Chapter 4

November 6, 2011 at 12:09 am (The Truth)

The man dubbed by the press as the Surrey Slayer had read the same article that Nelle had. He wasn’t pleased to see that the police were actively looking at the case again, even if it was a lone cop and in an unofficial capacity. The killer had transferred the knowledge he’d gained during that time and now he felt absolved of the incidents. They were no longer important. What was now was important.

Picking up the telephone, he dialed a number he hadn’t expected to need so soon. When the call was answered, he simply told the man he needed to come over. They had some plans to make. He disconnected the phone once a time was agreed upon. They would meet in a few hours and he needed all of that time to get his thoughts organized.

Walking through the house to his personal study, the man locked the door behind him. Drawing the drapes closed and ensuring not a single crack of space appeared in the curtains, he flipped up a corner of the rug next to his desk. He had personally installed the cubbyhole safe in the floor. His wife had no idea it was there. Spinning the combination left and right, he popped the door open and pulled out a weathered box.

They say every serial killer kept mementos. He didn’t think of himself as a serial killer. He’d been a serial searcher. He’d been looking for something and, after many failed attempts to find it, he’d gotten lucky. The solution had practically fallen in his lap. It had taken him years to perfect the transference. Several times he’d thought that the procedure would not work. He’d spent many a night sweating bullets, expecting a visit from the police.

But the transfer had finally taken root. It had grabbed hold and not let go and he was grateful for that. He had finally found what he’d been looking for, what he’d felt after killing that first boy so long ago. Pawing through the various items in the box, he found the hockey card that had been pegged to one of the spokes of Scott Tatum’s bicycle. It was a Wayne Gretzky rookie card. If sold on eBay, it would fetch a large sum of money, but he couldn’t bear to part with it.

Holding the card in his hand, he could call up every detail of his time spent with Scott. The boy had been very sweet. At first, he’d been happy. He hadn’t been afraid at all. Some of the other boys had been really scared and that had annoyed him. He hated the whining and the sniveling.

But Scott hadn’t done that. Not at first, anyway. Scott hadn’t liked being cut. He’d cried and said that it hurt and didn’t want to play the game anymore. But once he’d started, the man couldn’t stop the game. That’s how the rules went. If you start the game, you have to finish it.

He liked to cut. That’s what he’d enjoyed the most. He’d read about other serial searchers and learned that some tried to have sex with their victims. He hadn’t been interested in that. He liked the blood. He liked how it flowed from the body. It looked peaceful, soothing, as it slid in rivulets down the legs and arms and chest. The autopsy table had been a stroke of genius. The first two boys had been strapped to a wooden desk and the blood had left awful stains behind.

He’d gotten the table from work. He hadn’t worked at the hospital for very long, but the time spent there had been useful. It taught him how to move through crowds as though you belonged. Pull on a pair of scrubs and people saw what they expected to see. Start pushing a table out the doors and most people wouldn’t question it. At a hospital, the staff were always overworked and overtired.

Once he’d found what he was looking for, he’d pushed the autopsy table back into the hospital and left it there. Any evidence that may have been left behind from his searches was long gone. Thinking of that, the man wondered how the police would expect to find anything that would be helpful to their investigation. Anything they had in their evidence locker would be twenty years old now. It hadn’t helped the police at the time. What good did this new detective think it would do?

The killer found himself very intrigued by this new detective; the brother of the last boy. Had he become a cop to seek justice for those who couldn’t seek it themselves, like his poor little brother couldn’t? Was he such a do-gooder? Did he have a God complex, thinking that he could solve what dozens of other cops before him hadn’t been able to?

The killer found he was very intrigued by this new cop. He wanted to know more about him. He was feeling the need to search. He hadn’t felt that need since the transference. He had killed others since that last boy, but they hadn’t been for the search. He’d found what he’d needed for that. The other killings were to keep his skills sharp.

Still, it had been a while. He wondered if his skills were a little rusty. He had grown very lazy in his new life. He would have to do something about that. Pulling several other items from the box, he used them to reminisce about the triumphs of his past and the wonderment he’d experienced while doing them.

A knock on his study door startled him from his reverie. Tucking the items back in the box and dropping them into the safe, he locked it and replaced the carpet. Unlocking his study door, he ushered the young man in. Returning to the chair behind his desk, he observed his young protégé. He’d transferred all of the knowledge from his experiments of twenty years ago to this bright and eager young man. Now it was time to let the bird test his wings a little.

“We have a lot of work to do,” he began.

 

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