Whisper For The Reaper, Jack Gatland [good books for high schoolers txt] 📗

he asked, shaking his head at the reply.

‘Well you, sir, can go to hell,’ he snapped, before slamming the phone back down, and staring at it.

It looked like Karl Schnitter, or Wilhelm Müller, or whatever his damned name was, had played his last card.

The Americans were coming.

26

Change Of Plans

It was close to ten pm when Anjli and Billy arrived at Declan’s house. His Audi was in the driveway which meant that he’d returned from Maidenhead. Passing it, Anjli hoped that back home now, he’d be more likely to listen to reason.

‘I’m telling you, something’s wrong,’ Anjli said as they walked up to the door. ‘You don’t just close down something that’s as personal—‘

‘Anj,’ Billy interrupted, pointing at the front door to the house; it was ajar. Pushing it gently, Billy leaned in, looking through the doorway and into the house. The lights were off. It was deathly quiet.

‘Declan?’ He said loudly, walking in. ‘Jess?’

Anjli, following, turned the lights on, and the two detectives stopped.

The living room looked like a fight had occurred; books and magazines were scattered on the floor, and a carving knife was on the carpet near the kitchen door, next to a discarded, empty syringe.

‘Call it in.’ Anjli said softly. ‘We need forensics here right now.’

PC Morten De’Geer was in the break room when DCI Freeman entered. He wasn’t making himself a hot drink, but just sitting on a chair, staring at what looked to be a local newspaper, currently opened on a middle page.

‘Busy week,’ Freeman said conversationally, but De’Geer didn’t reply to this. Turning, Freeman watched the police officer for a moment before continuing.

‘Something you wish to say?’

‘No, sir,’ De’Geer replied sadly. ‘Just considering my place in the department.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Freeman asked. De’Geer looked up at him.

‘Do you remember when I first met you?’ he replied. ‘When I decided more than anything that I wanted to be a police officer?’

‘I do,’ Freeman walked to the table sitting down. ‘It was in the campsite. Craig Randall. You were what, seven?’

‘Twelve,’ De’Geer smiled at the dig. ‘I was seeing Ellie Randall at the time. Her parents had taken her away from the crime scene, but I wanted to see what had happened. You came out of the woods holding a card in your hand. It was in a baggie and I didn’t know what it was, but I do now.’

‘A Red Reaper.’

De’Geer nodded. ‘Do you remember what you said to me?’

‘You asked me what was happening,’ Freeman remembered, looking across the room, avoiding De’Geer’s gaze. ‘I said I couldn’t tell you. Then you asked if I was going to catch who did this.’

‘And you said to me?’

‘I said that sometimes we couldn’t catch the criminal, but I’d make sure that justice was served, no matter what.’ Freeman sighed as he leaned back, looking at the lights embedded into the ceiling. ‘I was a little more hot-headed in those days,’ he continued. ‘A little more optimistic.’

‘You were passionate,’ De’Geer added. ‘You were a believer that no matter what, you would find the culprit. But he never was. And Craig Randall was classed as a suicide.’

‘That wasn’t me,’ Freeman replied angrily. ‘You can’t put that on me or Patrick. We fought to keep the case open, but the powers that be felt that this would only keep the story out in the open for longer.’

He looked to the table. ‘He did to me what I just did to Declan,’ he muttered.

‘Yes,’ De’Geer replied.

‘Look, I’m as pissed about it as you are,’ Freeman snapped. ‘The bloody Reaper has been a chain around my neck for decades. But we have no evidence!’

‘I visited Ellie Randall again this evening,’ De’Geer stated softly. ‘I took this newspaper with me. It’s a Maidenhead Advertiser from 2013. A Comic Relief special.’ He looked up to Freeman. ‘We have them all in the archives. I asked her to look through it, see if anyone in it was familiar.’ Now he pointed to the pages that were open on the table. ‘She stopped at this.’

Freeman looked at the article that De’Geer was showing. It was an article about local companies holding events for Comic Relief, but the photograph used was clear and visible; a photo of a garage, the mechanics in fancy dress and smiling.

Front and centre was a younger Karl Schnitter.

‘She said that this was the man that Craig was with in the woods,’ De’Geer stated. ‘I didn’t lead her to this, she picked it up herself. And they took this less than a year after Craig’s death.’

Freeman stared at the photo as he spoke. ‘A twelve-year-old child, at a distance, and over ten years ago,’ he said. ‘This wouldn’t even reach court, especially now we know Schnitter is Müller. By this time tomorrow he’ll be somewhere else, under a name provided by our own taxes.’

‘Sometimes we can’t catch the criminal, but don’t worry lad, I’ll make sure that justice is served, no matter what,’ De’Geer almost spat the words. ‘That’s what you said to me. Word for word. I never forgot it.’

Freeman sat silent for a moment.

‘Karl Schnitter is Wilhelm Müller,’ he muttered. ‘But that’s not enough to convict him of murder. And to ensure justice is served here smacks of vigilantism, not police work.’

‘As you just said sir, by tomorrow Karl and Ilse will be gone,’ De’Geer rose from the table, closing the newspaper up as he did so. ‘They’ll have escaped, again, and we’ll be telling the press that a good German police officer killed a teenager and then took his own life.’

‘There’s more to this,’ Freeman muttered. ‘Higher up the chain. Müller is untouchable.’

‘And Ilse?’ De’Geer stopped at the door, looking in. At no reply from his DCI, he smiled.

‘Thought as much, sir,’ he said as he left.

DCI Freeman sat at the table, staring down at the newspaper. There was nothing he could do about Karl Schnitter. He’d outplayed everyone, and to try anything would just bring down a world of administrational