Death Watch - Chapter One

Chapter One

". . .Police are suspecting that last night's killing of Maxwell Davenport was caused due to a robbery. . ."

The television crackled in the background, the young lady on the screen staring back out of it, her black hair neatly tied back, and her voice clear and demanding. The human voice, a powerful tool of communication informing the world of the truths that lay hidden in the cracks of society if not told otherwise.

". . .It is believed that there are no leads at this point and forensics have been combing the area since the body was discovered in the early hours of this morning . . ."

Finding evidence in a filth ridden alleyway downtown? Good luck.

The television with which the ladies upper half seemed to suspend sat on a small stand in the corner of the room, with a balcony with white sliding doors to its right that looked out at the city from a few stories up. A sofa lay against the wall to the right of that again, brown, leather, plain. There was no carpet, and except for the tiny coffee table next to the sofa there was nothing else in the room really worth mentioning.

". . . No suspicious fingerprints were found on the body of Maxwell himself or on any of his possessions. . ."

Adjacent to the lounge area was a small kitchen, white and tiled with wooden wall units situated on every available space where the fridge was not situated - the lounge end of the bar. There was no wall dividing the lounge and the kitchen, instead there was a small bench with a fake marble counter top that could be used with stools on social occasions. On the counter was the remnants of this morning's breakfast, a large plate of beans, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms on toast, all smothered in brown sauce.

". . .If you have any information that may help authorities in the case of Maxwell Davenport then please call the number at the bottom of your screens now or report to your local police station. . ."

With a slight murmur the only occupant of the house got up to his feet, discarded the dishes into the kitchen sink and turned down the hallway  switching off the television with the remote as he passed. Straight ahead was the door to the outside world, to the right was where he slept, and to the left just past the bathroom was the room where he was currently heading. Inside the room was dark, a pull chord light was the only source of illumination and lit the room to a stagnant glow without the help of the windows (which were blocked by a thick set of dark red curtains - almost maroon). Looking ahead towards the curtains with its back to the door was the large desk with a computer and large piles of paperwork. The paperwork continued all around the room, files and documents and folded newspapers lay in a display of organised chaos and continued half way up the walls.

The walls were all covered with the clippings from newspapers and internet print outs, assorted crime files and stories regarding crimes committed and criminals involved or suspected, all connected with push pins and red string.

The person walked up to the wall with a permanent marker in hand, staring at the wall for a moment or two before revealing a small smile.

"One more down, bye bye Mr Davenport"

And with that a profile picture of max was crossed out and next to him a similar built male was staring back at Max's killer, expressionless and unconcerned.

"And you're next"

1

Across town Sgt. King found himself in the cold, fluorescent autopsy room of the Roath Infirmary, looking down at the sheeted body of Max Davenport. The room was silent except for the low, continuous buzzing of the halogen bulbs above his head. He had been standing there looking down upon the body - with the shoulders upwards being the only parts revealed - since the coroner had left the room to grab the report card he had filled in before the sergeants arrival.

Sgt. King couldn't help but notice how clean the head looked after receiving such a traumatic injury. As a kid he always imagined that the head of shot victims would be split apart and shattered into many pieces, spreading the walls around them with blood and bits of bone and skin. Over the years since joining the police force he soon found out that that was not the case, bodies didn't explode into millions of pieces once shot and in most cases actually didn't even kill the victim from a single bullet alone. Even from a close range - such as the instance of Maxwell Davenport - the head wasn't shattered from the firearm in question.

Max lay there staring up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. His skin pale, smooth and polished, and his black hair tidily brushed back out of his forehead which showed the one undeniable feature which ensured that Max would not be waking up anytime in the near future. A single bullet hole placed directly in the middle of his forehead like an enlarged bindi. Cleaned and perfectly circular, it allowed a direct view into the mind of Max himself as it slowly grew smaller as it reached the back of his head lying on the pillow which was the entry point of the fatal round.

Looking into the hole created by the bullet, with a feeling of both repugnance and of natural curiosity he was reminded of the first time he had seen a gun victim once he graduated from the cadet academy. He was put on patrol with his mentor - Charles Harris - when they received a call to a domestic dispute in the suburbs to the East side of town. They had switched on the sirens and turned towards the location of the dispute which - thanks to the sirens overhead - they reached within a couple of minutes.

They had arrived outside the house and killed the engine. The house was white and pebble dashed with a slightly larger front lawn to what was normal in the area. He remembered thinking that maybe they had gotten the address wrong as the occupants of this house seemed to be doing well from the looks of things and there seemed to be no disturbance that could be seen from their position.

 Once the engine was turned off and things went quiet there seemed to be no disturbance on the streets either let alone the house, there was no one around at all. Harris turned to King after a moment and lay down the plan.

"Seems to have quietened down for now, we'll just go in there make sure everything is alright and get them apart. Remember your training kid"

They left the car, entered through the front gate that was made of iron and was swinging wobbly on its hinges, and arrived on the front porch before giving a knock on the door while looking up and down the street, still noticing no disturbances in the area. No one had answered the door, and Harris knocked again.

"It's the police, please open the door"

There was still no response after a minute so they decided to go around the back of the house and see if they could get a response from there, as was police protocol. As they moved around - Harris in front and King following his lead - they entered the back garden through another small iron gate. Once inside Harris stopped suddenly and raised his hand to his side signalling King to wait where he was.

king stood where he was at the time and looked around remembering and repeating his training in his head before returning to see Harris looking through the window beside the door. From the angle where King stood it seemed that Harris was doing a routine sweep before they entered the door, but as he watched he saw Harris' eyes widen as he took a deep breath - and as if in slow motion - turned towards King.

 It must have all happened so suddenly but felt like it took minutes for Harris to turn his head slightly. Just as their eyes made contact, King could see the surprise and fear in his mentors eyes before a loud bang broke the moment and the window to which Harris was looking through shattered outwards covering them both in tiny diamonds of glass making King recoil in response and cover his face.

Once he returned to look at his mentor, he saw that Harris was now laying on the ground by the side of the back entrance to the house. The feeling of slow motion returned as King immediately understood that Harris was dead, there was no need to check, the left eye and a large chunk upwards was gone, lying somewhere in the garden behind him.

king had turned and looked into the door - which was ajar - and saw a man, shaggy blonde hair, brown eyes and a look of fear and regret on his face standing above a girl maybe a few years younger than himself with a pool of blood which was slowly spreading around her. The man looked at King as he moved into his range of view and they both stood momentarily looking into each other's eyes. Both filled with panic and sorrow.

King can't remember the young man do it, he can just remember the aftermath. Three bodies, all shot in the head. A young woman, a young man and his Mentor Sgt. Harris all laying at his feet as he stood there in pure shock after witnessing the first murder of his life in an overly climactic way.

"Sgt. King!. . ."

The coroner returned with the card which held the details of what happened to Max and broke the day dream bringing King back into the real world.

". . .my apologies for keeping you so long, don't know where ever I'm coming or going these days with all this work going on, I hasn't been this busy for as long as I can remember."

"No apology necessary doctor, I understand" And he did, King knew that the two men's occupations were in some way intertwined, if King was busy being a homicide detective then for sure the coroner would be getting a few less hours sleep a night too. The two knew each other well and had met on a number of times since King was moved to the homicide unit after Harris had died and sparked a new sense of motivation in the young officer.

"So tell me Doc, What'd you call me for? I thought at first you were going to invite me for a beer but now standing over our friend Mr Davenport here I assume that's not the case"

"No. . . no unfortunately not this time I'm afraid King" Doc said with a snigger as he begun to speak. "it feels like that won't be happening for awhile with all these bodies turning up on my doorstep every day, I have something to show you."

Doc was an elderly gentleman who managed himself with a slight stoop to his posture helping him reach a height just short of Kings height of 6ft 1. His hair had turned grey a few years ago and all that remained colour wise was a slight peppering of black which had also started to become more and more scarce as the weeks went by. Although Kind and the Doc knew each other out of office hours they generally didn't discuss their personal lives in much depth.

Doc moved to the side of Max as he lay on the bench in front of him with King on the other side, pulling the sheet down to his waistline as he did. Max' torso came in to full view revealing the 'Y' shaped incision which had been professionally done by Doc when he begun the post-mortem. like the bullet holes, the post-mortem incision on a victims chest always amazed him in how clean and crafted it seemed, it reminded him of the college football games you watch on television and how in the movies those same games always have bare-chested men in the crowds with their beer hats on and each with a painted letter on their chests to show support to their team and team players. Unfortunately for Max these two comparisons were not the same thing.

Using one of the post mortem needles - from upon the shining silver tray which was lying next to Max's head on the side of Doc - Doc carefully opened either side of the chest opening turning the Y into a grizzly triangular shape that revealed the inner organs that once kept Max functioning in his sinister ways.

Once each flap of skin on either side of the opening was pinned down Doc returned to standing up straight, needle in one hand and mirroring the image with his other.

"Right" said Doc as he looked up at King to make sure he was paying attention before returning to his slouched position over the body to show him why he had called him here in the first place.

"When Max came in I assumed he was killed by the same fellow who had been killing the other criminals of this town, the same fellow who have been keeping me and you up all these nights and giving you those plum cushions underneath your eyes"

"You don't look much like a picture of perfect health yourself there Doc" King replied with a momentary look away from Max to catch the Doc looking back down.

"Hmm . . well, everyone to their own" Doc replied grinning before continuing. "Now we seem to know that this fellow we have named Jack has been killing suspected criminals and 'wrong doers' in this city for a number of weeks now and has his own little trade mark he has so far done with every one of his victims. The first thing I noticed was that Max obviously doesn't have the trade mark we are so used to seeing with the ones who are killed by Jack"

"I did notice that before you returned to the room, there's no cut around his head for starters" sighing slightly as he begun to realise that maybe this may not be as straight forward as blaming Jack and continuing the investigation into finding him "there's no Halloween tricks here today"

"Exactly right there, but it's no less monstrous but far more mysterious than those cases"

"So what are you saying to me Doc?" questioned King looking at him with a confused look on his face as he scratched his chin with one of his arms which had been folded across his chest "If it's not Jack we're talking about here, and it's a normal case of homicide, then what's so mysterious and important about it?"

"I never said it was a normal case. . .look here." Doc was pointing inside the open chest switching between the vital organs which could be seen from the onset. "From what I can see it seems as though all major organs in the body had been 'burnt' and I don't mean burnt with fire but instead it seems as though the organs had received so much friction that they received friction burns and blisters on a large area of these organs" Doc pointed out by using the heart as the first example.

" What does that mean? How could that happen?" King returned in a voice that showed he was lost regarding the words Doc was telling him.

"I don't know for sure how this could have happened, and how it could have happened over such a large area of the inner body. Another thing is that it is only on the inside of the body around the organs that lay close to one another, the outside seems untouched as though nothing happened except of course the shot to the head"

"Hmm"

King was taking a deeper look at the organs which Doc was continuing to point out and noticed the blisters and red sore spots where the friction burns had occurred and could only mumble on with agreement to what Doc was saying.

"It would seem to me that due to the time frame in which these injuries occurred, which was at the time of death when he was shot, that there is something strange going on around here as of late. Not only do we have the Jack whacko running around targeting the petty thieves but now we also have someone who seems to have the balls to step up against the kingpins of the criminal world as well, and he's leaving his own trade mark of sorts also. A mark I personally do not understand the makings of"

"So you're saying that there is a group or at least a pair who are going around our streets pretending to be some sort of vigilantes and proving some sort of point while they do it?" questioned King after looking away from the body and was now looking at the Doc, both were now talking in a purely business sense, a transition they were surely accustomed to over the years, the jokes had been put aside.

"I can't say for sure that there is a group, a pair or even that the perpetrators knew of each other, I just felt as though you would want to know about this before it happens to anyone else"

"Anyone else?" King asked questionably as it seemed Doc was keeping something back from him. He knew him too well for anything to be kept between them, it was his business to see peoples thoughts. "Is Max the only one?"

"Well no, that's the other reason I called you here" and with that Doc moved towards a set of trays in the wall where bodies were stored whilst post-mortems were being done and the until the bodies moved on to be either cremated or buried.

Doc gave one of the smooth silver doors a tug and the tray slid out of the long in built filing cabinet until it came to a sharp halt as the full length of the body could be seen, and on the tray was an Asian man of far eastern decent, it was difficult to be sure of where exactly.

Doc didn't stop there, he continued to pull out another tray right next to the Asian mans which was situated a couple of doors down from where Max was laying on his tray, still and lifeless. This man was also of Asian descent and King found it a bit shameful that all he thought about when the two men were laid side by side in front of him robbed of their lives, was how true that saying was when people mention that all Asians look the same.

King quickly looked away and turned to Doc once more, waiting for him to stop and mention something about these two additional men who had also had their fate sealed by some sort of mysterious internal friction burns and a single shot to the back of the head.

Doc didn't stop there, he finished pulling back the sheet on the second man down to his waist to which he had also done with the first Asian and without stopping he stepped backwards inches away from Max and pulled out yet another tray whilst he stood there in the single remaining space between them.

"And the final one is. . ."

With that Doc pulled out the final body and continued to fold down the sheet to his waist whilst King stood there in a state of mild shock.

"It can't be. . " uttered King while Doc lifted his head and looked at him as he took in what he had been shown. ". . when?"

"He came in this morning as well, I was going to call you first thing but got swamped with dealing with Max here and your phone wasn't ringing until your secretary got hold of you at lunch"

"Jesus Christ" King was in disbelief, he had been in the police force homicide unit for half a dozen years and for about five years of that time he had been hunting down members of the Japanese Yakuza group which had begun to operate in the city and along the East coast, smuggling drugs into the country and smuggling fire arms back out. Laid in front of him, dead and with his internal organs burnt like Max Davenport was their leader. Yakima 'Tensai' Marushimi

"Where the hell did they find to him? We've been trying to find where this guy has been for about five years and he just turns up dead?"

"The genius himself would seem has been beaten" Doc commented drily more to himself than anything, and carried on after realising he had said it out loud "They found him down near the ports, at dock 5, apparently something had gone down last night and our victims here were on the wrong end of it"

"Looks like there's a new player in town and he's gone straight after the number one" sighed King thinking of all the sleep he would be continuing to lose and all the fear that would continue to spread though out the streets once the media got a hold of this. "We finally meet Tensai. . I guess the rules have changed now though"

2

King found himself walking back to the station in the early afternoon when the sun had overcome the clouds and had begun to shine down on the streets with their tall office buildings closing the roads in between them. The lunchtime rush had just died down, but the streets remained congested with the office workers, corporate employees and university students as they made their way between each of the days chores. All running on much more sleep than he was, King thought as he pushed the button at the traffic lights and waited for the green man to appear to allow him to cross the road without becoming another morbid traffic statistic.

The little green man, so content with his life and given career choice, who seemed to always come across as being genuinely happy whilst doing it, despite the long hours and the constant impatience of the patrons who feel as though it is their god given right to be able to cross immediately despite everyone else having to wait their turn.

'Tensai! Fucking hell we got him' he thought whilst giving his head a shake in disbelief, as though this would shake the cobwebs that were deceiving him. He looked back up towards the traffic signals with a small grin across his face wanting the friendly green man to appear and kick the red bitch back into the dark hole of the black box in which she crawled out off. He always imagined the red bitch leaning against the side and taking a drag from a cigarette when you turned away and couldn't see her anymore.

'Well we didn't catch him, well not personally' He thought returning back to Tensai lying there on the cold, steel bench 'we didn't have anything to do with it, and you know that for certain'

'True, it  feels good to have him finally caught though, I almost feel a slight sense of loss, it was almost as though Tensai had become my real life nemesis at one point'

He let out a small chuckle - a sigh of a job completed - which was overcast with a sense of realisation. He had been chasing Tensai for the best part of five years now, before Tensai was even one of the main members and whilst king was still learning the ropes of being a homicide detective after Harris had been killed only a few weeks earlier. He had managed to transfer rather easily and quickly after the incident and the case of Tensai and the Yakuza had been his first - above petty- assignment.

A trade - ammunition for Heroine- had gone sour down by the city docks and Tensai and his men ended the agreement with gunning down five members of the Mexican cartel. King didn't know it back then but Tensai hadn't been the one in charge during the deal and it was only afterwards that he took control by shooting the once elite, Jin, in cold blood and hung him from a streetlight on Roath Avenue with his skin peeled off from his neck downwards for all around to see that there was now a new leader and he was more serious, and more ruthless than ever.

King took the assignment, eager to catch the culprits involved and bring them to justice in the name of the law, and to also prove to his department that he had what it took to be part of the unit as he swore to wear his uniform with pride.

Start as you mean to go on, so the saying goes.

However, after awhile the case began to drag on and as other cases came and went, Tensai remained out there. He was clever and he was ruthless. No activity would be reported regarding the Yakuza sometimes for a matter of months at a time, but when it did you knew it was them. They never returned quietly and they didn't seem to care about who they got on the wrong side of, sometimes it was the Triads who also at one point tried to branch over onto the West coast. Sometimes it was the Mexicans who were usually the customers for the higher grade opiates that originated from the Far East, who would every so often step out of line and would need reminding of who was working for who. He could even remember a time when the Aryan race begun to feel threatened by the Yakuza's growing power in the region and took it upon themselves to try and eliminate the threat. This resulted in all of the three key members of the states Aryan league being found skinned in the same style in which Jin had, hanging from lampposts along the main highway between the city and the airport, but in their cases even the head had been skinned making it impossible to identify them without the use of DNA analysis.

Despite the ruthless nature in which they operated here, King had heard that when they returned to their homeland of Japan they valued respect above everything else.

They protected their people, they helped them when they were in need, and King even heard on the news that after the earthquake/Tsunami disaster struck and crippled the North-East of the country, the Yakuza were the first group to provide aid to the needing, with trucks loaded with food, fresh water, blankets and supplies for shelter, far sooner than the government had even decided that the disaster was in fact a real disaster.

It's this understanding of the need to fend for yourself without any help from the government that keeps the Yakuza alive and what makes them so popular in Japan, a modern day group of Robin Hoods that provided for the neglected outcasts.

King could respect that and understand the principle well. The only problem was that the drugs they brought ended up in his country, and the drugs they brought ended up addicting and killing his people on his streets and it was his job to protect his people who the Yakuza were decaying to protect their people.

Yes he understood, and yes he did respect them for it, as long as it was not in his city, in his country.

David Delia