could not have been John because he had only been in the house a few moments. Monica thought nothing of it and went home, worried about John's welfare.

  Several days later, the body of Josh Davis was discovered in the woods. Then, two days after that, Steven Burck, and two days after that, Daniel Gibson, and five days after that, Richard Cold. All four had been knifed to death, and all had been discovered in the woods, just outside of town. The police had absolutely no leads at all. There was no DNA evidence, and a few statements could not solve the murder, so their files were packed in a box and put with the rest of the unsolved murders. Of course, people had their theories, but no evidence to support them. Everyone else in the world forgot about the murders, except the people of Minot. No-one ever dared to speak of the murders, because many people in the development knew the families of the victims rather well, so it affected them personally. Although everyone wanted to know who the murderer was, not one detail emerged about the character of the killer. No-one knew anything about this person other than their local name – the “Minot Hacker”.

  Chapter 2

  It was a dreary November afternoon in 2012, and the team and I had finished for the day. It was another boring day as usual: going out to investigate a murder, waiting for a post mortem, looking around the crime scene for evidence, and finding the evidence. Nothing else was involved in my job. Sometimes I would interview the killers, but that was usually done by another person. I was sick of my job already, and I was only three months in!

  I was sitting at my desk, like the others, having a conversation before packing up my things to leave for the night. However, we were not allowed to leave the building for another five minutes, so we decided to chat to pass the time. I had four other colleagues.

  The first was Miranda. She was in her thirties, and looked the most professional of all of us. She had long, black hair (which she sometimes tied) and wore very little make-up, although she did not need to wear any. She wore the same business-like cloth
es every day, and she was determined to solve any murder that came her way. She was a bit like me, in a way, but Miranda had more experience, although I could not tell which of us was the best detective. Miranda often talked about her achievements, although she did not brag about them. One of the pictures on her desk was of her winning an award for something, but I never knew what. She was friendly, but she was not the person to be enemies with.

  The other woman on the team, aside from me, was Patricia Harrison. She was deputy head of the team, and she looked in her late fifties. She was a rather plump woman with short, blonde hair. If you listened to her speak, you would never guess that she had done so well in life, because she sounded like a stereotypical northern housewife.

  Then there was Graham Mitchell. He was originally from New York and had lived in North Dakota for about thirty years. He was in his late forties, even pushing fifty, and he was very tall, with fairly long, brown hair. He was obviously a fun-loving person and always tried to lighten the mood slightly. However, he seemed to remain in the background sometimes when I was partnered up with him for a few murder investigations. Perhaps he was not confident enough, or perhaps he was not cut out to be a detective. I had nothing against him, but I just thought that everyone else on the team was more intelligent than him

  Finally, there was the boss, Clive Mitchell. I sometimes got confused because there were two people with the same last name on the team, but since we had to address the boss as D.I. Mitchell, we just decided to call Graham, Graham, and he was more than happy with that. I struggled to form a reasonable opinion of the boss – he seemed to have no personality at all. I rarely spoke to him, only when I needed to. I had never actually had a proper conversation with him. He was always very dull and depressing to be around. Perhaps that was just his way, and perhaps he liked it like that. I think that everyone else on the team felt the same way, because they hardly spoke to him either. I had heard that he had a family, so it was possible that there were problems there. I never found out, though.

  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.