The Case of Marc Keller

By R.M. Mzale

After catching and witnessing the execution of the Needler, Zitika’s first serial killer, detective Marc Keller begins to suffer from constant nightmares. A few weeks shy of his early retirement, he is asked to investigate the mysterious death of a young boy, Tom Brody, whose body was found unscathed in primary school classroom.

The case, however, turns out to be more than it seems when Tom Brody awakens from his slumber to reveal to Marc that the Needler has returned. Marc must now investigate the case that will push him between the realms of reality and fantasy, ultimately leading him to the dark truth behind the Needler’s execution

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M. Mzale
• Release date: Aug 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301158621

R.M. Mzale

Despite the fact that I'm Tanzanian, I spent most of my life in North Africa, Egypt to be specific. I've always been a fan of writing, and started my 'career' writing poetry and songs for local artists. After getting accepted into the Honours programme for International Relations at the University of Pretoria in South Africa, I decided to get out of my comfort zone and write a novel (turned out to be a novella though, but more books to come!). This ambitious attempt to write and self-publish my first of many novels is what you see here.My goal, in the end, is to break African literature out of the realm of 'struggle literature' that it seems to be stuck in. Even a born and raised African can write a story that is just as modern and entertaining as the next guy.

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The Case of Marc Keller

By R.M. Mzale

Copyright © 2013 R.M. Mzale

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

To my family: thank you for supporting my ambitious goal to write and publish a novel during my stressful time in University.

To my editor, Rahel: thanks for all your criticisms, insights and tips. This being my first novel, I couldn’t have finished it without your help.

To my girlfriend, Iris: you’ve been an awesome inspiration to me when I thought of dropping the project. Thanks for giving me that extra push to get this done.

PROLOGUE

The room was cold and dark. Darker than I thought it would be. There was a two-way mirror in front of us but I couldn’t tell what was happening behind it. Can we get this over with? As if in response to my impatience, the light turned on in the room past the mirror. In it, I saw a skinny and frail man strapped to a chair. The straps looked tight. I noticed the bruising on his wrists. He was facing the ceiling at an angle, like he was staring into the distance beyond. He was bald and pale skinned, dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. It was obvious that the man was extremely frightened. He had every right to be. The killer had taken the stage, his grand performance in the theatre of justice. It was a small crowd but all the seats were taken, six children in the morgue, six parents watching their killer’s end. The extra seat was filled by me, Marc Keller, 44 year old soon-to-be retired detective and the man who caught this monster.

I have been having nightmares ever since I caught this guy. ‘The Needler’ was the name the media gave him. He didn’t get the name because he used a syringe to kill his victims with a paralyzing agent, but because he would always leave the syringe, the ‘needle’ pierced in the victims’ necks. A part of me was convinced that watching his execution would provide some kind of solace, closure or something along those lines. The taste of booze and the high from painkillers and sleeping pills were starting to get too familiar so I sucked it up. Here I was, watching the man I spent half a year looking for about to get his brain fried by an electric chair. That should help me sleep at night.

I couldn’t help but notice that something was wrong, however. This setting, this silence, this feeling…it was all too familiar. How was it that I could remember an execution that I was witnessing for the first time? The answer to the question made my chest sink into my body. I couldn’t breathe, I started to sweat and I noticed that the man, the Needler, was smiling, staring right at me as if he could see me. Maybe he could, maybe he had finally gotten to me and this was all a trap. Where the hell is the executioner? Fry the son of a bitch already! I tried shaking the parents awake, but they just sat there, emotionless bodies placed on the seats of this freak show. It was happening again. I was having a nightmare. The realization didn’t lessen the fright. I decided to run. This wasn’t something I could pinch myself awake from. I made my way to the exit behind me, turned the knob and pushed. Nothing, the door was locked. I tried and tried again to break the door open by force. It wouldn’t budge. It felt like the door was barricaded from the outside. I was trapped. It was then that I felt the silence surround me. It was too quiet, I felt a chill in my spine…I was being watched. I turned around to confirm my fear, and there he was. The man was standing about three feet away from me. To his left and to his right were the parents of his victims. They stared at me with their pale, sad faces. I wasn’t going to let them get me again. I pulled out my gun, pointed it to the side of my head and pulled the trigger.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

It was around 8pm on a Saturday, late 1982. I believe it was sometime around October. I was lying on my bed, wide awake, staring outside the window. The bed was a few steps away from it but I could see an argument taking place in the apartment across mine. It was the Henningtons, an average old man in his late 40s and a wife that looked like she had just strut her way out of the cover of a magazine. Mr. Hennington was half naked in his blue boxer shorts and his belly drooped slightly below his waist. He was a rather short man and was half bald with fading hair. His wife, a 30 something year old ex-model with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, was in a purple negligee. Even without makeup she was quite a sight to behold, her hair always fell into place and everything she said sounded erotic. It was obvious to me and anybody else who knew them, that man was one lucky son of a bitch.

He was probably fighting with her again because she couldn’t have children. She was probably mad at him because she never wanted any. I don’t know how they didn’t discuss the issue before marriage. I guess the old man wanted to seal the deal before another young man came along promising money and good sex. The Henningtons, not much of a view but it was a distraction from work, or in my case, the lack thereof.

If this was how I was passing time before my early retirement, I really didn’t know how depressing my life would be once I was officially out of the job. Just like that, my phone rang. My phone hadn’t rung since the case drought. In the small town of Zitika, a 0% violent crime rate was boasted in early 1981. With a population of just over 150, it wasn’t really as big a deal as the local media made it out to be. I just didn’t understand all the hype. Cops were out of the job, and I was bored as shit. The whole thing made my early retirement plans feel like a fluke. If it wasn’t for the Needler ending the drought with his killing spree halfway through the year, I really think I would have lost it.

I shook off my uncomfortably honest thought and picked up the landline phone that was next to my bed.

Hello?

Hello? Marc?

I recognized the voice. It was the chief of police, Henry.

Henry? His last name was Decker, but we had been on a first name basis ever since I married his niece a few years back. It didn’t end well but we were still close afterwards.

Glad you remember me. You haven’t been in the office for weeks. I think it’s been a month now. Are you good?

Yeah, I’m fine.

Alright then, you’re probably wondering why I’m calling.

He loved to stall, and I hated waiting.

Yeah, the thought did cross my mind.

Well, we’ve got a potential case. It’s going to be handled a little differently but I think you might want this one before you retire on us. It’s a dead kid in a school.

The news was both awful and relieving. Every death is a tragedy but I couldn’t deny that I felt a rush of revitalized duty. After catching the Needler I hadn’t had much work. It was just petty crimes here and there, nothing that warranted any serious cognitive function to figure out. I contained myself with a serious frown and a concerned voice.

"Alright, give me the location and