October 10 2013, Thursday. 6.49 pm.
Boston Police Department.
The idea of simply typing a resignation letter and then walking through the front door was getting more and more tempting by the minute. But one look at the man sitting opposite me dissolved all those thoughts away. He was another anxious father desperate to have his child back, just like how I would be if Sam went missing one day.
"Try and remember, Mr. Burton. Think carefully, when did you find him missing?" I asked in a calm, soothing manner. The poor bloke was already fidgeting in his seat, his hair and clothes still damp from searching about in the rain.
Apparently Charles noticed how shaken he was, too. "Do you want a hot drink, Mr. Burton?" he asked kindly. The man shook his head, but Charles went ahead and got him a cup of coffee anyway.
Burton took a small, cautious sip of the steaming beverage, before saying, "I- I don't really know. I was supposed to pick Malcolm up after school today, but I had something on, so I was late. I reached the school about 3 o'clock, I think. But when I arrived his teacher told me that he'd already left. I searched around the neighbourhood, called all his friends, but no one knew where he was." Burton began to panic. "It- it's all my fault, isn't it?!"
"Take it easy, Mr. Burton..." Williams soothed. "Everything's perfectly fine. Maybe Malcolm isn't kidnapped, maybe he just felt like running away for awhile. How are things between you and your wife, Mr. Burton? Were there any arguments, problems, and so on?"
"I lost my job about half a year ago. Things haven't exactly been the same between Maria and I ever since. We would quarrel because of money and things like that..."
"I see... Do you remember what Malcolm was wearing, Mr. Burton?" I questioned.
"Grey pants, I think..." he said uncertainly. "A green shirt and a- a black jacket, yeah, I think that's it." Burton then took on that desperate, slightly crazed tone again. "It's- it's all my fault," he stuttered. "Shouldn't have been late, shouldn't have..."
I was about to reassure him when I saw Bruno walk over, a middle-aged woman following closely behind him. "Hey guys," he greeted. "This is uh, Mrs. Burton."
"Thanks Bruno, we can take it from here," Charles said with a small smile.
The piercing, awkward silence after the officer left was torturous, as husband and wife both started to sob shortly after. None of us knew how to react, but what I did know, was that we weren't going to waste our time watching them cry as their son slowly drown to death in some God forsaken place.
"Thanks for your help, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Rest assured that our best men are out there searching for your son. We'll contact you once we have any news," I tried to say as confidently as possible. I was struggling to convince myself that perhaps, Malcolm Burton wasn't the next victim of the Origami Killer, and some insensible kid instead, but my gut instinct seemed to say: You'd wish.
Charles saw them out, and I slumped back down onto my chair as soon as they were out of sight. "All these years, I'd always thought that someday, I would get used to things like these," Williams said.
"That's what makes us human, Williams. We have emotions. Frankly, I'd be more worried if I was numb."
"That's one way of looking at things, I guess," she said. "But seriously, who do you think the killer could be? Scott Shelby is definitely dead, and as far as I know, he doesn't have any living relative that's capable of committing such a crime. His brother died when they were ten, his deadbeat father died shortly after, and his mother's just a sickly old lady lying in bed all day."
"I have no idea too, Williams. Your guess is as good as mine." I sighed, then whipped out my phone, punching in those familiar numbers. "Pepperoni or bacon?" I asked.
"Excuse me?" she said, slightly bewildered, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"I'm asking you, what toppings do you want on your pizza?" I explained. "We're gonna be staying in this office for quite a while, and what we usually do is order pizza, because it's very convenient and time-saving."
"Ah, I see..." she said, enlightened. "I'm vegetarian, so I'll just have mine with mushrooms and peppers."
I ordered the pizzas, with mushrooms and peppers for the FBI agent, and a plain, New York style one for myself and Charles. Once, Gwen jokingly told me that she didn't need to watch or read the news to know about Boston's crime rate. All she needed to do was to just measure my waist line. I guess she wasn't really joking after all.
"Pizzas are on the way," I informed Williams. "Now it's back to work."
October 10 2013, Thursday. 10.13 pm.
Clayton's Apartment.
I'd nearly thought that I wouldn't make it back home and would just fall asleep in the hallway instead. I was delightfully wrong. All fatigue was momentarily forgotten when I saw Sam, my wonderful, beautiful little girl, run towards me as I opened the door.
"Daddy!" she said excitedly, while throwing herself against me. "You're home!"
"Of course I'm home, monkey! Where else can I possibly go?" I gave her a bear hug. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" I said teasingly, scrunching my eyebrows in mock annoyance. And then Bobby came along, tail wagging. Bobby was our yellow Labrador. And although he was only a puppy, he had the whole neighbourhood -both human and canine- swooning over him. I called him 'Bobby the celebrity dog'. "Hey there, big guy," I said, scruffing his chin.
The puppy rolled on his back, and I rubbed his belly. We moved over to the living room, where I promptly plopped myself on the couch. I yawned and stretched my legs, the day's events starting to take their toll on me again. Sam turned on the television, and the news were playing.
"... A nine-year-old boy by the name of Malcolm Burton was reported missing a few hours ago. The police are currently conducting a large-scale search for the missing child, with Captain Connor Payne promising updates as soon as possible. The police have neither acknowledged nor denied Malcolm Burton to be the newest victim of the Origami killer. Stay tuned for more details."
Sam started to frown all of a sudden. "Is everything alright, monkey?" She turned to look at me with her dark blue, sapphire-like eyes. Her eyes were the only thing that she took after me. She'd inherited her blonde hair and slim build from her mother. They even resembled in character, though I suspected that was more of nurture rather than nature. "Samantha? Are you okay?" I asked, increasingly concerned.
"Malcolm is my classmate, daddy!" Tears started to well up in her eyes. "Is he going to be alright, daddy?"
The news report had clearly indicated that it wasn't confirmed if Malcolm Burton was a victim of the Origami Killer or not, but Sam wasn't any nine-year-old. She was a bright child, able to catch onto underlying meanings quickly, and more often than not, I found myself thinking if she was too smart for her own good.
I carried her over and placed her on top of lap. "He's going to be fine, sweetheart, I promise you, okay?" I soothed.
"He's a nice person, daddy," she sobbed. "He doesn't make fun of us like the other boys."
"I know, monkey, I know," I said gently, wiping off the streaks of tears on her cheeks. "Now you're going to go to bed, okay? You have school tomorrow." She nodded her head, nose still sniffing.
"Daddy..?" my daughter asked softly, as I carried her back to her room.
"Yes, darling?" I replied as I set her down on the bed.
"Can you bring him back safely?"
"Of course, honey. I'm a cop, it's my job. I promise you, I'll bring him back, and we'll all have Thanksgiving together, okay?" I kissed her on the forehead, then made sure that she was tucked snugly under her blanket. "Sweet dreams, monkey."
I softly closed the door after me, then headed straight for the kitchen. I poured myself a large helping of cognac and gulped everything down. The brandy burned wonderfully on the way down my throat.
I was now determined, more so than ever, to save Malcolm Burton's life. Not only because of the promise I had made to my daughter, but also because I knew that if I couldn't save this kid, then I would also be incapable of protecting Sam, much less the whole of Boston as a cop.
Give me your best shot, Origami Killer. Because I'll have you behind bars in no time.