Authors: David McLeod
Since Aloysha had opened up, his past life recall had come on by leaps and bounds. He was almost at the point where the Fab Four were finding it hard to keep up with the new information. They decided to give him a few days' break, but even without the drugs, scenes from his past life kept coming. This morning's recall seemed very familiar.
'As the fog clears, I'm on top of a hill, beside Mount Tabor. The field below me is open and extensive, and Lake Galilee is off in the distance. There are literally thousands of people gathered, all seeming to gaze in my direction. I'm not alone on the hill, and as I look around
I can see people beside me, but I'm not able to see their faces.
'The crowd seems to be divided into different groupings . . . almost like military formations. The people in front of me seem to have a myriad of illnesses, from visible physical ailments to people who are muttering and apparently mad. What look like the families of the people in the front rows are behind them — they're torn between looking up at the hill and keeping an eye on their afflicted loved ones.
Families, single people and groups make up the rest of the crowd, sitting and standing in no particular order, but all intent on looking up at the hill.
'As I look closer into the crowd, I see a young girl; she's carrying a heavy basket and distributing its contents to everyone she passes.
She moves from group to group, person to person, and they take food from her, chunks of bread and small fish. It doesn't seem to matter how much she gives out, her basket never seems to empty.
'As I look around at the rest of the crowd, I can see other individuals like the girl, also distributing food. A voice can clearly be heard, but I can't decide if it is coming from inside me, or from someone else, but it radiates around me, and I'm filled with a sense of calm.'
G
ERMANY
'I'm looking down at the city's streets; they're rough and sandy, and I have a feeling that this area of the town is usually quite quiet. There's a group of people talking about the events of the day.
'A woman's scream interrupts their conversation and, as she runs past them, a group of angry men and women chase after her. They're clutching stones and their jeers and taunts are vicious. The woman stumbles and falls to the ground, scraping her knees and hands as she crawls desperately forward in a last vain attempt to get away. She tries to get up using a jagged wall to assist her, but she falls again. Her hands are bleeding.
'The crowd surrounds her and she turns to face them. She's cowering like a frightened animal. Arms are lifted as people ready themselves to stone the woman. Suddenly, a bold, commanding voice rings out above the jeers, asking what it is that she has done. I can't tell where the voice is coming from, but it immediately mutes the crowd's abusive noise.
'Someone in the crowd yells that she has sinned. The mob begins to chant, "Sin-ner, sin-ner."
'Again, the crowd is silenced by a single voice. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone!"
'The words seem to embarrass the crowd into submission, and dull thuds echo around the courtyard as their heavy stones are dropped to the sandy ground.
'Slowly and quietly the crowd disperses.'
R
USSIA
'I'm on a hillside just outside of Galilee, and I'm standing among a small group of men watching people gathering like flocks of sheep.
They are coming from towns and cities like Judea and Jerusalem, and from the seacoasts of Tyre and Sydon. Some are travelling by camel or donkey, but most are arriving on foot in both small and large groups.
'Their robes and head coverings are of every colour — bright oranges, reds and whites contrasting with the black and dark browns that others wear. There is no protection from the extreme heat of the midday sun and sweat is seeping from my skin to be absorbed by my robe. And still the people come.
'After a while, the crowd falls silent, waiting for the person they have come to hear begin to speak.'
As he's been instructed to do by the Fab Four, Aloysha is looking around to see if it's him they are waiting for.
'I can't tell; things are moving too quickly. I can't seem to focus . . .
My eyes are moving from person to person without stopping and I feel like an agoraphobic dropped into the middle of a crowded bazaar.
My head is spinning, but then I hear a voice I recognize. It's so very familiar and personal, but I don't know if it's my own. It's like hearing your own voice recorded; you recognize it, but in some ways it sounds alien. As the voice preaches, the crowd comes to its feet. They're mesmerized; there is a feeling of great learning and enlightenment being disseminated . . .
'"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of
Heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth.
'"Blessed are you who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for you shall be filled.
'"Blessed are those who are merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
'"And blessed are those who are mourners, for they shall be comforted.
'"Blessed are those who are pure in heart, for they shall see God.
'"And blessed are you who are peacemakers, for you shall be called the children of God.
'"And blessed are you who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for yours is the Kingdom of Heaven." '
'Everyone hears the words, and as they echo in their ears, they seek answers to their questions.
'"When is the Kingdom of God coming?" "Are you the Messiah?"
"How can we show you our faith?" The voice replies to each question with deep and thought-provoking answers.
'"Behold the birds of the sky, they neither sow nor reap nor take their harvest to the barn, and yet God feeds them, and how much more are you than they. Consider the lilies of the field and how they grow, they toil not, and can any one of you, by worrying, add a moment to your years?"
'With each answer the audience's thirst for knowledge is increased.
'A request is made from a farm worker. "Lord, teach us how to pray."
'The masses bow their head as the voice begins, "Our Father, who art in heaven . . ."
'When the prayer is finished, there is a calm over the whole valley.'
G
ERMANY
'As I climb the steps leading to the Temple of Jerusalem, I pass pilgrims resting and waiting to be cleansed and purified. The temple is made of marble and gold. It is widely known that the self-indulgence of the decadent priests is funded by money-changing within the temple walls.
The immense walls are pierced on the southern side by two large gates.
As I enter the temple, I am astonished by what I see. Crowds of people are moving in all directions, seeking purity and forgiveness. Designs of bright white and gold — such opulence I have never witnessed before
— cover the columns and walls. Fires burn, where the carcasses of the purest white lambs are burnt after the dawn and dusk sacrifices made to God. I watch the moneychangers' system in action. The impure currency of the pilgrims is exchanged for pure temple coins, and these are in turn exchanged for unblemished white doves for sacrifice to God.
The sacrifice of the dove entitles one to God's forgiveness.
'Suddenly there is great upheaval and tumult, and as I look back at the moneychangers' tables I see they are strewn everywhere; coins cover the ground, and pilgrims and dealers are fighting for a share. The uproar brings the guards to restore order and pacify the situation.'
After another restless night, Malone rose early and took flowers to his wife's grave. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't any particular anniversary or milestone; in fact he didn't even know what the date was — he just felt the need to go there. But if he'd been completely honest with himself, he'd have acknowledged a certain amount of guilt associated with the feelings that were reawakened when he was around Taylor.
As he sat on the grass next to the headstone he brought Barbara up to speed with the investigation — how it was starting to point towards a guy named Simon Travis, and some sick cloning thing he was into: I'm going to find Mary and make Travis pay, he told Barbara.
I swear!
Sitting there with the scent of the fresh flowers filling his nose, he started to miss her all over again. He remembered how she used to love getting flowers, and how they used to sit and talk for hours about nothing in particular. As the breeze brushed his face, he had a sense that she was there beside him, touching him, holding his face in her hands. He closed his eyes and embraced her presence as the wind ran through his hair, massaging his scalp the way her slender fingers used to.
Soon, he began to feel a chill work its way down his spine, followed by a sense of unease.
'What is it?' he asked. 'What are you trying to tell me?'
The breeze subsided, and as it left it took his discomfort with it.
Malone felt alone again, but it didn't matter — just to have had her company for a moment was enough. He wiped his hand across his eyes, removing the possibility of tears, stood, and put his hand on the cold granite.
'See you next time, my darling,' he said, and he walked back to his car.
After a quick breakfast at a local diner, Malone returned to Headquarters.
'You've got a message from Detective Logan, he wants you to call him.' Daniel's voice was distant. He seemed engrossed in whatever was on his screen. Malone went to the living room and dialled the detective's direct line, one of the few numbers he'd managed to commit to memory. Logan suggested he come down to the station; he had some new information for Malone about his daughter. Malone hung up and went straight out. As he closed the door he heard a sarcastic
'bye then' from Daniel.
The detective sat uneasily behind his desk. 'Sit down,' he said.
Malone was eager to bring Logan up to speed with where his investigation was leading and what his conclusions were, but at the same time anticipation was driving him crazy. What did Logan have for him?
'We've found your daughter's murderer.' The detective's words were direct and apparently emotionless, but they hit Malone like a freight train. He tried to speak but he could only open his mouth in disbelief.
'I'm sorry, Malone. It's a guy called Robert Richins. We nailed him a few weeks ago for the murder of an LA woman. I interviewed and got the confession from the guy myself.' Logan paused a beat. 'I wanted to tell you earlier but I needed to be sure. He's confessed to several other murders, most of them in the 'Frisco and Bay area. They've all checked out.' Logan's sentences were stunted. 'Since most of his crimes have been up north, he's been moved to the California Medical Correction
Facility awaiting trial . . .'
The detective's voice trailed off, but 'we've found your daughter's murderer' continued to ring in Malone's head.
'It can't be,' he finally mumbled. His theories had just been blown to hell, and his investigation was in vain. 'It just can't be.'
'One more thing,' Logan's tone turned even more sombre. 'He won't tell us where he's buried her.'
The detective stood up, put his hand on Malone's shoulder, and went to get him a coffee. When Logan came back, Malone was ready to ask questions. Who was it? Was he sure? And finally, could he go and see him for himself?
The drive to the airport was slow; the traffic and traffic lights seemed to conspire against him. Getting a flight to Sacramento had been easy enough; he just hoped there'd be a rental car available at the other end. After checking in and going through the airport's security system, he took a seat at the gate and waited for the plane to arrive.
Thoughts about the upcoming meeting went through his head. What can I say to him? Is it really true? What does all this mean? Vacant and numb, he shrunk inside himself, watching as people filled the seats around him. He felt as though he hadn't slept in days. Everything was surreal.
The plane arrived at his terminal, and passengers poured out around him, hugging and kissing waiting friends and relatives. Their reunions made Malone bitter. He joined the queue to board his flight, had his boarding pass checked and took his seat, anxious to get the flight over with.
Interstate 80 between Sacramento and San Francisco was an ugly stretch of road. Large trucks and sales reps' cars took up the lion's share of the road. Driving far too close to each other, the trucks looked like a long line of railway carriages. The little compact was the best car Avis had available, and it struggled with the traffic's pace. Malone switched off the air-conditioning to give the motor a break; the last thing he wanted was engine failure on the way.
Mile after mile of advertising billboards and bare countryside flooded his vision. Win big at Reno; Eat at Denny's, Drink Coke, Eat
McDonald's — he wondered if this sort of advertising actually worked.
Green and white signs indicated the mileage to towns and cities he'd never heard of; all he knew was that they brought him closer to his goal, Vacaville.
The houses surrounding the California Medical Correction Facility seemed normal enough. Do regular families live in them, he wondered, so close to some of the country's worst criminals, or do they house the families of the inmates? He shook his mind free of these thoughts and parked his car. The butterflies in his stomach began to flutter in earnest as he approached the main gate. He'd brought with him the requested three forms of ID: passport, driver license, and current power bill. It took him a while to work out that the power bill was evidence of a fixed abode.
The gates were large and daunting. He looked up at the razor wire on the walls, and back down to the guard on the other side. He handed over the documents and waited for validation.
Malone was finally ushered through the gates and another staunch prison guard introduced himself. Malone's head was racing and he immediately forgot the man's name. He was told the rules and stipulations governing his visit, and that there would be a guard present at all times. Malone's shoes squeaked as he walked with guard along the white corridors. He looked down at the tiled floor and assumed that keeping it so buffed and pristine gave the inmates something to do.
At the end of the corridor they passed through a door to the outside. Like a tour guide, the guard pointed out places of interest, but once again Malone instantly discarded the information. As they walked around the outside they passed the weights and exercise pen; blacks, Hispanics and whites each seemed to have their own special areas of the pen, and Malone thought it was like a scene from an old prison movie. His guard spoke to another, who went off among the inmates. Malone was taken to an interview room in one of the older parts of the building.
The room held a single table bolted to the floor with a chair at each end. A steel ring was welded to one side of the table and down the length of the room was a long mirror. Malone assumed it was a two-way mirror with a viewing room behind it.
Before the man was led in Malone went over the killer's charge sheet, which he'd been given by the guard. He skipped through the case notes on the crimes that led to the conviction, and stopped at the
'Personal' section.
Name:
Robert Richins
Personal history:
Enlisted US Army, discharged after 4 years
Single
Semi-skilled worker
Dates women with younger children
School record:
Erratic school record
High school dropout
Sexual behaviours:
Subject to sexual abuse under age 10 by uncle
Exposure rap late teens
Personal characteristics:
Unhappy childhood
Loner
Drug abuser
Crime classification:
Situational child molester and murderer
Social competence:
High
Sexual preoccupation with children:
High
Physical injury to victim:
High
Sadism:
Overt (High abuse)
* This case illustrates the escalation of the offence history, as it coincides with the evolution of sexual fantasy around children then moving on to adult females. Child abduction is performed through verbal persuasion. Weapons are used in sadistic fantasies to induce fear. Uses restraints in offense.
Act of killing itself brings arousal.
Malone felt sick. Reading this monster's bio had given him an insight into the last moments of his daughter's life. It was appalling.
The guard from the pen brought in a handcuffed inmate dressed in a prison issue bright orange boiler suit. He was taken to the far end of the table, and his handcuffs were inserted through the steel ring once he was seated.
Robert Richins was a normal-looking man. His hair was brown and short with a side parting. Malone was shocked to see someone who could be his next-door neighbour sitting opposite him. Not the tattooed skinhead he'd imagined. The guard introduced Richins and asked Malone to take a seat at the other end of the table. Aside from the orange coveralls and the handcuffs, the man sitting opposite
Malone could be an accountant or a bank teller. Malone could only stare. How could this man have brought such a catastrophe into his life?
All of the rehearsals in the car on the flight and then long drive had not prepared him for this confrontation with his devil. Malone was almost speechless.
'Would you like a cigarette?' he began.
Richins nodded, and the guard brought one over and lit it. He took a long draw, bent his head forward to his hands, took it out of his mouth and exhaled the blue-white smoke. Malone introduced himself and pulled the photo of his daughter out of his wallet. He stared at it for a moment, then placed it carefully on the table; with both hands he slid the picture closer to Richins. 'Have you ever seen this girl?'
he asked.
Richins stared at the picture and his head moved towards it. As he stared, his eyes began to glaze over. He was going to a place, a bad place, years ago.
Malone listened in horror as the killer took his journey.
His voice was soft and distant. 'Yeah, I know her. Sweet young thing, we spent some time together, sweet thing, sweet time.'
Anger was building in Malone. But however bad it was going to get, he had to hear this story.
Richins told Malone he liked them young and he liked them innocent, but none of them were truly innocent 'because they all flirted with me. LA is a big place and there are sweet pickings aplenty.'
He liked the suburbs 'because they was quiet and personal'. His van was where they spent most of their 'sweet time', it was where they all lived together. Getting Malone's daughter into his world was 'tougher than usual, you must of brought her up right'. He'd watched her for a couple of days, he knew which way she went to school and what time she came home. 'That was the best bit about the 'burbs, they all run like clockwork. Same ways, same times, just gotta know what the sweets want.'
Malone closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear any more, he just wanted to jump over to the other side of the table and beat Richins to death. He had to ask the next question; he couldn't help it. 'Where is she?'
Richins bent forward and took another deep drag. 'You innerrupted me.' He looked agitated, as if Malone had stolen the punch line of some great joke.
Malone was almost going to apologize, but his anger got the better of him. 'Where is she?' he yelled.
Richins smiled, happy with Malone's reaction. He knew he was in control — he liked being in control.
'This sweet,' he nodded towards Mary's photo, 'she liked presents.
I had to go an' get special paper and a bright bow.' He was saying this so simply, as if he'd needed to get a special tool to do a job around his house.
Malone knew then that Richins must have spoken with Mary before. Why hadn't she said something? His mind raced back some years, to a conversation at the breakfast table. 'Daddy, what does the
Lord think of presents?' The sound of her voice in his head hit him harder than the Twins who'd visited him the other night.
Richins stopped telling the story mid-sentence; he had lost Malone.
'What's my present?' he asked, looking directly at Malone.
Malone jumped out of his thoughts. 'What?' he asked.
'What's in it for me, to tell you where her body's hid?' Malone didn't know what to say. The killer wanted a deal and he had nothing to bargain with. He felt stupid; of course Richins would want something, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Another conviction for another girl made no difference; he was going to fry anyway.
Malone was helpless, and Richins knew it. Malone needed to speak to Logan. 'Please tell me,' he begged.
Richins pulled on his handcuffs and called the guard. As he was taken away, all Malone could do was watch.
The first guard came back and sat on the table next to Malone.
He'd been watching and listening to the whole thing, prison rules.
There was nothing he could say to help the situation, but he tried anyway.
'He's an animal who will be put down.' He picked up the photo of Mary and looked at it. 'She's beautiful. God is a lucky man having her up there with him.'
Malone snatched the picture from the guard's hand. 'There is no
God!' he spat through clenched teeth. The guard was used to such emotional outbursts, and he said calmly, 'If there's no God, then there would be no purpose or meaning to life. A beautiful girl like that
is
a purpose, and her life had a reason. Sometimes we don't know what that reason was. Sometimes we don't find out until much later, but rest assured Mr Malone, her life, like everyone else's, had a purpose.'
He stood up and led Malone back out through the prison to the main gate. It closed behind him, and Malone was alone in the parking lot, so very alone.