Chapter 31

Once clear of the scene Jack and Spence returned to the station to speak to Wylie.

During the drive back to the station Jack checked the time. It was 5.33am. ‘Either we have the profile completely wrong and he has dumped the body somewhere else, which doesn’t make sense, or the letter was a smoke and mirrors cover up and he’s duped us,’ Jack said.

‘Or… He didn’t go through with it for some reason,’ Spence said. ‘Maybe all the cops in the red-light areas served its purpose…You know… Spooked the perp… Stopped him picking one up.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t know… Maybe. I’d like to think so. But something just doesn’t seem right.’

Jack’s gut had never let him down in thirty years of policing. He’d learned to trust his instincts and tonight, something just didn’t seem right. The change in MO suggested that something went wrong. The perp changed his mind, or maybe he was interrupted… Or he just never went through with it. Maybe he had fallen ill, or was in an accident. Maybe he was arrested for something unrelated before he could commit the murder. Maybe…. Maybe… Maybe. Jack stopped himself.

Jack thoughts sounded desperate and desperation was a sign of weakness in the world of Lieutenant Jack Head.

He had done all he could. He had prepared well and deployed effectively. All he could do now was wait and see if a body was discovered somewhere in the morning light. He would then have to deal with any changes in MO from there.

‘NOOOO!’ Emma screamed. She sat bolt upright. Her muscles tensed. Perspiration ran into her eyes. She panted heavily like she had just completed a 100-yard sprint.

Her chest heaved to drag in what oxygen it could. Her eyes were wide-open in fear, as she slowly scanned her environment, while her conscious brain limped awake from its slumber.

Shit,’ she blurted then rolled her eyes. She collapsed back onto her sofa in the realization she’d just had a nightmare. She draped her arm across her forehead and lay there staring at the ceiling while she tried to calm the rapid rhythmic pulsing in her chest, temple and ears.

The therapeutic benefits of her hot shower had served its purpose. The hot water had sufficiently relaxed her enough to allow her to doze off on her sofa for a couple of beneficial hours sleep.

That was until the visions of her attacker chasing her through the streets invaded her restful slumber.

She glanced across at her large wall clock. The hands on the large roman numerals pointed to 5.50am. She remained for two or three more minutes, still deciding what she should do.

Should she let it go and just move on? What if he did this to someone else? But that’s not her problem… Is it? What if… She suddenly stopped herself and sat bolt upright.

Her wide-eyed stare was fixed straight ahead in contemplation. What if he came back looking for her? He knew where her patch was in Greenwich Village. LeVander couldn’t protect her all the time. ‘Shit,’ she said.

Her eyes darted, then they fell to the telephone handset on the floor beside her. She gazed at it for several contemplative seconds. If I don’t do this, I will never be able to relax. I will just have to manage the fall out if, and when it happens.

She picked up the handset and promptly dialed 9-1-1. Her mind was made up to call… Wait… Or was it?

Two or three seconds of silence followed before the chirping ring tone pulsed in her ear. After the second ring her questioning fears once again took control and she promptly disconnected the call.

She stared at the phone in her hand, completely lost in her own confusion. What should I do?

Emma startled when her phone started ringing in her hand. She glanced at the phone’s display. There was no number displayed. Her heart rate rocketed. She cautiously answered the call.

‘Yes.’ She was curt, hoping the caller would feel the strength and confidence in her voice, in case it was her attacker.

‘Hello… ma’am. This is 9-1-1 dispatch. We just received a hang-up call from this number. Is everything alright ma’am? Are you OK?’

Emma didn’t answer. She was too busy biting down on her lip to suppress her emotions.

‘Are you in any danger ma’am?’ The concerned female voice on the other end inquired.

Emma took a breath. ‘I’m OK,’ she said ‘I… I… Just changed my mind.’

‘What is your emergency? Can we still help?’

‘No… I’m good,’ she said. Her tone sounding more abrupt that appreciative.

‘Ma’am… Don’t answer me straight away. Just listen to my voice… Is someone there preventing you from talking to me?’ the operator asked.

‘No… No it’s not… I… I…’ Emma’s words trailed off, as a wave of emotion engulfed her. She broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body heaved in spasms with each sob.

The compassion and concern coming from the anonymous voice on the phone broke down the flimsy defensive wall she had slowly been erecting over the past three hours.

‘Ma’am are you alright…? Do you need the police…? Ma’am…? Ma’am?’ The concern in the operator’s voice grew louder. ‘Ma’am… ARE YOU ALRIGHT?’ The voice rose to a yell.

Emma positioned the phone back to her ear, exhaled loudly and informed the operator that someone had tried to kill her earlier tonight. She was safe now, but didn’t know what to do.

The 9-1-1 operator remained on the phone talking to Emma, calming her to ensure she was safe, safe from intruders and safe from herself.

The operator skillfully elicited the circumstances of the night’s events. Emma told the voice on the phone everything. She was someone Emma had never met, but that didn’t stop her revealing all that had happened to her tonight.

It was like she subconsciously tried to purge all her fears to the sympathetic ear on the other end of her phone.

---

Jack and Spence stared through the two-way mirror at Wylie seated in the interrogation room. ‘I wonder how much this prick knows…’ Jack said, thinking out loud. ‘OK…let’s get it done.’

Jack moved to the viewing room exit door. At the door he stopped and pointed to the video camera. ‘Turn that thing off,’ he ordered, before exiting. Spence grinned as he complied.

Wylie jumped like a frightened rabbit when Jack and Spence burst through the door. His head snapped towards them when they entered. His frightened eyes were wide with concern.

‘Am I going to be here much longer…? I’ve been here for hours.’

Jack slammed his folder on to the table. A deafening crack sound bounced off the walls of the small room.

Jack struck Wylie with an open hand to the back of his head. Wylie’s shoulders lifted and his head turtled down into his body. His eyes were shut as he cringed in pain. His hands grabbed the point of impact.

Before Wylie could open his eyes, Jack lifted his foot and forcefully pushed Wylie’s upper body away from him. Wylie desperately grabbed at the back of his chair, as he started to fall, but that only served to drag the chair down to the floor with him. His substantial frame hit the floor with a muffled thud.

Wylie cowered on the ground in fear. Jack glared down as he jabbed a finger at Wylie. ‘You don’t have the fuckin’ right talk to me until you are asked a question,’ he said through gritted teeth. Jack’s eyes thinned. Got it!’

‘Yes,’ Wylie whimpered. He started to get up from the floor.

Jack used his foot to push Wylie back down. Wylie’s body collapsed from the force. ‘I didn’t say you could get up,’ he said firmly. ’You are where you belong, you piece of shit.

‘Now…’ Jack jabbed an aggressive finger at Wylie. ‘We are going to ask you some questions… One bullshit answer… Just one,’ he said, punctuating his comment with a clenched fist. ‘And the world of pain I will unleash on you will make you regret the day you were born…’ He glared at Wylie cowering on the floor.

Everyone who had received the Jack Head stare-down instantly knew this guy meant business. You instantly knew that you didn’t mess with him when he was in this mood; big, strong, angry and incredibly intimidating.

‘Right now you are an accessory to three murders and you want to fucking hope like hell it’s not four.’

Wylie opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again when Jack glared at him. Jack waved the back of his hand at Wylie. ‘Get up,’ Jack ordered.

Wylie clambered up from the floor and positioned himself at the table. His submissive eyes flicked between Jack and Spence. His puppy dog eyes welled with tears. Jack had broken him. Wylie would now be fully compliant.

Wylie portrayed as a cocky, educated know-it-all clean skin, who had never been in trouble with the law before. In his own mind, he knew everything about the law. He knew his rights, but his naivety had no idea how things worked in the real world.

Rights don’t mean shit in the inner sanctums of a police station with cops like Jack Head towering over you, behind closed doors.

Wylie’s perfect world had never experienced this side of policing before. It was the side that the public didn’t usually see in this contemporary era of political correctness.

This side of Jack and cops like him, was usually reserved for hardened criminals. Wylie was scared and that was exactly what Jack had intended.

Jack perched himself on the table beside Wylie. His arms were folded to intimidate as much as he could. ‘What was the arrangement when you drove the car out of the garage this morning?’

‘Um… I took it around to East 49th Street and parked it. I put the keys on the passenger side rear wheel for Bear to pick up,’ Wylie said.

‘He wasn’t there?’ Jack asked.

‘No… I didn’t see him.’

‘What was the arrangement for the return of the vehicle?’

‘He had to return it by 4 or 4.30am, to make sure it was back in the garage… In case the owner was an early riser and needed it.’

‘We found it parked in East 49th Street. The keys were how you left them. Are you saying that wasn’t the arrangement for the return?’

‘No… He was to contact me when he was ready to bring it back. Once I returned it to the garage, I would move the camera while I return the keys to the cupboard.’

‘How did you get paid if he wasn’t at the drop off?’

‘He came by yesterday and paid me… He usually pays me the day before… It was easier that way.’

Jack glanced over a shoulder at Spence, seated on the other side of the table behind him.

Jack’s mind raced. Maybe the car was never picked up in the first place. Maybe it had remained where Wylie had initially parked it, until they discovered it later.

‘Exactly where in East 49th Street did you park the Audi?’ Spence asked.

‘About half way down the street in a parking bay on the left-hand side.’

Jack’s eyebrows arched. That was a different position to where they located it. ‘Half way down… Not two-thirds of the way down?’ Jack clarified.

’No definitely half way. I parked it opposite the Waldorf’s gold doors… You know the two gold colored doors opposite the lane that runs down to the Intercontinental.’

Jack glanced at Spence. ‘We found it further up the road… So it’s been used then,’ Jack said. ‘Why did he dump it instead of returning it as planned?’

‘I honestly have no idea. I’ve been sitting here all morning.’ Wylie’s focus snapped to Jack. His face tightened and his shoulders tensed as he monitored Jack’s reaction to his comments.

Jack allowed the comment to slip by. He was distracted while his mind ran through the likely reasons why the car was dumped.

Spence gestured to Jack and they moved away from Wylie and huddled near the door. Spence whispered to Jack. ‘Maybe the perp saw Unit Fourteen parked in East 50th and decided to abandon it,’ Spence said.

Jack nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

Jack returned to Wylie. Spence remained leaning against the door. ‘What can you tell me about “Bear”?’ Jack asked.

‘Not much really.’

‘How many times have you met him?’

Wylie shrugged. ‘Five or six.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘At the hotel.’

‘Each time?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘How old is he?’

‘I didn’t ask him.’

‘Guess,’ Jack blurted.

Wylie’s shoulders instantly rose up and his head withdrew.

‘Ah… um… I’d say about…. twenty-five…twenty-six,’ he said, cowering away with his arms lifted in defense.

‘Did he say where he lives… where he is from?’

‘Never discussed it.’

‘Describe “Bear” to me’

‘Um… solid… about six feet…eight or nine…blue eyes… really blue. Um…’

‘Solid-fat, or solid-muscular?’ Jack clarified.

‘No… muscular… Really strong looking.’

‘Caucasian.’

‘Yes.’

’Facial hair…?

‘No. Clean shaven and he had really closely shaved hair. Not receding, shaved.’

‘Did you notice any scars or tattoos on him…? On his hands, neck, arms…?’

‘None that I could see.’

‘Does Bear discuss his “dates” with you at any time…? Who the girls are… Where he knows them from…?’

‘No. And I don’t ask. He just says he has a hot date… I don’t ask too many questions. He just pays me and that’s all I’m worried about.’

Jack glanced at Spence. ‘Do you have anything to add…?’ Jack said. Spence returned a very slight, almost indiscernible nod to Jack.

‘OK. I’m going to send someone in here shortly and you are going to give them an accurate photo-fit description of Bear. Are we clear?’ He glared at Wylie.

‘Yes Sir.’

Jack’s cell phone began to ring. He quickly answered the call. ‘Jack Head. Sure, give me a minute,’ he said then signaled to Spence. Both men exited the interrogation room.

With the phone held low Jack instructed Spence to contact the TELCO and obtain the owner details for the phone number that Wylie had in his cell, under the contact for “Bear”.

Jack returned the phone to his ear. ‘Back again. Go ahead.’ Jack wedged his phone between his shoulder. He slipped a pen from his shirt pocket, opened his folder and quickly started to scribble.

‘Aha… How long ago…? Aha…’ he frantically scribbled down notes. ‘Peter Cooper Village…I know it… Yep… Was she injured…? Aha… How old is she…? Aha…Can she describe him…? Great… OK… He what…? On his —.’ Jack cut himself short. His face cringed. ‘I can be there in ten…’ Jack hung up his phone and returned it to his pocket.

After arranging for an officer to compile a photo-fit ID from Wylie, Jack met Spence in the corridor and they made their way to the garage.

‘Where we going…?’ Spence asked as he moved to keep pace with Jack.

‘Just got a call from 9-1-1 dispatch. Looks like we have a lucky one that got away from our killer earlier tonight. Peter Cooper Village,’ he said.

‘That’s great. This’ll be interesting,’ Spence said. ‘She should be able to give us a first-hand insight into who our perp is and his MO.’

Spence then updated his inquiries from the TELCO. ‘No luck on the number…it’s a burner– as we expected,’ Spence said.

Jack shrugged it off. He was more focused on this latest victim — the one that got away.

‘That explains it…’ Jack blurted. ‘He fucked up… That’s why there hasn’t been a body and why he dumped the car….’

The pieces of the puzzle from the night’s events started to fall into place. ‘You wanna hear something funny…?’ Jack said, unable to contain an unsympathetic wry grin. ‘This girl we are going to see, this hooker, bit the killer on the cock when she was giving him head… Sliced it open like a ripe melon, apparently… That’s how she was able to escape from him.’

‘Urrgh,’ Spence moaned. His face distorted.

‘Yeah, and apparently the injury was quite bad.’ Jack stopped in his tracks.

‘What’s up?’ Spence asked, stopping beside Jack. Concerns lines formed on his face.

Jack removed his phone and dialed. He instructed the person on the other end to arrange a check of the ERs from every hospital and medical center in the greater NYC area, to see if any male was admitted with an injury to his ‘Johnson.’ He smiled to himself as he disconnected his call. ‘Karma’s a bitch ain’t it,’ he smirked.

Chapter 32

Emma peeked through the small security peep hole in her apartment door after responding to a firm knock. ‘Police…’ was the short reply.

‘I’m sorry gentlemen… can you hold up your badges so I can see them please.’

Both men complied and then waited. The tell-tale clicking of door locks announced they had passed her initial security screening and were about to be granted entry.

Aware they were traveling to interview a street hooker, who had possibly had an encounter with the Cryptic Killer and lived to tell her tale, both men were pleasantly surprised and somewhat taken aback when Emma opened the door.

Although dressed in her unflattering, figure concealing, light-grey sweats, and oversize t-shirt, she was not what they were expecting.

She in no way resembled their preconceived image of an illegal street sex worker; haggard looking crack whores with oversized wigs, make-up that looked like it was applied in the dark with a spatula and bodies that screamed neglect. But that certainly wasn’t Emma.

Jack and Spence shot a brief side-ways glance of approval, as she stepped back to allow them access. Even in her stressed state, even after she had to flee for and her life and cower in fear, she was still an alluring presence. Her natural beauty was not lost on the visitors.

The agreeable aroma of freshly brewed coffee was next to welcome the boys when they entered the apartment.

She gestured towards the lounge chairs. ‘Please… have a seat. I’ve just made a pot of coffee.’ She indicated her freshly poured mug on the coffee table in front of the Detectives, who were in the process of lowering themselves onto the sofa. ‘Can I get you gentlemen one?’ she asked.

Both men accepted the offer and a few short minutes later all three were seated in her lounge room sipping hot coffees while she opened her soul to these two complete strangers staring back at her.

Jack edged himself forward in his chair. He held Emma’s gaze. ‘I want you to understand… We are not interested in your nocturnal activities on the street. We are Homicide, not Vice…’ Jack said.

Emma nodded her understanding as she took a sip from her coffee.

‘What I want you to do, in your own time, is explain in detail what occurred during last night.’

Emma started by telling the boys she was a law student at NYU and her justifications for working the streets on weekends.

She told them her street pseudonym. She mentioned where she worked, her little piece of Hudson Street and the time she started her shift.

She discussed how the man who chased her initially tried to pick up Lulu, but Lulu was taken by a walk-up trick. She told how her pimp told her to pick him up on the rebound.

She told them he was a handsome man, a big man and very charming. He was well spoken, quite eloquent. She told them how he chose the location he wanted to drive to for the service. She walked the men over to her window overlooking the East River, peeled open her blinds and pointed to the area where they were parked.

She told them how he sat in the passenger seat while she knelt on the ground in front of him to perform her service on him. She told of the sudden sharp pain in her neck and how her wig rotated around over her face when he forcefully twisted her head.

She lifted her lip and showed them her larger than usual eye teeth and mentioned how one of them must have cut his penis.

Jack and Spence just let her talk to allow her recall of every detail to flow without interruption. Spence jotted down notes.

Emma started to tense up when she described how she ran for her life and hid in the grounds of her apartment’s estate. She told how she strategically placed clothing items on the path to lead him away from her, and he eventually drove off.

When she was finished, Jack said, ‘that was very clever… Especially under extreme duress. Are you OK now…? Would you like to take a break?’ He noticed she nervously rubbed and twisted her hands together.

‘No. No I’m good.’ She took a large hit of coffee.

‘There was no intercourse, is that right?’ Jack asked.

‘No. He specifically asked for head… Ah, sorry. Oral,’ she clarified.

Jack lifted his hand in a gesture of that’s OK. ‘Did he ejaculate?’

‘I don’t think so… No. My tooth cut him before he was finished. But he was wearing a condom anyway.’

‘You would have sliced open the condom… Did you happen to notice if you got any of his blood on you?’ Jack asked.

‘I don’t think so… I think it was all contained in the condom… He bled into the condom.’

‘Ah…right.’ Jack nodded. He scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Did you see what he did with the condom when he removed it, to examine his injury?’ Jack asked.

Emma stared blankly. Her face remained expressionless, probably while her mind rewound back to that moment, she first saw the cut on his penis.

‘Um…’ She lifted her closed fist. ‘He held it in his hand. He rolled it up into itself, into a small roll, if you like and held in his hand.’

‘What about the payment… The notes he gave you… Where are they?’ Jack asked.

‘He gave me his wallet and asked me to take out my fee… Said he injured his fingers and couldn’t bend them or something.’

Jack‘s eyes flicked to Spence. ‘The perp thought of every detail. Having her remove the notes to mitigate any risk of leaving prints,’ he said.

‘Where are the clothes you wore when he attacked you?’ Spence asked. ‘I assume you have showered since then.’ He lifted his chin her current attire.

Emma quickly jumped up and moved to her bedroom. She returned a short time later with her black wig, Bolero Jacket, denim shorts and the bikini top she wore last night.

She reminded the Detectives how the offender took her black thigh-high boots and cap after she planted them for him.

Emma showed the Detectives her red pair of thigh-high boots, so they could get a visual image of what the black pair looked like.

Spence removed a neatly folded plastic bag, shook it open and held it out for her to place her clothing in the bag. He then sealed it shut.

‘We’ll get these analyzed for DNA and trace evidence and get them back to you,’ he said. ‘With a bit of luck there might be some blood or other evidence from him on them,’ he explained.

‘That’s OK… I won’t be needing them… I’ve decided to take a break for a while.’

After Emma finished updating her guests on the events from earlier in the night, she escorted the boys down to the exact location by the river where the car was earlier parked.

The brightness of a fresh new morning dominated the skyline, but long dark gray shadows still stretched under the FDR, in the area of the vacant parking lot.

The Detectives conducted a detailed search of the area under probing torch lights. A check of nearby garbage bins for the discarded condom, or a blood-soaked handkerchief failed to locate any evidence. Their perp was too clever to be careless, but these were stones that could not be left un-turned.

Emma then walked the boys through the grounds, re-enacting both his and her movements. This time though, the horror-movie like scene of tedious black and grays in the gardens had transformed into vibrant greens and browns.

Once back in the apartment it would be another 2½ hours before they would finish compiling her statement. They required it to be completed while everything was still vivid in her mind.

Emma agreed to attend at the police station later in the day to compile a photo-fit image of her attacker. She said she would never forget his face.

---

By the time Jack and Spence returned to the station, Wylie had completed his photo-fit of “Bear”. All they had on Wylie at this stage was four counts of aiding and abetting motor vehicle theft. There was nothing to suggest his complicity in the murders; not at this stage anyway.

The usually arrogant and opinionated Wylie was dumbstruck. He stood motionless. His face was drained of color as he stared blankly at Spence while he was informed of the consequences of his actions.

He would lose his job at the Waldorf Astoria and faced the very real possibility of jail time over the car theft charges.

Jack flicked his hand towards the door. ‘Get him out of here,’ Jack barked. ‘I‘m sick of looking at him.’

A uniform officer removed Wylie from the charge counter and escorted him to a predetermined meeting with a bail justice.

Back in the homicide Bull Pen the Operation Code-Breaker debrief was intentionally kept short. Unit Fourteen was late, having been reassigned to obtain a statement from the owner of the Black Audi A6.

Jack summarized the evening and pointed out that it was through good fortune, rather than good planning, that the perp failed to claim his 4th victim tonight.

The crews were thanked for their cooperation and patience and were promptly dismissed, so they could grab some sleep and enjoy what was left of their Sunday.

---

Both men were pictures of concentration as they perched their butts on the side of Jack’s desk. Both had their arms folded tightly and both stared intently, but silently at the white board in Jack’s office.

It had been four days since Emma Fisher channeled her jungle survival skills and eluded the Cryptic Killer, and still they hadn’t heard anything from him. No follow up letter. No further abduction attempts of street hookers. Nothing.

Jack considered the injury must have been severe enough to put him out of action for a considerable period. CK had gone off the grid.

Jack and Spence discussed how the failed murder attempt would have affected the perp. The profile they had for him was that of a narcissist who didn’t like to lose.

With Emma eluding him, she beat him. They were uncertain how he would react. And with the humiliation of the injury she inflicted on him, it would be difficult for his personality type to accept.

Consistent with the first three murders, the perp failed to leave anything that would incriminate himself. ‘I suspect, the reason the perp took the clothing items left in the park by Emma was to ensure they didn’t contain his DNA,’ Jack explained.

Forensic examinations from the Audi A6, Emma’s clothing, the surrounds of the parking lot and the vehicle recovery site, all failed to locate any usable evidence.

The phone the perp used to contact Wylie to arrange the vehicles was a disposable burn phone. All leads had once again hit a dead end.

All the planning, all the effort, all those man-hours around the Operation and Jack still failed to expose the perp, or worse, prevent him picking up a hooker – Emma.

The photo-fit IDs from Emma and Wylie were similar in many ways. Copies had been released to the media and were being run in newspapers and TV news bulletins.

Jack also released the fact the suspect could have an injury to his groin. Anyone aware of someone with such an injury was requested to contact the police. The net was being cast wide but this guy was very, very good.

‘Thank god we don’t have to put Emma’s picture up there,’ Jack said to Spence, as they continued to deliberate over the white board.

‘Anyone’s picture…’ Spence corrected. ’Thank god we don’t have to put anyone’s picture up there, Jobs,’ Spence said. ‘About time we got a break… We were well overdue,’ he added.

‘Yeah true… But I think it was Emma who got the break – not us…We are no closer to catching this guy,’ Jack said. He lifted his chin to the whiteboard. ‘I look at this board every day,’ he said. ‘I re-visit the evidence every day in case there is something that I am missing and I’ve got nothing, Spence… absolutely nothing.’

’Don’t beat yourself up Jobs… We now have a photo-fit description of what he looks like. Those distinctive sharp blue eyes. Large stature. Articulate and charismatic. Someone out there must know someone like that… Plus… We have not one… But two people who can positively ID him now. That’s better than anything we have had before. The only ones that could ID the killer before this are looking at us from that whiteboard.’

‘OK. Where to from here?’ Jack asked himself, thinking out loud. Jack rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘Will the killer accept a failed murder attempt…? Will he move on to a 5th letter while the 4th remains unfinished? Or will he attend to loose ends. Will he try and finish off what he started and hunt down Emma?’ Jack considered to himself, out loud.

‘You’re right though Spence – She knows what he looks like. That makes her a real threat to him.’

‘I can’t see him sending a letter, boasting in code that he was going to kill a hooker – “catch me if you can,” then try and fail. He won’t be content to just walk away and leave it at that, with an “oh well” blasé attitude… I can’t see him doing that Jobs,’ Spence offered.

‘Agree…’ Jack said. ’He won’t just move on to letter number five like nothing happened. His credibility, his reputation, his ego have all been questioned. Imagine the embarrassment someone like him would feel. He can’t send a new letter until this 4th one – Emma, is taken care of.’

’Should we put an around the clock on her?’ Spence asked.

‘The Gnome would never approve it. We just have to make her aware that she needs to be extra careful…. She’s switched on… I think she’ll be OK.’

Chapter 33

Jack was on a call when Spence burst into his office. Jack held up a finger to his visitor, while he finished his call.

’Sorry ‘bout that. That was the Gnome,’ Jack said cradling the handset. ‘What’s up?’

‘We got a hit from the photo fits we published in the media…’ Spence’s tone was upbeat. Jack adjusted himself in his chair in anticipation. ‘A female caller claims she knows who “Bear” is…’

‘Did we got a name…?’

‘We did.’ Spence checked his note pad. ‘The caller thinks the “Bear” in the photo fit we published is a person she knows as Andre Van den Berg… 29… Lives on his own in an apartment on 19th Street, in Chelsea…’

‘Any form…?’

‘Nothing… Clean skin. Not even a traffic infringement.’

‘How can the caller be sure it’s him…?’

‘She dated him for a while apparently… She says she remembers his nickname was “Bear” because of his stature; she says he is about 6 feet 10 inches… as big as a grizzly bear and can be just as angry.’

‘Do we know anything about him at all…?’

Spence checked his notes. ‘Ah, he attended Duke on a football scholarship.’ Spence ’s eyes lifted from his notes. ‘Not surprising I guess when you’re built like that.’ Spence returned to his notes.

‘Let’s see… She says he moved here from North Carolina for work about 3 years ago… The caller says he is very intelligent, charismatic and drop-dead gorgeous…’ Spence lifted his eyes… ‘I assume that means he’s handsome…’

‘Tick. tick. tick.’ Jack said. ‘What does he do…?’

‘Um…’ Spence flipped over a page. ′She says he’s a Research Analyst on Wall Street.’ Spence lifted his eyes and shrugged. ‘Whatever that is…’

‘Get a copy of his photo from the DMV records,’ Jack said. ‘Then arrange for Emma and Wylie to come in and view it…’

‘On to it,’ Spence said, then exited the office.

---

Easter was a busy time with hundreds of thousands of people migrating across the country to spend time with their families, that is, those who had someone to spend the period with.

For Jack, it was just another Saturday. His de-facto family were his work colleagues, but on the weekend, this Easter weekend in particular, they would all be spending time enjoying the company of their own families.

The morning was clear and fresh, with a gentle breeze blowing, swirling at times among the inner-city buildings. As Jack exited his apartment building, he made his obligatory assessment of the street for any perceived risks; anything out of place that could suggest an ambush.

Satisfied all was clear he glanced up at the sparse scattering of clouds and inhaled a lung full of New York air, as he headed off on his morning run.

Working as a Homicide cop exposed him to some of the most dangerous and vindictive criminals in the country.

Vicious street gangs the likes of MS-13, 18th Street Gang, Bloods, Crips, and Latin Kings, as well as prison gangs the likes of Trinitarios and the Aryan Brotherhood. All were merciless people who placed no value on human life.

They would not think twice at the revenge killing of the cop who incarcerated their brother, father, friend, or colleague.

Jack accepted nothing in his life could be routine. Everything had to change around so his routine couldn’t be established, in case of contract hits.

Things such as his daily run paths, when he did his shopping, the time he left for work, the time he walked home, the route he walked home, everything had to differ from the day before. His spatial awareness was sharper than most, but routine was what would get you killed in his line of work.

Today, Jack opted to run down to the East River, along the bike tracks, down around Battery Point, up the Hudson bike tracks and back home.

He checked at his watch. It was 9.30am. He pressed his stopwatch and sent the timer racing as he plodded off.

For Jack, these runs were therapeutic. They cleared his head and oxygenated his brain. The scenery was pleasant and the endorphin release helped relieve his stress levels.

For the duration of the run at least, he forgot about the things that weighed him down. He forgot about the things that ate away at his health; things like the elusive Cryptic Killer.

For the next hour or so, the only thing on his mind, apart from the music feeding through his earphones, was the rhythm of his breathing in harmony with his pacing.

Twenty minutes in and Jack had hit his rhythm. His stride was long and strong. A Velcro strap securely tethered his mobile phone to his bicep. Its music player fed his headphones with his selection of tunes to run by.

Without warning the song he sang along to was interrupted by his cell phone cutting in and chirping in his ears.

He briefly considered answering it, but decided whoever it was could wait. He wasn’t on-call this weekend, so they could leave a message, until his run was over; this was his time.

Less than twenty seconds later his music was once again interrupted by the chirping of his mobile in his ears. He again ignored the call.

‘Fuck me,’ he said to himself, as the unforgiving tone of his phone chirped in his ear for a third time. He considered that it must be important for someone to ring three times and not leave a message. Jack took the call, while he continued to jog. ‘Jack Head,’ he puffed.

‘Thank God Jack. I’ve been trying to get you all morning…’ The clearly distressed voice on the other end exclaimed.

Jack frowned. ‘Lynnie…?’ Jack asked. Although now divorced, he knew every one of her emotions learned from over twenty-eight years of marriage. This one worried him. The obvious distress in her voice was serious. He stopped running.

‘Everything OK?’ His eyes darted. He could hear crying on the other end of his phone. ‘Lynnie, for God’s sake. What’s wrong…? Are you alright?’ he asked.

‘It’s Maxie, Jack…He’s… He’s…’ Her voice broke down, as she became overcome by emotion. Her body shuddered and prevented her from articulating any discernible words.

The two uniformed officers who came knocking at her door had just delivered the most devastating news that every parent dreaded. Their somber faces expressed more than any spoken words to her could. The only question was who…?

‘What about him… Lynnie… What about Max?’ Jack asked. The pit of his stomach grew heavy.

‘He’s dead Jack… He’s dead,’ she blurted.

Jack’s mouth fell open. His shoulders slumped. The color instantly drained from his face. He stared blankly ahead. ‘What are you talking about? How?’ Was all he could muster, as his words jammed around the lump forming in his throat.

‘Car accident… They said he was passenger in a car that collided with a truck. He’s gone, Jack… He’s gone and he’s never coming back… Oh my God… Oh God,’ her voice faded off.

Jack stumbled to the side of the track. His legs struggled to hold his weight. He unknowingly crossed in front of other track users, unaware of the evil glares he received, as they were forced to take evasive action to avoid colliding with him.

His eyes were fixed into a blank stare. His face was devoid of any discernible emotion, while the sounds of Lynne’s heart wrenching cries resonated through his earphones.

Although estranged from his family for many years, Max was still his son, his oldest boy. He was still the same tiny bundle of joy he so proudly cradled in arms, while tightly wrapped in the securing comfort of a blanket, only minutes after he entered the world.

He was the adult version of the little boy smiling happily in the picture he so proudly carried in his wallet.

Jack swallowed hard. He took a breath. ‘Where was the accident Lynne…? Are you there?’

‘California…’ Caitlyn said. ‘He was only over there for work, Jack,’ she said. ‘He was only over there for work…’

This was too much for him to process; a death message over the telephone. It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem true. Jack rubbed a hand across his mouth. His face filled with lines of concern. ‘I’m coming over… I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ Jack said.

Years of investigating murders, some bodies too gruesome to recall, never worried Jack; it was all part of the job. It was always someone else’s family. But the thought of one of his own family – his son, tore at him.

The thought of him lying there with a “Y” shaped incision on the chest of his pale and lifeless body broke Jack. The impenetrable facade Jack had erected over all these years, now started to show signs of cracks.

His eyes welled up. It was a feeling he had not experienced since he was a small boy, so he fought to fight it off. He always fought to conceal his emotions, in case anyone noticed he was showing weakness.

Jack was raised by a tough disciplinarian. His father was a giant of a man, not unlike Jack’s build and he was tough to Jack and his three brothers. He was a laborer, a man’s-man, who believed it was a sign of weakness for a man to show emotion- any emotion.

“Real men don’t cry and they don’t show fear, boy”. His Father’s words still resonated after all these years.

When disciplined, if Jack or his brothers cried as young boys, his father would always say, “You gunna cry are ya…? Then I’ll give you something to cry about” and he would beat them again – only harder. They learned very quickly to suppress their emotions.

Years of this narrow-minded way of thinking and mental abuse taught Jack to conceal his true feelings. He learned to hide any emotion, happy or sad, to avoid incurring the condescending wrath of his father.

Jack’s father didn’t see it as abuse. It was the only way Jack’s Father knew how to turn his boys into men – real men.

Unfortunately for Jack, all this suppression and concealment of emotion he had developed through his youthful years, contributed to the failing of his marriage and the estrangement from his boys.

He loved them with every piece of his being, but his father made sure he stripped Jack of the ability to show it. He stripped Jack of the ability to let them know he loved them unconditionally.

When Caitlyn swung open the front door, she flung herself at Jack. She wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head into his large chest, as she let it all out. She cried so hard her body bounced in his arms.

Jack fought hard to stave off his own tears. He couldn’t cry in front of Lynne. He had to be strong. But his emotions gurgled inside him, like a volcano waiting to erupt.

A few shots of whiskey each and a strong coffee later, Caitlyn and Jack sat in her lounge room discussing the circumstances of the accident, as relayed to her by the police.

‘How’s Dan handling it?’ Jack asked.

‘He’s devastated. He’s lost his best mate. He looked up to Maxie, Jack.’ Caitlyn’s eyes lifted to Jack. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way… But Maxie was the father figure Danny never had.’ Jack’s head fell forward. Her frank honesty cut close.

‘Where is he now?’ Jack asked.

‘He’s staying at his girlfriend’s place.’ She dabbed her eyes with the drenched tissue she had scrunched up in her hand. All Jack could do was nod his understanding.

Jack stayed with Caitlyn most of the night, to keep her company. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he also stayed so he too had company.

Caitlyn regaled Jack with anecdotal tales of the happier times with Max. Sadly, they were all new stories to Jack. It was as though he listened to stories about someone else’s child.

She talked about her happy memories from before and after the marriage split.

It was all they talked about– Max’s short life. Whether they realized or not, it was therapeutic for the both of them.

Chapter 34

Since Max’s funeral Jack maintained regular contact with Caitlyn, visiting her when he was able. She welcomed his support and attention. She joked that she had seen more of Jack in the weeks since poor Maxie’s tragic death than she did through twenty-eight years of marriage.

It was late afternoon and Jack had taken time out from his pursuit of the Cryptic Killer to take the drive out to Maplewood, to see how Caitlyn was. They sat on her back porch drinking strong coffee and just being there for one another.

‘I have a really big favor to ask of you Jack.’ Caitlyn appeared nervous. She held her coffee mug in two hands. ‘Please say no, if you don’t want to do it… But it would mean a lot to me.’ She sipped her coffee.

‘Sure. Just name it.’ He sipped his coffee.

‘I told Max’s landlord what had happened and he said that he would obviously void the remaining rental agreement. But he asked me if I could have all Max’s possessions cleaned out before the rent expired in two weeks. Of course I agreed to do it.’

‘OK,’ Jack said. ‘Do you want a hand?’

‘No…’ Caitlyn firmly shook her head. ’I was hoping that you could do it for me. I don’t think I could go there and pack up all his property, Jack. It would just kill me. It’s too final… All his possessions.’ She shook her lowered head. ‘I was hoping you could do it for me, if it isn’t too much trouble.’ Her pained eyes lifted to Jack

‘No problem Lynne.’ He placed a comforting hand over hers. ‘I’ll go there this weekend and get a start.’

‘Thank you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me,’ she said. Her face wore a genuine smile of relief and gratitude. ‘I’ll have the storage boxes delivered; they’ll be there waiting for you.’

She reached into her pocket. ‘This is the landlord’s business card, with his number, and this is Max’s front door key and his address in Rumson.’ She paused and stared silently at the key in her hand for several seconds, then passed the key to Jack.

---

Spence arrived at Jack’s office door and paused when he noticed Jack sitting at his desk with a blank stare. Jack didn’t notice Spence in the doorway.

The Gnome told Jack to take whatever time off he needed to recover from the tragic loss of his son. But true to form, Jack waved it off and attended for work as normal. But everything was far from normal for Jack.

The events of the last few weeks had been a distraction for Jack. He had not dedicated quality time to the Cryptic Killer case since Max’s passing. His mind was firmly on the memory of his son he never really knew.

He tried to recall events from Max’s life; things they shared together and as a family, but the cupboard was bare.

The stark realization hit home. His boy was gone and he never spent any quality time with him. He didn’t really know him. He had no memories. He had nothing to keep Max’s memory alive, and that devastated him.

‘Jobs…?’ Spence said gently.

Jack eyes slowly moved towards Spence. His expression was still frozen. He held the blank stare for a few short seconds, then his eyebrows arched upwards when he noticed Spence at the door. ‘Spence… Didn’t see you there – come in.’ He motioned towards the visitor’s chair. ‘What’s happening?’ Jack said.

Spence moved to sit in the chair opposite Jack. ‘Are you going down to Rumson this weekend?’ Spence asked.

‘Yeah,’ Jack said. His nodding head lowered. He straightened some pens on his desk. ‘I’m planning to go down there this weekend to get a start on packing up Max’s stuff for Lynnie.’

Spence clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. ‘Do you want a hand, big fellow,’ Spence said. ‘I have nothing planned. We could knock it over together.’

‘Thanks Spence… But you know what…?’ Jack began. ‘I really think I need to do this on my own. It’s just something I have to do. You understand.’

Spence raised both hands to Jack. ‘Hey. No problems Jobs. Just sing out if you need any help… I’m only a phone call away.’

‘Much appreciated,’ Jack said. He wasn’t used to these emotional feelings churning inside of him. He fought to suppress them. These were feelings of gratitude, of being touched by the genuine caring friendship and support of his close friend. A lifetime of burying these feelings deep inside was now being eroded by the tragic passing of Max.

‘Hey…’ Spence began in an upbeat tone… ‘You up for some news about our killer… Or would you rather park it for a while…?’

‘No I’m good. Whatcha got?’

‘Hang on…’ Spence ran back to his desk, returning a few seconds later. He handed Jack a 10-by-8-inch color photograph. ‘This just came in… That there is our man… That is “Bear”.’

Jack accepted the photo and examined it. The head and shoulders shot of Andre Van den Berg stared back at him through piercing blue eyes. His hair was shaved short. His chiseled jaw was supported by a thick, strong neck.

Finally… a breakthrough. Could this really be a photo of his elusive Cryptic Killer? ‘How did we go with getting in touch with the witnesses… Emma and Wylie. We need to show this to them ASAP, to confirm he’s our guy.’ Jack said.

‘All done. I called them up and they are both coming in on Saturday to look at the photo. I’ll leave a copy down at the front counter with uniform to show them when they attend.’

’Good. We also need to find out if this guy has an injury to his pecker…′ Jack said.

‘We have already checked with the hospitals and medical centers…and nobody has presented with such an injury…’ Spence said.

Jack rubbed a contemplative hand across his chin. ‘We’ve gotta bring him in, Spence.’ Jack checked his notes. ‘Do we know what firm he works for?’

Spence shook his head. ‘No, the caller didn’t know.’

Jack lifted the photo and passed his eyes over it. ‘Looks like we’re heading down to Chelsea to see what we can find out about this guy…’ Jack said.

Jack pushed himself from his chair and moved to his whiteboard where he positioned the photo of “Bear” at the top of the whiteboard, above the photo of the victims. He stepped back and viewed his work in silence.

When he was done, he wrenched open his desk top drawer and removed his car keys. ’Let’s go,′ he said.

---

During the 20-minute drive to Chelsea both men discussed the prospects about how they could be on the verge to finally capturing their elusive killer. Their leads were hot and the information they received appeared credible.

Van den Berg’s description matched Emma’s description of her attacker. His physical size and the “Bear” nickname matched the information provided by Wylie. It was slowly coming together.

Jack parked in an available space about 5 doors down from Van den Berg’s apartment building and they made their way back. The street-level entry to the renovated warehouse building was locked.

Jack examined the wall-mounted intercom. Some buttons provided an occupant’s name while others only provided an apartment number. He pressed the button marked 12– the apartment number provided for Van den Berg by their female caller.

His curious eyes met Spence when there was no response. He pressed the button a 2nd time with the same result. Jack stepped back and ran his eyes up the face of the building, trying to estimate the apartment numbers.

‘There’s a button here for the building Super, Jack…’ Spence said. He pressed the button.

‘Can I help you…’ A curt voice replied.

Spence moved closer to the intercom. ‘Yes, I was hoping you can. My name is Detective Sergeant Spencer…I am from New York Homicide. I was hoping to talk to you about one of your residents in the apartment building.’ Spence’s gaze shifted to Jack when there was no immediate response. He frowned. ‘Are you there?’

After a few seconds beat by the voice replied, ‘I’m here…I’m just not sure how I can help you though… I don’t know anything about any homicide…’

‘Are you the building super…?’ Spence asked.

‘I am.’

‘We were hoping to discuss one of your residents… Could you buzz us in please, so we can talk to you.’

‘Wait there. I’ll come up.’

Following a wait of about 3 minutes, an electronic buzz emanated before the solid timber door opened. A short male in his early sixties, peeped around the partially open door, with the door resting his shoulder. His thinning gray hair and ruddy complexion stared back at Jack and Spence.

‘How can I help?’

Jack slipped the photo of Van den Berg from his folder and held it up. ‘Have you seen this man before?’ Jack asked.

The man examined the photograph. ‘I have…’

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘What’s he supposed to have done…?’ The man asked. His inquiring eyes flicked between Jack and Spence.

‘We are not saying he’s done anything… We are just making routine inquiries at this time,’ Jack said. He pushed the photo forward. ‘Do you know his name?’

The man’s questioning eyes flicked between each man, as he regarded Jack and Spence. ‘How do I know you guys are cops?’

Both men slipped out their badges and presented them to the super. He individually examined each badge. ‘OK… You just never know these days…’ he said.

‘How do you know this guy in the photo?’ Jack asked.

‘That’s Andre… He used to live in apartment 12. Really nice guy. I think they call him bear coz he’s a big mother fucker… Is he in some kind of trouble…?’

‘Used to live in apartment 12…’ Jack repeated, ignoring the question.

‘Yeah… he moved out a while back.’

‘How long ago did he move…?’

‘Coupla months, I s’pose.’

‘Do you have a forwarding address?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I don’t. He comes by every now and then to collect any mail sent here to his old address, though.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Gee…’ The man lifted his eyes skyward. ‘It’d have to be a coupla weeks now…’ he said.

‘Do you know where he works…?’

‘No… I don’t, sorry.’

‘What about a contact number for him…?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

Jack had heard enough. The Super was little help, so he thanked him for his time and they returned to their vehicle. All Jack could focus on was how his person of interest continues to elude them.

‘Do you believe him Spence…?’

‘Believe he doesn’t know anything…?’ Spence clarified. He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Hard to say Jobs… I think so… But having said that, I wouldn’t be surprised if he is protecting Van den Berg though…’

‘I think he knows more than he’s letting on…’

‘We’ll get him, Jack,’ Spence reassured as they strolled. ‘Once we find out where Van den Berg works… We’ll get him. Why don’t we get the media’s help on this one… You know, have them ask if anyone knows him, or ask for him to come forward…’

Jack nodded. ‘Good idea… Can you arrange that, Spence… I’ve got a few things on my mind at the moment?’

‘Got it, Jobs. Leave it to me. Have you thought anymore about whether you need any help this weekend?’

‘Thanks Spence… But I think I need to do it on my own,’ Jack said. Deep down he didn’t want Spence around, in case he couldn’t control his emotions while he cleaned out Max’s things.

Chapter 35

Max’s house overlooked the beach in the picturesque coastal area of Rumson, New Jersey. The narrow single fronted, two-story weatherboard house was tastefully presented.

The chocolate milk tones of the weatherboards were complimented by fresh contrasting white eaves and trims around the windows and doors. White balustrades stretched across the width of the house on the upstairs balcony. Small white pebbles replaced lawn in the low-maintenance front yard.

Jack unlocked the front door and slowly stepped inside. The uninhabited house that was once his son’s private retreat had an eerie solitude to it.

He entered Max’s lounge room where he stood for a moment taking in a typical first-time look around the room.

Luckily Max’s lease was for a fully furnished house, so most of the furniture in here belonged to the landlord; no heavy lifting and no moving vans.

As he surveyed the small lounge room a wave of sadness engulfed him. It dawned on him that he stood in his son’s home, his sanctuary and it’s a place to which he had never been invited. He never knew anything about his oldest boy’s life.

Jack noticed the extensive collection of framed photos proudly displayed in various vantage points around the room. Jack moved from photograph to photograph. He took the time to examine the captured moments depicting happier times in Max’s life.

Some photos pictured a happy Max on his own, smiling down the camera lens, while others were of Max and his friends that Jack never knew.

He smiled proudly when he noticed a recent framed photograph of his two boys, Max and Dan standing with their arms around each other, both holding a thumb up to the camera.

He paused when he noticed several photographs in close proximity. Each one depicted Max, Dan and Caitlyn, all smiling, all happy.

It wasn’t until Jack noticed the photographs of Max with his elderly grandparents – Caitlyn’s mom and dad – and how these photos took pride of place on his lounge room mantle, that the harsh reality hit home.

These were Max’s treasured pictorial memories on display. All the photographs adorning the walls, mantelpiece, coffee table and side tables, were Max’s special memories depicting important people in his life that he chose to frame and proudly display.

Yet Jack wasn’t depicted in any of them. He was the glaring absentee from every one of the photos. He had been estranged for so long he wasn’t even a faint memory to Max.

Clearly to Max, Jack was never a part of his life. Not even one small photo in his extensive lounge room collection. That was a tough reality for any father to rationalize.

Jack paused to examine the two framed degrees hanging side-by-side on the lounge room wall, each one bearing Max’s name. All this time he never knew Max had achieved a double degree in Law and Criminology.

The pain he felt in not being able to share in Max’s achievements hit hard and now, it’s too late.

The flat-packs that had to be opened out and assembled into boxes to pack Max’s property into, lay in bundles in the hall, beside the stairs, waiting for Jack’s arrival.

Jack started with the ground floor and moved room-by-room placing everything that was once Max’s possessions into a box and tightly sealed it with duct tape.

Once he completed the downstairs, he moved to the upstairs bedrooms where he followed the same ritual. Everything that once showed Max’s tastes, preferences, personality and his presence in the house, was all carefully packed away and sealed in a cardboard box.

After the last box from upstairs had been brought down and placed with the others at the front door, Jack did a sweep of the house, to check he hadn’t missed anything.

Although fully furnished, the house was now devoid of all the personality it previously boasted. The photos, the nick-knacks, all the little possessions that made it Max’s home, were now gone. Only a blank canvass remained, waiting in readiness for the next tenant to decorate and characterize to suit their individual tastes.

After checking he had everything, Jack returned to the front entry foyer. He was satisfied he had gathered everything. All that was once reflective of his son’s life was now neatly sealed in the boxes piling up at his feet at the front door.

As Jack stood in the entry foyer running through a mental check list, he noticed a door under the staircase. He rolled his eyes. The basement.

Jack opened the basement door. The natural light from the hall bled down the stairs and blended into the darkness below.

He flicked on the light. A single globe dangled from a cord above the stairs. The light was dull, but enough to show the way. He commenced to make his way down the stairs into the basement. The timber treads creaked as his towering frame shifted over them.

The air was dense and much cooler in the basement, and there was a musty odor. The basement stored minimal property, all of which fitted neatly into one single box.

Jack dragged the last of the duct tape over the top of the box and sealed it. When he lifted his eyes from the last box, he noticed the small room tucked away in the corner of the basement. The door was locked with a large pad lock. Was that a room where the landlord stored his own possessions under lock and key, or was it Max’s room?

He slipped the landlord’s business card from his pocket and called the landlord, just to be sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. The landlord confirmed the room and its contents belonged to the tenant.

Jack examined the large padlock in his hand. He glanced around the basement wondering where Max would keep a spare key. His searching eyes scanned around the many nooks and likely hiding places in the basement. Where would I hide a key down here if it were me?

Jack’s eyes locked onto the timber stairs. The light from the open doorway above, bled down the stairs into the basement. It was a brighter source of light than the dull globe hanging above the stairs.

Jack made his way to the darkened underside of the timber stairs and commenced to search for a key. But there was nothing.

Jack rubbed a hand across his mouth. He was about to concede, when his focus locked onto on the bottom tread, which was about six inches off the ground. That’s where I’d put it.

Jack knelt down and swept his hand under the tread. His hand hit something. It was a key taped to the underneath of the last step. Jack peeled off the key and examined it.

The padlock offered no resistance to Jack when he slid in the key and turned it. The lock sprung open. The outwards opening door creaked as Jack peeled it open to reveal a small room in total darkness.

Jack ducked his head under the low door way and moved into the darkness of the unknown room. He looked around for a light switch, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Jack squinted when he flicked on a light. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dull light. He scanned the small room for any personal possessions. A laptop, a desk lamp and printer were the first items he noticed. Jack’s wandering gaze shifted to the wall. His eyebrows dipped. He leaned his hands on the small desk while he examined the wall above the desk.

The entire wall was plastered with newspaper articles — each one about him. Some dated as far back as ten years.

Why did Max have all these articles about me, yet he couldn’t put one picture of me in his lounge? Maybe he was secretly proud of my achievements but didn’t want to show it to the rest of his family.

Jack slowly shook his head as his eyes moved from article to article.

He searched the room for any of Max’s property. He started with the desk drawers. The first drawer contained a box of latex gloves. Jack raised a curious eyebrow.

As he slid the next drawer open his heart skipped a beat. Tucked away in this drawer was a ream of lemon-yellow paper. Beside it was a packet of lemon-yellow envelopes. Jack pulled his hand back from the drawer, as if it burned his hand.

He stared in disbelief at the open drawer. He rubbed a heavily perspiring hand across his mouth and chin, as he scanned the room. His eyes locked onto the newspaper wall. ‘What the fuck’s going on here?’

Jack lifted the screen of the laptop computer and started it up. The boot up process stalled at the password login screen. ‘Shit,’ he blurted, then slammed the screen shut.

Jack continued to search the desk. In a desk caddy cluttered with pens and other stationery items, he noticed a mobile phone SIM card stored in a small transparent plastic holder. After briefly studying the SIM, he slid it into his pocket.

Jack fell back into the chair with his hands clasped behind his head and stared at the wall. Max wasn’t secretly proud of him at all. Jack’s eyes flared with realization. ‘Fuck,’ Jack said. His eyes dropped to the laptop in front of him. He had to check the contents of that laptop.

Jack opened each of the remaining drawers and checked their contents. He no longer searched for Max’s property to box up, he now looked for answers.

Jack stood from his chair and started ripping at the newspaper articles on the wall. They had to go. One-by-one he ripped them down and dropped them onto the desk. He paused when the removal of one news article exposed a white envelope pinned to the wall. The word “Mom” was hand written on the front.

Jack unpinned the sealed envelope from the wall and sat back in the chair. His eyes never left the envelope in his hand. He held it up to the light. It appeared to contain a folded-up piece of paper. He could make out typed writing on the paper inside.

He placed it on the desk and stared at the envelope, almost too frightened to open it; too frightened for what it might contain.

Jack scanned the room again. He scanned the remaining newspaper articles on the wall in front of him, then back at the envelope. He stood from his chair and peeled off every other newspaper article, in case there were any other hidden messages. But the wall was bare.

Jack dropped back into his seat. He rubbed his brow as he stared at the envelope on the desk. It was addressed to Caitlyn, but he had to open it. He had no choice. He lifted the envelope and flipped it over to examine the back. He exhaled heavily, paused, then ripped it open. He glanced inside before sliding out the single piece of white paper.

His mouth was dry. His temple throbbed. He slowly unfolded the letter and started to read. His worst nightmares had just become his reality.

---

Dear Mom

If you are reading this letter it means that I am probably dead, more than likely shot by the police.

I have written this letter to you so you can understand why I did what I did.

I could no longer sit by idly and watch how that man you called your husband ignored you – ignored us. How he put his work before his family. It was a disgrace. I saw how upset you were when he didn’t come home at nights. You thought you were being discreet, but I saw you crying when he missed your anniversaries, or family events. I saw your disappointment and what the psychological abuse and torment was doing to your health and your sanity, and it was killing me. It was eating away at me from the inside. I felt so helpless. I hated him with all my being. I despised him for what he was doing to you.

Who did he think he was? He was an arrogant man who placed more interest in solving a crime than spending precious time with his family. He never gave Dan or me any time. He didn’t care about us, about any of us. His work always came first. Catching criminals came first. His reputation came first. He was only happy if he solved a case and if he didn’t, if he couldn’t, he was hell to be around.

Well Mom, I couldn’t take it anymore, sitting by and watching what he did to you; to all of us. I simply won’t take it anymore. I knew that if he had a murder case that he couldn’t solve, it would eat away at him and eat away at him in such a way that it would break him mentally.

I would love to break him physically, Lord knows I’m more than capable, but that wouldn’t do. But this way, he is so focused on his job he could not accept losing, he could not accept that the great Jack Head failed to solve a case, or failed to save his victim. I know he could not live with himself. I had to psychologically beat him into a blithering mess, where he was unfit to hold a badge.

I don’t expect you to understand the extents that I have gone to, but you have to know and understand that I did it for you- for us. He couldn’t put his family ahead of his work, so if I do this right, it will be the very thing he cherished more than his family, that will be his undoing. It will be his work that will be his demise. If I do this right, Jack Head will implode.

I hope you can forgive me but I couldn’t see any other way to make him accountable for the abuse and hell he has put us all through.

I love you Mom

Max.

Chapter 36

Jack’s mouth fell open. He dropped the letter onto the desk and buried his head into his hands. He could not believe what he read.

The person he had grown to despise, the vermin who brazenly killed young hookers, the person he longed for the day he could look him in the eyes as he was being led away… The elusive Cryptic Killer… was his son.

The killer was the son he had grieved for over for the last two-weeks. The son he wished he had taken the time to get to know better.

The irony was not lost on Jack. Max resented Jack for investigating violent killers, instead of spending time with his family. Yet Max had become one of those very same people who kept Jack from his family all those years ago. He could not believe it had come to this.

Jack sat for several minutes while he composed himself. The melting pot of emotions he experienced was consuming: Anger; shock, disappointment, embarrassment, regret, denial and disbelief.

But despite the feelings churning inside of him, he couldn’t bring himself to hate his boy for what he did. Max was his boy and now he felt responsible.

Except for the laptop and the letter, Jack placed everything else from the small room into a box and sealed it. On the outside of the box, in thick black permanent marker he wrote “Property of Jack Head”, so it wouldn’t be confused with Max’s boxes.

Jack took the laptop and box with him when he left. The other boxes containing Max’s property were left in the foyer, for collection by the removalist.

For Jack, the Cryptic Killer investigation had taken a devastating twist. What was intended as an act of goodwill to box up Max’s possessions for Caitlyn, turned into the worse discovery of evidence for Jack.

But like a true investigator, he refused to accept anything on face value. He refused to leave any stone un-turned. He needed irrefutable, conclusive evidence, before he accepted his own son was capable of such atrocities, as desperate as that seemed.

---

Monday morning was like any other morning in the Homicide bull pen. Detectives with vague expressions, staring through weary eyes, sipped on fresh hot coffees.

But for Jack, his focus was the case and his recent findings. To Jack, being able to access Max’s laptop computer was crucial. He was certain there would be something of value on it that would assist with his investigation. But he didn’t have the skills necessary to by-pass the boot-up password.

He decided to visit the Computer Forensics Team to seek their assistance. In the hope he would receive some sympathy, Jack told his colleagues the laptop was his late son’s and he was in the process of finalizing his son’s financial affairs and needed access to his password protected laptop.

The Forensic analyst, Roger, was indeed sympathetic to Jack. He was more than happy to offer advice.

‘There are a couple of methods you could use…’ Roger said. ‘The first involves using the Universal BIOS password, or alternatively, you could clear the CMOS and return all setups to default. Both methods will usually work.’

Jack stared blankly at the analyst. His mouth fell open. He slowly shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you just said,’ Jack said. ‘Is there any way you could have a look at it for me?’ Jack said.

‘We’re not supposed to do non-official work here Jobs…’ Roger said. He briefly held Jack’s gaze. He shrugged. ‘But you know what… Fuck it. It’s for your late son. Leave it with me.’ He slipped Jack a sly wink. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

---

The SIM card Jack found in Max’s basement storeroom was next to face his scrutiny. The mobile phone Telco he contacted instructed him to place the unknown SIM into another mobile phone, then send a text message from that phone, to another phone. The receiving phone would show the number of the sending phone.

To keep his inquiries private, Jack decided to borrow Spence’s mobile phone. He told Spence that he was having trouble with the SIM card in his own phone and wanted to test it in another phone. Spence willingly obliged without any questions.

Jack placed Max’s SIM card into Spence’s phone, snapped the back closed and sent himself a text message from Spence’s phone.

He stared impatiently at the phone on the desk in front of him, waiting for the text message to come through. Within seconds his phone started vibrating. His SMS tone alerted him that a message had been received.

‘Sounds like it’s working now,’ Spence yelled from his desk.

‘Yeah… Must be my phone Spence,’ Jack yelled back.

Jack slipped on his reading glasses. His heart sank when he compared it to the phone number Brenton Wylie had listed in his phone under the contact name, “Bear”. The numbers were an exact match. Max was “Bear.”

Jack slumped back into his chair. The pit of his stomach was heavy. He slowly shook a disbelieving head.

He replaced Spence’s SIM card and returned the phone to Spence. ‘Thanks for that.’ He placed the phone on the desk in front of Spence. ‘I think I might have to get a new phone.’

Jack had one last piece of the puzzle he needed. His next inquiry was to verify which California police department attended Max’s fatal car accident.

Jack’s interrogation of the Police database indicated that it was the police from Long Beach California, who were responsible for the accident reports.

---

The Long Beach Police switch was busy when Jack phoned. After patiently waiting on hold for several minutes, he identified himself and was connected through to the officer responsible for reporting the accident to the coroner.

‘I understand that you attended a fatal motor vehicle accident several weeks back— car versus truck — in which a male person was killed.’

‘That’s correct. How can I help you?’

‘The young man who was killed was my son, Max.’

‘I am so sorry for your loss, Detective.’

‘I’m looking for a huge favor.’

‘Sure.’

‘I was hoping to sight a copy of the autopsy report.’

‘Really? For what purpose?’ the officer asked.

’Have you ever lost a child…? Jack asked.

‘No. Fortunately I have not.’

‘You know what us cops are like… We have to know everything,’ Jack said. ‘Look. It will help me personally, with closure. I will know his official injuries; what he died of, etc. Can you help me out here – cop to cop,’ Jack channeled his best grieving parent voice.

‘Look… I’m not supposed to release official documents…’ the Cop said. A long pause followed. ‘You know what? Fuck it,’ the cop blurted. ‘If it was my kid, I’d wanna know too… And you’re a cop anyway… You got a fax number?’ The officer asked.

Five minutes later, while Jack hovered over the fax machine, his report from Long Beach arrived.

’What ya got, Jobs…? Spence asked ‘You on to something…?’

‘Just following a hunch Spence. Probably nothing,’ Jack said. He scooped up the report and disappeared back into his office.

Jack slipped on his reading glasses and commenced to read the report. He was like an over eager, but tentative student who had just received his final exam results.

His eyes scanned over the first page. What he looked for wasn’t there. He quickly moved to page two. His eyes darted back and forth across the page, not reading, but searching. Not there either.

He turned to the last page of the autopsy report where he stopped scanning and started to read the information under “Scars, Tattoos and Other Identifying Marks.”

“The victim had what appeared to be a healed ¾ inch laceration approximately 1½ inches below the glans on his penis. The wound had healed to form a fresh scar suggesting a recent injury.”

Jack removed his reading glasses and flopped back into his chair. He glanced to the whiteboard, to the three girls staring back at him. They were there because of his son.

He was not able to save them because his son had some twisted vendetta against his own father – for simply doing his job.

He rested his head in his hands. It was practically a fait accompli. Jack had sufficient evidence to confirm Max was the Cryptic Killer. There was not a jury in the country that wouldn’t convict, if faced with the strength of this evidence.

He had Max’s confessional letter to his mother — albeit unsigned. He had the lemon-yellow paper and envelope, which he was confident when analyzed, would be a match to the previous cryptic letters. He had the printer which could be analyzed to match the fonts types in the letters.

He had the SIM card from the burn phone that was used to contact Wylie to arrange luxury cars, the last of which included the Audi in which Max used to pick up Emma Fisher.

He had the autopsy report recording the injury caused to his penis, which placed him in the car with Emma Fisher. He had the physical description from the two witnesses, who would both be able to identify Max from recent photos.

He now knows Max was a qualified Criminologist, which explained his knowledge of crime scenes and law enforcement. The evidence was almost water tight.

The passing of Max also explained why he hadn’t heard from the killer since Emma Fisher’s fortunate escape. Max must have gone to California for work, after the injury.

Jack’s head remained in his hands. He was flattened, physically and mentally. It was all too surreal. What do I tell Max’s mother? How do I tell her?

‘You OK jobs?’ Spence asked.

Jack lifted his head to Spence, who stood in the doorway. Jack’s expression was somber, as though another family member had passed away and he had just received the grim news.

‘I’m OK Spence.’ He said as he lifted the Coroner’s report and folded it up.

‘Well, you look like shit,’ Spence said. ‘I’m worried about you, buddy… You should take some time off… Go and spend some time with Caitlyn,’ Spence suggested. ‘Lean on one another for support.’

‘You’re right, I probably should,’ Jack said. ‘But we’ve got this prick to catch first.’ He tilted his head towards the whiteboard.

Spence glanced at the whiteboard. ‘He’s gone to ground Jobs. Evaporated. But there’s still hope… I’m waiting to catch up with Emma and Wylie to confirm the photo of Van den Berg matches our perp.’

Jack nodded. ‘Fingers crossed, hey…’

---

It had taken over two hours, but Roger from Computer Forensics by-passed the boot-up log in password screen on Max’s laptop. The files could now be examined.

Jack collected the laptop from Forensics and quickly returned to his office.

Back at his desk, Jack searched for any files that may contain the cryptic letters he suspected Max had prepared, but he couldn’t locate them.

Every key word he searched for came up empty. He had no choice but to visit every folder and individually examine its contents.

After about thirty minutes of fruitless searching, Jack started to question that maybe Max didn’t prepare the letters. He moved to an unlikely folder named “IRS Returns” and opened it.

There were four files inside this folder and each file had an unusual file name. He first selected the file named, “A warning to players” and opened it.

Jack donned his reading glasses and read the open document on the laptop screen. He stopped suddenly after reading the first sentence. His shoulders slumped and his head lolled forward. His aching heart prevented him from reading on.

After a few moments to compose himself, he slowly lifted his eyes back to the screen. Was the pain in his chest normal? Was it grief, or was it disappointment and disbelief? It just couldn’t be – His own son.

Jack had just opened the file that contained the 4th letter he received from the Cryptic Killer. Jack checked the file properties. His blank stare locked onto the date and time stamp that verified the document was created on “Wednesday March 28, by Max Head.”

He reluctantly opened the three remaining files in the same folder, knowing full well what he would encounter. With each file he opened, it was like another piece of his heart died.

As expected, the remaining three files were Cryptic letters one to three that Jack had previously received. The document properties for each file verified they were created by Max and the chronology fitted exactly.

It was a now a water tight case against his son. Once again Jack Head had his man. Normally, after solving a high-profile case such as this, they ended up at Rosie’s with drinks all round until the early hours of the morning.

It was always a celebration accompanied by the euphoric feeling of having achieved something considerable. But this one was bitter-sweet. There would be no celebrations at Rosie’s for solving this case.

Jack had spent many sleepless nights longing for the day, imagining how he would feel when he stopped this conceited killer, who arrogantly taunted him with clues in a letter.

But now he had his man, the feelings of satisfaction he expected to experience were replaced with a heavy weight in his gut and a stabbing pain through his heart.

The hardest part of all this wouldn’t be telling his colleagues, or his bosses; that he would get over with time. After all, in their eyes, Jack has still solved a major high-profile case, regardless of who the killer was.

The part about this whole situation he dreaded the most, would be telling Max’s mom what their son had done and why he did it.

Chapter 37

Jack’s attention was drawn to Spence entering the office with two hot coffees. ‘You looked like you could do with one of these, Jobs,’ Spence said. He placed a cup in front of Jack, before sliding into the visitor’s chair.

‘You are a lifesaver, Spence,’ Jack said. He lifted the hot beverage and took a sip.

‘Did you get everything finished up at Rumson?’ Spence asked. He reclined in his chair and crossed his legs as he sipped on his coffee.

‘Nearly. I should have it all done by this Saturday,’ Jack said. ‘The boxes are being collected the following Tuesday. So there is only a couple of things to tidy up, and it will all be ready to go.’

‘You OK, buddy…?’ Spence asked.

Jack stared briefly at Spence before responding. He couldn’t bring himself to share his discovery with his colleague. Spence had been shoulder-to-shoulder with him through the Cryptic Killer investigation, and he deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know it was finally over, but he couldn’t do it.

‘I’ve been better,’ was all Jack could bring himself to say.

‘Where are the boxes going…? Caitlyn’s…?’

‘Yeah.’ Jack nodded, sneaking in a quick sip of coffee. ‘Eventually, she’ll go through them and sort out what she wants to keep and what to throw out, but it will be a while before she can bring herself to doing that.’

‘Well… Sing out if you need a hand on Saturday, Jobs…’ Spence offered.

Jack nodded as he sipped on his coffee.

---

Saturday was a cool overcast day and the evening was even cooler. The salty breeze blowing straight off the ocean made the temperatures feel about ten degrees cooler. Jack stood in the back yard of Max’s Rumson house. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets and his hoodie was draped over his head.

He stared, mesmerized by the flames from the fire he had started in the tin drum. He momentarily enjoyed the warmth radiating from the dancing flames.

A cardboard box lay at his feet. The words “Property of Jack Head” were clearly visible across the top.

Jack was hypnotized by the flickering movement of the flames, while his feelings and obligations as a father battled ferociously with his feelings and obligations as a career cop.

The decisions he made next could define him as a person. Those decisions could affect him for the rest of his life.

Jack loaded another two small logs into the fire and stood back to watch the fire take hold. The heat radiating from the flames had a calming effect and provided him with some comfort from the cooler temperature.

The distinctive smell of burning logs mixed with the plumes of white smoke trailing off at a forty-five-degree angle, into the darkness.

Jack knelt beside the box and ripped off the strong duct tape. He levered open the top flaps and peered inside the box. He paused briefly before reaching inside.

First to be removed from the box were the blank pages of lemon-yellow paper and the envelopes. Jack paused briefly, mainly to reassure himself.

He separated small groups of the pages then gently lobbed them and the envelopes onto the fire. Within seconds the hungry flames stretched skywards.

The scrunched-up newspaper articles, all about Jack, followed next and were no match to the insatiable appetite of Jack’s fire. The intense heat scorched them before they burst into flames and disintegrated into ash.

Jack reached into a jean’s pocket and removed the small cell phone SIM card and threw it straight into the fire. There was no hesitation. The fire’s intense heat transformed the SIM into a molten blob of plastic in seconds.

He continued emptying the contents of the box, one-by-one, until the empty shell of the box was all that remained. He stepped back and watched the flickering flames devour everything he had fed it.

He reached into his jeans back pocket and removed the folded autopsy report he received from the Long Beach cops. He opened it up and glanced at it.

He read the name across the top of the report –Max Jack Head. He couldn’t read any more. He shook his head as he crushed the report between his massive hands, scrunching it up tightly into a little ball. It was though he tried to squeeze any semblance of truth from it.

He watched as it exploded into flames after he lobbed it into the center of the fire drum.

Everything Jack had stumbled across in Max’s basement that implicated Max as the Cryptic Killer, was now reduced to ash. The only non-combustible item that remained was Max’s laptop, but he would wipe the hard drive, then destroy it.

Jack’s facial expression firmed. His eyebrows rose as he tapped the back pocket of his jeans. He suddenly remembered something. He removed a folded piece of paper. It was Max’s confession letter to his mom.

He regarded the folded letter in his hand, deciding whether or not to burn it. Should he show it to Caitlyn? Would she want to see her son’s last written words to her? Jack shook his head. He didn’t know what to do. He decided to return it to his pocket for now.

Jack had just done the unthinkable. He had perverted the course of justice. He had tampered with evidence in a murder case, destroying it completely.

He had destroyed evidence that would have irrefutably identified the Cryptic Killer. Evidence from a man who murdered three young women and who attempted to kill another, was now gone, reduced to nothing but blackened ash in the bottom of the tin drum.

Jack stared at the mesmerizing flames that had devoured Max’s incriminating evidence. The battle in his head over his obligations as a cop and a dad, the battle between right and wrong, had been won. His protective obligations as a father and his feelings to protect his ex-wife, had prevailed.

He had broken his oath to uphold the law. His actions questioned his integrity and went against everything he stood for. If caught, he would certainly be jailed for such an irresponsible and serious breach of trust. But he had to do it. He couldn’t expose Max’s mother to the additional grief of knowing her son was a serial killer.

His focus remained on the fire, mesmerized at its hypnotic beauty and comforting warmth. So much so, he didn’t hear anyone approaching him from behind.

Jack startled when Spence placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned aggressively with his fists raised, ready to defend himself. It was an action that would strike fear into any man.

Spence raised both his hands. ‘Whoa big boy… It’s just me…’ He said. He grinned back at Jack and the intense reaction he received.

Jack’s shoulders relaxed. An eyebrow arched as he quickly shifted his focus back to the fire drum to ensure that all trace of what he had recently fed the fire was now gone. It had.

‘I knocked at the front door, but there was no answer. I could smell smoke, so I came around back. You were miles away, Jobs. I called out to you as I crossed the yard. You OK?’

‘Yeah, good, Spence,’ Jack said. Although he was not happy to see his friend at that particular time. ‘What the fuck are you doing here? You just took ten years off me.’

‘I thought we needed to talk, Jobs, so I thought this was as a good a place as any. It’s out of the way. Just you and me. So I came down to see ya… See how you were coping and while I was here, I thought we could have a chat.’

‘OK. Talk about what?’ Jack asked.

Spence didn’t answer straight away. Both men stood with their hands in their pockets, staring at the flickering flames. The front of their bodies glowed in the dancing reflection of the fire.

‘Uniform called me…’ Spence began. ‘Apparently they were having trouble reaching you on your cell…’

‘Yeah… I had it turned off. Didn’t want to be disturbed…’ Jack continued to watch the flames.

‘Hmmm. Apparently, Emma & Wylie came into the station today to view the photo of Van den Berg. Emma was adamant he wasn’t the guy who attacked her and Wylie later confirmed Van den Berg wasn’t the “Bear” he loaned the cars to… But I suspect you already knew that…’ Spence said.

Jack’s curious gaze flicked to Spence. He frowned.

‘When did you first realize, Jobs…?’ Spence said, while keeping his focus on the fire.

‘Realize what…?’ Jack said. A lump formed in his throat.

Spence used a foot to nudge the empty cardboard box towards Jack, before lifting his eyes back to Jack.

Jack’s head lowered. His friend had caught him out. ‘When did you realize?’ Jack said. His tone was somber, probably even embarrassed.

‘Not until the funeral,’ Spence began. ’When I saw the recent photos of Max on the large screen at the funeral, I thought I was looking at the photo fit IDs of our killer. Max looked more like the photo fit than what Van den Berg did. His steely blue eyes, his large frame. Everything matched. It all started to come together.

‘Then there were the photos at the funeral of him being awarded Expert level in Krav Maga… Krav Maga, Jack, the Israeli Special Forces self-defense that teaches you how to immobilize an attacker, maybe even break their neck if you wanted to…’ Spence said, raising suggestive eyebrows.

‘Then, they mentioned during his eulogy he held a degree in Criminology…’ Spence held a firm glare on Jack. ‘Such a qualification could provide an insider’s knowledge of crime scenes… Couldn’t it…?’

Jack didn’t respond to Spence’s rhetorical questions. He stood silent and motionless. His head was bowed submissively. His large shoulders were rounded, almost conceding.

What he had done was wrong and he couldn’t justifiably defend it. It didn’t matter to the law that he did what he did to protect his son’s name and prevent further trauma to his ex-wife.

‘Then you came down here to pack Max’s property and it was obvious to me you found something,’ Spence said. ’You completely changed at work. You started conducting your own separate inquiries, excluding me.

‘You stopped your daily ritual of studying the whiteboard, which suggested to me you knew something. I ran into Roger in the kitchen and he asked how you went with the files on Max’s laptop.

’I thought to myself, why were you so interested in Max’s computer? There were several questions that needed answering. So I thought I’d come down here and chat about it all.

‘But you just asked me now, when did I realize, Jack…? When did I suspect we were looking at Max…? The answer is, just now. I previously suspected something was up… I had no idea… But I realized, just now.’

Jack was busted. His friend and partner, one of the most trusted and loyal cops he knew, had caught him doing the unthinkable. Spence had caught him destroying incriminating evidence in a multiple murder case.

Jack removed Max’s letter from his pocket and handed it to Spence. No words were exchanged. He didn’t even look at Spence, he just held the letter out in his extended hand.

Spence accepted the letter, unfolded it and read it to himself. When he finished reading, his stern glare flicked to Jack. His eyebrows were raised. He held the letter out at Jack, holding his firm glare for several seconds. Jack was too humiliated to bring himself to raise his head and make eye contact with Spence.

‘How long have you had this…?’ Spence asked. His tone was firm. He shook the letter at Jack. His voice resonated with disappointment.

‘Found it last weekend,’ Jack said. His head remained lowered. ‘So… what happens now…?’ Jack asked. His submissive head was still bowed. His large shoulders were rounded slightly.

Spence held his glare at Jack’s lowered head, without comment. His face had firmed. He again held up the letter to Jack. ‘This is a confession, Jack,’ he said directly. ‘This is admissible evidence to identify who killed those three girls.’ Jack remained unmoved.

‘This will solve the Cryptic Killer case, Jack… And it will also identify who attacked Emma Fisher,’ he added firmly, with his gaze still fixed on Jack. ‘This is everything we have been looking for to identify the killer and solve the case…’ Jack was unmoved.

After a brief pause, Spence stepped to the fire. He took hold of the letter by the top corner and dipped the letter into the flickering flame until the bottom of the letter ignited.

The flame slowly climbed up the page. He tilted the letter to encourage the climbing flame, waiting until the last possible moment before tossing the fully engulfed page into the fire.

Spence stepped back from the fire and turned to face Jack. Jack’s lowered head shot up. His confused eyes flicked from Spence, to the fire and back.

‘What happens now…?’ Spence repeated. ‘You just asked me, what happens now…? I’ll tell you what happens now… There’s a killer out there somewhere, and we don’t know who it is,’ Spence said. A wry grin filled Spence’s face as he continued.

’We’ve got someone out there sending us cryptic letters, Jack and running around killing hookers… And we have no idea who it is. We have no evidence on him and we gotta try and stop him.

‘If we can’t find him, it will become a cold case and we will eventually move on. So, to answer your question…’ Spence placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘That’s what happens now. Not to mention, you’ve also got one son that you need to get to know better and an ex-wife who I think would be keen on a second shot.’

Jack was overcome with emotion. His head dropped. He silently stared at the dancing flames that had consumed the last of Max’s incriminating evidence. He gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head as tears welled up in his eyes at his friend’s undeniable loyalty.

For years this tough, unbreakable giant was not allowed to show emotion. He wouldn’t allow himself to show emotion. His father taught him it was a sign of weakness. For years, it was beaten into him that real men don’t cry. This tough, six foot eight, broad shouldered, old-school cop stood with his friend’s supporting hand still resting on his shoulder, while a single tear over flowed and slowly trickled a pathway down his cheek.