― Erik Pevernagie
Harkness Farm
Some people are amused by death. I'm not. After my tour of duty in Afghanistan, I can't even read a murder mystery, so what the hell am I doing pursuing a serial killer?
It's one of those ironies of life that the very thing that wounded you is your strength. I'm good at solving riddles and I'm bent enough inside to be able to get into the mind of a killer.
Did I mention I have PTSD? Most days I'm living my life on the defensive. I tend to zone out―where I go, I have no idea, but when I come back I feel half-in and half-out.
Maybe it's my infirmity, but to distract myself I solve mysteries. Don't thank me for my service, because it's self -serving as well―it keeps me balanced and helps me get out of bed and walk around.
And that's my apology for my life, such as it is at this point.
Today I'm heading out to Ned Harkness' farm to try to gain a new perspective on the case. If you read the classic detective mysteries like Sherlock Homes, you get the idea that you can solve crimes by rational means, deducing facts and puzzling out missing pieces.
Behind it all is the idea that crime is in some way ordered and intentional. But there's enough randomness in life for me to fall back on Chaos Theory and apply that to criminology. I'm not saying that murder is disordered and random but it's more multi-dimensional than that and there are attractors in society, the basic ones being social, economic, physical and moral power and these act like a magnet and provide motive.
But at the minute I have no idea what's motivating these killings so I have to fall back on observation and gut instinct.
So much for being a crime analyst―right now I feel more like a mystic.
As I approach Ned's farm I'm impressed again with the size of the spread and the buildings and machinery all telegraph the signs of a very successful operation.
There seems to be no commonality here. Many of the victims were in a lower economic bracket. About the only connecting thread was that they all resided in the county―hardly remarkable considering serial killers usually operate in a defined killing ground.
I’d have to do better than that to justify Neil Wiltshire’s faith in me, not to mention Ella, his daughter, being roped in to help by me.
I needed to tease out a motive from the many possibilities and at least uncover the first cause that gave rise to all the others
I tramped all over the farm for a few hours and was no closer to an answer than when I first began.
It began to rain—a fine, misty drizzle that pervaded every nook and cranny and raised my hackles making me feel chilled and totally miserable.
I decided to call it a day and made my way back toward my pickup parked just inside the entrance gate.
It was then I noticed a group of men gathered under the overhang of a nearby shed in hopes of escaping the cold and wet.
There was something familiar in the solemn crew that struck a chord inside me. The men were migrants like the ones I noticed on Friday in town outside the superstore, waiting for a ride back to their farm.
I wondered if any of the murders could be linked back this group. It was a wild surmise but certainly a lead worth exploring considering I had no other clue.
I watched the men huddled together sadly staring out into the mist and wondered what would become of them now that Ned Harkness was dead. Would they have to return back home to their country?
Ned’s death caused a ripple effect on the whole community. I wondered if the murderer had a stake in what that meant—what that attractor could possibly be.