What was eating the people of Hexton city? Surely there were maggots, or at the very least rats, chewing away at the wires and electric cables hundreds of feet below them? Suddenly nobody could think of a caption.
Rigamortis smart phone camera shutters froze up in the frosty chill. Minds filled with cobwebs and clouds.
The King's Disease Pandemic had shut down society, crushed the economy, and the decay sat like mildew over every surface. It was as though some all encompassing shadow had wrestled with the daylight, and those piercing pixels of unnatural glow contained a noticeable absence of hope. Like the eyes of some abhorrent fly. Digital ad campaigns of smiling faces didn't ring true somehow. What we saw were pale ghosts in medical masks trekking angular grey corners, along futile trajectories, defined by obsolete wires, and gnarled telegraph poles.
I've been rueing coming into work lately, pending near dread, stifling cold sighs --as I pull into the paid parking bay every morning. Steam bursts of miserable breath. Having to force a palatable grin in the rear view mirror, a workers mask.
Hope my audience don't paint a mental picture of me in their mind as one of those fat, resentful office workers who cram up city trams and trains with their morose, self hating faces, day in...day..out...
I love my job as a journalist at the Hexton Herald, this city always creates work, with its streets filled with vice and its lust for fame, not afraid to use a knife to get what it wants. But certain twists in office politics have of late.... put a strain... on my business relationships, and an end to some of my professional ambitions.
Truth be told, it's been absolutely toxic at work. It started when the senior editor Harry Cagliose slipped a recommendation for a promotion to my colleague Sid Palermo. The promotion that I had been gunning for over eight months.
Now every day I have to bite my tongue as that young, arrogant cock sucker Palermo, five years my junior, sits in the spacious office directly in front of me. His name engraved on a gold plate, 'fuck cunt'. That should've been my name! Should've read "Kylo Thigler, award winning crime journalist".
Instead I have to listen to that dog Palermo's quips about me 'making the bigtime someday' as he passes my desk, and his nauseating tips on how I could improve my writing, if I just simplified 'the edges'. There's been a couple of days when i've had to clear hold myself back from smacking that smarmy prick bareface in the jaw. Like the day he pulled apart my article on King's Disease. Weeks of painstaking research for that little shit storm to call my thesis 'structurally weak'. The breaking research I helped put forward in that article is still being repeated in medical circles in the fight against that horrible contagion, but that chip-guzzling seagull has the nerve to critique my prose style? Bottling my rage inside, it's there from the moment I wake up in the morning, these days, boiling and seething in my dreams. Till I clock off at night.
Terse, jammed in traffic, road rage, in a sea of scarlet brake lights.
Even worse because I have to keep it a secret from my beautiful and amazingly supportive girlfriend Ciara. Love you babe. I've been talking up this promotion at home for so long now, and truth is i'm embarassed as hell. Black holes of silence have become the norm as Ciara cooks dinner of a night, my tongue supressed in agony from this daily shame.
This blog is my way of venting i suppose... The most unfair part of it all is, in the bottom of my sunken heart, I kind of know Cagliose was right to put Palermo forward for the role. I've had one too many stuff ups in the last few months.
First, there was the scandal with that politician on the boat, i'd taken the China angle--- just 24 hours prior to the whole media focus shifting to the incompetence of our own government over jurisdiction. Then there was the doomsday economics finance boss I interviewed who turned out to be a fraud.
These flaws don't neccesarily overshadow my achievements in the long run, but if Cagliose had of given me the promotion now, it would have looked like he was rewarding failure.
Just consider, Mr Cagliose... Kylo Thigler, who helped the police capture the Windslow strangler? Huh? What about Kylo Thigler, the star journalist who published the letters from disgraced MP, Carl Thunkston which lead to a conviction? Where's his goddamned promotion? Wheres his column? How is it...that all our past achievements ...are suddenly not worth anything next to a few momentary lapses of judgement?
Now Sid Palermo had a cushy desk, a pay rise, and his own editorial column -- to fill up with his vacuous right wing opinions and thinly veiled anti semetic conspiracy theories. While my articles are pushing page 9, fighting for a top bar headline-- or a double picture sideline.
---You know the thing that eats me up the most though.... is that right now i've got the story of a lifetime right in my grasp. With my own column I could be sending it straight to an audience, but atm I cant even get Cagliose to publish my leads. This blog is the only route I have to get the story out there. What a goddamned story though!!
I dont think anything has ever shaken me up in the way "The Social Media Slayings" have. Chills run down my back bone even thinking over the latest developments. I coined that name myself. You like it? Some outlets are still running with the 'South City Murders' or the 'Butcher of Moonsmoth'. Its all so fresh. So awful.. I need to lay it all out here--- get my head in order somehow...
Need to start somewhere, to get that train of thought rolling. Thinking over yesterday at the office.
I walked through the automatic doors, tipping my Angels FC cap to Sujeev, the Indian concierge and shuffled past the kitchen, where a bunch of journo savages were already clustered around the water cooler, spamming each other with generic newsfeed outrage. Bill Macanerny, that fat fuck, lifted up his multiple chins with a smug cluster of brown capped teeth;
'Too bad about last night Thigler' he sneered.
I tried my best to acknowledge Bill without encouraging him; 'The game? Yeah...'
'Not just a loss. 87 to 31 ----Moonsmoth Megafauna beats the Angels!!! I'd say that was a flogging. And where are Moonsmoth on the ladder? 9th?'
'Well... three of our star players are out on injuries. Not to make excuses but..'
'--Sounds like that's exactly what your doing..' MCanerny scoffed, like he was stuffing his face with a sandwich of syllables...
'Ha! Well... thats rich coming from a Dingoes fan. What was with your coach Reggie Phipps trying to blame the holding the ball rule?... and the new 6-6-5 player positions on their loss last week?'
'Phippsy speaks the truth Thiggs. The game has become a joke--'
'Yeah.. well ...we will see you in round 8---' I flung as I veered away towards my desk. Fuck I hated Macanerny, that smug prick.
Paulina and Mark Scaife were flirtatiously chatting near the podium by the printers, and Scaife scrunched a piece of paper from something he had just photocopied, tossing it over into my waste paper bin, which rolled around the rim before going in.
'Magic Mark!' Scaife accoladed himself, '---If you got a few shots like that in Thigler-- you might just make the team!'
'How about you keep your rubbish in your own allocated bin---' I replied bitterly..
I looked at Scaifes chiseled jaw and guy smiley hair cut and gagged.
'I was talking about your writing KT. You've missed a few lately, wouldnt you say?' Scaife mocked.
I could see the pointy face of Sid Palermo snickering in his luxurious office, clearly overhearing the conversation.
'So was I Scaifey! I've seen the rubbish sports 'think pieces' you churn out. Nothing to boast about. Bin is the right place for 'em!'
'Well at least I got my own column---' Scaife larked, 'Maybe its time to give up on being a journo and join the pleb bloggosphere hey Thigler?'
(Scaife deserves no credit, but that dig was actually the catylyst to me starting this blog, believe it or not)
Paulina interjected; 'Don't be such a dick Mark. You know I read that article you wrote on King's disease Kylo, and I have to say the research was astounding.'
(Well it was nice to hear somebody say it)
Scaife rolled his eyes in a derogatory way and noted; 'Ok. Enough of this verbal felatio. Meanwhile some of us actually have work to do around here, cya lovers---' before high tailing it.
Paulina blinked flirtatiously.
I sat down, dropping my bag in a fluster and Paulina came and sat on the edge of my desk.
'By the way---' Paulina whispered, 'Rumour has it your sitting on something pretty juicy with those southern city murders---'
I smiled; 'It's a story and a half, and i've got inside information... but how did you know about it?'
She smiled, and raised her thigh over her left leg revealing her fishnets. Her trendy tuft of pink hair on her fringe fell over her nose. I assured myself I wasnt attracted to her---
---after all, I couldn't be happier with Ciara.
'Gossip spreads as fast as King's disease around here. You know there was an outbreak in the capital over night. This shit is making me paranoid.'
'The world is a mad, sick place' I said, 'But dont worry, after King's disease clears up it will be some other damned thing.'
'So whats up with these murders anyway?' Paulina asked surreptitiously, 'You know, Ella and I are hosting a weekly True Crime podcast and its getting a pretty decent audience. You should come do an episode on the South City butcher.'
'Maybe.' I said, wrapping up the conversation and looking busy, I could see my editor Harry Cagliose eyeing me dissaprovingly from his corner office.
(Of course that would never fly, going on Paulina's podcast.) Ciara would absolutely hate it. I told her everything when it came to Paulina, because I felt guilty, (that whole attractive co worker thing). I didnt have an unfaithful bone in my body, believe me---but i knew the whole idea of it triggered Ciara's jealousy.
I could see my friend and colleague Raoul typing dilligently in the far corner of the room. I waited till I caught his eye and gave a subtle wave. He extended his finger and mimed a pistol trigger clicking noise. I liked Raoul. It was no secret Cagliose had hired him as part of his compulsory diversity quota. He was one of the three brown skinned people on the Hexton Herald newsfloor, among two Asians and a Sudanese guy in IT-- that was our claim to multiculturalism. Cagliose was old school, and if his hands weren't tied... the whole damn office would be Coon cheese on white bread. (Innapropriate comment attached to the brand of cheese, if you know what I mean.)
Swiveling in my chair, I shuffled the mouse, which powered on my computer monitor. My 'Moment' account was open, and a conversation between Sid Palermo and Mark Scaife was visible, in which they were clearly mocking me. It was a picture of our augmented 'Office Pet'. The virtual office pet 'Chinky', pouting and sitting longingly in the corner next to Palermo in his cushy chair. The caption read 'Now every dog wants a high chair'. Clearly a reference to me ....Scaife had commented something about picking on Chinky and this being 'cruelty to animals'. Was I being paranoid? No they were definitely making a joke about me. I thought seriously about fighting back.
Palermo posted more photos of himself, posing with Chinky the virtual dog, and Sue from finance had commented 'Aw..i think he likes you Sid'.
I had to supress the urge to comment below--- 'Even Hitler had a dog that liked him'... knowing it would come across as bitter.
Raoul had obviously noticed my reactions because he had PM'd me 'Ignore those twerps it's not worth it'. God, had I become that bullied nerd, who's only defenders were other outcasts and minorities? Get your shit together Kylo.
Cagliose opened his door and I heard my name echo through the glass hallway 'Thigler!!! Get your arse in here!', my neck cramped up from stress and I sent Raoul a face-palm-emoji of acknowledgment.
As I walked the green mile to Harry's office, I passed four workers gathered around an empty space looking through their phones at the augmented 'Office Pet' space. (It was pretty incredible software, allowing a living pet, like a VR tamagochi, to inhabit one's workspace ....to watch their unique virtual pet grow and play around their feet as they worked). PBS had made billions from the program worldwide. It had been Cagliose's sketchy input to call the dog 'Chinky' because it was a Chinese Blood Hound. Disgraceful racism, typical of Cagliose, and unwillingly tolerated because of his financial pulling power.
Harry had his head facing down to his knees as I entered his office. His hand swirled in a kind of 'sit down' gesture, and shortly I realised he was typing something on his phone...
When Harry's head returned, it was crowned with an unexpected smile. He held his phone up to me and glowed; 'Have you seen this?' His phone was open to his Moment account, which displayed a meme, related to the spread of King's disease on the New Ireland state border- which had notoriously been carried through cross border prostitution rings. The meme read 'Travelling interstate? Wear protection---' and had an image of a dumb grinning man holding up a medical mask in one hand and a condom in the other hand. Harry laughed a disgusting belly laugh. I tried to fein a smile.
Suddenly his face turned serious again; 'You know I get harassed daily for expansions on your King's Disease research.'
'Oh', I said with some surprise, 'You want me to write another article on the virus?'
Harry pressed a button on his desk remote which closed his office windows and activated multicoloured hyperlights...
'----Cant stand all this liberal Nanny state hogwash', Harry moaned, 'Couple of old people die of the flu and now we all have to adhere to restrictions. Its worse than communist China in this state'.
'Ill take that as a no---' I replied with a tone of cringe.
'Times are changing Thigler, and the rate we are going, liberal thugs like PM Dufferty are going to seize control of the airwaves. The truth will be a thing of the past. Good people will be silenced by politically correct do-gooders and the Herald will be full of islamofascist darkies like your friend Raoul. The whole office will be Sanjeet, Mohomet, Sergio...'
I tried not to roll my eyes as Cagliose flowed into his inevitable rant--
'--But I wont willingly surrender to them Thigler. You hear me? Ill die before they change the bathrooms to unisex to satisfy some LG...TQ...SM... transgender agenda-- for the gay vegan crusade, for keto diets of Kale, Kambucha.... and Kumbaya -- Screw Dictator Dufferty...people have forgotten what journalism is about. The press has never been an outlet for moral change. Its candy. Its outrage. Its calculated horror to spoonfeed the masses. Get it? Now we need a big story that gets people eating out of the palm of our hands. So....What you got for me Thigler?'
'Harry, that's what i've been trying to tell you.' I hastened to reply, 'I believe the story i'm chasing is going to be the media spectacle of the century.'
'This Moonsmoth Butcher thing? Let me tell you something about Hexton city Thigler, every damn week there's a murder, two rapes and ten burglaries and they barely make a splash in the cesspool of depravity that is the daily news. So tell me ...why this murder is going to have any more staying power than the nice little old lady who got gunned down in West Brooklyn yesterday by Sudanese gangbangers?'
'Im telling you Harry, the circus is just about to come in on this one. Cops are as we speak-- linking two other murders to the Moonsmoth case. Its gearing up to be Hexton's worst serial killing and everything is being instigated through the Moment app. The police have a suspect the'yre interviewing .....and.... they may even have DNA evidence!! Picture it.... the trial of the century... 'The Social Media Killings'. Are we really safe in the world of new technology?----'
'Well its exploitative,' Harry mused, 'Ill give you that KT. People will lap that up... already terrified of technology and themselves. Only thing is...there's no ACTUAL evidence the murders are linked.... we take a gamble on that, then the police find the separate perpetrators..... meanwhile we look like bloody idiots!'
'They're linked Harry--- and I can prove it. Just give me a chance on this, I can show you the research..'
'Sorry Kylo. Not without some solid evidence. Get me a wrap up on King's disease. Especially in relation to this border contagion. On my desk tomorrow...'
'Urgh...Sure thing Mr Cagliose...' I said trying to contain a sigh, turning waywardly and stumbling defeated out of the office.
King's disease wasn't the worst assignment, I consoled myself. It was a strange chronic flu which ate away at the respiratory system. Not quite like anything scientists had seen before, started in Moscow, where it had originally been named Tsar's cough, before people started dying from it ---and the World Health Organisation declared a state of emergency. Conspiracy theorists believed that the Russian government had invented the disease in a lab, some new kind of chemical warefare, but the science suggested it had spread to humans from the Tsar Elk, which is where the name came from. Western scientific community changed the name to King's Disease, and recently it was being referred to as K-911 by the medical community.
Raoul called me over to his desk excitedly, and seemed to be on the verge of something. 'Cagliose is giving you the King's disease border control story isn't he?'
'Yeah' I said, 'He wants something by tomorrow'.
Raoul handed me a business card, 'Here. Got a good contact for you. Goes by the name of Algorithm. He's a hacker. Indigenous guy based out of West Brooklyn. He can access government portals and databases, police, ASIO... whatever you need. He'll get you the real juice on K-911.'
'Thanks Raoul. What are you working on anyway?'
'Bah. Another boring critique on government spending. I swear to God sometimes I think Cagliose dislikes me.'
I tried to mask my anxious grin' 'Nah. Haha. He just hates the Dufferty administration. Uh...so.... See ya. Thanks again for this Raoul. Ill go pay your friend a little visit. Owe you one mate'
I messaged 'Algorithm' to arrange a meeting. He was very receptive and replied immediately, 'Today. 1135. I made my way downstairs to the echoey, cold stone Herald car park.
There was a cacaphony of rabid clucks and guttural syllables interspersed with hocking and loogie spits, which appeared to be echoing through the vents from the street, into the car park. The string of vowels and constanants were largely unrecognisable, but distinctly indigenous. I identified the source before decoding the words, it was local homeless eccentric Rockie Red Mulgrave. He was known to hang around Ligotti Road near the offices of the Hexton Herald, high as a kite, and mad as a Tasmanian devil, wearing his defining 'Disobey' bandana, and red patchwork flanalette. I heard him muttering the sentence 'Iaga mi coollooo Yulaga Sooya Towth', which I only recognised because of an article I had written four years ago. It was about the drug Yulaga Sooya Towth, developed by boiling down a certain native fern. It had grown exponentially popular in the Centre Territory in the past five years and was now speading like wildfire in urban centres.
The drug was cheap as dirt and a fairly nasty high, (recently becoming more notorious for causing more criminal behaviour than meth amphetamines). The street name for it was 'The Eye of God' but according to theologians and syncretists the indigenous language translated closer to 'The Eye of Thoth', often, (especially by police), it was colloquially shortened to 'Third Eye'.
Mulgrave was obviously high on Third Eye and muttering about 'cosmic truth' and 'the eternal apocalypse'. I got in my Yamamato Sherlock and turned the music up to clear my head, the Triple V DJ set up 'Electric Demon' by Hell-Mouth and the lyrics reverberated through me as I drove up the drive--- The dark scyscrapers of Hexton city stood like angry Giants in judgement over humanity; 'Lightning river cross the Milky Way, red desert feels a mile away, Electric demon, you are my city, beer gives good head and the girlies so pretty... humidity, sweat, girly so wet.... '
I was interested in what this contact of Raoul might be able to dig up, and yet, still marginally distracted. I probably should have been going over my K-911 research in my head, to prepare some goals and questions, but my brain was impossibly caught up in The Social Media Murders. The whole case kept running over in my mind as I drove the Western freeway. Devil's eye theme park filling my side and rear mirrors over South bank, and the ritzy suburb of Moonsmoth where the murders had occured. Thinking about how I could frame it to Harry, prove the three murders were connected-----
-----I knew everything about the first murder, because i'd written an article about it last month. Deborah Beskmill. Twenty six years old. She'd dissapeared after a night out in the affluent suburb of Moonsmoth, known for its nightlife. Last seen at the Smiling Crocodile Hotel, with a few of her work colleagues. Police had been focussing their enquiries on CCTV footage of the hotel clientele that night, presuming she may have been kidnapped by somebody she spoke to. For a long time, enquiries had centred on a man with a moustache and prosthetic hand, who had been seen watching Deborah at a nearby table, but no arrests had thus far been made.
However, my research had opened up new avenues of investigation to the police.
I'd gone the extra mile with that piece, spent countless hours interviewing family members and close friends of Deborah Beskmill, and it was her sister, Lauren who had shed light on a series of events which occurred on her Moment account in the month leading up to her dissapearance.
Deborah had been seeing hot blooded Italian emigrant Angelo Dumigello. He became a prime suspect in the initial police investigation--- but was cleared of a conviction by a solid alibi, (having been in Viking capital for two weeks for work, before and after Deborah's dissapearance. Angelo worked for the government).
In early June, Deborah and Angelo holidayed in Costa Rica, where they met a group of travel friends. Photos of them and the friends they met litter their social media accounts. Swimming in luxurious blue water in bikinis, sipping multicoloured cocktails. Glamorous. Fashionable. Risque. Island life. But there was trouble in paradise according to Lauren.
Angelo and Deborah were the only travellers in the group who'd come from Hexton, but there was another Australian, Luke Hesken, a buff surfer boy from Adelaide, blonde, attractive. The photos on his Moment account show the blooming seeds of jealousy between Angelo and Luke. There are several photos of Luke getting quite cosy with Deborah, with his arm around her waist, and several more of them engaged in flirtatious laughter with an irate Angelo in the background.
The rest of the party, who apparently met on a cruise boat included two other couples: Jeanie and Ernie Sherman, from Toronto Canada, Tarik and Lataysha from Detroit in the US and Daishiro Takayano from Kyoto, Japan. The Shermans claim the closest connection with Deborah.
I had a series of long communications with Ernie Sherman by email, the bulk of which focussed on the toxic relationship of Deborah and Angelo. Ernie claims he mistrusted Angelo from the first moment he met him. All accounts suggest that Angelo had a dominating personality--- and attempted to control Deborah's every move. In spite their engagement there was obviously cracks in their glossy hollywood veneer. The Sherman bungalow in Costa Rica was adjacent to Deborah's ---and Ernie claims he would frequently hear Angelo yelling and smashing things. One day Deborah came to the poolside with a welt as big as Amber Heard, and there was no doubt in Ernie's mind that Angelo had caused the bruise.
Suspicion had also turned on Tarik Wells, the huge African basketballer from Detroit. Who had begun a flirtatious relationship with Deborah after the holiday online, through private messages on the Moment app. This correspondence included sexts and photographs of sexual acts from both Deborah and Tarik. They werent made public, but a police contact confided these were a pretty lewd affair.
As I thought about this, a roaring engine sound drowned the horizon, and an intimidating biker rode past, tattoo ridden, from the patches on his jacket I saw it was one of the notorious "Sky Serpents" bikie gang. He screeched off at decibels way higher than the speed limit could generate, weaving in and out of traffic with the arrogance of Deadalus.
I pulled off the freeway, into the heart of the Western suburbs, my mind still a fog of activity. Tarik had been ruled out as a suspect, given he was in the US when Deborah was killed, but it further fuelled potential jealousy on her other suitors. Luke and Angelo, is it possible either of them could have driven down to Hexton from Adelaide or Viking capital respectively, then driven back to throw everyone off the scent? Over 75 percent of murders the perpetrator is somebody the victim knew intimately.
The murder itself needs to be dissected. Deborah's body was found by a National Park Ranger, dumped about 600 metres from the murder site itself. She had been covered with leaves by the killer, perhaps as a final sign of respect, or remorse, from the murderer. Body had been dragged from an old warehouse nearby, as dried mahogony blood splatters made pretty clear. Forensics teams got a pretty good handle on what happened from the moment the killer got Deborah inside the warehouse.
She was unconscious when she'd been dragged out of the murderers vehicle. Her first instinct upon waking on the cold floor of the warehouse had been to search for her phone, something which the killer had obviously anticipated. He had placed her phone deliberately on a mechanical crusher, which he'd powered on--- the precise moment her hand went into it, instantly clamping her arm and making her captive. Crime scene psychologists believe the killer took this opportunity to speak to her, possibly taunting her. No sexual advances were made, oddly, perhaps the killer was building up the courage to rape her, but became angry. Deborah was then whipped and bludgeoned with a metal buckle belt. One of the imprints confirm the belt to be a 'Shearers Leather' brand, with a horned Ram engraved on it.
Fibres of the blue Jose's brand jeans were also discovered--- believed to belong to the killer.
After this display of violence, the murderer engaged in a more merciful slaughter, cutting the poor girl's throat. Does this suggest the killer knew or felt intimately towards the victim?
Another anomoly, the killer appears to have inserted a few pieces of iron shrapnel into the flesh around the knee and ankle, probably after the fact. The pieces were collected from the site itself, (off cuts from the fixtures of picture frames, one of the primary outputs of the now defunct factory). (The shelves and floor around the victim were stacked with wooden frames of all sizes according to the police report, as yet there is no clear indication why the killer chose this particular location to carry out his gruesome task.)
If my theory is correct, the perpetrator has a fascination with inserting objects into the body, as is seen in the other cases. Ill get into the detail of those murders, but first, relating what happened in the rendezvous with Raoul's contact-----
----I arrived at the address he had given me, all that was around were a series of run down looking warehouses. He was quite particular about addresses and tracing, and had sent me a series of geo-locations to follow. I followed the blip on the traceless app Algorithm had me download, down a side alley and into the back of an old brick building. The door was unlocked as I entered, down a dark corridoor toward a doorway glowing with soft computer light.
Enter the messy room, floor covered with chords, tools and boxes--- a man shape just barely visible slouched among a haphazard stack of computer monitors and hard drives. He took a sip of his diet Cola and burped.
'You must be Algorithm---' I enquired sceptically at first.
The light skinned aborigine rolled his chair forward and grinned; 'The fuckin' same. But be more simple man. You can call me Al. Like the song. You Raoul's boy?'
'...from the Herald' I confirmed.
'...says your looking for the scoop on King's disease and all these border outbreaks.'
'Ya-huh--Ive got an article due tomorrow, so any primary source on this is much appreciated..'
'Its your lucky day whitey! Ive got your scoop. Vanilla ice cream. Your favourite.'
'Ok,' I said, taken aback by his comical attitude and general sassyness.
Al was well dressed, in his blazer, high top sneakers, corn rows and thick frame glasses. He looked more like a graphic designer or advertising exec than a back end computer nerd. He turned with impressive posture, tapping away on one of the old custom build computers.
'So ... scandal over the outbreak of King's Disease...' Al prefaced unemotionally as he bashed a million keys at an impressive wpm.
'Ive got an email chain you're gonna wanna see.' Al continued, 'Turns out kings disease is not the biggest controversy at the New Ireland border.'
'No. Well I would've thought interstate child prostitution and sex slavery would be enough to raise public concern. But we better stick to the facts on K-911, thats what Cagliose wants.'
'What if I told you human trafficking was only the tip of the iceberg?'
'I'd say,... firstly, thats awful, vile, contemptuous, then secondly, unfortunately... i'm already struggling to pitch anything outside the box to my editior right now. Dont really want to expose the underbelly of the snake by turning over one too many rocks. Just looking for a classic meat and veg story on my plate--- can you accomodate?'
'Trust me', Al extended a grin of pearly whites, 'This is your Sunday roast, with pommes all covered in gravy... and Grannys apple pie for desert topped with ice cream..... King's disease allegedly spread over the border from Elizabeth via a party of truckers at the Crossroads Hotel, right?'
'Uh huh' i replied.
'--- then further outbreaks showed clusters linked to organised prostitution. Common news now. Plus... we know the government has set up random border checks, and two days ago I have quality sources that suggest a group of bikers were stopped, and searches revealed they were carrying over 10 kilograms of 'Third Eye'..
'Sky Serpents?' I asked with genuine curiosity
'Yeah. How did you guess?' Al said with surprise
'We've had several tips about the Sky Serpents running drugs over the New Ireland Border. Harry doesn't want to touch it.'
'Ok.... but look at this...' Al continued, 'An email chain from a politician in Viking Capital. The seizure was intercepted by Viking police force. All releases to the press were put under D notice.'
My phone vibrated loudly as Algorithm wired me the entire email chain through his traceless App.
I glanced through the chain ---it centred around the current Minister for Transportation and Energy, Aldeous Blaxton.
'Re: That New Ireland thing
To: Gregory Marcus
Cc: Tim, Andrew, David
Well the question is, why do a force that essentially amount to traffic inspectors have the power or instructions to search a vehicle anyway?
A.B
------------------------------
Whats the solution to this? I need to know what to tell my superiors
Tim
Re: That New Ireland thing
Who cares about instructions. They've searched it. We just need to make sure this is the end of the line.
A.B
------‐----‐------‐-----------
Look. This is how it goes down. There's no 'solution'. Sky Serpents have been running TE over the border for five years. Casey police and Wingham know to turn a blind eye and then its business as usual. We make sure this fuck up doesn't get out to the press. And you all go back to your kids and wives. Sound good?
______________________________
This is a monumental fuck up
David
The email chain went on for yards, and I considered what exactly I was looking at. Proof of endemic corruption at the State and Federal level, involving police ---overt government knowledge of transportation and sale of illegal drugs. Proof the Sky Serpents motorcycle club were involved. There was plenty to chew here, but I almost wished for something that wasn't going to give me such a headache.
'Your right' I told Al, 'This is a landmine, but I dont know if Harry is gonna take a step on this. Maybe rightly so. Give me every latest correspondence from medical institutions near the border so I have something to fall back on.'
'Done' Al bashed at the keyboard again.
'Christ....' I muttered to myself, 'This is huge.' I thought 'Done right this could be the story of the year. I just cant see Harry taking a risk of exposing the newspaper when it's from an illegal source.'
'Tell your boss someone sent them to you anonymously' Al shrugged.
'That might work' I moved backwards, 'Listen thanks for this. In any case, i'd love to use you as a freqent contact. Ive got another case id really like to dig up some info on. Murder case---In return I can probably keep your VPN off radar with the fuzz. Ive got a police contact i'm seeing this arvo in fact.'
'Killer. Well... you know how to reach me..'
I left Algorithm to his business, in darkness, smothered only in artificial light--- like some kind of burrowing digital wombat.....truth was I hadn't made any arrangement with Charlie Sachs ....my police contact, but I knew where he was on a Wednesday, and figured it'd be easy enough to stop over on the way back to the office. Besides, it would be good to run this border controversy by Sachs first, to gage how flammable or explosive this leak really was. Before I took it to Harry...
Charlie had been a mate for nearly ten years, and we had a mutually beneficial arrangement where we drip fed each other industry hot topics. I'd never use him as a primary or direct source of course, and he warded me off anything that would see me getting his colleagues asking questions. Wednesdays he was nearly always at Alphonse's Boxing Gym on the lower East side.
My brain was crammed up with these corruption allegations, but the murders were never too far off either. A journalist's mind had to cast a wide net. You caught a broad church of stories, then when you had the chance your brain had to catalogue, organise--- sort the wheat from the chaff so to speak. Mostly while driving, like on that commute. So when your fingers did finally hit the keyboard, you already knew the shape of what you were writing.
There were three murders in Hexton that appeared to be linked in 2012, 2013 and this year. The evidence to link them included the aforementioned tendency of the killer to insert pieces of metal underneath the flesh. One other link was that all of the victims were using the social Network 'Moment' in the 24 hours prior to their dissapearance. I'd been tossing around the headline 'Murderer of the Moment' before I settled on 'The Social Media Murders' which seemed a bit more tasteful.
If it wasnt for the clear links i'll outline, I can see why the cases would be treated individually by police, as the MO of the perpetrator varies slightly from one crime to the next.
The second dissapearance was Shaylee Bradmont, who was a well known Moment 'influencer' with over 40,000 followers. She mostly posted half-naked photos of herself in exotic locations, and was presumably sponsored by the clothing and bikini brands she wore.
Unlike Deborah Beskmill and the third victim Anna Bailey, Shaylee was not out partying in Moonsmoth the night of her dissapearance. She was likely abducted at night, from right outside of her home, in Daringong, a few suburbs over. What Shaylee definitely had in common with the other victims was that she posted her location on Moment the night of her abduction. In fact, the first line of police questioning was her +40,000 followers-- in the quest for a suspect. Multiple users were contacted and tracked (particularly odd accounts, or accounts with no profiles). Her case was, mind, still being treated as a missings persons case until the body was found a month ago. Evidence with the crime scene included that exciting DNA evidence which we can pull apart shortly.
There's a long list of suspects which emerge from Shaylees Moment account, but without some cross over its a bit arduous to summarise. There were the toxic super fans and degrading comments on her posts. Two men in their late forties who liked and commented on every post she made, are standouts, including a pervy teacher at BethHexton primary, Greg Easton; who commented things like 'I would like to see you without that' and 'Naughty girl! Wants to be punished?' Im unsure how far the police case into that suspect has gone?
Criminal psychcologist Larry Venkman believes the killer was making a reference to 'The Scarlet Letter' by Nathaniel Hawthorne, which suggested a couple of things, one being that the murderer was likely university educated. At the very least, a reader.
By analysing the plot of Hawthorne's novel, the police determined that the suspect was involved with Shaylee romantically somehow. In the novel, the protagonist Hester Prynne is branded with the scarlet letter "A" used to indicate she is an adultress by the Puritan community she is a part of.
It was known to Shaylee's friends that she was having an affair with a married man. Not just any man either, Edward Roth, a minted well-to-do society man who lived on Macarthur Island. Suspecting that Edward's wife Emma Roth... somehow found out about Edward's affair and had brutally murdered Shaylee in a jealous rage, police interrogated Emma but never brought any charges to bear. There is a lot of speculation on certain internet chat rooms however --that the enigmatic and secretive Edward Roth, (who has frequently refused to be intervied in relation to Shaylees murder), hiding out in his mansion on Macarthur island ---could in fact be the Moonsmoth butcher. Members of the press have consistently been made to feel unwelcome on the island, which is practically owned by the Roth family, (who have a large stake in the formula one racing course that is a feature there. But I will speculate more on prime suspects later.)
It might be worth looking at the background to Anna Bailey's murder before detailing both the places where the second and third bodies were found -- as this is a major link, both Anna and Shaylee were found in Garguana State Forest. Anna by a couple of joggers and Shaylee by a police search following the discovery of the first body. Both had been dumped and covered in dry leaves. Police have yet to find the location where the killer carried out his heinous acts, but my personal suspicion is it will be an empty warehouse, similar to the one Deborah was killed in.
Anna Bailey was quite different from the other two victims. Far less glamorous, she was an Arts/Law student at Bourkeley University. Her Moment account is one I suppose could be described as a 'typical' student, though I hate to flout such terms.
Evidently quite creative, Anna posted a lot of her dramatic exploits and uni stage plays. But mostly just photos of her laughing and drinking with friends. It was said to be quite out of character for Anna to be out in luxurious Moonsmoth, more prone to student areas like Stone Street, Old Town. But this was easily explained, given she was attending her work christmas party at the Bower Bird Hotel.
She left the Bower at around 9:00 PM according to colleagues, where she and a few friends, including Denise Richards carried on to a few other bars. Denise was interviewed at length about that night, but for some reason police seem to have really mistrusted her version of events.
According to Denise, Anna had been talking to an odd looking man. Here's the kicker, the man she described had a huge build, moustache and ---most phenomenenally, a prosthetic hand. Almost the exact same description as the man seen in the CCTV footage of Deborah's last night. For the weeks following this revelation, search for the man with the prosthetic hand were ramped up.
However, it later emerged --- Denise had watched a special on Deborah's murder on Channel 19 a month ago, in which the man with the plastic hand had been put forward as Deborah's killer. It had apparently influenced Denise so much she was no longer sure--- 'He might've had a prostethic hand' she corrected herself in a later interview, 'He definitely had a moustache'. This didn't rule out the unknown suspect as such, but brought a deeper question as to the validity of him as prime target. The police sketch of Denise's short haired moustachioed man, was however... starting to be shared as the archetypal image of the 'Moonsmoth Butcher' online.
All focus on the man with the moustache shifted after the discovery of Shaylee's body, and subsequent DNA evidence....
I arrived at Alphonse's Boxing Gym, and managed to find a park out the front. Lots of people still wearing face masks after the recent King's Disease scare. Roaming to and fro like staff in some spooky hospital city. My eyes caught Sachs' frame in the corner immediately, amidst the sweating men in shorts and gloves, side stepping and grunting wildly. Sachs was sitting on a chair, with a white towel around his neck, casually chatting with Jimmy, the owners son. His droopy head straightened as I approached and he twirled his glove, without raising it, forming a partial smile. Jimmy looked a little pale---the recent lockdowns in the King's disease scare had cost his business. You could see a lot of the regulars were out of shape from working at home, and there was, on the whole, a lethargic emphasis to the whole facade. Like third night of bingo and beans at an aged care facility.
I could see that Charlie and Jimmy's eyes were glancing up and down toward the television screens, and my head instinctively jolted. The footy was playing, closer inspection it was CT Dingoes playing the Lemington Naval Destroyers. Charlie chuckled at something Jimmy said, and they both looked back at the TV.
'Not a great day to be a Dingoes fan. Its a massacre,' Charlie shouted, as I came in range. I could now see the scoreboard. Destroyers were slaying 120 to 30, and even as I watched Mark Sheffield took a mark from 20 metres and kicked another one for Lemington. The crowd went ape shit, face paint and fat waving arms. I considered the joy of rubbing it in to that smug fuck Macanerny on Thursday and chuckled wickedly inside.
'Gday Jimmy' I waved as Charlie threw a pair of pads at me, 'C'mon' he said 'I was just due for a round.' Jimmy gave his typical head nod as we moved off.
Sachs quickly warmed into his game, calling 'left 3', 'side 2' and 'uppercut' as he made impressive jabs at the pads on my hands.
'Angels are due for a beat up too, after that thrashing from Moonsmoth on the weekend' said Charlie with quick breath.
(Being lifelong Angels fans was another thing both Charlie and I had in common)... we would usually engage in some trash talk before moving to more serious matters.
'I've heard calls to sack Barry Adler as coach,'I replied, trying to keep pace, '...but I think thats over the top. Every team is entitled to a terrible game every now and then'
'Terrible is an understatement, that performance was embarassing---' Charlie cursed amid grunts, 'That said. 'Dion Ihssis was out, so was Craig Henna and Erin Thompson. We were down five of our best players by half time from injuries, because Clarko pulled a hammy, and Lochie Brannet had a broken nose.'
'Gilly should've been done for that one' I said 'That was clearly high, unprovoked and deliberate. The umpire made several bad calls in my opinion. On both sides.'
'Fuck it' Charlie cussed, taking three mammoth swings that almost knocked me down, 'Press can say the Angels have had it! They said the same thing mid last season and we still made Grand Final! 5 Premierships in 10 years. Id say thats a pretty stellar record. Mark my words Dion will be back as Ruckman next week and we will get back that mid-field dominance. Our form is good, but at the moment our forwards are all defending mid-field, and can't get a shot at goal. Barry Addler took the Angels from a ten year slump to win us five premierships. Any talk of changing coaches is ridiculous.'
'Theyll be calling for Wilde to stand down as Captain next' I agreed.
'Wilde is the fucking heart of the Angels' ....Charlie swore, 'Dispicable cunts. The press are cunts, no offence KT. Ill have their faces busted up. Say shit about Wilde in front of me ill pummel you.'
Charlie removed his gloves and handed them to me, and wiped a large pool of sweat from his forehead.
I started some easy 10 a piece --long arm right hooks, 'So how's it been anyway, Kylo? You still chasing the Moment Murderer?'
'Chasing a column Charlie' I replied ruefully, 'Cagliose won't give me shit at the moment. But i'm confident its gonna break soon, and ill be ahead of the game. Once this DNA evidence is put forward the whole thing will break out into the social mediascape like bed bugs on an arts student---'
'Hmm... yeah-nah....I wouldn't count on it KT' Charlie said, pushing his hands sidewards to make sure my swings connected.
'How do you mean?'
'I'm assuming your referencing the Van Der Slade arrest?'
To summarise the developments in the case against Herman Van De Slade there are a few pieces of evidence that are important. The primary one is the vehicle witnessed at the scene of the abductions. The night of Deborah's dissapearance, two of her colleagues spoke about a white van lurking outside the Smiling Crocodile Hotel.
In the case of Anna Bailey, one of her other colleagues claimed she had seen Anna-- on the street talking to somebody in a white van, more specifically, a PBS delivery van. She claimed to have seen the branding on the side, its quite a distinctive logo, with the boxy font and everything. Julie , this colleague, said that Anna had hitched a lift home with the unidentified person. Shaylee was probably abducted from outside her home, possibly whilst taking the garbage out, so there were no witnesses. However, some of her neighbours did speak of a white van casing the neighbourhood earlier on the day of her dissapearance.
Then there was the DNA found on Shaylee Bradmonts corpse, which police believed belonged to the murderer.
Herman Van Der Slade is a dutch national who moved to Hexton 10 years ago. He had prior police convictions for rape, one in particular which was committed in the cemetary outside Fairfield Hospital, only 3km from Moonsmoth. He came on the police radar after the discovery of Shaylee Bradmont's body--- because the DNA found supoosedly matched the DNA collected from the prior rape incident.
Excitement was rampant, and I think police expected to find their moustachioed prosthetic handed killer when they raided Van Der Slades house in Gibbon, and made the arrest, unfortunately not so conveniently wrapped, this parcel. Der Slade is a slightly overweight man, 29 years old, with very little facial or body hair and two perfectly good hands. Not unnattractive or what you'd call an outcast. Married. Seemingly normal. His wife Sharon seemed shocked when the police came to question him that day.
However, what police did find--- is that Der Slade worked for PBS as a delivery driver, and his white van was sitting outside. It seemed like they had the Moonsmoth butcher in their grasp...
'It's all a blow out im afraid' Charlie stated throwing down the pads. We hit the benches, and Charlie threw me a towel.
'How is that possible?' I exclaimed, 'They've got his DNA!. Van Der Slade has to be the butcher!'
'It looks like the police who handled the case bungled it. The DNA from Bradmont was contaminated with De Slades--- from the previous rape charge.'
'What?' I was devastated, 'That's preposterous. He was identified from the DNA... and what sort of coincidence can it be that he was a delivery driver for PBS!? That's unbelievable, the odds are a billion to one!'
'Almost too good to be true you might say' Charlie observed gloomily, 'Facts are.. there were two investigations. A couple of rookie cops were assigned the murder of Bradmont as a training module. They made the innovative call to go through old rape charges that happened in the same vicinity as the murders, given that both Anna and Shaylee were sexually assaulted prior to being killed. When De Slade came up, the junior officers noticed he was a PBS driver and that was the original identifier to question him. Christ knows why these rookie cops were given so much jurisdiction to handle the DNA sent to the labs, probably a proud Sargeant getting ahead of himself and encouraging the young boys.'
'Anyway, long story short ---somehow Herman's DNA was cross contaminated with crime scene DNA. Which is a double blunder because now the sample is unreliable when we do eventually catch the killer, itll be harder to nail him. That was the only DNA sample the police have. Imagine... those boys went from stars to skunks in a matter of hours. I doubt they'll keep their jobs.'
'Fuck!' I cursed, 'De Slade was going to be my pitch to Harry to link the murders. Your saying theres a possibility these are just individual abductions?'
'No. I'm saying, Herman Van Der Slade will be released due to lack of evidence. All that connected Herman to the crimes was that he drove a van for PBS. Him and five thousand others across the state. Wrong needle in a strange haystack. Back to square one on that arduous search---'
'That's not such a bad lead though... picking from 5000' I considered, 'Ah.. whats the use. Now there's even less evidence to connect the crimes, and no lead suspect. Harry's not going to touch this with a high jump lance---'
'Hang on. If youre just looking for proof of connection, thats easy. You should have said so. Bayside police have just made a breakthrough on that evidence. There were fibres... found on all three victims, lab has confirmed they came from the same material used to bind all the victim's hands. You can take that to the bank. It will no doubt hit the press later this week. Hexton city definitely has a serial killer on their hands.'
'Bloody ripper! Thats fantastic!!' I exclaimed, immediately recoiling and feeling guilty for celebrating such a dark revelation.
'I mean....That's exactly what I needed. Thanks Charlie. Listen while im on it, there's something else I wanted to run by you.'
'Sure thing' Charlie croaked, getting changed out of his sweaty singlet.
'Say I had a leaked email from a prominent politician in Viking Capital, which exposed a nation-wide drug ring, involving the Sky Serpent bikie gang, police and government officials. How exactly would you handle that?'
Sachs furrowed his brow with the kind of anxiety I rarely saw in such a stoic and resolute man, 'Honestly? As a family man, i'd leave it the hell alone. Wouldn't be a month go by when someone who crossed or teststified against a member of the Sky Serpents was gunned down or worse. As a journalist.... well... not my call...'
'As a policeman?'
'Well... any comission or taskforce against police corruption has always faced a backlash. Look at the Lawyer Y controversy. But... that's no reason not to pursue the truth. I'd say, only, if you're going to make a bold claim-- be sure you can back it up with some solid evidence.'
'Thanks. Good advice.'
I pulled my jacket on and started moving away. Sachs fist bumped my shoulder in a Kings Disease, social distancing friendly gesture and returned to his chat with Jimmy.
So now came the tricky part, I had to make two huge pitches to Harry. Which was like trying to sell soap to a Dragon's supporter. I checked my phone on the way out to the car, Ciara had tagged me in a Moment event. It was her friend Gina, who was living in the States now, with her partner --- they'd recently added a little baby boy to their family. The post was of the little boy, Tommy playing with a lego block city, and destroying it. Gina had written the caption "more destructive to the city than terrorism or King's Disease". I commented something cute, and secretly hated myself. Then PM'd Ciara; 'Hey babe. You need me to pick up anything for Dinner on the way home?'
She replied quickly; 'Can you just get some toilet paper?'
I thought about responding; 'Toilet paper? Delicious. What are we having?' But I realised the joke was too obvious and just replied ' K babe'.
I pondered wether to go back into the office to pitch to Harry or video call him in field research instead? I found Harry responded to cheap gimmicks and would be more likely to respond to a call to arms when I was apparently out in the action. Plus it would mean I could do my work from home...
I 'V called' Harry using the MomentV feature. His clumped face shortly filled my screen;
'What you got for me Thigler? better be worth the interruption'.
'Ive just transferred you a chain email I recieved anonymously.'
I saw the bulges in Harry's neck jiggle as he scrolled the correspondence.
'MP covers up knowledge of Sky Serpent drug ring, as King's Disease exposes border corruption!' I sold the headline to Harry in an old timey tone of voice.
Cagliose's eyes continued to dart back and forward, at first bored, but slowly the whites of his eyes bulged, and the pupils in his washed green sea cave irises shrunk like a drugged out kid at a bush rave.
'Tie me to the goddamned whipping post' Harry exclaimed, 'Your not washed up yet KT. Get this to the press before Staffold's people get wind of it. Can you have something this afternoon?'
'Can I work from the field?' I baited.
'Do what you need to do. Take the afternoon off. Just get me that piece. But your headline is too long;
'KING'S DISEASE EXPOSES THIRD EYE IN GOVT SERPENT SCANDAL'.
Harry moved abruptly, ready to leave ; '330?'
'4. Wait. Mr Cagliose! About the Moonsmoth killings'.
'I thought we'd been over this Thigler.'
'Sir. I've found the link. From the police, pre release info. Fibres found on all three of the victims come from the same cloth used to bind their hands. Its proof Hexton has a serial killer in their midst. We can break the story before everyone else---'
Harry remained resigned, 'Do you remember the trial of the Winslow strangler?'
'Of course I do sir, I broke that case.'
'Thirteen hours of fibre evidence. The jury went to sleep. People lost interest in the trial for a whole week.'
'I know sir, but...'
'No buts KT. Just get me this corruption story and we can discuss your serial killer at a later date.'
'Yes Mr Cagliose' I grumbled as the call was hung up.
I drove home feeling exhausted, knowing my work day had just begun. It wasnt unusual as a journalist to have a few articles churning at the same time, but the murder investigation remained the dominant subject at the forefront of my thoughts.
Ciara wasn't home when I arrived, which I thought was strange, until I realised she was probably on her afternoon walk.
'Fuck!' I cussed to myself, 'Forgot the toilet paper'. I thought about rushing out again to grab some, thinking of Ciara fuming-- but knew I had plenty to do, so I trekked upstairs to the computer room. The haphazhard room caught my cornered eye, and for a split section I saw things through Ciara's eyes. She was always complaining about clutter and disorganisation, and claiming I should be on that 'hoarders' program. To be fair, the study room was littered with stacks of chaotic towers of books. Essential research tools of course, true crimes, world history, biographies, legal references, journals, daily print outs. It did look rather messy.
It was around this time that I began a wordpress of the Kings Disease article and also began this blog. Typing away on cold keys. As it happened the corruption story would blow up the following day and cause my my fair share of unwanted attention. I'll elaborate in my next entry, but for now ill end this one with the loose ends in the Social Media Murders case.
I should mention some helpful aids and resources who deserve credit for the research. After all, i'm not the first person to link these crimes or put forward suspects in a potential serial killing. Obviously to Bayside and Moonsmoth police stations for their hard work. There are also multiple internet groups and forums I will try to give credit to whenever their research is used. The 'Hunt for the Moonsmoth Butcher'-- A Moment group-- are constantly generating interesting leads and angles. Also credit to 'Hexton True Crimes' podcast and the 'Death in Hexton' forum.
Particularly 'Hunt for the Moonsmoth Butcher' though, who's thorough investigations and talking points i'd like to analyse now. A good thing about this group is they have not been focussed on the Herman Van Der Slade angle at all, so their open investigation is good to fall back on --pending that recent dissapointment.
I previously mentioned the letter "A" carved on Shaylee's chest, which appeared like a unique MO. Setting her apart from the other victims. For a while I considered the very real possibility that Shaylees murder was an unrelated crime of passion. Then I tossed around the idea the killer had done it to throw police off the scent, and separate this crime from the others. For HFTMP the "A" is one clue in an intricate puzzle left by the demented psychopath responsible. An essential clue.
As an introduction, HFTMB was started by New Zealand lecturer in criminal psychology Caroline Byrne when theories first started appearing that the Moonsmoth murders were connected. It attracted a whole host of amateur sleuths online and self proclaimed investigators from around the world, who have been posting their theories and research on the Moment group ever since.
A member named 'RueMorgue41' deeply researched the public files from the Bayside Police investigation, and made some interesting findings. The detectives had logged, photocopied and scanned a number of things found at the murder site of Deborah Beskmill. These included photographs of markings on trees in the woods outside the warehouse, which I wont go into great depth, for in my opinion dont seem like the work of our killer. Although one odd marking did stand out, a biblical reference carved in a gum tree; 'Exodus 22:18' which on inspection includes the mysoginistic passage 'Do not allow a sorceress to live'. It is alleged by RueMorgue41 that there was also a tree marked near the body of Shaylee, that read; 'Sura 45' (A probable reference to the Islamic Quoran, again, this passage contains sexist and outmoded dogma such as "And as for those on whose part you fear disobedience, admonish them and keep away from them in their beds and chastise them."
Whilst there is really no way to confirm if these markings were made by the murderer, they are indeed intiguing.
RueMorgue's investigations were combined with ACDoyleLikedADrop's theories in the analysis of items found at the scene. There was a few books and magazines scattered at the picture framing warehouse where Deborah was found. One book 'The Philosophy of Andy Warhol' appeared to have been scribbled in by someone, prompting police to scan the pages. There are ten or so pages toward the middle of the book in which the letter 'R' is repetitively circled. Members of the group have emphasized these details.
Anna Bailey was an avid reader herself, as an arts student, and her carry bag was found near the body, which also contained a folder of study notes... and a book, 'The Epic of Gilgamesh' in which a passage was underlined,;
"Gilgamesh, where are you hurrying to? You will never find that life for which you are looking. When the gods created man they allotted to him death." The word 'Death' is underlined several times here. Some interesting tidbits if nothing else.
Also, it is quite clear from police scans that the Letter "C" (or perhaps a curvy line) has been squiggled in the margins of the Gilgamesh book. This is in red pen, just as the scribbling in the Andy Warhol book found in the warehouse. The group have called repeatedly for police to analyse the red ink ---and confirm if it comes from the same pen, which I endorse personally, given we know or suspect our killer is a reader. This would fit, and certainly wouldn't be the first time a narcisstic killer had left clues for investigators, (the complex ciphers of the Zodiac being an obvious example).
Members of HFTMB propose that the killer is spelling a word, of which we so far only have the letters 'ARC'. (Thats the order if we go by the dates the murders occured) but could otherwise spell CAR... Or CRA____
Do I believe the killer is leaving clues to help identify him or send a message? I dont know. It seems slightly convenient, however in my opinion these theories are definitely worth further investigation.
There was another theory proposed by another member of the HFTMB group, Synchronicity77 who believes the killer is spelling out the word 'ARCTIC' ((which is in fact the name of an operations program currently being run by the PBS company, (who it is suspected the killer may be under employ)).
Now some of Synchronicty77's theories come across to me as conspiratorial and tainted by confirmation bias. However, I will include them because they make a good segway into the PBS aspect of the case.
If the killer does work for PBS? Is it possible he would bring his own mundane worklife to bear in the murders? Maybe he was spelling out the word 'ARCTIC' merely because working on the ARCTIC program had infiltrated his brain. In any case, let me pull apart PBS the company and the program itself.
Founded in 1987, Polar Bear Systems, as it was originally known, started off as a small tech and energy company based in Starwood and Plutonium Valley. In the nineties PBS came to huge success by releasing the operating software for personal computers 'CUBIC PATHWAYS' which was extremely popular in certain industries, particularly architecture. They went on to be known for developing web infrastructure, and a variety of popular social media platforms-- and are currently pairing with power companies across the globe to develop the next generation high volume data transmission wireless internet and virtual network. Which involves installing equipment all over the place, in close range proximity.
There are vast conspiracies online surrounding the ARCTIC program, including theories that Kings Disease had itself been artifically created in order to distract the public as the ARCTIC infrastructure was installed. Protests have occurred in major cities on such a premise, including in Hexton city.
Synchronicity77 believes that PBS was itself somehow implicated in the murders. A theory which I personally give no creedence to.
The ARCTIC program runs over multiple nations, in the US, Indonesia, Asia, Russia, Australia mainly-- and there is a large PBS facility in MacRobertson land Antarctica.
There are roughly five thousand PBS delivery vans on Hexton streets at a given time--- plus tens of thousands of installation and maintenance workers. Most of the current installation work is being done on the South side of Hexton, with a small portion North in Woodsrot and West around Brooklyn.
I think my next avenue of research into the murders will focus on this program. HFTMB has made public a list of current and former staff at PBS and everyone who has worked as a delivery driver for the past ten years.
Ciara arrived home, of course she was angry about the toilet paper, but soon relaxed, and i clocked off once i'd submitted the King's Disease article and we crept into bed early.
We engaged in a fairly short, but intimate doggy style sex, with some anal penetration until I came, then lay in each others arms. I was breathing heavily.
'Whats wrong?' Ciara asked gently, 'You seem stressed.' The gold crucifix around Ciara's neck glinted in the pale lamplight. Ciaras Catholicism sometimes acted like a beacon for me, who had been raised in a sceptical, scientific environment. A call to conscience.
I had to level with her; 'Its work.. its well.. you know that promotion I was going for? I didn't get it.'
"I'm sorry babe' Ciara said, without judgement, 'I know how much you wanted that. How's the Moonsmoth murder case your working on though?'
'That's the other thing' I said with maudlin energy 'Cagliose won't publish my lead. I've now got solid evidence that the three murders were carried out by the same perpetrator, but I cant get the story out there.'
'You'll figure something out Kylo, I believe in you. Its important work youre doing and it will pay off in the long run...'
'I've started a blog' I confessed, 'But I can't see that's going to reach a wide enough audience. Im not sure how else to go about it. Paulina invited me to discuss the Butcher on her true crime podcast. Don't worry babe, I declined.'
'No. You should do it!' she said, with unexpected enthusiasm, 'It will be good exposure for your work.' 'It won't make you uncomfortable? I know how you feel about it'
'Babe. You know how jealous I get sometimes, but I want you to be successful. Besides, this work is actually important. What if your research helps put this creep behind bars, before he has the chance to take another life?..'
'When you put it that way. Ok maybe I will ask Paulina when she wants to do a show.' Ciara turned on her side and batted her eyelids, over those big brown eyes; 'KT, can I ask you a question?'
'Sure babe. Anything.'
She giggled infectiously; 'How much do you love me?'
'A lot babe' I replied instinctively. Ciara pouted angrily, 'Yeah.. but how much is a lot?' I tried to think of something cute to say. But my practical brain would only think of 'big things', the giant replica wombat at Burston park. The 'Big Kiwi Fruit' in Little Zealand. 'As big as Duuru Canyon' I finally settled on. Ciara smiled with her big, soft lips. Then her face suddenly turned serious; 'You know you can tell me anything, right?'
'Of course' I said.
'You should have told me about the promotion. I want you to tell me everything. Because im here. Im here to support you.' Ciara sounded almost anxious.
'I know babe. Im sorry. I wanted to tell you. I was embarassed.' 'Youre here to support me too right?' Ciara asked longingly. 'Of course I am baby.' 'I can tell you anything too right?'
'Huh? Of course. Ciara, whats going on?'
Ciara's facial expression changed three times, from sad, to anxious, to elated, her face beaming red; 'KT...im pregnant.' She said at last. The news took a moment to set in. Then my neurons started firing like it was New Years Eve. I grabbed her like a soft toy and squeezed her like I would never let her go. 'Ciara. That's amazing.' I felt soft tears of joy against my neck.
That night, as i drifted off to sleep, I sunk into a shallow grave of dreams. My body submerged into moist darkness. Autumn oak leaves fell from the sky, covering my hibernating body. Maybe it was all the sugar from the dessert Ciara had made, or the news of her pregnancy racing through my excited mind. My dreams were vivid, and symbollically charged that night. My mind opened up, like a sprouting seedling in the earth. Above, I saw the sun eclipsed by a snake, curled like a wheel and eating its own tail. The serpent wheel began to roll down a hill, where Ciara was sitting, nursing a little tiger cub. The snake hissed and tried to swallow the cub, then a floating, decapitated hand, with its index finger extended --pointed towards the abyss. Shortly therein, down a dark road I saw a sign which said 'Wrong way go back.' Again, I felt buried beneath a pile of leaves, when I saw, through cracks, a white wolf, with blood on its lips, emerge from the darkness. I thought there was something written, like a logo on the side of the wolf. It stalked, slowly and menacingly, then walked behind a black curtain. There I saw an enormous cinema screen, and the wolf stalked slowly across the screen.... hunting. Licking its horrid lips and showing its hideous teeth to the audience. Behind the screen was an immense city scape which looked like a pyramid, and in the middle of the skyscrapers there was a monstrous yellow eye, which glowed, with the horrid revelations of the moon. Then a deep voice spoke, metallic and echoey. 'Wake up KT. There is a message for you!'
I awoke in a cold sweat, feeling feverish and disturbed. The only light in the dark bedroom came from my phone on the bedside table. A flickering red glow, indicating I had a private message on Moment. In a daze, still half asleep. I grappled at my phone.
The message was from Algorithm, who had apparently traced me, hacked my identity and read a whole host of personal files. Checking up his contacts no doubt, which caused no ill will from me, given the high risk industry he worked in. I had expected him to be responding to my article on the border controversy, but was surprised to see he was ahead of the game.
He had evidently hacked and read what I had written for the Social Media Murders Blog, because his message was enignatically simple, it read; "I know who the Moonsmoth Butcher is." -Al
Continued in Part Two;
https://thesocialmediamurders.blogspot.com/2020/09/i-was-staring-through-pair-of-digital.html
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