KENHARDT - Secrets 40

Joe was driving down the main Street of Riverton, his foot on the petrol, his mind racing. He had left behind a dazed and perplexed Jordan, sitting at the kitchen table calling after him as he dropped everything and raced out the front door, He didn’t know what any of this meant. All he knew was that he needed to see SuzAnne Dennikin - now.

As he was driving, he got a call through his Bluetooth. The screen read Kennedy Cross. ‘O’Reily,’ he said, keeping both hands on the wheel.

‘Joe, its KC. Where are you?’

‘Driving.’

‘Can you come to the station?’

‘Uh, I’m a little busy right now. Is it urgent?’

The line was quiet for a moment. ‘It’s about the triple suicides from last month,’ Kennedy said. ‘New information has been brought to my attention,’ she paused. ‘I’m not so sure that it was suicide after all.’ Joe’s pulse quickened. What did she find?

‘I’ll be there in half an hour. I just need to take care of something first.’

He arrived at Suzanne’s apartment building. He had been there with Jordan a couple times in the past, visiting Gran, helping her move furniture. He entered the lobby and found her name on the wall. S.Hopkins. He checked his watch - it was quarter to nine. He rang the buzzer and prayed that she answered.

Sure enough, her raspy voice echoed through the speaker. ‘Hello?’

‘Gran,’ Joe said, nearly out of breath. ‘It’s me, Joe. Can I come up?’

‘Oh, hello Joe. Is Jordan with you?’

‘NO, she’s uh,’ he paused. ‘She’s at home.’

‘Oh,’ she sounded caught off guard. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Joe said. ‘I just wanted to talk with you, if that’s okay.’

‘Of course,’ Suzanne said. ‘Come on Up.’ The buzzer sounded and the door unlocked.

Joe went inside and headed straight for the elevator. He waited and waited as each number lit up, taking it’s time coming back down to the main floor.

Finally it arrived and Joe ran in, pressing the number Seven, Suzanne’s floor. Another man was in the elevator with him. The silence was uncomfortable as Joe tapped his foot on the ground and stared at the numbers above, moving slower than ever. The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and the man exited. Joe gave him a slight nod and felt relief as the doors closed again.

The seventh floor, finally. The doors opened and he rushed into the hallway, down to Suzanne’s door. He knocked twice and waited.

‘Come in,’ he heard her voice call from inside.

He turned the handle - it was unlocked. He opened the door and slowly entered the apartment. He closed the door behind him and scanned the room. Suzanne was sitting in her wheelchair over by the window. A candle was burning - it smelt like vanilla - and leftovers from dinner were sitting on the counter.

‘Joe,’ she smiled, taking in his appearance.

‘What a surprise.’

‘Hi Suzanne,’ he said as he took a few steps closer. She remained in her wheelchair, not making an attempt to come over and greet him in any way.

He stopped in the center of the room and stared at her. Analyzing her face, her expression, her old hands resting on the wheelchair.

It was silent, neither one of them making an effort to say anything.

Finally, Suzanne spoke and broke the silence. ’What do I owe the pleasure?’

Joe cleared his throat, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. ’Was it you?’

She stared at him defiantly, her eyes flickering to his. An eternity passed between them before she spoke. Finally, she said, ’I’ve been waiting for this day. I’ve been waiting a very long time.’

Something inside of Joe broke at that moment. He could feel his heart physically sink in his chest, a pit growing in his stomach.

‘I didn’t expect you to figure it out,’ Suzanne said cautiously. ’When you mentioned it back at Jordan’s birthday dinner, I figured you were just playing around, trying to distract yourself from other cases. No one has solved that mystery for over fifty - one - years. Why would you be any different?’

Joe didn’t say anything. He Didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

‘But here you are,’ she said enthusiastically.

‘Congratulations, Detective. You finally cracked the case. You solved something that no one else ever could. You unveiled the true identity of the infamous SAD Killer,’ ’It’s you,’ he said the words aloud, testing them in his mouth, seeing how they would sound. ’You’re The Sad Killer .’

She smiled and he could see how old she truly was. Her dyed hair was greying at the roots, the lines on her face evident. Yet still, she was only seventy - five. And she looked good for her age.

‘Are you proud of yourself?’ she said to him. Joe didn’t respond. He stared at her, She stared back.

‘Why did you do it?’ he finally said. ’Kill all those men?’

‘You know why,’ she said. ’You must have figured it out or else you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Actually,’ Joe said, ’I forgot about the case. I let it be, just like those girls. I figured some things would never be solved. But it was you,’ he said. ’You gave yourself away, signing your name like that on the pictures. Did you think that no one would put the pieces together? Why would you leave a trail like that?’

‘You mean the capitalized A?’ she asked.

Joe nodded, She laughed. ’How Clever of you. What were you doing - going through Jordan’s things?’

‘We’re renovating,’ Joe said. ’She had me sorting through the photo albums,’

‘And I’m assuming you figured it out before then, What SAD stood for.’

‘A name. We tried everything. Short forms, abbreviations - none of it made sense. And then it all clicked for me. Because of Haddie and those hearts. It all came to me,’ he said. ’But of course, I couldn’t be sure. Just like many things, it was up in the air, unverified, Pure speculation. I assumed it was a name, a signature of sorts. The killer leaving a bit of themselves behind. We found a couple of people with those initials, but nothing panned out. Why did you do it? Leave your initials?’

‘As a little reminder, not only to them, but to myself. For what I did. What I accomplished.’

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked again.

‘You know why.’

‘I want you to tell me. I want you to say it.’

She stared at him and took in a deep breath.

‘They were Bad men, Joe, They deserved to die.’

‘I know what they did,’ Joe said, ’But what did they do to you?’

I was born and raised in Kenhardt. My family had lived there for many years after my mother emigrated from Germany. It was a quaint town, far enough away from the rest of civilization to go undetected, but still within enough proximity to get where you needed to.

As far as I could tell, there was nothing wrong with Kenhardt. It had about three restaurants and two grocery stores during my time there. It was right on the lake, which brought in a lot of attraction during the summer months. Fishing was big there, Water - skiing and tubing too. When we were kids, we’d swim out as far as we could go, which didn’t prove to be all that far in the end. They kept the buoys out there so that we knew our limits. The lake froze over in the winter and people would go skating, ride their snowmobiles. Only once or twice did someone fall through the ice an perish.

Speaking of deaths, these wasn’t all that much. The leading cause of death in Kenhardt was Old - Age. People lived there, they grew old there, and then they died there. It was a safe town, a good community. We all worked together, got along, went to school together. If you needed help with something, you asked your neighbour.

Everyone was like that in Kenhardt. Kind and willing to lend a hand.

I attended Kenhardt Public School. There were only six other girls in my first - grade class, so from the beginning I was used to being a minority. As I grew older, I came to realize what my role in the world would be: WIFE AND MOTHER. Not unless you wanted to travel far and commute to cities like Riverton or Saltville. So that meant that people stayed where they were. The men owned the shops, worked in the factories, created their own businesses. The women attended school, but then after graduating, they began their role as a woman. It was almost as if it were a prerequisite to a happy life.

Find a suitable man, get married and start a family. All in that order. As if it were so easy - neat and organized into this tiny, pre - prepared package.

My parents were not well - off like some of the families in Kenhardt. They divorced when I was only ten, which was a rare thing back then. My father had girlfriends throughout the years, but nothing permanent. My Mother remarried two years later to a man name Paul Monoly. Ah, a name you might be familiar with. We’ll get into that later.

Due to the fact that my parents were separated, money was sparse. I had to drop out of school in the 11th grade and get a job in order to contribute to the household. My brothers and sisters had to follow suit and get jobs as well. None of us graduated from secondary school.

Yet still, I had high hopes for Kenhardt. It was a beautiful place. Tourists often missed it because it was so small and off the map, but those who did find it were mesmerized. I can’t describe to you the exact novelties that Kenhardt possessed, for one would need to see it for themselves to realize the true beauty. Whether it be the lake, the small cottages, the Sunflower and Maize fields, or Hazel Street. I was in love with my town.

When I was young, a close friend of my father was killed in a car accident. His wife and two children died as well, It was a drunk driver who was going far above the speed limit and T-Boned them while running a stop sign. My father was haunted by their deaths, tortured by how instantaneous it was. How in a split second, four lives were ended, and one continued on.

I was thirteen, My youngest sister was eight, the same age as the boy, Kyle Webber, My father was angered by the injustice of it all. How four innocent people lost their lives, and the one person responsible managed to walk free with just a head wound, a stained conscious, and a totalled car. No handcuffs, no criminal record, NOTHING.

When I was sixteen, the house across the street from mine burnt down. It was no accident, A man named John Morgan got drunk and set it ablaze, his two sons still inside.

Fortunately, Adam and John Jr. were able to escape the flames and make it out alive. However, their mother was not so lucky. She perished that day, and it Will be a day I will never forget. I remember looking out my bedroom window that faced the street, seeing the smoke and the flames, calling for my mother and running down the front steps of our house.

John Jr, and Adam were lying on their front lawn, coughing, gasping for air. My mother called the police and the fire engines and ambulance arrived shortly after.

John Morgan was never charged or penalized for what he did. He burnt down his house for no apparent reason and was responsible for the death of his wife.

But we will get to that eventually. You’re clearly here for a reason, and I believe that reason is the catalyst to the killings. Let us begin then, shall we?

I was twenty - one when I first encountered Mark Irving. I’d been working as a waitress for the past few years, following my job as a cashier at the Laundromat. The restaurant was nice, It was the place to be for people my age. We served everything from Milkshakes and Burgers, to Steak and Sandwiches. The music was hip, the scenery was inviting. Everyone loved coming there, Mark Irving loved coming there.

He came in on one night in particular. It was a Tuesday. I believe. I was wearing a yellow top with a my red apron tied around the front. He smiled at me and I recall that it was a charming smile, a flirtatious smile. He was attractive. And everything about Mark Irving was inviting.

I served him and his friends, They had all ordered burgers and drinks. I smiled as I took their orders, laughed with them as I brought them their food. They tipped me well, He winked at me before leaving.

It became a routine of his, coming into the restaurant. Part of me believed that it was to see me. But while I hoped that this was true, I also didn’t want to be naïve. He was Mark Irving, after all. I knew who he was - everyone did. He was gorgeous, charming, wonderful. A real man.

One night, he struck up a conversation, had me laughing and twirling my fingers through my hair. He made me feel special, as though I mattered. Looking back now, I realize that I did matter. I always mattered, with or without Mark Irving.

Finally he made his move. Took him long enough. He asked me to dinner. I happily obliged. We met that Saturday at a eating place called Polly’s, which was one step up from the restaurant I worked at. It had a mellow vibe, classy and jazzy all at once.

We ordered our food and chatted the night away, laughing and confiding in each other. He paid for dinner. We left the restaurant. We got to his car and he offered me a drive home. Of course I accepted, why on earth would I walk home - at night - after and exceptional date with an exceptional man? Well, that is where things took a turn for the worst.

If I could go back in time, perhaps I would have declined that ride. Perhaps I would have avoided meeting Mark Irving altogether. That would have certainly changed the course of things to come. And then there would have been no killings and you wouldn’t be here listening to this story.

But there is not time machine, and I cannot go back and change what happened that night. Rather, I can only look back and reflect upon those events that subsequently led to one catastrophic encounter that would alter not only my life forever, but the lives of many to follow.

I didn’t see Mark Irving for a while after that night. I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding me or not. Perhaps is was I who was avoiding everything. I didn’t leave my bed for a week. My boss nearly fired me for not showing up to work for five consecutive days. I didn’t know how to re-immerse myself into the world. Everything I had known and loved was damaged, shattered, nothing like before. I couldn’t go back to that, I couldn’t face myself, let alone anyone else.

Life was different after that night. There was a constant aching in my head. The pain only ceased when I closed my eyes and stopped breathing. And I was afraid. Not only of Mark Irving, but of everyone, everything, Any man who passed me on the street had my Heart racing. A stranger, accidentally bumping me in line at the grocery store. I would hear my own cries of protest, echoing throughout his car. His hands on my arms, my chest, my back. Strong hands, ripping off my underwear. Willing hands. Threatening hands as he parted my quivering thighs. Penetrating me with his intruding stiffness. I was still a virgin. He was violating me and taking my virginity at the same time….

My own body became a strange and unfamiliar place that not even I could recognize. I became delirious. I didn’t know what was reality and what was fiction. I developed dark bags underneath my eyes. I stopped going to work. Eventually I was fired. But that was okay. As long as I didn’t have to leave my bed or see anybody, then it would all be okay.

Three years passed. I was twenty four years old. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. My best friends were marrying off and having children. My father was getting ill with heart disease. My eldest brother was moving out of Kenhardt with his new bride, ready to start a family. And then there was me, standing still, going through the motions of everyday life, but never really going anywhere. I was stuck, Trapped. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live. I didn’t know how I was going to go on living a life like this.

And that’ when he resurfaced - Mark Irving. When I saw him, all of the fear and anguish from my past came rushing back, full forced. He was thirty - two at the time, still not married, and still known as the town’s bachelor.

He was walking down the street by the grocery store I was in, his arm looped through another woman’s. She was beautiful. Raven black hair, hung to the small of her back, caramel skin, bright brown eyes, a birth mark above her lip. She was the embodiment of everything I wished I was, everything I knew I could never be. Because no matter what I told myself or how hard I tried to turn my life around and become someone new. I couldn’t. That part of me was ruined, The damage was irreversible. I was broken. He broke me. Mark Irving broke me.

I became envious of that woman, and not because her arm was linked through Mark’s but because her arm was linked through Mark’s arm and she was so happy. Smiling, her lips parted. Her eyes wide and turned to him. How was she not aware of the Evil he possessed? How could she walk with him, so care - free and effortless, and not realize what he was capable of? What he had done?

It was in that moment that I knew something had to change. I guess you could call this the catalyst moment - the moment I knew. I didn’t know what I would do initially, but it became clear to me, there in that moment, that I needed to make a change. Something needed to be done.

I believe the desire to murder Mark Irving was always inside of me, from that very night in his car. But the ambition and the actuality of it all wasn’t there. It was always subconscious, subtly in the back of my mind, Slowly brewing and manifesting, becoming something bigger than itself. I took one more look at him and my desires were confirmed. In order to end this tirade, I would need to end his life. I would need to kill Mark Irving.

And thus began the planning. The months and months of meticulous planning. The doubt and second thoughts, the worries and anxieties of what would happen, the thought of getting caught, the fear of what would happen to me afterwards. Would I be changed forever? Would it damage me more that I already was? How would I be able to live with myself knowing that I took another person’s life?

I pushed those thoughts and worries away. My life wouldn’t get any worse than it already was. I needed to focus. With one goal on my mind, it became easier to deal with, It would be simple, I convinced myself. I would need to watch him, study his moves. Memorize his frequent locations, determine when would be the best time to strike. And this is how I would do it. I would doll myself up, spray a bit of perfume on my neck, and knock on his door. He would smile at me, perhaps say, Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere? And I would lavish in saying the words, Why yes, Mark. You raped me in the back of your car three years ago. Do you remember me Now…?