Mystery: Quest for Justice: (Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Suspense Thriller Mystery) by James Kipling Page A
Authors: James Kipling
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me today, then?" said John, sighing again.
"Do you remember your aunt and uncle, Joseph and Monica?" I asked him
John shook his head.
"Perhaps you know them as Uncle and Aunt Doe, or something like that?"
"Well, there was an auntie and uncle I used to visit, in that farm house, but that was years ago," he replied.
"O.k., and who did you go with?" I said, with my notebook and pen ready.
"My mother used to take me. My father was rarely there. He used to work in distribution."
"Right, and what were these people like?" I asked him.
"I only went every so often, so I didn't really know them," he replied. John looked very uncomfortable when he said that.
"John, is there something you're not telling me?" I said, detecting his lie.
"No," said a very defensive John.
"There is. I know there is," I said. "Come on, John. You can talk to me."
"Well, there was this one time..."
"Go on," I said, eager for some sort of response.
"It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with the murders," he said.
"I think it does," I said, getting more and more desperate for him to say something useful.
"Well, one time, my auntie took my mother in the garden for a drink and a chat. I asked my uncle if I could have a drink, and because I didn't say please, he grabbed hold of my neck and forced me into the cupboard."
"That's horrible!" I cried, determined not to let my emotions get the better of me.
"I know. That went on for a few minutes. There were other times when the pair of them hit me."
"Did your mother find out about this?"
"I think she did, because after that, I stopped seeing them."
"Right, and how old were you when they used to abuse you?" I asked him.
"I was only around five or six."
I paused for a moment and thought of how evil and horrible these people must have been. I knew they were now dead, but they had not really had justice brought to them. Although they spent four long years in prison, they deserved more than that.
"There is one more thing I need to go over with you, John," I said.
"I think I know what's coming," John said, almost laughing.
"Well, what was that bad thing you did in that house?"
"I'm telling you, I don't remember!"
I decided to leave it at that. Then John spoke again, which surprised me, because he did not usually speak until he was spoken to.
"Can I tell you something?" he said.
"What is it?" I asked, hoping and praying that this had something to do with the case.
"Every time I killed one of those boys, I thought of them. I imagined I was killing them."
"What makes you say that to me?" I asked him.
"I don't know. I just wanted to get it off my chest," he replied.
I did not reply to that. I left the interview room. I sat down. No-one else was around at the time, because they were off investigating more gang shootings. Suddenly, I started to cry. It was just a little whimper. It was probably because of the stress and the emotions associated with the case. The whole thing was so sad. After five minutes, I gathered my head together and carried on with my work.
Chapter 11
The next day, I went through each of the four case files once more, as I felt I had missed or completely overlooked something important. I looked at the case files as if I were restarting the investigation and none of this had happened. Therefore, I was able to look at all the facts separatel y. I picked out the main points from each file and read them aloud in my head:
"Josh Davis was seen at a friend's birthday party. After dancing, he apparently went outside for a cigarette, and no-one ever saw him again. There were thirty witnesses who say they have little memory of the night before. His body had been found in the middle of Minot forest, and he had been stabbed seven times. There were no witnesses, and no DNA evidence was collected."
I thought to myself, it's typical that nobody could hardly remember anything, because they were probably all drunk!
I then read the next case file in my head:
Steven Burck went
"Do you remember your aunt and uncle, Joseph and Monica?" I asked him
John shook his head.
"Perhaps you know them as Uncle and Aunt Doe, or something like that?"
"Well, there was an auntie and uncle I used to visit, in that farm house, but that was years ago," he replied.
"O.k., and who did you go with?" I said, with my notebook and pen ready.
"My mother used to take me. My father was rarely there. He used to work in distribution."
"Right, and what were these people like?" I asked him.
"I only went every so often, so I didn't really know them," he replied. John looked very uncomfortable when he said that.
"John, is there something you're not telling me?" I said, detecting his lie.
"No," said a very defensive John.
"There is. I know there is," I said. "Come on, John. You can talk to me."
"Well, there was this one time..."
"Go on," I said, eager for some sort of response.
"It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with the murders," he said.
"I think it does," I said, getting more and more desperate for him to say something useful.
"Well, one time, my auntie took my mother in the garden for a drink and a chat. I asked my uncle if I could have a drink, and because I didn't say please, he grabbed hold of my neck and forced me into the cupboard."
"That's horrible!" I cried, determined not to let my emotions get the better of me.
"I know. That went on for a few minutes. There were other times when the pair of them hit me."
"Did your mother find out about this?"
"I think she did, because after that, I stopped seeing them."
"Right, and how old were you when they used to abuse you?" I asked him.
"I was only around five or six."
I paused for a moment and thought of how evil and horrible these people must have been. I knew they were now dead, but they had not really had justice brought to them. Although they spent four long years in prison, they deserved more than that.
"There is one more thing I need to go over with you, John," I said.
"I think I know what's coming," John said, almost laughing.
"Well, what was that bad thing you did in that house?"
"I'm telling you, I don't remember!"
I decided to leave it at that. Then John spoke again, which surprised me, because he did not usually speak until he was spoken to.
"Can I tell you something?" he said.
"What is it?" I asked, hoping and praying that this had something to do with the case.
"Every time I killed one of those boys, I thought of them. I imagined I was killing them."
"What makes you say that to me?" I asked him.
"I don't know. I just wanted to get it off my chest," he replied.
I did not reply to that. I left the interview room. I sat down. No-one else was around at the time, because they were off investigating more gang shootings. Suddenly, I started to cry. It was just a little whimper. It was probably because of the stress and the emotions associated with the case. The whole thing was so sad. After five minutes, I gathered my head together and carried on with my work.
Chapter 11
The next day, I went through each of the four case files once more, as I felt I had missed or completely overlooked something important. I looked at the case files as if I were restarting the investigation and none of this had happened. Therefore, I was able to look at all the facts separatel y. I picked out the main points from each file and read them aloud in my head:
"Josh Davis was seen at a friend's birthday party. After dancing, he apparently went outside for a cigarette, and no-one ever saw him again. There were thirty witnesses who say they have little memory of the night before. His body had been found in the middle of Minot forest, and he had been stabbed seven times. There were no witnesses, and no DNA evidence was collected."
I thought to myself, it's typical that nobody could hardly remember anything, because they were probably all drunk!
I then read the next case file in my head:
Steven Burck went
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