The Games We Play, page 30
“Okay, see you then.” I pressed the button on the phone and ended the call.
“Honey, let’s go, please.” Linda looked so shocked and heartbroken. Jane had been her best friend for the last fifteen years.
I walked around the table and helped Linda to her feet. She had lost all her strength. She was sobbing now as we walked to the front desk to pay. Everyone was staring at us as we walked past them—I felt like telling them all to fuck off.
The perfect end to a perfect evening.
Chapter 94
On the way home, I told Linda that the police thought Pete had killed Jane. She couldn’t process the information. She kept repeating, “I don’t understand,” between periods of sobbing. She got into bed as soon as we got home. She kept hoping it was all some kind of mistake—a misunderstanding—but I knew it wasn’t. Linda fell asleep in my arms that night, crying herself to sleep. She had so many questions.
Only I have the answers.
Chapter 95
When I woke that morning, Linda still clutched onto me tightly. I hadn’t slept very well. Linda had nightmares all night, waking me multiple times.
I rested my head on the pillow and lay staring at the ceiling.
Wow. What a night.
So much had happened. I wondered how today would play out. I didn’t feel like getting up just yet, enjoying the sense of control I had when Linda felt so vulnerable, clinging to me for support.
I wasn’t sure how long we lay there, Linda’s head resting on my chest. My mind drifted in and out of sleep, but I was brought back to reality when Linda woke up. Her breathing suddenly changed, and she shifted away from me. She lifted her head and stared directly at me. Her face was swollen from crying, like someone had punched her.
“Did it really happen?” she asked, struggling to get the words out.
I nodded.
She screwed up her face and lay her head back down on my chest, crying. I could feel her body heaving and getting warmer as the tears fell on my skin and rolled down to the sheets. I held her tighter and told her everything would be okay.
Chapter 96
At 8am, I called Lisa and told her I wouldn’t be coming in to work today. It seemed she already knew something terrible had happened to Pete and Jane. She said she would cancel my meetings. I said I would be in tomorrow or maybe later today.
We had breakfast. Linda had toast, then rushed to the bathroom to throw up. A little while later, we dressed and drove to the police station. Linda needed answers.
The police station wasn’t very far from where Pete and Jane lived. When we arrived, I parked near the front and helped Linda out of the car. She hadn’t stopped crying yet. We entered through the big wooden doors to the station, turned right and approached the counter where an old, overweight man in a police uniform sat behind the desk.
“Excuse me, we’re here to see Inspector Goodwin,” I said.
“Who may I say is here?” he responded, without looking up from the computer screen.
“David Sinclair. He’s expecting us.”
He still didn’t look up. I noticed that he was wearing a small headset, and a moment later, he spoke into the tiny microphone in front of his lips. “David Sinclair here to see you…” he said. He listened to the response and then looked my way. “He’ll be with you in a minute. Please take a seat.”
I took Linda’s hand and led her away to the wooden benches against the wall. We sat and waited. The bench felt very cold, but Linda didn’t seem to mind. She leaned forward and continued crying. The sound of her crying had changed to a raspy, low moan. I placed my arm around her and rubbed her back. She turned and looked up at me. I smiled at her empathetically, wiping away a tear with my other hand. She didn’t return my smile.
We only waited about a minute before a tall black man walked through the door. He was a good-looking, well-built guy in his thirties with a shaved head and beard. I stood to greet him.
“David?” he asked as he got closer.
“Yes. Inspector Goodwin?” I asked and put my hand out to shake his.
“Please, call me Andy,” he said, shaking my hand. He had a solid grip.
Imagine if he knew who he had in his clutches right now.
“This is my fiancée, Linda,” I said, turning toward her.
Andy offered his hand—she took it. She seemed a bit shy or maybe embarrassed because she had been crying.
“Please follow me,” he said, turning. We followed him into the depths of the police station, walking past desks and small offices occupied by other police officers. The phones constantly rang, people were talking or shouting, and keyboards were clacking. I wondered how anyone could get work done in this place.
We eventually reached his desk, where he gestured to two chairs. Linda and I sat down.
“I’m very sorry to have asked you to come down here this morning, but we have so many questions. We were hoping you could help us answer some. This really is a mess.”
Linda finally spoke. “Please tell us what happened.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what we found,” he began.
This was going to be interesting.
“We received a call at about seven forty-five last night from a neighbour who heard a gunshot from the house. We sent a squad car right away. The officer knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he inspected the property, looked through a bedroom window and saw someone lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. He broke the door down and entered the house, where he found the bodies of both Jane and Pete.”
Linda had started crying again. This time, she was sobbing uncontrollably.
“I know this must be hard for you. I’m terribly sorry to tell you all this.” He handed Linda a tissue from the box on his desk. “From what we found, it seems like Pete murdered Jane and then shot himself.”
“How did she die?” Linda asked.
Inspector Goodwin wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He looked at me and I nodded, letting him know it was okay to tell her.
“She was cut up very badly, Miss…” he said sympathetically and stopped, not going into any detail, which was understandable. “Look,” he said. “This murder was especially violent—in ways we don’t see often. And there are so many things we need to follow up on, and we need to wait for the forensics team to finish what they’re doing. But as I said, what concerns me the most is the nature of the killing.”
Here we go.
“Jane was killed in the same violent way as a few other recent victims have been murdered… including Janette Gibson.”
There it is.
He had laid it out. The police had made the connection, and now the pieces would all fall into place.
“This is still highly confidential. Please don’t talk to the media just yet,” he asked.
“Do you think Pete killed the Gibson girl?” I asked.
“No. I’m not saying that at all. I am saying that Jane seems to have been killed similarly to the Gibson girl,” he clarified.
“But I thought they caught the guy who killed her?” I said.
“Oh, we have. I’m not saying that Pete killed Janette Gibson. All I’m saying is Jane was killed the same way. It might be that he walked in on the murderer—we just don’t know. The question I have for you is this: did you notice Pete exhibiting any unusual interest in the Eye Spy killings?”
I thought about the question for a moment before answering. “No, nothing unusual. To tell you the truth, we didn’t speak much about it.”
“Did you notice any unusual behaviour lately?” he asked.
“Nope. Pete seemed his normal self,” I said.
“We had dinner the other day at our place. Both seemed the same as usual,” Linda said quietly between sobs.
“Okay,” he said. I imagined Inspector Andy Goodwin was very confused and unsure about it all. I could see he was unable to make sense of everything. “I don’t have any other questions right now, but here’s my card. If you think of anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, please give me a call.”
“We will,” I said.
I could tell he didn’t like something about this. Something was off. “If you remember anything, please call me immediately,” he reiterated.
“It feels to me like you’re suspecting Pete of killing the Gibson girl. I don’t understand why, Inspector. You don’t even know for sure that Pete killed Jane,” I said.
“Well, I got a call from another inspector last night when he heard about the killing. He told me there were many things he didn’t like about Norman Kowalski’s confession. It sounds like Norman might be a delusional schizophrenic. We just don’t know at this stage.”
“So you’re saying you think Pete did it?” I pretended to be bewildered, unable to process what he was telling me. “Andy, I have no idea what sick fucker would do the things you’ve described, but I do know there is no way Pete killed any of those people.” I stood up to drill my point home, “No fucking way!” I shouted.
Linda looked up at me as I stood out of my chair. She seemed as shocked as I was that Pete was a suspect in the Eye Spy killings. She stood up a moment later and took my hand in hers.
“I’m sorry, David. I can only go on what I have, and at the moment, that’s what it looks like.”
“Well, I’m telling you that Pete would never hurt another soul. Maybe he was murdered. Maybe someone else killed Jane. Maybe Kowalski isn’t the Eye Spy Killer and the real murderer is still out there! Have you even thought about that?” I asked, still playing the part of the best friend.
“David, please calm down. I have not been working on the Eye Spy case. I don’t have answers to any of those questions but believe me, we won’t stop until we figure this all out. I can tell you there was no sign of forced entry to the Thompson residence.” It was clear he knew we weren’t happy with the answers he gave us. “We are still investigating. I’ll let you know if anything develops.”
I stared into the detective’s eyes. I wanted to seem as pissed off, angry, and shocked as possible. He looked away first.
“Please, take my card,” he offered again.
I looked back at him and took the card out of his hand. We left without saying another word, and I wondered what Linda was thinking.
Chapter 97
I decided to go into the office that afternoon—I had some work to do. Linda climbed back into bed and tried to sleep. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed three police cars parked near the entrance to the building. I imagined it had something to do with Pete.
Perfect.
I took the elevator up to my office. Lisa greeted me as I entered. She had heard the rumours. She told me how sorry she was to hear about what happened and what a terrible thing it was. I agreed with her and walked into my office. I closed the door and sat down at my desk.
After an hour of replying to emails, Lisa buzzed me. “There’s a policeman here to see you.”
Already? He’s good, I thought. “Please show him in.”
A moment later, the door opened, and Inspector Mike Burrows entered. I recognised him from the news.
“Detective… I mean, Inspector, what can I do for you?” I asked.
“Hi David, I’m Mike. Good to meet you.”
We shook hands. Inspector Burrows took a seat.
“I assume you’re here to talk about Pete?”
“Yes. As Inspector Goodwin indicated to you, there seemed to be a vague connection between Jane Thompson’s murder and the murder of Janette Gibson.”
The game was finally coming to an end. It was a strange feeling. On one hand, I felt relieved. On the other, sad.
“I’ve just come from Mr Thompson’s office. It seems he’s been hiding a dark secret.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We found four small bottles containing the human eyes of what we think are four people. We are not sure yet, but we have eight eyes. It might, of course, be more than four people, but we’re assuming at this stage.”
I didn’t say anything. I wanted to look shocked and disbelieving.
“I think your friend was the Eye Spy Killer, David. I think Norman Kowalski is lying.”
Chapter 98
Linda never did learn the truth. She was satisfied with the answers she was given, but she never really understood. Who would?
The weeks that followed were eventful. Norman Kowalski was stabbed and then beat to death a day before he was scheduled to be transferred to a mental facility.
After further investigations, it was proven that the eyes found in Pete’s office did belong to five people. The victims were identified as Janette Gibson, the bum in the park, and the guy under the bridge—the fourth bottle from the fridge was from an unknown victim. The fifth set of eyes was found in a container in one of his desk drawers. The dead homeless man in an alley in Soho was also linked to the Eye Spy Killer. They found his eyes in a potato chip bag in Pete’s car.
A guy walking his dog in Denham Country Park discovered Tina’s body three weeks later. Tests revealed that the fourth set of eyes belonged to her, and then also linked to the blood on Pete’s body. Semen, retrieved under the decaying innards found next to Tina, presumed leaked from a condom, matched Pete’s DNA. Jane’s autopsy matched the same DNA. It was thought he had sex with her after he’d killed and mutilated her. The duct tape used in the murder of Tina was found under the seat in Jane’s car, as well as a bottle of chloroform with Pete’s fingerprints. The forensic team discovered large amounts of Tina’s blood in the boot and the front driver’s seat.
The disappearance of Pete’s assistant, Evelyn, rang warning bells. The forensic team covered every inch of Pete’s office, home, and both cars. Traces of blood were found in the shower and surrounding areas of the bathroom in Pete’s office. The blood was linked to Evelyn through DNA—so was the fifth set of eyes. They never found her body.
Our parents arrived from the States in the days after Pete and Jane died, just before Christmas. All the celebrations were cancelled; we didn’t even open any presents. It took Linda a long time to accept what had happened. All the evidence pointed to Pete being a cold-hearted serial killer. It was difficult for her to believe. We had known Pete and Jane for years, and Linda missed her best friend terribly.
We married a few months later, which Linda insisted on—she said it would help her move on with her life. She’s now expecting our first child.
Chapter 99
The games I engage in have yet to reach their conclusion, as there are still numerous individuals out there waiting to be part of my intricate play. The rules, fluid and subject are crafted in the moment and can be shattered at will, but caution is paramount when one chooses to do so. Most participants remain blissfully ignorant of the game enveloping them; a fact inconsequential to the game itself but impactful to those unfortunate souls who become casualties along the journey. The world serves as my expansive playground.
Ultimately, this game demands only one prerequisite: a lack of conscience. Success is attainable solely by meeting this singular requirement. I meet it with certainty. In the end, I always emerge the victor.
Alistair B. Hayward, The Games We Play
