Sixteen Horses by Greg Buchanan (e book reader pdf TXT) 📗

beautiful there. Something that could inspire awe, even as Alec imagined the pain of those creatures, even as he feared the reason why.

The crates . . . what had been left here . . . what had been done to those poor animals . . . all of them drugged, all of them poisoned and trapped until their deaths . . .

There was nothing beautiful here.

Nothing of ritual or symbolism, either. Nothing that made Alec run to research numbers and esoteric systems of meaning. Nothing that kept him up at night, theorizing as to the motivation of those who had committed such an act.

In those boxes, in those woods, Alec saw nothing that invited wonder.

He saw pain and suffering prolonged.

Regardless of law or definition, he saw murder at last.

Spread across the empty crates, freshly painted to the touch, he saw letters on their sides. He moved them, rotating them into position. Cooper called out for him to stop, for him to stop touching it all, but he couldn’t. He had to know.

He saw the letters, red against the wood.

W

A

T

C

H

they said.

Watch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

They left before evening came, heading back to their car by the shore.

‘I’m not sure this was about insurance,’ Alec said.

The sun was low above the distant islands. Nearby, water lapped around the edge of the abandoned homes.

‘Were they watching us today?’ Alec leant against the car’s bonnet. Cooper sat beside him, coffee thermos in hand. ‘What was it you said about the Croydon cat killer? How all those animals were found chopped up, mutilated . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘You said it was all about the moment of discovery. The moment of seeing the owners’ faces, of knowing how they felt . . .’

‘That’s what some thought, anyway.’ Cooper finished her coffee. ‘We don’t know for sure. Maybe it was foxes after all, like the police said.’

‘Maybe foxes put them in the crates, too,’ Alec said, shaking his head. ‘Maybe they took the photographs.’

‘They’re pretty wily.’

‘They have sex outside my house every other night.’ He sniffed. ‘They make the most awful – awful—’

His nose wrinkled, and he caught himself, stifling a sneeze. ‘Bless you,’ Cooper said.

‘Have you come across many other cases like these?’

‘Foxes having sex, or, taking photographs?’

‘Serial animal abuse.’ His tone was serious, and Cooper stiffened a little.

‘Well, there’s Macdonald’s triad,’ she said. ‘You know that one?’

His expression was blank. He shook his head.

In the weeks to come, he would think of this – that he didn’t know the name. That she’d even asked him, a police officer, a detective. What had she thought of him to ask?

He found himself disarmed, asking question upon question to quell the feeling.

He listened to her talk. He’d learn later that Cooper had gained a master’s degree in Forensic Science a few years after qualifying as a vet. She’d put in the time. Her choices, whatever they had been, had let her rise so far.

Alec leant against the car and listened to Cooper talk about the conditions needed to create a predator.

Abuse.

Arson, vandalism.

Cruelty to animals.

‘But all these theories, they’re based on trusting the words of the killers themselves – people who are often trying to get sympathy for appeals or stays of execution . . . Blaming childhood like newspapers blame video games.’ Cooper shrugged. ‘Maybe psychopaths have no idea why they do what they do.’

Alec nodded, getting up from the car, wincing as he did so. He seemed like he might be about to speak, but he didn’t.

A boat moved across the waters, the sea almost red in the evening light.

They came back to animals before the end.

‘Some think it might be practice. That dangerous men might be too afraid or constrained by social norms to progress to killing human beings immediately. That it’s not about the animal at all.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I think cruel people rarely need a reason to be cruel, but . . . I don’t know. There’s certainly a lower risk factor to hurting animals. Maximum penalties are only a few months, and often, even in major abuse cases, courts are loath to ban people from keeping pets forever. There isn’t much justice when it comes to animals, not if they don’t walk and talk. And little of the kind of notoriety these people seek as a result.’

‘So you don’t think it’s like . . .’ Alec hesitated.

‘I don’t think what?’

‘Inevitable, that one thing would lead to another.’

Cooper raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not being clear.’

‘That someone who hurt animals would hurt people.’

‘Nothing’s inevitable,’ Cooper said.

They arranged for the corpses from the crates to be transported to the vet practice for further analysis.

Before they parted ways, Alec asked about the coincidence of two people having such broken personalities that they’d want to hurt animals, that they would collaborate on a crime like this. He suggested one of them might have been led into it all . . . the hermit had mentioned crying, after all. Maybe there were even more than two people involved, maybe—

‘You look tired,’ Cooper said, smiling, and something about the smile made Alec blush, before suddenly looking at his watch.

‘Shit.’

‘What?’

‘I’m supposed to pick up my son soon. Can I drop you back?’

‘I thought everyone drove in places like these.’

‘He still hasn’t passed his test.’ The way Alec said it made him look annoyed.

‘It took me four times to pass mine.’ Cooper shrugged, opening the car door. ‘I’m sure he’ll get there.’

Waiting for the crate corpses to be brought to the vet practice, Cooper headed back to her hotel for a quick nap. She wasn’t as bad as Alec, but she was surprised how much the day had taken out of her, how her hands shook, ever so slightly.

She thought about it all as she went up the steps.

The photos from the stables. The crates in the woods. Victims within and without.

Louise Elton, buried in debt and silence.

Albert Cole, a farmer who had wanted a new life, who had come so far to live so alone, who had lost everyone but his daughter Rebecca, and how long would she even stay? A year or two? Who knew?

And Alec . . . Alec who’d nearly had a panic attack at the uncovering