Devil's Whisper Chapter 23: A Needle In A Haystack

The backyard was a tranquil oasis, shaded by towering pine trees that swayed gently in the breeze. A round table stood at its center, surrounded by a few weathered chairs. Jira sat in one of them, his block-printed shirt neatly buttoned and a wide-brimmed hat shading his face. His eyes were closed, his expression contemplative as he listened to the rustling leaves and distant chirping of birds.

Lenah appeared in the doorway, her hands dusted with flour. “Have they arrived?”

“Not yet, but they should be here any minute,” Jira replied, adjusting his hat.

“You go ahead. I’ll bring coffee and meat pies for everyone,” Lenah offered warmly.

Jira nodded, his gaze drifting to the pines that stood like silent sentinels around his home. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a quieter life—retirement, perhaps, or passing the torch to a younger successor. But the thought was fleeting. ‘The Watchers’ needed him now more than ever.

A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps on gravel announced the arrival of Albert and Jim. They made their way to the backyard, their expressions a mix of urgency and determination.

“Hello,” Albert greeted as he took a seat, his tailored suit a stark contrast to Jira’s casual attire.

“I was waiting for you guys,” Jira said.

“Jim made me late,” Albert explained, shooting a pointed look at his companion. “I left my office on time, but he took his sweet time.”

Jim, dressed in a simple work shirt and trousers, shrugged. “I’m not a businessman like you. I have to run my small shop to support my family.”

“You could have a business too if you’d agreed to my proposal,” Albert countered, his tone sharp.

Jira held up a hand, cutting through the tension. “Let’s save that argument for later. We need to focus on why we’re here.”

Jim nodded, his expression serious. “Right. No time to waste.”

“So, what have you found out about the dead man at Somerton Beach?” Jira began.

“His name is Ryder. He ran a small export and import business. He had one sister and was about to marry his girlfriend. He went missing a week ago, and then the police found his body,” Albert explained. “Ryder's sister identified him, and the police searched his house.”

“What else did you discover about Ryder?” Jira inquired.

“While digging into his background, I found out he used to frequent the 'Out of This World Exhibition,' where art from all over was showcased. One of the curators mentioned he was a regular and a big fan of art, but he wasn't happy with the exhibition’s recent focus on Satanism. He even voiced his displeasure to the manager.”

“Why wasn’t Ryder cool with that theme?”

“People have different tastes. Some find Satanic art intriguing,” Jim added.

Albert, a businessman in Adelaide with extensive contacts, sat forward in his leather armchair as he shared what he'd uncovered about Ryder.

"According to the curator, Ryder had a heated argument with them. His face was flushed with anger, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. He was convinced that displaying certain items could mislead people and lead them down a dangerous path. The way the curator described it, Ryder's reaction seemed almost personal. He stormed out without buying anything, nearly knocking over a display in his haste," Albert relayed.

Jira remained silent, listening intently. His years as a "Watcher" had taught him the value of careful observation. Each detail could be crucial. Jim, less experienced but equally engaged, asked curiously, "Why did Ryder care so much about Satanism?"

"I found it odd too," Albert remarked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Sure, many people are against Satanism, but not everyone is so vocal about it. Something about his reaction seemed deeply rooted in personal experience. I kept digging into Ryder's past, hoping to find something that explained his strong feelings. After a lot of work, calling in favors from old contacts and searching through archived records, I found a membership card in Ryder's name, and it shed light on everything."

"What membership card?"

Albert's expression darkened. "A few years ago, when Ryder graduated and was job hunting during the economic downturn, he joined a cult," he said, glancing at Jira, who nodded in recognition.

"During his unemployment and depression, he sought distraction and ended up with the 'Pathway of Ascendants' cult. You both know about that cult and what they stand for. Their reputation in Adelaide's underbelly is notorious."

Albert paused, choosing his next words carefully. "When he joined, Ryder probably thought they were involved in social reform. Their public face is all about community service and spiritual enlightenment. But soon he realized they promoted Satanism and worshiped Satan behind closed doors. Members were even required to sacrifice a newborn baby to show their devotion. When Ryder was asked to do that, he left the cult immediately. According to my sources, he was physically sick when he learned the truth."

"So, someone from the Pathway of Ascendants killed Ryder," Jira said after a long silence, stating his opinion.

"How can you be sure?" Jim questioned.

"Because Ryder left the cult," Jira explained. "I've seen his type before. He would never commit such heinous acts to prove his loyalty to Satan. Plus, he condemned the Satanic art at the exhibition, making his stance clear. A man doesn't take such a public stand unless he's trying to right a wrong from his past."

"But that doesn't prove a cult member killed him," Jim persisted,. "These groups don't act so openly. If they'd killed Ryder, they wouldn't have left his body so exposed. They're usually more... discrete.

"I get that, but this picture tells me a cult member is behind it," Jira asserted, placing a photo on the table. The glossy image landed with a soft tap, drawing both men closer.

The photo showed Ryder speaking to someone wearing a hood, the dark fabric casting deep shadows that obscured their face entirely. In their hands, they clutched a book, its leather binding worn but distinctive. The image, though slightly grainy, captured an intensity in Ryder's posture that suggested the conversation was far from casual.

"Where did you get this?" Jim asked Jira, his eyes not leaving the photograph.

"The person I hired to look into Ryder found it in the CCTV footage from the exhibition."Jira said, his finger tapping the photo deliberately. "Look at that book. You must have seen it before, Albert."

Albert leaned in closer, squinting at the printed image. The afternoon light streaming through his office windows illuminated every detail of the photograph. After a moment of careful study, recognition dawned on his face. "This book is a guide for members of the Pathway of Ascendants," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "I remember seeing it years ago when we were investigating the Rubaiyat and learned about the cult."

"Yes, that's the same book," Jira affirmed, straightening up with the confidence of someone putting crucial pieces together. "If that guy is holding it, he's definitely a cult member because these are only given to those who have made their sacrifices. When Ryder confronted the exhibition manager, this hooded man must have overheard. He followed Ryder, likely wanting to discuss their differing views on Satanism. Ryder, knowing the cult's beliefs, might have offended him, leading to his abduction and murder."

"So our killer isn't just a cult member," Albert said slowly, the implications sinking in. "He likely has an original copy of the Rubaiyat."

"Yeah, it seems that way," Jira agreed, his expression grim. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was disturbing.

"It's all so bizarre," Jim remarked, shaking his head. As the youngest in the room, he was still coming to terms with the depths of human darkness.

Jira turned to Albert, his face set with determination. "Albert, you need to get the guest list from the Satanism exhibition. We need to identify those who've attended all the sessions. Only those truly devoted to Satan would keep coming back."

"Got it, I'll take care of it," Albert said, nodding.

"Jim, I asked you to find out about the woman who had the photocopy of the original page from the Rubaiyat. What did you find?" Jira turned to Jim.

"Her name is Kate Miller..." Jim began, consulting his notes. "A well-known investigative journalist at Global News Network. She's made quite a name for herself exposing corruption cases."

"Are you talking about Kate Miller, Jonathan Miller's daughter?" Albert asked, sitting forward suddenly, his eyes widening with recognition. The name seemed to charge the air in the room with a new tension.

"Yeah, she's Jonathan Miller's daughter," Jim confirmed, glancing between the two older men. There was clearly history here he wasn't privy to.

Albert ran a hand through his graying hair and glanced at Jira, whose jaw had visibly tightened. "Jonathan's daughter has followed in her father's footsteps and become a top investigator in Australia. I should have guessed it." He gave a humorless laugh. "If anyone has crucial evidence and is outpacing the police, it's her. She's got her father's instincts and twice his determination."

"Jira, should we talk to Kate?" Albert suggested carefully, reading the storm gathering on his old friend's face. "She must have gathered a lot of information about the killer. With her resources—"

"No, we're not involving her," Jira cut him off. "Her father and the police didn't believe us and let our men die. We'll follow our path and protect the Rubaiyat as we were tasked."

"You can't blame Jonathan Miller, Jira," Albert said softly, meeting his friend's hard gaze. "You know that Jonathan started investigating the Pathway of Ascendants after getting a random tip, and that tip was from me." His voice grew quieter. "If he hadn't died in that car accident, he would have exposed the cult and put an end to their activities."

"We're not talking to Kate," Jira repeated loudly, slamming his palm on the desk. Jim flinched at the sudden outburst, but Albert remained steady, watching his friend with concern.

"Let's get one thing straight, Albert," Jira continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "We're not involving Kate, and we're not bringing in the police or the media to solve this case. We don't have time to waste trying to convince them. We can find the killer on our own."

Just then, Lenah arrived in the backyard, carrying a large tray of coffee and meat pies. The aroma of freshly baked pastry cut through the tension, bringing a welcome respite from their dark discussion. The late afternoon sun caught the steam rising from the coffee cups, creating delicate swirls in the air.

Lenah set the tray down on the weathered outdoor table, her movements graceful despite the heavy load. "Jim, I made meat pies for you. I know you like them."

"Thanks, Lenah. You're the reason I came here. Otherwise, I'd never come to see this grumpy old man," Jim joked. The familiar banter felt like a breath of fresh air after their heavy conversation.

"I know," Lenah replied with a knowing smile. "Jira, I'm heading to the market for groceries, then I'll visit Kirra. She just had a baby girl," she announced before leaving the backyard.

"No worries, take your time, darling," Jira said to her, his stern features softening momentarily.

Jira waited until Lenah's footsteps faded before speaking again. "I was thinking. Over the past hundred years, if we look at all the killers who claimed to receive messages to kill innocents based on the Rubaiyat, they've all followed a similar pattern."

"What pattern?"

"All the killers had the original Rubaiyat, tried to stay hidden, targeted victims who openly expressed hatred for Satanism, mutilated their bodies, drew Satanic symbols on the victims, and then left them in public. The killer we're after is following that same pattern," Jira explained, his voice steady despite the grotesque details.

"I remember, in 1867, a killer in the USA followed that pattern and killed over ten people," he continued, counting off the grim history. "Then, in 1922, a killer in Sri Lanka gained notoriety for the same reasons, butchering more than 12 before getting caught. And in 1955, a killer in Brazil did the same. Now, after almost sixty-seven years, we have a new killer who's using that exact method."

"Yeah, you're right," Jim acknowledged, absently tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "All the killers share that pattern, including this new one. But for the first time, this killer sent a page of the Rubaiyat along with the dead body. I think this one is even more dangerous than the ones before. He's openly challenging us and the police, showing he doesn't even care about hiding that he has the original book."

"What if he strikes again?" Albert asked, his voice tight with concern. "All the killers from history killed many people."

"I know he will," Jira said grimly, shadows deepening in his eyes. "He has his reasons and justifications for his brutal acts."

"And we have to catch him before he does," Jim added, determination hardening his young face.

"Jim, keep tabs on the police and Kate Miller. I want updates on their every move," Jira instructed, his voice carrying the weight of command. "And Albert, get me the list of all members of the Pathway of Ascendants cult who've joined since it started."

"Okay," Jim acknowledged, rising from his chair.

Albert also stood up, said goodbye to Jira, and left the backyard, leaving behind half-eaten meat pies and cooling coffee.

Jira remained seated, lost in thought. The garden around him faded as his mind wandered back through time. Jira recalled how he used to visit the neighborhood and talk with Jonathan, seeking treatment for his asthma from the healer of the Yarrabura tribe. Jonathan Miller was truly one of a kind, skilled at winning people over with his genuine warmth and sharp mind. As the shadows lengthened across the backyard, Jira wondered if his daughter had inherited those same qualities.