COSMO M.

SMITH

HEARTS, SPADES
& RENEGADES
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Though the title of this space is a reference to all

those I have to reference in the creation of this book, I
have also allocated this page for apologizing to those
who I have probably erred during its genesis.
Well first off there’s Victoria and Toby who have
supported this whole attack on the arts that I have
waged. I’ve also got to thank Tara and Jessica for
reasons they probably already know. Paul, whose
general presence tends to keep a guy laughing
maniacally. Melanie for the ballpoint pens and baked
potatoes. If you work for a coffee company, then if
there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’m just a letter
away.
 Knuckling down, I guess I have to acknowledge
Alicia, Ryuzaki, and Melyssa. The policemen who
valiantly defend us from hoodlums should also get a
mention. I firmly apologize now to them and claim
artistic license to breaking point.
I suppose now is the time to also thank the people
I don’t notice. My English teachers, the software
designers who make the text editors which I wrestle
with so ferociously, and the people who make
National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)
because I know it must be tough for them.
Of course, I’m not perfect so inevitably I’ll miss
out some people. I apologize in advance but the fact
is, there are just far too many of you to get in such a
small space. The Wikimedia Foundation and all of its
contributors, those who were kind enough to remind
me that writer’s block is just plain silly, and to anyone
who’s ever ridden a raincoat on a sunny day, just to
see the looks you’ll get.
To Eoin Colfer, Ruth Rendell, Dan Brown,
Arthur Conan Doyle, and Ronald Hugh Morrieson,
who all gave me the inspiration I needed in the
novel’s construction. To the reader who without
which, I would have no purpose.
Finally, to anyone who was in Auckland in
November, 2010.
 INTRODUCTION

I hope Douglas Adams approves, wherever he is.

It’s always weird writing your introduction after

you’ve finished the book. You know that if your
reader sticks around then they will embark on a
journey you’ve laid out for them, an obstacle course
with little traps and treats you’ve set up.
This new novel chronicles another chapter in the
continuing cases of Detective Inspector Sam Acrostic.
For every story you’ll ever read, you can bet there
were twenty stories that weren’t ever allowed to see
the light of day. Sam Acrostic has had quite a few
investigations that were never brought about and to
pick and choose the better concepts was never an easy
task. The one I’ve hit upon here has to be one that I’ll
love in years to come.
The old DI is weird. He wears a three-piece suit
to work, he smokes cigars, and he doesn’t give a
damn about the rules. I’m sure any real-life
counterpart could never function with the recklessness
that Acrostic does, nor the absurd amount of flippancy
for work hours. He seems to act as if he’s some rock
star and in essence, he is. He’s playing his prowess to
a stadium of murder victims.
Though not as weird, his sidekick is more on the
stranger side of life than her peers. The wonderful
Detective Sergeant Lexy Kent, who has stuck by
Acrostic many times though for the casual reader, I’m
sure that you can understand the events of the book. I
think that as time has gone on, Lexy for me represents
optimism in the world. She helps to balance out all of
the macabre and it doesn’t hurt that she’s very young,
extremely young in fact, for a DS.
This book was written as part of NaNoWriMo.
Books express opportunities to me. Books are bigger
canvases, you can get away with grander stories and
go into much more depth. You can elaborate and
afford to be spectacular. Acrostic has starred in a
series of short stories but in one fifty-thousand piece
you can do much more. I made myself go crazy trying
to struggle with the daily schedule but I finished on
time and I’m proud of what I’ve got.
So to anyone who’s reading in a library, in a
bookstore, at home, at school, in a tent, underneath
the bedcovers with a flashlight, behind the sofa while
the TV is blaring, in the car, or in an underwater
laboratory or the lip of an active volcano, here’s
looking at you-

-COSMO M. SMITH
 And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before
God; and the books were opened: and another book
was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead
were judged out of those things which were written
in the books, according to their works

Revelation 20:12
THE HEARTS
 To everyone who I can listen to

To all those who really know their stuff

To Toby
 PROLOGUE

Being religious is not my cup of tea. In fact, if I were

ever cajoled by Jehovah Witnesses there’s a good
chance I’d go and get a gun license and then lure the
witnesses into a hunting ground under the pretence
that there was an animal costume party. No offence to
the J.W. though, I just think that they should respect
other people’s beliefs, lack of faith and alarms. If any
cult emissary decides it’s a great idea to knock on my
door before my alarm has gone off, then I’ll suddenly
get a great idea and reach for a baseball bat.
No offence meant to anyone with such a
psychological irregularity. Those who battle that their
God is not a psychological irregularity on the grounds
that their imaginary friend, a being some can see and
some cannot, has met and talked to them, has kind of
proven my point. Keep your bibles, keep your
crucifixes, keep your churches because I won’t have
any use for them except for firewood. I lost my faith
early on going to a boarding school that had morning
prayers. St. Joy’s seemed to always have an unnatural
love of God but then I realized that to have an
unnatural love of God was simply to have a love of
him.
It’s really not my place to criticize those who
have decided to live their lives with a madman. He’s
the man who can tell if you’ve been scuba diving in
the last three days by examining the state of your
fingernails or if you’ve just had tea with sugar
recently by inspecting how you’ve done your hair. His
mad leaps of logic make him an undistinguished force
for the greater good. I am proud to be his associate,
his sounding board as he rattles off his observations
and deductions. I am the Patroclus to his Achilles. I
am the Watson to his Holmes but more literally, I am
the Alexia to his Sam. Some people have commented
that I should be annoyed that I am only a sidekick but
I’ll admit his powers of sleuthing are better than mine
and I’m not just an extension of him. I’m a person in
my own right. An awesome person.
I rose quickly through the ranks of the
Auckland police because I have two qualities that
make me a good enforcer of the law- loyalty and
stoicism. Those two qualities made me perfect for
handling the great Inspector who has become my
landlord, flatmate, and work partner. We battled case
after case and threw away many a crook into the
slammers. I’m sure the prison overcrowding wasn’t
single-handedly our fault but we did helped
substantially. In fact, the Case of Hearts, Spades &
Renegades was the first time I was ever asked a
bizarre question and one a bit of faith wouldn’t have
gone amiss.
 “Tell me Detective Sergeant Kent, are you
prepared for Judgment Day?”
What I answered, I didn’t think I had the heart
for it.
 1. A STRANGE MAN

It was the first time I had ever driven a fire truck.

I knew it was the start of November as it was
pouring with rain when the weather forecast had
predicted blue skies. My raincoat was dripping as I
remained locked into the driver’s seat of the fire truck.
The Central Auckland scenery, drug dealers and
disused warehouses, whizzed past me as we broke the
local speed limit by about as much as drowning is
considered to be a bit more than a glass of water. The
windscreen was getting tougher and tougher to see
through as water bombed from the darkest clouds and
admittedly, the windshield wipers weren’t useful at
all. Fire trucks are oddly like that. Fortunately, traffic
wasn’t too much of a problem. Aside from the fact
that November is the month when most Aucklanders
decide that it’s a good time to take a holiday, there
was a giant double-decker tour bus in front of us
making way.
Only in the Southern hemisphere could you find
such a tour bus, with its open roof to allow visitors to
blow their hats away and big printed posters
advertising hamburgers that could kill you with a
single bite. Only in New Zealand could you find such
a bus being chased by a fire truck. I changed gears as
we got onto the highway which was not at all fun. We
were approaching a spaghetti junction so I flicked a
switch to activate the sirens. That was an oddly
satisfying task, the dreams of million of toddlers, to
make the fire truck blare loud noises and flash bright
angry lights. My heart jolted every time we hit a
bump. I don’t normally get carsick but I was feeling
that I might be fire truck sick.
My partner in justice was on the roof and it must
have taken him superhuman balance to avoid falling
off through the combination of my shaky driving and
the torrents of rain pelting down. I heard him
clattering over the rain and every time I heard a clank
I was worried that he’d been shaken off. I tried to
keep my eyes on the tour bus as it veered down the
main road, Queen Street. As if there was a pantheon
above cruelly tormenting us, the street was nearly
empty at five o’clock in the morning. The tour bus
bustled along with the fire engine following, like
some bizarre car chase. Civilians probably didn’t even
notice us or if they did they most likely thought we
were some dual publicity stunt for tourism and fire
safety.
Finally I saw the fruit of my partner in justice’s
labour. He had unhooked the ladder on the top of the
fire truck and was extending it outwards. It hung over
the front limply which was shivering horribly. That’s
when I saw the Inspector. He was slowly crawling
along, each rung with its slippery grip, wet and cold. I
hoped I was anticipating his next move by trying to
close the gap between the fire engine and the tour bus
which was beginning to drive even more recklessly. It
was intensely worrying to say the least.
Finally, the Detective Inspector who I’d known
for more than half a decade got to the end of the
ladder. Taking a moment to calculate everything I
tried to imagine all the factors he had to think about-
the bus speed, our speed, the air resistance, gravity,
the consequences of failing but he did it. With the
bravery that I’d always known and admired about
him, the bravery shown when he took down an entire
terrorist cult, when he wrestled with a serial killer
over a bomb, when he’d taken on one of the greatest
money moguls on the planet, Detective Inspector Sam
Acrostic jumped.
It seemed like an age to me seeing the man jump
through the air but it must have been a lifetime for
him. He rolled onto the open roof of the tour bus and
disappeared inside. Seeing as I couldn’t do anything
for him, I concentrated on my driving. Fire trucks are
surprisingly easy to manoeuvre into parked cars and I
was praying that I wouldn’t be liable for any damages.
If my driving was bad though, the tour bus was worst.
It had already almost collided with a few cars but it
had just missed being scraped by a passing cement
truck. Then a feeling of worry was injected into me
when I realized where we were heading.
 The Auckland Harbour was just minutes ahead of
us. It’s the calmest piece of the country with yachts
and cruise liners drifting about. Even with the heavy
rain there was an unimaginable incapability amongst
the sailors that anything could go wrong for them
today. The tour bus suddenly started swerving badly
and for one moment, I was sure that you couldn’t get
worse driving. I tried to keep up but there are some
places a double decker tour bus can go that a fire
truck can’t. The lights finally changed so I parked the
truck and disembarked. I was just in time to see the
double decker tour bus careen into the ocean with a
flash of purple and a splash that drenched the local
restaurants.
“Lexy!”
I turned to see my good friend and Inspector
handcuff Noah Winesbury, a very tall handsome
blonde man wearing a white linen suit with a
matching handkerchief and waistcoat, and the driver
of the bus. Acrostic tossed the man to me and
produced a cigar from his trouser pocket. Even though
it was raining, I don’t think he ever tired of having a
cigar.
“Acrostic, you honestly couldn’t have stopped
that bus flying into the water?” I took hold of
Winesbury, “it was a bus! It’s going to be a nightmare
to fish out”
“Don’t worry” Acrostic lit his cigar with his suave
air, “if you wait a couple of minutes, four will come
all at once”

We entered the Auckland Police Station, a boring old

grey building, drenched with rain and the pride of
having apprehended both a murderer and a high-
profile politician. We had been drilled in by
Commissioner McMiso to play things subtle, that if
the case were to be blown up that it would be
notorious for the police. So much for that message.
We were greeted by a sea of applause and
whistling, bringing in Winesbury who was looking a
bit worse for wear with two steel bracelets around his
wrists. I summoned DS Cumberbatch and he hauled
Winesbury away for a statement and legal counsel.
Acrostic and I were basking in the approval of our
recklessness when our boss, a short Irishman in a
baggy blue suit with wide lapels, marched up to us
with his fingers pointed and his nostrils flaring.
Acrostic stood between him and me.
“Hi”
“You two” McMiso was twitching with anger,
“have to be the most irresponsible peelers on the
force”
I piped up, “but we make it look so easy”
“Anything the matter?” Acrostic rolled a coin
between his fingers, “I believe that we did just catch
you a cold-blooded killer, does that mean nothing to
your people?”
“The Irish?”
“Pen pushers” Acrostic pushed passed McMiso, “I
need a drink. Coffee or anything stronger if there is
anything. A change of clothes too, I’m soaked. Where
is a coffee machine?”
“You could spend a few more hours here each
week” McMiso took very quick little footsteps to stay
up with Acrostic’s swinging strides, “or at all other
than to drop off criminals”
 “Really? Crimes tend to happen less around
policemen so I don’t think there’s any reason for me
to really be at a police station” Acrostic loosened his
tie, “I fight crime, I don’t want to write it up,
document it and then file it in a cabinet that’ll only be
opened once a year to decide if it’s worth keeping the
cabinet for fire wood. Seriously, I’m sure there was a
coffee machine here the last time I visited”
McMiso rolled his eyes with the skill of a true
cynic, “the last time you were here I’m pretty sure we
were still burning people at the stake for being
witches. It wouldn’t hurt for you to visit your
workplace and pop in with a few files so that I can
finally explain just exactly why there are all these
murders to the various judges who are getting sick of
reading your name”
“My workplace is at the side of a chalk outline”
Acrostic retorted. McMiso looked at me.
“What about you?”
I sighed and jerked my thumb, “my workplace is
by his workplace”
“It’s a good thing Auckland’s the murder capital
of New Zealand, or very nearly” Acrostic turned the
corner, “ah-ha! Success”
He had found the tiny kitchen used by the first
floor. As he began playing around with the percolator,
McMiso was still raging.
“I mean a fire engine! Is it a cry for help or
something? Why a fire engine? If you were going to
commandeer anything-”
“We were in a rush” Acrostic shrugged, “Lexy,
would you like a cup?”
 “Love one” I folded my arms and tried to explain
to the Commissioner, “Winesbury had deflated our
tires and then hijacked a bus when his car broke. We
were in a bit of a rush. He’d be on a plane to Japan
right now if we hadn’t taken the big red one” and then
I took the mug of black coffee with two sugars from
Acrostic. I chipped in.
“We paid DS Nano to pick up our car. He should
have it in the car park by now. It’s so nice to have
subordinates, right Fireman Sam?”
“Well of course. We didn’t think it would be a
good idea to park a fire truck next to a police station.
The arsonists would form a union and have us
disbanded”
“OK” McMiso ran his hands down his face in horror
at the paperwork he would shortly have to file, “just
tell me what happened”
“Noah Winesbury became a politician eleven
years ago” Acrostic recited, “he started taking bribes
from the Netics Cartel, an organization responsible for
bringing in large shipments of illegal firearms. When
the stool pigeon was discovered, Noah knew it was
only a matter of time before he was found out so the
pigeon had to go, along with the prostitute who saw
the murder. Then he muscled in on the investigation
and when our forensics man Teddy Danson got a trace
from a fibre found in the pigeon’s apartment, he got
killed by Noah. Then Noah started being blackmailed
by Harris Marko, leader of the cartel so Noah killed
them too. Funny name, Noah. I thought he’d be
meaning to save everyone”
“Well what happened?”
 “Us” Acrostic threw his arm around me, “we
came along and there is no power on this earth that
will stop Inspector Acrostic and Sergeant Kent from
investigating a murder”
“I’m not sure if I want to be inspired or worried”
Acrostic added cream to his coffee and laughed,
“it’s better that way, trust me on that”
“What am I going to do about the reporters?”
McMiso demanded, “you know people actually notice
when you do something incredibly stupid?”
“Luckily, I have one reporter who knows her
stuff” Acrostic took out his phone and walked out of
the room. McMiso and I stood awkwardly in the
kitchen.
“He’s probably just gone to call Kendra, she’s
very good at patching up mistakes” I tried to reassure
McMiso who’s hair seemed to lose more and more
colour with each passing day. McMiso’s fury was
quelched as he swallowed the words he was about to
yell at me. Instead, he gritted new ones.
“We have police cars you know”
“I know” I hid my own smug smile behind the
mug of coffee, “but they’re far too conspicuous”
“Conspicuous?” McMiso was building up to a
rant that he was most famous for, “you’re worried that
people might notice you? Look Lexy, I don’t give a
government education plan about what you’re worried
about. I don’t care if your uniform is too blue or your
pay’s too low! You signed up for this not for me but
for you so could you do me a favour and just…
conform for once?”
“Why is it that whenever Acrostic does something
bad, you always go and yell at me?”
 “Acrostic is weird and set in his ways” McMiso
ran his fingers through his fringe and then ruffled his
scalp, “you can still learn and you, for all your
wonderful talent and independence, are Acrostic’s
sidekick at the end of the day and you have to remind
him when not to cross the line”
“So fire trucks are crossing the line?”
“Yeah”
“Oh. Right” I looked sheepish more than
apologetic, “sorry”
“Whatever” McMiso flew off to brood over how
long the bus incident would take to blow over.
Acrostic returned for a second round of caffeine, now
in a different suit that wasn’t drenched by the rain. He
look pretty pleased with himself which was becoming
too much of a normality.
“Right, Kendra’s on the case” he announced, “it’s
always good to have a reporter- sorry, news journalist,
as a friend. What’s wrong with you Kent? We just
caught another bad guy, that’s where we win. We just
had a win Lexy, let’s have a smile”
I gave a weak smile but my heart was sort of
wallowing in the lecture McMiso had just given me. I
felt like I was back in a dismal Birmingham boarding
school being told off by the headmistress for not
properly socializing with the other students and being
told that I would be homeless and unloved if I didn’t
take care of myself.
“Acrostic, do you think sometimes we go too
far?”
“Stealing a fire truck is going too far?”
“We have no shame” I giggled out of sadness,
“which is probably for the best. What’s the time?”
 “Just on eleven” Acrostic consulted his watch,
“what do you think? Time for another case?”
Superintendent Burton rocked up to our little
party. He was a meek man who’s face was getting
thinner and thinner, his complexion paler and paler as
his workload grew. I’ve always thought that mine can
tie me up for hours but Burton’s workload dwindles
all others. I didn’t fancy being shackled to a desk if it
meant ending up like Burton. His body had atrophied
to the point where he was a squinty skeleton in clothes
that hadn’t been washed in a few days.
“A bus? Really?” his eyes grew wide and his skin
grew taut as it stretched over his cheekbones, “how
am I going to explain this to the insurance company or
the police inquiry that will follow?”
“We’re never going to live this down” Acrostic
whispered in my ear. I silently agreed.
“Anyway, you’ve got a letter” Burton informed
him, “it’s in McMiso’s office”
Acrostic looked confused, “who brought it in?”
“No idea, does it matter?”
“That’s the trouble- matters tend to shift” Acrostic
and I marched passed a bewildered Burton. I had long
ago given up trying to understand what seemed like
profound statements from Acrostic. McMiso’s office
was on the second floor so we walked up, passing
colleagues who gave us everything from sarcastic
compliments to genuine amusement.
“You live for danger, don’t you Acrostic?” I
asked my partner, “you just can’t live without it”
“I don’t do it for the danger- and that’s the truth”
Acrostic looked dead into my eyes, “if there’s a
reward, job satisfaction, about any of this, it isn’t for
the danger or the thrill because I’m just not interested
in that sort of thing”
“So what are you interested in?”
“Suicide, music, cigars” Acrostic listed, “toasters
that don’t burn toast, the Victorian era, cheese
omelettes, P.G. Wodehouse, movies involving bank
heists”
“You old codger” I teased.

McMiso’s office was a pokey little hole which must

have been built sometime in the seventies and
preserved perfectly. There were the orange venetian
blinds for the one window, the endless knick-knacks
with a rather drab desk in the middle of the room
upon which there was a mountain of files in three
enormous stacks. An array of file cabinets were sadly
lined up against one wall. Acrostic and I entered
cautiously; aware not to touch anything lest we be
infected by the utter misery of the room. McMiso was
grumbling about like any mad old professor but
instead of a beaker of bubbly bile he had a large beige
envelope.
“That’s how all the greatest adventures start”
Acrostic leaned in towards me, “a letter”
“Who put it there?” I took hold of the envelope,
“no address or stamp”
The words ‘Inspector Acrostic’ had been
flourished in shiny brown ink on the lip of the
envelope. Acrostic took his switchblade from his
breast pocket but hesitated opening it. His knife
hovered slowly above the paper crust.
“What do you think Lexy? What have they got in
store for us this time?” Acrostic slid the blade under
the lid of the envelope, “shall we find out? Shall we
take the plunge into the chaotic abyss?”
“Geronimo!” I yelled playfully and Acrostic
began to slice open the envelope. McMiso made a
face at our impish nature but we were more interested
in the content of the envelope. Acrostic finished
opening the envelope and the letter, written on what
appeared to be a very thin piece of tan leather.
Acrostic gently removed the letter and held it up to
read where there was a poem with the same brown
ink.
“A poem?” McMiso was surprised at something
so mundane being addressed to Acrostic.
“Not a poem” Acrostic’s eyes darted back and
forth rapidly to scan the text, “a riddle”
I shifted to read it while Acrostic’s eyes suddenly
snapped from rapid fanning to a glassy gaze like a cat
in leisure but the Inspector was not at leisure. He was
digesting the information. The poem was the queerest
I’d ever read.

Three dead men

One bloody hammer
See if you like
Evermore the glamour
Straight play on words
My dear Inspector
The chase is on
To find your own Spectre

“Well that’s macabre” I mused loudly, “Acrostic?”

“Yeah?” he said hoarsely, licking his lips,
“what?”
 “Well what do you think of all this?”
“The clues are shuffled but not yet dealt. Why
give me this in a poem? How was this envelope
brought in without anyone noticing? Why bother
putting this on a piece of human skin when legal
sheets would have done the trick?”
“Human…?” I repulsed and then decided it was
better to have a closer look. The poem was indeed
written on someone’s coverings. Acrostic berated me
for my squeamish nature.
“It’s just skin!”
“So someone’s walking around with a patch of
skin missing!”
“Nope. I’m pretty sure that whoever is the owner
of this skin is dead” Acrostic said, carefully placing it
on McMiso’s desk, “you’ll need to run this skin for
DNA, you might catch a break”
“OK but where are you guys going?” McMiso
asked as we began to leave his domain.
“Vuvuzela museum. They’re having a symphony
today” I answered and we quickly tore away before
McMiso could ask us any more questions. Acrostic
and I walked out of that office with more questions
than when we had entered and the answers were much
more gruesome now. Acrostic was leaving the
building and I followed him dutifully, like I was the
handler of a lion on the loose. It felt like we were on
another big case so I put on my serious expressions.
“Well what does the poem mean?” I inquired as
we exited out the front doors. The rain had stopped
and already the clouds were clearing up, dispersed
into the bright blue roof. Acrostic trooped into his car
and I rode shotgun, sans an actual firearm.
 “Oh, didn’t I say?” Acrostic was woefully
ignorant at his lack of sharing his observations and
deductions at times, “well use your head Lexy!”
“Why don’t you just give me the answer?”
“Is that what you think of me?” Acrostic asked as
he started the car, “a way of looking in the back of the
textbook. That’s cheating Miss Kent”
“That’s collaboration Mister Acrostic”
“That’s Inspector Acrostic to you!” Acrostic
roared as he kicked the engine of his car into life,
“and away we go!”
“So what’s wrong with you sharing what you
amass in the great scheme of things?” I asked him, “it
tends to save a lot of time”
“Really?”
“OK, slow down for a moment” I order him and
in response, he slowed our metal chariot, “there’s a
girl at that zebra crossing. Tell me about her”
I pointed out the girl in particular. Acrostic began
spurting out deductions.
“Back again?” he said with a dry air, “she’s going
to the library as she always is this time of the week”
“How on earth could you possibly know that?”
“Check her teeth. She brushes them three times a
day and flosses regularly so I can deduce she has a
meticulous schedule. Her meticulous schedule also
demands that she wear clean shoes as her boots have
been scrubbed recently but there’s a bit of mud caked
on each side where she hasn’t quite cleaned properly.
Not just the same shade of mud, different types, a bit
of a walker then. Then where does she walk? Look at
her satchel, it’s loose but there’s still a few books in
it. Look at how she fiddles with her ring, she is a
fiddler so why not fiddle with the bag strap? The
answer is she did but it became loose, why loose? She
was carrying more books. At the amount she reads,
given that she visits the library once a week going by
her age, paper cut fingers and amount of books she’s
got now”
“You are good”
“Really? It’s all observation and deduction.
Everything’s OK; nothing is magic to me”
“So what was the whole business about the
poem?”
“Well it was…” Acrostic drew out and if I had
known him any better, I’d say he was embarrassed.
I was hanging at the end of his next word, “yes?”
“An acrostic message” Acrostic said. I chortled to
myself which Acrostic did not find amusing.
“Almost two years we went without anything
weird being about your name” I sighed with glee, “so
what was the message in the poem?”
“Well it’s similar to the Markheim case. You take
off the first word of each sentence though only the
first five are important”
“And that was?”
“Three-One-See-Evermore-Straight”
I scratched my brow, “what does that mean for
people who only speak English?”
“Well it’s rough but it translates to 31C Evermore
Street” Acrostic explained, “an address which is I
believe, the start of the key to figuring out this farce”
“Evermore Street, that’s in Albany isn’t it?” I recalled
using my superhuman tangle of geography.
 “Yes, I think it is” Acrostic patted me on the head
in the most patronizing technique, “I think Alys lives
around here”
“Who?”
“Oh you don’t know her, I was talking more to
myself than to you”
“You’re a strange man Acrostic”
“Strange? Me?” Acrostic said in his smug
satisfactory tones, “yes indeed!”
“Where has Jess been for these moseying
around?” I inquired, “she was meant to help me
unpack my things”
“I’m confused” sniffed Acrostic, “not because
you’ve been living with me for months and didn’t
unpack but because I’m sure that you finally did
unpack the other day”
“I did” I admitted, awkwardly rolling my fingers
in my lap, “and then I repacked. I was cleaning the
carpet and then I decided to clean the walls and so I
eventually ended up just sticking things in boxes to
avoid figuring out later where everything was meant
to go and then after finishing the cleaning I forgot to
unpack”
“Lexy F. Kent, what am I going to do with you?”
“Teach me how to be useful”
“That could take years!” Acrostic playfully
remarked, “anyway, Jess is with her mother for the
day. Tyra’s going off to Beijing soon on vacation so
they decided to spend some quality time together
before Tyra flies away”
“You’re quite happy about that?”
“She’s my ex-wife!” he justified, “it’s a knee-jerk
reaction I swear it”
 “You know, you’re not the easiest person to get
along with” I confessed which threw Acrostic into
sharp relief, “well you’re not so as a sickly purveyor
of the truth, I demand you listen to it. Can I take you
down to the heart of the black forest of humanity?”
“Lexy, if there is such a forest, only the best wood
nymph could get away with leading me down”
“Acrostic, you deduce things, you see where
people have been by what they are. That man there,
what do you make of him?”
“He’s cheating on his wife going by the lack of
wedding ring but the tan line where a ring has recently
sat. His comfortable boating jacket that fits him too
tightly suggests it was a gift. He’s combed his hair but
hasn’t anointed it with any kind of product so I think
it’s a safe bet that he’s attempting to impress
someone, keeping up appearances. If you’re keeping
up for appearances but you’ve lost your spouse then
what are you doing? Going out to meet company?
That’d be probable given the wine bottle in his hand.
You couple the fact that he’s got a pricey seventy-
dollar bottle of Pinot Noir and his recently scrubbed
face and combed hair, definitely he’s going to some
party where he has connections but isn’t very
comfortable around them so what could that be?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“What does he do for a living? Look at him, really
look at him! What do you see?”
I was exasperated as Acrostic lost me, “I don’t
know! I can’t see anything!”
“Start with the shoes!” Acrostic stuck his head out
of the car window and had stopped the car in the
middle of the road, “you! You with the blue blazer,
stay there! Don’t move!”
“Why?” asked the man who was wondering if we
were just the worst abductors in the world.
“Lexy, quickly” Acrostic berated my stupidity,
“what do you see? What makes this man unique?”
“I don’t know!”
“He’s a postman!” bellowed the ego of Acrostic,
“don’t you see- the flexible hours being out at
midday, heading for a party, the seized shoulders
where he carries his post bag, the chew marks on his
trouser leg from a dog-”
“Do you know me sir?” the apparent postman
looked at Acrostic curious as to the man’s inside
knowledge.
“I might as well” Acrostic gestured for the man to
disappear from sight which he promptly did. His
overconfidence annoyed me but I knew any more
debate would just further enrage me. He presumed too
much sometimes and while I was often more amused
than angered by his ridiculously high expectations of
following his runaway trains of thought, that day I
was firmly angered. Sometimes Acrostic didn’t seem
human but an unreasonable machine.
We arrived at our destination, Albany. It was
difficult to recognize the house on 31C Evermore
Street because it was so old and rustic it looked more
like a giant wooden beehive. Even in the middle of
what was turning out to be a fine day, it was a creepy,
spooky abode, the kind of place where one haunts as a
ghost or teenager. It was pretty big but was badly in
need of a paint job, all the windows were boarded up
and subsequently vandalized over and the chimney
lay on the grass, pondering over what it was doing
there.
Had I lived in that neighbourhood, I’d be all for
cleaning up that eyesore but weirdly enough, no one
leaving their house gave the rundown two-storey
shack a glance of disgust or even a glance at all.
“Shall we?”
“After you”
We got out of the car and walked slowly onto the
dry brown lawn. Weeds seemed to thrive in the baked
soil and eventually formed a sort of depressing
welcome mat near the front of a door that had been
fortune enough to have one very large axe attack it
one day. Nonetheless, Acrostic decided it would be a
good idea to knock.
“Manners Lexy, we must remain civil to hold
together civilization”
I scoffed, “wow… that made you sound a million
years old. I don’t think there’s anyone home, would
you like to just leave a flyer in the mailbox?”
“Get it open” Acrostic shifted to one side and I
took a hairpin and began to fiddle with the lock. It
was pretty well rusted but without any oil I couldn’t
do anything about it but try my best to shake it loose.
“Are you sure you want to go inside of there?” I
questioned my colleague as I pushed the first pin into
the lock, “if someone gave me a mysterious message
on a piece of skin, I’d have second thoughts about
visiting them”
“What makes you so sure that this is a bad idea?”
the Inspector leaned against the doorframe and with
his skinny frame he really did appear to be a beanpole
from one side, “all you have is the skin message and
I’ve met really lovely people who write on all sorts of
things”
“Whatever you say” I muttered, swinging open
the door. It creaked eerily and a busy cloud of dust
escaped out of the door and into the light. Acrostic
and I goggled into the interior. It was dark and some
of the floorboards had been ripped off. There was no
obvious pieces of furniture other than a coat rack
which had been snapped in half and was tucked away
in the corner. The wallpaper was peeling which gave
way for the mold and mildew to party away, moving
in all directions.
“This” I whispered in case there were any ghosts,
“cannot be a good idea”
“No. Come on” Acrostic bound in with his
maniacal energy, unsettling the dust and sending it
flying around. His footsteps seemed to echo through
that hostile domicile and the acoustics really were
quite frightening. I barely walked inside before
feeling Acrostic’s arm collide with my stomach.
“What?” I caught my breath and popped my eyes
back into their stomach. He had really winded me.
“Look down”
We both took stock of the patterns in the dust.
Streak marks were there was no dust and more
helpfully:
“Footprints!”
“Four people were here” Acrostic looked about
and now took extra care not to disturb the dust, “four
distinct shoeprints and each of a different size. What
can you see?”
“Oh Acrostic, I don’t want to play right now”
 “This is not a game. This is crime. Games have
less rules”
“You’re not properly talking to Acrostic if you’re
not constantly confused”
“First person” Acrostic pointed to a pair of shoes
by the window, “wore baseball sneakers going by the
print and of size seven so probably not tall but you
can’t rule it out. Second person wore flat Italian
loafers, that’s obvious enough, going by the flat
impression of the dust and the shape of the print.
Third person wore a thick-soled square-toed
monstrosity, probably a boot going by the design.
Fourth person, notice the curvy body- and also how
the heel has those lines? Monk shoes I suppose”
“So what does a baseball player, a lawyer, a Goth,
and an art connoisseur have in common and what
business do they have in such a house?”
“Excellent questions” Acrostic patted my
shoulders, the proud parent of the child who has just
spoken their first words and it comes out as something
recognizably political, “what business indeed? Shall
we move along and see what other treasures are
buried here?”
“Wherever the winds will take us eh Captain
Acrostic?”
“Follow me then First Mate Kent” Acrostic
moved on from the initial room which I guessed
might have been some sort of drawing room. Another
door stood staunchly into the north wall with all the
silent charisma of an ageing bodyguard. My friend
touched the neck of this bodyguard and with the
greatest of care pryed him away.
 “Ah, the kitchen” he nodded. I found that even
without the props, the set was absolutely that of a
kitchen. Fickle as a dollhouse, it was arranged with all
of the cupboards closed and though the sink was
dusty, it was at the very least clean. Acrostic began
throwing open the drawers and the pantry but found
nothing but empty bottles of wine, each playing host
to three or four cigarette filters each.
“All of these are Chianti” Acrostic read the label,
“and they’re for the overpriced but the cigarette filters
have to be L House Reds, cheap little sticks that burn
too fast and taste absolutely foul. What can the
contradiction mean?”
“The four clashed in tastes”
“Personalities too. So what could bring them
together? What is the common denominator of
society?”
“Money?” I shot in the dark and then reloaded my
missile launcher of guesses, “revenge? Love?”
Acrostic scrutinized the last drops of each bottle,
“if love was one then we’re out of a job and I have a
lot of people to apologize to. Each bottle has been
drained as best it can be. How perspicacious”
“Nice word”
“I thought so. There are different footprints here,
human toes, human arches, definitely barefoot and
that means that our initial four had company”
“Who?”
“A dilapidated house in Albany. I wonder…”
Acrostic mockingly tapped his chin.
“Vagabonds?”
 “Yes, and then others begin using this for more
nefarious purposes, bringing in their wine and
cigarettes-”
“How do you know the wine and cigarettes
weren’t from the homeless people?”
“The filters were in the bottle. Do you really think
a vagrant would take the trouble? However, a person
brought up and subsisting of a lifestyle where they
pay their taxes will invariably be burdened by all sets
of habits including cleanliness. Unconsciously, they
will take bottles for their filters because it’s just in
you, ingrained like a permanent mark on the plain of
life”
“That’s poetic. Why was that?” I asked, pressing
the length of my nose on the wine bottle Acrostic was
holding.
Acrostic looked at me through the glass of the
overpriced wine bottle, “to mock you, child of the
Marvelous Times. You have failed to grasp maintain
your weapon and your weapon, your greatest weapon,
is the power of reason”
We froze. There was a scratching noise coming
from upstairs. Acrostic slid his old 1940s revolver
from his jacket and handed it to me. From another
pocket he took a large silver spoon with a curly
handle and held it threateningly with his left hand.
“Let’s go!” he said, raising his eyebrows and we
dashed quixotically and vertically, pounding the
creaky staircase and I took in the second level of 31C
Evermore Street which was just as awful and
inhospitable. We moved down to the one door that
was definitely making the scratching noise. Acrostic
kicked down the door and a ginger cat ran out, passed
us and outside.
“Bit of a letdown” I commented, putting the
safety back on the revolver. Acrostic wasn’t so sure.
He poked his head in and had his investigative hunger
satisfied with three dead bodies.
“Lucky us, someone’s served up three dead men”
“Oh I really shouldn’t, I’m trying to cut back” I
joked, trying to make light out of a grim situation.
Acrostic began to examine them for clues.
“The… the three dead men from the poem” I
linked.
“Very good Lexy, see if you can find the
hammer”
The room was probably some sort of master
bedroom and it even had a balcony with more holes in
it than a block of Swiss cheese. It was devoid of
anything other than the men so searching seemed
almost redundant. There was room for a lightbulb but
no luck. The rest of the ceiling was white plaster
flaking away like tiny white flags dropping to the
ground; sending their surrender to the cracks in the
floor so I checked the lonely closet and in the space
for keeping diaries above the coat rack, I found the
hammer. Very carefully I picked it up with a
handkerchief and turned it over. There was blood
caked on both ends, the hammer itself must have been
thirty years old at the very least.
“Acrostic, I’ve got a hammer with a bit of blood.
What have you got?”
“Three men, one’s middle-aged the other two are
only in their late-twenties, all homeless though. One
of Indonesian descent, the other two are Caucasian,
each wearing a different colour shirt”
“Is that significant?”
“I don’t know yet; still cooking the facts over”
Acrostic pointed to how each corpse was wrapped in
red, black or white, “they were not killed with a blow
to the head, that happened after death. They were
strangled. The first has had a lot of skin taken off of
his back. The second has his right arm sliced
sideways”
“Why?”
“I suspect that the message was written with
blood. The third has his left incisor missing”’
“His tooth?”
“At a guess, if you’ve got human skin to write on,
human blood to write with, perhaps he used the tooth
to write. My guess is our masterminds made a stylish
stylus out of the tooth. This is all getting very strange”
“Try freaky” I substituted, shaking my hair, “because
let’s just think about this for a moment. A code from a
past case, on a poem written on human skin,
addressed to you. I think that’s pretty freaky”
“Can you hear that?”
“That’s me talking”
“No, shut up” Acrostic clapped his smoky hand
over my mouth, “and really, listen”
I paused.
I switched on my aural cavities.
I heard.
“A phone?”
“Basement” he directed. We zipped back down
the stairs and then pandered around for the door the
the basement. I found the entrance which leaned a lot
to the left. There were stairs missing and it was cold
down in the stone basement, even for Auckland. The
only light came from a tiny window like the lips of a
lawyer lamenting the misdeeds of his clients. Again
there was a ban on material possessions but there was
one exception: a red rotary telephone.
It was tarnished and square and must have been
made of the kind of tin the rockets that explode are
made out of. It rattled pathetically as it rang. Acrostic
and I stared at it cautiously, unable to decipher the
meaning of the ringing phone.
“You answer it”
I stopped the instinct to reach the receiver, “why
me?”
“I hate telemarketers”
Then the phone stopped.
I exhaled, thankful for the phone’s decision to
stop ringing.
Then it started again.
2. HUNTING SEASON

“Answer it” Acrostic commanded. Just as I was about

to touch the telephone I stopped myself.
“Why?” I challenged over the metallic ring-ring-
ring.
“You warm them up. I’m what they paid their
ticket for” Acrostic broke out into metaphor, “look.
They’re after me, not you so we’ll throw them off.
Killers, when confused, either kill less or kill more
but we’re in Auckland so it’s kind of win-win”
“Hello” I picked up the phone and put it to my ear
and Acrostic brushed his cheek upon mine so he
might listen in, “Kent-O-Gram Productions, how may
I help you?”
What we got was this oddly, animalistic sobbing
noise. I tried again.
“Hello-hello?”
 “Please…” a crying woman’s voice said. Acrostic
put his finger to my lips as indication that I should
shut up and let the woman talk. After ten seconds of
vocal thrashing, we began to make sense of the
woman’s speech.
“Please help me…”
“Where are you?” I said loudly and clearly.
“The… the Four Horsemen have declared
hunting… hunting season open” the woman shrieked.
Acrostic shook his head as to what that might mean.
“What is your name?” I asked plainly. The
woman gave me a rhyming couplet:

“A serial killer, a spree killer, a mass murderer on

the shelf
It looks like tiny Auckland will have to fight ole’
Death herself”

Pip-pip-pip. She hung up, leaving us to contemplate.

Acrostic performed a little trick while he stood by the
smashed window and thought. He took the spoon he
had armed himself with and spun it around his thumb
like a magician’s wand. His eyes suddenly became
very glassy as he projected himself around all the
hypotheticals. Then unexpectedly he began talking,
not particularly to me but I caught the logorrhea:
“OK so we’ve got a planned and organized
mastermind and four horsemen and three dead bodies
and a vendetta against one Detective Inspector and
there’s an old house so there’s a cursory knowledge of
the city and the reference to the Four Horsemen has to
be some sort of red herring because they don’t really
exist and the four footprints and the two cigars in my
pocket and I’ve got to grab Jess later and take her to
the theatre like I promised and walk Casanova and
brush down my study on fingerprint analysis and-”
Acrostic stopped and looked at me.
“What?”
“You saw it too; this thing has been planned from
the word ‘Go’ and thus…” Acrostic bolted back up to
the dead bodies, “come along Kent, look!”
“Do you like the effect this has on me? The
simple explanation hidden in all the… obvious stuff?”
“Well said. I do” Acrostic began circling the three
dead bodies, “this is a classic case of crazy. May I
introduce… the Wild West Strangler!”
The Wild West Strangler was getting front-page
coverage of every newspaper in the city. He, and I
only say he because we had nothing on him and
statistics dictate serial killers are more likely to be
male, meandered around West Auckland and
strangled victims at random. He had received more
publicity than the Chaplin Killer.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“This is his trademark” Acrostic noted, “I saw the
bodies when I consulted with Detective Inspector
Gilligan. He strangles his victims and then he leaves
them to be found in places where they’ll easily be
found”
“Why does he do that?”
“Why does anyone do anything?” Acrostic fired
back over the dead bodies.
“You know what I mean”
“Ah, the psychology of the psychopath. Shall we
say he does it because he’s bored?”
 I couldn’t tell whether he was being funny or
giving a genuine answer, “elaborate”
“People have a need to feel like they have a
purpose and to answer that in detail would take years
so you’ll have to trust me when I say people are
compelled to feel like they’re fulfilling their function.
The Henderson Strangler feels like he’s fulfilling his
function by strangling people. He’s out there and in
his mind he believes that for some reason or other,
there’s too many people and they have to go.
Alternatively, he believes that it’s his job to knock
people off. Maybe he doesn’t even look at it as stone
cold fun, maybe he feels it’s his duty to do this. He’s
always chosen randomly, aside from the fact his
territory, his hunting ground, is Henderson”
“Why Henderson?”
“Have you ever been in Henderson?” Acrostic ran
his fingers down his hair, “you could get away with
murder there”

After we explained to McMiso that the greatest serial

killer of the year was merely the pawn of another
mastermind he had a bit of a cry. Understandable as
serial killers are notorious for being the reason of the
most unpaid overtime any policeman will experience.
After attempting to reason with him that it’d be good
to get away from his family and that it would be a
huge boost for his career, he decided it would be a
good idea to break a small ceramic chicken and we
left his office, almost feeling that we were to blame
for bringing a continual murderer to fruition.
“This is all about you right?”
“Lexy?”
 “We’re dealing with someone who’s exacting
revenge because of you. The letter was for you. Not
McMiso, but you”
“I’m the most prolific peeler in Auckland. You
can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs
and turning on the gas” Acrostic prescribed a healthy
dose of his methodical madness, “someone’s after me.
The question is, to what end?”
“They used a woman to talk to you. They didn’t
want you to hear their voice so they must have
thought you might recognize them. Perhaps someone
you put in jail’s got out. We could start there”
“Lexy, there are literally thousands of people who
I’ve tucked away. Plus, you wouldn’t only be
confined to Auckland. It might not even be someone I
put away but a relation or a friend. Instead we must
look at the data staring us in the face”
“Such as?”
“Three victims. The Wild West Strangler has
never killed more than one person at any one time.
Nine killings but always separate, always in
Henderson so why break this pattern?”
“You’re sure it’s him though right?”
“The way he strangles them with a roll of nylon
fishing line, it’s his signature. The best killers always
have signatures- it means they’re sure they won’t be
caught”
“Can you?”
“Catch him?” Acrostic pondered, “they’re not fish
Lexy, I don’t catch them, I don’t throw out bait and
wait for the killer to bite so I can then snag him-”
“Isn’t that how you solved the Chaplin case?”
 “Shut up. I track them, I observe and I follow the
trail”
“You really think a lot of yourself”
“Justified. There’s a lot to think about”
We filled out all the forms courtesy of Burton’s
nagging and then decided that we’d had enough for
the day. Acrostic and I headed back to our humble
home, a nice old cave that smelt of cigars and
cinnamon. As we entered we found Jess Acrostic
playing with her rat. Jess has always struck me as
incredibly striking and able to get any boy she’d want.
She resembled her father quite a bit, having matching
brown hair and inheriting the Acrostic prowess of
deduction.
“Daddy, can I get another rat?”
Acrostic slapped his left cheek, “I didn’t want you
to have the first rat”
“But he’s so cute” Jess coddled the rodent, “and
he does tricks. I’m building him up to drive a tiny
little car I’m building”
“Don’t you have exams? Shouldn’t you be
studying?” I asked Jess. The two Acrostics looked at
each other and laughed. I instantly remembered who I
was talking to. Being clever, really clever, was in the
Acrostic genes.
“I thought you were with your mother” Acrostic
slowly began, “what happened to that?”
“She was acting very peculiar. I don’t know if she
was happy or sad about something” she answered,
rolling her head around her neck, “anyway, she told
me to come here after the shopping and so here I am”
“Maybe she’s got a new man in” I suggested.
Acrostic was eager to change the topic.
 “Where’s Casanova?”
“Backyard. I’ve walked him, fed him and brushed
him” Jess pointed to the window, “oh and there’s a
lasagna in the oven”
“What do you want?” Acrostic became suspicious
as he took his place in his usual armchair.
“I’m going shopping with Amy on Wednesday,
can I have thirty dollars?” Jess did her best to be cute
and adorable, “please Daddy?”
Acrostic took out his wallet and handed over
thirty dollars in three ten dollar bills. I wasn’t sure if
Acrostic was capable of loving many people but he
loved his daughter. I went to the kitchen to make a
cup of tea. I returned with a glass of wine. As I settled
on the sofa, Acrostic was reading his mail. He handed
me my slim correspondence which were magazine
subscriptions and books I’d ordered. Acrostic was
ripping open letters and sorting them into piles- one
for letters he’d keep, one for letters that would be
thrown into the fireplace.
“Ha!” Acrostic held up a letter for me to read,
“they want me to go and look for a thief in Seattle, the
Minuit Sponsor, a showman robber”
“Will you do it?”
“No. Absolutely not” Acrostic vehemently said, “I
like Auckland. It’s nice and green and breezy. Seattle
is all cement and skyscrapers, I don’t prefer that at
all”
“You’re an old salt aren’t you?” I sniggered and
then became engrossed in Hourglass Monthly.
Hourglass had enthralled me at an early age, a comic
book about a girl who could manipulate the flow of
time. Jess came in with a bowl of lasagna for me and
it was actually very tasty. For a fifteen year old,
Jessica Acrostic really knew her way around the
kitchen. Acrostic picked at his ration as he read one
particular letter.
“What’s in your tree?” I asked at Acrostic’s
frown. He stuffed the letter into his jacket and ignored
my question; instead asking one of his own.
“Are you worried?”
“Worried about what?”
“Just a thought. The Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse, what do you think she meant by that?”
Acrostic used me as his sounding board, “it brings up
all these connotations and then there’s that piece
about a serial killer, a spree killer and a mass
murderer”
“Interesting challenge but have you ever
considered how insane this is?”
“Don’t you just love it?” Acrostic took a forkful
of lasagna to his mouth, “ah, there’s nothing like a
diabolical scheme to combat”
Casanova meandered in and rolled around on the
floor. Defeated by his puppy eyes I donated to him the
remains of my dinner.
“Acrostic”
“Yes?”
“Ah… never mind” I swallowed what I wanted to
say and went back to reading my magazines. Acrostic
eventually retired to his bedroom and I soon did the
same having been exhausted by the incidents of the
day. I crawled under the covers, not bothering to
change into pajamas, and closed my eyes. As my
brain began checklisting things off and thinking about
all the bad decisions I’d made in life, I could hear
Acrostic playing with his old harmonica. He lulled me
to sleep and I began to dream.

I’m standing inside some sort of storage cupboard.

There are all of these stuffed animals, rhinos,
pigeons, bears, it’s like a giant menagerie of toys.
They all have the same black beads for eyes that are
creeping me out. I spin around but they’re
surrounding me. It’s scary as hell. I want to get out
and the moment I think that the floor began to turn
into quicksand. I’m sinking into the floor and I wave
goodbye to the closet of animals.
I fall through the floor and end up outside in some
sort of deserted amusement park. Great big roller
coasters that are falling apart, a Ferris wheel that’s
been knocked on it’s side, a merry-go-round gently
swaying from side to side. It’s quite cloudy but not
actually raining. I wander around and see aisles of
stalls, a shooting range, a tombola, a house of
mirrors. There is one giant purple tent, embroided
with lots of gold and silver, it’s huge. I bet that if it
were pitched up, it could cover the whole of
Auckland. I’m intrigued by what’s inside. A little
voice tells me that it’s not a good idea but I don’t
listen. As I approach the tent flap opens up for me. I
go inside.
When I walk in, I know it’s a bad idea. You can
barely see a thing, there are wild shadows dancing
around and I can hear something breathing. It’s
making these weird footsteps, like whenever you drop
a stack of glass plates. It’s coming closer towards me
and I try and run. I run but I can’t seem to find the
exit. I’m running around in circles, desperately
pawing around but I can’t find anything. I try to rip
the fabric of the tent but there’s nowhere to grip. The
monster is chasing me still so I move out and about. I
run to the centre where I find a stone. I throw it at the
direction of the monster and that seems to deter it. I
find the exit and I dash out but it can’t have been the
same exit because I’m somewhere different. It’s this
weird old garden with a stone cobble path which I
think I should follow. I head down the garden path.
There are just beautiful plants along this path.
Brilliant red roses the size of basketball courts,
enormous sunflowers that are the brightest yellow
you can ever find, apple trees which must have
thousands of green, red and purple apples hanging
from the branches. Somehow I pull myself from the
garden path and jump into one of the roses. It begins
to hum loudly. Then it shakes wildly. Then the giant
rose spits me out and I fly through the air, feeling the
wind hit me and I feel like the landing’s going to hurt.
But I don’t land. I’m hovering in the air. I think
about going forwards and I move forward. I think
about flying upward and I fly upward. I have a little
bit of fun doing great acrobatics but suddenly the
flying mechanism malfunctions. Against my will, I’m
flying around the old circus, pass through a giant
sandstorm and get great dirty sand particles in my
mouth. I spit out the sand and then I feel like I’m
being sucked down by gravity. The flying stops
completely and I begin to fall.
I fall and this isn’t gentle. It’s harsh and not at all
fun. I land on my back and feel my spin crack in four
different places. I’m in no pain though, I’m just
unable to get up. As my spine heals itself I look up at
th sky. The clouds are begin to become extremely
hazy and then disappear. It’s night time now. Night
but with a blue moon. A beautiful blue moon. The
moon, the old reliable moon. ‘Moon’ is a weird word
now that I come to think about it. I try to say it aloud
but I can’t speak. All that comes out is a kind of fuzzy
static noise.
I try again and this time I feel my spine restore
itself. I sit up and throw up. Motion sickness at
getting up too fast. It’s a funny feeling vomiting up
China figurines and plastic guitar picks. I wipe my
mouth with my sleeve and stand up. Things have
changed. Where am I? It’s like a giant labyrinth made
out of off-white plastic. I’m at my wits end as to
where I should move to. I run down the maze-like
corridors and spin around but now I’m disorientated
and I want to just get out. I must go through a
hundred forks in the maze. Left. Right. Left. Right.
Centre. Left. Left. Left. Centre. Right. Right. Right.
Centre. Left. Left. Centre. Left. Right. Left. Right.
Where am I? It must be the centre of the
labyrinth. There’s this great big pond sitting in the
centre of it. It’s a very mossy pond but it’s so calm
you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s grass. I dip my foot
in and feel something touch it. Scaly. Like a fish. I
notice raindrops that disturb the surface of the moss
pond. Its almost eerie looking at this moss pond
because little bits of human cadavers are floating to
the top. Eyeballs that have been soaked and are
mushy. Fingers that are bloated like sponges
impregnated with water. The occasional nose. I’ve
always wanted a human skull, ever since I played the
part of Lady Macbeth in a school play. I dive into the
moss pond to see if I can find the skull but instead I’m
back in my school’s auditorium. I’m onstage. There
are a million redheads watching me. The bright
spotlights are directed at me. I try and remember the
lines of Shakespeare’s Scottish play but no lines come
to me.
I improvise. I get a few laughs. I begin talking,
just talking about things I don’t like. Dentists. The bus
conductors who always speed up when you’re
hungover. Any pop group who attempts to do a cover
version of a popular rock group. I rip into snakes.
Snakes are just scary animals. I know snakes get a lot
of Biblical flak but it’s only because they’re pure evil.
When Hitler died, he said to God ‘please don’t let me
come back as a snake’.
The audience laughs but just as I’m getting
started the crowd begins to leave. It’s all extremely
organized. The spotlight turns off and I’m alone and
in the dark in my school auditorium. It’s cold in here.
I wander around the empty auditorium but still I’m
alone. I hate being alone.
I sit down on the ground and cry. I wail. I know
that the wailing is unattractive and that the tears are
falling fast but I don’t care. I keep crying and the
tears begin to form a legion in my clothes. Hey soak
me thoroughly but I don’t really care until my clothes
begin to get extremely heavy. I shed them and then
make my way to the costume closet and find some
more clothes. I choose a brilliant new outfit- a
sparkly silver sequin-studded shirt and a pair of
purple jeans. I look like a disco dancer or a visitor
from another planet. Iadmire myself in the mirror.
Something about the mirror makes me uneasy. It’s
dusty and oblong and almost as tall as me and wider
by far. I hold out my palm and touch it. When I pull
my hand back the mirror swings away. It’s a secret
passageway! You don’t find many of those anymore.
I peer down the rabbit hole. Dirt floor, circular
frame, and there’s just enough room for me to
squeeze through. I don’t know if I should. I’ve been in
danger a lot already and going down a secret
passageway might just be pushing my luck a smidge
too far.

I woke up with a raging thirst and a massive daze. My

dreams had become quite vivid and skewered. I tried
to hold down my thoughts as I dashed to the bathroom
and splash my face with cold water. It was early
morning; the heroin addicts were just beginning to
crawl home before the first morning light. I ran the
tap and flung coolness from the ceramic basin. I
groaned and then sank to my knees and cried. That
caught me quite by surprise.
I don’t know why that came as a surprise. I had
been highly strung for months and living with
Acrostic really took a lot out of a girl. I was just
awfully tired of the fast pace I was living. I caught my
breath and took nice deep breaths. I took a shower
because showers tend to help me feel better. I
scrubbed and soaped and shampooed and ten minutes
later I emerged, clean and dressed and that did the
trick. I entered the kitchen to see Kendra, the news
journalist, and Acrostic locked in conversation.
Kendra was always changing her hairstyles and had
dyed it jet black and tied up in a ponytail. She was
also wearing this beige trenchcoat that seems to be
exclusively worn by reporters or private detectives.
Kendra always wore things she’d discovered
rummaging around thrift stores; she was pedantic like
that.
“As you can see, it’ll all blow over” Kendra
shrugged, “they dug the tour bus out of the harbour by
the way. I suggest you never repeat the incident
though”
“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Acrostic pretended
to pout, “Lexy, shall I make you a cup of tea?”
“I’ll make it” I rebuffed and moved around the
kitchen while Kendra and Acrostic chatted. Casanova
was snuggled up in his basket, gnawing on a beef
bone noisily.
“You have to tell me what you know” Kendra had
her red notebook out, “this story is too good not to be
in the papers”
“What are you going to say? That the Wild West
Strangler works for some mastermind even worse and
that there are also two other killers lined up?”
“Challenge accepted” Kendra clinked cups with
Acrostic, “you’re good Acrostic, but you can’t do this
on your own”
“I’m not alone” Acrostic shifted his gaze, “I have
Lexy”
That comment electrified my legs. I blushed
slightly as I poured boiling water into my coffee mug.
Kendra clicked her pen twice, “so what may I
say?”
“You may put that today people will die but we
can’t make any promises as to who those people
might be” Acrostic put the cup to his mouth until the
coffee ground remains based on his upper lip, “we’re
up against a psychopath. I just hope I can still
remember how to play”
“Is this all a big game to you?” Kendra began to
doodle on her notebook a caricature of Acrostic. He
was about to answer when his mobile phone went off.
He stepped outside and Kendra, Casanova and Kent
were alone together.
“So how are you holding up?” Kendra asked me,
giving me a bit of a wink, “I know what it’s like
living with Acrostic”
“Do you really?”
“It’s enough drive anyone mad. The important
thing to have is perspective. It’s not like anybody’s
died”
“Yes they have” Acrostic returned, “the
Henderson Strangler has struck again. There’s an old
man in Horvat Creek. They’ve just fished him out
now. He’s pretty fresh too”
“Maybe we can cook him up and have him for
supper” said I, “rickety-tickety-tin”
“That’s the spirit”
The Detective Inspector and the Detective
Sergeant marched out and it was a nice day. Sunny
skies for serial killers. We made our way to the car
and Acrostic, after much grinding, got the engine to
cough back to life. As we drove, Acrostic received
another phone call. I secretly took points off him for
driving and talking on the phone. It was weird; I was
being very negative to Acrostic for some reason. I
resolved to be nicer to him. It was a nice outlook.
Cheerfulness has always switched on my appetite. I
had a craving.
 “Acrostic, do we have any of that onion soup Jess
made on Sunday?”
“Lexy, I must confess that I ate the last of the
onion soup”
“You raise a good point though. I’m hungry, are
you hungry?”
“Starving” I exaggerated, knowing that poverty-
stricken orphans would disagree with me over the
definition of the word but I’m sure that I could beat
them in a debate simply due to the fact that I’d be
doing it on a full stomach.
“There’s a bakery. Let’s get some breakfast”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you think that the man we’re going to go see
will expire?”
“Isn’t that why we’re going to see him?”
Acrostic clapped his hands slowly, “very good
Miss Kent, very good”
We got some cinnamon rolls and coffee and thus
we were off again. By the time we got to Horvat
Creek my fingers were sticky with the icing.
Henderson, like most suburbs in the North Island, is a
mesh of civilization and the dark side of the moon but
has a circulation system of creeks and rivers running
through, more so than sewer systems and water pipes.
New Zealand is very good at completely missing the
point sometimes.
Horvat Creek was just outside of an electronics
store and was a muddy current of water where the
only forms of life that could live in it had been
genetically engineered experiments to test how life
would react if it was left on Mars exposed to the
Martian atmosphere. I stepped over the pile of empty
beer bottles and the breadcrumb trail of cigarette
filters and moved over to the two constables on the
scene. The taller constable was a young woman who
must have been fresh out of training and was a bit
plump but had very nice curly yellow hair. The
shorter constable was a pimply boy with an awful
crew cut. They both wore their uniforms proudly and I
felt like they were more like Satan’s valets, bringing
us to the dead man.
The lifeless body was that of a fifty-year-old man
who’s head was sparse with hair and his clothes were
invariably made up of cotton, tweed or patent leather.
There was a red mark around his wrinkled neck from
where he had been strangled. He was lying on his
back, staring up at the clouds with cloudy eyes. I
stepped over him and cast my focus around the
foliage to see if I could spot any clues as to help catch
our killer. Acrostic was leaps and bounds ahead of me
of course and as he pranced around he muttered to
himself in what sounded like Cantonese. After half an
hour of his buzzing around I clapped to get his
attention. Acrostic froze like a deer in front of
headlights.
“Yeah?”
“Any ideas as to how this happened?”
“I’ve been talking”
“In a language I don’t speak”
“Oh” Acrostic was a bit put out by that, “sorry.
Do I have to start all the way from the beginning?”
“Yes you do”
“Well this is the fourth male victim of the
Strangler and the second over forty. Who you kill
speaks volumes”
 “Really?”
“If I killed a little old lady then I’d just be sadistic.
If I kill a ruthless dictator then I’m a hero. If I kill my
mother then I’m a Freudian beauty”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” I asked but
Acrostic ignored me and continued.
“Look here Lexy. It’s all the same principles of
observation and deduction-”
“Acrostition?”
“That I always employ. The skills can be
transplanted to any circumstance. Take Constable
Forrier here” Acrostic pointed to the male constable
who looked worried suddenly.
“He’s got baby powder on the fingers of his left
hand but not his thumb. Now that’s observation.
Deduction tells me that it’s because he’s just taken up
the acoustic guitar and that he isn’t going to a
professional tutor to learn how”
“How on earth could you deduce that?”
“Well first of all, if one is playing right-handed on
a guitar, they will perhaps sprinkle baby powder to
cancel out any unwanted noise during sliding. Hold a
guitar- you will see why it is less important to powder
your left thumb when holding down strings. There’s
les dexterity there. Only an acoustic guitar will you
need powder to stop sliding, it’s almost encouraged in
all other kinds. Now only a beginner uses baby
powder on their fingers to start off with, it’s an old
trick to just get comfortable with the guitar. It’s early
Tuesday morning. What music teacher works on an
early Tuesday morning? But the fingers show that
he’s just been practicing as due to the same powder
I’ve talked about multiple times. What does that tell
us then? If he’s been practicing early, but not washed
his hands for bathroom breaks or breakfast, then it
shows him to be a man of irregular hours. A constable
of irregular hours, now what kind of man is that?”
I glanced at the uncomfortable constable, “I don’t
know”
“Neither do I, yet. I can notice that his hair is kept
very well so even though he keeps irregular, ungodly
hours, he’s still got schedule. So he’s chosen to take
these weird hours. His zeal for his profession is
brought out by his shoes”
“His shoes?”
“Well look at them. Very clean because they’ve
been recently shined but there’s a fresh stain on the
shoelace so they were recently dirty. Now any normal
lowly constable, around twenty, couldn’t really care
but this boy has taken care in his appearance. Does he
want his aestheticism noticed? Yes but not for reasons
of fashion. He’s still in uniform. So why would he
keep his uniform clean?” Acrostic posed and then
glared at Constable Forrier, “you say absolutely
nothing!”
“He wants to impress someone?”
“Most likely. That’ll also be brought through his
ear lobes”
“Huh?”
“Look, three piercings in his left ear for earrings
but he’s wearing none but the top piercing is new.
He’s looking respectable to impress someone, why?”
“He wants a promotion”
“Who doesn’t but what’s the rush? He’s young,
he’s got musical ambition, but he is seemingly
dedicated to getting a rise in the ranks. Could it be he
wants this promotion to impress his girlfriend?”
“How could you possibly work that out?”
“Simplicity itself. Look at his shirt- he’s ironed it
himself. He’s done his best but still singed his collar.
He’s taking up the acoustic guitar. Oh and there’s
lipstick on his chin”
“Perhaps it’s a one-night stand”
“What kind of one-night stand kisses your chin?”
“Dwarves?”
“These skills are transferrable. Maybe I sound
preachy and annoying but I’m telling the truth. Let’s
look at our crime scene. Look over there” Acrostic
pointed to his left, “the killer dragged the body here.
You can tell from the marks made, clumsily covered
by the Strangler kicking leaves everywhere. However,
by doing so we can safely tell that the killer has a shoe
size of size eleven, measuring this footmark. Now
why on earth would he drag the body here?”
“Well it’s very exposed up the way we came.
There’s a car park that way that’s hidden by trees very
well, perhaps he drove here and-”
“Ah, so the Wild West Strangler knew this? He’s
never dumped his bodies in the same place twice. This
leads to two possibilities- either he scouted this place
out or he already knew about it. Both make him sound
confident as a person. Now look at the body. Do you
think the man’s terribly heavy?”
“Not really… but he was dragged so the Strangler
must have weak arms and is working alone because if
he had a partner he could have gotten help”
“I don’t think he had weak arms. I think he had a
leg problem” Acrostic had his rebuttal.
 “A leg problem?”
“Look at the slant of the dirt trail where this man
has been dragged. Has you ever rolled a cone?”
“Yes. They don’t go anywhere, they just move
around in circles”
“Same thing here. The killer’s right leg has some
sort of weakness to it but he manages to hide it well”
“Huh?”
“Look at it. Look at our victim. What’s he dressed
in?”
“Codger clothes. I fail to see the significance”
“Do you?” the Inspector gestured for the
constables to move away for a bit, “well you have to
realize something- the killer snuck up behind our
victim and strangled him. Do you think the two knew
each other?”
“I don’t know”
“Well listen- this man was dressed in going-out
clothes because of the carnation in his coat pocket.
It’s fancy so he was out of the house. I know he got
out because even though his shoes have recently been
cleaned going by the soles being scraped of mud
there’s still flecks of dirt on them. The dirt in this
creek has preserved the dirt that was there before it
and that shade of dirt, you get it much more from a
particular street. Amelia Street. Look at that dirt. It’s
red”
“So? You get red dirt”
“But on Amelia Street, what are they doing?”
“They’re demolishing the K. Baxter Bar aren’t
they?”
“Yeah, they are. You know what the foundation of
the bar looks like?”
 “It’s red, isn’t it? Question is, how do you know
that?”
“The K. Baxter Bar was important to me. It’s the
place I like to say I met Tyra”
“Where did you actually meet her?”
“The crack den next door. In fairness, I was there
following up the disappearance of one of my friends.
Tyra was working there”
“Working there?”
“She used to steal from crack addicts and sell
what she stole to various thrift stores. I found it
enterprising”
“That’s awful!”
“Worse than snorting cocaine off of a stop sign?”
“You’re not serious!”
“Where was I? Oh yes, so the man was on Amelia
Street. It just so happens that I know of a particular
shoe store on Amelia Street that sells the kind of boots
he’s wearing. Shiny brown patent leather. Ugly, like
an inverted sunrise”
“Your imagery is getting silly”
“Your face is getting silly!” bit Acrostic and then
he felt remorse and hugged me, “sorry. I always get a
bit unbalanced when thinking about Tyra these days.
Another time, we’ll talk about it another time. So this
man bought his clothes, or at least his shoes, from
Amelia Street. Blimey, he must be well off”
“You think the Wild West Strangler’s on a
vendetta against rich people?”
“We haven’t yet found a connection between the
victims. I truly believe the killer’s choice of prey is
blind chance so talking about people from Amelia
Street, what can we say?”
 “Fairly well off?”
“For a pensioner?”
“OK so I guess… I guess he’s living with
someone”
“Bravo Kent, Bravo! That’d be given by his
knobbly fingers and his pristine, pressed trousers. He
isn’t the kind to paid for a maid or a housekeeper, not
going by where he shops, he’s vein but not a
spendthrift. So someone pressed his trousers for him.
He didn’t do it- his hands wouldn’t be steady enough,
look at the state of his cuffs. So if he’s living with
someone, do you reckon it’ll be a cosy cottage or an
apartment building?”
“Cottage over apartment?”
“What is Henderson full of?”
“Apartments?”
“Right. There is a splash of suburbia in Henderson
though but that’s on the other side of the place. He
killer caught him and brought him all the way here.
That suggests to me that he scouted out the area. If he
knew Henderson the way I know Auckland then I’m
sure he might have known of an easier dumping
ground”
“How does this tie in with the bodies at 31C
Evermore Street?”
“It’s a return to his usual flavour. Single body,
dumped outside, but it’s definitely the same killer as
the one who killed those three men in the house and
the one DI Gilligan’s been chasing. In fact, that’s him
now” Acrostic observed the car arriving next to where
we parked.
Detective Inspector Gilligan strolled towards us.
He was beefy, had a thick mustache and wore a white
linen suit. He reminded me strongly of those oil
barons from Saturday morning cartoons, especially
the way he rested his arms by keeping his thumbs in
his jacket pockets. He walked towards us and cast this
very large shadow, being a very broad man. He did
seem inherently jolly, keeping a wide smile under his
facial hair.
“Acrostic” the Inspectors shook hands, “and it’s
Constable Kent, isn’t it?”
“Sergeant, actually”
“Are you really? Good god” Gilligan tugged his
lapel, “so perhaps you could tell me what you’re
doing at my crime scene”
“Your crime scene? For… for god’s sake!” I
burst, “we beat you here!”
“I had things to do which I don’t have to tell you
about, I don’t answer to you!”
I crossed my arms and continued arguing, “and
there’s a man lying dead-sorry mate, rest in peace- so
I’d say it’s his crime scene more than anyone else’s so
let’s not be silly and start investigating. Oh, wait a
minute, we just did. Come on Acrostic”
I led Acrostic back to the car and we drove off.
“To all the people who think you’re going a bit
soft” Acrostic gave me an approving nod, “take that”
 3. THE WILD WEST

Acrostic and I drove back and gave Burton enough to

scratch his head and mouth dirty words. We had
barely gotten away from the Superintendent when the
Commissioner came and ambushed us.
“Oh this is going to be uncomfortable” Acrostic
didn’t stop walking and thus we were on the move.
“You’re meant to be at Auckland University at
two o’clock” McMiso nagged like the housewife from
hell, “it’s very important you be there!”
“Eastern or pacific time?” Acrostic dodged the
request and walked outside. He found the cigar kept in
the jacket pocket of his suit and lighter from his
trouser pocket. With all the years of smoking under
his belt, Acrostic took five seconds from getting the
cigar from his pocket and having it lit between his
teeth.
 “You are meant to be lecturing on murder in this
country for a class of criminology students” McMiso
fanned away the smoke wafting from Acrostic’s cigar,
“I told you this weeks ago”
“I thought you were kidding”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“What building am I meant to be talking at?”
“The Sullivan Building” McMiso clenched his
teeth, “do you not listen to anything I said?”
“We are the people who commandeered a fire
truck” I thought aloud, getting a scowl from the
Irishman.
“Anything in particular I’m meant to be talking
about?” Acrostic faced McMiso.
“Don’t get sidetracked and talked about suicide”
“That it?”
“Yep”
“OK. Don’t worry” Acrostic raised his eyebrows
and though he didn’t looked entirely convinced,
McMiso slinked away.
“Can you do it for me?” Acrostic looked meek,
“please? I can’t go back to Auckland University. I
just… can’t”
“Didn’t you study there?”
“Things have… happened since then” he gulped,
“please?”
He didn’t joke, he didn’t beg, but was
respectfully requesting my help. He looked like a sad
dog, or a pitiful lion. I nodded and gave him a hug
which he seemed to appreciate. After the hug, I left
him on his own as Acrostic relished and recreated his
thoughts in the solitude. I prepared for the lecture but
heading to my desk, digging up some of my notes on
the past few months and selected some of the more
interesting ones. I checked the time. One o’clock.
That gave me half an hour to come up with things to
talk about and half an hour to walk briskly to the
Sullivan Building.
One cannot defy the love the campus of
Auckland University. It’s just so full of youth and
students, some older than I was. There are lots of little
buildings tucked away and stairwells and confusing
maps. It really is like one giant playground of
scholars. After getting directions from a Taiwanese
calculus student I made it to the Sullivan Building. A
few other complexes had been renovated but not the
Sullivan Building. In fact, if anything, it remained a
testament to how old the university really was. It
doesn’t just show the 1883 era, but it’s got bits of the
sixties, when it was fashionable to have powder blue
roof tiles, and bits of the forties, where it was
considered stylish to have a red grate in front of the
door, and even pieces of the late eighties, where it was
the trendy to cultivate weeds in the drains. It might
just have been the shabbiest building in the world. It
was patched up and amazingly still in use.
Inside, it was more like a simple classroom rather
than a lecture hall which would have easily unnerved
me. Sitting in the rows of pews was a small wave of
clever-looking twenty-year-olds, really clever
looking. I was actually amazed that these people were
talking to me. I’m, for the most part, an idiot. These
people had their laptops open and their clever glasses
strapped to their faces and sweater vests clean and
free of holes. I stood at the front of the very cold
classroom and arranged my notes on the podium.
 “Hello” I started. Forty-three eyes looked at me
with an uneasy intensity.
“Detective Inspector Acrostic is unable to be here
today” I apologized, “so he sent me instead. I’m DS
Kent but you can call me… no, I think we’re good
with DS Kent. You’ll have to forgive me for being
rushed here so… well I’m speaking so, you have to do
what I say. Forgive me, minions!”
They didn’t laugh. They simply tapped at their
computers. Such an atmosphere can make a gal feel
uncomfortable. When I went into tertiary education I
was a rowdy party-goer who only eventually settled
down after joining the force. I moved on:
“Who here is taking a course in psychology?” I
asked. One girl shot her hand up. She had light red
hair which was so wonderfully gorgeous, had dental
braces which she pulled off very well (not the easiest
feat), and wore a red gingham dress with dark brown
boots.
“What’s your name?”
“Becky Elaine”
“Becky, do you know what a Highly Sensitive
Person is?”
“It’s a Jungian concept for someone who
processes stimuli much more deeply than a regular
person due to a biological deviation in their nervous
systems” she said in one breath and then took several
other breaths very sharply. I took a piece of green
chalk and wrote letters ‘H.S.P.’ on the blackboard. I
really felt like some old codger professor.
“H.S.P. I like to remember it as Hearts, Spades &
Renegades. Can anyone think why?”
Silence.
 Awkward silence.
Two African blokes exchanged glances, put off
by how I was distorting their lessons from the usual
formula of ‘You speak, I copy’. I cleared my throat
and resolved to continue though. Acrostic had sent me
in his place and I was just as good as he was.
“Highly sensitive people tend to have their
emotions run deeper but their mental faculties tend to
be just that little bit pointier. They tend to be
introverts, they can be a bit shy and a bit inhibited.
They’re also excellent murderers”
It’s funny how the ‘M’ word can command so
much attention. People began to sit up.
“Now these people, highly sensitive people,
make up fifteen to twenty percent of the population.
I’m not saying that fifteen to twenty percent of the
population are murderers. What I am saying is that
these people are more likely to become murderers.
We are all capable of killing someone. We all have it
within us to drown or strangle or poison someone”
“I’m not advocating homicide; I’m not. I am just
trying to drill for you the fact that humans are evil.
I’m evil, you’re evil, the President of the United
States is very evil. We are all capable of murder”
“What about Christians?”
“Screw Christians. What were the Crusades
about? What has the religious conflict been about?
Murder under the banner of belief. Let me relay to
you a case I’m very fond of. You might have read of
it in some obscure newspaper, it wasn’t front page
stuff. Two students were found, not far from here
actually, dead. They’d both been truant that day
though as far as we investigated, they’d never met
each other beyond that one day. A boy, a girl, floating
around like two ciders in Spain. By chance they met
in a diner and spent one day together before being
stabbed. According to our understanding, the male
took the first blow caused by a sharp jagged object
before dying. The female was then assaulted and died
of her wounds minutes later. Their killer was never
caught. Still out there”
“Why is that interesting?”
“What conclusions can you, as students of crime,
take from this?” I felt the rumble of Acrostition flow
through my veins and tumble out of my mouth, “take
your time and look at the cards in your hand. I want
your best game”
“Was it at a very late time?”
“Fairly late though the bus services were still
running and the hookers were still crawling around”
“What are we meant to be looking for?” asked
one student. I sniggered at how much he reminded me
of a young pre-Acrostic Lexy Kent. I began to berate
this boy, wildly gesturing like some silly glove puppet
with red hair.
“No! You don’t find conclusions in advance of
working out the facts! The facts first, then the
conclusions! Theories to fit facts, not facts for
theories! You cannot see a killer before you seen his
clues”
“You’d have to be dealing with someone mad”
That perceptive little comment came from a
chubby straw-haired kid sitting at the back of the
classroom. I gave the tubby trainee a round of
applause. He half-smiled and adjusted his thin, wire-
framed glasses that hung around his head rather
unflatteringly, like an askew halo.
“So what?” Becky Elaine turned her nose up,
“the killer was crazy, so what?”
“You need to look beyond the obvious” I
channeled the Inspector, “you need to read between
the lines. Here we have a senseless killer so if he
killed at random, what does that tell us?”
“He doesn’t plan”
“Or perhaps he over-plans” ricocheted the leaner
African student.
“A gambit worth a dance in the moonlight. So
what can we think about this improviser or master
architect?”
“He attacked two random civilians. He must not
be squeamish”
“He probably has a sense of humour”
“I’d bet that they’re male just going by the choice
of weapon. Females prefer poison”
“Knife? So we should looking at someone who
has probably assessed the likelihood of forensics
because-”
“Other way. If they’ve got a knife instead of a
gun or perhaps a projectile-”
“See why I enjoy this killer?” I could feel my
incisors become visible as I bore a malicious Cheshire
grin, “makes me think. Just sprinkle the ingredients
into the pot, flip the gas on and enjoy the soup of
death. For instance, what was the killer’s
motivation?”
“Was it a robbery?”
“They still had their wallets”
“Perhaps they had a fight?”
 “With a random stranger? Sober?”
“Tell us then”
“Well the real answer is: I don’t know. The killer
was never caught. He, or she, or it, could still be in
Auckland. I hope that thought doesn’t make you
uncomfortable. There’s 1.4 million people in
Auckland. My point is not that there’s one killer
amongst 1.4 million. My point is that there’s a killer
in every one of those 1.4 million. Homicide is catchy”
“Did you know that being a police offer has
always ranked in the top ten of professions that drive
people to suicide?” Becky Elaine beamed, “just
thought you might like to know”
I made a mental note to tell Acrostic but
continued with my fun little lesson. I took out twenty-
two slips of grey paper from my bag and handed them
around. At first I was shocked that one girl was
winking at me until I realized that she only had one
eye and winking was all she could do.
“So what’s this?” asked the shorter African
student. I explained my little game with great gusto.
“You have each been given a piece of paper, one
of which says ‘murderer’ and the others say
‘innocent’. I am the victim. If you’re the murderer,
don’t tell anyone, don’t give it away. Keep it to
yourself, hide yourself away and pretend to be
innocent. No one else will do this for you. Now I am
your victim. Ask me questions and I’ll answer all the
questions a dead gal can answer. Let’s see if you can
work out who’s the murderer. You get one guess and
then you’re out. There’s a prize if you figure it out”
“What’s the prize?”
 I took a magnifying glass I had picked up at a
novelty store and placed it on the table and snapped
my fingers to indicate it was time to begin.
“Were you killed by a man?” asked Winky.
“I can’t answer that. The trick to being a really
great detective is knowing the right questions to ask”
“Where were you found?”
“On the Alicia Estate, the park just west of here,
the one with the caves”
“Were you…” chewed the chubby boy, “found in
the caves?”
“No. I was found on the grass”
“What was the fatal injury?”
“I was shot in the back three times”
“Is there any forensic evidence on you? DNA?”
“None. You’ll have to do this old school”
“What kind of gun shot you?”
“Small caliber”
“Which means it must have been close range”
deduced the guy in green, “are there powder burns on
your clothes?”
“None”
“So not at too-close range. Do you have your
wallet and valuables?”
“Yes”
“Shot in the back means probably running
away…” Becky pondered by chewing her bottom lip,
“well if you’ve got your wallet you must have ID. If I
went back to your house, would I find something that
would tell me who sent you to the Alicia Estate?”
“No but you’re getting warmer”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday”
 “No, I mean the day you were killed”
“Let’s say Tuesday for simplicity’s sake”
“Do you live alone?”
“No. I live with my friend who has a rock-solid
alibi”
“What’s the alibi?”
“He was at an aquarium with six others and they
all say that he never left their side”
“What time approximately were you killed?”
“Nine o’clock give or take two hours”
“Were you heading somewhere?”
“Not that you know” I became elusive with each
clue, “now what?”
“How does this game lead back to us?” Becky
threw down her frustration, “this is impossible!”
“OK. Would you like to guess who the murderer
is?”
Becky sat there silent. This intrigued the others
and I knew what their thought process was. Becky
couldn’t possibly be the killer but the only way she
could be sure that there was no other killer was if she
herself was the killer. Mind games aside, I circled
each student who was desperately trying to work it
out by looking into the other eyes of students until one
male in a grey woolen overcoat slapped his forehead.
“Oh! I get it now”
“You do?”
“We’re all the killer, aren’t we?”
“Yes you are. I wrote ‘murderer’ on everyone’s
paper and so everyone was keeping up this pretence
by asking questions to throw off suspicions and then
trying to weasel their way out. It was all a house of
cards”
 “What is the point of that? What could that
possibly have proven Kent?” Becky thumbed her nose
in irritation.
“You all thought you were the murderer and I
didn’t tell you there was more than one. You might
have hypothesized but you couldn’t be sure without
treading on eggshells. My point to you is: tread on the
eggshells. Make things awkward. There are things
more important than you. Justice demands no less
than your very best. Ask questions, destabilize every
assumption. Take no piece of information for granted.
Your criminologists, you need to learn that there are
real people out there who are really dying and you
need to follow that death right back to the source”
“Crime is about more than just death”
“Of course, of course! However, crime isn’t just
one big long shade of darkening grey. It’s more like a
polka dot towel. If you don’t like getting your mind
dirty, finish this course and teach but if you want to
become investigators, detectives, sleuths, then you
can’t just have the stomach for murder. You have to
actively enjoy the act of murder or there will be no
point for you in doing it”
“Miss Kent, you are very dark”
“Am I? I hadn’t noticed”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Eh, details” I waived, “so remember- death is
only the end for the dead. For the living, it’s
something a lot more excruciating. It’s homicide first
and suicide last and if you’re ever at a loss for logic,
never say ‘die’ or you’ll get into hot water. I am
Detective Sergeant Lexy F. Kent, saying ‘die’ is the
legal equivalent of setting off the fire alarm when
you’re bored”

When I returned to HQ DI Burnham happily informed

me that Acrostic was AWOL so I checked his usual
spots and haunts but he really wasn’t in any of his
usual places. This wasn’t at all unusual so I stayed
behind in my little cubicle with a cup of coffee and a
stack of ginger cookies and began typing up all the
records of arrests and search warrants and the like
which could go into a database that could not possibly
be anything other than a waste of time, space and
electricity. Still, protocol is there for a reason and
even though the reason is stupid, it’s the rules to
follow them. Actually, making a rule to follow the
rules is kind of pointless upon retrospect.
At last I was done. Unlike most of my colleagues,
I didn’t enter each case to the system as I completed
it. Instead I allowed the pile to grow until I chanced
upon a day where I didn’t have a lot to do and then I’d
get to do them all at once. It played merry hell with
the rhythm of the work ethic but we Kents are known
for our disability to properly play the game. At five
o’clock I was beginning to lull into a dream state and
the words on my computer screen were beginning to
blur like water upon a chalkboard. I fought sleep and
continued to scratch up reports. If anyone were to
recheck my entries, I’m sure I’d be sent to several
psychologists on the spot.
It was laborious work and it reminded me terribly
of the study periods back at my Birmingham boarding
school. Back there, you worked. Study periods were
times when you actually studied. I have not had the
best childhood and I have both praised and cursed the
strictness and humiliation of St. Joy’s. St. Joy’s is the
reason I became a bobby. After such bullying and
berating by and by from my peers I made it my
mission to combat the calamity of society. A
policeman’s lot is not a happy one but it is satisfactory
one. As my coffee ran dangerously low I recollected
how I got into the Auckland police.
The Auckland police were hiring and my Aunt
Kelly drove me down and got me to see the
Superintendent. He was unsure at first whether I
would make a good constable. He was a little on the
verge of showing me the door when I began banging
on about equality and women’s rights until I either
guilt-tripped him or frightened him into giving me the
job. That made me laugh. A passing constable must
have thought I was crazy or insane.
At five thirty-eight, I had made a decent dent in
my pile. I grabbed my jacket and trooped out of the
building with the hunch of a sullen teenager. I also
had the expression too, that tiredness from being
subjected to such boredom. I stretched my arms,
yawned and cracked the knuckles in my neck.
“Miss Kent!”
I spun on my heels to see Becky Elaine rush
towards me. She caught up to me and then we began
walking slowly northwards.
“Nice class today” she said, “I really thought it
was clever”
“Thanks. I was actually going home”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Are you coming onto me?”
“Do you want a drink or what?”
 We started walking up the hill of Central
Auckland. It was windy so I buttoned up my jacket
while Becky threw a blue cotton beanie over her curly
hair.
“So do you really know DI Sam Acrostic?” she
asked abruptly. I opened my mouth and let air escape
but I wasn’t sure what to answer that particular
inquiry with.
“It’s just that I’m compiling a file on him. He’s a
genius, isn’t he?”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve been conducting an investigation”
“We make sure we’re never in the papers” I
fought, remembering the deal we’d struck with
Kendra Kiid, news journalist.
“Oh, well of course you’re not in the media!” she
gushed, “but if you know where to look his name, and
to a lesser degree, your name crops up. You see, I’m
very interested in New Zealand homicide. New
Zealand is different from Australia vastly”
“Well, obviously”
“No what I meant was…” she swallowed and
then took two seconds to organize her thoughts, “OK.
Australia and New Zealand were both parts of
Gondwana Land but Australia broke off much quicker
than New Zealand”
“OK, I think we just turned two pages at once”
“Well just geographically, we’re isolated. We’re
like a deserted island and on this deserted island
we’ve become quite criminally homogenous. We’re
just ruminating our own dark side as a nation. For
ages we were just stranded with nothing to do but try
to get along and when that fell apart we looked
inwards, not outwards, for ideas on how to kill
people”
“You’d quite like Acrostic” I said casually which
seemed to excite her. We entered Thistle, a
postmodern pub made for students who were living
off their overgenerous student loans. It was one large
room with a tall ceiling, lit up by red neon lamps
hanging from the rafters. Great cubist paintings, some
the size of matchbox lids, cluttered up one wall.
Becky brought two pints and we sat in these great
cubicles which had very tall dividers but didn’t touch
the ceiling so what other patrons said wafted through.
It wasn’t a bad tavern but I don’t think I could have
gone there on my own.
“So what is working with Acrostic like?” Becky
took a long draught from her glass and had a foam
mustache which she wiped with her embroided red
handkerchief, “you mustn’t think I’m a stalker or
anything”
“You ever read Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yeah”
“He’s worse” I took a gulp of the beer which
wasn’t as watered down as I’d thought it might be.
Becky took a Chinese box from her bag and took a
cigarette from it. She then looked extraordinarily
embarrassed and sheepish.
“Do you mind…?”
“You must know smoking is very bad for you”
“You must know that hearing that gets very
tiresome”
“Fair” I conceded and Becky took a matchbox
from her little box and began to puff away. Her glass
was half-empty while mine was almost full.
 “So what are you working on now?” she leant
into the table and expertly smoked her cigarette
without having to remove it from her lips.
“I can’t really say” I was the one then to look
sheepish, “it’s a tricky one, very sensitive
information”
“Nothing that would compromise your
investigation” she added hastily, “just what you’re
comfortable with”
“Why are you a criminology student?” I asked
her, scanning her eyes for data and they were
extremely like that of a doe and a green you can only
find from a certain type of poisonous frog, “you strike
me as the type who might be a reporter or a writer”
“Crime excites me” she took her cigarette off her
tongue to drink more beer, “breaking the rules, doing
what you’ve been told not to, it gets my blood
pumping. I don’t want to go to jail though, jail doesn’t
make me feel great. Thus, I decided to learn about
crime. It makes me feel closer to the game”
“You’re a bit crazy” I smiled, “I like you”
“So are you going to tell me about this new case
of yours? I’d like to know”
“Well…” I finished my glass of beer, “you must
swear you won’t tell another person”
“I swear”
“OK, you are aware of the Wild West Strangler?”
“Oh! He’s one of my favourites!” her eyes
widened with engrossment over talking of gross
subjects, “he doesn’t beat the Ponsonby Gunner or the
Pop Rock Murders but I like the Strangler’s style.
Why? Are you on the case?” her jaw dropped.
 “Well you’re going to love this. He’s in cahoots
with someone else”
“You mean there are two Stranglers?”
“I mean that the Wild West Strangler is merely a
pawn for someone else, someone who’s very upset
and very organized”
The look on her face was one of pure euphoria. I
wasn’t sure anything else was registering at that point.
To her it must have been like opening up a Christmas
present and being given the deed to a small island. I
went and got another pint to pass the time while she
hopped off her cloud and returned to the ground of
reality.
“So, are you sure?”
“It sure seems that way. Someone with a grudge.
Killed three homeless people just to show how serious
they were”
Becky suddenly put on a somber expression, “so
what’s the motive?”
“Crazy people need motivation to be crazy?”
“Well you must have put some thought into it!”
“Well the mastermind has called this the coming
of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and that a
serial killer, a spree killer, and a mass murderer will
strike. Now the serial killer is the Wild West
Strangler. We’re guessing that the other two are on
their way. Is this revenge for something?”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing” Becky rested her head on her
hand, “it’s probably wrong”
 “Look- it won’t cost you anything to say it and
on the off-chance it’s correct I think you might want
to say it. You might save lives here”
“Human lives?”
“Yeah”
“Pity” Becky started the beer I had brought to
her, “but I was just thinking this ringleader… well
whoever they are, they’re putting a lot of trust in their
workers aren’t they? Especially as they’re assuming
there’s a good chance you’ll catch them”
“I’m with you so far”
“So killers don’t have unions or social networks,
do they?”
“None that I am aware of”
“So where would these people have met? I think
that if you’re a serial killer, you need practice and so
it’s likely that the Wild West Strangler was a
murderer before he was the Strangler. Maybe he got
caught, maybe he met your ringleader-”
“In jail” I finished, slapping my knee, “that’s
pretty clever Becky. Re-offenders, fellow re-
offenders. Fascinating theory. They met behind bars.
Our friend might have also found himself a spree
killer and a mass murderer. He might be motivating
them with money or blackmail. The question is:
what’s motivating him?”
“Or her. Women can be just as evil as men”
“True. So what do you think is our friend’s
motivation? Revenge or personal satisfaction or just a
blank social calendar?”
“I have to go” realizing that I was obligated to
share any insights to Acrostic in the hope that we
could sooner crack the case and prevent more deaths.
I thanked Becky for the beer and dashed home.
The evening was somewhat chilly but otherwise
very good weather. The sun had already set by the
time I’d gotten onto my street and all the black cats
were crawling around like disembodied bloodied
heads on the executioner’s floor. As I stepped onto
our driveway, I heard a gunshot coming from the
backyard of the house. Charged with worry I burst
into the grassy enclosure and found Jess standing with
a smoking revolver in her hand. She aimed the barrel
at my chest and pulled the trigger.

For less than a second, I was trapped. My senses were

exploding trying to absorb stimuli in an attempt to
explain what was going on and how to stop it. My
eyes were taking in far more than they could handle,
my ears heard that gunshot and scanned the noise for
something useful. A second later I was still alive.
“Sorry, dumb joke” Jess tossed the cap gun from
hand to hand, “I was practicing for a show I’m in. It’s
a Gilbert & Sullivan one”
I battled to combat the urge to yell at Jess
because she hadn’t actually done anything wrong, “is
your father in?”
“Oh, Daddy? Yes of course. Where else would he
be?”
“If only I knew” I walked into our nice home and
saw Acrostic reading from a very thick and very dusty
book. There were a pile of books to the side of his
chair, enough so that he could comfortably rest his
cup of tea upon the top book and reach it without
moving his arm more than a few centimeters.
 “Hi Honey; I’m home. How was your day?” I
briskly queried as I hung up my coat. Acrostic’s reply
was just as genial.
“Oh, I went to the library dear. Bit of light
reading”
“Bit of… bloody hell, ‘The Deeper
Understanding of the Apocalypse: Delving Under The
End of the World’, that’s a little grim for a Tuesday
isn’t it?”
“The Four Horsemen” Acrostic took his
bookmark, an old plane ticket, and clapped his book
shut.
“What about them?”
“Well I did a bit of background reading. The
originals, I mean. It’s been a while since I read the
Bible”
“You’ve read the Bible?”
“You haven’t?” Acrostic lit another of his cigars,
a shorter one than usual, “it’s very interesting. The
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are in the Book of
Revelation in the New Testament. There’s a black
horse, a red horse, a pale horse, and a white horse.
They’re the precursor to the end of the world”
“Yeah, I know that bit”
“The first three horsemen, War, Famine and
Conquest, sum up the fourth, Death. Well, some think
that the last one could be Christ”
“Spooky” I nipped off to get a soda, “and?”
“And reading all of these books have been really
boring and we’re still no closer to finding the CEO of
this enterprise” Acrostic put the book down and
smoked his stogie with pride.
“Maybe we are”
 “Oh yes? How was that class?”
“In a super-city full of super-idiots, Auckland
University sure has some bright sparks. Especially
one girl, she gave me the idea that perhaps the CEO is
someone who met his employees through jail time”
“A jail bird? Well that’s handy. All we have to do
is check everyone’s who’s ever been incarcerated and
then released and is subsequently still living” he leant
his chin to his shoulder rather strangely, “actually
though, the psychological ramifications are more
interesting though of that theory”
“How so?”
“Well they say that in prison your hippocampus
will-”
“I’m sorry, this is too boring” I headed off to the
kitchen. I had a ravenous appetite for I hadn’t eaten
since the morning. I had been so caught up in a string
of events, everyone wanting something from me, that
I hadn’t had time to have a good lunch. I took the first
thing that I could find that didn’t look like it was
going to kill me- a bag of chocolate biscuits. I then
poured myself a glass of milk and landed myself on
my bed. Jess was still making the occasional gunshot
but it wasn’t an unforgiveable offence. My pile of
half-read books was within arm’s reach but instead I
lay on my mattress with my eyes closed. I daren’t
open them in case they were witness to the horror of
another minute in the life of Lexy Kent.
A knock on my door. Four knocks with a pause
in between the first and last two with some real force.
“Enter” I turned my head to look at my visitor. It
was Acrostic.
“Visiting hours are over!” I hoarsely told him.
 “Look, Lexy” Acrostic sat beside me, “you’re
under, and have been under, a lot of stress lately. I can
appreciate that-”
“Oh can you?” I sat up and made a frown to give
to him, “you can appreciate how tough it is for me?
You don’t, you really don’t. You can look at a man
and give him his whole life story. You can look at a
woman and deduce what films she’s seen recently.
You can look at a book and just by examining the
marks work out what the reader was like. You’re a
fantastic detective, above and beyond us and always
have been but Acrostic, people are dying, real people,
people who went to school and have families and
watch television, these people are being killed! Every
day we don’t catch this killer people will die. Are you
sure you can appreciate that?”
“What? You think this is my fault?” he sounded
hurt but I continued to rant. I was overtired and
underfed and cranky as a bat at sunrise.
“I don’t know, is it? You’ve got these amazing
and brilliant powers. Use them!”
“I can’t choose what I find. You should know
that!”
I smothered my face into my pillow and
screamed. I felt a bit better then. Acrostic put his arms
around me as I shook. That took me back to when I
was three and broken my ankle and my father cuddled
me until I stopped crying.
“You’re under stress and you have been for quite
a while. You need to stay sane Lexy, I need you”
Acrostic said. That did make me feel much better, him
admitting his need for me. Afterwards, he left my
room and allowed me to get a bit of sleep. A headache
emerged as I rested my head on my pillow but the
pain soon transformed into something else.

The beating sun burns my back as I trudge along. I’m

in a sunny English countryside, a picturesque little
scene. Grassy green fields separated with the
unvarnished wooden fences forming grids so that the
stray cows cannot venture too far. I begin walking
through the damp fields and find something. A
railroad. Buried in this sort of trench, just wide
enough for a scrawny engine, I begin walking down
the train tracks. They’re rusty and covered with
spider webs so it’s a good bet that I won’t be hit by a
train. I follow the train tracks because I don’t have
any idea of where I am. Train tracks will eventually
lead me to a train station and civilization. I hop and
skip and jump and dance to try and liven up things
but for ages, it’s still just the same boring fields and
the same train tracks.
Finally, things begin to change around me. The
train tracks get onto a cobblestone bridge. I look
down. The bridge has been built over a massive
crevice that can only be the right height for the moon
to be away from the earth. It’s truly a deep hole. I
stand at the edge and look down. I spit. My saliva
falls and I wait for it to hit the ground and I wait and
I wait but I can’t hear it hit the ground. Like any good
policeman, I jump off the bridge.
It’s a long way down.
The feeling of the wind rushing against my body
is one of pure bliss. The feeling of exhilaration as I
move is like being dragged by an ocean current only
so much more than that. My eyes feel like they’re
going to flatten and my hair keeps getting whipped
into my face. In fact, there’s only one thing that can
shake me from my falling ecstasy. The ground.
It’s hard but I’m not totally broken. It turns out
I’ve landed on some fast-flowing river which has
loads of jagged rocks, sticking out like the teeth of
dragons. I dodge these teeth and try and steer myself
down the stream but it’s tough when you’re a small
fish in a big river. It turns out people are very
buoyant in this body of liquid. Something’s off about
this body though, it’s getting too warm. I feel it begin
to scald my skin. It’s hot as hell! I eventually make it
to the side of the river through severe rattling and
when I feel the sandy riverbed I feel so demoralized.
The beach is very soft but sand seems to be sticking to
the water that’s been soaked onto me. I ditch my
clothes so that they can dry while I relax. The sand
looks tasty. Like ground up jelly babies, it’s that
weird translucent, colourful property. I remember
that jelly babies are full of sugar and sugar is full of
energy. I get down on my knees and begin to eat sand.
Not only does it taste like a salmon cutlet, it gets into
my nose and makes me sneeze. It does make me a
little more animated and soon I’m to the brim with
vitality.
I check on my clothes. They’re still a little damp
but when I shake the candy sand off of them they
appear to be fine. I throw them on and walk up the
beach and into a forest, a small forest, a really small
forest where even the tallest trees only reach my
elbow. Birds chirp and there are a lot of the little
critters. Pigeons, seagulls, ravens, owls. They’re all
using their beaks to harmonize. They even begin to
sing a little song.
So they keep singing and a few even fly up and
land inside my mouth where I chew them up and
swallow them. They taste like chocolate. In fact, I
consume so many of them I’m beginning to feel a bit
thirsty. I see a cactus about the size of a soda can and
break it in half. A sweet, sticky liquid drips out. This
forest is like my own delicatessen of nature.
All good things have to end though and soon the
forest of food ends and I wind up in a little seaside
village that you might find in the South Island of New
Zealand. A very-much blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type
place. Seven, eight, a total of nine buildings of which
five are houses, one is a little shop and three are
small sheds. There’s one more thing worth noting
about this village- it’s all bright blue, powder blue, a
blue so blue that one could lose their mind staring at
it for too long. There’s no grass on each lawn-
instead there are these steaming coals.
I see Joel, my ex-boyfriend. He’s so handsome,
the kind of handsome you get when you’re a
bartender and aren’t balding. He’s dressed in this
heavy black coat and his hair’s been slicked back. I
rather fancy that he looks like a supervillian. He
catches sight of me and grins but it’s uneasy. I don’t
like it. I can’t do it. I dive behind a pile of stones to
avoid his gaze but I dive a bit too far and fall through
the ground. I fall into one of those underground
caverns. It’s dark and lined up with hardened dirt.
It’s a tunnel, a real, circular tunnel. I slide down the
rabbit hole. I’m kind of curious as to how I can see
because for just a dirt tunnel it’s surprisingly well-lit.
Maybe there’s light bouncing around. It smells dank
and damp and of tiny pests, like motels in Seattle.
End of the line. The tunnel stops at a completely
flat wall. I turn around but I don’t want to go back. I
scratch at the flat surface of dirt and find it crumbles
rather easily. In fact, it’s crumbling away without my
fingers. It’s shedding away to reveal something big. A
person buried into the dirt.
I wipe the dirt away from the buried person’s
face and find that the mortal is female. She’s quite
pretty with long hair and familiar blue eyes but her
hair is specked with dirt but a redhead can recognize
another redhead. It’s our special talent. She’s young
too, maybe a teenager but definitely not older than
that. Speaking of age, as I look into her blue eyes I
can see my reflection and dear Zeus do I look old. My
eyes have a little less sparkle and my cheeks have a
bit more texture than I’m used to. In fact, I have to be
as old as… old as Acrostic. Then I recognize the girl
in front of me. She begins to scream and that screech
is so loud and high-pitched I nearly black out. I clap
my hands over my ears but I cannot shut out her
shout. This is my daughter.

I awoke screaming my lungs out and only stopped to

take a breath. I rotated my head to look at the mirror
hanging on my wall and was relieved to find that I
was still in my mid-twenties, not mid-thirties. My
breathing was shallow but getting deeper and tears
were just rolling down from my face.
“Lexy!” Jess came in with a bloodied silver
dagger in her hand, “are you OK?”
 “I’m fine” I wiped my eyes, “why do you
have…?”
“Oh this?” Jess wiped her dagger, “it’s for my
play. Do you know what time it is?”
“What time?”
“Five thirty”
“Oh sorry” I felt a bit guilty probably waking up
the neighbours, “could you make me a cup of tea
please Jess?”
“Just a cup of tea?”
“Yes please”
Jess raised her left eyebrow but left me to brood
on my dreams. It was still dark but I could just make
the outline of my things out so I went and took a
shower. It was really refreshing and when I emerged I
felt like an almost normal human being, not like some
husky that’s been running Olympic marathons, or at
least not entirely. I got dressed and checked myself
out in the bathroom mirror. A little thinner than usual
because chasing after bad guys burns calories. Hair a
little longer than usual because I hadn’t time to have it
cut. Flesh a little paler than when I first met Acrostic
because you actually spend a noticeable amount of
time indoors chasing crooks.
Floating into the living room in post-shower
glow, I found Acrostic’s books all lying on each other
as a clear result of him turning them into a row of
dominoes, a clear clue that he had studied hard during
the night. I then walked into the kitchen and found
Casanova, the canine, gnawing on a beef bone. His
eyes looked at mine but I have always thought that
there’s something mentally misaligned about the
pooch and while he was staring at my direction, I’m
sure he was looking just passed my right shoulder and
into another dark dimension. I bent down to scratch
his ears and he rolled over and panted like a good dog
always does. I saw Acrostic standing in the backyard
so I took the cup of tea Jess had made for me and
stood outside. It was a drizzly Wednesday but nothing
a true Kent couldn’t handle.
“What are you doing?” I asked but Acrostic’s
eyes matched those of his pet. He was staring blankly
into a hole in the Universe that only an Acrostic might
see.
“I’m just doing a bit of mental spring cleaning”
Acrostic raised his cigar to his mouth, “are you OK
Lexy? I feel like I’m the reason you’re feeling so
fatigued”
“Look, I know it’s tough to be you and I know
we’re both struggling to balance work lives and
personal lives. It’s just that I was always taught that to
lead a happy life you had to be able to switch off your
career after the day was done. I don’t want to take
being a DS home with me but I am. It’s a ball and
chain which I don’t think I can unlock properly”
“So what do you want to do?”
The phone interrupted our conversation but Jess
answered it.
“I have to move out” I gave my decision to
Acrostic, “I mean nothing will happen straight away. I
don’t have the money for that. To remain sane though,
I don’t think I can keep living this life. I need to
change. I need to leave. I know you love me and I
love you, I really do, I love Jess and Casanova and the
house but you sometimes have to lose the things you
love”
 “Well that’s really very mature of you Lexy”
Acrostic complimented, “and if this is what you want
then I won’t stop you. Thank you”
“For what?”
“Daddy” Jess came outside in bare feet, “it’s for
you”
Acrostic went inside to take the call. Jess looked
at me strangely.
“Lexy…?”
“Yes Jessica?”
“Ah, nothing” she closed her trap and went
inside. I looked up at the moisture misting down. The
clouds were rolling a very deep shade of grey, the
grey of bloodless bodies. I began to grimace.
“DS Kent, we’re off” Acrostic came out slipping
on his overcoat, “the Wild West Strangler has struck
again”
“You got to love the Wild West”
THE SPADES
To everyone who I can count on

To those who I trust completely

To Paul
 4. A NTH DEGREE

We drove to the crime scene in queer silence. We

didn’t often travel in quietness, Old Sam and I. I stood
by what I had said to the Inspector. I did indeed intend
to move away from his premises and find somewhere
less ghoulish to live in. Living with Acrostic was
living with a part of my work. Had I been an
automotive engineer it would have been like being
stalked by cars when going home. Had I been a
toxicologist, it might have been comparable to
sleeping in a room full of snakes, spiders and Komodo
dragons. I just needed to distance myself from the
death of the day.
We saw the police tape on Addams Avenue and
Acrostic parked the car beside a signpost advertising
the great new drugs that science had given us.
Addams Avenue was in what I have come to know as
a transient piece of land, an overlap between suburban
and urban, from the tall concrete office blocks and the
tidy little nuclear families with houses of kitsch
design. Shrubberies were beside highways. Rats had
to fight the cats. The cats had strength but the rats had
numbers.
Addams Avenue was a moderately long street on
this very rare part of Auckland that was not a
ridiculous hill. It was nice and flat and if you dropped
a tennis ball it wouldn’t have rolled more than a
metre. We ducked under the police tape so expertly
tacked up to examine the victim.
As a sergeant, you get pretty adept at extracting
the important factors of a person. The victim was a
female, she was thrust under a very leafy shrubbery,
her clothes were a little damp with the morning mist
but not wet enough to warrant the idea that she had
been there for more than the previous night. The mark
of the strangler, a slim bruise where he had strangled
her, was present on the neck and at approximately the
same point as the others to show the consistency in
height. She was extremely pretty but still wore an
amount of make-up that might just consist as an act of
vandalism. Her hair was done up just to prove that it
could look smart- straightened, bleached blonde only
to be pinned down. Her clothing suggested she
worked at some sort of office. Her blouse was white
and made of an expensive material, her blazer and
skirt were chalk-striped and her shoes were just too
uncomfortable to do any real walking so she most
likely worked at a desk.
By the time my thought process was finished, I
realized just how much Inspector Acrostic had gotten
inside my head.
 DI Gilligan was there in another of his horrible
suits writing things in a little red notebook.
Simultaneously, he was yelling instructions to a
constable over what to do. Gilligan’s baggy eyes and
his loosely-tied shoes spoke to me, they said that he
had been woken up and had come straight here. He
was acting irritable because he had been dragged from
the Land of Nod to see this girl who wasn’t anything
apparently new. What kind of night must he have
had? He looked as if he was wearing yesterday’s shirt
going by the steak sauce stain just under his collar. If
he had just gotten up and grabbed an old shirt, clearly
he wasn’t a very good morning person, a deep sleeper
most likely. I chuckled at that- I had worked out what
kind of sleeper DI Gilligan was simply by the state of
his shirt.
“Lexy, come here and help me”
That was Acrostic. He hadn’t shaved since
Tuesday morning and whether it was because he
forgot or because he was trying a new look, I decided
it would be wiser not to comment. I have the odd
ability to pick out the most awkward physical feature
to talk about with a person. It’s all fun and games
until it really is someone’s glass eye. True story.
“What can you tell me about this crime scene?”
Acrostic’s goggling eyes shot at me, “impress me
Lexy, for old time’s sake”
“Well the victim’s very professional, probably
works at a desk, it’s Wednesday so likely abducted
late Tuesday and left here because where she’s been
left has a faint layer of the drizzle. May we check her
pockets?”
 “You may” Gilligan authorized. I found several
slips of paper with a string of numbers, a packet of
saltine crackers, a pen and a small thin plastic mouse
ornament.
“Well that’s not encouraging” I remarked upon
our treasure trove, “Acrostic?”
“This is definitely the Wild West Strangler,
there’s no doubt about it but the MO is different here.
Something’s changed, this woman isn’t like the
others”
“How do you know?”
“The Strangler chose her, he specifically came
after her. The Strangler is usually unpredictable
because he doesn’t plan out his prey but here, this
woman, whoever she is, made an enemy of the
Strangler”
“How… how do you know this?”
“Have I taught you nothing?”
“Make a man a fire and he will be warm a day
and all the rest of that nonsense. Cut to the chase”
“No car keys but she was going to work so she
was walking to work. There are plenty of houses that
are within walking distance of all of the offices and
shops around here. Dumped in Addams Avenue, what
do you think that means?”
“It means something?”
“The one thing you’ve got to acknowledge is: it
always means something. Every gesture of every
suspect, every word from every statement, every
scratch of every car, it all means something. Now
you’ve got grass clippings on her shoes. Examine
them, study these beheaded grass strands.
Haphazardly clipped and they’re all very long. Did
you notice the small patch of grass outside of the
Convex Correa Bureau on your way here?”
“Not really. I don’t generally pay attention until I
see the stiff”
“People aren’t killed on schedule. This woman
walked passed the C.C.B. and seeing as she’s a
secretary of some sort, I’d say she’s along the south
end of this street due to the north being more heavily
focused on retail. Now where would she be abducted
from the C.C.B. and the end of Addams Avenue?”
“How do you know she wasn’t abducted before
then?”
“Perhaps if she had a fresh reapplication of grass
clipping I might ponder that particular proposition but
only one sprinkling of clipping so no, she was killed
before then”
“How do you deduce that it was deliberate?”
“This woman was working very late, maybe until
ten. She reapplied her lipstick twice. There’s also the
slimness of her body compared to her clothes. She’s
been losing weight so she’s been stressed. How do I
know she was working late? By her company”
“She probably wasn’t with anyone though”
“Precisely! She was walking home alone. Now
surely she’d have a friend to walk a poor girl home?
She stayed later than everyone else and left her desk
alone”
“Maybe she didn’t have any friends”
“You think an introvert would leave work early?
What have they got to go to home for?”
“That’s cold”
“So she was working later than everyone else but
the Strangler chose her. There’s a train that sends
party-goers around the vicinity every half hour but
her, the one who might scream, might fight back,
might think that it’s not a joke? The odds are
astronomical!”
“That theory barely holds together”
“Actually” Gilligan joined us, “it doesn’t hold
together at all. We’ve traced the girl though by
showing her photograph around. Her name is Helena
Halliwell. She works as a secretary for the FletchTech
Corporation. It’s just down there” he pointed his
knobby finger in the direction Acrostic had specified.
Acrostic, rolling in his correctness, snickered at us
mortals.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to be wrong once in a
while” I snippily chewed off to him.
“It wouldn’t hurt me. However, other people
might die”

The FletchTech Building was a truly inconspicuous

building with a highly unimaginative architect.
Everything just screamed ‘highly unambitious’, not
just resting on its laurels but being the laurels
themselves. Seven floors of rigid right angles, the
colour scheme being an all-round light grey matching
the concrete and clouds. Just the funk of the place
would have driven a more-normal sergeant hang
themselves in the nearest bathroom.
“Hello” Acrostic walked up to the front reception
desk and smiled almost flirtatiously at the secretary,
“I’m here to see Helena Halliwell”
“Well she’s not in today” the secretary said,
blushing a little at Acrostic’s careful sycophancy, “but
you can leave a message-”
 “No, but… could you tell me where she
worked?” he asked, the careful pausing to show
hesitation, as if to say that he might be some friend-
of-a-friend, “just… it’ll only take a second”
“Seventh floor, talk to Mr. Ammon” she handed
us greasy laminated visitor badges, “Just out of
curiosity, what’s your name and star sign?”
“I’m Sam Acrostic” he returned her little grin and
then became very conspiratorial, “listen, about
Helena… who was she… friends with?”
“Guy friends?”
“Those ones, yeah”
There was a lightbulb moment there. Acrostic
could only ever be flirtatious when being
manipulative. The secretary churned over what might
be handy to gossip about.
“Well there was a rumour she was dating a guy
on fourth but no… well, I suppose you might-”
“Hold on” Acrostic had glanced down at a list of
names at the secretary’s desk, “Fred Ammon is this
lady’s boss?”
“Yes”
“F. Ammon?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Could I borrow that list?”
“Sure” the secretary handed over the list and as
soon as she had we were in an elevator.
“What?”
“Don’t you see, Lexy? No, you don’t see. Look
at where he lives?”
“Salmon Street, that’s around here isn’t it?”
“OK, you don’t see”
 “You’ve really got your heart set about this
whole she-was-chosen business don’t you?”
“Obviously”
“Why?”
“Think about it! Have you paid attention to the
victims, real attention? They’ve all been young or old,
male and female but what sands out about this girl is-”
“She’s pretty” I crossed my eyes, “seriously? That’s
what makes this difference? Someone’s looks?”
“Appearances are more powerful than you think.
The question for now is: why on earth would the
Strangler change his MO? Subconsciously he’s been
choosing a certain type of person, an ugly person, no
disrespect meant, but the moment he chose Helena.
Like picking scrabble tiles out of a bag with your eyes
closed”
“Do you even listen to yourself?”
“I have you for that” Acrostic stepped out of the
elevator and into the seventh floor. It was just this
cramped little place filled with bored-looking people
just begging to be livened up with a song or dance.
We were in white-collar hell. I counted seven
gangsters in this white bread mafia, four men and
three women.
“Can you direct us to Mr. Ammon?” I asked one
man who looked awfully bored. He jerked his chin
towards the door which had taken a beating recently.
Acrostic gracefully and gleefully spun in and I
followed suit.
Acrostic shook a very scrawny man’s hand,
“hello. Mr. Ammon?”
“Who the hell are you?” this man’s voice
knocked up a notch. He was indeed skinny and just
taller than me by a chicken’s lick. He had a very
normal face, not too handsome or weird, his clothes
were not too loud but of a muted black with tidy but
ordinary shoes. His jet black hair was swept back in a
wave of normality. He was an extension of the rigid
conformity of the building.
“DI Sam Acrostic, this is my associate DS Kent,
we’d like to ask you a few questions”
“What about?”
“My god you’re boring” seethed me with wide
eyes. Acrostic and Ammon looked curiously at me
before I realized I had said that last sentence out loud
for others to hear. I made a vivid smile and gave the
look one gives when they are concede that they
should talking.
“Helena Halliwell”
“Yes, she isn’t here today” Ammon got back to
his desk and absent-mindedly began to check the pile
of letters on his desk, “but I can give you her contact
details. I’m sure she hasn’t left town”
“You can say that again” Acrostic was deadpan
in his response, “she’s gone. Dead. Kaput. Snuffed it”
“What?”
“My favourite is ‘stiffer than a Mormon in
Otago’” I chimed in, “why am I still talking?”
“Please excuse my associate, she’s… she’s been
up late reading books on how to catch trout with a
spear made from floppy disks and broken staplers”
“What?”
“Helena Halliwell is dead” Acrostic hopped back
on course, “and we want to know who killed her”
He omitted the part about the serial killer.
 “We think she was murdered by the Wild West
Strangler”
Then he un-omitted it.
“The Wild West Strangler, the one in the news?
Well this is just awful” Ammon tensed, “do you have
any ideas?”
“That’s why we’re here”
“Why do you think the Strangler’s here?” the
only non-sleuth in the room asked, “because-?”
“We’ll ask the questions here” I coldly cut, “now
then… where were you last night?”
“Here. No wait a minute, I wasn’t” Ammon
corrected himself, “I was with friends”
I squinted at him, “oh were you?”
“Yes”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah”
“Oh, you say that you were…”
“I do”
“Oh” I was put out, “we’ll we’re still going to
need to check!”
“Fair enough” Ammon thought what he should
say, “well I took a taxi to take me back to my home
and then I forget a few things so I got the taxi to take
me down to grab my papers and then I ended up at
Manger De Lór to have dinner with an old friend
Fozzie”
“But you have your own car” Acrostic had
happened upon the keys in the bowl sitting on the pine
desk, “that’s a car key so why didn’t you just drive
yourself?”
“…I’d had a bit too much to drink” Ammon
sounded embarrassed, “please don’t tell anyone”
 “Wednesday’s child was full of woe…” Acrostic
uttered, “but yes. It’s between us. And Kent and Kent
can keep a secret, can’t you?”
“I didn’t tell anyone else about your other child”
“You said you’d never speak about that!”
Acrostic became cross, “anyway, we’ll just be doing
checks on your alibi. Well, I say ‘we’, we have
lackeys to do that for us. Take our word for it though,
the killer is in your department and wears size eleven
shoes”
“What?” chorused Ammon and I in perfect high
E.
“Oh, it’s Police Applied Phlebotinum but take
our word for it, the traces tell us size eleven” Acrostic
exited, “there’s a café or something around here right?
If we’re going to be interviewing suspects, I’m going
to need a coffee. Two sugars, no cream”
We left Ammon dumbfounded. Acrostic’s
periphery told him there was a coffee shop on the
other side of the street so that’s where we headed.
“How do you know the killer wore size eleven
shoes?” I asked curiously.
“Oh shut up, I know what I’m doing”
“Are you annoyed at me?”
“Kent, come on!”
“OK, now you’re angry at me. Is this because
I’ve decided to move out”
“Hadn’t thought another thought about that”
Acrostic got into the elevator, “get over yourself”
“Is it just hitting you now?”
“I told you. I don’t mind if you go flatting in
some pokey hole or in Balmoral Castle. Nothing of
continental shift will happen”
 “You don’t like change though” I tackled the DI
with a hug only someone from the clan of Kent could
give, “I know you. If you wanted to become the most
famous detective in the world, you could but that
would mean change. I don’t know if you’re genuinely
frightened or just loathing of when things become
different but I know that you don’t want things to
change. Neither do I, not really. Not if I can help it”
“Lexy, I’m older than you”
“There’s no shame in saying you’d want me to
stay”
“Nice try”
“Not that it would change anything because I
really don’t think I was meant to be with you long-
term but it would be a nice gesture”
Ding. Acrostic walked out of the elevator and
gave his obligatory wink to the secretary and we stood
by the side of the road and waited for a break in the
flow of the cars. I looked at Acrostic and saw how
hard he was trying not to look at me.

“Right, so where were you last night?”

“I was alone. I went home, drove by myself, and
then I just sat and watched television, read my book,
boiled my pot noodle and went to bed” the fellow
called Jenkins triumphantly threw down his lack of
alibi, “sorry”
“You didn’t call anyone? Neighbours didn’t
come over to chat?”
“No”
“Oh for the love of Lamuella” I doubled over
with grief, “why are you all so unhelpful?”
 “No one really liked Helena. No one except our
boss” Jenkins sneezed, “like pretzels they were, all
entangled together”
“Who, Ammon?”
“Oh yes” Jenkins pursed his bottom lip, “she was
his little star. They were like father and daughter,
except they worked together”
“Remind you of anyone?” I smirked at Acrostic
who still wasn’t looking straight at me as though I
might steal his soul, “you’re free to go”
“All we really know about our Strangler is that he
has a cold” Acrostic airily said like a summer breeze.
Jenkins gave the man a look you can only give the
mentally unbalanced and left. Acrostic was grumpy
but even I, who almost always allocated my complete
trust in him, was worried about the reliability of his
plan with the Strangler.
“How do you know the Strangler has a cold? Is
this the same way you deduced that he liked listening
to music, how he had a shoe size of eleven, how he
didn’t like to pin his hair back, how he especially
liked his coffee with heavy cream, how he chews his
fingernails- Acrostic, are you paying any attention to
me at all?”
“The fragile scarlet fragrance of murder is upon
us” Acrostic dreamily remarked, “we must see where
the scent ends up. We must be clever and to be clever,
you have to trust me that I know what I’m doing.
There are three killers out there and we might have a
chance at stopping them but you have to trust me”
I stood by one window and watched the rain fall,
“yeah of course I trust you. There’s no one I trust
more than you to stop people dying. Maybe you can’t
prevent death but you know what you’re doing when
it comes to justice”
I turned around and found out that I was talking
to the air.
I jostled from the little interview room that had
been set up and found Acrostic snooping at the looks
of each of the seven members of the seventh floor.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Tell me about Ammon’s alibi again” he grabbed
my forearms, “quickly! Now! Exactly as you heard it
from the lips of the constable who gave it, what
happened? Now!”
“The taxi picked him up at reception! He went
home and then he was dropped off at the restaurant!
His friend and the taxi driver both say they met him!”
“He took a detour…” Acrostic looked carefully,
“and he’s changed his shoes. Cuff him, cuff him now
Lexy”
“I thought you said-”
“I thought you trusted me”
“I do”
“Then do it” Acrostic and I burst into Ammon’s
office like sheriff and deputy, “hello there. I believe
you have something to tell me”
Ammon looked up from the memo he was
writing with his platinum fountain pen, “I do?”
“Of course Fred Ammon, the Wild West
Strangler” Acrostic stood by the door to block him
leaving, “because it’s a funny old thing, this world of
ours. To be successful, you have to be even funnier.
Shall I unfold this tangled skein? I might as well, I’ve
already started. I knew Helena Halliwell was different
from the other murder victims because her MO didn’t
match. The angle of the wound, the wound itself was
made from a very specific kind of nylon so it was still
the same killer. If the MO changed, then why did it
change? It’s a handy little thing if you’re a serial killer
because if you kill someone you know, it
automatically goes down to your persona”
“This is outrageous!” Ammon loosened his tie
and slid the window open. The effect was that the
wind blew Acrostic’s hair back rather like an old
movie hero.
“OK, so if Helena was killed by someone she
knew but then, who? Well if she worked late then she
must have been killed by someone she worked with,
someone who knew she worked late? Well if she was
then that narrows me down to seven suspects”
“OK but how do you know it was me?”
“Fun little process I’ve been doing with
everyone. The nail-biter, I told that the Strangler bit
his nails-”
“I do not!” Ammon spat, compounding his guilt.
“She kept biting her nails though. I told the boy
who drank his coffee with extra cream that the killer
had coffee with extra cream. He still drank his coffee
with cream though. Only you, who I said that the
killer had a shoe size eleven, your shoe size, did
something. Those blue loafers, I don’t think they’re
yours. Too big, far too big, they’re not the pair you
were wearing when I first met you. Why?”
“Bravo Inspector”
“Oh it wasn’t just me. I have a good luck charm.
I call her Kent” Acrostic finally smiled at me, “you’re
good but I know this game too well”
 “Acrostic?” I put up my hand, “he… well I don’t
mean to rain on your parade but he has an alibi. A
man’s only as good as his alibi and his is-”
“Clever but not perfect. Here’s what happened-
he called for a taxi but someone else met the taxi
driver, drove him around for a bit. During that time,
he killed Helena and then made straight for Manger
De Lór to meet his friend to conclude the story”
“Wow, now that is brilliant”
“I did a bit of digging. Made a few phone calls,
talked to a few people” Acrostic scratched his ear,
“Fred Ammon, who was imprisoned for assault five
years ago which fits into your line of thinking Lexy so
congratulations, yay!”
“I liked being behind bars. It was like having a
very nice little house”
“Yes but here, Auckland City, now that’s my
house and the house always wins” Acrostic nodded
for me to cuff the man to sign off the case, “but one
question. How did you find an accomplice and are
you seriously working for someone even worse?”
“We’re the Four Horsemen and we help one
another!”
“And are you working for someone worse?”
“Someone even worse? Worse in spades”
Ammon didn’t even resist arrest but calmly allowed
me to shackle him, “prepare to deal from the bottom
of the deck Inspector Acrostic because when I got out
of prison, I had nothing to live for. You’re ultimately
dealing with someone who’s lost more than that. How
strong’s your poker face?”
“Strong enough” Acrostic snared.
“I bet you don’t even remember me”
 “We’ll remember you Strangler” I assured him
but he didn’t accept that.
“That’s not what I said” he hissed and with his
arms behind his back he managed to leap from where
he was standing out of the seventh floor window of
FletchTech. I didn’t see but I did manage to hear the
slap of flesh and bone colliding with concrete.
“Looks like he’s tripped the light fantastic for the
last time” Acrostic was struggling to hide a smile.
“Must you be so macabre?”
“Well I… no yeah, I have to. It’s disturbing when
I’m not”
“Disturbing to be full of optimism and sunshine”
“I don’t know” Acrostic poked his head out of
the window and looked straight down, “let’s ask Mr.
Ammon”
As much as I try to not look at dead people, I just
had to see what the state of the man was in. Limbs
cracked, head seeping with hot stick blood, his spine
was now curving at an almost perfect circular line. It
was an odd way to rest in peace. A crowd was
gathering as crowds always do when someone jumps
out of a building. The clouds parted and the thinnest
sliver of sunlight illuminated the dead Ammon.
“Another case over?”
“We’re only a third done” Sam Acrostic boggled
his eyes at me rather disturbingly, “come look at this.
Another poem from the Four Horsemen”
I read the poem which depressed me. It
comprised of three dark couplets.

I think the Inspector will agree

That some people shouldn’t be free
And even if you can’t foresee
That they’ll go on a killing spree
Which heads down to a Nth Degree
Try and find little old me

“I’m really starting to hate this guy”

“A Nth Degree?”
“It’s just an expression”
Acrostic roared at that, “it’s the Nth Degree”
“Does it matter? It’s a slip of the tongue?”
“On a piece of paper? No one says ‘a Nth
Degree’, it’s a clue, of course it is, what has this all
been about?”
“OK, it’s a clue. What does it mean? I mean, you
can’t ask Ammon. You can’t ask him anything
anymore. I don’t know if I like how this case is
shaping up”
“I don’t know either but it’s damn exciting”
Acrostic pocketed the poem, “come on!”
We had to go around, following up on the
minutiae, telling reporters that we were handling this,
explaining the situation to Gilligan as he arrived, and
then we were back at HQ to try and explain ourselves
to McMiso I was about to do my nut in. Four times I
had to recount that we didn’t think he’d actually jump
out of a window. We left McMiso steaming by his
desk and then decided to hide out in my cubicle while
he came looking for us, armed with questions we
couldn’t answer. It’s a strange thing but he had
become so accustomed to us not being at the station
that hiding in the one spot we were meant to be was
the one spot he never checked.
“Worked out what ‘a Nth Degree’ means?”
 “Last time she used word-play so my guess is
that it’s another atrocity of English” Acrostic
scribbled it on a piece of paper and turned it upside
down to see if it yielded an answer, “so I’m guessing
it’s something in the linguistics department. We don’t
need someone who knows about psychopaths, we
need someone who knows about literature”
“Well…”
“What? Oh God, I’m not going to like this” I bit
my tongue as Acrostic began dialing on his cell
phone.
“Hi!” Acrostic’s voice suddenly became
incredibly cavalier, “is this a bad time? Great because
I’ve got to ask you something…”
Acrostic wandered off, out of earshot. As soon as
he had disappeared, DI Burnham, the Australian with
about as much charisma as a festering walrus carcass,
appeared with his loud paisley tie and his puffy red
cheeks, full of clichés and awful puns.
“Hello Kent”
“Hi Burnham, go away now” I picked up a stack
of legal sheets and pretended to busy myself, “I’ve got
a lot to do”
“You’re looking at Acrostic’s cartoons”
“I know” I kept a straight face as the dread
flushed me. I was indeed just holding all the
caricatures Acrostic had done in the weekend.
Actually, some of them weren’t bad. He got
McMiso’s eyes just right, Brian’s hooked nose, and
Casanova’s floppy ears. Burnham refused to leave,
like an irritating sibling or a moseying mosquito.
“Sorry, did you want something?”
 “No, just came here to bug you” Burnham waved
his hand flippantly, “so I noticed that you weren’t as
talkative as you usually were when you were chatting
with the Commissioner”
“Yes and I notice that there’s a powder stain on
your trouser leg, left one, of icing sugar. You’ve
already got Type II Diabetes, are you sure another
donut is the way to go?”
“Oh we are playing Acrostic today, aren’t we?”
he flinched.
“Possibly for the last time” I said to myself.
However Burnham was audience to that remark and
became enamoured with the implications.
“What? Splitting up of the dream team? This is
worse than when Wilhelm Shout split up and none of
their solo careers have been good and produced a hit
single since!” Burnham puts his palms to his face,
“you’re leaving the man after, what has been, five
years or close to it?”
“He’s been holding me back” I pretended to start
reviewing the cartoons, “I’m sure that I’ll make
Inspector in a year after we break up. I’ve learnt a lot
from him but there’s a limit as to how much he could
teach me the art of Acrostition- oh dear lord, now I’m
using his word”
“Don’t be crazy. You love working with
Acrostic. It’s exciting and fast and dangerous”
“So is riding on a rollercoaster without a seatbelt;
doesn’t mean I’ll do it”
“Look, I think there’s someone you should talk
to” Burnham became very heartfelt, “her name’s
Courtney M. Smith”
“M. Smith? Sounds familiar”
 “Yeah, yeah it should” Burnham scribbled an
address on the side of one of Acrostic’s cartoons, “she
runs a law firm. You might like to talk to her first”
“Why?”
“When it comes to Acrostic, why take the
chance?”

Half an hour later I found myself at the door of M.

Smith & Astaire Ltd. I let myself in and found a very
small office which comprised of two rooms. Darcy
Clay was playing on the radio. One woman had
noticed my arrival. She was very pretty. Slim and tall,
with dark blonde hair and a black-and-red pinstripe
suit.
“Hello” she spoke with a tinge of a French
accent, “have you killed anyone?”
“Not that I know of”
“Then… what are you doing here?”
“Are you Courtney M. Smith?” I asked to which
she nodded, sending the bouquet of her perfume
towards me which put me into a bit of a daze.
“Right, this might seem weird but we have a
mutual acquaintance”
“Do we?” she asked, resting her head a bit on her
shoulders, “you have beautiful hair”
“Thank you Miss M. Smith”
“Courtney will suffice”
“Thanks. Does the name Sam Acrostic mean
anything to you?”
“To some, it strikes terror in their heart. At the
mere mention you can cripple some very powerful
criminals with fear. Some run. Some who have
suffered from injustice would rejoice and some would
cry and place their necks in the hangman’s noose but
to me? To me the name Sam Acrostic means the smell
of cigars, of a very strange man who knows what he’s
doing. Who are you?”
“I am DS Lexy Kent-”
“Ah, so you work with the Inspector?”
“Yeah, I do, I mean, I am. I… I sort of-”
“I worked with him too” divulged Courtney, “and
the times we had, the outlaws who have cursed our
names. There’s nothing like it when you become a
feared folklore of the scourge of the gangland”
“Yeah…” I breathed at this woman, “I know.
Wait, you worked with him? Care to elaborate?”
“Well, when I was a Sergeant, much like
yourself, all cases I was assigned to work with
Acrostic. It was a symbiotic sort of pairing; he taught
me how to be a good detective and I made sure he
never crossed the line and it worked. For four years, it
really worked”
“What happened?”
“I had a nervous breakdown”
“What? After working with Acrostic for so
long?”
“Oh good heavens no! After leaving him. The
men in the white coats assumed that I was suffering
from shell shock, post traumatic stress syndrome and I
hadn’t the heart to correct them so I stayed in this
little getaway for three months to recover and when I
came back I retrained as a defense lawyer”
“Did you ever talk to him again?”
“I was too embarrassed” Courtney played with
her hair between two fingers, “what do you say to
someone who you’ve worked with that it’s because of
them you can’t work anymore?”
“It was a very bad breakdown then?”
“I started having dreams of the crimes we
investigated and the dreams turned into nightmares. I
started hearing the voices of the criminals we caught,
how they used to howl in my eardrums! I stopped
eating and started drinking heavily to cope with how
Acrostic was changing my life”
“How? Were you living with him or something?”
“I don’t think I could have handled that. Do you
mind if I smoke?”
“It’s your office”
She took a cigarette from her desk, “but he did
ruin my life for a long time and even while I was
away getting the therapy I needed, it took a long time
to comb it out and it still haunts me terribly”
“What did?”
“The Hyper-Awareness. It drives you mad. I
could read a newspaper and recite to you verbatim,
the entire sports section. I used to be able to tell you
every passenger’s outfit after a bus trip. My brain just
burnt out and I was left without the faculties to deal
with it”
“Surely you noticed-”
“Being Acrostic’s partner skewers your vision”
Courtney rationalized, “and by the time I needed to go
I really couldn’t tell that something was wrong”
“Wait… wait…” I held up my hands, “wait, I’ve
just realized- so, I’m not his first Watson? I mean you
were his sidekick before me?”
“Then were more. Before me. Some of us still
talk. Howard and I still talk. Armishaw went to
Canada. Wooster killed himself. Scott’s the
Superintendent in Christchurch”
“All of you?” I felt dizzy and leaned against the
desk, not aware I was breathing in the cigarette
smoke. I hadn’t really been too concerned with
Acrostic’s past, much like the state of the economy or
the effects of global warming.
“Well not all individually. I worked with
Armishaw and Howard was a DI while I was a
Sergeant. Don’t quite know where he’s got to, I just
put ‘return to sender’ on the envelopes but he’ll turn
up. He almost always has”
“I came to you because I’m thinking of splitting
from Acrostic”
“Do it” she stated, whistling smoke from her
nose, “get out now while you still have your pride,
joy, & ten fingers”
A boy suddenly rushed in splattered with blood
with a long rusty poker in his grip. His hair was
drenched in sweat and he was panting as though,
exactly as though, he might have killed someone.
“Sorry” Courtney extinguished her cigarette in a
teacup, “I’ve got to get back to work. Nice talking to
you Lexy Kent”
I left M. Smith & Astaire Ltd. After a few
minutes I was able to perk myself back up to top
efficiency and came back to grab Acrostic who was
still on the phone, chatting away over what ‘a Nth
Degree’ meant. Burnham was failing to discreet watch
Acrostic chatting so I joined him.
“You must seriously, Burnham, have something
to do. Grocery shopping, tax invoices, anything”
 “You would think” Burnham nodded vigorously,
“but yet here we are”
“What has he said? Anything interesting?”
“Conversations with Tyra are always interesting”
That got me blind-sighted, “he’s talking to his ex-
wife?”
“She does have a Master’s Degree in English
Literature” Burnham explained to me, “and he is
cracking a code”
“I never knew Tyra went to University”
“Oh yeah. She’s quite bright”
“And mean” I added as Acrostic hung up the
phone and collected me. We were off again on
another leg of the race.
“So what did it mean?”
“It was an anagram” Acrostic started the car,
“funny how these things work out like that. Where did
you get off to?”
“I went to see one of your friends”
“Where’s your shovel?” Acrostic backed up out
of the car park, “no seriously, if you do you have to
put them back where you found them”
“It was one of your living friends”
“Blimey. Is it really only a ten minute flight to
London?”
“It was Courtney”
“Ah” Acrostic began cruising down, “interesting
chat?”
“Fairly interesting, yeah”
“Right. So do you want to know what the
meaning to ‘a Nth Degree’ is?”
“Always”
 “It’s an anagram of ‘Death Genre’, which is the
name of that tiny little shop next to the Shacklebolt
Arcade. Ever been there?”
“No but I bet I know what kind of thing they sell”
“Well yeah, they’re a kind of Gothic peddler but
if there’s a foothold in this case, I bet it’s there”
“But I thought we were dealing with a spree
killer. By definition, a spree killer has to kill four or
more people with no cooling off period”
“Very good”
“Well it’s just all the shops beside the
Shacklebolt Arcade are tiny. The Shacklebolt itself
must be able to house an army or two but why would
they send us to the tiny shop next to it? Is this a
mistake?”
“The Big Four haven’t made a mistake so far.
This has all been planned from the word ‘Go’. We
just have to go along with their plan now and see if
we can work out a way to subvert it”
“If this is a plan, what is it leading up to?”
“I don’t know yet but we’ll get there in the end”

The Shacklebolt Arcade was a large shopping

complex that was painted in candy-cane stripes. It was
a very large four-level mall that was home to enough
chain brands to become a small microcosm of the
world’s financial market. All the small shops to the
side of the Arcade were in fiscal ruins and barely
surviving, living off the customers who were too
afraid of escalators to enter the large precinct. Along
these shops we found Death Genre, a black hut that
you imagine witches will be found in, stirring potions
and waving wands.
 Acrostic drove around for a bit trying to find a
place to leave the car. When he had done so we came
into this dark little shop like Fortune’s fools. The door
was open so we let ourselves in. Black wallpaper,
plastic cobwebs, and a glowing cauldron in the middle
of the room. There was that small wet slapping sound
that added to the creepy, chilling ambiance of the
place.
“Hello?” I howled before Acrostic tapped me in
an effort to get me to be a little more subtle. The
counter’s cash register was open which told me that
whoever was running the shop had clocked off in a
hurry. Oh, how right I was.
“Lexy, be strong”
“Why?”
“I need you to be very calm… and look up”
Acrostic looked at my face or more precisely, my
nose. I touched it gingerly and found a dollop of thick,
coagulated blood running down the length of my face.
I rubbed my fingertips before something unsettling
tickled my bones. Slowly I began tilting my head up,
fearful of what I might see.
I saw the top of the drab curtains.
I saw the raw asbestos.
I saw the dead man.
He might have been quite pleasant to look at
when he was alive. He had an angular face, styled
brown hair in the true asymmetrical trend of the youth
and had dressed himself in some Neo-Victorian garb.
He had been hung up with piano wire from the
ceiling, being suspended in the air with an eagle-
spread position. His throat had been slit very recently
and was periodically dripping blood. I lifted the sole
of my shoe to find that I had stood in the reservoir of
body fluid and for the first time, the fluid was fresh
blood. I’m sure that if I’d had the urge to jump I could
have touched the man’s long nose.
“You’ve got to love this town” Acrostic grabbed
a stool and stood on it to better take a look at the dead
man, “this guy, whoever he is, is a master. Look at
that bed of string, intricately done to sustain the
weight of the corpse. Perfectly balanced too. Now I
mean this from the heart, this is true art”
“This is murder!” I took his handkerchief to dab
off the blood.
“Does it have to be one or the other?” he began to
twange at the piano wire, “lying on piano wire. That is
just…” he trailed off and his cheeks dropped. If he
had whiskers it might have been amusing. I did a
quick check but the marionette was the only dead
thing around except maybe for the bull heads hanging
on the picture rail.
“No one else’s home” I told Acrostic who was
examining the man from a different angle, “not much
of a spree killing”
“Oh Lexy. This was no spree killing. This was an
appetizer. Grab a stool and come check this one out.
It’s just awful”
I dragged over another black stool and clambered
to the top, “not exactly filling me with confidence
here”
“What do you notice about this web of piano
wire?”
“Well it’s tied to-”
“Forget the boy, focus on the piano wire”
 “Well there’s a lot, isn’t it? Seven, eight layers
strung around the rafter beams, through the ceiling-”
“Lexy, don’t you think there’s a bit too much?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, but it’s all neatly
arranged. It’s all taut and interlocking-”
“Don’t be a bloody fool-”
“Don’t speak to me like that”
“Lexy, it’s important! Look at the top layer!”
“Why can you just never just tell me these
things?” I screeched my fury but then I noticed that a
pattern did emerge when you focused solely on the
top level of the piano wire. Seven points began to
emerge in the form of:
“An arrow?”
“Yep”
“This is a marker?”
“And look where it’s pointing” Acrostic followed
the line of the arrow tip all the way to the Shacklebolt
Arcade. He looked forlorn and so did I. That’s when
he jumped down and noticed what we hadn’t been
aware of on the way in- a tripwire. We followed it to a
little box with a red blinking light.
“What’s that?”
“A transmitter. It’s signalling to someone that
we’ve come in. That must be the signal for the spree
killer inside the Arcade and look at this” Acrostic
found a digital clock attached to it, “a countdown but
what’s it counting down to?”
“How much time is there?”
“If this thing is reliable, we have just under an
hour” Acrostic showed me the clock. 56:43…
56:42… 56:41…
“Oh this is not going to be fun”
 “No, it isn’t” Acrostic hopped down,
“somewhere in that place there’s a queue of murders
about to take place. It’s our job to find them and stop
them. Lexy Kent, I can’t do this alone. Shall we get
started?”
“Come on!”
 5. SECURITY

We ran across the road and into the Shacklebolt

Arcade. Instantly, the Gruen transfer took effect and
all notion of time and spare awareness was lost. The
soft, melodic tunes were humming from speakers, the
layout was dizzy with advertising, the temperature
just cold enough to make you feel puckish. It was a
very open layout and you could see all four levels
from the ground floor. Being a November
Wednesday, shopping was slow but there were still
more than two hundred people in.
“I hope you’ve got a plan Inspector”
“I’ve got something better than a plan- I have the
power to improvise”
I groaned and we began to bustle along, knocking
over shoppers like bowling pins, “so no plan?”
“We’ve still got just under a half hour”
“Right. That’s such a comfort”
 “If you were a spree killer, where would you
go?”
“Hell?” I suggested as we passed a video store
that had half price on all horror films, “I suppose
somewhere where you wouldn’t stand out”
Acrostic’s eyes were darting, reading people in
order to find our man, “we live in Auckland.
Everyone stands out. There’s got to be a geographical
element to this but what?”
“What method is the killer likely to use?”
“If it’s a spree killer then by definition,
something that kills people individually. My guess is
either a firearm or a knife. Most likely a firearm.
Nothing about this case has said that things are to be
done in halves”
“Acrostic?” we trotted along a display of newly-
released books, “the killer might be anywhere right?”
“Well he is somewhere but yes, in here”
“Well then isn’t it just as likely he’s in the food
court?”
“I suppose. Why? Where are you going with
this?”
“I’m hungry. And thirsty. I haven’t had a whole
lot to eat today”
“What time is it?”
“It’s just turned five o’clock now”
“OK, that’s good. It means that the killer will
have to make his move before the place closes at
seven”
“That’s a good thing?”
“Good for us, bad for our spree killer. He’ll have
to give himself up. Talk about a price attack”
 “He’s cutting costs?” I lobbed before slapping
my own cheek, “I’m getting as bad as you with these
truly appalling puns”
We bought a carton of sushi that was rubbery and
fell apart as soon as you tried to stab with the
chopsticks but we picked at these portions while
Inspector and Sergeant kept looking.
“Well, it won’t matter after a while. You’ll be
passing your puns on to others”
“What? Oh, yes” I momentarily had forgotten I
had pledged to move out, “I think we need to flush out
killer out”
“Yes, and provoke him into attacking”
“Well how did you plan on catching him?”
“I’d think of something. I usually do”
I tried to eat a piece of salmon but it flipped away
from my two wooden sticks. Acrostic scrunched his
brow.
“Jess”
“What?”
“It’s Jess!” he was alarmed at his teenage
daughter skipping over with her friend, the docile
Amy Burkus.
“Hi Daddy” the younger Acrostic waved a
shopping bag in her hand, “what are you doing here?
Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I- what are you doing here?”
“I told you I was going shopping with Amy. You
gave me thirty dollars”
“Oh, right” Acrostic Sr. said, “hello Amy”
Amy giggled and looked marvelously interested
at a sale of all men’s neckties at the Pelican
Professional. Blonde Amy Burkus had a secret crush
on Acrostic which seemed to be so poorly disguised it
bordered on a media circus. Acrostic dismissed
Amy’s infatuation and looked at his own offspring.
“Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong” I acted out a comforting,
soothing expression only to be dashed by my partner.
“There’s a spree killer in here”
Jess’s eyes bulged a bit at the horror of the
statement but Amy decided it would be a good idea to
collapse right where she was standing.
“She does that a lot, right?”
“She has bad days”
Jess propped Amy up onto the spare chair on our
table and then the two Acrostics and the Kent began
their council.
“There’s someone who’s playing a game with us
and that means that they’ve organized to have a spree
killer lurking inside the Arcade”
“So what do we do?” Jess said in a whisper. She
was getting over the shock fairly quickly. I expected
Acrostic to send Jess straight home but instead, he
found it sound to let her stay.
“You’re not getting your daughter to safety?” I
asked. The DI spun around with his fingers twitching
with the magic you can only get from an Acrostic.
“Look around you Lexy, there must be two
hundred people in this building and any one of them
could be the killer, a bomb that could go off at any
time, we’re about to be witness to a murder many
times over. The safest place right now is with us”
“Right, but we’re not armed” I said, now a little
anxious like a schoolgirl playing truant. Acrostic
handed me a revolver from his coat.
 “You just carry guns around?”
“Well I could just tell Mr. Spree to stop with an
authoritative tone but I think a weapon would be
much easier” he growled, “what was your plan?”
“Whatever your plan was, plus a ginger” I tucked
the old revolver into my jacket pocket, “right. Now
what?”
“We need something to identify the killer without
directly alerting him”
“OK. How do you want to do that?”
“Jess, is there an intercom system around here?”
Acrostic inquired. Jess thought for a moment and then
lit up.
“Follow me”
She led us up through the elevator. Acrostic
looked around nostalgically.
“Elevators and chain killers; now that takes me
back”
The top floor was comprised of clothing stores
and electronic stalls. Jess navigated through the crowd
to find a black metal door that had ‘SECURITY’
printed in silver paint. She knocked on the door and a
typical mall cop, beefy, bearded and with scraggly
head, popped out.
“What?” he grunted, a half-eaten donut still in his
hand. Acrostic and I dually flashed our badges and
then Acrostic delivered his fond line:
“I am Detective Inspector Acrostic, this is
Detective Sergeant Kent. We’re going to have to ask
you to move”
The overweight security officer shifted and we
entered a very dark room about the size of a modern
bathroom. It stank of human sweat and cigarette
smoke. Another security officer, this one was wiry
and had a long neck which seemed to extend into his
frizzy white hair, looked aghast at our presence. He
had been watching a wall full of computer monitors,
of which there must have been fifty. On each monitor
was a black-and-white rendition of a portion of the
Shacklebolt Arcade, the food court, the gaming
rooms, the book shops, and all the other works.
Acrostic quickly scanned the army of screens and then
found a computer monitor he liked.
“Your boss, what’s he like?”
“A cranky old codger. Why?”
“How badly would he react to a riot?”
Jess was puzzled as to her father’s actions, “why
are you doing that?”
“Our boss would react quite badly. Why?”
“Ah, it’s not a matter of ‘why’ right now, it’s a
matter of ‘who’, we’re looking for a spree killer and
do you know what?” Acrostic grabbed the intercom
microphone and began flipping the switches, “there’s
one thing that all villains, all crooks, all total nutcases
have one pathological fear of. It looks completely
normal but you can always trust it to shake up a bad
guy. It extends into their bones, it quivers their lips, it
can petrify them stone cold. Do you know what that
is?”
I snorted, having been confident I knew what he
was going to say, “you?”
“Strawberry ice cream” he cackled and then held
down the button to talk into the microphone. His
voice boomed from the intercom on all floors.
“Attention all shoppers! You will find a free cup
of strawberry ice cream from the Marlowe
Confectionary Booth now on the first floor entrance!
Please come to collect your ice cream because it’s
free and the promotion ends in three minutes. Thank
you”
A stampede was building as all currents were
being diverted to the first floor with an excited buzz.
“There are two things almost everyone likes. Free
things and ice cream”
“There is no Marlowe Confectionary Booth
though”
“I know. It’s just a very clever ruse on my part.
Now look!” Acrostic got the security guards, Jess, and
myself to begin checking the monitors to see anyone
who wasn’t interested and reporting their location to
Acrostic. After finishing the tally, Acrostic gave us
the results.
“OK, that means nineteen people have no interest
in ice cream. Go back to those nineteen and tell me
what their doing?”
Though we all spoke at once Acrostic seemed to
be able to interpret this gibberish and stopped us when
Jess gave her fifth candidate.
“Food court but no tray. Does he have a book in
his hand?”
“No”
“Is he checking his watch?”
“No”
“Have you checked the countdown?” I asked.
Acrostic gazed at his watch.
“Ah”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we have about three minutes if we
want to stop our killer. Where is that food court?”
 “Second floor”
“Fantastic. You lot-” he looked at the two
security officers, “go call the police and when you’re
done you might want to get people out of here”
“What about you?” asked the wiry mall cop, “I
thought you were the police!”
“We are the police. Adventure Division”
Acrostic, Jess and I rushed to the elevator but that’s
when Acrostic stopped Jess before she walked into the
descending box with us.
“Stay here”
“Daddy-”
“This isn’t a field trip Jessica! You might die”
“You might too”
“Ah but the difference is I have the reach of the
button” Acrostic pressed the button to close the
elevator doors and then directed us down to the
second floor.
“You can’t protect Jess forever” I spoke but
Acrostic simply grabbed his other gun, small enough
to keep in a cigar box.
“Are we really going to review my parenting
skills now?” he said as he cocked his pistol, “ready?”
I took out the revolver he had given me and
checked the barrel, “ready”
“Don’t get trigger-happy”
“I know that”
“And don’t fire upon innocent creatures. That
poor cat”
“I saved your life”
“Well, we’ll never know. It’s a bit convenient the
duck club decided to leave as soon as the boat sunk”
“That’s why it’s a conspiracy”
 The elevator doors slid open like the jaws of a
clever shark spitting out a fire extinguisher. We tried
to act normal but normal for us was a little harder to
reach. As we approached the food court we heard a
gunshot go off. Both of us came to a halt and
exchanged worried faces.
“That was bad wasn’t it?”
“We’ve still got-” Acrostic checked his watch,
“oh right. I always set mine a minute slow”
“Well how come you didn’t remember that? I
thought you were a genius”
“I thought you were a genius”
The second gunshot shook us from our domestic
squabble and we were back dashing against the
current of terrified customers. A tall man with Lennon
glasses, dark red hair, not dissimilar to my own, and a
tight navy blue suit was waddling about with a look
on his face as calm as Santa Claus on December 26 th.
Cradled in both hands was a shotgun which he held up
by his shoulder and at various intervals, decided it
would be fun to shoot someone. I counted three on the
floor but they were all twitching.
“Come on” Acrostic pulled me into one of the
stores selling plastic fruit, “we need an ambush. If we
engage with him now we can make sure everyone gets
out in time”
“In time for what?”
“Fire!” he commanded and I took a shot at the
Horseman. My grip wasn’t as good as it might have
been and thus I ended up only shattering a display
window. Acrostic fired but it missed and only clipped
the floor beside him. We ducked in time to not be hit
by the whizzing presents the Horseman was giving us.
My body surged with fear of death and excitement.
“Try again?”
“As you wish”
Acrostic and I popped up for two seconds to fire
again but we only managed to nick the glass walls
behind him. Our rival however managed to get my
sleeve and a millimeter to the left and he might have
forced me to lose the arm. We ducked back for cover
and with my heightened senses I heard our
antagonist’s footsteps as they went around a corner.
“Is this the culmination of your plan?” I asked as
I peered into the chambers to see how many shots I
had left. There were four left. Feminine intuition said
that the Horseman most likely had far more shots than
Acrostic and me put together. Acrostic seemed to
recognize this fact and kept firmly behind cover as he
tried to come up with a really great plan that wouldn’t
end in our deaths. Teeth baring, lungs greedily
intaking oxygen, he seemed to almost go blank as he
pondered. Normally, pondering isn’t such a bad thing
for a policeman but when there’s a time factor
involved, it’s good to be able to think fast. The
Horseman approached so I fired another shot to deter
him.
“Acrostic!” I shouted at Sam but it was Jess who
answered.
“You rang?” she said in her deepest voice as she
clambered out of the ventilation shaft, “my goodness
it’s cramped in there”
“I thought I told you to go!” Acrostic was
furious, “get out of here!”
 “Acrostic! She’s come to give us an escape
route!” I said, measuring out the tiny grate to see if we
adults would fit, “didn’t you Jess?” and I tucked the
revolver into my jacket pocket as I prepared my
journey through the air vents.
“…sure” Jess bit her lip and brushed dust from
her shoulder, “that’s why I came to you”
Four shots that came at us and hit four plastic
banana bunches. Jess was enraged at that.
“How absolutely sloppy!” she snapped and
before I knew what was happening, she had grabbed
the revolver from my jacket and fired a single shot.
The Horseman’s footsteps had stopped. Acrostic and I
hopped over to see the Horseman had a bloody hole in
his forehead, neatly done too and his gun had fallen to
the floor with a clatter. He lay on his back, to forever
stare at the ceiling of the Shacklebolt Arcade. Jess
blew the smoke from the revolver barrel, looking like
something akin to Diana the Huntress but cuter and
more deadly.
“That’s how you do it!” she declared
triumphantly, placing the gun back in my hand as my
jaw dropped at the fifteen-year-old Acrostic.

Burton came over with his squad of forensics farmers

and enough constables to take everyone’s statement
and make a thoroughly dreadful job. Acrostic Sr. and
Jr. had a story worked out amongst them. It had been
the elder to shoot the Horseman in the head, not the
younger as there would have been a long and
agonizing inquiry which would have helped no one.
While Inspector Acrostic was giving his version of
what happened to the dead shooter, I was watching
the Student Acrostic like a hawk. I have never thought
that she could kill a person so easily. Now, I wasn’t so
sure. Acrostic finally was done giving his statement
and had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his
waistcoat.
“Well that was fun” Acrostic rubbed his palms
together as he left the food court where Burton had
decided to process the witnesses, “though I fear that
there will be severe repercussions if we don’t catch
the one behind all of this. I mean, our jobs”
“Our?”
“You’re in this as well as me” he said, much to
my chagrin, “you were here when I got the letter of
skin at McMiso’s office”
“A letter of skin? Sounds like a rummy way to
post messages” Jess chuckled as we began to walk out
with two shopping bags looped in her fingers, “I can’t
believe I decided to buy all these things now before
what will inevitably be a massive price slash across
the Arcade”
“I’m so proud of you” Acrostic had a plastered
look of delight on his face and cajoled accordingly,
“holding up the Acrostic honour once again”
“Bit of a gambit, don’t you think? Supposing we
died”
“Lexy, it’s a game and if we died, I assume that it
wouldn’t necessitate a new hand. Our friend’s plan
would still go ahead. We’ve dealt with a serial killer
and now a spree killer, nine dead just in case you were
interested, which leaves us with a mass murderer”
“Ah, the piéce de résistance” I counted off of my
fingers, “how exciting”
 “Your French is terrible” critiqued both Acrostics
simultaneously.
“Spooky”
“Even if we died, I’m sure the mass murderer
would still have his fun” Acrostic hypothesized, “but
the thing is- where’s our poem? Our clue? The last
two, we got a poem. I want my poem!”
“Bet I’ll be brilliant at beating the poem” boasted
Jess, “I’ve got the Acrostic blood of deduction and the
Holland blood of English literature. As the product of
the two of you, I might just be a superhero”
“On no occasion will I let you be involved with
policing the streets of Auckland” Acrostic scolded his
daughter, “it’s far too gruesome for you. Now run
along to Kendra. Find Amy and take her home as
well, she does appear slightly catatonic”
“What? After I just saved your lives?”
“I know, life’s unfair, your father’s just awful,
and all the rest of that jazz” Acrostic prodded Jess
away from us, “let’s see if Burton’s done his job and
found anything”
Superintendent Burton had come in specially
because it was such a messy job. DI Marley was
trying to sift through the anarchy of paper that was
being streamed to him.
“Hey Acrostic” Burton beckoned us over, “you
know how many times Marley has had to deal with a
whole shopping mall of people?”
“Including this one? One”
“It’s going to be so sad when they sack you. My
career’s has gone yards because of you”
“It was in self-defence” I chipped in, “it was us
or him and we’re the good guys”
 “OK, did you find anything odd? Anything at all
on the man?”
“According to his ID, he’s Danny Warren
Twindle, a book editor. We ran him through the
system and found that he’d done time for assault and
attempted homicide years ago”
“Just like Fred Ammon” Acrostic nodded as
things began to line up, “this is good. We’re seeing a
pattern emerge. I like patterns but where shall it end?
Anything else in his wallet? A poem perhaps?”
“None so far as we have seen unless it’s one of
those postmodern, no-verse structure ones because I
did find a bus timetable but maybe it’s a poem in
disguise”
“Can I see the body?”
“Will you shoot it again?”
“No promises”
“Give me your gun”
“I’ll be good” Acrostic gave a scary smile.
We looked at the dead man whose eyes had been
closed but people were still taking photographs of
him. We checked to see if it was OK to move the
body and after a few more photos it was. Acrostic
took one check and then instantly found the hiding
place. Grabbing the man’s hair, he slid it away. The
toupee revealed a bald shooter and inside the scalp
was a poem etched neatly onto his skull which went
down to the back of his neck.

Two out of three isn’t bad

At noon tomorrow, Auckland will mourn
And her people will be raving mad
As the world shall laugh and scorn
Circles, circles, it’s all unFair
You’d best go check your tools
This one will have a bit of flare
And please play by the rules

“That must have hurt” I said as I circled the corpse’s

head, “it’s so clean! You’d think that he’d have made
one mistake or Twindle might have sneezed and then
he’d have to start all over again”
“Whoever’s behind all this organized a serial
killer, spree killer, and a mass murderer in order. I
think a simple carving of the skin was child’s play”
“What kind of childhood did you have?”
“Funny thing this” Acrostic lit a cigar, strictly
against the anti-smoking laws but he was, to a major
extent, the law, “the first two Horsemen went without
a specified time when we got the poem but this one
has. Noon tomorrow. He’s a mass murderer”
“Another train exploding?”
“God, one’s enough” Acrostic blew a perfect
smoke ring, “still. One whole day. A nap, I think
we’ve earned a nap”
“Hardly stopped being a copper since this thing
began” I finally felt how tired I was, “shall we catch a
bit of shut-eye?”
“Acrostic?” Burton nudged him, “hello?”
Acrostic stood still for a whole minute with the
only thing moving about him was the cigar smoke
discharging from his mouth. His eyes were closed, his
fingers extended and locked, he was almost a statue.
At last he opened his eyes and shivered a little.
 “Sorry, needed a moment of clarity, needed to
shut out everything that wasn’t helping. Basically, I
had to shut you all out”
“Gee, thanks”
“Well we’ve still got a moment” Acrostic strolled
towards the car park, “pip-pip”
“A moment until what?”
“The final day” he croaked and with that we got
into our car and left the oddly empty car park.
“What do you mean by that?”
“According to the Bible, they are harbingers of
doom. When the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
arrive on Earth, it’s a sign that the Last Judgment will
soon begin”
“So that’s when God comes and judges us and
decides whether we’ve been good enough to go to
Heaven or go to Hell?”
“In perfect justice, even better than our justice”
he affirmed, “Judgment Day. The Earth will be
cleansed and everyone, every living soul to ever have
lived will be reunited with their own physical
presence and every one of them will be catalogued for
eternal salvation or damnation. Must be a cartload of
paperwork”
“Well, what can we do?”
Acrostic looked deeply into my eyes and asked
me:
“Tell me Detective Sergeant Kent, are you
prepared for Judgment Day?”
My answer was succinct and concise:
“Who cares?” I raised my shoulder, “I don’t”
We drove home and found Jess and Kendra
exercising Casanova by having a hot dog strapped to a
remote-control car and driving it around the lawn.
That beagle was just running around like there was no
tomorrow. It might have almost been cruel except
every now and then they let him have his treat.
“Ah, Acrostic” Kendra pounced upon the
Inspector, “I heard about the Shacklebolt Arcade”
“Really?” he tugged his ear lobe, “that was fast.
What is the cell phone reception in Hades like?”
“I have connections” she blinked, “and what
happened was dark, even for you two”
I jiggled my head at that, “nah. It was about the
same. I think the desensitization is finally setting in”
“Hooray!” Acrostic threw imaginary confetti, “so
how long have you been waiting for me?”
“Not long. Jess and I spent most of the time
doing this” Kendra took control of the tiny car and did
a U-turn so that it zipped passed Casanova, “it’s good
fun and it’s much more inventive than walking him”
“So then, did you want the Sergeant’s Tale?”
Acrostic looked at me, “if Lexy will oblige then you
can have her version. You can have mine the day after
tomorrow”
“Why, what’s happening tomorrow?”
“Oh haven’t you heard? That’s when everything
ends” snarled a satisfied Sergeant. Acrostic roared
with me.

It’s incredibly dark but at least the light’s on. My

room is tidier than usual; all the boxes are stacked up
in one wall, including that dastardly shoebox, The
Box of Doom. My bed has been made. My closet
however is still too full of garments I don’t try on
enough. I begin choosing my outfit for the party
tonight. I can’t quite remember whose party it is but
at this very moment, that’s not important. What’s
important is that I find a suitable look for tonight. I
want it to be practical, but stylish. With pockets too;
whenever I don’t wear pockets I always find that I get
to meet people who make me carry things which I
can’t really hold onto unless I free up my hands. Thus
alone in my room, in the bright light, I begin to
choose.
It’s tough because my style is always changing. A
long cream raincoat over a thick leather waistcoat
with lugubriously long lapels? Or a blue blazer with
gold buttons and really skinny black jeans? A red hat
and my Halloween costume as a Bohemian? I find the
perfect combination. A blue lab coat and these really
exotic sandals made of orange leather. I step outside
into the Auckland streets in night mode. I button up
because I can see the darkness whispering a chill you
can only find in the Southern hemisphere. My ride’s
failed to pick me up so I have to walk to the party. I’m
still pretty sure I know where the party is. I begin my
trek.
I remember a shortcut I can take through
Odysseus Park. It’s dark, stormy and covered with
these leafy trees which cast daunting shadows in the
heavy moonlight. When I walk in, something’s a little
off but I’m pretty sure it’s not a ghost. I try and stick
to the path but then I remember there’s a network of
bridges around the swampy marshlands and that if I
remember correctly, it’ll only take me five minutes to
get to where I need to go. I duck onto the first bridge
which seems very strong and normal. It’s here that I
run into a problem. A huge array of Pohutakawa
trees hung over the next section of the bridge and
enclosed it in what appeared to be total darkness. The
ravens crying inside didn’t help. Feeling much less
confident, I entered what felt to be the deadly end of a
killer whale.
The inside is extremely wet and there’s steam
rising from the black swamp. It smells like dead
people and after a while being me, you get to really
know all the scents that dead folks give off. The
titillating fear of the unknown is getting to me but I
can see something bright at the end of this passage of
shadows. I dare not turn my head. Look to the light
Lexy, ignore the darkness around you. I do my best to
edit out the noir and when I get to the light it turns
out it’s coming from a house over to my left, barely
thirty steps away.
It’s just over a picket fence and I’ve always been
good at picket fences. I was an ace at gymnastics for
a while. When I get over the picket fence I’m greeted
with applause by the party-goers. As luck would have
it, I’ve arrived at the exact party I was meant to be at.
There’s a barbecue where some rather hairy men are
roasting apple slices, there’s an orchestra of
penguins playing great Mozart symphonies with a
xylophone section the size of Ohio. While I wait for
my fruit kebab to be grilled, I take a look around to
see if there’s anyone I know. Everyone there is
chatting and they all want to talk to me. It’s spooky.
I’m never this popular.
A short green gentleman hands me my fruit
kebab. There’s lot of pineapple which is nice. I love
pineapples. I also love cheese. Bacon’s good too. I
enter this small middle-class home to see if I can find
some. It’s packed with people in there, all droning on
about their lives which seem to consist terrifyingly on
their jobs. That’s when a tall, rather handsome guy in
a grey tuxedo approaches me. He really has the kind
of face they stick in romantic comedy movies. It’s
amazing.
I can’t hear exactly what this angel is saying but
he’s waving his hands about like a floundering fish
and I can apparently read sign language so I get the
gist of what he’s saying. He’s telling me all about
how he’s working as a counselor to children who
have cancer. He begins to talk about the symptoms of
cancer and I nod sympathetically and all the while
I’m bored as hell. I pretend to see a friend and leave.
Helen’s here. My big sister approaches me with
a wine glass in her hand that might have inspired the
Great Flood. I do my best to get out. I rush out to the
back garden but the picket fence is mysteriously much
taller than when I first scaled it. I can still try though.
It begins to rain but I try not to think about it. I really
don’t want to have to talk to my sibling. As I climb I
notice that the picket fence is growing. It’s so strange.
I begin to lose my grip as the rain makes the
varnished fence very slippery but still, I have to try.
Then I misjudge where the next rung of this fence is.
My hand closes on a thick pile of air and I wobble
because now my balance is off and I fall. I fall down,
I fall so far, I fall so very far.
When I hit the ground, a few people scream and
someone shouts that they’re going to phone for an
ambulance. For someone who’s fallen about a
hundred feet I feel fine. I check my mouth and find
that I’ve lost my front teeth but other than that, I think
I’m pretty good. Everyone gushes over me. One girl
hands me a beer and throws a blanket over me. I’m
not sure why but I go along with it. They take me
inside and they place me in the spare bedroom. I pass
Helen on the way in who has an extremely sour look
on her face, the kind of sour gotten from unripe
lemons. Thinking about lemons makes me want lemon
custard. I call out but no one can hear me.
The spare room is filled with blue things. The bed
covers are blue. The wallpaper is blue. The curtains
are blue. The paintings are of pirate ships travelling
along a vast blue ocean. It makes me so calm being in
this bubble of blue. There’s even a blue bowl of
blueberries waiting for me to fulfill their destiny. I try
one. It tastes like a strawberry.
I look at this picture of the pirate ship, it’s so
real. I love pirates. The painting seems to pull me into
the scene. In fact it has.
I’m on a pirate ship. It’s relentlessly hot and the
sea is spraying my face and stinging my eyes. I feel
the sway of the ship. I dash over to the side and throw
up. For some reason I’m throwing up small sardines
which wiggle back into the tide like nothing’s wrong.
I look around to see if there’s anybody on board. For
a pirate ship, it’s empty. There’s not a heck of a lot of
treasure either. I can feel the sweat drip onto my lab
coat so I go into one of the cabins. Jess Acrostic is
snoozing in one hammock in her pirate get-up. She’s
got the ragged shirt, the buccaneer boots and the
pirate hat is over her head as she’s sleeping. I rock
her awake but she takes it rather badly. Snatching the
flintlock pistol in her belt, she holds me against the
cabin window. I’m going to die- Jess is going to shoot
me. I do the only natural thing a Kent does when
faced with such a problem. I break down and cry.
Jess removes the pistol from my face but tears
are still flowing. Jess turns into a cat and curls up on
my lap to make me feel better. I like cats. Cats are
balls of fluff that can really turn your day around. I
stroke Jess the Cat and try and counter the swaying of
the ship. After I get my sea legs I notice that the ship
is slowly turning from wood to stone. Stone is much
heavier. The ship begins to sink. Jess the cat is still
sleeping and so as much as it pains me, I have to
leave her in the sinking ship. I get up on deck where I
dive into the sea. The moment the water touches my
skin I find out that I’ve made a mistake. A shark fin
begins to circle me. I’m not a competent swimmer so I
know I can’t swim away from the beast but I also
know that playing dead doesn’t work with sharks.
I’m going to die.
 6. HIGH NOON

I awoke doused in my own sweat. I threw off the

blankets and in my pajamas I dashed barefoot into the
backyard where the cooling night miasma robbed me
of all the heat that was emitting from me. I looked at
the crescent moon which was beaming the creamy
glow smugly. In a fit of childish franticness, I howled
at the moon like the lone wolf I was.
“Restless night?”
As my howl died down I rotated to see the fog
slither away and unleash the sight of Acrostic
smoking his late-night cigar. He was dressed simply
in his shirt, trousers, suspenders, boots and the old
beige raincoat that came to his ankles that he liked to
use as a dressing gown.
“I was just-”
“I know what you were doing. I do it myself
sometimes” Acrostic raised a finger to his temple, “in
here. Come Lexy Kent, sit with me. Would you like a
cigar or is that too dangerous?”
“I’m still a bit disorientated” I took my place on
the chair next to Acrostic, “aren’t you going to
sleep?”
Acrostic sank his cigar, “no rest for the wicked”
“You’re not wicked” I rebutted but Acrostic
displayed a mixture of gratitude and humility.
“Aren’t I? The mastermind has been playing a
game with me. A lot of people have died at the hands
of this madman and that madman has been up against
me”
“And me” I looked passed the moonlight at the
man, “what is the point of you if there is not me to be
amazed by it?”
“You are an extraordinary crutch for me” he
coughed, “I can’t do it without you”
“Or Courtney. Or Scott. Or Wooster”
“Ah, alas poor Wooster. I knew him well”
“Acrostic… what are we to you?”
“What do you mean? You’re Lexy, you’re my
Kent-”
“No I mean, what’s our function? Why do you
need a handler? What am I?”
“Every day, every second, I’m bombarded with
information and it’s easy to forget what’s relevant and
what’s not. The Universe talks to me in a way that it
doesn’t talk to you. I need someone to keep my
perspective in check or else I’ll lose my mind and at
this point, my mind’s the only thing worth having”
“Courtney M. Smith believes that after being
with you, she lost her mind. She told me that by the
time that it came to part ways with you that she… she
was unable to properly function, that she was broken
almost irreparably”
Acrostic sighed, “she was and it was all very
unpleasant. After four years, it just came down on her
very hard. She wasn’t like me. She couldn’t quite
handle the world as I see it”
“Did Burnham send me to her as a warning?” I
was fearful in asking but it was a question that in my
mind had become unavoidable, “I had told him I was
thinking about moving out and-”
He shook his head, “as much as I despise
Burnham; that is not the reason he sent you to Miss
M. Smith. He sent you because she only lasted four
years. You’ve lasted a lot longer and haven’t suffered
the side-effects of long-term exposure. You are
stronger than any of them. Wooster, Scott, Courtney,
Howard, Armishaw or Brian, you have lasted longer
and are smarter than any of them. Burnham wanted
you to recognize that you, DS Alexia F. Kent, are
stronger than the lot of them”
“Are we just replacements for Tyra?” I queried,
“taking the place by your side where a spouse might
be?”
“Tyra was my wife. You are my best friend”
“Me? I’m your best friend. I thought Kendra was
your best friend”
“If you have to quantify, you nullify the point of
the statement”
“That’s just all your fancy talk thrown in to shut
me up” I was feeling a little better having been out in
the cold, “oh Acrostic, it’s been a very long day and
tomorrow doesn’t seem to be any better. Is this all I
have to look forward to if I stay with the police?”
 “You’d better get some rest” he exhaled, “the
morning is nearly upon and then we shall see”
“See what?”
“Are you worried?”
“Worried about what?”
Acrostic revealed his very sharp incisors as he
said the next three fearsome words, “the final day”
“Should that scare me?”
“If it doesn’t, I haven’t taught you enough. Sleep
well” he glimmered his little pearls of wisdom. I did
go inside but I didn’t go right back to bed. I stubbed
my toe on a doorframe and after swearing loudly I
went to the kitchen for a painkiller. The bright light
confronted my pupils and in momentary blindness I
managed to stub a toe on the other foot. Using words I
did not learn in the nursery, I finally found the aspirin
bottle and took three with a glass of water. From the
window I could see Acrostic alone, smoking his
thoughts while turning his cigar clockwise.
“Does it hurt?”
I jumped at Jess’s voice and in my surprise the
glass of water slipped from my hand and fell to the
floor, spilling water everywhere.
“You startled me!” I gasped, grabbing a towel to
mop up the water, “does any Acrostic ever sleep?”
“Not in living memory” Jess answered in her
nightgown, “I came to get a drink”
I threw the wet towel into the sink and Jess
extracted a bottle of apple juice from the fridge, “are
you still thinking of leaving?”
“How do you-?”
“Not a lot goes on around here that I don’t know”
she dismissed with a straight face, “but are you going
to depart the family and move away and desert us? I
have always thought of you as a sister”
“Me too. Actually, something slightly different
because if you ever meet my sisters, I’m sure you’ll
find them shocking people but I don’t know, I really
don’t know, if I want to move out”
“Daddy’s much better with you here” she
informed me, “he’s not quite so psychopathic with
you here. I mean, he’s still got his eccentricities and
idiosyncrasies and they’ve sort of toned up but they’re
much more focused and constructive with you to hold
his hand metaphorically. He’s eating a bit more,
drinking slightly less but still smokes cigars”
“I’m helping him?” I repeated, astonished that I
might be helping, not hindering, Acrostic. Jess nodded
solemnly.
“Well… that’s interesting” I blinked twice,
“how’s life Jess?”
“It’s Thursday” she said as though it were the
obvious answer, “and I feel like there’s going to be
depression in the air today. I can feel it in my bones”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. My bones tell me everything” Jess took
McIntyre from her pocket and began to feed the
brown rat crumbs from the dirty plates, “try me”
“OK, what am I thinking of right now?”
“How unhygienic rats are in the kitchen” Jess
quipped, “and I’ll have you know that this rat is the
cleanest living thing in this house. He’s constantly
brushed, given antibiotics, and I’m pretty sure that he
brushes his teeth with the little toothbrush I made for
him”
“Lucky guess”
 Jess was complacent, sprinkling bread crust to
her rodent, “believe what you want. We live in a
marvelous time. Never take it for granted”
“I understand. Good night Jr. Jess Acrostic”
“Good night Lexy”
I began to walk to my room but stopped and
returned to Jess. There was one thing that had been
niggling at me for some time, like a growing cancer
but much less serious and far easier to treat.
“Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“I want to go the way of Ernest Hemingway” she
slewed. I took that comment into consideration.
“You want to be a novelist?”
“…sure. Night then” she dashed away, back up to
her room in the attic. I crawled back in between my
bed sheets which had since cooled down. I lay my
head upon my pillow and tried to lose the demons
before trying to get back to sleep. Dreaming had
become a very dangerous thing for me lately but I was
sure I could handle anything. I was strong enough to
accompany Detective Inspector Sam Acrostic. The
sequences within my dreams had risen to a level of
complexity I was almost frightened of my own mind.
I lay awake, frightened to sleep. I fought it but it was
an inevitable force to suck me in. I began my
dreamless slumber, knowing all too well that another
day would mean more of the living nightmare.

Tearing myself from my slumber, I literally rolled out

of bed. I fell to the floor with a soft thump and
Casanova came to see what was happening to his
mistress. He licked my face which forced my hand. I
went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my
face and then inspected myself in the mirror. I didn’t
show the scars I was getting in the line of duty. I
deliberated over whether to first have a shower or
have breakfast. One the one hand, there was always
the chance that I would spill something on myself at
breakfast. I chose the shower because I was already in
the bathroom. I took off my pajamas and enjoyed the
jet of steam and water cleanse me as best it could.
Acrostic was having a cup of coffee when I came
in, done up like a million dollars. I don’t know how
he got that black coffee down his throat because I
could smell it even before I walked in. His mental
capacity must have been going at full blast to utilize
the caffeine intake. He drained his mug and stalked
the coffee pot, all the while talking to me.
“Any clue as to what the poem means? What has
Horseman Number Three got in store? Do you
know?”
“Well, I have ideas, theories, bubbling away in
the dark recesses of my mind. The capital F in unFair,
it must have some relevance but what it is I don’t
know” Acrostic decided to have yet another cup of
that coffee which had strength of Biblical proportions.
“Maybe it was just a way for them to screw with
you” I put in some bread to the toaster like the loins of
a dying species, “just for fun”
“A red herring? It doesn’t seem like the kind of
things our friend would do. We need a sporting
chance and red herrings just aren’t respectable
elements” Acrostic supped his drink, “did you have a
good sleep?”
 “No worse than usual” I gave the cryptic answer.
Acrostic either didn’t care or really enjoyed his
coffee. He brought his blue mug to his lips and
became distant again.
“I’ll need your best game”
“Are we going to war?”
Acrostic flicked his sight to me, “we’ve been at
since Monday. At war with the unknown. At war with
a criminal who has an arsenal of very powerful toys.
At war with cold tea”
“So what happens now?”
“Now Lexy, we think” Acrostic relaxed his neck
and sat down his chin on his shoulder, looking at the
poem that he had written out more than a hundred
times on one wall in a lead pencil, “what could it be?
Let us stroll down the Garden of Death. We must
cancel out all the great methods of killing through
deduction”
“I’ll need an example”
“Strangulation is out for a mass murderer, unless
he can harness the necks of a group of people at once.
I suppose he could poison the waterworks but it
would have the simultaneous effect of a mass
murderer. The Shovel of Death? No, that’s crazy.
Maybe he’ll have a bomb but it seems to lack the
eloquence of his usual tactics. I can’t believe he’d use
another gun-related event, not after the Shacklebolt
Arcade, he’d run the risk of being seen as repetitive.
What is it? Lexy!”
“Yeah?” I stood to attention as my toast was spat
out of the toaster, burnt more than the ends of one of
Acrostic’s cigars and if we had a working smoke
alarm, it would have been sure to have gone off.
 “A dog can supposedly sniff out a chemical
based on a pattern. By sniffing out Hydrogen, Helium,
Lithium and then Boron, a dog will know what
Beryllium smells like”
“Shall I get Casanova?”
“We must be dogs-”
“I don’t know if I like where this is heading”
“We must figure out what our third challenger is
planning. We know he’s the crescendo and he is a
mass murderer. This one’s going to be the game-
changer Kent, so what do you think about that?”
“Acrostic… no…” I buttered my toast, “never
mind”
“Lexy, if you’ve got something to say” Acrostic
placed his hands to my face, “I need you to say it”
“We’ve never been sent directly to the killer
through the poem. The poem always takes us to the
middleman which then takes us to our culprit. The
first poem took us to the Wild West Stranger that took
us to Ammon. The second poem took us to Death
Genre which brought us to the shooter, Twindle. This
poem will send us to the intermediate to the case.
What that is I don’t know but there you are”
I read the poem Acrostic had copied onto the wall
many times. The eight lines had been repeated and
then done backwards, then back-to-front, then upside
down, large, small, in different font, with vowels
removed and then done in the form of haikus, to see if
there was any deeper message.

Two out of three isn’t bad

At noon tomorrow, Auckland will mourn
And her people will be raving mad
 As the world shall laugh and scorn
Circles, circles, it’s all unFair
You’d best go check your tools
This one will have a bit of flare
And please play by the rules

“It’s there, I just can’t see it” Acrostic ruffled his hair,
“but it’s all in there”
The door opened and Kendra entered in a red vest
and blue jeans, “how are we all today?”
“At work. I suppose you are too, if you’re here
for an account of the case”
The news journalist automatically slipped the
notepad and pen from her pocket, putting on the smile
that had been so effective at putting many a politician
at ease.
“What do you make of this poem?” Acrostic
flapped his hand towards the wall, “any idea Miss
Kiid?”
“Is there a prize for working this out?”
“Let’s say there is” I flippantly came out with,
“why?”
“Well it seems to me that the capital F in the
‘unFair’ is to make the word ‘air’ and that’s where the
references to the circles are” Kendra pointed out,
“how did you not spot that?”
“Murderer fatigue” labeled Acrostic, “I am so
thick. Here I am drawing on metaphysical imagery,
counterpointing the surrealism of the underlying
metaphor contrived through verse structure to
sublimate this, transcend that and- Kendra, it’s very
good to have a mole when you’ve got tunnel vision.
Come on Lexy Dent-”
 “What?” I said with a mouthful of toast.
“Kent, Kent, why’d I say Dent?” Acrostic made a
sulk at his slip-up, “come on Lexy Kent, grab your
coat. Kendra, we’ll see you later. We need to get to
the airport”
“The airport?” I repeated with an inflection as I
grabbed my denim jacket that was draped over the
back of the sofa, “why?”
“Circles in the air, we’re looking for a plane
that’s been circling and is due in at noon. I can’t
believe I didn’t think of it” Acrostic and I jostled into
the car. Acrostic had his suit on and was adjusting the
rearview mirror as I disappeared into the glove
compartment and got a mint.
“Don’t want to confront our opponent with bad
breath”
We sped away to the airport. The sky was
extremely sunny without a cloud in the sky. The star
which we revolved around gave us a great day. As
Acrostic drove quickly, having noticed that midday
was only an hour away, I looked at how nice the
weather was. I believed how simple it was for my
ancestors to assume that the sun revolved around the
earth. That was the apparent nature of the Universe;
that was how it looked. What, however, would it need
to look like for my ancestors to believe that the earth
was revolving around the sun?

Auckland Airport’s massive. It’s busy, it’s noisy, and

there’s always a heavy flood of tourists at the cafés
and hailing taxis. It’s usually running forty-five flights
an hour and its home to a small militia of the
homeless. We arrived at the airport and Acrostic
parked the car in the fourth lot. Acrostic led and I
followed because I wasn’t quite sure what to do.
Auckland Airport must have gotten terrorist threats
every day and we didn’t exactly have any compelling
evidence that there really was one of the Horsemen of
the Apocalypse on the place, not even a plane ticket
stub.
Acrostic approached the counter and spoke to one
of the ripple of receptionists. She was frumpy, squat,
with uncared hair, her uniform was wrinkled, and she
had a scowl that could make a Doberman back off.
“Hello sir, where will you be flying today?” she
asked in a bored, monotonous voice like some robot.
Acrostic flashed his badge and I flashed mine.
“Mine’s bigger”
“Mine’s shinier”
“Hello? Tickets?” the grumpy receptionist
grunted. We put away our badges and began talking.
“We’re not flying-”
“You’re in an airport”
I shouted “and you’re unhelpful. We have reason
to believe that something very bad is going to happen
to one of your planes and if you don’t drop the
attitude lady, we will arrest you for perverting the
course of justice now tell us where the air traffic
control room is!”
It felt good to shout. It also got a result. The
receptionist, in fear of being tossed into the clink, left
her post to spider around the many terminals, finally
bringing us to the air traffic control tower, a giraffe
neck made of concrete and the nightmares of many
architects. It wobbled slightly and as soon as we
opened the double-doors inside the stench of a
thousand cups of espressos and chocolate biscuits got
us harshly, to the point where I seriously thought of
getting a Hazmat suit before going any further.
Acrostic got me by the scruff of the collar when I
suggested it.
We took an elevator full of middle-aged podgy
men with pocket protectors and clip-on ties who were
giving me looks that I wasn’t quite comfortable with.
The brain at the top of the giraffe neck was massive.
The bulb at the head was a circular room filled to the
brim with computer monitors and electric green radar
screens. Fifty or so men were spouting nonsensical
phrases into their microphone, as if they were talking
some language of which the root was a Dr. Seuss
book. The buzz of the place was deafening; if I had
closed my eyes I might have sworn that I had stuck
my head into a very angry beehive. There were no
solid walls in the room. Instead there were giant
windows that sealed the place. We could see the plane
runway which was oddly empty and deserted of life.
“How do we find out if there’s been a plane
circling?” I asked Acrostic, nearly yelling to project
loud enough for him to hear me over the constant
noise of the workers, “there doesn’t appear to be any
kind of index section”
“Let’s see…” Acrostic fanned his eyes over these
white-collars.
“Hey!” I cupped my hands and screamed to no
avail. Acrostic whistled as loud as he could with a
shrill that could kill small animals. We flashed our
badges and I did my magic trick with the dollar coins
and Acrostic performed his rendition
“What else have you got?” I asked Acrostic.
 Then he kissed me.
The whole room, and it seemed the whole world,
went silent for a second.
Acrostic removed his mouth from mine and
looked at his audience who were all awestruck at him.
“We’re looking for a plane that’s been circling,
probably suspiciously, and it’s probably meant to land
at noon” he accentuated. One man slowly raised his
hand as if he were some guilty prankster.
“Show me” Acrostic jumped over a row of
terminals to get to the man, “Lexy, come on!”
After getting my breath back I slapped myself in
the face and reunited with Acrostic who was leaning
over a green radar screen, his irises following a dot
that was going around and around. He stared at the
screen and then looked at the balding man whose
station we were invading.
“What’s your name?” Acrostic gently asked the
man.
“Henry Gardiner” nervously replied the man,
sweating slightly. He mopped his brow with his
monogrammed handkerchief and smiled at me the
way chimpanzees do.
“What flight is that?” Acrostic tapped the circling
dot.
“42PA-37LE” spelt the man, “it’s a vessel from
Air Centauri, flying in all the way from Gatwick
airport. It’s been doing this for an hour”
“How long until noon?” I asked anxiously.
Acrostic checked his gold watch.
“Six minutes”
“What happens at noon?” Henry Gardiner
removed his clip-on rayon tie to loosen his collar.
 “Has there been any contact with that plane since
it entered New Zealand airspace?”
“No, everyone’s on red alert” Gardiner looked at
his notes, “it’s got two hundred and forty nine people
on board, plus the crew. They’ve been circling for an
hour with no word of response”
“What happens? Has their radio been
disconnected?”
“No, that’s the weird thing” Gardiner pushed his
slipping glasses back up his nose, “they can hear our
signal, they know we’re trying to talk to them. Any
one of us can talk to them but they won’t say anything
back”
“Terrorists?”
“Worst case scenario. Probably one of those
foreign countries too where they treat their women
horribly and don’t properly educate their children. If
there weren’t any terrorists on the place, why aren’t
they responding?” the air traffic controller postulated
but Acrostic snapped his fingers in front of Henry’s
face.
“We’re the detectives here. So the channel’s open
now?”
“Yeah. They haven’t said anything. Look at this”
Gardiner held up a microphone and we heard a slight
static, “they can hear us. They’re receiving loud and
clear”
“I have a bad feeling about this”
“Well… except for one word. They did say one
word” Gardiner offered. We rolled our hands to
indicate that he should tell us what that word was.
“Well… it must be foreign because-”
 “What’s the word?” I cut the babble short.
Gardiner checked the big book on his station and read
it.
“Acrostic” he said, looking up at the two of the
policemen in the room, “does it mean anything to
you?”
“Inspector, what do we do?” I sought my superior
for wisdom but he seemed to be all out.
“How many people are on that plane?”
“Two hundred and forty nine”
“That’s a lot of people” he grimaced, “OK Lexy.
Give me a minute”
“We only have four minutes left-”
“I just need a minute!” he roared at me which had
the effect of shutting me up and making Gardiner
back away slightly. Acrostic seemed to be relaying
the facts back to himself. He was in an air traffic
control room and on a plane thirty thousand feet in the
air with no way to reach it and with a deadline before
that plane presumably plummeted into the ground.
“Do you have an override?”
“No”
“Some sort of towrope for planes?”
“No”
“Three minutes. If you need to take a break, we’d
understand”
“Shut up and let me think… if that plane wants to
crash into the ground, do you have anything to stop
it?”
“Not really. We don’t exactly bank on getting our
planes hijacked. It’s not exactly a common
occurrence”
 “Have you started an evacuation on the ground?”
I asked the man.
“Yes, that we have done”
“Acrostic, what was the point of this one?
There’s no way you can stop this!”
“I know” Acrostic was revolted at that prospect,
“it’s to mock me”
I swore. Gardiner hurried off to report to his
superiors.
“I’ll have to risk it then” Acrostic took the
microphone and spoke into it, “hello? Hello? You
wanted Acrostic, you got him… come on, I know
you’re listening! You got what you ordered so say
something!”
I looked at Acrostic who was clearly getting
frustrated. For him to visibly lose composure was
rare. The Horsemen were getting to him.
“Speak to me! Say something!” he restrained
from any curse words, knowing the fate of two
hundred and forty nine people were in his hand. He
held down the button and tried again.
“Hello, Inspector Acrostic speaking, how can I
help you?”
The microphone crackled and then a smug rough,
American accent began to recite a poem through the
radio.

“Death is really not the end

Death is really your best friend
After you’ve enjoyed this blast
Go take a long hard look at your past
What happens to those you leave behind
We bet they never cross your mind
Grab your bunny foot and four-leaved clover
Because it’s not over until it’s over”

Acrostic set down the microphone. I grabbed his arm

to check what the time was. Both hands were looking
north.
“It’s high noon Acrostic. What have you got?”
“Nothing” Acrostic trickled his fingers
downward on his face, “I can’t do anything. This will
be the worst touchdown ever seen”
“Two hundred and forty-nine lives. There must
be something-”
“Well what do you want me to do? Tell me Kent!
Tell me!” his face had contorted with the ensuing
rage.
“But…” I was crestfallen, “you’re brilliant”
“It comes at a price” Acrostic said, dismayed at
the Universe, “sometimes you can save people and
sometimes you have to let it burn and hope it doesn’t
burn you. There’s nothing I can do Lexy. I’m sorry”
From the giant window, we watched as a giant
Boeing 747 as it began to rapidly descend onto the
runway. It was gaining speed to the point that parts of
the wing were breaking off. I took Acrostic’s hand in
my own as we watched the aircraft crash on its nose at
an angle that could never be corrected. It exploded on
the ground of the runway, decorating the tarmac with
pieces of plane and people after being subjected to a
crash like a thousand trains colliding, then with an
explosion with a fire which could melt steel.
Fragments of what was flight 42PA-37LE shot away
and littered the runway of Auckland Airport. It really
did look like the end of the world had just begun. We
watched. We didn’t blink or speak. We just watched.
Acrostic got one thing wrong. It still wasn’t over.
There was one more Horseman still alive.
 7. LIFE IS LOGICAL

The airport suddenly went into lockdown but because

we’d been in the air traffic control tower we were
spared the pleasure of being shepherded around for
four hours in case of another attack. Whilst in the
background there was a massive panic in operation,
Acrostic rumbled out into the car park like a storm
cloud that was clapping electricity and promising a
downfall on the unfortunate.
“Acrostic, I’m going to hang back” I said, “see if
I can help out with the scuffle”
Acrostic silently nodded and then got into the car
and drove off. I actually had no intention of helping
the police squadrons being summoned to help deal
with a crashed plane and all of the paperwork and
forensics. I just knew that Acrostic needed to have
some time on his own to properly deal with having
lost two hundred and forty nine lives. It’s not exactly
a common occurrence. He would be brooding, I was
sure, on his own with a bottle of whisky and a
humidor of cheap cigars. Curiously enough, I would
be proved wrong on that. I caught a taxi into town and
all the while I was unsure as to why I wasn’t feeling
just as guilty as Acrostic.
Avoiding Acrostic’s usual haunt, a pub called the
Daiquiri Complex, I was forced to go somewhere else
for company and a strawberry margarita, the added
challenge being it was barely in the afternoon.
Wandering around for a bit I found a Japanese sushi
bar that seemed to be exclusively filled with people
who couldn’t use chopsticks. I rested my head on the
countertop of that Japanese establishment when a
funny feeling occurred to me.
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
A Serial Killer, a Spree Killer, & a Mass Murder.
One Horseman left.
I wondered briefly where that last Horseman
might be when I got a call on my cell phone. I let it
ring for the first six bleeps but after the seventh I
decided to answer it. I expected it to be McMiso or
Burton wondering why I wasn’t helping at the airport.
“Hello”
“Lexy? It’s Jess” the young Acrostic said
hurriedly, “are you busy?”
“Did you turn on the television?”
“No. Hold on” I heard Jess fumble around for the
remote and listen to the breaking news which was
surely to be on every television channel, radio
wavelength and any newspapers who hadn’t yet gone
to print.
“Ah. Did you and Daddy do this?”
 “We were involved in it. Is there any reason for
you to be calling? Not that I don’t love hearing from
you but-”
“You have to come here now. It’s Daddy”
“Where are you?” I stood to attention, “I’ll be
there as soon as I can”
“Mum’s house. You know where that is?”
“Think so” I was on the move, having paid my
bill and gotten to the point where I was flagging down
a bus, “what’s wrong with him?”
“He’s…I don’t know. Please get here quickly”
“On my way” I hung up and sat at the front of the
bus.

Acrostic’s old house I had seen once before and that

was a long time ago. It was mock Tudor that was a
little grubby but not uninhabitable. A garden thrived
with anarchy, rose bushes that hadn’t been trimmed in
months with a large fish pond that hadn’t really been
cleaned in a while and all the fish had since died. The
lawns had been mowed but only as an excuse to bring
over the gardener presumably. Acrostic, once he had
divorced from his wife, had been forced to leave his
own home. Why he was there now I couldn’t fathom
in the least.
Jess was standing on the front of the house,
chewing her fingernails feverishly. Her anxious face I
had never seen before. She was always this bubbly,
cheerful girl who could draw attention from anyone.
“Is your mother home?” I asked as we walked to
the door.
“Making a pot of tea” Jess took her little finger
from her mouth, “Dexter Oolong, Daddy’s favourite”
 “Jess, why is he here?” I stopped before entering
the ex-home of the Inspector, “why isn’t he at the
Daiquiri Complex? Why is he not with Kendra?”
“I don’t know”
“What’s he like? Mad? Sad? A mixture?”
“He and Mum locked themselves in the spare
room”
“You don’t think they’re…?” I trailed off. Then
the two of us thought about the very idea. We laughed
until we cried at that. Wiping a tear of joy from my
face, I summoned all the seriousness I could muster.
“OK, let’s do this”
We went inside. It was furnished with all sorts of
vintage memorabilia and peculiar paraphernalia. How
Tyra managed to find some of this junk, I had no idea.
Black vinyl records hung on the walls, a bookshelf
full of first-edition Wodehouse which I doubt she had
ever read, and a giant broken pinball machine in one
corner.
“Here’s the spare room” Jess tapped one door,
“it’s locked but you’re good with locks, aren’t you?”
“Got two paperclips and a hairpin?”
She fetched them. I began to spin the paperclips
and fold them into a shape more suitable for opening
doors. After a full three minutes the lock swung and
the door became ajar.
“Acrostic…” I hollered, “it’s Lexy. Are you OK
in there?”
“I’m great. Go away”
I entered the room anyway. Inside there was
simply a bed with green cotton blankets and an oak
desk. There was one small window and no carpet.
Tyra Holland was sitting next to my friend as he
looked somewhat deflated. His tie was loose, his hair
was askew, and his cheeks drooped like an old dog.
Tyra, a perky blonde closer to Acrostic’s age than
mine, was holding him in her arms like a rather good
friend might have, rather than that of a bitter undone
spouse.
“I’m just checking to make sure you’re OK” I
said. Acrostic’s eyes were closed but it felt like he
was closing the flue to his energy. Tyra let go of the
man and nipped out, closing the door and leaving the
two of us alone.
“It wasn’t your fault” I began, “there’s nothing
you could have done”
“I know that” he said with his eyes still closed,
“don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine”
“You won’t kill yourself?”
“What gives you that idea?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a very ‘you’ thing to do” I
sat beside him where Tyra had just been, “do you
want anything?”
“No. Is McMiso looking for me?”
“I don’t know” I lied, “Acrostic- why did you
come here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re clearly… well I won’t say emotional
because whether you’re capable of that I don’t know,
but damaged. Not damaged because you couldn’t save
two hundred and forty nine people. You’re damaged
because you couldn’t solve the puzzle in time. The
Pride of Acrostic”
“Not helping” he swung himself onto the
mattress, “tell me Lexy Kent, have you ever been
married?”
 “Not that I know of”
“Do you ever plan on getting married?”
“If I find the right guy”
“When you do, you’ll know why I came here and
didn’t go home” he answered, “now please, go home.
I’ll be OK. It’s over- the serial killer, spree killer and
mass murderer are all dead. Everything will be just
fine”
“There’s one more Horseman left. You must
have known this from the beginning” I stood up but
Acrostic didn’t seem to be responsive, “three
homicidal soldiers, there’s still one more”
He ignored me talking. I left the room, taking
care to close the door behind me. Tyra offered me a
mug of green tea which I accepted.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did he come to you?” I asked the blonde,
“it isn’t logical. Sam Acrostic is logical. Every way of
how he lives his life is logical”
“Maybe it’s because sometimes, logic isn’t good
enough. Sometimes logic is only the start of staying
sane and sometimes you need to keep logic in an
illogical position” she passed on that queer statement
and then rejoined Acrostic. Jess was sitting with
Casanova, looking still more troubled.
“He reminds me of Prince Hamlet” Jess said as
she stroked Casanova’s chin.
I was horrified, “you read Shakespeare?”
“No, but I’ll always have a place in my heart for
Hamlet” she gave the exception, “‘to be or not to
be…’, do you know much about that speech?”
 “Had to study it for school” I chewed a bit on my
bottom lip, “it’s about how life is so full of pain, how
Hamlet can either go on or commit suicide, how he
could exact his revenge on Claudius, how that if we
think then we fail to act-”
“I think we know what you should do” Jess
tucked her hair behind her ear, “just back away for a
bit, give the man a moment of deliberation and when
you need him, he shall be there. Take his car keys, I
don’t think he’ll be needing them for a bit”
“As you wish” I left the house and with Acrostic
holed up with Tyra, I decided I would get some sleep.
Before I was barely ten paces away from Jess
however, my phone rang. I saw it was the
Commissioner and reluctantly answered it.
“Sergeant Kent”
“Where’s Acrostic?” he demanded rudely, “we
need him”
“Yeah, get in the back of the line”
“It’s the Slessor Correctional Facility” McMiso
zipped, “there’s been a riot. The inmates have gotten
control of the place”
“What?” I felt my eyelids slide back.
“Sometimes this morning, both the female and
male detention centers began fighting back. Both
genders have taken hostages, the guards and workers.
They’ve got weapons and have the run of the place.
No one’s gotten out. They’ve sent demands for food
and alcohol and cigarettes but other than that, it’s
been quite tame than you’d expect from a bunch of
prisoners”
“You can’t really have Acrostic right now-”
 “You don’t understand. You and I both know that
the Slessor Prison holds the most dangerous inmates
in the country, infamous for-”
“Find someone else to deal with it!”
“Like I said, you don’t understand. They want
Acrostic”
“Who? The government?” I rubbed my eye.
“No, the prisoners”
The instant fear that the sentence had given me is
one that I had never experienced before. I felt like
terror was being blasted through me like trains roaring
across the tracks of my bloodstream.
“The prisoners… want Acrostic?”
“That’s their last demand”
“Who’s the leader of this resistance?” I asked,
“do we know them?”
“They’re not naming names” McMiso said to me,
“but they have said that if by five o’clock they don’t
get Inspector Acrostic then they’re going to start
killing people”
“What time is it now?”
“Two minutes passed three”
“Haven’t exactly given me a lot of time to work
with” I feverishly clutched my tongue with my teeth,
“OK, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll do a quick epiphany
and see what happens. Over and out”
I hung up and waited for my epiphany, my
revelation, my moment of pure perception where I
would see everything for what it was and have a
brilliant method for unraveling the problems that I
faced. It didn’t seem to be sparking the way that it did
with Acrostic. Over the many years and the thousands
of light bulb moments, I had a very good image of
what happened to Acrostic, and sometimes, Jess.
Their eyes would suddenly grow very wide and
shiny like two pirate doubloons. Their throats would
suddenly stop all kind of movement as the oxygen had
to stay trapped and be distilled carefully within the
lungs so that the next breath could be long enough to
explain the basic premise of the whole plot. If they
were doing anything with their fingers, typing,
painting, smoking a cigar, then that would stop so that
the brain could reroute the functions to brain energy,
helping calculate all revenues of actions to take. I
waited and waited for something to happen and when
I checked the time I had wasted seven precious
minutes expecting for my epiphany to arrive.
I began to lose hope. I felt the depth of the
problem as deep as the Atlantic Ocean. The most
violent criminals had hostages to be killed if I failed
to deliver to them a man who was currently
incapacitated with his batteries flat having failed to
solve a puzzle that resulted in the death of two
hundred and forty nine people. Every fact, every
salient point, I dealt in my head. That’s when I
miraculously got it.
Eyes blurry, ears fuzzy, nose understated. The
sensory lapse lasted a second and then everything
became so powerful, so extreme. Every colour
became so much intense, every sound became so clear
that I could hear the peddling of a bicycle three streets
away, and my sense of smell had been so amplified
that I could have easily outmatched any airport pooch
who wanted a challenge. I was hyper-aware at that
moment and I knew then that what I was experiencing
for that brief moment was how Sam Acrostic must
always see the world. My mental faculties too cleared
out like a forest fire burning out all of the debris that
had for so long been cluttering my mind.
I knew what to do. I had a plan. I had less than
two hours.

“Acrostic” I came back to the house forty minutes

later and knocked on the door of the Inspector’s
conclave, “I need you. Auckland needs you. To a
greater extent, some workers down at Slessor Prison
need you. I’ve brought you a small glass of whisky, a
good cigar, because I know that always helps you
when you’re in a state. If that doesn’t work, I have a
girl with me. You don’t know her but she knows you.
Her name is Becky Elaine”
Jess, Becky and I stood outside of the door and I
sent Becky in to talk to the man with the whisky and
cigar, to bolster Acrostic’s plummeting magic. I could
just make out what they were saying from through the
door:
“Hello”
“Hi. I’m Becky Elaine, huge fan but we’ll get to
that later. How are you?”
“Becky Elaine, that’s a very pretty name. May I
have that whisky?”
“Of course”
“Well then Miss Elaine, what do you do?”
“I’m a student. I’m studying criminology. I want
to be an investigator one day, a real private eye”
“A Marple, that’s what we call them, we call
them Marples. I was once one too but that was a long
time ago, I was a different man back then. You want
to bring those who have been wicked to a justice
where they may serve those they have wronged under
the eyes of Auckland. That’s a very noble cause. Why
do you do it?”
“The same reason you do it”
“Which is?”
“Because it interests you. Because if I didn’t, I
don’t know what I would do with myself. To find the
truth in humanity is my function and I am keen to
fulfill it”
“Have you ever heard the idea that policemen
and criminals have basically the same psyche? It’s a
rather stimulating read. Pass me that book of matches
Becky Elaine. Thank you… so where were we?”
“Policemen and criminals?”
“Ah yes, the renegades of the system who run
afoul with us. If the situations were reversed then I
daresay that it would be very much the same. There’s
a strange, askew honour amongst the thieves. It keeps
them from collapsing in on themselves”
“So you consider yourself a criminal?”
“I am a criminal to a criminal. It’s a very mad
way of thinking but one that I have to work in to get a
result. An end in which the mean has no value. Do
you see?”
“Acrostic, right now, there are people out there,
real people, real lives, tangible people who have
friends and fathers and pets and want to live to see the
sunlight tomorrow, and they need you to save them-”
“I’m no superhero. I don’t have the ability to fly
or laser vision-”
“But you’ve got the ability to observe what
everyone else only sees. You can make the greatest
leaps of logic than has ever been known. You have a
sidekick who helps you fight crime and you never
lose a case. You’re still on a case and I think you
should see it through to the end. People need you,
people who need to see you perform for the greater
good. Will you help us?”
“Please leave”
“What?”
“Please… leave”
Becky returned to us. I banged my head against
the wall in dismay. I shed a tear for all of those
workers who would most likely die due to the absence
of one Inspector. Becky and Jess retreated to the
kitchen.
“Lexy”
Acrostic emerged from the room, fully dressed
and ready to fight crime once again, “I believe we
have an appointment”
“You kissed me” I sniped at him, having finally
found a time to challenge him on the event.
“It was work-related”
“Workplace romance”
“The only workplace romance I have is between
me and the dead people I investigate”
“Just hear that aloud?”
“Yeah, I did”

Speeding slightly, Acrostic appeared to be back in full

form. The mania in his eyes which so often suggested
he was thinking several lines at once, his neat black
suit with his black boots, his demeanor being that of a
man who had just been granted three wishes.
 “So what’s the plan?” I asked, checking our
revolvers, “something good?”
“I want a word with that fourth Horseman”
Acrostic said to me, narrowly missing a row of bins,
“but I suspect that I can only do that after the final
stage”
“The final stage?”
“What has this all been? A game. Only now, after
the three, Pestilence, War & Famine are we going to
be faced with Death. The final horse, the White
Horse, won’t outright kill us. They will test us, they
will play with us, but there has been far too much
planning in this for us to just be killed”
“What does the White Horse mean?”
“Well, due to the difference of translation, he
might mean Victory or Evil or even Jesus Christ
himself. Whatever he means, he’s the last. We finish
him off and that is the end of the apocalypse. I am
Detective Inspector Sam Acrostic and I declare
hunting season over!”
We made it to Slessor Prison with a little time to
spare. The Slessor Prison wasn’t so much a prison as
a gigantic castle in the middle of Auckland. It was
built to house one thousand outlaws, five hundred
men and five hundred women, one of the largest of its
kind in the country. It started as one very tall narrow
building, made of a very fine marble, in which offices,
kitchens, storage and staff rooms were kept. In perfect
symmetry on either side was a separate stone building
which ran the length of a highway, seven levels filled
with cells. On each corner was a guard tower and the
icing on every solid wall was a generous stringing of
barbed wire. The lawns had been mowed and the
gutter’s had been scrubbed, everything looked very
picturesque, like an evil Taj Mahal.
Outside of the front gate, which was the only
entrance, was a squadron of police cars surrounding
the place with every cop from Auckland to Hawera on
site to lend a hand. Dogs and batons were brought out,
ready for anything. The street had been taped off and
all reporters being threatened with arrest. Acrostic and
I exited the car and slowly walked towards the Slessor
Prison with an exotic anticipation.
“Acrostic, it’s four-forty already” I reminded
him, “we’re running out of time”
“Something’s not right” Acrostic buttoned his
waistcoat, “it’s quit. The Slessor Prison is never quit.
There are always people screaming in there or people
getting into fights but never silence. Silence never
falls over Slessor. What is happening in there?”
“Acrostic” McMiso jerked his head to bring us
over to the huddle of high-ranking police officers,
“come over here”
The two of us walked over. McMiso shook his
head at me.
“The prisoners have gotten hold of one computer
and they’re sending us their demands through it. The
last demand is Acrostic. Not Acrostic plus one.
Acrostic” McMiso showed me the laptop he had but
the wanted man snorted.
“Where I go, she goes” he put his arm around
me, “we’re a team”
“Are you sure about this Lexy? If I don’t send
Acrostic in, people will die” McMiso scratched the
stubble growing on his chin, “but there’s no reason
why I should send you in there. Chances are you
might die. It is, of course, up to you”
“Where he goes” I said stoically, “I go”
McMiso said loudly as if I were some Japanese
tourist “are you sure you’re ready to risk your life to
help this man?”
“Where he goes, I go”
“Then God be with you” McMiso bowed, “is
there anything you want?”
“Yeah” Acrostic, “to come out of there alive. See
you later”
Acrostic and I began to walk towards the front
gate, the wire-mesh double-doors that had so easily
kept prisoners inside the compound, were unlocked
and letting two coppers in. We walked in silence,
solemn, and dwarfed by the sheer numbers we were
up against. We set foot into the Slessor grounds,
knowing that there could be no retreat. As the sun
made me perspire, so too did the danger that awaited
us inside. We reached the front door, drinking in what
might be our last day. We stepped inside to begin the
final episode of the Four Horsemen.
THE RENEGADES
 To the shoulders I can sigh on

To the people who care about the arts

To Victoria
 8. ONE HORSEMAN
LEFT

The inside was strict white, no depth at all, everything

simple and blank as a cheque by a rich idiot. For a
prison it looked very much like a hospital. My
awkward footsteps echoed through the hall while
Acrostic seemed to silently drift beside me like the
Ghost of Criminal Past. As we walked I became more
afraid and ware of a song playing. It sounded as if it
was coming off a gramophone and had a slow, sad
melody. It was that suicidal hit, Gloomy Sunday. We
turned a corner; I took a sharp breath at what I saw.
The corridor was lined with prisoners in their
blue jumpsuits, pajamas for sleeping behind bars.
They had been organized male on one side, female on
the other, and even sorted with height difference,
spaced out by at least a meter. They had no emotion,
these thugs, murderers, swindlers and thieves, the type
of control only monumental fear can give. We
carefully walked down this corridor framed with the
bodies of these convicts and offenders. Acrostic
seemed to study their faces.
“Well whatever it is” he remarked, almost
touching the nose of one man with a tattoo on his
temple, “they’re scared. Very scared. The question is-
of what? Oh this place takes me back. It’s like coming
home from home”
“Where is this leading to?” I asked one female
villain but she didn’t reply, not even blinking towards
me. Acrostic slowly reached out to touch the mouth of
one rather muscular giant before I dragged him down.
The inmates were leading us to a pair of double doors.
They still had not made a movement since our timely
arrival.
“Anything you can tell us?” Acrostic stuck his
skirmish face into that of another inmate, “what’s
behind that door? Huh? Tell me, what’s got you
worried? Lexy, would you do the honours?”
“You want me to open the door?”
“To be or not to be…” Acrostic was like an
excited child, kicking down the door and into an open
courtyard which I supposed was for the tenants. It was
a big square field with a little garden that had no roof
and thus we could see the lazy literal five o’clock
shadow. The cafeteria tables had been placed in a
square and then stacked on top of each other in a
pyramid. On the first step were twenty men and
women, tied up with their limbs together and gagged.
On the second step were thirteen inmates, their
blue jumpsuits blazing, and at the tip of the pyramid
was a thin figure in a dark velvet cape and a porcelain
Devil mask. Beside the Devil was an old gramophone
playing the crooning I had just heard. I stayed very
close to Acrostic who approached the pyramid
confidently.
“Showtime” husked the Devil, “it’s time we
finally lay our eyes on each other”
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you” Acrostic
shouted as though he were at opposite ends with this
person over the Grand Canyon, “you’ve been killing
off the people of my jurisdiction”
“True, but they were merely pawns-”
“Oh, the old excuse. They were insignificant,
culled to serve a greater purpose” Acrostic began to
let his feet wander and so too his thoughts, “but they
were people and though it’s easy to forget that, they
were indeed lives that had much more time left before
their expiration. Cutting that short was your second
mistake. Our first was attempting to take on Inspector
Acrostic”
“And Lexy Kent” the Devil looked at me, “the
one constant in the recent history of Acrostic. Tell me
Detective Sergeant Kent, have you enjoyed this
adventure? Start on Monday, end on Thursday,
you’ve had your fun, haven’t you?”
“Murder is not a game” I said unimpressed but
the devil didn’t seem to notice.
“The game is not over yet” the Devil happily
whooped, “welcome to the final round. This time,
we’re all in”
“If we’re playing this all in then I want to look at
your face” Acrostic pointed to the mask, “what are
you hiding? I believe that I have the right to see my
accuser”
 “As you wish” the Devil removed her mask, “see
anything you like?”

She was very pretty, that much was obvious. I

hazarded a guess at being in her early thirties but no
farther than that. Her facial measurements were all of
the utmost perfect ratios, the length of her lips
perfectly balanced with the width of each eyebrow.
She had smooth pale skin and high cheekbones. Her
nose had a very nice curve to it, but it didn’t protrude
rudely. Her hair was especially shiny and dark blonde,
parted in the middle of the widow’s peak and reached
around her waist. She was curvy but by no means
skinny and underfed. She was a healthy specimen
who would have done well in any dating pool had she
not been the apparent mastermind behind a serial
killer, a spree killer and a mass murderer.
She was wearing a long cape but under that cape
was a long silk red dress with gold embroidery and
shoes so painfully pointy I took one look and then felt
glad of the sneakers on my feet. Nothing about this
girl phased Acrostic in the least. He seemed to be
perfectly adjusted to the fact that attractive women
who were relatively young could be engineers to
homicidal parades. He smiled, taking care to clench
his sharp incisors at her. She smiled back, the killing
princess.
“What do you like to be called?” I spoke for the
first time to this girl, “do you have a title or an alias
that we can give to the press later?”
“How about Miss Vale?” she proposed, “do you
know what Vale means in Latin?”
 I shook my head, “I only speak English, and to a
lesser degree, Elvish”
“Credit where credit’s due” Acrostic seemed to
be a fountain of maniacal fizz, “all the religious
iconography, the poetry written on skin, hiring three
bad guys, it all borders on a bit of an obsession. I’m
impressed”
“Well that’s a great compliment coming from
you”
“If you want me to play the game” Acrostic said,
“then I think that you should tell me the rules”
Miss Vale agreed, “here I have thirteen inmates
with me. After a bit of digging, I have randomly
selected thirteen candidates. They have one thing in
common- you, Sam Acrostic, put them into the
Slessor Correctional Facility. How do you feel about
that?”
“Enthusiastically unenthused. How do you feel
about that?”
From Miss Vale’s side she took a heavy shotgun
which could have made an American faint with
delight. She loaded the piece and pointed it at the
inmates she had just below her.
“You put these people here, in the clink, in the
slammer, and now you’re going to save them” Vale
explained, “one by one, you will give me each
inmate’s name and crime. If you cannot name them or
you misidentify then the pleasure of shooting them in
the back of the head falls on me. Whenever you’re
ready sir”
“What’s to stop Lexy and me walking out right
now?” Acrostic saw the flaw that I had also grasped,
“this isn’t exactly Fort Knox”
 “I thought you might say that” Vale produced a
small blue remote and casually clutched it with her
left hand, “so I came prepared. I have taken the liberty
of planting explosives in every ceiling in these
grounds. Don’t believe me?”
She pressed a button on her blue remote. Far off,
we heard an explosion and saw a mushroom cloud of
smoke rise heavenwards.
“That was the west wing of the men’s quarters”
Vale gingerly felt the other buttons, “but I have no
quarrels in blowing up the entrance”
“You have the two qualities of a true genius”
Acrostic paid tribute to her, “you are mad and you are
organized. Where do they make people like you?”
“We are not made” she suddenly became acidic,
“we are grown!”
I sensed that things were taking a turn for the
worse. I nudged my coworker to signal him to start
the identification process. Acrostic had other things in
mind though. He looked at the trussed prison workers
with kindness.
“Let them go” he instructed, “they’ve done
nothing. This is between you and me Vale”
“I’ll let them go if you can recall these thirteen
people. Thirteen lives which have been put on hold
and left to corrode after you were through with them”
“OK” Acrostic looked at the first inmate, a man with
dark bags under his eyes but with a full head of wavy
hair. Acrostic savoured the moment before finalizing
his answer.
“Pyle Harkness” he designated, “wife of
Henrietta Harkness, the dancer. One homicide with
two attempted. His wife, the lovely Henrietta, was
sleeping with Arthur Astor and so in that order you
made attempts on their lives. You were unsuccessful
with Astor. Boehm, another gentleman, revealed to
you that he had known of the affair and you wanted to
kill him. Vale, that was an easy one”
“We’re just getting started” Vale hissed, “try the
second course Acrostic. Your sidekick is of course,
allowed to help you. Anyone who ever pays any
attention to you knows you find a sidekick
indispensable”
The second inmate was a Persian woman who
seemed to have broken down a little in a locked cell.
Her nails were chipped, her hair was knotted; it was
all a depressing facade that deterred us from naming
her. Acrostic began to notice traits- eye colour, height,
shoe size, dental shape. He opened his mouth but then
changed his mind. Two minutes later, he gave a
moniker.
“Joanna Korshandi but what’s in a name?”
Acrostic seemed definitively, “she robbed the
Morticia Bank seven years ago, making away with
four million, killing her three accomplices. She then
tried to launder the money through several casinos her
brother owned. The IRS found an irregularity and
called me to investigate. She tried to flee the country
but I’d taken the precaution to make sure she couldn’t
leave. Isn’t it wonderful to feel wanted?”
“Is he right?” I asked. Joanna nodded. Vale might
have had a sour look on the inside but on externally,
she had the look of a delighted preschool teacher.
“Aren’t you clever?”
“Yes, I am rather” Acrostic cracked the knuckles
in his fingers, “when life is tough and the past is
chasing you, when you’re best friend is the fortune’s
fool, it’s good to know you can be clever”
They moved on to the third inmate.
“Inspector, what do you make of this?” Vale
coaxed, “this one was one of my favourites”
Acrostic looked at the tall, bearded man who
looked familiar to me. Up and down, the DI made
shapes with his mouth before hitting upon one to play.
Vale kept her gun to the man’s back as Acrostic
spoke:
“Koren Black. I remember you. You are an
awful, awful person. He developed a hatred of
animals after his rather was killed by a rhinoceros and
infiltrated Auckland Zoo by studying animal science
and then getting a job as a zookeeper. He then tried to
poison every giraffe, rhino elephant, emu,
hippopotamus and Komodo dragon in the zoo. If not
for the timely intervention of the police, he might
have gotten away with it too”
Vale paused and her finger popped along the
trigger of the shotgun. Acrostic didn’t show any
emotion but I did. I shielded my eyes, thinking I was
unable to feel someone’s blood get into my vision.
After a tense second or two, Vale let up and moved
on. The fourth inmate was a tall man with straw hair
and a square jaw.
“Acrostic?”
“Give me a moment… Paul Javert, nine years for
the rape and murder of Diana Diaspora. He
dismembered her and to get rid of the remains he
buried them in his back garden under a statue of
Alexander the Great. I came in and after a bit of
proverbial digging, we knew exactly where to look”
 He moved on, “Ryan Colbeit, who is in for life
for sinking his cruise ship for the insurance money
and legitimizing it by having it host a cocktail party
when it did the full Titanic. The insurance fraud
almost got through to, until that darn lifeboat came
adrift and set us in the right direction. That was a fun
case, wasn’t it Lexy?”
“I wasn’t there”
“Oh… must have been someone else” Acrostic
took a step to his left to look at the sixth inmate.
Though Vale couldn’t, I could recognize the stumped
man’s look. He was bankrupt as to the identity of the
man. It wasn’t his fault; when you spend your life
putting bad guys away, you’re bound to forget one or
two. The fact that the man might die if Acrostic
couldn’t give the proper name was superfluous.
“Inspector?” Vale asked, her shotgun trembling
with excitement, “well?”
“Ambrose Cameron, triple homicide and identity
theft” Acrostic said abruptly.
“Was that a guess?” Vale gleefully taunted.
“Yes”
“Well you’re right” Vale moved the barrel of her
gun from the apparent Ambrose Cameron’s back,
“now what about her? What can you tell me about
her?”
Acrostic pondered, “she’s a smoker going by her
fingers, she was very rich years ago going by her gold
fillings… but gold fillings aren’t standard… of
course. Her ears have healed but you can see scars
where once there were piercing holes and there are
quite a few… of course, Doctor Jane Chameleon who
began supplying ingredients to a crystal meth lab.
After we took the lab she went on the run to Paris
where we had to chase her, chase her for a long time,
ended up in Amsterdam, still not sure how but we did
and here we are. She is the current record-holder in
New Zealand for the most counts of evading arrest.
Am I right?”
“Final answer?”
“Oh yes”
“Correct. I hope you’ll get one wrong soon, I’m
getting bored” Vale turned the shotgun sideways.
“OK, Number Eight, what are you?” Acrostic
looked at the skinny girl who had a look of boredom
on her face. She was familiar to me but I couldn’t
remember where from. Acrostic too was having
trouble placing her somewhere. Acrostic studied her
nose while I looked at what she was doing with her
hands. She was holding them behind her back and
making flexible gestures with them.
I slapped myself, “Acrostic, the circus! The one
from the circus with that lion and-”
“Of course, Cicely Calender!” Acrostic made a
jump due to the jolt of zeal, “she let loose a lion on
her cheating boyfriend, working at the Travelling
Antoinette Circus! Thank you Lexy”
I sneezed.
“Sorry, allergic to compliments. I never built up
an immune system to them”
“Now, who are you?” Acrostic looked at the
short, pudgy man with thinning grey hair. I answered
for him, having recalled it as one of my favourite
cases:
“Cedric Felt, creator, producer and writer of the
science-fiction series Nano Nine. During the
Fédération Internationale de Fantasy Association he
planned to revive interest in his declining show by
killing off the ensemble cast and then from the ashes,
have a reboot. The trouble was when he killed one girl
rather messily. That left traces of blood on the sole of
his shoe which we was able to find through my
buggery skullduggery”
“Thank you Kent” Acrostic smiled, “is she
right?”
“Yes, she’s right” Vale looked at me with the
look one gives someone if they seriously want to
punch them in the face. We moved on, four to go and
we were feeling great. The man we were on was a
man of character. He had his hair tied back and his
cheeks were sagging with a hard life.
“Ah, the famous arsonist who torched seven
houses, three parking lots and a public restroom. You
went down without a fight, confessed to everything,
and in the end we gave you a lighter sentence”
“Absolutely correct Acrostic” Vale howled, “but
what’s his name?”
“His- his name?” Acrostic teetered, “ah…
Lexy?”
“This one must have been before my time.
You’re on your own”
Acrostic closed his eyes. A name was what he
was after, in the dark forest of his mind he must find
where he had hidden it. It would have made a lesser
man break down but the Inspector diligently searched
his own head until he found it.
“McCartney, Joseph McCartney”
Vale widened her grin.
“Was I right?”
 A bead of sweat began to appear on my brow as
the tension grew.
Acrostic became angry and began to show it:
“Was I right? Tell me!”
“Congratulations” Vale said to the man, “you live
to see another day in the clink. Three to go, it’s
getting rather exciting now. I didn’t think you’d be
able to do it Inspector though you’ve still got the last
leg of the race. I want your best run now”
“Derrick Braithwaite” Acrostic said, taking one
look at the man, “in here for several armed robberies,
disguised as a robot. He built a very complex suit of
armour stolen from an engineering plant that included
hydraulics and a bulletproof chest”
“Correct!”
“Juan Hummel, who hid the body of a man his
wife had killed. He then killed his wife in a fit of rage.
Well, who hasn’t felt like that?” Acrostic joked,
“there now. Let’s see-”
Astonishment on Acrostic’s face as he looked at
the last inmate, a very old man with liver spots and
crooked teeth. He had pain and fear in his eyes.
Acrostic bowed low to this guy and then explained his
motives.
“Lexy… wait, first, may I shake your hand?”
Acrostic exploded into courtesy and awkward
politeness, respectful more than I had ever seen him,
“Lexy, this is royalty, he’s the original. The serial
killer I first caught. A man of such cunning and
cutting that if you’re not wowed by his presence, you
don’t understand it. He is, and these were the words of
the newspapers, not mine, the Auckland Angel of
Death. He took three victims each night, man, woman,
and a child, for three weeks straight. He never missed
a night. The night shift was dedicated to stopping him.
I am indebted to this man. He inspires me, he is an old
friend, he is Declan Nevada Accrington”
The Auckland Angel of Death bowed to Acrostic.
Vale crossed her eyes at him.
“I’ve named all thirteen Miss Vale. Release the
hostages”
“As you wish” Vale nodded to the thirteen
inmates who cut the gags and bounds from the
workers. Vale fired her gun into the sky.
“Run along now, and tell the world of what you
saw so that she may cry herself to sleep”
The hostages scarpered. Vale then pointed the
gun directly at my face.
“Second challenge Sam Acrostic” Vale said, “do
you love Alexia Fleur Kent?”
“What?”
“Acrostic, just say you do!”
“It’s not that simple” Acrostic began to follow
the tangled skein, “maybe she’s going to shoot you if
I say yes. She’s clearly obsessed with getting revenge
on me… but maybe she counted on that… maybe if I
say no she’ll shoot you…”
As Acrostic began rambling, I seriously began to
fear for my own life. Vale’s eyes became dark slits of
which to glare at a girl. Acrostic chose his answer.
“Yes”
“Yes, what?”
“I love Alexia Fleur Kent” he asserted.
There was a pause. If that moment had been
crystallized, it would have made a fine display in any
museum.
 Vale laughed cruelly.
She put away the gun. Acrostic and I eased up.
“Correct, you’ve gotten through nearly all the
trial and tribulations of the Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse. There is only one more test” Vale moved
her aim of the gun to Acrostic, “who am I?”
It was the only time in the case that Acrostic’s
own life had been directly in danger. Acrostic took it
bravely and began to pick Vale apart.
“Well let me see…” he took in a giant breath, a
lungful of air that would need to sustain him, “you’re
accent says New Zealand so most likely a local. Your
fingernails have been neatly done but they are spared
of any polish. This tells me that you’re neat but not
allowed to be vain. I look at how you’re teeth are
doing. You’ve had a cavity but it’s been done in
rather well but due to the colouring of the work, I’d
say it isn’t anything fancy. Then I see how your hair
has been dyed but it can’t have been done less than
seven months ago. Now your hair has begun to curl in
places due to the heat of today but it’s still pretty
straight so you’ve straightened your hair. You’re
keeping up appearances, keeping up appearances for
what? You’ve been behind the scenes all this time so
I’m guessing it’s for today. This has been a vendetta
against me. You’ve been dredging up whole islands of
my past so I’m going to guess that we’ve met before
and that your name escapes me at this current
junction. Let’s see now… I can see that the shoes
you’re wearing are extremely nice, but seeing as your
dental work says you’re economical, you wouldn’t
buy tailored Gator boots so where would you get it?
Steal it? Unlikely, given that if you could you would
have chosen a much nicer material for your cape
which you have made yourself. I can tell by the length
between stitches. You have small hands and that
corresponds very nicely with the cape. You’ve also
got several pricks on your left index finger where
you’ve slipped and hurt yourself-”
“Breathe Acrostic, breathe”
“So if you’ve made your own cape then you
didn’t steal the fanciest materials so why didn’t you
buy the nice Gator boots? A gift, perhaps? A gift from
who? Thus, you are not isolated as you so want to
appear, you are connected with someone but who?
Well what kind of person buys Gator boots for
someone else, honestly? A man most likely wouldn’t.
Nor too would a lover. Well if I look at the shotgun
you’re wielding at me I see that it’s old, at least thirty
years old, so you stole it. If you stole it, then why
would you steal it? I think that you don’t have a gun
license but someone you know does. Moving on, let’s
see now. You’ve got your eyebrows done rather
nicely but you did it yourself. Given your height and
weight, you’ve got a rather good metabolism but
going by the muscles in your arm I doubt you work
out. You are of sound mind rather than body”
“I walk around every now and then”
“So if you’re of sound mind but come from an
honest background… no, but there’s more because I
notice something on your eye. Green eyes. The alleles
of eye colour are very interesting, most likely your
parents both had green eyes. Let’s see… who are you?
Who are you? Not a smoker but you looked stressed.
That vein at your temple is a dead giveaway. Ah…”
 Acrostic finally had a bag full of pennies drop. I
was fixated on him, ready for any bombs he could
drop.
“Acrostic, what?”
“Who am I?” Vale asked with sorrow and white
hot anger, her jaw trembling to the point where I
wondered if she might lose a tooth.
“Your name is Victoria Tagliaferri”
There was a shift in atmosphere. If you can have
love at first glance then it follows that you can have
hate at first sight. This was something like that but so
much more potent. Miss Vale looked at Acrostic who
was back in his old ground, doing his usual
denouement:
“I was on the case of all my old cases when I was
singled out but I needed to go further than that. I
needed to find a mastermind, a genius. A true genius
is very good at not appearing to be a genius. I hit upon
you, as with many others but today has confirmed it.
Don’t ever play me on my home turf”
Acrostic lit a cigar with a match struck to his
lapel, “where was I? Oh yes, so Victoria Tagliaferri,
you are the fourth Horseman. I remember what
happened to you. It was tragic and I know, because I
was there. Lexy, strap yourself in because you’ll get a
ride out of this. The Tagliaferris had been burgled and
I was able to track down the thief to a group of
Chinese immigrants who had started an Auckland
Triad. Anyway, Franz Tagliaferri took matters into his
own hands and ended up killing all thirteen of the top
members of the Triad. One word and then we were
almost swarmed with Triad members from the
homeland. Luckily, Burnham and Burton got a system
together in time to avoid such a catastrophe. Franz
went to jail but not before Victoria’s sister Ulla was
brutally beaten and burnt alive by the Triad. Franz
was killed in jail and the judge decided that the Triads
were not responsible when in fact, they had been.
Victoria was then assaulted by the Triad because she
thought that they were over and didn’t take any police
protection. She then was consoled by her three
cousins who were in jail, they’ve been transferred
down to Hastings, haven’t they? You must have
directed them to find three other inmates to help you
for one last romp. This has all been one giant revenge
plot because I wasn’t there to stop Franz, your father,
hasn’t it? I’m sorry”
“You got one thing wrong” Vale clicked, “I’m
not the Fourth Horseman!”
“No?” Acrostic was stunned at that, “then
who…?”
“I’m not the Fourth Horseman. You are Detective
Inspector Sam Acrostic”
“Me?” Acrostic gaped, “I am?”
“Do your reading again. The white horse of the
group, that’s you, that’s always you. Now will you
stand aside while I shoot myself” Vale had tears in her
eyes, “and just remember Acrostic- if you play the
game well, it doesn’t matter if you lose”
“No!” Acrostic and I jumped forward as we
finally understood what Vale was doing but it was too
late. One bullet to the side of her head and Vale had
bits of bone, brain and blood capitulating out the other
side. Acrostic rushed forward to grab both the gun and
the detonator to the explosive charges laid in Slessor
Prison. If you lie down with the Devil, you wake up in
hell.
“Is it finally over?” I asked, having eased up at
the sight of Vale’s unanimated corpse, “Acrostic? Is
this case closed?”
Acrostic didn’t look at me. He crouched over
Vale’s dead body, using a tissue to wipe away the
blood that had spattered on the both of us. The
inmates were unsure of what to do until Acrostic
handed me the bomb remote. I waved it threateningly
and they got the message to not move.
“Acrostic?” I said again, “case closed?”
“Yeah” he ushered, “case closed”
 9. ONWARDS

We emerged from the bowels of Slessor Prison

victorious, proud and weary of the longest day of our
lives. I couldn’t enjoy McMiso’s look of staggering
amazement/disappoint that we had not been killed.
Burton applauded, joined by a chorus of constables.
The gates were opened for us. We were like movie
stars but working phenomenally harder.
“Right, I know you have questions” Acrostic
quickly said to McMiso before the Comissionner
could open his mouth, “but first, take this remote. If
you touch it, it will blow up Slessor Prison”
McMiso held the remote as if it were made of
eggshells held together by wet water. Acrostic and I
snuck off to the car and drove off. My legs finally
stopped shaking on the ride home.
 “Acrostic” I rubbed my thigh, “what did Miss
Vale mean when she said you are the Fourth
Horseman?”
“I don’t know. You can’t expect me to know how
a psychopath thinks”
“Yes I can” I leaned back in the chair, adjusting
my seat belt, “well, let’s just drop it. I don’t ever want
another case like this again. Let’s go back to cozy
locked-room mysteries and noir investigations”
“Trust me, if I had a choice, I would” Acrostic
got onto the highway, “this has been the toughest four
days any Inspector will ever experience. Shall we take
a vacation tomorrow or will you be wanting to pack
your things for when you move out?”
“Yes… about that” I scratched the nape of my
neck, “I… I think that it can wait. I mean, there’s no
rush for me to find a new place and what with house
prices as they are, it may take me a while to get the
money to afford to move out so let’s just forget it
for… two or three months and then we’ll see then
how the economy is”
“An excellent suggestion Lexy” Acrostic
commended, “and in the meantime I think I should get
a drink. Do we still have our whisky stash?”
“We do indeed” I gladly confirmed, “let’s go
home. Home is where the heart is”
“Please stop spouting clichés” Acrostic shook his
head, “my head’s been taxed enough today”
We got home and as soon as I had stepped out of
the car Jess ran over to me and hugged me tightly.
“Jess…”
“I was rung by Kendra who found out about
Slessor! I was so worried!” Jess nestled her face into
me like a little kid, “I’m so glad you’re alright Big
Sis!”
“Jess… you’re hurting me…” I felt the pressure
from the fifteen-year-old get close to cracking my
ribs, “Jessica!”
“Sorry” she relinquished her cleaving, “Daddy,
what happened?”
“A long story my daughter but right now I’ll
thank you to pour me a heavy whisky and a
strawberry margarita for Lexy” Acrostic commanded
from his offspring, “thank you”
Jess hampered off. I put my chin onto the top of
the car and looked at Acrostic with a blue blaze in my
eyes.
“Acrostic, what are you?” I asked tiredly.
“Exhausted” Acrostic closed his eyes, “are you
exhausted?”
“Actually, I am” I tried to feel my toes but found
there wasn’t any sensation left in them, “I am very
tired”
“Take a nap” Acrostic advised, “you’re going to
need all the energy you’re capable of having. You
think this case was murder? Wait until we have to
explain it. It’ll be murder. Lexy, you haven’t seen
anything yet…”

The beach is long and very warm but not too warm. I
just want to drop off into sleep. I’m wearing what I
always wear to the beach- jeans and a long-sleeved
shirt. The sunset, or sunrise, is very beautiful. The
sand is… sandy. The sky is really a deep red, but with
blue pinstripes. There is something glass about fifty
yards away. I run to it but the more I run, the further
I seem to get to this glass thing. I keep running, I keep
running, but the moment I stop running I’m brought
forward to the glass- glass bottles. I can recognize
them immediately. Vodka bottles. Vodka bottles
stacked up high. I take one from the top of the pile.
I unscrew one bottle and fee, the kick of the
Russian stuff crawl into my nose. I begin to drink it
but it doesn’t seem to have the kick it normally does
so I can drink loads of the stuff. I finish one bottle,
then another bottle, and another bottle, and another,
and another, and another. I’m surprised by how much
vodka one can drink. When the stack of bottles are
done I go for a walk. Across the beach, across the
ocean but when I stand on the water it begins to
coagulate and become much more like a big salty
bowl of desert jelly. I try not to have my foot cut into
that big wobbly gelatin sea. If I look closely, I can see
all the fish and other sea critters wriggle around,
trapped in the jelly.
That’s when I see it. The most beautiful thing in
the world. The sky is raining money. I rush forward,
ready to stuff my pockets with the cash spitting from
the sky. I grab giant wads of blue paper, green paper,
brown paper, all of it just feels like life between my
fingers. I go to stuff the money into my pockets when I
realize I’m naked. That means no pockets. I’m going
insane by this- I look around desperately and then I
found an old blazer lying a few metres away. I run
over and examine it. Sure, it’s fraying and looks
about as stylish as a trash bag with armholes but at
least it’s got pockets. I slip it on and turn around but
the money’s vanished. What has happened? I go
around stamping my feet on the ocean jelly, trying to
see if the money has sunken into the giant world
below.
Whenever I do this, I find that the jelly’s
surprisingly springy. I can jump pretty high if I try. I
jump higher and higher, bouncing around. I wonder if
I can fly. All I’d need is a bit of momentum and then
who knows? So I find one stretch of jelly and get
ready. The first few bounces don’t do much, they’re
not very high but it’s all in aid of building up speed.
Pretty soon I’m feel exhilarated as I go down and
going up I feel absolutely weightless. The next bounce
I know will send me flying. I jump hard down, falling
at least the distance of the Eiffel Tower, touch the
jelly, feel it depress under my force, and then I career
upwards and touch the atmosphere and break
through it. It’s like moving through a bed of crackers.
I break through and I’m in space. Sure, there’s no air
but who needs air? Air is for weaklings. I find that
with a bit of swimming strokes, I can force myself to
move in all kinds of directions.
Space is huge. Really huge. I zip by planets of all
different colours, red blue, magenta, trying to find
one that I can land on. There are so many stars
strewn across the vast darkness of the Universe. I
finally find an interesting planet. It looks like a giant
apple. No seriously, it’s got the stem and everything.
It revolves around a giant banana. Scientists have
always told me that the Universe isn’t just queerer
than we suppose but queerer than we can suppose. A
planet-sized fruit spinning in the orbit of a star
Banana kind of clinches this for me. Still, I don’t have
much else to do with my day. I use my arms to project
myself towards this apple. Pretty soon I’m being
sucked in by the planet’s gravity, like a giant rip in
the ocean which I can’t escape. The sound of
whistling passes my ears as I drop down towards the
apple and just before I feel like the crash will kill me,
I take the blazer and use it like a parachute. Not too
sure how it works but at least it works. It slows me
down just enough so that when I hit the incredibly
hard surface I haven’t broken either leg. It’s actually
too hard for an apple. It’s also too sticky. I get down
on all fours and lick. It’s toffee. I’ve landed on a giant
toffee apple. Without any shoes the soles of my feet
stick to the toffee and every step requires me to peel
away the skin of my toes away from the caramelized
sugar. I break off a little bit of toffee from this planet
and chew it.
It’s not bad.
It’s not great but what do you expect? It’s a
toffee apple planet. I do a bit of wandering around,
trying to find something to do. For a planet made of
an apple and a candy shell, it surprisingly boring.
Until…
Crack. Half the planet disappears. I can see how
much is gone. One bite of the toffee apple planet is
gone. Two bites. One bite left…

I awoke on the floor beside my bed. In my odd

position, things looked a little strange. My pajama top
was on backwards but other than that nothing looked
normal until I sat up. I threw open the curtains and
found it to be a rainy morning but due to the passing
buses and the lack of schoolchildren, it must have
been at least ten o’clock. It took me several moments
to remember what had occurred from Monday
onwards. I slowly caressed my body in the shower,
trying to scrub away the images from my body from
my pores. Even though we had gotten to the end of
the case, it really wasn’t as much of a game as I had
used to think. It wasn’t like when you’re a kid and
you play war. In real life, the people remain dead,
murderers have to be punished and the rules are never
obeyed.
Seeing as I was taking the day off work, I
decided to dress much more comfortably. A pair of
blue jeans, an old woolen sweater made by my Aunt
Brenda, and my beanie I’d bought at the Green Bay
Gypsy Festival. I looked suitably unattractive so I left
my room with Casanova yapping around my ankles.
Jess was already up, flipping pancakes like only an
experienced chef can.
“Jess, how are you?” I asked as I grabbed a plate,
brisk as ever, “how are you school exams going?”
“Oh, so-so” Jess took a spatula and flittered me
the perfect pancake, “how’s work?”
“I have had easier days” I admitted, sprinkling
sugar and lemon juice over the pancake. It was an
amazing pancake. Perfectly circular, evenly done,
nice consistency, not at all burnt. With great pleasure
I began to shovel down this Jessica Acrostic
masterpiece.
“So the case of the Four Horsemen is over” Jess
sat down beside me with a pancake of her own, “Amy
thinks it’s amazing, truly, a modern Illiad”
“Wait a minute, how do you know about it?” I
asked. Jess flung to me the morning newspaper. The
headline ‘Auckland Apocalypse Averted’ stood out; a
punchy, alliterate title which made me suddenly much
more worried about me keeping my job over the
Christmas holidays.
“Does it say who was behind it all?” I winced.
Jess shook her head as she cut a perfect square from
her pancake.
“Nope, doesn’t even mention you or Daddy
though I think that was Kendra making a few calls”
Jess poured me a cup of coffee from the chipped
coffee pot, “but I was able to fill out the blanks. I’m
quite impressed with you Lexy”
“Why? It was your father that did most of the
work”
“Ah, that’s what you think” Jess poured herself a
cup of coffee, “sugar and milk?”
“Yes please” I nodded; Jess gave me three sugar
cubes and a finger of milk.
“McIntyre!” Jess had her rat running around a
cereal box, “honestly, this rat is not going anywhere
in his race”
“As long as he avoids the cat’s paw” I returned
the gag. We smiled at each other for a second and
then returned back to our sullen composure. Then we
cracked up laughing at how truly awful we were being
to the field of linguistics.
“Where’s Daddy?” Jess asked, wiping a tear from
her face. I looked at her strangely.
“Isn’t he home?”
“I thought you might know. Do you know what
time it is?”
“Ten-thirty?” I guessed.
“Lexy, it’s two in the afternoon” she blew me
away with that, “you’ve been asleep for almost
seventeen hours”
 “Well…” I took in the harsh coffee brew, “I had
a good night’s sleep. What about you?”
“I don’t sleep” Jess giggled, shaking McIntyre’s
cereal box, “I stay up all night thinking of different
ways to murder people”
That comment suddenly took me back to when
Jess had shot the second Horseman. I smiled through
tight lips and went to the window. One of Acrostic’s
cigars was still in his Victorian era ashtray, and he
had failed to put it out. I examined it more closely
with one of his magnifying glasses. It looked as if he
had just started to smoke it and then dashed off,
leaving it there still burning. Whatever it was had
made him leave in a hurry.
“So Lexy, what’s your plan now?” Jess asked,
spearing another pancake square.
“I don’t know” I set down the ashtray and gently
replaced the magnifying glass, “go on holiday. Maybe
hitchhiker around Europe, my God, it’s been ages
since I’ve gone hitchhiking. The old days, where did
they go?”
“You went hitchhiking?” Jess looked at me with
the expression that showed the sharing of the Pride of
the Acrostics, “you really were a cider floating around
in the Irish family reunions?”
“It was a long time ago” I set down, taking one of
Acrostic’s cigars to hold in my hand, “it was the year
I finished St. Joy’s in Birmingham and I hadn’t even
gotten the chance to be a police constable yet. I was at
the start of my very long journey. I’d made quite a bit
of money running an underground casino in my
boarding school. Not a hell of a lot but enough to eat.
Anyway, my father and uncle had both wired me
money for a plane ticket home. I sent home all my
things except for one suitcase of clothes and my most
prized possessions and was all ready to go to the
airport. It must have been the day all the taxi drivers
were on strike but I couldn’t get a taxi at all. I ended
up hitchhiking by a very nice man by the name of
Nathaniel Lee”
“You remember the name of a man who gave you
a lift a decade ago?”
“It was very important. He was heading up to
Scotland but he was deftly afraid of flying so he was
going to drive. I got into his old station wagon that
must have been on its last legs and he told me that he
was going to Scotland and asked how far I was going.
I was going to tell him that my destination was the
airport and ended up saying that it was Glasgow”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. It just felt… the right thing to
do. I ended up in Glasgow and I had a two-month
tumble around the UK. I went as far as Wales before
realizing I was slowly going to starve if I didn’t hot-
tail it back to Aotearoa. It was maybe the best time I
ever had. The people I met, the things I saw, the food
I ate and the buskers I pitied, it was the best
experience of my life. I was free. No one could tell
me what to do. No one, not a boss or a landlord or a
bank. It was so empowering”
Jess was incredibly attentive, “sounds nice Lexy”
“Oh it was Jess, it was” I waved the cigar like
Acrostic would, “I slept in phone boxes, rode trains
without really knowing where I’d get off; without a
plan I was so full of bliss”
 We heard a car arrive in the driveway. It was
Tyra’s shiny convertible. Acrostic got out and lit a
kretek as he hobbled humbly up the driveway. I
unlocked the door and let the man in.
“A kretek Acrostic?” I said, taunting him on the
thin black stick smoking from his mouth, “I thought
you only smoked kreteks when you were happy”
“Ah Lexy, you’re awake” Acrostic clapped my
hand, “much of a hangover?”
“I slept it off” I deduced, much to the Inspector’s
chagrin, “so what have you been doing? And with
Tyra, I can’t imagine”
“Oh, just… redrawing my will” he shrugged,
blowing the stink of cloves towards me, “you know,
the usual”
“I see… do you ‘redraw your will’ with her a
lot?” I closed my hand around his shoulder fondly.
Jess made a noise with her nose.
“I’m a kid, but I’m not an idiot” Jess scoffed at
the two of us, “Daddy, are you hungry?”
“No” the man removed his jacket and waistcoat.
He looked at though you could wrap his waist with a
shoelace, “I’ve already eaten”
“Have you been to see McMiso?”
“Oh” Jess shook the rat from the cereal box,
“he’s left about twelve messages for you. He sounded
pretty strained on the phone”
“Did you pretend to be the Frank Sinatra
Appreciation Society?”
“He finally figured out that it’s us” Jess said,
stroking her rodent, “well, I’m off to Amy’s. She’s
still a little off since Tuesday”
 “Will you be home for dinner?” the father said to
his daughter, “because I don’t want to have you go
without a good meal”
“I’ll be fine Daddy” Jess gave him a kiss and
took her raincoat from the coat rack, “I love
Auckland”
After she had gone, I gave Acrostic a
disapproving tilt of the head.
“What did you do with Tyra?”
“Nothing that will concern you” he refuted,
skilfully blowing a smoke ring from his thin lips, “so
do you think we should go see McMiso?”
“Do you think he’s going to yell?”
“What do you think?” Acrostic took his own
overcoat from the coat rack, taking out most of the
junk and debris that had found its way there from the
ages, “we may want to pick up some more bullets on
the way”

“So…” McMiso was grinding his teeth at us, “so…”

His office was still as depressing as it had always
been. Acrostic and I sat in the two chairs looking
complacent.
“I want to hear the whole story again, one more
time” McMiso sat down and lay his head onto the
surface of his desk, “simple as you can”
“Victoria Tagliaferri had been a huge victim to
the system. Through no fault of her own she lost a lot
of what she loved and thus, she plotted her revenge.
Not on the Triads who so viciously stole from her but
from me. I was there, I stood by because the case
couldn’t get my interest, I critiqued the Inspector in
charge but after I was called in it was all so simple.
She plotted her revenge. She got three inmates from
her cousins who were imprisoned and they organized
what has come to fruition in the last four days. The
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are no more”
“I see” McMiso had his elbows on the desk,
“you’re fired”
Acrostic and I looked at each other and then back
at the Commissioner, “sorry?”
“You’re firing him?” I was shocked with a
million proverbial volts, “seriously?”
“Oh get over yourself Lexy, you’re fired too”
McMiso slapped two manila folders on his desk and
slid them to us, “grab your things and go”
“You’re seriously firing us?” Acrostic was being
incredibly cavalier, casually reading his blue folder,
“after all the peat and mortar we went through? We’re
loyal to Auckland until the bittersweet end and you go
and do this”
“Well, I thought I’d better tell you before I file
any paperwork” McMiso grimly looked me in the eye,
“I’m sorry”
“Is this about the fire truck because I thought that
was behind us-”
“No Lexy, it was not about the fire truck. This
will be the final case of Sam Acrostic and Lexy Kent.
The way you handled this case… it was akin to
vigilantism!” McMiso took a deep breath about to go
on a huge rant when he was cut off by the sound of
the telephone. He let it ring for a bit while he
deliberated whether to rant or reply. He picked up the
receiver while Acrostic hid his smirk behind the
folder.
 “Commissioner…” McMiso spat unintentionally,
“…yes… oh, I see well- I… no wait… you want…
have you… oh, you have and you… OK, I see… well,
I mean… if you feel that strongly… very welcome,
very welcome indeed… good to hear… thanks…
goodbye” and dumbfounded he hung up.
“Who was that?” Acrostic said with the voice of
someone who knows the answer to their own question
and knows that the answer will be in their favour,
“anyone… interesting?”
“That was the Prime Minister”
“Oh?” Acrostic tugged his left ear, “wanting
what?”
“I have been advised to give you both a
commendation and pay rise” McMiso grumbled,
sincerely sore that he did not get the chance to rid
himself of the greatest paperwork pains to ever step
foot in his force, “and your names have been put
forward for a knighting”
“I think that’s a bit much” Acrostic smiled,
“Lexy, do you need a knighting?”
“No”
“We will take the pay rise which, well Lexy,
what do you deduce?”
“He’s not going to fire us” I snapped my fingers,
“well I think we’ll just have to live with it. Good
detectives don’t come cheap”
“I hate you both” McMiso said, “I hate you
both… so much”
“Yeah, well at least we won’t be here for a bit”
Acrostic and I stood up, “we’ll be going on holiday.
Take some time off, recover, you know how these
things are. See you later” and he held the door for me
as we left. We made our way.
Onwards.
We strolled over to the car park, having beaten,
against all the odds, the Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse. As Acrostic took another kretek from his
breast pocket, I waved to a passing fire truck.
“Next time, let’s commandeer an ambulance”
 EPILOGUE

It was the toughest case that we had ever faced and

when we got home I crashed onto the sofa but there
was Acrostic playing his saxophone in the
background so it was harder to sleep. I mused on how
much energy it took to be running with Acrostic but if
you love something, you’ll stick to it. I knew then that
I would always be Acrostic’s partner.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had
committed an intensely fierce operation and to combat
them had just sucked all the power from the faculties
of my mind. I was just so blown over I had to relax.
Casanova came to see me and I fed him and then
poured myself a glass of strawberry juice and vodka.
When I was just about to take my first sip, Acrostic
had come traipsing out with two brown leather
suitcases.
“Oh god, who have you killed?”
“Lexy, pack a bag” Acrostic donned his hat,
“we’re going out”
 “Going out? Going out where?”
“I don’t know. Grab your passport too” he
advised, “we’re going on adventure”
“We were just on one”
“Do you want to come or not?”
I drained the glass in twenty-three seconds, “give
me ten minutes”
I scooped up one suitcase and quickly threw three
changes of clothes and a few important things like my
Grandfather’s gold watch and my laptop. When I
came out, Acrostic was locking everything up.
“Let’s get the hell out of here” he grinned. Our
phone rang and since I was closest I answered.
“Frank Sinatra Appreciation-”
Burton abruptly talked, “I know it’s you Lexy.
Stop floundering about, you’ve got a case”
“We’re on holiday”
“Crime never takes a holiday” he emitted, “grab
Acrostic and head down to the Kerryn Orchard now”
“Why?”
“There’s been a double-homicide” he hung his
bait and hung up his phone.
“Who was that?” Acrostic asked. I groaned and
then licked my lips.
“Time for one more case?”
“Always”
Murder will come in buckets but crime comes in
spades.