The Day of Legion by Craig Taylor Page A

folded in half, on John’s lap.
    “John Hansen?” the detective asked.
    Before he could confirm, deny or protest the officer continued.
    “That there is a warrant to search your house. You are detained pursuant to that warrant. Any interference by you or refusal to cooperate will be deemed to be obstruction and you will be charged accordingly. Do you understand?”
    “What the hell is this abo...”
    He was interrupted. “Do you understand?”
    “Yes,” he replied. “I understand what you just said, but I don’t understand what this is all about. I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
    The detective ignored him and wrote something in a black notebook. John looked at the other officer. He stared back at John, frowning constantly, so he didn’t ask him any questions.
    The detective finally stopped writing in his notebook and looked at him. He could hear the noises of a thorough search of the apartment. John could hear them talking, but nothing was clear.
    “Do you know Rachael Lewis?” the detective asked.
    John nodded. “Yes, we met last night at a café.”
    It was only then he realized she wasn’t there in the room.
    “Where is she?” John asked. “Is she okay?”
    The detective stared at him, grim faced, aggressive. “I don’t know. Where is she, John?” he asked. “Tell me about last night.”
    “Can you tell me what this is about?” John asked again.
    The detective ignored him, instead listening as another detective in a suit entered the room and whispered in his ear. The first detective nodded as he listened, not once looking at John.
    “Tell me about last night, John, where you met, what happened when you met Rachael,” he finally said, completely ignoring the fact John had just asked him a question.
    John relented and decided to cooperate, hoping if he did they would explain why they had barged into his house with a search warrant.
    “Okay,” he began, watching as the detective retrieved the notebook from his pocket and started to write again. “I went to a café down on the waterfront with my neighbor, Patrick. We had dinner and a few drinks and met a group of women, one of whom was Rachael. We got on well, had a few more drinks then came back here and...”
    “And what?” the detective asked.
    “We had sex, okay?”
    “Then what happened?”
    John shook his head. “We fell asleep. I woke up, she’s gone and you idiots are kicking my door in. Now, tell me what’s going on or I’m calling my lawyer.”
    The detective ignored the last remark and continued writing. John felt a little deflated. He had hoped the request for a lawyer would have compelled them to give him some information, but he guessed that’s how it was on television, not real life.
    He looked out the open door and watched as a uniformed officer walked past with John’s laptop in gloved hands and placed it in a brown cardboard box marked ‘evidence.’
    “Hey, that computer is my work computer and I need it this weekend and on Monday,” he protested.
    The detective looked up from his notebook. “The warrant covers all computers in the house.” He continued writing, looking at his watch a few times and noting the time.
    Without a word, the detective pulled a photo out of his inside jacket pocket and held it in front of John’s face. He reeled back in horror.
    “What the fuck are you...?”
    “This is your work!” the detective shouted. “We have the evidence. You killed Rachael Lewis, we don’t know why, but why did you take all those photographs and then leave them all over the body? You sick bastard!”
    John couldn’t breathe. The detective threw the photo onto his lap on top of the search warrant. It landed face up. Tension in his head began to build. He looked at the photograph again.
    It showed Rachael, pale-skinned with blue lips and eyelids. Her eyes were red and she had ligature marks around her neck. Her eyes were partly open, completely devoid of the sparkle and life she had a few hours ago.