Buried: Mystery Series (My Murder Mysteries #2) (8 page)

"Give me a minute," the man said. "I'm not sure I want to do this."

It was only now I realized he was shaking vigorously. He was clearly a man who was mentally ill. He then put his head in his hand and scratched his forehead with his fingertips, showing that he was thinking about something, or that he was very stressed.

"Don't worry," I said. "You can talk to me."

"Well, I don't know how to put this, but..."

"Yes?" I said, growing more and more desperate for an answer.

"I am the Minot Hacker!"

Chapter 3

Clearly, this was a massive shock to me. Two minutes earlier, I had heard about the killings, and now the person standing right in front of me claimed he was the one who caused it? I was just lost for words. The man in question just stood there with his hands out, implying that he wanted me to arrest him. I had no choice but to arrest him, so I signaled the officers on night duty to come in and keep an eye on him through the night. I also suspected he might commit suicide in custody, so I made sure he was on suicide watch before I returned home.

On the way home, I almost crashed from not concentrating properly; I was more focused on what had just happened. This was the first truly dramatic event that had occurred while I was on the police force. I was beginning to become excited at thoughts of the future. Could he really be the killer, and after all this time, could the parents of the murdered boys get justice? I was hoping I had what it took to solve the murder. Of course, it could have been a hoax, and the man could have taken drugs or be completely deranged, so he may have not murdered anyone at all. I just had to wait until morning. It was a lead, either way, and that was the most important thing for now. I knew I had to sleep on it, and I had to think of things to say to him, if I were the one to interview him.

Morning arrived and when I went to work, and told my colleagues the news. At first none of them believed me, but after a few seconds of thought they realized I was dead serious about this. I would never joke about something like that, and they knew it.

"What on Earth?" said Graham, breaking the silence. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, it was the twentieth anniversary yesterday," said Miranda. "Perhaps he just wanted to play a huge prank on us."

"Yes, but why?" I said, fairly confused about the whole thing. If he was not the killer, why would he get himself into trouble for wasting police time? Still, there was a case a few weeks before where someone claimed to have seen a murder, and there was no such thing, so there were people out there who were capable of making up stupid things like that.

"I think it's too early to judge yet," said Patricia. "I want to hear what he says first."

"And there might be a way of catching him," I said.

"What’s that?" asked Patricia, who had not thought of the obvious.

"Well, I don't think the press released how the boys were killed. If the press did not release these details, then we can find out whether this man is lying or not. If he truly wants to make us believe he is a murderer, for whatever reason, we can catch him out."

"That's a good idea," replied Patricia, "but it will not necessarily work. We have to wait and see how things turn out first."

The boss then arrived. He was the one who chose who to interview.

"Right, I've heard the news," he said, "and obviously, this is a very big deal. Soon the press will arrive, and they will want to know all of the details."

"How will they find out?" I asked him, not intentionally interrupting to be rude.

"These things get around, Williams, and quicker than anyone would expect. As I was saying, this is the biggest case we've had in years. I don't want to put pressure on you all, but it is imperative that this gets sorted out. The families of the victims will be waiting to find out more, so even if this does turn out to be a hoax, I want it resolved quickly!"

The four of us just stood in silence, listening for what he would say next.

"And I've decided who will interview him. Williams, since you're already acquainted with him, I have a feeling he is most likely to talk to you. Make sure you ask the right questions, and don't screw things up!" Mitchell said.

"I won't, sir," I replied, eager to talk to the apparent serial killer. I was also apprehensive at the same time, because this could be it – the people of Minot had been waiting for twenty years to find out the truth about the disruption of their small town, and this might finally be it. To be frank, I would have been bitterly disappointed if it turned out to be a hoax, and I would have been so angry, I would have done everything in my power to make the sentence as long as possible for a person who wasted valuable police time. I didn't even know his name, so that would be a good place to start.

He was ready. Whoever this man was, he was sitting in the interview room, waiting for me to come in and talk to him. Before I entered the room, I looked at him through the glass window, watching his every move, trying to see what he was feeling at the moment. He was shaking slightly, and his fingers were moving around his hands a lot, so it was obvious that he was nervous.

"Funny, isn't it?" said Miranda. "We complain that we don't get a challenge, and the next day, this happens!"

"Yes," I said, more concerned about what I was going to say to him. I had interviewed suspects several times before, but this person was different. I didn't know why. I was tired of waiting, so I decided that this was it. I was about to talk to the potential infamous Minot Hacker.

I entered the room and he looked at me, watching me like a predator. I said nothing, and he said nothing, until I sat down. There was nothing else in the room but the two of us, with two chairs and a table to separate us. No tape recorder was present for the time being, because it was only the start of the investigation, but there was closed-circuit television watching us.

"So, are you going to tell me your name?" I asked him, unsure about his reply.

"John Doe," he replied quickly.

"Well, that's really original, isn't it?"

He said nothing. He did not look at me. Instead, he stared at the floor.

"What's your real name?" I asked him.

"John Doe," he replied, slightly annoyed this time.

"So, John," I said, slightly sarcastic, "What made you come into the police station last night and confess to the murders?"

"I...I don't know," he replied. "I...oh! The guilt was too much for me! I couldn't take it anymore."

I froze for a second. It was quite unusual, the way he acted.

"Okay, so you decided to come in on the twentieth anniversary of the first killing?"

"Yes."

"Any particular reason for that?"

"No."

"Do you want attention or something?"

"No!"

"So, you're telling me, that it is just a coincidence that you just happened to confess to us on an important anniversary?" I asked, quite frustrated with him already. I knew this was going to be a long interview, since I was not going to give up easily.

He nodded. He did not seem so sure, but I wanted to move on and come back to that later.

"So, you are genuinely the murderer?"

"I am," he said, looking me right in the eye for the first time.

That shocked me, for whatever reason. I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt goose bumps when he said that. It was like some other presence in the room was trying to tell me to believe him.

"So, this is not just a hoax?" I asked him.

"No! Why would I do something like that?" he asked me, looking dead serious.

"Well, other people have done this sort of thing in the past, mainly for media attention. Do you get noticed, John?" I said, getting rather excited.

"I am not making this up!" he yelled, becoming more and more furious.

"Alright, calm down. You just have to understand our point of view. You see, we are not sure you are the killer yet, because we have no evidence either way, other than your confession. So, do you want to move on to that now?"

He nodded, again looking at the floor. His body language showed me that he seemed remorseful or ashamed at what he had done, if he had done anything at all.

"Right," I said, trying to think of a way to phrase what I was about to say. "I want to know the details of their deaths. How did you kill them?"

"I stabbed them all to death," he said, as plainly as he could.

Again, I felt that sort of presence around me. Inside, the nerves in my arms were shaking. The feeling was awful. It was just the way he said that. It was as if someone would say, "I got a drink," just in a casual tone. It was like he saw absolutely no wrong whatsoever in what he’d done.

"Could you go into a little bit more detail than that?" I asked him, pulling myself together.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I want to know things like where it happened, how you covered it up, and anything else you want to tell me. Let's start with the first murder. Go into as much detail as you can, if you want to prove you are the killer."

I felt like I was getting somewhere now. I wanted to see if he knew the details of the deaths, because details like those are rarely released to the press. At the same time, Graham was looking for police records, and Patricia was looking for the press records, to see if those details were actually released to the press, so I knew it was important to get as much information as possible from this man.

"Well, in the first murder. That was Josh Davis, I think. Yes, it was. It was at a party," he started.

"O.k.," I said, writing things down in my notebook.

"I think it was someone's birthday or something. Anyway, I wasn't invited, but I was there, watching him from the darkness. He was just chatting to people, and did dances and things, like at any normal party. I remember he did this really funny chicken dance. Oh, sorry, I'm getting off track here."

"It's okay," I said, trying to make him as relaxed as possible.

"Anyway, he went outside for something, probably a cigarette, and I called his name. No-one else was around at the time. I then grabbed hold of him and stabbed him several times. Since this club was just outside the woods, I had little trouble putting him there."

"Why the woods?" I asked him, feeling there was some significance.

"I...I don't know. I just did," he said, looking very unconvincing.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" I asked him.

"Not for that one, no," he said. "That was a pretty simple murder."

"Okay, so are you going to talk to me about the second one?" I asked him, feeling awkward about the nice, peaceful tone of voice I had to use when discussing something as horrific and violent as this.

"Well, in the second murder, that one was quite simple as well. I watched him go out with his dog for a walk, and I followed him until he reached the woods. This took a while, but I'd been watching him several times, and he liked to go out on long walks, anywhere and everywhere. Anyway, I followed him until there was no-one else around. I then jumped on him and stabbed him to death. I left the body there, and there was no other sign of life around but the dog."

I just sat back. This was extraordinary. I could not believe what I was hearing. This was the first time, in all of the murder cases I had come across, that the killer actually confessed without any evidence against them.

"Can I move on to the third murder?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied, letting him do all the talking.

"Well, the third one was quite risky. I was following him, hoping he would go into the woods. I knew he would probably go into the woods a little bit because it was a shortcut home from school. School used to end at four o'clock, so it must have been about five past four. Anyway, he walked down an open street, but he saw me, with the knife! He asked me what I was doing, and I couldn't think of an excuse on the spot, so I knew I had to kill him there and then!"

I was shocked at how well he spoke. It was like it was scripted and rehearsed, everything he said. Perhaps he had prepared what he was going to say before he’d come.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add to that one?" I asked him.

"No, except I had to leave him in the street because I knew that someone in the houses opposite had probably been watching."

"That's strange," I said out loud, unintentionally.

"What is?" he asked.

"Are you sure nobody saw you?" I asked him, quite puzzled by what he’d said.

"I don't think so," he said. "But I don't know."

"Was this a quiet street?"

"Yes. It was really quiet, actually. I couldn't see anyone in their houses, so maybe it was just luck."

"And the fourth murder?"

"This was the final one," he said, rather enthusiastically. "And in this one, I had to set a trap for him."

"Go on," I said, interested to discover what he had to say.

"Well," he replied, "I had seen Richard flirting with another girl, so I wrote a fake love note asking for him to meet up in the woods,"

"How did you get it to him?" I asked, feeling like I was on top of the case.

"I slipped it through the vent in his locker, when no-one else was there. There was no closed-circuit TV at the time, either, so I was very lucky."

"O.k.," I said, "and then what happened?"

"You'll know the rest, really. After school finished, I watched him walk into the woods, where he expected to meet his crush. I then stabbed him about eight times, like the rest of them."

"You stabbed each of them eight times?"

"Roughly," he replied. He looked like he was being honest about the whole thing. As time went on and he spoke more and more, it was becoming less and less likely that he was making the whole thing up. I was half-expecting him at any moment to jump up and say, "Ha ha! This whole thing was just a joke!" but he didn't.

"So, there is nothing you want to add about any of the murders?" I asked him, ready to take more notes.

"If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you."

"O.k. Let's move on to the motive," I said, ready to finish the interview. "Why did you choose to do this to those people?"