Reaper, p.17
Reaper, page 17
But he is now within earshot.
He has recognised that searching look though – checking that no one is around, ensuring there are no witnesses. It is something he knows well.
What are you up to, McFarlane?
He has to see; counts to five before risking a peer around the pillar.
He’s safe. McFarlane’s attention is back on the old man.
He strains to hear the drift of conversation in this deadened atmosphere.
‘I know who you are,’ he hears the old man say.
‘And who am I?’ comes the reply.
‘You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the Reaper.’
McFarlane spreads his arms out, like an angel’s wings – a dark angel. ‘Yes, yes I am.’
In the shadows he bristles.
The old man sits up straight.
‘And have you come for me? Is it my turn?’
There is a brief pause, and then he hears the word that sends a frisson of anger, but also excitement, down his spine.
‘Yes,’ the imposter says. ‘It is your time.’
‘I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come to take me home.’
It is pathetic to see the capitulation, the acceptance, the look of wonder.
That look should be for him, that acknowledgement, that fear and awe.
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
He watches as the imposter pulls a syringe out of his pocket.
He watches as he leans down over the old man.
He watches him flinch as the dog gets to its feet, draws back its lips, bares its teeth, gives a low warning growl.
He watches as the old man reaches out a hand and steadies the dog.
He feels the simmer of resentment. The old man is making it too easy.
He watches as the imposter plunges the needle into the old man’s neck, throws the spent syringe aside, not even trying to hide the evidence.
He listens as the imposter says, ‘Rest in peace, old man.’
Hears the uttered ‘Thank you.’
He watches as the imposter strides away into the darkness.
You will pay for this.
You will pay.
47: Meredith
Another press conference. Another feeling of impending dread.
The morning had revealed a fourth victim of the Reaper, yet another body on the streets of Auckland. It was a sad indictment on the way society valued people that there seemed to be more attention on this case than the others because the victim had a dog. Some passerby’s photograph of the forlorn animal standing vigil by his master’s dead form had gone viral. There was more concern being shown for the mutt than the man. The comments on social media had made her shake her head in despair: he shouldn’t have had a dog in the first place; it was cruelty to expect it to live rough on the streets without proper shelter; how could he afford to feed it; where was the SPCA or animal rescue? People were clamouring to step up and adopt it, to the point of almost fighting over it. Not one soul had said it was cruelty to let an old man live out the end of his days on the streets. No one questioned a society that allowed that to happen. No one questioned a society where someone thought it appropriate to post a photograph of a dead man and for people to like and share it.
Meredith watched from the side as the procession of top brass and civic dignitaries filed into the room and took up their respective positions around the podium. The space was packed with members of the press corps – television-camera operators vying for the best vantage point and a row of recording devices set out on the table in front. There were far more people present than the last time everyone was gathered here, the scale of the unfolding story drawing them like flies to a corpse. Once again, because there was both national and international interest in the case, the district commander was the one tasked with delivering the details on the police’s progress on the investigation. This time Meredith had not even a flicker of envy or annoyance that she had been stepped over as lead investigator to front it. He was welcome to it.
She watched as Mayor Smith took up position behind and to the right of DI Elliott, towering over him and hovering like some vampire. She watched him scan the room as if looking for someone, and then saw his expression morph into a subtle sneer as his eyes found hers. The sense of dread intensified. His ever-present shadow, the deputy mayor, followed his gaze. When David Mortimer found her, his eyes skipped to his boss, then back to her, and he gave her an almost imperceptible shrug and look of what – condolence? There was a man who knew what his boss was like, and more often than not he had to run damage control. She was pretty sure he’d be feeling the same sense of impending doom she was. His look did not give her confidence.
The buzz and din in the room settled into an anticipatory silence as the district commander stepped to the podium and prepared himself to address the crowd. As he calmly and with systematic measure ran through the facts as they knew them, she could feel the air of almost nervous anticipation change to one of acceptance, of assurance. The man was like human diazepam, which was one of the things that made him so good at what he did. If ever there was one lesson she took from his leadership it was simply that. Calmness, assuredness and strength without fanfare or ego was a rare thing, and was something to aspire to.
As Meredith listened to him give the abridged and sanitised version of events, she couldn’t help puzzle about the SOCO team finding a syringe at the scene. One of the little details that had been deliberately omitted from this forum. There had been no overt trace of the Reaper’s work at the other killings. No upfront and obvious weapon or method. Great pains had been taken to make each murder look like death by natural causes, to avoid detection and fly under the radar. Yet this time, awaiting post-mortem and lab confirmation of course, the instrument of death had been discarded close by. Was the Reaper getting sloppy? Or now that he had been outed – now the deaths had been connected and confirmed as murder – did he no longer care? It was something that irked her. Even killers should have standards. It felt like this one was now flaunting his deeds – mocking them.
The DI concluded his description of the case with a list of actions the police were taking to further the investigation, using all the usual well thought-out and careful words to assure a rightfully concerned populace that everything was being done to keep them safe and to find the perpetrator of these heinous crimes. Andrew Elliot answered some what Meredith thought were intentionally emotive questions from the press with the same calm demeanour, defusing them with logic and transparency. If the media were looking for click bait, they weren’t going to get it from him.
But you could feel the air shift, the tension and anticipation ratchet up several notches when the next man stepped to the microphone. Meredith swore she could see the audience lean forward with glee, just waiting for the inevitable show that came with anything from the mouth of Mayor Tobias Smith. She found herself tensing and gritting her teeth before he had even opened it.
He stood silently, casting his gaze around the room, to the left, the back corners, the right and then to the middle. The buzz of chatter did a reverse Mexican wave – following his attention and tailing off. Like a master performer he ensured all eyes were upon him.
‘Today is a sad day for the city of Auckland. Another person has died. Another life has been taken unnecessarily. Despite the assurances of the district commander that those charged with protecting our people, with bringing this killer to justice, are working hard, we haven’t seen any results. The killer is still at large, walking among us. Who knows where they will strike next? When?’
Meredith’s eyes moved to the district commander, now standing behind the man relishing the microphone, using his moment to undermine every piece of assurance Elliott had given. His face remained impassive and Meredith marvelled at the self-control it took to stand there and be admonished by the leader of the city you served. Even if he was a complete arse and everyone knew it.
‘I appreciate that the police are limited by resources in the case, but in light of their lack of progress, I am making a number of interventions to keep you safe, to keep everyone safe.’
Meredith noted the downcast eyes of the deputy mayor, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. It was the look of a man who knew what was coming and was not happy about it. It made her wonder what the hell was on its way.
‘Effective immediately, I am calling a curfew for central Auckland from 6.00pm to 6.00am. This will be strictly enforced and anyone breaching these times will be taken into custody and had better have good reason for being out there.’
There was a collective gasp from the audience, and the room erupted. Meredith heard all number of questions firing out simultaneously from the press corps, manners and decorum cast aside in the clamour to get detail.
‘Who is going to enforce the curfew?’
‘Is that legal?’
‘What about the businesses? What about the restaurants?’
‘Are the ferries going to operate?’
‘How far does it extend, just the CBD?’
‘What about the hospital?’
Tobias Smith raised his hands. ‘Shush, shush, let me finish. That’s enough.’
The cacophony of questions continued, despite his attempts to quell them. Meredith watched his expression darken, impatience written all over it.
‘I am in my rights to call a curfew if I believe it will protect the citizens of Auckland. We have a serial killer in our midst, and if the police aren’t able to do something about it, then, damn it, I will.’
Meredith marvelled at the arrogance of the man, making himself out to be the hero. Everything was I or me, like he was a president and was the only one to have a say on anything. That he wasn’t part of a greater collective, not a we.
‘I will be insisting on help from central government – that more police come in and enforce the curfew, and I will also be calling in the defence forces. I will do everything in my powers to keep our streets safe.’
Again, a slew of questions erupted from the crowd, but he waved them away, shooing them like flies.
‘Those homeless that remain on the streets will be rounded up and taken to community centres. This is for their own good, for their own safety. We can’t have people stay out on the streets. If there are no potential victims, the killer cannot strike again. We will starve him of prey.’
She knew the emotiveness of the language was intentional. He was a master manipulator. That same tone – sounding decisive and effective and making out that everyone else was failing – was the magic talk that got him elected in the first place. People fell for it.
‘Is this a state of emergency?’ A voice broke through from the back.
‘Yes, this is. I am declaring a local state of emergency.’
‘Do you even have the authority to do that?’ Another voice. A dark shadow crossed the mayor’s face as someone questioned his power.
‘Yes, I do have the power to do that, and by God I will do it, because someone has to take control here, because the police haven’t been able to.’
Even Elliott couldn’t hide his discomfort and displeasure at the seasoned politician and show pony shitting on others to make himself the big man. Try as she might, Meredith’s objectivity about this man and her attempt to remain professional slipped. The ‘fuck’s sake’ escaped her lips before she could prevent it, loud enough that a couple of the heads nearest her turned. She caught the eye of one of them, who noted the uniform and smiled.
‘Furthermore, I will be demanding an immediate review of the leadership of this case. I want answers. This city deserves answers.’ He turned his gaze in her direction, then stared and paused with perfect dramatic timing to make those in the room, shift, become curious and follow his eyes.
She wiped the slick of sweat from her palms against the legs of her trousers, forced herself to hold his gaze.
‘The officer currently in charge of this case has not made a single piece of progress and clearly is not fit for the job.’
Meredith felt her face burn, felt the bubble of heat and anger fire in her gut, pushing aside the last shreds of anxiety and dread that had resided there before. She cursed the betrayal on her face. She did not want this arsehole to see her react. She did not want him to gain any sense of victory here today.
‘The city needs action. The city needs answers, and by God I will have them.’
48: Max
‘I wanted to be the one to tell you.’
That familiar face standing there wearing a look of unusual hesitancy made his heart skip a beat for all of the wrong reasons. She was the last person on earth Max had expected to come and visit him here. Her presence on the other side of the screen meant something had happened, and judging by her opening line, it wasn’t going to be good.
‘Detective Sergeant Peters,’ he said.
He saw her wince at the formality. ‘You don’t need to be like that, Max,’ she said.
He knew damn well she’d be feeling some level of remorse for putting him here, no matter how certain she was that he was guilty. And so she bloody should. And he knew he shouldn’t reduce himself to childish games, but he felt the need to punish her, even if at such a petty level. A flicker crossed her usually guarded face, a shift, and he realised the barb had hit deeper than he intended. She had to be under an indescribable amount of pressure to solve these cases, and in having him arrested she had just been doing her job, seeking justice. Hell, if he had been in her shoes and saw the evidence against him he would probably have made the same call. It wasn’t personal, and he was certain it had come with regret. As much as he wanted to punish her, he found himself not being able to stand her discomfort. He took a breath and let it rest.
‘Meredith,’ he said with a tone that spoke not quite of warmth or forgiveness, but certainly of understanding.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘How’s it going?’
She spread her hands wide, shrugged.
‘That well, huh?’ he said.
‘Worse.’
He let that hang in the air for a moment.
‘So what do you have to tell me that’s so important you trailed all the way over here to do it?’
This time she paused, as if finding the words. He felt a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. Surely they weren’t going to arrest him for all of the other murders too? He pushed that thought aside; if that was the case she wouldn’t be here alone.
‘There’s been another one.’
His heart sank. ‘When?’ he asked, closely followed by, ‘Who?’
‘They were discovered this morning, on High Street, by the Freyberg Place park. Appears that it happened last night sometime.’
So a bit further down than the K-Road area, expanding the Reaper’s range. He tried to visualise who usually frequented that park, who was a regular.
‘You didn’t say who it was.’
‘We’re still getting formal identification, but from what we’ve been told, it was a man who went by the name Old George.’
Max felt as if the air had been sucker-punched from his lungs. ‘Are you sure?’
‘As certain as we can be right now.’
His mind ran through the implications of this and he didn’t like the math.
‘Jesus, Meredith,’ he said. ‘He’s another one who had been making noises about knowing who the Reaper was – another one like Skeet and…’
‘I know. He talked about the Reaper and now he’s dead.’
‘Poor old bastard.’ Although he hadn’t felt the same level of affection towards Old George as he had to the likes of Skeet, he’d always found him to be an interesting and agreeable man. A thought popped into his head and it puzzled him greatly. ‘Surely that dog of his wouldn’t have let anyone near him – would have protected him.’ It was a decent-sized thing and obviously part pit bull, ugly in an endearing but intimidating way. Surely he would have seen somebody off if they were going to do harm to his owner. Unless of course the killer knew Old George; that didn’t bear thinking about. His throat felt thick with the wave of emotion that hit him. ‘He loved that dog.’
He could see Meredith’s flicker of a frown, that she’d noticed his pain. He was sure he could detect a softening in her voice.
‘We thought the same thing, that the dog would deter anyone from going near the old man, let alone killing him. The dog might have known them, I suppose, but even then – dogs have a sense for danger. It’s all very odd.’
‘And how … how did he die?’ He hoped to God it wasn’t violent. Old George didn’t deserve that. He hoped it was quick, or at least painless.
‘At this point it’s looking like a massive drug overdose.’
He felt some relief to hear that. Leaving this life in the arms of Morpheus. It pained Max to ask the next question – the obvious question – but it had to be done.
‘You’re certain it wasn’t self-inflicted?’ He knew that Old George was in chronic pain, made all the worse by the cold, and was the kind of stoic old bugger who might decide to take himself out with some dignity. Not that dying on the streets was dignified.
‘No, we’re certain it was deliberate, was a murder. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, all things considered, and it’s not public knowledge, but we did find a large-gauge needle and syringe near the body, and there was an obvious injection site on his neck.’
‘Illicit or prescription drugs?’ Max asked.
‘You can’t take the detective out of the man, can you?’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘Does it matter at this point? We’ll find out more after the post-mortem and lab tests are back. I’m picking illicit.’
‘Prescription or restricted are more traceable.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What’s happening with the dog?’
‘For now another one of the community has got him. A man called Artie.’
