It was 9:00 AM when we finally got to John Jones' house. He walked quickly, and I had to jog a little bit from time-to-time to keep up with him. When I spoke to him, he said nothing; just staring forward and walking quickly.
When we got to the house, he took a key out of his trouser pocket and unlocked the door. He left it open and dashed into the living room. Once I had stepped in, I closed the door behind me.
Of course, the living room looked the same as it did the last time I was here. John was taking off his overcoat - he threw it onto his chair and walked into another room. There were two doors almost side-by-side - one, on the right, was white and the other, on the left, was brown. John had stepped through the brown door. I followed.
The room in which I had stepped was a darker, more relaxed room. It was small, like a child's bedroom and there were three oak bookshelves on each wall of the room. On the bookshelves, there were many books, ranging from novels, to poetry and short story collections, to non-fiction biographies to novellas and novelettes.
John then went to the shelf which was placed on the longest wall - and pulled a book out from the shelf. Then, there was a very audible click. I saw the left-hand side of the book shelf come forward a little bit. John put the book back into the shelf and pulled the book shelf toward him, like a door. He stepped into the other room.
As I stepped in, I looked around. This room was even smaller; the walls were just cold brick, a single lamp on a small wooden desk in the centre of the room was the only light source of the room. There was then a A4 sized, leather-bound book placed on another, larger writing desk. There was no title or anything on this book.
John picked up the thick book, flipped it open to around half-way and began reading. I finally caught my breath and said, "This is a bit complex..."
"Can never be too complex," said John, turning away from me.
"What's the book?" I asked. However, in reply, John just tutted and then slammed the book shut.
He placed it back onto the writing desk and said, "Four."
"What?"
"Are you def? I said four!" He then left the room. I followed him, closing all the doors behind him.
When I got into the living room, I saw him sitting in his chair, his right leg crossed over his left. He was clearly deep in thought. I sat down on the sofa and looked at him. I wanted to say something to him, but I wasn't quiet sure what.
Finally, after a good few minutes, John said softly, "Since October, 2019 to now, there has been four mutilated murders in Durkham. Each one has the same injures - all of them have both knee caps snapped, all of them have their left forearm broken, their necks broken and some of their faces cut off. However, the first only had the forehead. The second, the forehead, the left side of the face. The third, most of the face was gone - as, I'm sure, you remember - then this new one, the fourth, had all of his face cut off."
"It's been just over a year, you'd think there'd be more deaths," I replied, my throat feeling dry.
"What makes you say that?" John asked, looking at me.
"Uh - well, in the past week there's been two."
"Yes. Good. But, the last two murders have been close to where you live. You might be a target." John Jones leaned forward, looking at me.
"Who were the other two?" I asked.
John sat back and said, "Well, one was an old woman, then the other-"
But I'd cut him off, saying; "The old woman in October 2019?"
"Yes."
"I knew her," I said. "Her name was Mrs. Harper. Friend of my mum's."
"You knew two out of four victims," said John, leaning back in his chair.
"Yeah, but-"
"Shut up, don't be an idiot, I know you didn't do it." He rolled his eyes and put his head back in the chair.
"No, well," I said for some reason. I just wanted to fill the space of silence. Maybe I just wanted the final say, my other, alive, ex-girlfriend used to tell me that.
"It's much more worse than that," John said after a few seconds, his eyes closed and his head still back. Before I could reply, he continued; "If you didn't kill them - which you didn't, look at you - then somebody is targeting you, knowing you would see them. Maybe it's a warning. Hopefully not, that would be boring and basic."
I swallowed, needing a drink.
"Who was the other to murders?" I asked, after a second to gather my thoughts. However, John made no reply for a while. He sat there, his head up, his eyes closed. He was playing with that small blue box had he had been in our last meeting.
Suddenly, he slammed the box into his trouser pocket, flicked his eyes open and lifted his head. John looked me dead in the eyes and said, "the second, after Mrs. Harper, was a Mr. Jim Holmes - middle-aged, lived in Durkham for three days before he died. The fourth, the one you just saw, was a Mr. David Bennett, a fifty-something man who was in Durkham for business - he arrived tomorrow."
"How did you know that personal stuff about the new victim?"
"Because I look with my eyes and my mind together, not separately," said John, annoyed.
"Right, well - what're we gonna do?" I asked. John was annoying me now; he was rude, but I knew he had good intentions, otherwise, why would he keep me at his house? Well, it was either for my safety or I was prey.
Once again, John looked away from me and stared at the floor. Then, slowly, he looked at me and said, "You're gonna have to stay here. We'll find the killer that way." John then got to his feet and walked into the room with the white door. I was going to get up and follow him, but he came through, gave me a can of Iron Brew, then sank back into his chair, cracking open his own drink. I sipped mine, but I was thirsty.
"You can stay here," said he, breaking the silence; "or you can go home. But, if you do go home, I can't guarantee your safety. You stay here, you won't die."
I looked at him. I was nervous now. Why would somebody want to kill me? Instead of saying this, however, I said, "Alright. Fine, I'll stay here. For how long?"
"Don't know yet."
"But I've got work."
"I'd quit that place anyway. I mean, it's boring and your boss is a dick."
"What? How-"
"How did I know? Well, I saw your bag. It didn't seem that heavy to you, but the weight of the bag would be heavy to somebody who wasn't used to it - the bag was being dragged down. But, what has this weight? Well, you put the bag down when you got here and the bag deflated, but there was a thick A4 shape in there. Clearly a document, but something that thick? Had to be an unpublished book, probably a novel. You read books and approve them to your boss. Your boss is a dick because you bought that unpublished book from home; he makes you read at home."
"Oh, right," I said, sipping my drink. I was surprised, but I didn't show it. I went to say something, but he cut me off.
"Everything confusing becomes simple when explained," he said. "Quit your job, it's bad. Nobody should work under a boss who's bad. Why d'you think I work without a boss?"
I nodded slowly.
"If you're bored read, watch TV or whatever. Order food or cook if you're hungry, I'm busy." He then stood up and went off to the book shelf room. I sat there, I already felt tired and it was only 9:15 AM. I got up and walked to the book shelf which was in this room. I picked up a small novella titled "THE TERROR OF THE MIND," by Richard Herd. I sat down and read for a while.
By mid-day, I had been reading and watching things on my phone when there was a knock on the door. I sat up. I was going to get up when the brown door opened and John rushed out. He opened the front door, sighed, and stepped back into the living room. The door shut and I saw a man with short black hair and a boring shirt and tie step into the living room.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi, I'm D.I Tyler," said the man, standing in the door way. John and D.I Tyler were looking down at me like I was a child.
"Right," I replied. I got to my feet.
"Okay, then," said John and flopped down into his chair.
"You're Max Laidlaw?"
"Yeah."
"I was just on the crime scene you came across and I was told that you were there, you'd given a statement, then you'd left with Mr Jones."
"Yes."
"Right, well I need to take you down to the station to have a few words before you can leave police custody Mr Laidlaw." I noticed he sounded a little bit annoyed. I looked a John - who had his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose - then I looked at D.I Tyler.
"Well, I'd rather not," said I. "Is there good reason?"
"Yes, we think so."
"No, you don't," said John, standing to my side.
"Sorry?" D.I Tyler said, sounding fed up.
"You don't think. Ever. You think Max is a suspect in this because he came across the last two suspects. But that's stupid-"
"No, I don't think-"
"I know."
"I don't think he's a suspect, Mr. Jones."
"You're stupid, I'm not. You clearly do. Otherwise, why would you be here?"
"We need a statement."
"I already gave you one," I said. I was getting annoyed now.
"Yes, but-"
"Yes but nothing," John cut it in; "You don't know anything, Tyler. He's the easiest person to go for, so you go for him."
"No, that's not it at all."
"I said I'm not an idiot." It would be safe to say that John Jones sounded very angry now. I wasn't too far behind him.
"Well then," said Tyler, "How do you know he didn't do it?"
"It's obvious," said John. "I mean, look at him. He isn't a killer; he doesn't have the body strength to restrain these people, nor does he have the strength to break the bones that were broken, nor does he have that equipment."
"And how can you possibly know that?" Tyler said.
"I'm not an idiot," said John once more.
For a few moments, the two stood there, their eyes locked in battle. Then, D.I Tyler looked at me and said, "John, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of-" The rest I won't write because, what would be the point? I tried to stop this, but he threatened to restrain me. As the D.I put the cuffs around my wrists, John looked at me and said, "Don't worry. I will you get you out of this." Then, the D.I led my out of the house and into his car.
As we drove away, I looked back and saw John standing in the doorway, looking at the car with his hands in his pockets.