Page 11 of Pure Killers

Dirk is coming back from the doors. I see him between their heads, taking the long way around their backs.

“There are many who are wondering if our resources should even be spent on this. Whether they would be better, for example, aimed towards the Cocooner.”

I open my mouth to articulate a response that isn't just admitting that we have no idea who the Cocooner could be, much less how to catch him, but then another reporter jumps in. “Have you got anything to say about the Tartan Butcher?”

I frown, slightly irritated by the abrupt change in topic, even though it’s saved me. “What about him?”

Then Dirk is murmuring in my ear.

My eyes go wide. "Excuse me," I say to no one in particular, pushing through towards the station doors.

All ideas of sleep are suddenly distant.

***

The man is unremarkable. Middle-aged, bad teeth, pale eyes.

Looking through the glass beside me, Andrea, still in her uniform from the night shift, is telling me, “Name is Grant Brown. Or better known as our Tartan Killer.”

As I stare at him, the haze of sleep deprivation only thin in light of this new advancement, I try to imagine the man through the glass, sawing up body parts, leaving them arranged on picnic blankets- hence the name. I find that Icanpicture it.

He didn't discriminate on who his two victims were, young or old, male or female, pretty or not. He left them all in parks or reserves, anywhere in the city.

“He turned himself in at the EastLink county station at midnight last night.”

Why would he do that? “Are we sure he’s really the Tartan Killer?” If he’s not, he wouldn’t be the first madman to show up claiming to be someone no one ought to want to be.

“Seb’s running some matches to place him at the crime scenes, but so far, he fits the case. And he’s been providing details we never released to the public.”

"Dean said he was talking about the Needler."

"He clammed up after he told us who he was. Said he would only talk to the detective on the Needler case."

I blow air out through my mouth. “Okay. Thank you.” Glancing at Andrea, I say, "Time to meet a killer, then."

***

Now that I'm sitting across from him, Grant doesn't seem unremarkable at all. But maybe it’s just that I know what he's done, that I've been at the scenes,smeltthem.

He's handcuffed to his side of the metal table.

“Grant… you turned yourself in last night.”

His grin reveals how bad his teeth truly are. Yellow in parts, blackened in others. It brings to my mind the parts of the bodies that couldn't be found, the ideas of what he might have done with them. “Safer in prison than out there these days.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The Needler was after me.” He seems to bask in my shocked expression. “Nearly got me too, but I ran. Straight to you people.”

Is he crazy? Oh, he’s certainly crazy. But could it be true? Grant is the Needlers type, and last night was when we predicted a hit. “You… saw the Needler?”

“Oh yeah, saw him, heard him. If you guys catch him… I want a deal that he ain't gonna be held anywhere near me.”

“You’re scared of him,” I murmur the words to myself, but he hears.

Grant's face turns angry. I see those cut-up bodies again.

“Can you describe him?”

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