Murder

It’s not easy to keep a record of events. I’ve met local historians that find it tough. If staff of media companies are one problem, crime groups that target it specifically are another. It entails more work than is usually understood.

In Reading, many were trying their hardest to keep track of its unfolding events. There were serious crimes underway. Although the people tried hard, bad folk were trying harder. Those making local records felt the stress.

Denial

Aside the terror networks that had a presence in the town, there were others making headway in ruining local life. A large number of murderers were found in its many sprawling neighbourhoods.

They were active due to the presence of terrorists. They hid in houses to spy victims. It was a “coarse” time to be there, a resident told me. He lived in fear for his life having already lost his son.

It was kept off record by a local Police force in chaos. A few Officers spoke to me before moving on. They said matters were out of hand and murder wasn’t a priority. It was a bad state of affairs.

Obfuscation

I spotted two Officers making strenuous efforts to stop any investigation into murder. They kept close contacts in America who advised on how to do it. A number of European Journalists got around their advice. The news of it began to be passed out.

The locals threatened by it had few choices. They could let a relative know or a close friend. They didn’t get a hearing otherwise. “It was dark at times”, one resident said. I could feel it. I made efforts to track assailants. It was easy to tell their mental illness.

Heartache

It’s in a therapy diary after a daughter’s death. It’s a man still looking for the body of a lost son. It’s a young figure retracing steps after an abduction one night. Their streets are marked with sadnesses of many kinds.

The families I met had stories too troubling to say fully. They had house raids. They just saw blood left on a floor. They suffered together. They suffered in silence. No one helped. They were left to heal alone.

Reprieve

I spoke to a man who lost his only daughter. Initially he couldn’t tell anyone. He was able to recover contact with a friend. It was finally safe enough. The last time I spoke to him he still had mixed feelings about living in the town.

I made notes. These were taken. A suspect snatched a notebook out of my hand. She ran off with it. It indicated a strange mood in a place of social unrest in a time of so many difficulties – and in which murder was only one.