The Hunter Inside (25 page)

As he reached the end of the list,
O’Neill’s jaw dropped. There was a Riley alright. Whoever had inputted the
details had managed to put a comma in the middle of the word (probably when
pressing the ‘L’ key, he thought), meaning that the name read as ‘Ri,ley’.

So the name of June Riley had been
relegated to the bottom of the list.

O’Neill sat for a moment, looking at
the screen. This could be the proof he needed to be convinced that the legend
of Shimasou was real. It could also be the fourth murder (fifth if Paul Wayans’
grandmother had also been a victim) that Shimasou was responsible for. He took
a deep breath, before using a sweaty palm to direct the flashing cursor towards
the name and clicking what was possibly the five most important letters he
would ever see.

Within seconds the screen filled with
the details of the case, including a picture of the victim. O’Neill began to
read the case notes that were set before him on the screen. The date of the
murder was the 17th of July 1990. ‘Oh fuck’, O’Neill mumbled, as his heart rate
began to increase. He read on,

‘Cause of Death: Repeated stab wounds
to the upper torso, several of which pierced the heart of the victim. Profile:
Single white female. Age: 40. Family: One child, John (aged 15 years).’

O’Neill was struck dumb by the
information. From the details on the screen, it looked as though Mayhew’s story
checked out, and that in turn probably meant that the legend of Shimasou
was
true. The busy office that surrounded him receded, as he slumped in the chair
and continued to stare at the monitor for a full minute, trying to figure out a
reason that could link Sandy Myers to the crimes.

He clicked on the ‘Notes’ option for
the record, and saw amongst them that details of the name of the victim had not
been released to the press. This meant only one thing to Special Agent O’Neill.
It meant that Sandy Myers could not have known to target John Riley if she were
a copycat killer or someone trying to achieve the twisted goals of her parent’s
killer.

Shimasou was his only option. It
was time to accept Mayhew’s theory and do something about it.

What would be his next move? He
couldn’t tell Lineker about it; he’d be committed to an asylum for the mentally
insane. That or he would be ridiculed, taken off the case, and eventually
forced into sick leave that he didn’t need. There was only one person he
thought could help him. If the Internet legend of Shimasou was even
half
correct, then he knew he was definitely going to need help. Everyone was. Todd
Mayhew would help him. While everybody involved with the case would laugh at
such a bizarre theory, Mayhew already believed it.

O’Neill decided he would take Mayhew
with him to Sandy Myers’ home. The only problem with this decision was that he
would have to go to Stamford to collect Mayhew, and this would add
significantly to the time it was already going to take to get there. But this
could not be helped. The feeling he had was strong; Todd Mayhew was going to
help him with this case.

O’Neill used the mouse for the last
time, clicking on the option to reset the search field, before standing up and
taking a lingering look around the office. Neither Lineker nor Hoskins were
anywhere to be seen, and he went quickly towards the exit of the building
without anybody interfering with his progress. When he returned he would be in
dire straits as a result of flouting the orders of his boss. That was if he
ever made it back. He was involved in something huge, and now that he realized
this he didn’t want Hoskins with him, getting in the way and trying to take
over with his new-fangled, 21
^st
century policing methods.

He went through the doors and out into
an unsuspecting world. The birds continued to sing in the trees, and the
branches swayed gently as if responding to the birdcalls. It was a dance of
nature that O’Neill rarely took any notice of as he rushed around various
scenes of unnatural occurrences, but he paused for a moment, savoring the
innocence and simplicity inherent in the row of trees, all too rare in
Brooklyn.

If Shimasou succeeded, would the birds
and the trees survive? O’Neill wondered, as he walked towards the rear of the
building where he had left his car. Did they know something humans didn’t? Were
the seemingly innocent and fragile sounding calls actually frantic warnings
from above? O’Neill didn’t know. The world had taken on a different appearance
for him, and his thoughts dealt only with minute-by-minute assessment.

He looked towards where he had parked
his car. What he saw made a smile spread across his face. His instinct had been
correct. Leaning on the bonnet of the beaten up old vehicle was Todd Mayhew.
Now they could really get moving. He would be able to get to Sandy Myers’ home
in about thirty minutes. He would also be able to fill Mayhew in on the way,
regarding the murders of June and John Riley. O’Neill felt that any real breaks
he’d had on the case so far had come from Todd Mayhew, and as O’Neill reached
the car he extended a hand towards the old man and said, ‘How did you know to
come?’

Mayhew smiled and answered, ‘I
followed you through Brooklyn, because I know that Shimasou is real. I figured
it was only a matter of time before you did too.’

The smile slipped from the lips of
O’Neill when he said this, and he fumbled with his keys before opening the car
door and motioning for Mayhew to get in. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said as the
old man lowered himself into the seat, being careful not to put his back out,
and reminding O’Neill that the last thing he wanted to do was become involved
in a violent encounter with Shimasou. He didn’t think his police issue revolver
would stand much chance of stopping something so powerful.

When Mayhew was comfortable, he
slammed the door and went around to the driver’s side of the car before
knocking on the window. Mayhew popped the lock on the door and O’Neill got into
the car.

‘Where are we going?’ Mayhew asked
O’Neill as he jammed his key in the ignition and attempted to start the engine.

‘We’re going to the home of Sandy
Myers,’ came the reply from O’Neill, and Mayhew remained silent as he waited
for an explanation from the big Special Agent. O’Neill didn’t answer, as he was
busy trying to start the car’s failing engine, and Mayhew waited until they had
begun to move before questioning O’Neill again.

‘First of all, who is Sandy Myers?
Secondly, where is her home? And thirdly, why are we going there?’

O’Neill glanced across momentarily and
said, ‘You really would make a good Special Agent, Todd. After I left you I
went to the forensics laboratory on May’s Street.’

‘I followed you, remember?’ The
statement had a slightly sardonic air to it and O’Neill mumbled ‘Oh yeah’ before
continuing with, ‘Anyway, they had recovered forensic evidence from the murder
scene. When that evidence was checked using our database, we realized that it
had come from a woman named Sandy Myers.’ O’Neill continued to stare at the
road in front of him as he explained to Mayhew how he’d come to believe that
Shimasou was real.

Mayhew allowed him to speak, as much
through intrigue as fear. He continued, ‘Ten years ago, both of Sandy Myers’
parents were killed in similar circumstances to Paul Wayans and John Riley. We
found evidence that she was both outside and inside the property of Paul
Wayans.’

‘But what does that mean?’ The old man
looked bewildered at receiving O’Neill’s information.

‘At first I thought Sandy Myers might
be the killer. I thought that maybe she was trying to exact some form of
revenge or exorcise the demon of the murder of her parents. It’s been known to
happen in the past. That was why I came to Brooklyn. I wanted to check out
Riley’s family history and try to find something to link Sandy Myers to that
crime.’

‘And?’ Mayhew wanted each sentence to
come ahead of the one it preceded; such was his eagerness to have all the
information from O’Neill.

‘And I found out that John Riley’s
mother was also murdered ten years ago. However, when I looked in the notes, I
found out that her details had not been released to the press. So I knew it
wasn’t some sort of copycat spree, because Sandy Myers could not have known to
target John Riley. I had to believe that Shimasou was true then; it all made
sense when you considered the theory.’

‘So why are we going to the home of
Sandy Myers? It must already have her if she was at Paul’s house.’ The question
was one O’Neill couldn’t answer. It was something that had already run through
his mind, and all that he could do was to hope they could find out where she
was. Then they could ask her why she had been at Wayans’ house at around the
same time as he was murdered.

Only by finding her would they stand a
chance of saving her, and themselves. The only way Sandy stood any chance of
beating the incarnated spirit of Shimasou was if they could reach her and tell
her what the last page of the file had told them.

Both men fell silent as they continued
to make progress on their journey. O’Neill concentrated on the road ahead.
Mayhew looked out of the window at the surroundings as they sped by.

And both men feared that it might take
a miracle.

Joe Myers paced up and
down, wearing out further the already thinning carpet in the lounge of his
home. The anxiety he felt after hearing his wife’s voice had induced in him a
nervous energy. His pacing was an attempt to expel some of the energy and
reduce the tension that had taken over his body and held him in an iron-like
grip. It wasn’t working though. He felt tortured by his indecision, enclosed by
the walls around him, unable to move in case the phone rang again.

He stopped pacing momentarily, and
looked at the clock. It hung on a tastefully decorated wall, beige wallpaper
inset with a large floral plum colored pattern. Sandy had delighted in how it
had transformed the room and made it feel more spacious. When he had eventually
gotten round to doing it, that was.

Every one second that ticked away
seemed like four to him, as he considered his options and wondered what would
be the best thing to do.

He now knew that Sandy had gone to
Melissa’s. This knowledge only made things harder for him. He wanted to protect
Sandy. He wanted to shield her from a tsunami, deflect a nuclear bomb from
hitting her, and climb a mountain to save her. But more than anything else, he
wanted to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. He wanted
to dry her tears with kisses and calm her beating heart with his embrace. To
look deep into her eyes and see the strength of their bond reflecting the faith
they had in one another. Then nothing else would matter. A love as strong as
theirs would survive any horror, any torture.

Joe also knew that he wanted their
children to still have parents when all this was over. He was devoted to Sandy
and their happiness, and the torture making his blood boil came from the fact
that if he went to Sandy, he would have to take Sean and David with him. Then
they would all be at risk. If he didn’t go the kids were not at risk, but he
felt as though he were abandoning his wife if he did nothing to protect her.
They had made a vow that they would stand side by side through anything, and
now more than ever this was what he wanted to do.

He began to pace up and down the room
once more, shuffling a pack of cards inside his head, as another five minutes
dragged slowly by, seeming like twenty. A noise outside the property startled
him and he went to the window.

The car that had pulled up in the
drive looked beaten up. The noise that had startled him, he now realized, had
been the driver applying the hand brake to prevent it from rolling back down
the drive, and Joe watched as two men inside the car exchanged several words
before the man who had been driving got out and slammed the door. He was a big
man, and Joe watched as he made his way up to the door of the house and rang
the bell twice.

Joe walked to the door. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Special Agent Sam O’Neill of the FBI,
Sir,’ came the reply from outside, as O’Neill struggled to maintain a courteous
manner, despite his eagerness to keep moving on the case. He didn’t need
anybody delaying him – in any way.

‘You got some I.D?’

‘Yes I have. But you’re going to have
to open the door if you want to see it.’ O’Neill could not keep the irritation
from his voice, and his exact pronunciation of each syllable of his sentence
only made it more apparent to Joe Myers, who opened the door nevertheless,
looking long and hard at the FBI badge that O’Neill presented to him.

As soon as he was visibly satisfied
with what he saw (and maybe even slightly before), O’Neill began to probe for
information. ‘You seem a little edgy Mr. Myers. Is everything okay?’

Joe Myers stepped to the side and
motioned the Special Agent into the lounge of his home without replying to the
big man’s question.

When O’Neill saw that he was not going
to get a reply from the obviously tense man he continued, ‘I’m actually here to
see your wife Mr. Myers. Is she here?’

By looking at the unwashed crockery
and children’s toys that were dotted around the room, O’Neill surmised quickly
that she was not. If she was, he mused to himself as he waited momentarily for
disheveled man’s response, the lounge probably wouldn’t look so bad. That was
what women were good at.