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Chronicles of the

Children of Destiny

The “Jack Dagger” Mysteries

“Skull & Crossbone”

(Condensed Version)

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com

Prologue

It was a cold and bitter morning. Hull seemed calm and at peace, the

citizens resting comfortably after another triumph by their beloved

Tigers, new to the Premiere league for the first time in their over

one hundred year history. Yes, it was a calm time, 5:35 am in the

morning. A perfect time for the Skull to do his dirty work.

He had studied the home for 7 weeks now. 7 painstaking weeks, staying

hidden and out of sight, carefully monitoring the Smith family. He

knew David Smith from work – a low level grunt, on the factory floor.

Yet when David had talked of his two beautiful twin girls of only 5,

Skull had taken an instant interest. And then he had seen the photos,

and the wicked idea in his mind had claimed its first victims – Jenny

and Julie Smith, beloved daughters of David and Roseanne Smith.

He was reluctant to kill the parents but, ultimately, saw no other way

to achieve his objectives. For the delight he planned with the twins,

it would be best if the parents were out of the way – permanently.

He knew from his observations that they rose around 6:30 each morning

– now they would still be asleep, or in bed at the very least.

Monitoring the street carefully, he moved away from his hiding space,

in a bush in the small park opposite their home, and with his bolt-

cutters, came to the locked electricity meter. Cutting the lock, he

turned off the electricity and then reaching up with the cutters,

snipped the telephone wires.

He opened the side gate, which was not locked fortunately, and came to

the back door. He opened his black bag and removed the glass-

cutters. Carefully, and as quietly as possible, he cut open a section

in the glass screen doors and, removing the glass, reached in and

undid the lock. And then silently, like a ghost in the night, he slid

open the door and entered into the dark room. Noting a light from the

adjoining lounge, he peered in to see the TV still on, volume down.

But the room was otherwise empty.

So, slowly, ever so slowly, like a thief in the night, he slithered

down the hallway to the front room – the sleeping quarters of Mr and

Mrs Smith. The door was partially closed, but, hearing only snoring,

he opened it slightly and peered inside. They were both naked,

sleeping soundly, Mr Smith snoring loudly. Good – this would be

easy. A quick and painless kill. First the man, and then the woman.

He removed his long blade from his black bag and entered the room.

Standing over Mr Smith, he thought on the work he had done for the

firm and how he should really appreciate such an individual. But pity

was for fools, as his uncle would say. Only the strong survive, and

the weak always serve them.

Standing above Mr Smith, he clenched the blade between both hands.

Raising it, about to strike, Mr Smith suddenly opened his eyes and,

just before he could scream, the cold hard deadly taste of steel

burned a flaming fire into his chest and Mr Smith departed for the

next world.

Mrs Smith woke instantly, but was soon dispatched in similar manner.

It was finished – his deed was done. Now only the children needed his

attention, and they would be far more manageable.

He came to their room, and finding them both asleep in the bunks, took

out his handkerchief, sprayed the necessary chemical solution onto it,

and placed it first on Jenny’s face, her being startled slightly, but

then going back to sleep; and then Julies, with the same result.

Lifting both of the twins over each shoulder, and holding his bag, he

decided he may as well leave by the front door.

On the front porch, looking around, nobody was in sight, and the

street was dead quiet. He made his way onto the front pathway, and

trod down the street 50 yards and just around the corner to where his

car was parked. He placed both girls in the backseat, got into the

front seat, and just then noticed a light had been turned on in the

house across the road. Worried a little, he started the car, and made

his way down the street, turning left at the intersection and speeding

off into the night.

It was finished. The dirty deed of the skull and his first victims

had come to pass.

Chapter One

‘How much for fuck’s sake?’ Jack Dagger looked at his new client –

one of many clients in East Hull. ‘100 quid, and I turn a blind eye

for a month. But you’ll need to be regular with the payments if you

want to carry on your business on my turf, right mate.’

The drug dealer, counting off the twenty pound notes, handed them

over, albeit reluctantly, but necessarily, to perhaps the most corrupt

of coppers in East Hull, Jack Frank Dagger.

‘Here you go, bastard,’ said the dealer. ‘But remember, no fucking

trouble, mate,’ he said, with coy emphasis on the ‘mate’. ‘I want

smooth business transactions for the whole month, you hear me. The

whole month.’

Jack nodded, counting through the bills. ‘You’ll have your month.

But remember, make the payments regular, or the filth will have you,

son.’

‘I’ll fucking remember,’ he said, slamming the door of Jack’s Aston

Martin, and walking back to his club.

Jack, folding the notes, and placing the money into his wallet,

grinned a little. Another fine night of police work for East Hull’s

finest officer. His personally funded retirement pension was looking

better all the time.

It was 9.00 pm, almost time for heading back to the station and

calling it quits for the night. He thought on getting a kebab from

‘Tony’s’, but was interrupted in his thoughts by the police radio.

‘DI Dagger, please make your way to 76 Beverly Brigade. We have a

double homicide, and your assistance is needed.’ Jack picked up the

radio. ‘I’ll be there shortly.’

Driving through the city streets of East Hull, he made his way

northwards a few miles, coming up to the street were 3 police cars

were stationed, an officer starting to put up police tape to cordon

off the murder site.

Jack got out of his Aston Martin, and an officer came to him. ‘Double

Homicide, Jack. It appears to be a Mr and Mrs Smith, killed some time

earlier in the day. Mr Smith didn’t call in for work today, and a

workmate dropped around to find David Smith and his wife, Roseanne

Smith, both dead in their beds, both stabbed in the chest twice each.

And one last thing – they had girls, twins. 5 years old. Both are

missing.’

Jack nodded, taking in the grim news. He entered the house, and an

officer showed him the back door where the offender had gotten in.

‘When forensics arrives, have them check for fingerprints and DNA.

You know, usual drill.’ The officer nodded. ‘And whatever the fuck

you do, don’t remove anything. There could be clues in the most

innocent looking objects, right.’ The officer nodded again, and

picked up his radio to call forensics again.

‘This way Jack,’ said the other officer, Sergeant Gilby, leading Jack

to the bedroom where the victims were still in bed. The room had

started to smell, and the bodies had gone stiff. The blood on their

chests had dried up and the scene, while unpleasant, was not the worst

he had seen. A standard homicide by the looks of it, if there could

ever really be such a thing.

‘At least they died quick,’ Jack muttered, grateful for that mercy.

‘Looks like it,’ agreed Sergeant Gilby.’

Jack, putting on rubber gloves which the Sergeant gave him, looked

over the bed, moving the doona and sheets around a little.

‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’ he asked the Sergeant.

‘Not so far, Jack. We have had a quick look through the house, and in

the gardens and on the street. One of the lads is checking the

neighbour’s gardens in case it was tossed over the fence. But my

guess is the murderer took the weapon with him or her.’

Jack, glancing at the holes in the chest of the victims, making a

quick assessment, responded.

‘I think the murderer is likely male. The holes, mind you, you can’t

always tell, but they look like they’re deep, and were savaged quite a

bit. Probably needed a male’s strength to do the business.’

The Sergeant nodded, taking in that observation. ‘Could they’re have

been more than one person involved?’ asked the Sergeant.

‘Too soon to tell,’ responded Jack. ‘There could have been observers

with him. But looking at both their wounds, they both seem similar.

Same area of the chest, the heart, as if the killer was aiming for

that area in particular. And the wounds, on quick observation, seem

to have come from about the same strength of blow – but too soon to

tell for sure. My guess is the same killer made both blows. If there

were any observers, DNA or any footprint marks might tell us

something. Did you notice any thing on the floor when you came in?’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘We’re careful about that with

homicides, as you know. We walked to the side of the main

thoroughfare just to be sure, but I don’t think there are any major

dirt marks from the shoes he had on.’

‘If he wore shoes,’ responded Jack.

‘Surely he wouldn’t have come in barefooted.’

‘No, unlikely. But perhaps some other form of footwear. You can’t

discount these things.’

Sergeant Gilby nodded.

Jack looked at the bodies, and prayed a short silent prayer to God for

the victims to rest in peace. Jack was a Catholic, used to the idea

of prayers for the recently departed.

‘So they had children. Twin girls. Any sign of them?’

‘Nothing so far. An officer is checking with known relatives at the

moment to see if they were staying with any of them. But if nothing

turns up we can only presume the killer has taken them. I guess they

may have been what he was after in the first place.’

Jack nodded. He had dealt with paedophiles before, and suspected that

this was quite likely a case of a paedophile finding two suitable

girls to live out his fantasies with. He had noted the park opposite

the place when he had arrived and now suspected, perhaps, that the

killer and kidnapper had observed the girls in the park playing. If

that were the case, there was a strong chance he lived in the local

area. Unless of course he was smart and travelled a distance to not

be known. Another option was that he could be a work associate of Mr

or Mrs Smith. Or finally, as was often the case, a family member or

friend was the culprit. They knew the victims the best, and often had

the strongest motivations for such an act. Family matters were often

like that – intensely personal and often gruesome. But the

investigation would proceed and only time would tell what caused this

incident.

A few minutes later the forensics night team had arrived. Jack spoke

with Shirley Jones, the officer in forensics he knew best, and gave

the basic details of the case. Leaving them to it, he handed over the

rest of the night’s work to Sergeant Gilby, and headed off. It was a

standard enough case, and the girl’s were a worry. But there was

little they could do that night, and he was tired so decided to call

it a night. The case could wait till the morning.

Driving through the streets of Hull to the Station, he thought on the

stab wounds to the chest and realized something. Perhaps it was the

killer’s first experience at such a thing, yet perhaps he was more

experienced. Any fool would know to stab someone in the heart for a

quick silent death, but someone who was new to the thing – someone who

had not murdered before – someone who was nervous and had not planned

out how to make the kill, might not instinctively go for the heart,

but just nervously plunge the blade in anywhere. But this killer

seemed to have known to go for the heart both times, as if he was sure

of himself. As if it had been well thought out. Perhaps he had

killed before but, if not, he knew what he was doing, which inevitably

meant a tough case. Someone who might know police procedures and how

to get away with it. Someone who would be a devil to catch.

He tried to take his mind off the case, and turned his thoughts to the

other night when his boyfriend had left him. Charles had been with

him for over a year now, and he had finally had enough of Jack’s

churlish ways. He had known Charles for years, knowing most of the

gay men on the Hull scene around his age group. Jack had been gay

since his teens, back in the 70s when being gay was not cool. He’d

had tough times because of it, but that had gotten better since the

early 90s, and now it was practically trendy to be bent with the

younger crowd.

Although, strictly speaking, Jack was sort of bisexual rather than

definitely gay, as he occasionally flirted with the ladies, and was

not adverse to bedding one when he took a fancy. But his personal

preference was usually the fellas.

Now in his late forties, the toughest time he’d had with coming out

was from his father, his mother being far more sympathetic. His two

sisters had not really given a damn, being very politically correct

about the issue, unsurprising for public servants. But his dad had

actually quoted the bible at him, almost unusual for the lapsed

Catholic old John had been. Yet, now, John had seemingly softened and

gotten with the times, as it were. And over recent years John had

assured his son it was no longer really an issue to him.

You met all sorts of people in the gay scene, especially a number of

sexual deviants, some he had even arrested from time to time. Jack

Dagger, himself, was used to these people.

From personal introspection, Jack Dagger was a grim and gritty type of

fellow. He was churlish, coarse, could be quite offensive, often

sexually offensive to even his closest of friends. And, of course,

despite the excuses for the behaviour that he had often internalized

and justified to himself, he knew he was damn corrupt as a copper,

taking many a bribe in his time to allow the underworld to do its

gruesome business. And he even did cocaine and heroine from time to

time.

Yet despite these flaws, and many others, for which Jack Dagger was

infamous to those who really knew him, Jack had a grim sense of real

justice. The scum he met on the street he had a handle on. If they

pushed it – if they really pushed it and started messing around with

regular people – people with values who made a difference in the world

- instead of fucking up the lives of the other scum they associated

with, then Jack would act. He would act decisively and sharply. He

would deal with the scum and do the devil’s business of meting out

street justice. When they did their business of drug dealing Jack

didn’t really care. If somebody was stupid enough to get addicted to

drugs, as far as Jack was concerned they deserved what they got and

so, without pity, he felt he may as well get a cut of the action.

Hell, he knew other guys on the force were doing it, and it didn’t

bother him, so better a fuller pension in his bank account than some

scumbag drug dealer.

But, true to his personal skewered sense of morals and ethics, when

someone like the Smiths tonight were harmed, Jack was a different

man. They were respectable citizens, paying their taxes, and trying

to get along with the world. They didn’t deserve what happened to

them. And so, what was perhaps the initial impulse to join the force

in the first place, guided Jack along in his working life, and despite

his many flaws, Jack had some sort of sense of universal justice. A

dirty cop to do dirty work.

Pulling up in front of the station, he ducked inside, had a few words

with the Guv about the new case, did a quick report which he promised

to finish in the morning, signed out and headed for ‘Tony’s’ chips and

kebab roadside caravan cafe.

Stuffing the chicken kebab down his throat, he though on the new

case. He knew the routines by now, the usual places to ask questions,

the usual people to ask those questions to. He’d notified missing

persons about the missing kids as a matter of policy, but strongly

suspected the killer had them, rather than them having run away.

Really, it was another in a long case file for Jack Frank Dagger, Hull

copper, and finishing off his kebab, jumping into his treasured second-

hand Aston Martin, he prayed to God for his help in solving the case,

and made his way through the streets of Hull homeward bound.

Chapter Two

The Skull looked at the screen of the two girls, still occasionally

bawling, but mostly sitting on the lounge, content. They had eaten

their meals, and were watching television – the Disney channel on pay

TV which he had put on for them. Being twins, it made it difficult to

choose which one he would have fun with at the expense of the other,

but ultimately decided it didn’t matter. And tonight, after work, he

would do the deed. He would do the deed and have, perhaps, the

wickedest of delights known only to the most depraved of the damned.

Of course, he would send the video to the police. He would send the

entire incident to them to torment them, the idiot coppers. He would

torment them for weeks, with his sick game, until, finally, one of the

girls would go to Crossbone, and that wretch would have his vile fun.

But for now he would have his delight.

* * * * *

Jack Dagger awoke, the prostitute he had hired for the night sleeping

soundly beside him. He had slept with her before – a number of times

actually. She was a street slut, really, and would not always

practice safe sex. Still, he got his oral pleasures from her, but

would not go the traditional way for fear of catching something. She

was cheap and nasty, perhaps the kind of slut suited to Jack Dagger,

and she did him the way he liked it, with all of his crude desires.

He had left her alone in his place before, and she had never nicked

anything, so he decided not to wake her.

His belly had rumbled a few times during the night, waking him, as the

kebab did not go down easy with just Coke. His doctor often told him

that with his night diet he needed to drink a lot of water before he

went to bed to help with the digestion, which the caffeine from the

cola also really needed. But Jack often forgot, and payed for it with

a restless night’s sleep. But he didn’t care much. He was a sensual

man, perhaps a product of his era in many ways. Fast food, alcohol,

cigarettes, drugs, prostitutes – these were the vices of others which

were the spice of Jack’s life. Of course, Jack was not an idiot. He

knew he was living on borrowed time. He was 47, approaching 67, and

his heart would not take the beating he gave it forever. He had,

despite him telling himself he was an idiot and not to give a damn,

but nevertheless he had been to a gym recently, booked a session, and

worn himself out. But, while it was tiresome, he felt strangely good

while he was doing it and sort of got the impression of what all the

fitness nuts were going on about. Perhaps he should change his ways.

Perhaps he should repent of his slovenly lifestyle, go to church

regularly, and become the clean cut man of God his mother had always

wanted. But whenever he was partially inspired to put in some effort,

the pleasures of the flesh grabbed hold, and the demons of hell

reminded him they had a lovely little place in hades in which he could

eternally enjoy his wicked pleasures. Perhaps he trusted such voices

– perhaps he didn’t.

Standing up, he wiped his eyelids, the crustation from the night’s

slumber having built up, and pushed out his backside and farted

loudly. Wafting the smell from his face, he went into the ensuite

adjoining his bedroom, looked at his face in the mirror and said

‘fugging hell.’ He opened the toilet seat lid, did his morning

ritual, and turned the shower on. Despite the many flaws of Jack

Dagger, he usually got himself appropriately attired for work, was

usually clean shaven and physically clean throughout the day. In

summer he had been told he sweated quite badly, and smelt a little,

something he put down to his choice of diet rather than his personal

hygiene, and had told others just as much. But people on the force

knew Jack now, and nobody really complained too much about him.

Coming into his kitchen, he realized he hadn’t bought milk for a week,

and looking at the carton in its fridge, it had past its use by date

by three days and was nearly empty anyway. He usually either grabbed

a coffee and toast or cereal for breakfast, but decided, with the

important case for today, to have a good breakfast. Only a bacon and

egg muffin with OJ, would suffice.

Leaving his flat, he looked at his wristwatch. 7.42. He knew he

really should have gotten in a bit earlier today, with the importance

of the case, but he did need his sleep. Perhaps drive through and

best to make it quick.

After finishing his breakfast in the carpark of the 24 hour takeaway,

he made his way to the station. Arriving at quarter past eight, he

felt reasonably ok that he was in soon enough. Climbing the steps to

his upstairs office, and entering the open plan area, Captain Jennings

spotted him, motioned him over to were Sergeant Gilby and DI’s

Hawkins, Holdsworth and officer Jones from forensics were sitting at

the central table of the office.

‘Shirley, Fred, Jim,’ he said, nodding to the officers. ‘Captain

Jennings,’ he said, nodding to his superior. ‘So, what have we got?’

Captain Adam Jennings spoke up.

‘I know you were first on the scene, Jack, but the Smith’s homicide

has been handed over to Hawkins and Holdsworth. They are on the case

now.’

‘For fuck’s sake…’ began Jack.

‘Hold your tongue,’ interrupted the Captain. ‘You have been assigned

to the missing girls instead. As you know, Hawkins and Holdsworth are

an established homicide team. They have handled a lot of cases

together now. Besides, I felt, knowing you, you may have preferred

the job of finding the girls instead. At this stage we do not know

for sure if the killer has kidnapped them, although that is likely,

but we need an officer in charge of a search to see if we can

physically find them or find any other clues as to their whereabouts.

Hawkins and Holdsworth will concentrate on the murder scene. I want

you leading a squad of officers to ask questions in the area of the

home to see if anyone spotted anything.’

‘That is only going to last so bloody long,’ complained Jack.

‘A few days, and that’s it. You can only ask so many questions, and

then it is waiting by the phone.’

‘You should know there is more to it than that, Jack,’ continued the

Captain. ‘But if you have no luck after a few days, I will assign you

to assist Hawkins and Holdsworth in whatever manner they need you.

Satisfied?’

Jack nodded, albeit reluctantly, but satisfied enough to not have the

case totally taken from him.

He turned to Shirley. ‘Did you find anything significant last

night?’ Shirley Jones from forensics night team grinned a little,

happy to share the news she had just given to the rest of the team.

‘Every crime scene has clues, Jack. Any time a criminal interacts in

any way with the scene, there is information of some sort to be

gained. But our man was careful. Very careful, but not infallible.

Firstly, there are metal shavings on the glass from the cutter he

used. We should be able to trace the type of cutter and places in

Hull were this cutter is sold. It will probably be a major hardware

store in the city, which might leave us clueless apart from possible

credit card leads – that is if he was that stupid to buy them with a

credit card.’

‘How will you trace the cutter?’ asked Jack.

We know the cutter was made from a particular alloy, so we are tracing

manufacturers for the right element percentages used in the cutter.

There is likely only one company which would use the exact blend found

in the cutter, so once we identify the company we can find out were

they sell their stock.’

‘And if the cutter is old? A defunct company?’

‘We track down old company records. One way or another we will find

were it came from and were it was sold.’

Jack nodded. It was definitely an angle to pursue.

‘What else?’

‘Traces of dirt, not the kind from around the house. We are checking

the Smiths regular haunts, doing dirt analyses, so once we know were

the dirt is from we can perhaps identify wether it is a foreign

element to the family or not. We have a database on soils from this

region, now, and can quickly tell were most soils are from. It

shouldn’t take long and we will be able to identify were it comes

from.’

‘The dirt could be from anywhere, though. A friend of the families

even,’ stated Jack.

‘The dirt was still wet, and had been tracked into the house, likely

within the last 48 hours. We checked Mr Wilson’s footwear and

clothes, uh he was the man who reported the incident, but no match.

Once we have an idea of who came into the house over the last 48

hours, we will be able to make an assessment. But my guess is it’s a

calling card for our killer – an involuntary calling card.’

‘Any other clues?’

‘Dr Sanderson is looking at the body now, and making his assessment.

I contacted Dr Erickson from central to arrange a psych analysis of

the potential killer. He will be here later on this afternoon, and

you can tell him what you know then. There are a few other things we

are looking at, like the bolt-cutters which cut the bolt of the

electricity box and the telephone wires. Once we identify were they

came from, we can perhaps cross-reference each of the sources for the

killers contact with the scene. Triangulating we may get an

approximate location – hopefully, somewere in the centre.

Jack nodded. She was good – she knew her stuff.

Captain Jennings spoke up, ‘Alright Jack, you’re filled in. I want

you to arrange some officers from downstairs to accompany you to the

crime scene area this morning and begin your questioning. I will

leave the questions to you, you should know what you are doing by

now. Sergeant Gilby has informed us that the children are not staying

with any of the known family, relatives or friends. After you have

done the local scene of the crime, you can perhaps contact each of

them to get any information you think is pertinent. I’ll leave it in

your hands. Ok team. Lets get to work – and keep the information

flowing, always. Holdsworth, Hawkins – let Jack know of any major

findings. They could be invaluable. And you, Jack. While Hawkins

and Holdsworth will be speaking to the family and friends before you,

when you follow up keep them informed. Ok?’

‘Gotcha chief.’

‘And don’t call me chief,’ Jennings muttered in response. ‘Ok. Get

to it.’

Jack slinked over to his desk, sat down, and opened a drawer, taking

out a pack of cigarettes. Strangely, his fellow workers were all

health freaks, with none of them smoking. But they didn’t mind Jack

occasionally having a cigarette inside, despite it being against

station policy. One of the perks of the trade he had come to know

when on serious cases.

He lit the cigarette, looked over the morning newspaper which had not

yet covered the incident, and thought on the day ahead. Another day

of not so routine police-work. But, hey. That is what they paid him

for.

* * * * *

He called himself the Skull for a reason. It was a name he was aiming

to earn for himself, and tonight would be the night he would claim his

first prize.

Coming into the room, and locking it behind him, the Skull, wearing a

hockey mask, had his black bag with him. The video was silently

taping his performance, and he would be sure not to disappoint. Jenny

and Julie stared at him, too scared to say anything. He sat down next

to Jenny, with his black bag next to him. He put his arm around her

shoulder, and she was too scared to resist. He spoked to Julie.

‘Julie, go stand over their – next to the door.’ Dutifully she obeyed

him. And then the skull began his gruesome work. Pulling out the

blade he had killed their parents with, the child shivering in his

arms, the Skull spoke to Julie.

‘Julie. Would you like to see your sister’s skull?’ Julie shook her

head quickly, horrified. ‘I am sure you will like it, continued the

skull. And then, as only the sickest of minds could, the Skull cut of

the head of Julie’s twin sister, Jenny, blood spurting everywhere,

Julie screaming her lungs out and, proceeding to scalp the skull,

removing the skin and flesh, and finally the brain, the Skull

presented the gory skull of Julie’s now dead twin sister to her.

Julie just screamed and screamed the whole time.

The skull made the skulls jawbones move, as if speaking, and said to

Julie – ‘Its ok sis. Let’s play.’ But Julie just cried and screamed,

eventually crawling herself into a ball on the floor, sobbing to

herself. The Skull turned to the camera and smiled, his face

indistinguishable behind the hockey mask. ‘Hi boys,’ he said, with

the sickest of voices, and left the room. And the only sound after

that on the tape was Julie screaming at the presence of the body of

her decapitated sister.

Chapter Three

The following day, after Jack had spent the afternoon questioning

locals in the area, he was at his desk when he received a phone call

from one of the houses just down the street and around the corner from

the crime scene.

‘Hello,’ the inquirer began nervously, an elderly lady. ‘Is this

Detective Dagger?’

‘Aye Maam. Can I help you?’ replied Jack.

‘Hello again Detective. This is Marjore Walker from 2 Batsfield

Street, just around the corner from were the Smiths were killed. You

spoke to me yesterday.’

‘And how can I be of help,’ continued Jack.

‘Well, I am getting on a bit now, you know, old age. It catches up

with all of us. Anyway luvvie, my memory is not what it used to be,

but I was thinking about what you said all night, and this morning I

remembered that I had seen a car early on the morning of the deaths.

I had just gotten up and was looking out my window and a figure had

just closed the boot of his car and gotten in and drove away.’

Jack ears twitched. The incident sounded very relevant, perhaps the

killer himself.

‘Now let me know, maam, and this is important. Did you see the face

of the driver, or the type of car?’

‘No son, it was too far to see his face clearly, and too dark of

course. But I do remember the car. It was a red or brown station

wagon, but I don’t know anything like the model it was. There is a

streetlight above were the car was parked, so I could see the colour

you see. But still too dark to see the driver’s face.’

Jack noted down all of the details on his notepad.

‘And what time exactly was this maam,’ he asked earnestly.

‘Well that I can help you with detective. It was exactly a quarter to

six in the morning, as I looked at the clock when I got up that

morning. I often go to sleep early you see, and then rise early the

next day. You know the saying – early to bed.’

Jack nodded – he knew the saying.

‘Did you see anybody with the driver? Two girls of around 5. Did you

see any sight of them?’

‘No. There was nobody with whoever it was. But they had just closed

the boot, and may have put the girls in the back. It was a station

wagon after all.’

Jack thought on the plausibility of that idea, and conceded it was

possible. He continued. ‘Were there any distinguishing features

about the driver? You know, type of clothing, body size – was he

carrying anything? Anything you can tell us would be invaluable.’

Marjore responded, ‘He may have been wearing something covering his

face, but I wasn’t sure. He was dressed in black, and had a bag which

he put on the front seat before he got in. As for size, well, you

know, hard to say. Normal size – average I guess. Probably a man,

with the build I saw, but I could not be definite.’

Jack continued scribbling down all this information, forming a clearer

picture in his mind. It looked, initially, like they had found their

man. The closing of the boot, the fact that it was a station wagon,

in which children could be laid down, the carrying of a bag in which

the tools used for the crime might have been carried, the dressing in

black. But, probably the key factor which made Jack assume they

definitely had found their man – the possible obscuring of the face.

He would have been wearing a mask of sorts, so as not to be

identified. They now had him, he was sure of it.

He continued. ‘Alright, Mrs Walker. I will be sending around an

officer this morning to get your official statement. Just tell him

what you told me and anything else you can remember. But believe me,

luv – your help has been invaluable.’

‘Oh that is so good to hear. I didn’t know the Smiths personally, but

had seen them around and the seemed like a lovely couple. So terrible

what happened to them. So terrible.’

‘All murder is maam. All murder is.’ He bid her farewell, hung up

the phone, and notified an officer from downstairs, relaying the

information he had received and dispatched him to get the official

statement.

Looking down at his notes, the information was excellent, mainly the

info on the type of vehicle. Obviously it was the killer, but it was

mainly the vehicle information which would be useful in helping to

identify him. Like so many new databases the computer age had given

the work of the force, they had access, now, to a powerful vehicle

registration database, and could narrow down the type of vehicles in

the area based on the information he had received. He took a

cigarette out of his drawer, lit it and took a few puffs. He would

talk with Hawkins and Holdsworth shortly, letting them know the

details. And he would check in with Shirley as well, just to stay

informed. It looked like they were getting somewere, and the case

seemed, at this stage, within their grasp. It would be an intense

next few days, and he urged himself to put his nose down and work hard

at it – two girls life could be at stake.

* * * * *

Detective Inspector Fred Hawkins stood next to Shirley Jones from

forensics, looking through a microscope at minor shards of metal they

had taken from the ribs of one of the victims. Shirley had explained

that the metal was standard stainless steel, as most blades were, and

tracing the exact knife it had come from through identifying the maker

of the knife based on the metallic makeup of the ores in the knife

would be difficult. It was a standard type of stainless steel.

‘Perhaps we can identify trace elements or molecules from the steel

which may be common in the area surrounding the smelting pots were the

steel was melted down, but that is really pushing it, and we simply

don’t yet have the resources. There are hundreds, probably thousands

of steel making companies worldwide, and the knife could have come

from any one of them. With the glass-cutters, as it was a specific

alloy, we were able to identify the origin of the cutters, a company

from France as you know. But with this blade, practically

impossible. Theoretically it could possibly be done, but we simply

don’t have the resources to handle such a search.’

Detective Hawkins nodded, knowingly. Shirley, from what he knew,

could identify the origin or any type of material found at a crime

scene – yet even for her expertise, some things were simply

untraceable.

Jack came into the laboratory, having come down from his upstairs

office, and began relating to DI Hawkins his new information.

Fred nodded, taking in all the info, and thanked Jack for what would

probably be useful leads.

‘Where’s Holdsworth?’ Jack asked.

‘At the crime scene,’ responded DI Hawkins. ‘He is still making some

analyses of the scene, and looking through some of the Smith’s

personal records and photographs to identify all known people they

have come into contact with.’

‘That list could probably go on forever,’ responded Jack.

‘Holdsworth will know what he is looking for,’ responded Hawkins. ‘He

has experience now.’

Jack nodded, relating. He turned to Shirley.

‘So where are we up to? Any further leads?’

Shirley motioned for Jack to look through the microscope at the steel

shavings, which he did so.

‘Identifying the origin of the steel would not be easy. We have no

real information yet on the exact composition of steel samples from

every company in the world. We could probably, with a few phone

calls, get samples from all the British companies, but that would take

some doing.’

Jack looked at her, just remembering something. ‘Hang on a sec – I

think I can do your job for you.’ He walked over to the PC at the

desk, sat down, and started going through recent Police bulletins on

the Intranet. It took a while, and Hawkins and Jones lost interest,

but eventually Jack found what he was looking for – an article on new

Manufacturers database information for all British companies to

identify the origins of materials, primarily those directly related to

criminal activities, which especially included steel manufacturers.

He waved Shirley over, showed her the article and suggested she

contact London to see if they could obtain the database.

Shirley made the call and the office in London provided her a secure

internet link to which she could view the database.

‘It is looking promising,’ said Jack, as Shirley entered in the

specific data from the analysis of the steel into the database under

the ‘Identity Metal Origins’ section.

‘Bingo,’ said Shirley, as the screen showed Seybold & Dicksted of

Sheffield, England’s largest steel manufacturers.

She turned to Jack – what this means is that the knife was almost

definitely from an English manufacturer. I have spoken with Dr

Erickson and he has given us the best specifics he can on the probable

structure of the knife. Given the depth of the wounds, and the

straightness, we can get a glimpse into the physical strength of the

perpetrator, and can approximate how far he would have plunged the

knife from its hilt inwards. What we know is that the knife, with

handle, was likely about 12 to 13 or 14 inches long, it was a straight

long blade, about 1 mm thick at the cutting edge, to possibly 3 to 4

mm on the blunt side, as the angle of the entry of the knife against

the ribs suggests this, from analysing the structure of the rib

wounds. So, once we identify all knife manufacturers who use Seybold

steel in the UK with knives that fit this approximate description, we

can find were all such knives were sold in the Yorkshire region. It

may, if we are lucky, only have been one or two places. But it will

give us another pin on our map, and we will get closer to our guy.’

Jack nodded, and DI Hawkins spoke up. Alright, you get to that

Shirley, and me and Jack will see to the vehicle registration database

and locate all known vehicles which fit such a description in the Hull

area. Come on Jack,’ said Hawkins, making his way out of the room.

Jack patted Miss Jones on the back. ‘Good work Shirley. Keep it

up.’ She smiled, and went back to her microscope.

Chapter Four

That afternoon they had reasonable luck in identifying around 40

station wagons which seemed suitable candidates according to the best

description available from Mrs Walker. Jack began a separate map and

placed pins in the locations of all 40 station wagons. It would be a

busy day tomorrow and likely for a few days in talking to the owners

of each of the wagons. As per usual they would go through the list of

owners and with the profile they had slowly been building compare each

owner and each possible user of the wagon to the profile picture being

built up.

He worked until 7 and, getting home, felt like going out to talk with

someone. He was alone again. Charles had left him after a year’s

companionship, and he had felt lonesome the last few nights. At 49

years of age he was not really looking for another long-term sexual

partner. That part of his life was starting to die down somewhat.

Eager youth and the daringness of his lifestyle choice had pushed him

often to experiment and be bold in the bedroom. But with Charles and

even before then he had been settling somewhat. And what he wanted

now was more of a relationship and a partner to share life with, than

a sexual powerhouse.

The harlots were still a thrill, though. And gave him a kickstart he

still needed somewhat. But they were gradually and perhaps had become

less and less important. The kind of lifestyle of sexual freedom

which Jack had long practiced, while he could not deny the thrill it

gave, did not really speak of the kind of values his parents had tried

to impart to him. Loyalty, togetherness, trust and respect. With the

new younger gay men marriage was starting to become the in thing.

While gay ceremonies had been in the scene for a long time, they had

never really spoken to Jack’s heart. Never really caught him. He was

bent and didn’t mind being bent. So why try and bother straightening

that out into a societal norm it didn’t need to be. And quite frankly

as far as Jack Dagger was concerned, what he didn’t want it to be.

The whole thrill of sexual freedom in Jack’s eyes was that it trod on

taboos and gave a joy to life otherwise forbidden. The way it was

becoming so bloody politically correct to make the gay thing exactly

the same as the hetero scene, in the end, just didn’t sit with him.

In fact, as contradictory as it may have sounded, he liked the

established traditions of society left alone and left just as that.

Established traditions. The straights really didn’t want and really

didn’t need the gays copying them simply to fit in or get ‘their equal

right’s’ as Jack felt so many in the gay scene these days were

motivated by. Ultimately, to Jack, gay sex was a thrill and a taboo.

Enjoyed for its own sake. Legitimizing it took all the fun out of it.

He thought on some of the things forensics had been looking into in

the current case, but shook that off. Work would not give him someone

to talk to at this time, so he would go out for a meal. Find a nice

pub or restaurant, and perhaps chat to somebody. Really, he just

needed the human touch at the moment.

Getting into his second hand Aston Martin, Jack headed to the other

side of Hull, basically in an attempt to hopefully meet someone new

and who would not know him. He knew of gay clubs on this side of

town, but decided a regular pub might suit him. He would be careful

about the fellas and tonight see if any females fancied a chat.

He arrived at the Red Boar and parked his car in the lot across the

street. It was 8 and they were still serving dinner, so he ordered a

plate of chips and gravy, some fish with lemon and tartare sauce, and

pint of Guinness.

Sitting there drinking, watching the replayed Super-league match of

the local derby between Hull City and Hull Kingston Rovers, a lady of

around 40 or so sat down opposite, lit a cigarette and sipping on her

drink, started watching the match. After a while she turned to him.

‘Hello luv. I don’t think I have seen you hear before. I’m

Lavender. Lavender Rose.’

‘God, what were your parents thinking,’ responded Jack.

Lavender chuckled. ‘I know. But it was 1969 and they were hippies.’

Jack nodded. He remembered the era somewhat.

She looked at his chips. ‘Do you mind,’ she asked.

Jack obliged and pushed forward the plate. ‘Feel free. I have eaten

all the fish so you can have the rest of the chips if you like.’

‘Ta.’ She sat eating the chips for a few minutes and looked at him.

‘You married? Living with someone?’

For the first time in the conversation Jack looked at her seriously.

She was generally attractive enough to look at, and it seemed she was

single. Perhaps at her age she was after a man. So Jack considered

that. He was bi and was not against going with a woman long term. If

that was what she was after, he might let it go were it would.’

‘Single. No kids,’ he replied.

‘Right,’ she said, taking another puff on her cigarette. ‘Me, I’m

divorced. 5 years now. I can’t have kids of my own, I think. We

never had any, so I guess I’m barren. But I’m fine with that. Kid’s

aren’t for everyone.’

He looked at her and decided, as she seemed the right sort in general,

to come clean. ‘You know, luv. I am 49, bisexual and single. My

last partner, a gent, left me recently, but yes, I am looking for a

friend. I’m lonely, I guess. You know how it gets. And if you are

looking for someone to spend time with. Someone to be with. Someone

to share those lonely nights with. Well I would not be adverse to

that. I’m a copper. I have a place of my own. And I’m generally

settled.’

The woman nodded. Actually, all that Jack had spoken was really what

she was trying to get out of him with casual conversation.

Fortunately she had saved him the effort.

‘It’s almost like those speed dates they do these days, isn’t it. Not

like in the old days when you would get to know someone.’

‘Why waste time, huh. It’s not like we are getting any younger.’

‘No,’ she said, putting out her cigarette. ‘As I said, I am

Lavender. Lavender Rose.’

‘Jack. Jack Dagger.’ He offered his hand, which she took. ‘And it is

good to meet you Lavender Rose.’

‘Jack, I live with my sister. Just down the road a little. Do you

want me to move in with you? We like each other, so why bother

wasting time, huh.’

Jack looked at her, and nodded. It was exactly what he had come here

for, and exactly what he had got. Almost as if it had been arranged

by powers beyond him.

‘What the hell, Lavender. I have my Aston Martin. Why don’t we go to

your sister’s, grab your most needed items, and head to my place. You

can move in tonight.’

She nodded. ‘Its easy as you get older, isn’t it. You already know

the drill.’

Jack nodded. So true. So very true.

They had the obligatory night of passion and when Jack got up in the

morning, finding Lavender in the kitchen who had prepared them

breakfast, he was pleasantly surprised. And digging in, the eggs were

scrambled to perfection. Obviously she could cook.

She kissed him farewell, said she would get her sister to bring the

rest of her stuff over, and as Jack left for work, he almost strangely

felt if he had just gotten married and was on his honeymoon.

* * * * *

That day Jack visited 5 of the owners of the various station wagons.

In the morning he went through information on them available to the

police in various confidential files and intelligence information from

other sources, and then got to work in the afternoon. It was slow

work, carefully interviewing them, asking the same standard questions

for their whereabouts at the time of the crime, with the usual same

answer of being in bed at home. Jack was cautious with each of them,

naturally. If they stumbled onto their killer, he or she would be

cautious themselves. They would paint themselves to look as innocent

as possible and Jack tried to leave each potential suspect afterwards

feeling as if it was routine police questioning in a homicide and that

they had nothing to worry about. He wanted any potential killer that

he ran into thinking the police was not onto them. That they had

ideas, but nothing more than that. And so he was polite and friendly

with everyone, ensuring an everyday approach so as not to arouse any

great suspicion.

He spent the next 4 days on this task, keeping Holdsworth and Hawkins

informed of his work, and also following up in the afternoon with the

relatives and known friends of the victims, as a courtesy second round

of questions by the police just to clarify further details.

It was tiring work to start with, and no great leads came straight

away. Hawkins and Holdsworth had visited the workplace of Mr Smith,

asked various questions about any possible grudges he may have had,

and interviewed a number of his work associates. When Jack had

completed his interviews with all 40 of the station wagon owners, and

cross referenced this information with all the known friends, family

and co-workers of the Smiths, they came up empty. No connections so

far had been made. And because of this Captain Jennings advised a

broadening of the type of station wagon in the search they had

conducted. This, though, ran into the hundreds and Jack looked at

Captain Jennings one afternoon. ‘We may crack this case, but will the

funds be made available. Other cases will beckon soon, and this may

be put on the backburner.’

Jennings responded, ‘Unlikely Jack. Higher up they want this case

solved, and are even thinking about giving us extra hands. It’s a

popular news item, with the girls involved, and the public wants the

killer found and the girls rescued. Surely you have been watching the

news.’

‘I try not to these days too much. Too much fucking depressing news.’

‘Watch your language, Jack. But, yes. I can sympathise. But to

answer your question, we are on this case for the time being. Hull

wants this killer caught, and the girls rescued. You can make it your

priority for the time being.’

‘Gotcha chief.’

‘And don’t call me chief.’

Jack nodded and took out a small flask of whiskey from his drawer. He

took a sip, nodded knowingly at the rush, and informed his colleagues

he would be downstairs smoking. It was something which Lavender had

drummed into him, always insisting, like herself, they smoke outside.

Which he thought daft considering they both smoked. But her basic

reason was for considering company, and for the house not to smell too

much. And this had rubbed off on Jack, and so at work he now smoked

downstairs.

Smoking his cigarette he gave quiet thought to Jenny and Julie Smith

and, silently, prayed a quick prayer for their safety. For all he

knew they could be dead and buried, but nobody knew at this stage.

And, regardless, they had a homicide to solve and a kidnapping as

well. Whatever the state of the girls, they had work to do. And,

putting out his cigarette, he went inside, signed off at a quarter to

5, and went home to think about the case. He needed quiet time. Time

alone to think about the case and reflect over detail. Major and

minor detail and see if there was anything he was neglecting. Any

clue he was not concentrating on which would lead to a positive

outcome.

Getting home, Lavender met him, kissed him, and asked if he wanted to

eat now. He nodded and she served him a single portion shepherd’s pie

with some chips and sauce. It really was Jack’s type of food and he

was starting to think what had almost become the married life was

suitable to him. Lavender was easy to get along with, didn’t really

mind Jack’s flaws, and he enjoyed the sexual aspect which was quite

good with a just turned 40 year old. And he had given it some thought

and, although it was so soon, wondered if he would propose. He had

never really been the marrying type but, with the prospect of a

partner to share the rest of his life with – someone who seemed

generally suitable – and good food provided from that partner each

night – it seemed like a good idea. He would give it more thought,

and if all things seemed well, buy a ring and take her out to a flash

restaurant and propose. After all, she could only say no.

Chapter Five

Getting back into it, Sergeant Gilby provided one more key detail on

the station wagon from Mrs Walker’s memory. Apparently it rattled

somewhat. That could prove valuable information in narrowing down the

target sample.

Yet, with little to do but broadening the search on the car vehicles,

Holdsworth and Hawkins suggested Jack try Mr Smith’s workplace again

to see if he could come up with any pertinent information from his own

inquiries.

Arriving at the glazing factory, Jack excused himself from identifying

himself straight away, and had a walk around the grounds of the

factory, pretending himself someone important. The workers noticed

him, but never questioned what he was doing there. Near one of the

entrances, Jack noticed a sawmill with woodchips on the ground

everywhere, and loose soil. Looking around to see if anyone was

watching, he took a plastic bag and obtained a sample of the soil and

woodchips. He would have them checked out just in case.

Still looking over the place, a man in a white overcoat addressed him,

asking what he was doing on the premises. Jack pulled his badge.

‘Detective Inspector Jack Dagger. Hull police.’

‘So, can we help you Detective.’

‘Just routine police-work. Assessing Mr Smith’s workplace. Sorry, I

should have made myself known first. Anyway, is Mr Carpenter

available?’

‘Yes. Yes of course. If you will follow me.’

The man led the way to the end of the factory floor, up a flight of

steps into the end offices. The office was the usual affair for such

a place. Papers strewn everywhere of orders and invoices. Hanging

against the far wall was a deer’s head with quite impressive antlers.

Perhaps Mr Carpenter hunted.

Mr Dawson, who had shown Jack to the office, knocked on the door on

the left side of the office, which was presumably Mr Carpenters

quarters. A voice yelled ‘Come in,’ and Dawson motioned for Jack to

follow him.

Inside Dawson said to Carpenter, ‘An Inspector Dagger of Hull police.

He has come about the Mr Smith incident.’

‘Very good Dawson. You can leave us.’

Dawson left. Near the entrance to Mr Carpenters office was another

desk with someone on the ground underneath the desk fiddling around.

After a while he yelled ‘found it’, and got to his feet.

‘Inspector Dagger, this is my nephew Geoff Carpenter. My brother’s

son. He is one of the office managers for the firm.’

‘Good to meet you, Inspector Dagger,’ said Geoff, offering his hand.

Jack took it and noticed the small skull pendant hanging from Geoff’s

neck.

‘Well, Inspector. How can we help you? Your other officers have

already asked us everything we really know about the Smiths, so I am

not really sure what more we can help you with.’

‘Just routine follow up, Mr Carpenter. I do have a few questions, if

you don’t mind.’

‘Ask on.’

‘Firstly, have you ever had an employee who drove a station-wagon?

Perhaps a dark one, black or dark blue?’

Mr Carpenter looked at him for a moment, and it was almost as if what

Jack had said disturbed him a little. But despite his hesitation,

simply replied, ‘No, Mr Dagger. No, not that I can recall. Perhaps

in past years, but nobody currently and not from my recollection.’

Jack nodded, noting that down.

‘And just to clarify certain details. The day of the murders. Nobody

was late to work or appeared somehow different? Unsettled? Nervous?’

‘Look, Inspector, we have already answered these questions. I don’t

really think there is anything more we can add.’

Jack nodded. He could imagine it would be frustrating for them also.

‘Well, thanks Mr Carpenter. I will see myself out.’

‘See you Inspector,’ said Geoff, clutching his pendant.

Jack made his way out of the offices and, giving one last look around,

headed off. No new leads here, but he would check the soil samples

with the lab.

* * * * *

Crossbone took possession of Julie, Skull having had his wicked fun.

Crossbone was a compatriot of the skull, dedicated to the grim

perversion of torment. He did not torture his victims physically – he

was worse in a way, putting them through unimaginable horrors of fear.

What Crossbone liked doing most of all was making Crossbones – of

human bones. And the bones of a dead sister were perfect in the eyes

of this son of Belial.

‘Hello Julie. Look what I have made.’ And Julie, coming into the

room in a house which had all the curtains covered, looked direly at

the crossbones on the wall. ‘Its your sister, Julie. Say hello.’

But Julie said nothing. She looked at the Crossbones for a while,

made the sign of the cross, and said nothing. She had been through

hell now, and had hardened. She would not show them fear any longer,

she would not give in any longer. She would be a good girl and pray

for her sister’s soul, and see her one day in heaven. She would not

let the bad men have the victory of her tears. She would be strong,

despite the impossibility of the situation.

* * * * *

12 weeks of solid detective work later and, the pieces having

gradually fitted together, Jack was looking at a house with closed off

windows on a back lane of Hull. That was always suspicious, but of

course people liked privacy. He came up to the door, knocked, and

after a few minutes a man answered.

‘Hello sir,’ said Jack. He held up a picture of the twins. ‘Have you

seen these girls?’

The man looked nervous, and Jack spotted it immediately. He had him –

he knew it – and the girls might just be inside.

‘Uh, they don’t look familiar,’ said Crossbone. ‘Sorry, can’t help

you,’ and he closed the door very quickly, returning inside. Jack

just looked at the door, made the sign of the cross, and left.

Later that night, Lavender going on about her day, Jack knew he had to

return to the place, this time privately. His supervisor had said not

to disturb the place for now and they would monitor it, but Jack

couldn’t suffer that. Those girls needed saving. If they were still

alive, and in that place, he had to do the right thing. Even if it

cost him his badge he had to do the right thing.

* * * * *

It was a cold and bitter night, and the Dagger, dressed in black,

using glass cutters, having come in from the back yard to avoid the

police seeing him, cut his way into the back room. He was very quiet,

and came into the room. He listened, silently, carefully. No

breathing noises were heard, and nobody seemed to be in the room. He

put on his flashlight and looked around. It was an empty bedroom.

Carefully, like a thief in the night, he came to the door and slowly

opened it. It was a hallway and there were 3 doors. He came to the

first, found it locked, and listened. There was snoring on the other

side, and it appeared to be a man’s snoring. He would leave this room

till last. He tried the other door and found the main part of the

house with the kitchen and lounge and dining room. So, coming back

into the hallway, he tried the final door. It was locked. Carefully,

using his skeleton keys, he managed to jimmy it open and came inside.

He found a light switch and, thanking God and Jesus Christ, breathed

an enormous sigh of relief to see one of the girls sleeping soundly on

a bed. ‘Thank God. Thank fucking God.’

The police came quickly at Jack’s notification and Crossbone was

arrested. He was processed, charged with the other girl’s abduction

and then Julie finally spoke. There was another man – someone who had

killed her sister, and brought her to this man. The case wasn’t over

yet.

* * * * *

They went back over the case, step by step, and found the link they

needed. The ‘Skull’ as they called him had seamlessly led them to

Crossbone and covered his tracks. But he wasn’t that careful in the

end, and Crossbone divulged certain key details which helped the

police.

It was later on, their man having disappeared from the workplace,

having been a compatriot of David Smith’s, that Jack had followed his

instincts. There was something about Skull’s uncle when they had

interviewed him – he was hiding something. So Jack returned later on

in the week up to the coastal village and cottage near the sea, being

careful not to be seen, and monitoring the place. And then he had him

– the Skull came out of the cottage, and made for the nearby cliff.

Jack followed carefully, his gun ready.

They made their way through thickets and dense forest, gradually

climbing, until Jack came to the edge of the forest and spied his man

over by the cliff, sitting over the edge. He approached carefully,

gun held, and was a few yards away when he yelled ‘Stand up. You’re

under arrest.’ Skull turned, and looked at him.

‘I thought you’d find me, copper. But I don’t care. I’ll kill you

too. He brought out a dagger, and made a menacing thrust with it.

Jack knew then what he should do, but he also knew, in a grim dark

heart, what he would do. He shot him in the arm which held the dagger

and Skull dropped it. Jack walked over, grabbed Skull and picked up

the dagger. ‘We know what you did, cretin. We know what you did.

How do you like this?’ He grabbed his hand and quickly sliced off a

finger. Skull shrieked in pain and hissed at him, but Jack’s grip was

tight. ‘And how do you like this,’ he said, grabbing Skull’s head and

cutting off an ear. Blood spurted everywhere, and Jack was feeling

better. ‘You know, Skull. Deep down I try to follow the code. But

fuckit, I’m Jack Dagger. A dirty cop for dirty work. And while I

suspect you won’t last long inside, I’m not willing to take the risk

son. Skull looked at him, fear on his face, fear at finally facing

his justice and then, Jack pulling the trigger into Skull’s heart,

Skull gave Jack one final ghastly look and fell backwards, off the

cliff, into the ocean. Jack watched as the body sank down into the

sea. He wouldn’t be found now, the Skull. Justice had been done.

Epilogue

The elderly lady, finally coming out of the confessional, was Jack’s

cue. He came into the confessional, closed the door, and kneeled. He

kneeled there for quite a while, thinking things over, when the priest

on the other side of the curtain finally spoke. ‘It is always

meritorious my son to think long and hard over your sins, but even

Jesus had to sleep.’

‘Oh, uh yeh. Sorry father.’

‘So have you sinned, my child? Have you sinned?’

Jack went silent. A thousand answers flooded his head, but only one

would do. ‘That is the question, father. That is the question.’

The End

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