"You junkies! I told you teenagers to stay the hell away! This isn't a tourist stop. Show some respect!" He paused to asses the four. "You're not kids. Pathetic. You people come to take pictures?"

Rum shielded his eyes from the glare. "It's okay. We're not doing anything. We're ... friends of ... John?"

"Friends of John?" the man replied, and let the torchlight disappear. "He had friends?"

Without light in their eyes they could see an aged man of roughly sixty. He wore a short beard off-tracked by his barren head and stood with an arched back. He limped as he entered the hallway.

"Quite an hour to pay your respects."

"Well ... to be honest we've never actually met the guy. We just needed to talk to him about something," Rum answered.

"Well that is honest appreciate it. Sorry about the alarm, folks, y'see we've had a lot of day trippers come round here. As you can tell from the mess it's also attracted a few unsociable drinkers. Since it happened this house has become something of a tourist destination."

"Really?" Rum replied. "Suicides aren't usually so interesting where we come from. They happen all the time and no one notices."

"Suicide? That ain't no suicide - it's a crime scene."

Sierra jumped to her feet. "A murder!"

"You ... didn't know. By God you don't know."

A grim silence fell about the hall as they waited for the old man to speak again.

"Old man," Rum said, "what did happen to John in there?"

"That ain't John. It's his sister, Annette Lucille."

"Annette Lucille? I know that name, " Alex said. "It can't be..."

"Alex?" Sierra spoke up.

"Don't you have a telly?" the old man asked.

Sierra shrugged.

"She died over seven months ago now. Someone got into the house and managed to drug her. The police said she was kept in a comatose state and abused repeatedly ... until the monster finished her."

"So ... it is her," Alex thought aloud. "Annette Lucille ... the serial killer's first victim."

Rum, Sierra and Henry shrugged uncomfortably at the allegation and waited for the old man to clarify.

"That's right. She was murdered by the same serial killer harassing the city till this day. Annette was his first victim, his warm up, if I can say it like that."

A guilty silence fell over the four bums. It wasn't easy to feel out of place upon arriving to such a scene. The old man seemed to pick up on it.

"It's fine that you're here. It's just good to see someone who isn't holding a camera."

"Why is this place so deserted? Not exactly becoming of a high-profile crime scene."

"Police spent long enough here. They tore through everything and eventually took everything in the house to forensic labs. They looked so hard eventually they'd nothing to look through anymore. Now they just keep the house cordoned off in case they need it. They keep it cordoned off just in case ... but not by much."

"And leave it for drunken teens to tell ghost stories in? What about the press? Don't they ever come back?"

"Annette used to be famous for it. Press would run her picture every day. Now she's just one face in eight. Not much traffic from either police or the press these days. Only people who watch out for this place anymore are those who live around it. We look after the place best we can, but even the flowers are starting to die."

He bobbed flashlight to a memorial bouquet which they failed to see outside at the end of the driveway. No wonder, it lay mostly covered in snow and looked more like a framed photo tossed among shrivelled leaves.

"It's winter now," Alex said. "They'll sprout again in Spring."

"I can only hope."

Sierra made way quietly out the front door to the memorial on the driveway's end. She sat before the framed photograph, brushing shrubs aside for a better look at the picture.

She could hear the lulled steps of the old man approaching behind. Other, heavier, footfalls reeked of her three companions coming to her side. So they all gathered there in the front of the house, staring silently at the memorial.

"She's kind of pretty," Sierra said regarding the photo. "What was she like?"

The old man sighed. "She was sweet. Chatty. A little obnoxious at times but ... we didn't see much of that toward the end. She was sick y'see cancer. We always thought it would claim her in the end. Now we wish it had."

"Cancer ... so she couldn't defend herself."

"The police said that might be why he targeted her. He singled her out just to flex his muscles before moving onto the stronger prey."

"Coward. He never moved onto stronger prey. All he does is target women when they're alone."

"She used to be a strong and assertive person but became such a frail little thing poor girl. Before the end she rarely left this house - couldn't risk taking her to hospital so doctors from across the city would visit her home. Most of our communication with her came through them."

"Couldn't you speak to her family?" Sierra asked, still looking at the picture.

"Not much left of them. The day after her diagnosis her husband died in an accident. Her parents were older than myself and didn't last much longer after. She lost her whole life and all she got was this house in the inheritance. In the end it became her grave."

Sierra stood round to face the old man. "She wasn't alone. She had her brother, John ... surely?"

"Right ... she had John."

"Then he looked after her?"

"Sure, he did as a brother should for his little sister."

"Then what's the problem?"

"She was better off without him, that's the problem. John was a leech, plain and simple. He took money off his parents when they were alive and gambled it away. When they died the torch was passed onto his sister. Even when Annette was at her worst we'd often see him driving down to the track with her money, wasting it away. He couldn't even leave it for her treatment. Sure he'd kneel by her bedside, but only to beg for more money."

"All the treatments in the world wouldn't change the way she died," Alex said.

"The way her life ended doesn't change how her brother treated her. The only reason I never labelled him a suspect in her murder was because even he wouldn't dumb enough to cut off his only source of income."

"You're holding quite a grudge for a man you've never spoken to," Rum said.

"I did keep an eye on him after his sister died, you know. It looked like it hooked him pretty bad. He lived down a bottle for days after, never leaving his house or turning on the lights. We'd see him through the windows moping around his home like a ghost in the shadows. I even saw him crying once. Really felt bad for the guy. Some of us were even starting to worry he might do something stupid."

"And what happened?" Sierra asked "He went and did something stupid, but it wasn't what we thought.

He sold this house to a foreign land owner, then up and ran out of here. Yup, all that time we thought John was in there grieving for his sister. He wasn't grieving for her. He was grieving for his empty pockets. Turned out the only reason he kept the lights off was because he couldn't pay the bills. The whole scheme had been set in motion not one week after Annette's death. It sickens me to think I actually felt sorry for the guy. He's got a one track mind straight to scum." The old man sighed. "Naturally the sale wasn't applicable. John still got away with the buyer's money though."

"And he sold it for less than quarter the full house price?" Rum asked.

"That's right. The house is worth three hundred thousand but he only took a down payment for fifty thousand. How did you know?"

"Typical con stuff. Fifty grand is chump change to rich people and not worth chasing after. Conning for a greater amount would have attracted too much attention."

"Clever. I always figured he'd miscalculated the price, or done it in a panic. Certain people had already informed us John was something of a con-man, but they said his cons always backfired. Guess he finally managed to get something right in the end."

"I'm amazed it worked," Rum added.

"Amazing he could ever get anything to work. Sort of demonstrates the man's character, I'm actually glad he managed to work something out."

"Quite the sad-case, John, wasn't he?" Rum mumbled.

"There's only one word for a man like that. John was a los-"

"Don't say it," Sierra interrupted. "Everyone keeps saying it."

"I'm sorry but it's true. His parents were well loved here. His sister was a kind hearted woman despite illness. John was a selfish person and, and to be honest, we just didn't like the look of him."

"Didn't like the look of him? Sounds selfish alright," Henry said, turning and walking away with total indifference to proper etiquette.

"I'm sorry if I struck a chord," the old man said.

"It's okay," Sierra replied. "No reason to get mad at you. Everyone seems to be saying the same anyway. You just cleared it up a little more. Thank you for all your help. Goodbye."

Sierra bid farewell on that note, leaving Rum and Henry to clean up.

"Look," the old man said to the remaining pair, "I'm not able to tell you where John went off to, but I can direct you to his ex-wife's apartment. If anyone knows where he is it's her. I hear she's real pretty too so she's bound to help you."

Rum sighed irritation, following in the footsteps of the others.

Alex considered doing the same but harboured appreciation for the old man's tolerant aid. Unlike the others Alex returned thanks, then followed Rum, Sierra, and Henry.

The old man remained standing on the driveway's end, watching the four walk back the way they came. "Well, goodbye to you then. Sorry I couldn't help you find the man, though you're likely better for it," he mumbled for none of their ears.

They retreated from the private estate. For a change they found themselves moving from a safer destination back to one more dangerous. It seemed everyone they'd met around John lived in notorious areas, except for John himself. Unlike their other destinations they now left slowly, half-heartedly with nowhere else to go. The first place to sit down became their next objective.

It so happened to be at the mall which held them prisoner during the snowstorm. All four seated themselves about the rim of the penny fountain which entertained earlier.

Henry stared into rippling water. Many thoughtless people came and tossed change to the bottom. He couldn't help but see the senselessness in their actions, yet at the same time couldn't understand why he himself didn't just reach down and grab a handful. The money was meant for charity - Henry was a charity, of sorts. A passing security guard did grant him a good reason to stay out. It only made him wish he'd grabbed the change on their first visit, when the guard was absent, but he wasn't so hungry then. In any case the allure of cash kept him busy during the grim silence his allies seemed intent on maintaining.

There wasn't much to say, even Rum could appreciate that. Sierra sat hunched with head bitterly held between knees. Alex remained in his usual thought filled state, apparently unlikely to break from it soon.

"Waste of time," Rum mumbled. "All a bloody waste of time."

For the first time no-one could disagree. Sierra did seem about to speak up but Rum had started walking away toward the entrance.

"Where you going?" Sierra called from her seat. A cry crossed over by a church bell ringing in the near-distance.

"Nowhere important," he replied, stepping back outside. "Just got some stuff to think about."

"Okay," Sierra replied. "We'll be getting something to eat soon. Look for us in one of the diners when you get back."

The main door closed without response from the old man. It didn't seem clear whether or not he heard. It didn't matter. Sierra wasn't going to chase him regardless.

"He's taking it bad," Sierra said. "What's up with that?"

"The man's been sober all day," Alex replied.

"It's not that. There's something else."

"He has his own demons. Let him sort them."

"Alex?"

"Rum seems to know his way around here pretty well, doesn't he?"

"You think he used to live around here?"

"I said let him sort it."

"I see."

"So ... about this food proposition. I didn't know you had money left."

"Henry's got it covered." She nodded his way.

Henry sat with arms half-lunged into the penny fountain, reaping up change to his pockets. He stopped upon noticing the attention coming his way and froze like a fasting monk caught rapid with teeth wrapped around a juicy chicken leg.

"You'll do Buddha proud," Alex said.

Henry shrugged.

Chapter 28.