Murder Mystery McKenzie (Frank McKenzie complete collection so far)

by Luis Samways

  It must be fate because nothing else makes any sense at all. The fast moving traffic, the incoherent people on the streets, the long gaged stares in the mall. These things are what trouble me. These are the reasons I have to do what I do. It all begins tonight. Someone will pay for the misgivings of this world. I so wished and hoped it would be you Elizabeth, but until I find you, someone else will have to pay for your lies.

  It isn’t always easy being me, but I assure you, it’s going to be even harder being you…

  Eli

  Twenty Two

  ‘A Christmas killer on the loose, a murder spree in Boston. Boxes filled with decapitated women. All this and more at ten,’ Saundra Austin says as she signs out on the news desk. She looks at the red light go off on top of the teleprompter. She sighs and lights up a cigarette. Her camera man and close friend Mike comes up to her holding a hot cup of coffee. He smiles as he gives the blazing white Styrofoam cup to her. She thanks him with a tired but appreciative look. He sits down next to her as he watches her go through her notes on the desk. The news room is emptying as people go for their dinner. She stays behind, catching up on the news events. She likes to be prepared and knowledgeable on the current affairs she’s corresponding on. She turns to Mike who’s on his Blackberry scouring twitter for updates on the field.

  ‘I can’t believe they are glorifying this story,’ Hisses Saundra as she looks at Mike.

  Mike looks up, half surprised at her sudden outburst. She’s usually the quiet type. That’s why they get along. She speaks too little, and he speaks too much.

  ‘What story?’ He asks

  She shakes her head in disbelief as if it wasn’t obvious what she was talking about.

  ‘The Christmas killer,’ she says

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I think they are glamorising the case.’

  Mike laughs as he puts his phone away and gives Saundra a sideward glance.

  ‘It’s the news, it’s what we do.’

  ‘What about those girls. Surely we should be taking a more gentle and personal approach with this. How about giving out some names?’

  ‘They told me that the police don’t even know who these girls are let alone what their favourite colour is.’

  Saundra shakes her head again.

  ‘Not even one hit?’

  ‘Nope, DNA has come back negative apparently.’

  ‘On all of them?’

  ‘Every single one of them’

  Saundra’s thoughts overtake her. She shudders at the thought of the mothers and fathers of these victims. They don’t even know their daughter is dead, let alone murdered.

  ‘It seems unfair.’ She finally says.

  ‘Since when has murder been fair?’ says Mike.

  Twenty Three

  ‘The results are back on the three DNA samples. We got no hits on either of them,’ says the woman in the white lab coat as she looks through her chart on her clipboard. She momentarily lifts her eyes off the chart and meets Frank’s fiery stare. He tries to hold in his disappointment. She can see the utter disbelief in his eyes. She pats him on the shoulder and slowly walks away. He watches her leave. She looks untouched yet weathered. He feels the same. This case is getting to him. It’s gnawing at every fibre of his being, its taunting him in every breath he takes.

  He sees an office cubicle in front of him. It’s empty. He decides to sit down in the vacant chair. He marvels at the family photos on the desk. He recognises the man in the pictures, its Mullins, the brash officer that helped save his life, and back him up in a fire fight a few months prior. He notices a note on the desk. It reads “Mason Humphries Street Cleaning”. It’s circled. He shoots up off his seat and rushes down the corridor towards the Chief’s office. Frank thumps his fist on the door as he reaches it. He opens it and finds Shaw looking agitated behind his desk. Shaw’s eyes widen as he sees Frank.

  ‘Sir, have you seen Detective Mullins?’ asks Frank while trying to catch his breath.

  Shaw shakes his head.

  ‘No, but I know where he is’ Says Shaw

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On a case working the street cleaning crew downtown. He went down there to ask them if they cleaned the street this evening and why. Apparently he’s under the impression that they have something to do with this.’

  Frank shakes his head

  ‘How can they be involved in this case?’

  ‘Well we were investigating the boss’s involvement in some underworld stuff. He was in pretty deep. Apparently he’s some big shot gangster from England now residing in Boston. He uses the street cleaning business to stay in contact with the big wigs of the city. Every major company in this city uses him and his men to clean up their commercial buildings. He’s quite close to the mayor. Some even say the mayor is in bed with this guy. That’s pure speculation obviously, though the newspapers will argue the corruption of the mayor till doomsday, that’s one thing they are certain of.’

  Frank shifts his eyes around the room trying to get to grips with what the Chief is saying.

  ‘How did he get off the racketeering charges?’ Frank finally asks

  Shaw smiles

  ‘Like every gangster before him, with a good defence council’

  ‘We need to get him out of there,’ says Frank

  ‘Why? Let him do his job.’

  ‘I found this next to a note on his desk,’ says Frank while holding a red Rose, the mafia’s calling card.

  Twenty Four

  ‘Wakey wakey,’ shouts the silhouetted figure towering over Mullins.

  ‘Wake up!’ The man shouts again, this time accompanied by a stiff kick to the face. Mullins winces in pain as he opens his eyes and looks around the room. He recognises the surroundings. He’s still in the waiting room. His vision is getting clearer. Suddenly he’s kicked in the face once more. The stinging blow catches his jaw, cracking it under the swinging foot’s weight. Mullin’s loses balance and hits the cold floor again. He can feel the warm blood escape his face. He opens his eyes once more; he can see the two shadowy figures standing in the same position as they were when he lost consciousness earlier on.

  ‘Grab his legs, I’ll get his arms. Let’s move him into the cellar,’ says one of the men. They both grab Mullins and carry him through the waiting room. They reach a wooden splintered door and crank it open.

  ‘This guy’s heavy,’ says the other man. Mullins eyes open to see the face of the man holding his arms. It’s the Italian man. He looks down at Mullins and smiles.

  ‘On three,’ says the Italian man

  ‘One…Two…Three,’ He shouts

  They both swing Mullins’s weight and release him in a forward motion. Mullins’s heart beats faster as he realizes at that split second what is happening. He closes his eyes and braces himself. The impact of him hitting the stairs is horrific as he feels his back give out. The next few rolls down are painless but soon become excruciating as he hits the last couple of steps. He finally stops dead at the basement floor. Dust and dirt are sucked into his nose as he hits the hard surface and gasps for breath. The two men clamour down the staircase. The Italian man reaches Mullins first. He sinks a couple of hard jabs into his back. Mullins screams in pain as he is stirred out of unconsciousness. The other man makes his way down the stairs two steps at a time. He reaches the Italian man and Mullins a few seconds after. He kneels down and grabs the reeling detective by his hair.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come down here Detective. Now you will die down here,’ says the thick New York accented man.

  They both proceed in kicking Mullins as he is down. A few hard kicks later, Mullins vision has returned to blackness as he drifts further away from reality.

  Twenty Five

  Humphries is sitting quietly in the car. The back seat is the usual seat he finds himself in. Tinted out windows and Champaign is the usual experience he indulges in most car journeys. This one seemed different. He felt on edge. He felt ignored. He taps the Plexiglas in fr
ont of him. The driver rolls down the window, his eyes meet the tired and strained eyes of his boss. Humphries throws the driver a look of contempt.

  ‘When are we getting there?’ Asks Humphries

  The driver is about to speak, then Antonio sticks his head out of the passenger seat, pushing the driver out of view.

  ‘There has been a hold up. Apparently there’s been a chemical spill at the depot,’ Says Antonio calmly

  Humphries doesn’t look impressed.

  ‘So what? Just get me there. I need to talk to the mayor. He’s supposed to be coming down for a late lunch.’

  Antonio holds a firm but forced smile at his boss.

  ‘I’ll do my best sir,’ He says

  The window slowly goes back up, bridging the gap between Humphries and Antonio and the driver. Humphries watches as the glass squeaks its way back up and firmly suck into its upright position. The window was Antonio’s idea; he convinced Humphries that it would allow his boss to make phone calls in private while the window was rolled up. The glass was sound proof and bullet proof at that. Humphries wasn’t too high on the window; he thought it was over the top. He didn’t know that Antonio wanted the window there for other reasons, although he suspected his right hand man in some sort of suspicious capacity. Antonio was never one to hold his breath; he would say what he wanted when he wanted. It used to piss Humphries off something rotten. Humphries suspected that maybe Antonio installed the window so Antonio could speak freely without him getting in trouble with his boss. Either way, Humphries was determined to obliterate the window at some point, maybe even today if the time allowed it.

  Antonio remained still in the front. The driver didn’t take his eyes off the road leaving Antonio to read the text messages that had been going off in his pocket for the last hour. The driver momentarily gave Antonio a side look; he catches him looking at the phone.

  ‘So you just want me to keep going around in circles?’ Asks the driver

  ‘Yes,’ says Antonio, not even relinquishing his eyes off the cell phone.

  ‘What are we going to tell him?’

  Antonio finally looks up and puts the phone away in his inside suit pocket.

  ‘Keep to the story. They have the cop back at the depot. They are going to probe him for information. We need to give them time to do their jobs.’

  ‘I just don’t get it, why are we not telling him?’

  ‘Because he will go off the rails. He’s gone soft, he would never agree to something like this. His job is to look the part, mine is to be the part. That Detective back at the depot has information on us. They worked a case on us, and now we need to find out what they know. They could still have the place bugged, our phones tapped, or God knows what. We need to put a stop to this, even if it means taking out the cunt’s teeth.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t talk?’

  Antonio breaks a rigid smile.

  ‘Oh, they always talk, without fail…they always talk.’

  Twenty Six

  ‘Hey you! Wake up, your safe now,’ Roxanne says as she tries to jolt the girl on the cell floor awake. She’d been by the girl’s side for the last hour or so. The girl hadn’t moved much but she had moved enough for Roxanne to realise that she was alive and in a deep sleep, most likely a forced sleep that involved narcotics of some sort. The girl’s eyes kept flickering under her eyelids. The lucid movement made Roxanne edgy. She didn’t want the girl to stop breathing. In her mind, she had convinced herself that the girl wouldn’t make it, and now that she had made it, she was utterly convinced that the girl would die of an overdose. It’s safe to say that Roxanne didn’t believe in luck, for it wasn’t a very lucky four years that she had been having. She was certain that any good that could possibly happen in her current dismal situation would be overshadowed by the inevitable bad that would follow. Suddenly the girl’s eyes flicker open. The whites of her eyes lighten up as the many veins surrounding her dilated pupils bulge into focus. She slowly sits up and looks around the prison cell. She finally glances at Roxanne, who by now is more than glad to see her. The friendly look from Roxanne and the seriously scary surroundings counteract each other and confuse the young girl.

  ‘Hey there!’

  The girl looks on still in confusion.

  ‘Yes….Where am I?’

  Roxanne shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t know. I was captured and kidnaped four years ago. I’ve been here ever since. He doesn’t let me out, nor will he let you out. If you’re lucky then you will live for a while longer, but if I’m realistic about the situation, then you’re more than likely going to die down here.’

  Roxanne wanted to get maximum effect regarding the shock the girl would be in. She needed the girl to be scared for her life, that way, when she told the girl that she had a plan, she would more than likely be up for getting out of the dungeon they found themselves in.

  ‘I doubt he would kill me,’ the girl finally says.

  Roxanne looks on in dismay, alarmed at the clear sound of confidence in her voice.

  ‘Why not?’ Roxanne finally asks.

  ‘I’m far too valuable.’

  ‘Okay….what makes you think that?’ Asks Roxanne

  ‘My dad’s the Mayor. I’m sure he would want to trade me for something, most likely money. He pretty much must know that I am the Mayor’s daughter, seeing that he hijacked the convoy of limos that were taking me and my dad to a lunch. He beat my dad up and then let him go, telling him that he would be in contact. He took me and now here I am.’

  ‘What do you mean he hijacked a convoy of limos? He’s just one guy. He couldn’t have managed to take on everyone.’

  The girl smiles.

  ‘It wasn’t just him, sure he was the leader, but there were plenty of men by his side. Over twenty guys at least, all in suits. They all had their own limos, so it was pure confusion when it happened. The armed guards that were escorting us didn’t know which limo was which, and by the time they realised what was happening, it was too late. Me and my dad were riding in the back of a speeding limo, heading towards the train tracks. The car stopped, and my dad was thrown out. He was given a piece of paper with a number on it and then attacked. He was kicked and punched. Then one of the goons dropped a red rose on my dad’s lifeless body.’

  ‘So your Dad is dead?’

  ‘Nah, he was just beaten up. They kicked and punched him a few times. It’s like they wanted him to know who they were and what they wanted. Besides from that, he would have been found in a matter of minutes. He has one of those government V.I.P trackers on his ankle. They all wear them when they go out, just in case something like this happens.’

  Roxanne stares at the unflinching nerve of the girl and finally gets to the point.

  ‘I can get you out of here.’

  Twenty Seven

  Mullins wakes up to a burning sensation on his legs. He can smell the searing heat coming off his body. He can feel the shattering pain that’s bouncing off his bones. He finally screams, letting out a tremendous tirade of anguish and pain.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing to me?’

  The pain continues to intensify. The numbing sensation in his head throbs as his eyes feel like they are about to burst through his skull. The only thing he can do is shut his eyelids tightly, trying to avoid eye contact with his adversaries. He can hear their footsteps on the cold basement floor. The pitter-patter of violent feet surrounds him. They scatter around him like prey surrounding their kill. Each step grows ever more menacing in his mind as he feels the scorching pain once more. He can’t bear to keep his eyes shut anymore. He opens them and sees his worst nightmare. The Italian man smiles at him. His eyes pierce through the protective goggles he’s wearing. He pushes them up, pulling the strap behind his ears as the goggles rest between his hair and forehead. The Italian man brushes the sweat off his brow and puts the goggles back on. The sound of the strap hitting the skin behind his ears jolts Mullins into a panic. The next sound frightens him even more. T
he Italian man flicks the switch on the flamethrower. It hisses as it sucks in the air. He points the nozzle at Mullins’s scorched feet. Mullins tries to move, but the burnt in fabric of his trousers are sticking him to the floor. He knows that this may be his last couple of minutes on earth. He looks down at his legs; he can see the extent of the damage. He’s sure that one more gust of fire aimed at his legs will render them ever useless. He knows the two men in the basement know this. They are toying with the Detective. They want Mullins to fear for his life. They want him to question whether he will walk again.

  ‘This may hurt a little,’ The Italian man says as he flicks the trigger on. The flames engulf the floor next to Mullins. He can feel the heat coming off the grainy concrete surface. The Italian man starts to aim higher, every second inching his way closer to the downed Detective.

  ‘Fuck it, he isn’t going to tell us what we want,’ the other man says as he approaches the flamethrower wielding Italian man.

  ‘So what? We will just need to MAKE him say something’

  The man whispers something into the Italian man’s ear. The look of disappointment is evident on the small man’s face as he drops the flamethrower on the floor carelessly.

  ‘Fucking watch it man, you could set us on fire with that thing.’

  ‘That’s the idea. Fucking Antonio must think we are going soft or something. I would never dream of going half and half with these things. What’s the point in torching some guy’s legs only to stop before we get to the good bit?’

  The Italian man takes his goggles off and throws them over his shoulder; much like a chef would throw salt over his shoulder. He bends down and grabs Mullins by the hair once again.