Burnt Out ...Part 9 …Living With Fear

The routine dulls the terror.
― Maaza Mengiste

The most dangerous game is hunting killers and when the hunter becomes the hunted, the whole world turns upside down.

Every moment clocked on the case has added pressure--catch or kill before you become the next victim.

There's the routine investigation but with constant backward glances, looking out for danger and trying not to be distracted.

Any minor annoyance can easily morph into a crisis and then the frustration-anger cycle kicks in. You try to remain calm and distract if you can, but there are no safe places, including the few cubic centimetres inside your own head.

It was in the midst of this turmoil that I was trying to get accustomed to my new surroundings while trying to get a good night's rest.

But that first night in my new flat over the beauty parlour I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep. Maybe I should have expected it, but I struggled nonetheless.

I awoke next morning feeling rusty and groggy. After these nocturnal visits from Sarah, my dead partner, I have a hard time getting back to sleep and awake the following day grumpy and out of sorts.

It was also challenging in my new place for other reasons.

The temperature fell to freezing overnight and I had to turn on the heat in the loft. I thought I brought most things with me but neglected to bring a warm comforter. I'd have to remedy that today and work in a shopping trip.

I glanced at my cell calendar―Saturday, October 8―two days before Canadian Thanksgiving. The stores might be packed but I'd have to endure it or spend another night shivering.

My cell buzzed with a text from Clare: Cyril wants to meet with us at nine to brief us on the evidence.

Be there, I texted back and glanced at the time. It had just turned eight. Time enough to shower and dress and have a leisurely breakfast at Tim Hortons. Thinking of breakfast reminded me I'd have to add grocery shopping to my to do list.

It was shaping up to be one of those days where the mundane details swallowed up the time and caused the terror stalking me to temporarily subside. But it never went away. There was a killer on the loose who had marked me.

Yeah, Death doesn't take a holiday.

I showed up at the detachment at nine with takeout coffees for everyone and a dozen donuts. There's not a cop alive that doesn't appreciate that and doesn't deserve it.

The average citizen doesn't get it. Every day you put your life on the line and it's the hidden danger behind the routine of just seeming to serve and protect.

Mind you, in my case, the danger encroached a hell of a lot nearer and had me on edge, looking over my shoulder.

"Good way to start the day, " Cyril smiled, sipping at his coffee. "I could get used to this."

"In that case, you'd have to pay me more," I laughed, "But it does help to keep the wheels turning."

Cyril nodded and began his briefing, "What you don't know, Cam, is that this perp killed another officer a month ago and near as we can figure, used the same M.O. sniping from a distance and disappearing without a trace."

"Is there anything specific to connect both crimes?" I asked.

"The rifling on bullets recovered from the two crime scenes is the same and from a microscopic analysis forensics concluded the weapon used was a semi-automatic 7.62 NATO Mk 11 sniper rifle. "

"Phew! That's the same type of rifle Chris Kyle, the American sniper used, so either the perp is a copy cat killer or ex-military."

"That's what we're thinking," Cyril agreed.

Clare had been quietly listening but now spoke up.

"There's only one problem with the ex-military angle and that goes to motive. Why kill RCMP officers?"

Cyril and I went silent. What she was saying made sense. It could be a false flag tactic making it look like the military did it.

But why?

"If not ex-military, then who?" I asked her.

"I'm thinking somebody inside, already on the force―one of us with a grudge."

"Damn!" Cyril hissed and sat back glowering.

I knew how he felt―that sense of betrayal. It made sense though no matter how unpalatable.

And the fact we had to consider it made it that more repugnant.

To be continued…

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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