Buried: Mystery Series (My Murder Mysteries #2) (6 page)

After a couple of minutes, that theory was disproven, since I found a valid birth record for Barry Scott, so Barry Scott was not born Evan Green. Evan simply was untraceable.

"So, we still can't make an arrest?" I asked Mitchell, trying to think of a reason why this random police officer would kill random people.

"No," Mitchell replied, "there is still not enough evidence. There is no DNA to link him to the murders, so we... or
you
need to get a confession out of him."

I knew there was a lot on the line here. If I did not manage to get a confession out of him, that would mean justice would not be brought to eight families (or at least eight, there could have been more we did not know about). I was frightened.

When I saw this man, however, I was astounded that I had seen him before during this investigation: he was the police officer who brought Ian Green in, claiming that he had found him in the field. I was now convinced it was him, and that I had seen the full story now.

Barry, who lived near the Green family, obviously liked to kill people, for whatever reason (perhaps he was psychologically damaged himself due to physical or sexual abuse). He was also a very intelligent man, since when he started killing, he chose a deserted spot so that nobody would hear him. However, he deliberately left clues in order to frame Ian Green: every murder victim looked like one family member except for Ian; the survivor claimed that the killer was saying 'Alison' (Ian's big sister), and Ian was apparently lurking around the field where the bodies were found. He only said the name of Ian's big sister so that in the future, it would point to Ian Green, should the bodies ever be found. However, he was not as smart as he thought, because there were gaps – gaps that led us to him, and now, he was about to get caught out, at least I hoped he was.

Mitchell sat him down in a room and tried to keep him calm by suggesting it was only a talk, and he was free to leave the room at any time. Meanwhile, I was staring through the glass at him, and Miranda approached me and said, “It’s definitely him. One hundred percent."

"I know," I replied, satisfied now that this man was indeed the killer I was searching for.

Mitchell left the room, leaving Barry on his own to wait. He then lifted his head, and looked at the mirror, knowing fine well that we were behind it, watching him. He grinned slightly, as he gave me a psychotic look. I was very apprehensive now as I knew that I was dealing with a complete and utter psychopath.

I really had no idea how to approach this "talk". This man was clearly very intelligent, so it would take a lot to make him confess. He must have known that we were on to him, and that was what made me scared. I just took a deep breath, and entered the room.

"Hello, Tammy," he said, in a plain tone of voice.

"Hello, Barry," I replied, echoing his tone.

"Before we proceed," Barry began, "I just want to remind you that I can leave this room any time I want. This is just a talk, right?"

"Right," I replied, trying not to stress him out.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" he said, sitting back, with his arms over the chair.

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 good 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.