Kenhardt - Secrets 19

It was almost five when Joe returned to the Kenhardt station, knocking twice on the Chief’s door. John Richard opened it and welcomed him inside. John walked around to the other side of the desk and took a seat, motioning for Joe to sit across from him. ‘How’d it go today, O’Reily?’ ‘Getting bit and pieces, here and there.’ ‘What are your thoughts on the cult angle, Devil Worship?’ ‘With all due respect, Sir,’ Joe said. ‘I think it’s a load of crap.’ John smiled at this, ‘Why’s that?’ ‘Well, as I explained to officer’s Davis and Tanner, there are no signs of this in the girls’ lives whatsoever. They may have gotten into their own sorts of trouble, but Devil Worship was definitely not one of them.’ ‘What sorts of trouble?’ John asked. ‘That’s what I’m still trying to determine. Teenage drama girl stuff. Everyone has their Secrets.’ ‘Indeed,’ John said. ‘And it’s your job to figure them out. Can you do that?’ I’m trying my best. These things take time, especially when I can’t seem to get a straight answer out of anyone.’ John nodded. ‘Your partners - Cross and Tanner - left a little while ago, headed back to Riverton. They’ll be back for the funeral tomorrow. I’m assuming you’ll be there as well.’ Joe nodded. ‘I will.’ “Good” It was quiet for a moment before Joe spoke up again. ‘You said I could talk to you about The Sad Killer?’ ‘Tell me - why are you interested in this?’ John asked. ‘It was fifty years ago.’ ‘I guess something about it is just drawing me in. It bothers me that the person responsible was never caught.’ ‘I’ll tell you now, just about every cop in this town and his brother tried to solve that case, put a name to the killer. No one ever could. What makes you think you’re going to be any different?’ ‘I never said I wanted to solve it.’ Joe lied. ‘I just want to see for myself what all the hype is about.’ John smirked, then pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Come with me then. We’re going to need to go way back.’ They left John’s office and headed to the evidence room at the back of the building John headed directly for the Cold Cases. He scanned the shelves, looking through the chronologically ordered boxes for 1965. When he found the box, he grabbed it and brought it back to his office. He unloaded each file from the box onto his desk, spreading them out for Joe to see. ‘We don’t get many murders here,’ John said. ‘Let alone serial murders. So this one stands out. Everyone knows about The Sad Summer.’ ‘Did you work the case?’ ‘How old do you think I am, Son?’ John laughed. ‘I was sixteen at the time of the murders. Fortunately for you, my dad was a cop. He worked the case and told me everything he knew.’ ‘So what can you tell me?’ Joe asked. ‘I’ve heard the basics. I want the technical. The details. The evidence.’ John was sorting through the files still. Then he grabbed one and slapped it down in front of Joe. ‘Start reading.’ Joe picked up the file. Inside were black and white photographs of a crime scene. A dead body blood everywhere. He scanned the page and found the victim’s name: Mark Irving, thirty - two - years old. Seven stab wounds to the chest and stomach. Died from severe blood loss. ‘That was the first,’ John nodded towards the file. ‘April 23,1965.’ ‘Did he have a family? Kids?’ John shook his head. ‘He had a girlfriend at the time, but nothing serious. His parents died when he was young. No one left to mourn him once he was gone.’ ‘Tragic.’ Joe continued to skim through the file. He came across anther photograph. On the ceramic floor beside the body, one word: sad, scribbled in black marker, all lowercase. This must have been this signature that was the catalyst for the infamous name: The Sad Killer. ‘Why do you think he wrote the word sad?’ Joe asked, looking up from the file. John gave a slight shrug. ‘Remorse? Sadness?’ ‘He Didn’t want to kill those men, but he felt obligated to?’ Joe suggested. ‘Like it was his duty.’ ‘Something like that.’ Joe looked down and continued reading the file. ‘And the killer used a knife,’ Joe noted. ‘That’s quite personal, for a kill.’ ‘Indeed.’ ‘You think the killer knew the victim?’ ‘We Didn’t think so. And there was no correlation between any of the victims. Of course a couple of them went to school together.’ Joe nodded, thinking it through. ‘Seven stab wounds, seven victims. Do you think the number seven has any symbolism?’ ‘Doubt it. Probably just a coincidence. There was no other record of the number seven anywhere other than those two things. But good Eye.’ ‘It looks a bit sloppy,’ Joe noted, observing the crime scene photos. ‘Whoever did this must have been an amateur.’ ‘We figured it was the Unsub’s first kill. Not just during The Sad Summer, but their first kill in general. You’re right - the stab wounds are messy. Hesitant, almost. The first one,’ John leaned forward and pointed to the photo. ‘Was in the center of his sternum. Then it got messy from there. His abdomen, his heart, his lung. The first incision was the deepest. You can tell the killer went slow and steady as the knife penetrated the skin and entered his chest. Then the following stabs were overkill. Anger, Aggression. Stab, Stab, Stab.’ John handed Joe the next file. ‘Victim number two. Mike Darby. Age twenty - seven.’