by
M Croe

~1~

"I've killed six people, you know", the prisoner said matter-of-factly. He smiled and stuck out his hand.

"James Woodlands. How do you do?"

I stared at his hand for a moment, then shook it a trifle half-heartedly.

"Do you know", he said, sidling up conspiratorially, "you're the first guard (I can't stand the word 'screw' - so unpleasant), who's shown me the decency of shaking my hand. You're obviously a man of good breeding. We'll get along very well, I think!"

Bemused, and feeling like I had just met a new employer (which in a way, he was) rather than a prison inmate, I herded Woodlands into his cell. This curious incident occurred three weeks before George was killed, before I was fired.

I'm writing this account of events to put the record straight, but I don't suppose it will make much difference in the end. After all, at the investigation Woodlands' file disappeared and was never seen again. However, fortune was for once with me as during the three weeks Woodlands was in my care I copied his file, at risk of severe disciplinary action, in order to read it. He was - is - a fascinating man, and it was unfortunate that due to the illegal method by which I came into possession of the file that it could not be brought forth to exonerate me. However, the past is the past and my situation would be of little interest to anyone who came to read this, so on with the case of James Woodlands.

The murderer's file contained copies of his diary manuscripts, some of which I have reproduced, verbatim, in these pages. The details of the murders have been compiled from both his diary and police reports gathered since my dismissal. Perhaps I should start by describing what was known about James Woodlands, the man, before he became a killer. He worked for an advertising agency, was always immaculately dressed, and was kind to his mother. He lived in a small but stylishly furnished flat, and spent a great deal of time reading, playing golf, and fishing. He was a loner, but his neighbours were unanimous in their summation of his character as polite, quiet and thoughtful. All were shocked to hear of his exploits. It's my opinion, however, that it was his pleasant character that led to his descent into the dark world of violent crime.

~2~

Tuesday, March 1st

... The train was packed today. Suit got wet (again). Nearly got fired today, too. John lost a paper from an important contract and I had to dismiss him. Poor man. It wasn't easy - I felt for him. Got jostled on the train and ended up not being able to get a seat because the carriage was full of school children. What are school's teaching their students? A little lesson in respect and thoughtfulness for their elders wouldn't go astray. I asked one of them to give up his seat for an elderly lady who was forced to stand and he swore and me! I was disgusted, but what could I do?

Wednesday March 2nd

John killed himself last night. Can't believe it! Apparently his cat had used the missing paper to line its basket. Blasted expensive pet, I would have to say! A great shame for John's young wife, though.

Got jostled on the train again today - I was pushed and prodded like an animal. I really should complain to the transport department. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to help! Come to think of it, I'll ring the headmaster of the school responsible for these children and give him a piece of my mind, too!

Mary called today at work. Should I call her back? The alimony is on time, so I can't imagine why she wants to talk to me...

Monday March 7th

I finally got a seat on the train! At least one thing went well today! I rang the headmaster of those boys that were repeatedly so rude to me, and he told me that it wasn't his problem! Whose problem is it, then? I was furious. Then I rang the transport department, was passed from one section to another, left on hold for twelve minutes, and then was told that they didn't have enough staff to keep all passengers in line, and if I didn't like it, I could go to hell. Damn these rude people who think courtesy is someone else's problem! To top the day off a woman sat next to me and leant on me, reading over my shoulder as I read the paper. I jabbed her a few times but she just shuffled up closer to get a better view of the page! Silly cow!

Wednesday March 9th

That woman was on the train again. This time she started talking to me about what she was reading from my paper! The rudeness of these people!

Mary called again. She left a message saying that Peter needed braces, and I'd have to talk to her about the cost. I should call her back... I can't bring myself to ring her - she'll be angry with me for not returning her first call. And she'll be rude to me, I'm convinced of it.

Thursday March 10th

Mary called again. She's threatening legal action. I called her back. She screamed at me and I hung up on her. I wish I could hang up on her permanently. A pregnant woman got pushed in front of a train this evening. Rudeness kills, you know. That stupid ugly bitch on the train sat next to me again. She read the comics - I know, because she laughed a deep, ugly belly-laugh all the way to my station. I wish I could ram this paper down her throat... What am I going to do about the state of this country? Ill-breeding and ungraciousness are everywhere!

Friday March 11th

Tonight I followed her. I needed to know why this woman, this stranger, was persecuting me. Why she'd chosen me to vent her rudeness on. She was about forty-five, overweight, with bad skin covered with too much makeup. Her hair was red (an obviously poor dye job) and she always seemed to be wearing clothes which were much too young and a size or two too small for her.

Instead of getting off at my usual station I stayed on, waiting for her to get off. I had a few moments of panic as I woke and realised that I'd fallen asleep - but there she was, pushing and leaning at my side. She finally began to gather her bags and I rolled up my newspaper, ready to follow. I let several passengers get between me as we left the train and then I followed her. The street was poorly lit and quite deserted, and as she plodded along in front of me I finally collected enough nerve to confront her.

"Excuse me?" I called, hurrying to catch up with her. She swung round with a frightened expression and then relaxed visibly as she saw that I was her reluctant paper-sharing co-passenger. Perhaps she thought I wanted to give her my paper. Perhaps I did want to, in a way.

"Yes?" she smiled expectantly, apparently oblivious to my anger.

"Why do you always read over my shoulder, pushing and leaning on me?" I blurted. It sounded so ridiculous. A puzzled look crossed her face.

"Why, what's wrong with doing that?

I couldn't believe my ears! I had hoped for an apology, or even an acceptance of the fact that she'd been rude, but this woman couldn't see that she was guilty. Guilty of the crime that's destroying this society!

I reached out to take hold of her, to shake her, make her see sense and she angrily pulled away, cursing me. She started to walk away but I couldn't let her go. I leapt forward and dragged her into the small alley which led off to the right of the path. I was surprised by her strength as she struggled to scream through the hand that was clamped over her mouth, but my own power was the greater and I soon had her pinned beneath me on the gravel.

"Do you want my paper?" I asked her breathlessly, but got no response.

"I said, do you want my paper?" I could see she was trying to decide on a reply.

Tentatively she nodded her head, obviously trying to placate me.

"Then have it!"

When I was finished I tried to decide whether to take the paper with me. I chose not too, which is a pity because I could do with something to read tonight.

Extract from Police Report Friday March 11 Woman's body found in alley, death by asphyxiation. Murder weapon: rolled up newspaper. Motive unknown. No suspects.

Monday March 13th

I feel quite strange. My intellect knows that what I've done is wrong, but I can't seem to feel very much about it at all. The woman deserved it, and I hope it serves as a lesson to all the people in this society who don't know what kindness, thoughtfulness and gallantry mean. I was judge, jury and executioner, I know, but someone has to act against this scourge. Someone must!

Tuesday March 14th

Jenny from the office whispered to one of the other women today in front of me. I know they were talking about me. I see them staring and laughing - more rudeness! I called her into my office and told her in no uncertain terms my attitude towards discourtesy such as hers. I must have made a great impression as she ran out crying, and has called in sick for the rest of the week. OK, perhaps shaking her was a little unnecessary, but my guess is she won't be that rude in future!

I might have to give another lesson soon. An old man who I often see travelling in the mornings stood beside me and read my paper today. Why can't people buy their own papers? What is it about mine that everyone wants? I'll monitor the situation and see what develops. After all, it may have been a momentary lapse, and we're all capable of that, aren't we?... I sent Mary the cheque for Peter's teeth.

Extract from Police Report Wednesday March 15 Elderly man's body found in river, death by asphyxiation. Murder weapon: rolled up newspaper. Motive: unknown. No suspects. Appears to be linked with previous murder.

Thursday March 16th

I read in the paper about the woman from the train. They found her, but have no clues. I really should get another copy of the paper so that I can keep it. I wonder how long it will take them to find the old man.

Even if they catch me, no-one would convict me for doing this sick society a favour like this! Would they? Friday March 17th

This is getting easier all the time. The young man who pushed past me at the supermarket checkout was very easy to kill. I used a newspaper, even though he hadn't wanted to read it. I'm becoming well versed in my role as executioner.

Extract from Police Report Saturday March 18 Man's body found, death by asphyxiation. Murder weapon: rolled up newspaper. Motive: unknown. No suspects. All three murdered in small area. Door knock continues.

Monday March 20th

I did two on Saturday. Two young girls who sat and stared at me, giggling and whispering behind their hands. Two at once were difficult - but they won't be pointing and staring at people in future.

Extract from Police Report Monday March 20 Body of teenage girl found. Death by asphyxiation. Murder weapon: rolled up newspaper. Motive: unknown. Girl's friend present at attack and also assaulted. Has agreed to help identify murderer. Believes it is a man she has seen on the train before.

Tuesday March 21st

It seems one girl got away. She pretended to be dead, and went for the police. How could I have been so careless? Well, I'm not worried. No-one would convict me, even if they could catch me, which I doubt...

Wednesday March 22nd

Mary rang and swore at me. I thought I could hear Peter, my son, laughing at me in the background...

Extract from Police Report Thursday March 23 After extensive search and interviews, James Woodlands seems likely suspect. Was followed to and from ex-wife's residence. Will continue surveillance.

Extract from Police Report Friday March 24 Visited ex-wife's house to interview her. Found her and her son murdered. Death by asphyxiation. Murder weapon : rolled up newspaper. Motive: unknown. Suspect: James Woodlands. We waited at his flat and arrested him on his return. Now in custody.

~3~

Unfortunately for Woodlands, they did convict him of the murder of six people, including his estranged wife and their son, and the attempted murder of the girl who got away. She identified him, of course, fingerprints were taken and he was sentenced, after a surprisingly long trial, to life imprisonment. The question of his sanity became an issue which held up the trial for over a month. As far as the court was concerned his diary contained conflicting proof of both sanity and insanity. Woodlands knew that he was doing something wrong, while his defence lawyers claimed that the fact that he thought he was doing society a great favour proved without doubt that he was mad. In the end the prosecution won, and he ended up at the prison in which I used to work.

I personally believe James Woodlands to be completely insane, although a more polite psychopath you'd be hard-pushed to find. He fascinated me. Most people in my division were inmates of low character, vicious and to use an old-fashioned word, evil. They were on the whole sane. I must admit that James was really quite a pleasant, approachable fellow, an accomplished conversationalist and well-versed in many subjects, which certainly made a change from my normal charges. We developed quite a good rapport, circumstances considered, and we would often stop in the corridor for a quick chat. This caused a significant rift between myself and the other warders, the seriousness of which did not make itself evident until my later dismissal. I believe that this jealousy on their part compounded the evidence of my supposed 'guilt' and complicity. But more of that later.

James Woodlands was, for the brief time of his incarceration, a model prisoner. One or two inmates complained about his obsession with rudeness, but they never approached him about it, which is hardly surprising. He was particularly bright and chipper on the day of his escape, although I'm convinced he was unaware that the day would herald his return to the outside world. He wished me a very good morning as I escorted him to what we ironically called the dining room. The last words he said to me formed a cryptic question. As he sat down to his meal of oats and orange juice, he grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear.

"What is the corner-stone of a healthy society, my friend?"

Before I could make sense of it, one of my co-warders wrenched me free from his grasp and reprimanded him. James merely shrugged, winked at me and began his breakfast.

I didn't think much about the matter until that evening during recreation time when the alarm sounded and I had to herd the prisoners back to their cells for a head-count. To my astonishment James Woodlands was absent. They found the body of George, a warder in the library were Woodlands always took his rec period, but the prisoner himself was not to be found. It appeared that, in some miraculous way, the man had escaped.

Two days later I was brought up on a charge of assisting Woodlands to escape, found guilty and fired. The wink, the whisper, and our tentative friendship seemed enough to convince my employers that I had aided and abetted him.

James Woodlands is in his own mind a crusader for society, not against it, and as he continually, wrongly asserted in his diary, no-one could convict him. Perhaps he should have written 'no prison could contain him' instead. The prison warder he killed was found next to Woodlands' chair where he had been reading a newspaper. In the dead warder's mouth they found that day's newspaper, rolled up with the red ink readers use to highlight articles of interest from the pages still visible around his dead lips and on the wall, a single sentence was scrawled:

"Danny, the cornerstone of a good civilisation is courtesy!"

I have been unemployed ever since, although I have spent my time re-educating myself, and hope to improve my future the best way I can. I've tried to track James Woodlands down in the years since then, but with no luck. Oh, there's the odd murder reported in the papers which smacks of his style. For example just a month ago a young woman was murdered, and her handbag stolen. A few days later the body of a young man was found in the river, the woman's bag strapped to him, neatly protected by a water-proof plastic bag containing a note apologising for someone not having caught and killed the man earlier. A day later an anonymous parcel arrived at a police station containing extremely valuable stolen property, and another note explaining that it had been found at the young man's flat, and the finder didn't wish anyone else to steal it, and therefore hadn't attached it to the body. Now, if that doesn't sound like James' behaviour, I don't know what does.

He's never been caught again, and nor do I think he ever shall. Perhaps justice is just a little too rude for people like James Woodlands. And perhaps that's as it should be.