Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible

New Living Testament, copyright ©1996, 2004.

Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishing, Inc.

Quotations used by permission from Bartleby.com ©1993-2004

_______________________

Foreword

This is the first in a series of books with a vast amount of characters.

Janis Baker, a Lieutenant with the Montie Police Department, a divorced mother who shares custody with her son.

On most any given day, the city of Montie, is a quiet city. There will always be the occasional public drunk or speeder, and yes, people and places get robbed. Suicides, domestic disputes, and barroom fights happen.

It has been five years since an attempted bank robbery; two years since anyone went missing, and every now and then, an unexplained murder will take place.

Montie goes way back in the history books, but the events that are about to take place, will rewrite Montie’s history for a very long time to come.

In small steps, Lieutenant Janis Baker, and her partner, Ed Manning, work on unraveling a series of brutal murders. Murders that lead Baker and Manning, to one dead end after another.

One of those dead ends being that Baker becomes a target.

The killer is smart enough to leave no clues as to his identity and has his own code of justice.

The action is fast-paced.

Welcome to Montie, where each day is more than just an adventure.

_______________________

Prelude

A young boy, age 10, in the state of Maine, was sentenced to a mental hospital for extensive evaluation for setting a fire that killed his parents in 1995.

A young girl, age 10, lost her parents to a tragedy, also in 1995.

Neither one knew at the time their lives would intertwine.

She went on in later years to get married, have a son, and attend the police academy.

Twenty years after he was admitted to the institution, he escaped. What would become of him would change both their lives forever.

_______________________

Death hath so many doors to let out life. The Custom of the Country. Act II. Sc. 2.

Beaumont and Fletcher

Godly people find life, evil people find death. Proverbs 11:19

I open every door and put every evil person I can find where they belong‒‒in hell.

Freddy

_______________________

Friday - May 14th - 9:07 p.m.

The crime scene unit had just finished up and were leaving the Marcus Arms Apartments where a dead body had been discovered.

The victim; Arnold Kilpatrick, retired two-star Army general, formerly attached with the 317th Airborne Division, was found face up on his living room floor. A widower for seven years, has left two sons and one daughter behind, who would be notified prior to the autopsy if possible.

The general was a mess.

His throat was slit with a smooth-edged blade, and a large X-shaped pattern that went from left shoulder to right hip, and right shoulder to left hip, had literally opened up his chest. The two slash grooves were three inches deep. Probably done after the throat. There appeared to be very little struggle, giving Lieutenant Janis Baker, the impression the general probably knew the perp.

Carl Macklin, Senior Forensic Pathologist, explained to her that he would have all the prints found, numbered, and identified within a few hours. The scene provided no hair samples anywhere in the apartment that appeared different from the general’s gray hair that was now a bloody mess across his chest. His head apparently had been shaved bald. There didn’t appear to be any skin residue or blood marks under the victim’s fingernails to indicate a struggle, but scrapings were taken just the same.

There was a note attached to the victim’s body.

LIVE ON RAEH.

Lieutenant Baker had a strong suspicion they wouldn’t find the perp’s prints anywhere.

Ten Minutes Earlier

Mrs. Mattingly heard a knock on the door.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“The night janitor, miss. I need to check the plumbing in all of the bathrooms on this floor.”

Mrs. Mattingly opened her door one inch to see who it was. She wasn’t aware her building even had a janitor, especially one at night.

She was still scared and shaking over what she had seen across from her at the Marcus Arms Apartments. That poor man being killed! She knew it was her civic duty to call the police right away. What frightened her most; she thought she recognized the killer. That made it all the worse for she thought him to be a good and justly man.

What she didn’t realize is that the killer saw her, too.

The slight opening of the door was all it took.

The night janitor kicked the door back, causing Mrs. Mattingly to stumble backward and fall to the floor. She was seventy-eight.

“Oh, my heavens! It is you! I don’t believe it!”

“Believe what you want, you old bitch! I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.”

He bent down overtop her and swiftly sliced her throat, and hurriedly made the sweeping arcs of the X across her chest, and then spent a few moments with her eyes.

He popped them from her sockets with the tip of his blade, and then placed them in his pocket, underneath a plastic raincoat covered in blood. He then scribbled a note with his left hand, writing the words backward.

LIVE ON EES.

The Quick Call

“Hey, Baker. Got a few minutes?”

“Sure, Ed. I’m only up to my ass in blood. What’s up?”

“I have something special to show you. Right across the street from you. Apartment 230.”

“Okay. I’m just finishing a few loose ends. I’ll be there in five to ten.”

Three Minutes Ago

At the catholic church of St. Peter’s, a man with labored breath, stepped inside the church, and bent to one knee, making the sign of the cross with his right hand. He then stood erect and walked over to a confessional booth. He opened the door, sat down, and waited a few minutes.

On the other side of a screen, a door opened, and a priest sat down.

“Good evening. How may I help you?’

“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“Sinned in what way, my son?”

“I have broken one of God’s, the Father’s commandments.”

“I see. Which commandment is this?”

“Father, I have killed. Two people tonight.”

Silence.

“Father, did you hear me? I said I killed two people.”

“Yes, I heard you. By all that is holy, I am not allowed to divulge this confession with the police. You do understand this? This confession in between you and me; and Jesus Christ, in the name of the Father.”

“Sure, I do. That’s why I came here.” The voice which was first unsteady and high-pitched, now became low and ominous. “I can get Christ’s forgiveness through you, and I will be absolved of all wrong doing.”

“It isn’t as simple as that. We must pray together. Then you, of your own volition, must turn yourself in. It is the only way to be truly forgiven by Christ and the Father. My son, as the gospel is known, and by it, men were saved through faith, since the very beginning of time. Let us now pray that we will find a path that‒”

“Bullshit, bullshit; BULL-FUCKING-SHIT! I ought to slice your fucking throat right here, right now!”

Silence again.

The door opened, then banged closed.

He was gone.

At the Latest Scene

“Busy night, huh, Baker?”

“Seems that way, Ed. What do we have here?”

“A fresh kill.

“A Mrs. Ethel Mattingly, seventy-eight. Retired seamstress, widow over ten years. She has one son who lives on the other side of the coast where all the surfers coin those stupid phrases. She lived here alone. Moderate lifestyle for a woman her age, nothing fancy.

“I put in a call to have the neighborhood patrolled. If they spot anyone suspicious, and like the norm; if he or she looks or acts suspicious, we pull them in for questioning.

“But whoever this is, they have some big balls, or tits.”

Baker pulled the sheet back, Ed covered Mrs. Mattingly with to just below her hips.

“Another one. Just like the victim across the street. Seems our boy‒”

“Or girl,” said Ed, half smiling.

“… or girl, is making the rounds tonight and quickly. What do you make of the time of death?”

“My guess, until the F-Team shows; which should be them I hear coming now. I’d say within twelve to twenty, as in minutes. But, Baker, that isn’t all.” Ed pointed at the victim’s face.

Baker leaned closer and looked at the face and upon closer inspection, saw blood slowly tearing from her eyes and matted the sides of Mrs. Mattingly’s hair above her ears.

With the apartment door wide open, the F-Team walked in and immediately set up shop, and started taking pictures, dusting the living room for prints, looking for possible hair fibers, and anything else to give them clues as to who the killer is.

Reaching for a pair of medical gloves from her jacket pocket, she pulled a pen from her shirt pocket and edged it under one eyelid. Lifting it back, she flinched backward for a second.

“Puts a stutter in your step, huh? He or she cut both eyes out, and to make this even stranger; he or she must have taken the eyes, because they aren’t anywhere to be found.”

“Great. Now we have a souvenir collector and a sick mind all wrapped up in one neat package; running around Montie some damn place. We need to nail this perp quick.”

“It doesn’t end there though. The hits keep rolling in. Here is what was tacked to her chest.”

Ed held up an evidence bag, and Baker read what was inside.

LIVE ON EES.

“My first thought was monkey-see, monkey-do, but the markings are just too fresh to be anything other than the same person.”

“Ed, we have an intensely shrewd and perhaps insane person at the same time we are dealing with.”

Baker walked to the two front windows of Mrs. Mattingly’s apartment and looked out across the way. She realized then what the message really meant.

“Ed, look at this.”

He looked in the same direction as she did.

“If that don’t beat all. Straight across from her. Same floor. She saw the whole damn thing. That’s why she called 911. That’s why I came over here to interview her. I was too late, and maybe by minutes; but he or she can’t be that far ahead of us.”

“The even sadder part, he had seen her watching. Somehow, he figured out exactly which apartment she was in and gained entrance, obviously forced. I would say he nearly kicked it off its hinges, and he, or she, wasn’t looking for conversation.

“You know what they say about things coming in three’s, Ed? Whoever killed these people, probably has one more to kill. Both Mrs. Mattingly and Arnold Kilpatrick both had notes attached to them.”

“You’re thinking that next person won’t have a hearing problem.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

As she stared out across the way, then back at Mrs. Mattingly, now being photographed, and Carl and crew bagging and tagging potential evidence; Carl nodded her way with the understanding once he got any hits back on what they’ve collected, he would let her know. Both notes would be given to a handwriting expert for analysis.

The apartment, like the one across the street, was gone over with a fine-tooth comb, as the saying goes. Nothing would be left unturned.

Including the message.

Another Quick Call – 10:35 p.m.

“Stevie, I won’t be home until around midnight, I’m afraid. It’s been a rough night. If you’re awake when I get in, fine. If not, we’ll go out tomorrow morning for an early breakfast. I love you.”

She gets Stevie every other summer and every other major holiday for two weeks. This year she would have him for Christmas.

Mark couldn’t handle her being a cop.

Hell, sometimes, neither could she.

The Twenty-Second Precinct

Saturday - May 15th - 6:07 a.m.

“Twenty-Second Precinct, Sargent McDaley, speaking.”

“Yes, this is Bishop Ekerson, at St. Peters church on Melrose and Tasker.”

“I know where it is, Father. My family and I are always there every Sunday. What can I do for you?’

“Bless you. I need to speak with someone about an important matter. Something that will cause me to break tradition. I spoke with a killer last night.”

McDaley went quiet for a moment.

“You spoke with a killer, Father? How? When?”

“He came to the church last night, and confessed to me he killed two people, that’s how.”

“Hold the line, Father. I’ll patch you into the lead investigator that is handling the case.”

“Thank you,” but by then, Bishop Ekerson was already on hold.

The line rang four times before he heard a woman’s voice.

“This is Baker. I understand you may have some information for me.” McDaley had briefed her on the call.

“Yes, I do. Last night inside one of the confessional booths here at St. Peters, shortly after ten, a man told me, confessed to me he had murdered two people, and was asking for forgiveness and absolution, which I could not give. I tried to explain his best course of action was prayer, and to turn himself in. He became angry, and said a few vile things, and left.”

“Bishop Ekerson, I will be there in ten minutes. Has there been anyone in the confession box since last night?”

“I would appreciate it if you would say confessional booth, not box; but no, no one other than myself. That’s why I called.”

“Please tell me you haven’t touched anything inside the, booth. I’m going to have our forensic unit meet me there along with another detective.”

“I’ve not touched a thing except for the door’s handles. At first, I wasn’t going to call at all, thinking the man may have been playing a sick joke with me, but then I heard on the morning news about two untimely deaths. But it also what I saw inside the confessional booth that makes me break my vow of silence.

“Bloody footprints.”

“Don’t touch anything else. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Right after the Call

Baker and Stevie were about to go to breakfast before her conversation with Father Ekerson.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. Tell you what; we can do breakfast tomorrow morning, and tonight we can order pizza.”

“That’s cool mom. I’m good with it.” Then Stevie thought for a second.

“I figured it out, mom. The catholic butler did it, see? Case closed.”

She smiled, tousling his hair.

“I wish it were that simple, Stevie.”

“It will be, mom. You always get the bad guy.”

“Your dad used to say the same thing.”

“I know. But I don’t think he buys into the cops and robbers thing like I do. I know it can be dangerous, even dull at times, you told me that. But you also told me that with patience comes an arrest, and with reason, a conviction.”

“My, my, aren’t we ever on top of things.”

“Just practicing is all.”

“Oh? Practicing for what?”

“To be a bad-butt lawyer!”

They both laughed.

Baker wondered just how much patience she would have.

St. Peter’s – 7:17 a.m.

Bloody footprints from the front doors all the way to and from the small confessional booth made for an easy trail. Size 10 work boots, guesstimated at the scene to perhaps have heavily inlaid rigid soles. Once Baker found this out, she started talking with Bishop Ekerson to establish a timeline.

“You said on the phone he was here somewhere around ten pm last night.”

“It was closer to 10:30. He was here perhaps ten or fifteen minutes before he bolted out of here.”

“Is the church usually open at such late hours? And are you always here during those hours?”

“The church never closes. That would be saying God’s heart is closed to all of his children. And yes, for the most part, I am always here. There is a small, one-bedroom unit, one floor below the church. There are steps that lead down to it from the Rectory Office, if you would care to see it.”

“No, that isn’t necessary, Father. Did you get a good look at him? Hair or eye color? What was he wearing? Is he white, black, or Hispanic?”

“He was definitely white, that much was certain. As to the rest, there wasn’t adequate light for me to give any description, other than to say he appeared short as his eyes met mine through the screen, so I am assuming he is about my height. Terribly sorry.”

“What size shoe do you wear?”

“Size nine.”

“Here’s my card, Father. If you think of anything else, please feel free to call me day or night. The sooner we can get this guy, the safer it will be for a lot of people.”

“I do hope what you say is true. I have over a thousand parishioners of the church’s congregation, and this has me truly worried.”

“In what way?”

“The two who were killed last night were part of the congregation.”

“Really, now? I’ll tell you what, Father Ekerson. I will have a dozen men here Sunday for service, in their Sunday go-to-meeting clothes of course. If you think you may be able to recognize the man who was here last night, in your Sunday service, you can let us know.”

“I would think that to be almost an impossibility. What makes you believe he would possibly come back here?”

“I’m of the belief this is where it all started. He comes to church, gets acquainted with a few people, gets to know them, and for some reason, kills them. It’s sort of like a movie; the bad guy always returns to the scene of the crime.”

“I can try, but I cannot promise anything, Lieutenant. After all, there is very little I know about this person.”

“He spoke with you, correct? Perhaps he might share a few words with you after the service and you could recollect his voice.”

She shook hands with Father Ekerson and walked over to the scene where the portable lab unit was in place and the infra-red scanner was already analyzing the blood spectrums in the booth as well as on the floor leading from there to the front doors of the church.

His blood, or his victim’s? Probably the victim’s. As a precaution, she made a note to contact the two hospitals for anyone coming in with any serious injuries, either from a gunshot or knife wound. Doubtful, but she had to cover all the bases.

At least they now knew they were after a Caucasian male, with one hell of a violent temper.

She made another note to have all construction sites checked as well. All size 10 boots with bodies attached were to be brought in and questioned, and have their boots analyzed.

The Squad Room – 8:19 a.m.

“Alrighty, guys, listen up. I just left the Captain’s office, and he’s authorized some overtime for twelve men. Roughly three hours, but I told the Captain, four hours.”

“Way to go, Baker! Now if you can fix it so we can all sleep in and still get paid ….” Campbell’s voice trailed off.

Others in the room laughed or chuckled.

“Stowe it, Campbell. And you’re welcome all the same.

“Everyone here knows about the double-homicide that just went down. I have a hunch the killer may rear his ugly little head this Sunday. The two victims were members of the church, and he may be attending church services.

“I’m looking for twelve people to sit in any one of the pews, armed but concealed, take notes, watch for any signals from Bishop Ekerson. Look for anyone there that may look out of the ordinary. He is about Father Ekerson’s height, 5’8”, and likely to be sitting alone. Perps like him almost never have a family.”

“Question Baker?”

“Answer, Ed.”

“How do we take him down if we don’t know what he looks like? And how do we take him down inside a packed church?”

“Second answer, first. Each one of you will be wired for sound to communicate with one another. If he is our guy, we have the manpower already there to apprehend him with the least amount of resistance. I doubt if the perp will be armed in church. He is probably thinking he’s in the clear.

“First answer, second. That, Ed, is the luck of the draw. If he is there, he’ll give himself away. Maybe not this Sunday, maybe not for a month of Sunday’s, but sooner or later, they always do.

“If any of you have any reasonable suspicion about any male in church, you can detain him at least for questioning, and his background will be looked into. Small details play a big role. Perhaps a two-day growth of hair on his face. Hair not combed right. Eyes bloodshot. Clothes not appropriate for church; such as blue jeans instead of trousers. Be observant.”

Rodgers, an eighteen-year veteran spoke from the back of the room.

“If he isn’t there, then what?”

“Simple. You get filled with the scripture, go home, and enjoy the rest of your Sunday, and I’ll see you back here Monday morning.”

At Baker’s Townhouse – 9:56 p.m.

“You are just too good for me, Stevie. I need to practice this game more often, so it seems.”

“It’s okay, mom. I sucked at it when I first started to learn the game, too.”

They smiled at each other.

“Well, my little crime-solver you; time for bed. After breakfast in the morning, we’ll take a ride over to Standing Room Lake, like I promised. You might be able to add to your shell collection.”

“Cool deal. Love you, mom. Goodnight.”

Stevie stood up, hugged her briefly and she kissed him on the cheek, and then went to his room.

She shut down her computer and television for the night, placing Mortal Kombat 6 back into its CD case, then headed for the shower, and then bed.

In her bedroom, she stripped down to the buff, shower water running, and stopped to look at herself in her full-length mirror on the bathroom door.

She saw a thirty-six-year-old woman, short brown hair, and brown eyes, with a few lines around each one. Her complexion was still smooth, and not paying attention at the two scars; she still had a decent looking body in excellent condition. At 5’6”, and 135, she looked five years younger.

Just last month, she took first place in the Judo Championship via six police leagues. She beat three women and five men.

Since the divorce, it had been nothing but work, and more work. She drowned herself in her job to take her mind off a fourteen-year-old marriage that went to hell in eleven, and never talked about for three.

Some things you never see coming. When you do; too late.

At least there is Stevie. He brings a light into her life that was turned off during the divorce. With Stevie nearby, he understands her.

Work or no work, she loves him.

Unconditionally.

May 16th - Saturday Afternoon – 1:05 p.m.

“Thanks, mom. Today was great!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I see by how the bag looks, you collected quite a few shells.”

“Today was the best. I found some really cool ones, and some with neat color patterns and….”

Her cell phone rang.

She looked at Stevie.

“Go on mom, answer it. We know what it means.”

She pulled her cell phone from the bottom of her beach bag that held the towels, blanket, and lotion.

“This is Baker, and it better be good.”

“Trust me, Baker, you’ll love this.”

“Hello, Ed. I can tell from the sound of your voice, I won’t. What have you got?”

“Another body, the same way, except this one has all the body parts intact.”

“How long have you been on the scene?”

“Close to sixty. First impressions; he’s been dead according to initial study, three to four hours.

“I’ll fill you in when you get back from the lake. By then I should have more information.

Did you and Stevie have a good time?”

She looked over at Stevie, his head bent over the open bag of seashells, and she smiled.

“Yeah, we did. Look, we were just on our way home as it is. We should be back in thirty. Check the victim to see if he was part of the congregation from St. Peter’s.

“Can do, will do. I emailed you the address. Call me when you’re on your way here.”

Baker no sooner hung up when her cell phone rang again.

She sighed. Stevie looked at her and grinned.

“Baker.”

“J.B., Carl here.”

She’s known Carl several years, and she stopped trying forever ago to get him to quit calling her by her initials. It just wasn’t happening. At least he had the presence of mind not to do it with anyone around.

And no one on the force called her, Janice, or Jan.

“What’s the good word, Carl?”

“I found four different matches. A partial on one; but too smeared to get in Ident on, and it appears to have been enclosed in surgical gloves. One set belonged to the victim. The other two sets belong to a Mrs. Josephine Gulatta, and the last one, a Marianne Olster. I have their addresses and phone numbers for you.”

“Great, Carl. Stevie and I are on our way home from the lake. I’ll drop by and pick up the report. Just leave it at the front desk for me. Stan is still working there on weekends, right?”

Stan is the weekend guard. A retired cop. Time on his hands and all that rubbish.

“He is. I’ll let him know you’ll be stopping by.”

“Thanks, Carl.”

“Oh, before I forget; the Mattingly murder? One set of prints; hers.”

They disconnected from each other and she was about to put the key in the ignition, when her phone rang again.

“When it rains, it pours, mom.”

“But not in my car. This is so frustrating. This is; was, supposed to be our day.”

“It still is, mom. No sense in getting frustrated. Besides, it’s who you are and what you do. That’s why I’m proud of you.”

She reached out and gave Stevie a quick hug and a smile.

“Grand Central. Baker here.”

“This is Macklin again. Just received the prelim autopsy report on the two victims from the other night. Seems the general was a busy boy before he went to heaven; or maybe hell, after you hear this.

“The other one; nothing unusual about the cause of death other than the eyes missing. No signs of forced sex or semen stains anywhere in or around the vaginal cavity.”

“All right. So, what have you got on the general?”

“Seems as if he was into passive role-playing. Somewhat of a closet sexual deviant, perhaps. Upon examination, tears and lacerations were found on his back legs, and buttocks, as well as around and inside the anus and sphincter muscle. No traces of any semen though. I’m thinking more of a penis substitution such as a dildo, or some sort of plastic phallic object was used, and I should know by who in the next few hours.

“I ran a swab over his genitals, and there were traces of dried seminal fluid, both his and his partner. Last night I sent the swab to Albany where they will do a DNA test and hope to have a confirmed report back shortly. You have to love the invention of DNA analysis.”

“The minute you find out, call me, Carl.”

While driving home, all Baker knew at this point is that someone out there was having a field day and wasn’t in a hurry to call it quits anytime soon.

Marianne’s Apartment – 1:17 p.m.

The doorbell rang twice.

Looking through the security eye-hole of her front door, she smiled when she saw who it was and opened the door.

“Ben!” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until Monday. Have you missed your mommy?”

He walked in abruptly, turned, and made sure the door was closed. He locked it and put the dead bolt in position.

He quickly spun around, striking out his right fist, connecting flush with Marianne’s mouth. Blood splattered across her lips as four teeth were torn away from her gums. Two others were barely holding on as she teetered backward three steps, and fell over her stepstool to the floor, the back of her head bouncing hard.

A dazed but horrified look came over her. Tears slid down her cheeks from the intense pain, and a look of shock held her from moving off the floor. Her hands, desperately trying to keep the other two teeth from being forever useless.

“Ben, why di you hith me?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch! You didn’t think I didn’t know all the other silly little games you play with other people besides me. Didn’t I tell you, no one else but me! You gave me your word. You lied! Like your playmate, the general; you are going to die.”

Marianne found the energy to crawl toward the kitchen table where her cell phone waited quietly.

He kicked her in the back of the head.

“You will never make it. But I’ve set it up where you can keep doing the general when you meet him in hell. I’m sending you to meet him right now!”

From under his plastic coat, and with hands covered by surgical gloves, he removed a Bowie knife and expertly and efficiently sliced her throat as Marianne looked up at him with a pleading, sobbing cry. “Fir gib me.”

Blood erupted in the air.

He reached down and tore away her dress until it lay limply around her waist and deftly made the crisscrossing X, across her pale white skin.

Then he walked to the table, grabbed her cell phone, but not before he opened her mouth, and sliced her tongue off and placed it next to her left hand, with another message written backward.

LIVE ON KAEPS.

Placing the cell phone in her right hand, he used one of her lifeless fingers to press 911.

Then he hurriedly left her apartment. No one would see him. He always made sure of that, except for the old woman. But who she thought she saw, and who he really is, are two different stories entirely.

St. Peter’s – 2:36 p.m.

“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“I remember your voice. Please, tell me you didn’t kill, again?”

“But, Father, I did. I know you have called the police before. I’m much smarter this time. I didn’t track any evidence into your precious box.”

Bishop Ekerson wanted to say booth but remained silent.

“I’m not staying long, but you know something? I love that word, but. I can go on and on with a single, but. But, it’s the assholes who think they know everything; the BIG BUTTS who try to get away thinking they will never get caught. This is why I do all this.

“I’m going to put an end to their self-centered pitiful existence. Even I may be caught one day. but... there’s that word again, but. But my being caught remains to be seen. Right now, no one is doing a very good job trying to catch me.

“There are others on my list of assholes I must take down; but that’s my secret, Father.

Now, are you going to forgive my fucking sins, or what?”

“My son, all those who have been saved or wish to be saved by Jesus Christ, and the Holy Father, can be forgiven their sins, but….”

“See! SEE! There’s that all too important fucking word again! Either for-fucking-give-me, or just shut the fuck up with your religious bantering. I don’t have all day to play games with you.”

The confessional booth’s door opened, and then banged closed leaving the sound to faintly echo throughout the church.

“See you in church, padre.”

In mere seconds, Bishop Ekerson was beside himself, breathing in the quiet. And very scared.

Medical Examiner’s Lobby – 2:56 p.m.

“Thanks, Stan. So how are things going for you these days?”

“Same-o, same-o, Baker. Some days are better than most. Other days just suck. I still find myself missing the thrill of a good bust or a righteous shoot; but I still keep up with what’s going down on the streets with my scanner. Of course, the best news is over at Benny’s Pub, so it’s not all bad.

“I hope that report helps you to nail that son-of-a-biscuit eater soon. Creeps like him make me sick. And yeah, I took a peek, Baker. Couldn’t help myself.”

She smiled at Stan.

“Don’t worry about taking a peek. Just keep what you saw to yourself. We’ll get this guy, trust me, Stan.

“You take care of you, okay? Be good. Be safe.”

“You too, Baker. You too.”

Such a sad, lonely look he carries, she thought.

St. Peter’s – 3:05 p.m.

“So, Father Ekerson, were you able to get a better look at him this time?” asked Ed.

“From what I could actually see, he appears to be in his early to mid-thirties, his hair looked dark, and stockier than I first believed. I still couldn’t get a good look at his face or eyes. Once inside the booth, the lighting is minimal, and designed that way for a reason.”

Somehow, Ed knew he was back to square one except for one statement.

See you in church, Padre.

Baker’s Townhouse – 7:30 p.m.

Both she and Stevie barely walked into her living room when her cell phone rang again.

“Get that out for me, will you, Stevie. My bladder is about to explode!”

Stevie reached for the phone as she dashed off, and he held it to his ear and said, “Baker’s professional Answering Service. How may I help you?”

Laughter on the other end.

“Pretty good, Stevie. Where’s Baker?”

Stevie knew it was Ed.

“She’s in the bathroom. She should be out shortly.”

“Heard tell you had a fun day.”

“It was pretty cool. I picked up over two-hundred seashells, and I think a couple of them might even be fossilized. I won’t know that until summer is over and I’m back at home with my dad.”

“Wow, fossilized, huh? Probably worth a few bucks if they are.”

“Maybe. Anyway, here comes mom. Bye.”

Baker grabbed the phone as Stevie walked past her and whispered, “It’s Ed.”

“What’s up, Ed? What are we looking at?”

“If you have no objections, I’d like to run all this by you at your place. I’ve made copies of all my notes from the murder scene, plus our perp show up again at church. Ekerson was able to give me a better Ident on the guy, but it’s still sketchy. He was extremely rattled.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Promise not to laugh or get pissed off?”

“That doesn’t leave many options.”

“I’m parked next to your rig.”

She laughed.

Still There – 8:20 p.m.

“These are the autopsy reports of former General Arnold Kilpatrick, and Mrs. Ethel Mattingly.

“Both throats slit, both with a double incision in the shape of an X. Kilpatrick had his ears removed with a message printed backward reading: Hear no evil.

“For the record, Mrs. Mattingly had lung cancer and Kilpatrick had a bad kidney. Beyond that, both showed elevated endorphin levels in the blood. Time of death for Kilpatrick based on a rectal thermometer on scene: 9:30 p.m., with a plus or minus ten minutes.

“Mattingly, roughly 9:50 p.m.

“Both had trauma to the scalp, rendering each unconscious.

“The weapon used appears to be a large blade, possibly two inches wide from its most narrow point, possibly five inches wide at the hilt. Estimated length is fourteen inches. It was first thought to be a Chef’s carving knife. After searching online, it is now believed to be a replica of a Bowie knife.

“No skin or hair follicles were found under any of the victim’s nails. This indicates no struggle took place. Both were checked for full, or partial prints, and although a partial was found, it isn’t enough to run it through fingerprint analysis. There is currently some DNA testing being done to determine who Kilpatrick may have had sexual relations with prior to his death.

“All the handwritten notes have also been sent to Albany to be run over by handwriting experts.

“Finally, the blood first found at the church was Kilpatrick’s blood. Right now, we have absolutely zero on the perp. So what do you think, Ed?”

“Your idea to stake out the church might pay off if in fact he really shows, for one. Depending on what the two black and whites find out about Gulatta and Olster; seems like maybe one, or both of them were well, doing the wild thing with the general.” Ed let his voice trail off to convey his meaning.

“No to worry, Ed,” explained Stevie. “I know what sex is. Dad says sex is healthy as long as you have protection and are aware of your surroundings and environment. Mom has told me a million times, if you love a girl, you’ll wait until marriage, since love is all about respecting the one you’ll be with.”

Baker looked at Stevie and thought; too bad your father didn’t hold onto to those ideals, but he and Donnie are happy together, and Stevie’s head hasn’t been corrupted. Mark has always been a great father. Just not a great husband.

“Any way, it’s my night to cook, Ed. How do you like your hamburger?”

“No, that’s fine. No bother. I can pick something up on my way home.”

“Too late. I already started. Just tell me how you like it cooked. Are we talking medium, medium-rare, or dead?”

All three burst out laughing.

Then Baker’s phone rang.

“Baker here.”

“This is Carl. Just to let you know, Albany faxed me back the report I sent. Seems like the general was fond of Miss Olster.”

“Thanks, Carl. I have Ed here, I’ll let him know. If nothing else major happens, I’ll see you Monday. Goodnight.”

She closed down her phone and told Ed what Carl told her.

“Seems your suspicion of the general’s sexual activities are pretty spot on and….” The phone rang again.

“Baker, here.”

“Lieutenant Baker?”

“Yes.”

“This is Officer Phil Mallory. I’m one of two units dispatched out by Detective Manning. I’m at the Olster residence.”

“And?”

She rolled her eyes at Ed just a bit. She could sense that Mallory was still fresh out of the Academy.

“I’ve called it in, but Detective Manning said I was to call you or him if something didn’t go right about the interview. Three other units are pulling up now.

“Miss or Mrs. Olster is dead.”

She passed on what Mallory told her to Ed. She took a last bite of her burger, stood up and went to her bedroom, and opened a dresser drawer and snatched up her Snap-on holster with her police special to her belt, grabbed her badge, stuck that in her jacket pocket and walked back out to the kitchen.

She looked at Stevie.

“I know, mom. I won’t wait up.”

She looked at Ed.

Ed looked at Stevie. “Burger was great, thanks.”

“You ready, Detective Manning.”

Both headed for their respective cars.

Neither one was smiling.

Marianne’s Apartment – 9:21 p.m.

By the time Baker and Ed arrived, they could count six black and white’s flashing, one ambulance, and the news media already on display. All the major players in the press were there. Baker knew it would be like this until they caught this sick bastard once and for all.

The circus was going to be around for a while.

As always, Baker always has two words for the press, and she would say them again before she left the crime scene.

“No comment.”

Stepping under the yellow-crime scene tape, they walked up six steps to an open door, and just to their left, another door opened.

“Hey guys, over here.”

Brad Jackson, eight years on the force, three citations for bravery; shot five times, and big enough to take out the front four of the Steeler’s defensive unit, and not break a sweat, was kneeling next to the body.

As both she and Ed looked down, the first thing they noticed was the tongue.

Then the note.

“Odds tell me the note says, speak no evil.”

“Give the lady a Kupe-doll, Ed.”

“That isn’t all,” spoke out another officer, Tommy Banks, “look in here.”

They walked into the bedroom and Tommy pointed to the open closet doors.

Leather outfits, eight-inch spiked heels, full-bodied rubber suits, leather corsets, whips, crops, canes, masks, handcuffs, and feathers. All those features and a lot more for that intimate moment, or the quickie during lunch.

Leisure or rush hour, Baker wondered.

She and Ed put on their surgical gloves and started going through every drawer. Tommy pulled down two medium-sized boxes, one which contained photographs. Lots of them. Tommy whistled.

“What, Tommy,” half-spoke Ed.

“This chick was busy, and I mean biz-zee.”

“Key word, was,” responded Ed.

“No, seriously. You need to check this out.”

Baker and Ed walked to the edge of the bed where the box sat. The first three pictures were sexually graphic, and the positions looked impossible, unless you were a contortionist.

The next few were of the now deceased, Marianne Olster, in various poses ranging from semi-nude, to full nudity to ultra-explicit sex.

It was the next batch of pictures they looked over that produced a flat sounding laugh from Ed and caused Baker to grimace and shake her head in disgust.

There, in black and white, as well as color; in all their glory, were shots of two of the city’s finest, most respected, and fearless leaders. The Mayor, doing things beyond description, and the Deputy District Attorney, who just happens to be running for Governor in the next election. His slogan: ‘We will take a bite out of crime until there is nothing left to chew. We will win this war on drugs and send a clear message we will not tolerate this filth in our neighborhoods, our schools, our city!’

No one had the heart to tell him that that crap wasn’t going to fly.

There were also pictures of other state representatives, and a congressman, who seemed to enjoy his visits in Marianne’s little whipping den.

“Think she might have been bribing them?”

“Possibly. If so, it backfired on her. From the look of things, we have a few potential suspects.

“If these pictures get out, the damage done to their careers would be devastating, but would they actually kill for it? And if one of them did off her, you would think he would have demanded to have the pictures in his hands.”

“I was thinking the same thing, Baker. They would get any incriminating evidence before leaving this little playground.

“You do know we are going to have to question all of them. One of these people is possibly our perp.”

“Yeah. We’ll start Monday; and we might as well start at the top. Mayor Rydell F. Abraham and Deputy D.A. Fred Allan Mosher. I have to tell you, Ed, I hope neither man is involved beyond their fetishes.”

“Ditto.”

Freddy’s Apartment after Midnight

Alone in the quiet of his small apartment, sitting in the living room, his notebook open, he stares down at name after name after name.

Music plays a soft-flowing number by Debussy.

Next to him on a side table is a decanter of white wine, and he pours his third glass of the evening.

“So much to do. Why do I take it upon myself to get rid of the stench, the filth that parade the streets every day; that flaunts themselves into our home on our televisions? How can people believe the lies these people tell, and then go out and commit the depravities that they do?

“Yes, so much to do, and I will get as much finished as I can. That is why I am here. But, yes, butbutbutbut and but, that little bitch of a cop might have to go as well. She may catch on soon, and then what? WHAT! If she catches you, you idiot, it’s over, that’s what!”

He hurled his half-empty glass of wine and heard it shatter somewhere in the kitchen.

“That is what I will do to her. I will shatter her. Simply remove her from the equation.

“That stupid fucking priest will have to go as well. He hasn’t a clue who I am, but I know who he is. It’s just that I still need him around for backup just in case. Backup? Backup? Oh my, that’s just too funny!” And laugh heartily he did.

Outside, the night was calm, and quiet. Just as it should be.

Going to his bedroom, he removed a large valise from the closet and put it on the bed. Opening it, he looked at the various assortments of wigs, prosthetics, and makeup he would use to create another character unrecognizable to many. Tomorrow, he would be another member of the congregation; filled with many sinners.

No one else would be murdered, for didn’t the Lord say to rest on the Sabbath anyway.

As it was with other nights, his sleep was always plagued with nightmares from another time, another place. They all started and ended the same way.

Agony.

St. Peter’s Sunday Morning Service

May 17th – 10:45 a.m.

“In the name of The Father, The Son, The Holy Spirit, and the Holy Catholic Church; may each and every one of you, go with God. In His Holy Name, we pray, amen.”

The organist started in with her almost scary version of standard fare that would make you believe the Phantom of The Opera was in the house.

Perhaps this time he was.

The choir kicked in a half-beat after the organist, and Bishop Ekerson walked the center aisle, dressed in virginal white, heading for the twin doors to bid everyone who walked back into the light of day, a wonderful Sunday.

All twelve plainclothes police officers hadn’t seen anything to be considered out of the ordinary during the service. There had been no indication from Bishop Ekerson while he was behind the pulpit to even hint at the possibility the killer was somewhere within the congregation.

Both Baker and Ed had positioned themselves near Ekerson in hopes he might be able to recognize him as he walked at the front doors. A killer that was hell-bent on a mission of destruction and mayhem.

They watched as the procession of people flowed effortlessly out the doors into a crisp clear blue sky. Such a beautiful day.

Baker cringed.

With family in tow, came Mayor Rydell Fredrick Abrams; sauntering or wobbling, take your pick. Such a pompous ass, Baker believed. Plus he needs to lose weight. Jenny Craig would have her work cut out for her.

Alongside him was his wife, a somewhat overrated do-gooder. They stopped just long enough to introduce their son and daughter-in-law, who were going back to Seattle, Monday morning.

Baker wanted to visit with him and Deputy D.A. Mosher at their respective homes later, but Ed suggested it would be better just to have them come down to the Precinct.

As Ed said to her once, “Why risk opening a can of worms at home they wouldn’t be able to repair? If all they are guilty of was kinky sex; if they knew what we now know, they would probably stop that altogether. Why risk a marriage and a career?”

After the Mayor, came Josephine Gulatta. A short heavyset woman, cleans homes part-time, or in the General’s case: apartment. Gulatta, married twenty-nine years, three grown sons, and still married to the same “Grouch” as she called her husband, when the police first called on her to ask her a few questions.

To Baker, it appeared as if Josephine Gulatta would probably live to be ninety or die in the next ten years from a stroke. She wasn’t just heavyset, thought Baker. At 4’10” and 395, she was a baby beach wale.

Yeppers, she thought, good old Josephine is on her way to the glue factory one day down the road and she doesn’t even know it. Hell, she could fool everybody and live to be two-hundred. In this day and age, who’s to say?

“Father, I found this under the door to the Rectory with your name on it. I thought that before I locked away my music sheets, I would give this to you.”

His part-time secretary, Jayne Forest, shopper and all-around go-getter and Sunday morning organist; handed him a small envelope; the kind that would hold a greeting card. Jayne turned and went back to the organ to clean off the keys, seat, and polished the brass and chrome laced throughout the organ.

With no one else leaving the church, Baker and Ed went over and stood on each side of Bishop Ekerson.

“Open it up and see what it says.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“If there are any prints to be found other than yours or hers, we might find something, but I’d say that idea has been compromised. Try to handle the edges of the letter or note as carefully as you can, with this.” Ed handed him a pair of tweezers.

Baker looked at Ed.

“Hey, one never knows when they’ll come in handy.”

It was a single sheet of paper.

Printed in the same style as the notes left behind and it read:

We reap what we sow, but no one will know, how far I will go. Is it you, or him, or her, or will I simply vanish; flee. But (buts are great!), one truth I let out of the bag; another double-murder, but first the old hag! After them comes the other bitch.

Yes, you too skinny under-developed-excuse-for-a-woman-playing-cop. I have decided it will be time for you to go, nice and easy and very slow. Then your lover. After all you both work together.

Johnson County Airport – 3:27 p.m.

“Mom, please, let me stay! I’m not a little kid any longer!”

“I know, Stevie. It’s for that reason I’m sending you back to your father. Like I explained to you at home; until this killer is caught and put away, a threat on my life is also a threat against your own. I will not risk you being abducted from this maniac to get to me. You will be much safer back home with your father.”

Stevie had tears in his eyes.

“Mom, you know I love you, right?”

“Right.”

“You know I’ll do anything to help you, right?”

“Right.”

“You know I would die for you, mom; right?”

Silence.

Tears now ran from two sets of eyes as Baker clutched Stevie to her and whispered, “I know, but you have to live to make me a grandmother, at least a dozen times, right?”

Stevie pulled back, wiped the sniffles from his nose on his coat sleeve and nodded his head slowly, saying, “A dozen?”

“Okay, maybe a dozen is pushing it, but at least a couple times.”

Tears forgotten, they grinned at each other.

“Right.”

The agreement game they sometimes played ended there.

A few more hugs, and I love you’s, and seventeen minutes later, Stevie was in the air, Colorado bound.

Baker’s Townhouse – 10:23 p.m.

Until Ed left thirty minutes ago, both had racked their brains and ideas off each other as to where the killer would strike next, other than Baker herself.

The best thing they could come up with was seven couples; but neither one could swing the Captain in paying for extra surveillance.

Tonight, all she could hope for was a kill-free night. Four bodies in four days, and somewhere, another two, guaranteed dead, not counting herself.

She tossed and turned in the bed until the wee hours of the morning before exhaustion finally won her over.

Monday – May 18th

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 7:22 a.m.

As with every Monday through Friday, Eddie pulled up in the Hot Do-Nuts wagon, and brought in twelve dozen assorted doughnuts, along with six gallons of milk, one case of individual cereal containers, and six gallons of orange juice and left all of it on the day table in the break room.

Eddie started delivering about five months ago and is well liked by all the police. Eddie has a speech problem, and walks stooped over from an accident that occurred when he was a child, but he gets by, and always seems to have a positive attitude.

Just as he finished laying everything out, Baker walked into the break room.

“Hi, Eddie. Mmmm. I can smell them. Am I the first one here?”

“Yeth, Mithy Baker. I wath about to leave. I have other placeth to go.”

“Okay, Eddie. You have a good day.”

“You, too, Mithy Baker.”

Grabbing two doughnuts and a Dixie cup filled with orange juice, she headed up the stairs to the squad room, where she already saw a dozen people sitting around. It was already that time of the day.

As she made her way around everyone to get to the podium, she hurriedly finished off the first doughnut and set the second one on the shelf inside the podium with the orange juice.

Looking around the room once more, it looked to her as if the rest of the shift were finally here. So she began.

“Jackson, Rodgers, Quinn, Donaldson, and Cooper; study these files I’m handing you before you go to interviews you been assigned. Remember, what is in those files are sensitive information, and if any this leaks out to anyone, anywhere; you will be asked for your shield and weapon. No if’s, and’s or but’s.

“Are we clear on this?”

A couple replied with a yes, the other two nodded their heads.

“Good. As to the rest of you, nothing more to add other than what you already know about these murders. If we get an update, you will get the update as well. Meantime, go out there and stop the bad guys. Do the best you can do. Stay safe and keep our streets safe.

The meeting broke up.

One of the detectives his head in the squad room. “Baker, you got a call on line two.”

“Thanks. Got it.”

She walked into her office, sat down behind her desk, and picked up the receiver and pressed the number two button.

“Baker here. How can I help you?”

“Roses are red, violets are dead, you’ll be tied to a chair, and very soon, fucking dead!”

The words were followed with cackling laughter.

Rodgers had just stepped in her office and was concerned over the look Baker had on her face.

“Baker? You all right? What? Bad news? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Listen to this.” Baker put the phone on speaker, and what was a prerecorded message, played over and over.

Snapping out of her mini-panic-attack, she fired off an order to Rodgers. “Get me a trace on where this call is coming from, now.”

Four minutes was all it took.

Squad units were immediately deployed to where the call came from. They now knew who the next victim would be, or already was.

The recorded call came from the Mayor’s home.

The Mayor’s Manor – 8:41 a.m.

“Baker, in here.”

As she walked through the four-column poster interior leading to a huge walk-down into an expansive living room, to her left, stood Ed.

Walking past him into another room, a remade den, refurnished into a sewing room, her face blanched somewhat.

“He is one sick fuck, pardon my French, Ed. This guy is sick as hell.”

Tied to a chair, her blouse ripped from her body, there sat Mrs. Arlyss Abrams, fifty-four, slightly chubby, eyes opened, and staring at nothing, forever.

No more do-gooder work for her.

Baker closed her eyes.

She saw the rivulets of blood coating her long reddish hair; seeing it had stiffened against her face. Pulling the locks away from her skin, she saw both ears were missing, sliced away “clean as you please”, she remembered hearing her mother say. Otherwise, the throat was slit, and the slicing X was there.

“Look at this part, Baker,” Ed said dryly.

Baker looked at another handwritten note.

I made him watch her die. So delightful he did cry. The fucking wimp!

“Crap! Where is he, Ed?”

“I can answer that,” said Carl as he stuck his head through the doorway. Just follow my skinny butt.”

Follow they did right up fourteen steps, and then to a second room on the right better known as the Master Bedroom. This one looked something akin to something out of ‘Gone with the Wind’. A plantation-style, four-poster bed and so on and so on.

Scarlett would have been proud.

Just not today.

Tied to the bed with his throat slashed and the X imbedded into his rolls upon rolls of fat, was the Mayor, a now former all-around favorite of the people.

A note, stained with blood was stapled to Abrams foot.

LIVE ON RAEH

“Ed, get in touch with the guys doing the interviews and tell them to bring everyone down to the station. You and I will question them ourselves.

“If they won’t go easy, we’ll get warrants based on what we know about their sleazy private lives.”

“Can do. Will do.

“What about you? How are you holding up since you got that call from here? I know it had to creep you out, but if you take my offer, you could sleep a little better.”

“I’m pissed, not creeped out. Should I be scared? Maybe. And what offer are you talking about?”

“I could sleep on your couch a few nights, or until we catch this twisted bastard.”

“Thanks for the offer, Ed, really. I don’t need the neighbors talking for one. Second; if this wacko does come after me, he’ll find himself on the ground looking up after I kick his ass, or on the ground looking up with a third hole for an eye in his head.”

St. Peter’s – 8:09 a.m.

The church was empty.

No movement.

None, save for one sauntering about.

He walked through the always unlocked doors, and as always, knelt to one knee, made the sign of the cross, then got up and briskly walked to the confessional booth.

He opened the door and closed it behind him, sitting on the built-in leather seat, and waited.

… and he waited.

He looked at his watch. 8:12.

He waited a little longer.

8:17.

He stood, opened the door, and retreated back to where he first started. Before he reached the huge double doors, he whirled sharply about.

“I know you are here! I can feel you watching me! You hide behind your robes, your religion, like a little girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts.

“I know you are here somewhere, so understand this, you gutless prick for a human being; one day, I will have something special planned for you. That’s a promise.

“And no but’s about that either.”

Then he was gone.

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 4:26 p.m.

“Look, Mr. Mosher, I don’t much like this any better than you do, but I do need your full participation on this. Things will run much smoother for you, and for us, if you will just answer a few questions.”

“Ms. Baker ….”

“That’s Lieutenant Baker to you, if you don’t mind.”

Mosher glared at her for less than a second, then turned on his lawyerly charm.

“My sincerest apologizes. As I was about to say, I’m not very happy about being hauled out of my own office in the middle of the afternoon and held here practically against my will; especially on some trumped-up charges of pornography and pandering. My God, what is wrong with you people?

“I’m the Deputy District Attorney, for heaven’s sake, and to remind you; I will be running for the governorship next year. If this gets out, and the press gets wind of it; I will see to it that you explain your actions and will demand you resign from the force for this fool-hardy stunt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite clear. Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

Mosher started to get out of the interrogation chair.

Baker pushed lightly on his shoulder with one finger.

“Not so fast. First off, do any of these people ring a bell with you?”

Baker threw a dozen photographs on the table showing Fred Allen Mosher in one heavily graphic sex scene after another. Half showed him giving it to a much younger man; the other half, he was getting it from the now deceased Marianne Olster.

Mosher’s swagger disappeared. His skin went an ashen gray and a clammy light fil of sweat covered him completely.

“How? Where did you get these? Where did they come from? I never knew these existed.”

“Marianne Olster’s apartment. I’m sure you recognize the deceased as well as her apartment. Thing is, we found these and other pictures in her now, not so private stash of filth.”

“I never knew she had these. I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it. Now, answer a few questions I have and if I like the answers, you are a free man. You can walk away and take that trash with you.”

“Ask.”

“Did you ever know of any other political power players to frequent her apartment?”

“A few, but I never had discussions with those people. We pretty much had our own agenda.”

“But you do know who they are. Which few?”

“The young man in the picture is a Third Ward Representative. We met through Marianne. With her, for the right price, all of your fantasies can be reached.”

“Who else?”

“It doesn’t matter any longer, but there was of course the Mayor, and former Lieutenant Governor Clyde Mercury. A couple of judges, none from our county and two of them were from Ohio. The rest from upstate. Truthfully, I do not know their names.”

“Did the Mayor ever mention to you or to anyone you know, about him having enemies?”

“Anyone in politics will have at least one, but to go as far as murder? None I can recall him ever mentioning that would be a threat to his life.”

“What about you?”

“No. Well, if you consider all those I’ve prosecuted over the years, I’m sure there are bound to be some. I have, in the past, received death threats from prison, but that’s been five years ago. Right now? None I would consider to be a danger.”

“Then you had better start thinking. We have a hunch you are on this killer’s hit list of people to do.”

“I demand protection then!”

Ed spoke up.

“Settle down, Mr. Mosher. We can offer you protection in one of two ways. One is if you witness an actual crime that could endanger your life as well as those lives around you. The second, if you are a state or federal official.”

“There you are, then. That includes me.”

“No, it doesn’t”

In walked Captain Todd and Rodgers. Captain Todd was holding an affidavit in his right hand.

“Mr. Mosher,” said Captain Todd, “pay close attention to what I’m about to tell you because I dislike repeating myself. You only get one shot at this.

“Please read this affidavit carefully, and then sign it at the bottom. Failure to do so, and Detective Rodgers has a warrant for your arrest, signed by Judge Blake, not more than ten minutes ago. Read him the charges.”

Rodgers pulled out the warrant from inside his coat pocket.

“It states you are to be placed under arrest for pandering, and engaging in illicit and illegal sexual activity, and also engaging with those not of legal age; and endangering their lives, according to our state laws, and revised status.”

Rodgers looked at Mosher.

“You know the law, and you know what sentence this carries. You also know that if you go to prison, your odds of survival isn’t very good.”

Captain Todd spoke again.

“In signing this affidavit, you will effectively and immediately resign from office, and will no longer declare yourself a candidate for the governorship, or any future seat, or to hold any public position in the future. And not just in New York, but in any state.

“Once you comply with those instructions, you will get your protection, but not before, and the warrant will not be issued.”

Mosher was trapped, and he knew it.

He signed.

Inwardly, Baker’s heart was doing handstands.

Freddy’s Apartment - 10:45 p.m.

“These past few days have certainly been, oh, how do I want to put it; festive, perhaps? Then festive it is.

“Most of the liars and cheaters are gone. I will get rid of more, but I must devise something soon to keep that lady-cop, Baker‒‒oh how nice; another B-word.

“I need something to keep her off my ass other than slit her fucking throat as well. Baker-Baker-Baker-Baker. How cute! But, BUTT-BAKER is going to have to meet her maker.

“After I finish her, that is, not until after I use her first. A delicious thought to say the least. A pity she doesn’t have bigger tits.

“But, she isn’t a liar. She’s not a thief or a cheater; and she is far removed from being a sick degenerate. I have to have a solid reason to kill this bitch.”

He smiled as he pushed the button on his remote and both television and DVD player came on at the same time.

What began to play gave him great personal pleasure as he watched the many pictures he had taken from each kill. He first loaded them onto his computer, then transferred them to a CD. His personal cache. Hundreds of them and not all of them just from his recent kills.

Freddy knew his days were limited in Montie, for it wouldn’t be long before he would get a message by special courier to take on another professional hit. That one would pay him handsomely, just as the more than 133 already have. The ones he kills now are for free. His way of keeping society and the neighborhood safer.

He poured himself a glass of white Zinfandel, then looked at his watch.

Two more minutes.

Chopin was playing in the background; a strong thunderous series of crescendos seemingly bouncing off the walls, surrounding him, when his phone rang.

He looked at the incoming call.

Betty in Holland. On time as usual. Time to change over.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Donald! I do hope you are ready to play, big boy. I am so wet, just thinking about tonight.”

Freddy sat naked with an erection. But that didn’t come about because of Betty’s call, but her words would help him finish what he started.

Looking at the pictures as they flashed by on the screen, along with Betty’s most sensual and lusty voice, he shuddered.

Freddy’s Apartment - Midnight and the News

“In a hastily called news conference, Fredrick Allen Mosher, resigned this afternoon as Deputy District Attorney after fourteen years of service.

“Mr. Mosher has also effectively withdrawn his campaign to run for the state’s highest office next year.

“He cites personal family issues, and stated it was regrettable he had to vacate his position om such short notice, has also stated he has no future political plans.

“In other news, county officials are saying the expansion plans for the new convention center are being delayed until….”

Freddy shut the television off and threw the remote at the sixty-inch screen in a blind rage.

“Resign? Resign? Refuckingsign! You sniveling incompetent cock-sucker for a human being! Do you think that will stop me because you suddenly caught a conscious!

“Your ass is still mine, but we’ll let the state bury it along with the rest of your sorry self.

“Perhaps I’ll take something from you to add to my temporary collection.

“I am so going to enjoy this, but, you probably won’t. But, I will take my time with you very slowly.

“Slow and slower.”

Tuesday – May 19th – Stakeout – First 8 Hours

“This is really boring, Rodgers. I could be out doing real cop stuff.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you, Al. This is real cop stuff. Give it another ten years, and you’ll be glad these assignments come up. How long have you been on the force; about a year?”

“Fifteen months, but I didn’t become a cop just to sit in a car and watch the neighborhood.”

“It’s more than that. If something goes down on our watch, it becomes our responsibility. Remember the words? Serve, protect and….”

“And defend; of course I remember. But how often does a stakeout really turn into anything; especially on a guy that hasn’t committed a crime, go wrong?”

“Al, I know of two times, and one of them was a personal. One of those two times I was involved. I caught a bullet I’m still carrying around inside me to this day.”

“No way! For real?’

“Real as I’m sitting here. Four years ago; only I was watching a house we knew was a crack haven for cookers. Big money going in and out around the clock. We had a man on the inside. Things went down. It all went too fast. Nothing was supposed to happen until our undercover gave the signal. He was killed. I called for backup. I caught one next to my heart and I mean right up against it.

“I had to go through a complete medical fitness exam after surgery, and then get approval from my therapist and surgeons to return back to full duty. Administration wanted me to retire. I wanted to finish my twenty.”

“Looks like you won that one. You’re here.”

“Exactly.”

“What happened with the cookers and dealers?”

“Let’s just say over the course of a few months, there were a lot of funerals.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

“We buried some of them, too.”

Stakeout – Next 8 Hours

“Roz, there’s been no movement since we got here; in or out.”

“Good. Makes our job easier. You guys take care and get some rest. See’ya tomorrow.”

Roz, short for Rosalynn, was in her eleventh year as a cop. Her partner, Sallie (Salvatore) Vechellio, was also a nine-year veteran, were kicking back, parked in the same spot that Rodgers and Al had just left from. Both were munching down on burgers and chicken tenders they got at Burger King.

Roz brought a book along to read. A friend of hers recommended ‘Bone Garden’ by Tess Gerritsen. Sallie was into crossword puzzles. Both were expecting a boring night. But Roz decided to sweeten the pot and brought along a portable DVD-player and a couple action movies just in case.

But Roz, like Sallie, also knew to keep a watchful eye.

Stakeout – The Next 8 Minutes

It was barely six in the morning when Mack and Dennis pulled up alongside Roz and Sallie’s unmarked car. Dennis hit the car’s remote button on the passenger door panel and the window lowered.

“Hey, you two, you asleep in there? Wake the hell up. The Calvary is here to save your ass.”

Dennis turned and grinned broadly at Mack with his joke, then looked back at the car and still saw no movement.

Dennis opened his door and stepped from the car and began banging on the driver side window, when he realized through the tinted window, the shadow was a reflection of a body against the window.

He grabbed the handle on the door and opened it. Then he could make out smears of dried blood across the interior of the car, along the dash and splattered on the inside of the windshield. Roz and Sallie’s bodies had slumped on opposite sides of each other.

He took all this in in a matter of seconds and turned back to Mack, screaming, “Oh shit, Mack! Both of them are down. Call it in, Mack! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, they are a mess!”

Dennis couldn’t hold off any longer.

He bent between both cars and threw up.

Two Hours Before

Tied down in his own bed, electrical tape wrapped around his mouth and fully naked, Fredrick Allen Mosher was drenched in his own sweat, and urine. He was petrified.

Things had moved so suddenly. The knock on the door. The friendly face. The warm greeting. Then came a fist. A kick. Another punch. Why? It made no sense. The police! Downstairs, outside somewhere. Where are they? They promised to protect me! He heaved a sigh and tears flowed openly.

“Cry, you little fat wimp. You useless piece of garbage. Cry all you want. Before this is over, you will cry even more, but it won’t matter. You won’t be able to hear yourself cry and scream, except in your mind. You won’t be able to do much of anything when I’m finished with you.”

That was when he displayed the Bowie knife and stepped closer to the bed and slowly sliced off Mosher’s right ear.

Mosher’s body lifted from the mattress as far as his restraints would allow, and his grunts and groans of agony went upon deaf ears. He could feel blood oozing down and behind his neck.

Then off came the left ear, as Mosher, his eyes wide in sheer panic, shook his head from side to side, the pain doubly intense, so to the fear.

His silent muffled screams would have shattered glass were he not gagged.

“See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it? Me? I didn’t feel a thing. But, I think you might have.”

He trailed the Bowie knife up and down Mosher’s chest to forehead and stopped just below his right eye.

“Now this; this may cause you some direct pain to your brain. Oh, how forgetful I am. You are too fucking lame to have one of those. So you shouldn’t feel a thing.”

One hand holding Mosher’s right eye open, his other hand filled with the sharp blade, he inserted the tip into the far corner, pressed in, curling the tip behind the eye, then pulled forward until the eyeball popped out with a dull “plop”, and rolled off the side of Mosher’s face to the mattress.

Mosher was beside himself, captured in the fear and sheer turmoil that had befallen him. Even in all his pain, his fear, covered in his own blood; he couldn’t believe this person to be so cruel, this heartless to do such a terrible thing.

His thoughts were quickly disturbed as he felt his other eye dissected and devastated, then cast aside. His body continued to shake as if in a seizure of ungodly fear; as if the devil himself were torturing him.

“See? The tears are all gone now. Isn’t that much better? But, I’m afraid I must hurry along. Sorry. I would really like to stay and chat with you longer, but I have places to go, people to do; you do understand, right? You don’t, but I do.”

And just that quickly, the Bowie knife sliced through the air, Fredrick Allen Mosher no longer was concerned about his pain.

The blade sliced deftly across his throat, nearly severing Mosher’s head from his neck. Blood spurted as water does from a fire hydrant. Rampant.

Then two more sweeping slashes, and Mosher’s chest was split open.

“Now your soul can run free. And when it comes time, it will be judged. Don’t be surprised at a guilty verdict.”

Cutting away the electrical tape, he opened Mosher’s mouth and pulled out his tongue as far as possible, and deftly sliced it off.

Blood was everywhere; just like the other bodies, but this one was extra-special: 3 for the price of 1.

Looking at himself, making certain none of the plastic he wore was either torn or ripped away; that his surgical gloves weren’t torn as well, Freddy was very pleased. Leaving evidence behind wouldn’t do.

He placed his three newest evils in a plastic bag and left one of two notes for them to find.

OG OT DAH EERHT SLIVE MORF DNA LIVE DRATSAB

Briefly, he thought about the other two outside in the car. A pity, but in war, casualties are expected. He really hates using guns on innocent people, but, sometimes, one must love what he hates most and just go for it.

Wednesday – May 20th

News Conference – 7:31 a.m.

Captain Todd was about to address a television camera while standing behind a podium, and in his hands, he held three sheets of paper with a hastily written speech.

The News Director pointed to the cameraman, then to the Captain for the go-ahead signal. This would be taped, and then replayed throughout the day.

“This morning, at 5:52 a.m., two police officers were found dead while on duty during a routine stakeout.

“As of this moment, we are certain in the manner of each officer’s death. It is believed the killer was known, or believed to be known by either one, or both officers.

“At this time, their names are being withheld pending notification of their families.

“We are working diligently, and we will not rest until we have apprehended this person, or persons.

“The suspect is 5’8” to 5’10”, 175 to 190 pounds, and dark hair. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. He uses a Bowie knife to kill his victims with.

“If you have any information you feel may help us in this killer’s arrest, please call the toll-free number flashing at the bottom of your television screen. There is a $100,000 reward for information that will lead to this person’s arrest, and prosecution.

“And if you suspect you may know this person, do not confront him. As you already know from the media, this person has killed over half a dozen people. So I repeat, do not confront this person. Just call the toll-free number at the bottom of your screen. Thank you.”

What the Captain didn’t mention was the other murder. As before, throat slashed, chest with the X cut. The dead-pan sightless stare of Mosher. The missing body parts.

He didn’t mention the second message found on Baker’s office phone, or the note attached to Mosher.

The note to Baker was the most disturbing of all.

Wear your badge and gun proudly, sweet Janis. But you will have nowhere to run. Just like good old Fredrick, sweetJanis, you will be dead.

Meeting in the Captain’s Office – 8:04 a.m.

“Look, Captain. I’m not scared of this creep. I don’t need protection. If I need help, I’ll call for back up, and I certainly don’t need to be placed on administrative leave, either. What I need is to be allowed to do my job and continue this investigation like I have been. This has been my case since day one. I’m asking that you not pull this out from under me.”

Ed spoke up.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to barge in on this conversation without an invitation, but she’s right, Captain. You know it just like the rest of us do.

“Hell, walk in the squad room. Look at every man and woman there. You’ll see it in their eyes and on their faces. They believe in her and would follow her to hell if she yelled charge.”

Ed looked at Baker.

“And if you don’t want or need protection; too bad. As long as we are around, if we have to, we’ll take a hit if need be. That’s what cops do. Serve, protect, and defend. So just live with it, Baker.

“Speaking about the crew, we have a meeting with them, and a job to do, so let’s get it done.”

Captain Todd put his hand on Baker’s right shoulder, and looked at her, nodding his head. “You need anything. Ask. It’s there.”

Nothing more was said.

The Squad Room – 8:21 a.m.

“Listen up, people. We all know what went down. We lost a brother and a sister to a madman. Roz Capri and Sallie Vechellio; with a combined twenty-two-year record of service. Some of you knew them a long time. And regardless of the other murders, I’m going to move heaven and hell for all the assistance I can get us. This just got personal for all of us.

“You all know the unwritten rule. Do not try to apprehend this son-of-a-bitch on your own, excuse my French; but if you do happen to come across this fucked-up-bastard … terminate with prejudice.

“End of story. Now go out there, stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

Someone from the back of the room asked, “How long before the viewing and funeral procession?”

“When Captain Todd finds out, we all find out. Now get out there and find out anything you can, where and when you can.”

“Stay safe.”

Please, Baker silently asked. Please. Stay. Safe.

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 9:25 a.m.

“Twenty-Second Precinct, Sargent McDaley speaking.”

“This is Bishop Ekerson, calling. I found something very disturbing next to the confessional booth’s door.”

“What would that be, Father?”

“A tape recorder with a cassette tape, and a small box, with, with, a finger inside it, wrapped in gauze.”

“Father, I’ll have one of our units dispatched there immediately. I will also notify Lieutenant Baker.”

St. Peter’s Rectory – 9:36 a.m.

Both Baker and Ed listened to the tape. The voice sounded different, yet you could tell it was the same person that had purposely destroyed so many lives and that of their families.

Baker knew that no matter how sleazy some of those dead people were, they didn’t deserve to die, especially the way they did.

“I am assuming by now, you may have confirmed the finger belongs to that hypocritical lying oaf, Mosher. Now that we are clear on that point, I can move one.

“sweet Janis Baker.” Baker was stunned to hear this vicious sick person use her name. She looked at Ed and he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say, no big deal.

“This part is for you. You won’t know when, where, or how I will be the one standing over your dead body; such a pleasure that will be for me. You know, well, you will now; I masturbate in my mind as to how all this will come together and will do so many times over after you bleed out your life.

“Only then, I will really masturbate and hold onto the memory of that final look on your face.

“But, sweet Janis, you will never find me, better people than you have tried and failed. But, I promise you, I will find you. I see you even now.”

A slight pause, followed by laughter.

“You looked around, didn’t you? Admit it. Of course, you did.

“But, this is to let you know I am taking a rest from all of my activity. My most insincere condolences to those poor police people.

“But, sweet Janis, are you listening? If you hadn’t ordered them to be there, they would still be alive. You are responsible for their blood this time, not me.

“When I am ready to hunt you down, that sorry excuse for a man of God, who wouldn’t forgive his own mother to hell or heaven, yet alone me; will let you know when I come back.

“Until then, watch your back. For I’ll be watching yours.”

Baker did look to see if he was watching, as did Ed.

Benny’s Pub – 11:39 a.m.

“Where do we go from here, Ed? He says he’s quitting. For what? A week? A month? A year, maybe; then what? It’s only been a week since the first murder, and we aren’t any closer to him than when we started. No evidence, no nothing! No fingerprints, hair samples, sweat; this guy makes no mistakes!”

“Easy, Baker, easy. My thinking is that he’s getting scared now. Cop killers never fully get away. I know it and you know it, too. He’s quitting because he knows he’s a dead man. If he disappears, at least the killing stops.”

“Until the next time. It just pisses me off that this will probably go unsolved.”

“Won’t be the first time, or the last. Deal with it, drink your drink. You deserve it.”

Silence.

A few minutes later, the rest of Baker’s team showed up, and a round of scotch and whiskey sours were ordered. They all stood around the table, some raised their drinks held high.

The memory shot.

Six other cops were in Benny’s, including Stan. When Roz first joined the force, she was his partner before he retired.

They all knew the drill.

“We won’t forget,” Baker said.

Every drink was downed, and each shot glass was hurled against a special wall covered in stainless steel.

Benny didn’t mind.

One of the shot glasses was his own.

Roz was his daughter.

St. Peter’s – Mid-Afternoon

“Father, if only you forgive me. I would have stopped long ago.”

“How can you sit here and lie in the Holy Church of God?”

“The Holy Church of God! What a joke. All you catholic bastards are filthy rich because people come looking to you for forgiveness. And of course, they drop a few bucks in the tin plate every Sunday, believing that adds to the forgiveness. Then, they go out during the week, screw around on their wives or husbands, and find their way back to this fucking little box for salvation, begging for absolution, which you give. An hour after the Sunday sermons, the bullshit starts over again.

“If I didn’t need you down the road, I would end your pathetic and gutless life right now.

“I killed these people because they had a secret life. That life had to end. Something for you to think about, Padre. Secrets have a way of coming back and biting you right on the nuts.”

“Of all people, why do you need me? Why me?”

“You will know when I am ready to tell you, but you won’t like the answer. But rest assured, when I do, it will open your eyes like never before.

“Goodbye, you pathetic excuse for a priest and a man. I will be back when you are useful to me again.”

The confessional door opened, and lightly closed.

“Will I ever know who you are?”

“Yes. It’s all part of the secrets we keep. But until then, see you in church, Padre.”

Baker’s Office

Thursday - May 21th - 8:03 a.m.

Baker walked past the squad room into her office and saw a long box that looked like it may have come from a florist shop. She looked around and saw no one else, so obviously, this was a quiet surprise.

Her team must have bought her flowers to bring a little light and color to the office, and perhaps within her as well.

She opened the box, and there lay a single white rose, dripping in blood.

Attached underneath the box lid, written in the same style as all the other notes left behind, was one more; taped in plastic.

Not to worry this time. It isn’t human blood. Not this time. Just a rat’s, whose time was finally at hand. But, the next white rose, I will dip in your blood.

See you around, sweet Janis.

Of two evils the less is always to be chosen. —Thomas à Kempis:

Imitation of Christ, book ii. chapter xii.

Richard Hooker: Polity, book v. chap. lxxxi.

So, don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries.

Today’s trouble is enough for today. Matthew 7:34

Sometimes you flip a coin.

I made my choices long ago.

My today, and all of my tomorrows,

mean nothing; compared to all my yesterdays.

Heads, I win. Tails, I win.

Freddy

____________

Excerpt

“I’m sending Stevie back home Saturday. I don’t want him here if she gets close. And, I don’t want any of our guys to get caught unaware. Remember what happened last time?”

Ed didn’t say a word.

She walked toward the Captain’s office, opened, and closed his door, and started telling him what she told Ed.

If you were on the other side of that glass such as Ed, Rodgers, Adams, Saul, and a few others; you could hear the muffled voice of Captain Todd as he waved his arms about, arguing his case for her protection.

Captain Todd gave in, but with one stipulation. The surveillance would last until Monday night.

Prelude:

The Holidays

Snow on the ground, a chill in the air, trees blanketed with soft white, and the streets are bare of movement on the Sunday night before Christmas Eve.

Janis Baker and her son, Stevie, have just finished wrapping each other’s gifts and placed them under the tree filled with lights, shiny glass balls of various colors, shapes, and designs; and covered lightly, but with splendor, what Janis’ father always called angel hair; tinsel. And of course, no tree is complete without an angel on top.

The tree stood in front of her living room window, and with the backdrop from outside; it gave the tree that holiday festive look found on a postcard. Cozy. Warm.

Janis was so happy to have Stevie back with her.

Since what took place a few months ago, things seemed to return back its normal state; without serial killers threatening her or endangering her son.

Speaking of which, “Mom, I’ve been wanting to ask you the last couple of days about that guy last spring. Did you guys catch him? You never said anything.”

Baker shuddered slightly.

“No, we never did, and if he’s still around, he’s stopped killing. My guess is that he’s moved on. The case is still open, and we still review it daily, looking for any clue we can to find out who he is and nail him. So far, we have nothing.”

Stevie hugged her.

“I know you, mom. You’ll get him one day.”

Changing the subject, he exclaimed, “Okay, mom. You promised, remember? Charlie Brown’s Christmas!”

“How could I forget,” she smiled. “I keep my promises. The DVD is already in the player. Popcorn first, then to the movie we go!”

“I’ll make the popcorn, mom, and and‒‒” the phone rang.

They looked at each other.

Stevie broke the silence after the second ring.

“Go on, mom. I’ll make the popcorn.” Stevie winked and grinned at her.

What a boy, she thought. In the middle of the third ring, she answered.

“This is Baker.”

“Merry Christmas, Baker.”

The tension left her when she recognized the voice.

“Merry Christmas, Ed. This is a social call, I hope.”

“Yes and no. One thing though; no bodies.”

Her breath hitched, and she briefly looked over at Stevie as he was microwaving the popcorn, waiting for the bag to bulge.

“Talk to me, then. What have you got for me?”

“Our Beauty Killer is back.”

“What? How?”

“Two nights ago, she escaped from the mental ward in Buffalo. They found a female guard strangled, neck broken, and half her face sliced off. We don’t have any bodies in the area, so you won’t have to race off to a nasty crime scene. Buffalo PD is handling the murder investigation there.

“I just called to let you know she might try to come back here. If she does, I think that maybe you should...”

“What, Ed? You think maybe that I should run and hide somewhere? Is that what you think?”

“No, not at all. You wouldn’t anyway. Just thinking as a precaution, either take a little vacation time or have some added protection on hand.”

“I’ve used all my vacation time, and it’ll be five weeks before I can take another week. Besides, I’m good.

“Buffalo’s been hit hard by the storm this year, so travel won’t be so easy. Buffalo PD will probably pick her up in no time. If they don’t, in the morning, I’ll brief the team, and Captain Todd, and make them aware of her to be on the safe side.”

“Whatever you say, Baker. Just hate the thought of losing your bossy ass, is all.”

She laughed.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Ed. It’s time for Charlie Brown’s Christmas here,” she said loud enough for Stevie to hear. “Take care and be careful. Maybe you should watch a holiday movie tonight.”

Ed grimaced.

“Actually, I’m home watching the Steelers and Jets play. Have fun with Stevie. See you in the morning.”

Closing her cell phone, she turned as Stevie handed her a big bowl of popcorn and he ran to the remote and hit the on buttons for both the TV and DVD player. He knew there would be no intrusions tonight. Nothing to get between him and his mom.

He knew she had a job to do, one that held responsibilities. He would never cry or complain about that. But now, she was a mom first, and a cop, second. Holiday wishes can come true.

“Come on, mom! You’re going to miss the opening!”

“I’m hurrying.” The ding of the microwave sounded. “Someone forgot to melt the butter. Some popcorn guy you are.”

“Hey, I never said I was perfect.”

“Slide over, Bub. Give your mom some room.”

They laughed a little, but throughout Charlie brown’s Christmas, they both laughed and cried more; for the tenth straight year in a row.

I’m getting older, thought Baker. So is my son.

Tonight, was a good night.

The Squad Room

December 24th – Monday Morning ‒ 8:17 a.m.

“Morning everyone.

“I’m going to highlight the file sitting in front of each of you, but I also want each of you to study it carefully.

“Her name is Claire Waynestead, age thirty, born August 21, 1981, in Sonner, Texas. She is five-seven, roughly 120 to 130. Grey eyes, light complexion; she burns, never tans. Last known hair color, brunette, shoulder length; that could and probably has changed by now. She has no known friends or immediate family in the area. Her only know relative, a brother, is currently doing time in California. She is single, and she is to be considered extremely dangerous.

“Five years ago, I had the less than fortunate pleasure of taking her down. She was billed by the media as the Beauty Killer. Three years before she began her killing spree, she tried to make a go of it in Hollywood. She was told she wasn’t good enough.

“She started blaming other people for her failures. Her agent was the first one, then her parents. She went after other actors and such in the industry; primarily on-stage actors and killed about seven performers.

“She would first kidnap them by gunpoint, tie them up, and while still alive, she would take a straight razor and slice away the skin on their face. Then she would gloat over how unattractive they looked compared to her and then cut their throats.

“You see, in Hollywood, some producer there said she wasn’t attractive enough for the role she was after. She lost it. And over the years until I took her down, she ended up killing over nineteen people, all the same way.

“Ed and I suspect she may come into our neighborhood, and if she does, and if you spot her, handle her with extreme caution. Do not, and I repeat, do not try to apprehend this woman on your own. Call for backup ASAP. She’s much stronger than she looks, and for as crazy as she is; she is as smart as she is beautiful.”

Baker looked in Ed’s direction, he stood up. At six-four, and 245, he was an imposing individual to say the least.

“That’s all I have to add for right now. She escaped December 20th, four days ago, from the Buffalo State Mental Institution for the criminally insane. Buffalo PD are currently handling the case, but Waynestead strangled a female guard, and killed a nurse on duty, and sliced both of their faces to ribbons.

“As of this moment, there are no reported sightings of her being this far south but be prepared. What with the snowstorm, travel conditions are pretty rough up there at the moment. Waynestead does have access to money. A lot of it, so it may come as no surprise she’s probably purchased some car and new clothes by now. She may be holed up in a motel somewhere, having pizza delivered while waiting out the storm.”

Ed looked up with Baker standing to his right and nodded to the Captain.

Captain Todd walked to the front of the room.

“I’ve not much to add to what’s been said here, except to be extremely careful of this person. I don’t want any of you to play John Wayne or Rambo. This isn’t a movie, and you guys aren’t actors. Waynestead writes her own scripts with her own endings. Just watch your back out there.”

Baker took over.

“Your assignments have been rotated for this quarter. Check your inboxes for details. In the next few days, some of you will be assigned a rookie, and don’t bitch about it. We were all there once, so get over it now.

“If no one has any questions; get out there and stop the bad guys. Stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

As everyone was filing out, Captain Todd looked at Baker.

“I need to see you in my office.” Looking at Ed, then back to Baker, he said, “Alone.”

Ed shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Baker follow the Captain into his office and closed the door behind her as Captain Todd sat behind his desk.

“I’ve read a little more on your dealings with Waynestead than what was debriefed in the meeting, Baker.”

She just stared at him.

“When you arrested Waynestead, it said in your original report you had to have a hundred and ten stitches in both your thighs and chest. I wasn’t here when that happened, but don’t you play Rambo either; is that understood?”

“Certainly, Captain. I was much younger then, and times have changed.”

“So has she. Keep that in mind.”

“I have. Honestly, Captain, I think if she finds out I’m still here, still on the force; I believe that will be her driving factor in her coming back.”

“Revenge?”

“Precisely. That, and one other thing.”

“That you are an attractive woman?”

She blushed ever slightly to hear him say those words, especially from her superior, but it also put a small sparkle of light in her eyes to hear the words. She hasn’t been told she is attractive since before the divorce. Stevie says she is beautiful all the time, but he would. She’s his mom.

“Captain, I wouldn’t go that far, but she was in a jealous rage, and she did threaten to ruin my looks in court when she was sentenced to life at the institution in Buffalo. So I do expect her to come looking for me.”

“Then I’m issuing a surveillance team on your place until she is picked up.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine, Captain.”

“No, you won’t. Don’t argue. Until Waynestead is back in the institution where she belongs, your home will be under a twenty-four-hour watch. I’m not going to risk losing one of the best cops I have under my command. This discussion is over.

“Like you told your team; get out there and stop the bad guys.”

Break Room – 9:12 a.m.

“Ed, you know me, I can’t stand all this cloak and dagger stuff. I have Stevie at home with me for ten more days. Waynestead won’t come to my house, not directly at least. She’ll try to get at me where I’m away from immediate safety. And, by the way, this coffee is terrible.”

“Don’t blame me, blame the vending machine. Our coffee-maker is broken.”

Rodgers walked into the small break room.

“Baker? Got a minute?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s something I have to show you in the squad room. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

“I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

She started to finish her coffee, but the taste was just too bitter.

“Look at it this way,” said Ed. “At least for the next several days, you’ll know that Stevie will be in good hands, too.”

“I’d like to think he already is.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know. It’s just that all of this extra stuff just isn’t necessary.”

She stood and walked back to the squad room, with Ed right behind her, just grinning from ear to ear.

As she stepped inside, there was her team in the middle of the room singing, ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’, at the top of their non-singing-in-tune voices; it was enough to make her skin shiver. Behind her, she could hear Ed chip in and sing as badly as everyone else. She couldn’t help but laugh and smile.

When the singing died down, Rodgers bent behind the desk and withdrew a large box and handed it to her.

“I didn’t know for sure what to get you, so we hope you like this. The guys all chipped in and said to get you something. Ed helped me as well. Anyway, here, and from all of us, Merry Christmas, Baker.”

Cheers and whistles sounded off, with words of “open it” and “what’s inside?”

Baker, as she was tearing away the ribbon and wrapping paper, did her very best to hold back the tears of thankfulness. Except for Stevie, this was the first gift not given within the family.

But these guys were her other family, so that made it just as good.

Opening the flaps aside, she reached in and pulled out two boxes. One held a set of pots and pans, and the other, a set of dishes for four. Another smaller box held four movies and two video games for Stevie.

“Thank you, guys. You shouldn’t have done this, but this is very much appreciated.”

There was a punch bowl, a platter of finger sandwiches, and chips on the desk. Even the Captain was there, so in turn, everyone wished each other a Merry Christmas.

Eventually the room emptied out as they all went about their assigned street route for the day.

Baker went into her office thinking Stevie was going to be excited over his gifts. Baker was willing to bet that that was Ed’s idea.

“Excuse me, are you Officer Baker?”

Lost in her quiet moment, she was caught unaware by the voice.

“Well, not officer, but I am Baker. Can I help you?”

“I just had this delivered to me not but ten minutes ago in my office. This note said I should deliver it to you. Kind of strange if you ask me.”

In the man’s hands was a box about six inches long and two inches deep. He stretched his arms out to give it to her.

“Just put in on my desk, please. I would like to see the note first.”

He reached into his pants pocket and handed the note to her.

Looking at the scrawled words, she recognized the handwriting immediately. Whipping out her cell phone she punched in 17.

“Ed, get over to my office, right now.” She never gave him time to speak and closed her phone down.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to have a seat next to the water fountain over there.”

“Why? I do something wrong? I only brought you a package is all. Is that a crime these days?”

“No, sir. I am going to have someone briefly interview you and get a statement as to how all this took place this morning; then you will be free to go.”

The man grumbled slightly but sat next to the water fountain.

Ed walked in.

“What’s up?” Seeing the older man sitting down he asked, “What’s he in for?”

“I didn’t do anything! All I did was deliver a package!”

“Sir,” responded Baker, “please. You will be free to leave, soon.”

Looking at Ed, she said, “Read this.”

Taking the note, Ed read.

I thought it was about time I returned these items. I no longer have a need for them. Oh, and Merry Christmas, sweet Janis.

She then showed him the contents in the box.

A pair of eyes. A pair of ears. One tongue.

Baker’s Office – 1:45 p.m.

Baker received a call from the Lab. Only three sets of prints were found. Ed’s, the man who delivered the box, Nathan Quillary, and herself.

He’s back.

“Of all the damn times for him to surface. Thank goodness the Captain does have my back. But now, do I keep Stevie, or send him home where I know he’ll be safe. Dammit all!”

2:09 p.m.

A memo was put in each of her team members inbox that the ‘Saint Peter’s Church Killer’, a phrase turned out by the media, was back.

Baker wouldn’t tell Stevie, but the day after Christmas, she was going to send him back home. She tried to call his father, but he never returned any of the thirteen messages she left. Either he’s ignoring her, or holiday shopping for his lover? Other half? It was still difficult after all this time to wrap her head around the fact he’s gay. Significant other was how he put it.

Maybe he can get out of whatever mode he is in and return her calls. Our son’s life is in danger, again.

My job puts him in danger, she thought. If I delivered the morning paper door-to-door, who would want to kill a newspaper delivery person? Grimacing, she remembered last year; two delivery boys were injured during separate robberies.

Baker called Stevie at home.

Two rings.

“Baker residence. Stevie speaking.”

“Hi, Stevie. Look, I’m leaving in twenty, so be ready when I honk the horn.”

“Okay. Movie, pizza, and then we come home and unwrap our presents!”

“And guess what? You have some extra presents, too. The guys down here bought you some things.”

“That’s awesome, mom! See you soon. I love you!”

Me too, Stevie. Me too.

Radisson Inn – 20 Miles South of Buffalo

Monday Night – December 24th – 10:58 p.m.

“It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who gets lonely during the holidays. I mean it’s one thing if you’re on opposite side of the country and can’t be there with family, like my parents and sister. At least I did get to talk to them today and wish them a Merry Christmas, but it still isn’t the same as being there. You know?

“Then there are those times when you’re in and out of a relationship at this time of the year. It just brings you down when you’re alone. You know?

“But hey, we got lucky tonight, I guess. Maybe fortunate is a better word. But, well, Merry Christmas, Claire.”

She turned after reaching into her purse and held a Smith & Wesson .38.

Stan’s eyes became big as saucers.

“Is this a joke? Did you come to my room just to rob me? On Christmas Eve?”

“No and shut your mouth. I didn’t come here to rob you. I came here to kill you. Sit in that chair. NOW!”

Stan began to sweat. She said she was going to kill him. Day after tomorrow he had an audition at Summer’s Music Hall. He wasn’t going to get the part in the play.

He felt handcuffs around his wrists, then duct tape was wrapped around his face covering his mouth. Claire bent down in front of him and duct taped each ankle to the heavyset chair.

Then the real horror began.

She reached inside her purse again, and in her left hand, she extracted a barber’s straight razor.

“You won’t be very pretty after tonight, Stan. I’m going to fix that once and for all.

“Did you know I auditioned once and was told I wasn’t beautiful enough? They gave that role to Julia Roberts. Don’t you agree I am far more beautiful that she is?

“If I could have, I would have sliced her face off!”

She stepped closer with the straight razor.

Stan nodded his head up and down in agreement with her. It was all he could do.

Stan’s entire body was soaked in sweat, and his urine let go some time ago, making a small puddle before evaporating into the carpet.

“I knew you would agree. Let me show you something else, Stan.”

She put the straight razor down on a small table and then lifted her one-piece dress over her head. She was completely naked.

“There. Don’t you agree I have a beautiful body? You wanted to fuck this body, didn’t you?”

Again, all Stan could do was nod his head. His heart was trip-hammering. Every inch of his being was trembling.

“LIAR! You don’t want me! You never wanted me! You bastard! I will fix you for this!”

She reached over and grabbed the straight razor.

“This will hurt you more than it will me. Try to get used to it. I already am.”

That was when Stan screamed behind the duct tape as she started slicing layer upon layer of his face away. Each new upward cut caused more muffled cries of pain. Blood dripped down his shirt.

Claire continued until his face was left skinless. Then she tilted his head back and sliced deeply, left to right. Stan didn’t make any more noises.

Baker’s Townhouse

December 24th – 11:59 p.m.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

“Merry Christmas, mom. This is probably the best Christmas yet. We got to be together for everything, and no phone calls, and no dead bodies. That’s neat. It’s just us.”

“I wish it could be this way all the time.”

“Oh, it’s cool mom. I understand, you know I do. Some days are better than other’s and this day was one of them.

“Thanks for all the presents. Tomorrow, maybe, we can play Spell Bounder and Raven Quest.”

She grinned.

“Maybe. Now close those eyes and get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

She walked out of his room, closed the door, and smiled on the way to her room.

Then her phone rang.

“Baker.”

“No need to try to get this call traced, sweet Janis. I won’t be there, but rest assured, neither will there be any bodies lying about.”

“Who are you? Why did you return the body parts? Why are you killing people?”

“Janis, Janis, sweet Janis. So many questions I will give no answers to. I only called to wish you a Merry Christmas and may the coming year be a much better one than this one. If we weren’t on opposite sides, I would certainly enjoy your company. As it stands, one day I’m afraid I will have to kill you. Then, your son. Then that waste for a human being who pretends to be a father. Oh, let me see; I believe his name is Mark. Isn’t that correct?”

Baker’s breathing deepened. How did he know about Mark?

“I can already smell your fear, Janis. But not too worry for now. I have no immediate plans. The future hasn’t played itself out just yet the way I want. All in good time, sweet Janis. Until then, I will pray for you. Pray that you won’t be killed until I have you in my grasp.

“Give my best to Stevie and Mark. Bye-bye sweet Janis.”

There was silence as Baker stared at her cell phone. She called her cell provider and requested to speak with a supervisor.

“My name is Lieutenant Janis Baker, Twenty-Second Precinct in Montie, New York. My transaction number is ACT-125-57-90-OKY. I want the last call I received traced and an exact location. I will hold.”

While waiting, on her landline, she called Ed.

“Merry Christmas, Ed. Did the Steelers win?”

“That they did, by fourteen. Merry Christmas to you, too. But this isn’t a social call, is it?”

“No. Our boy is back again. He just got off the line with me. I have the phone company putting a last call trace on it as we speak.”

“All right. I’m already half-dressed. I can be there in twenty. Pick you up and we can go from there.”

“I’d rather not leave Stevie alone tonight.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’ll just lock up and won’t let anyone in that doesn’t look like you.” Stevie smiled and yawned at the same time.

“You know, Baker; he’s a cop in the making.”

“Don’t I know it. See you shortly.”

Hanging the landline up; the supervisor spoke up.

“The location is 19th and Murrate in Montie. However, it is a payphone.”

“Thanks.” She closed her cell phone, looked at Stevie, blew him a kiss and waved him back to bed.

“Not until you’re out the door, mom.”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

She then called the Forensic Lab.

“Hi, Gloria. This is Baker. Do me a favor and send a couple guys to 19th and Murrate to dust for prints on a payphone.”

She redialed Ed on the landline.

“I know. Doesn’t matter how many prints they find. I want the results on my desk by the twenty-sixth. Thanks.”

“Hello.”

Closing the cell down again, she said, “Ed? Do me a favor. Instead of coming here, just meet a couple guys from the lab at 19th and Murrate. It’s a payphone. Sorry about this, really.”

“No big deal, Baker. It’s won’t take long. I’ll be back in bed in no time. Hold the fort down there; try to get some rest. I’m pretty sure I can handle a big, bad payphone. See you Wednesday.”

“Thanks, Ed. See you then.”

Stevie was still standing in the living room rubbing his eyes.

“Go back to sleep. Mom is staying home tonight.”

He grinned sheepishly, turned around and went back to bed, and was under the covers and asleep within a minute.

Baker stood next to the bed looking down on her little man.

He was one blessing in her life she would never lose.

Crosstown – A Family Home

December 25th - Tuesday – 9:00 a.m.

Jarrod Hempler, for better or worse, was just your average sixteen-year old boy. He was going through those teenage years of growth and maturity. Almost six-foot, and still growing, acne splotched all over his face, he wasn’t likely to be seen with any high-school girls at any Friday night dance anytime soon.

Jarrod is considered an exceptional student: a Brainiac. Lately, he wasn’t feeling too much in the brains department. He was feeling sad. His own self-esteem level dropped. His parents were on him about not wanting to mingle with the other kids in school.

“Interaction is important,” his mother would say.

“How do you expect to maintain friendships when you don’t even try?” his father would say, but to Jarrod, those things sounded like demands, commands, and it was truly pissing him off.

The kids at school wouldn’t associate with him unless they needed his help for schoolwork, or tests. Jarrod wasn’t an athlete, he wasn’t good-looking, but he was the brunt of their behind-his-back jokes.

That would change.

This Christmas morning, he was the first one awake. He was fully dressed as he walked past the fake holiday tree with unopened presents lying about, and he headed out to the shed in the backyard where his father keeps all of his hunting supplies, as well as other “special memento’s” as he father would say from his days in Vietnam.

It was easy to get into. A tumbler lock. His father trusted him enough to let him have the combination and was often asked to come out here to bring something to his father.

Opening the door, he flipped on the switch and the inside was illuminated with three overhead fluorescent bars of light.

On one wall were three crossbows and one-hundred four-point tipped arrows.

Jarrod walked right past them. He had something much better in mind.

On another wall display were an AR-15, an M-14, and two pearl-handed, nickel-plated .45’s. Below each were four boxes of ammo for the handguns, and six clips for the rifles. Under the table there was a box filled with two dozen grenades. Then he spotted a Beretta .457 with a silencer attachment. There was only one clip for that one, but Jarrod knew he wouldn’t need the whole clip for what he was planning.

He decided to use that one first, just not today. He had a better day in mind.

He smiled, turned around, shut off the lights, relocked the shed and went inside the house in time to hear his mother say, “Jarrod, come into the living room. It’s time we opened our gifts to each other.”

“Yes, mother. I’m coming.”

There sat his mother, sitting sideways on the floor next to the gifts, and his father in his favorite recliner, smoking his silly little pipe.

His self-esteem kicked back into gear.

Baker’s Townhouse – 9:55 a.m.

“Thank you for returning my calls, Mark.”

“So what’s the problem this time?”

“Look, Stevie doesn’t know what I want to do just yet, but I think it’s best if he came back home to you for now; for the same reasons as before. Only this time could be worse.”

“How much worse, Jan? What’s going on?”

Although they have been divorced a while, hearing him use her first name, still tugged at her heartstrings.

“The one the press dubbed as the Saint Peter’s Church Killer, is back. To make this officially worse, Mark, he knows your name. I think he may also know where you live.”

“Maybe it would be safer if he stays with you. Then again, maybe not. Hell, go ahead and send him back. School isn’t back in session until the second. So when, tomorrow? Or sometime over the weekend?”

“Let’s shoot for day after tomorrow, Friday. I do have my house under surveillance. Remember the Beauty Killer? She might make her way back here as well.”

“Jesus, Jan. That insane witch nearly killed you. Please, be careful. Call me when you know when he’ll land at the airport. Can I talk with him for a little while? I promise not to mention any of this to him. He’d rather hear it from you.”

“True. Hold on, and thanks, Mark. Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

Holding the phone against her thigh, she yelled for Stevie, and he came bounding out of his bedroom saying, “Mom, you have to try these new games with me. They are just too awesome!”

“It’s your dad.” She handed him the phone and walked into his room, staring at the video game.

“Hey, dad! Merry Christmas. What? Oh yeah. Things are great here, never better. Mom’s learning how to play Mortal Kombat 6, and ….”

Lady D’s Nightclub

December 25th – 10:45 p.m.

Claire had been sitting on the same barstool over two hours, nursing three drinks during that time.

She hated holidays. It reeks of all that glad-tidings crap. She had had hopes of seeing someone tonight she could enjoy herself with, but the holidays kept most of the customers away.

“Hey sweets, I’m going to close early tonight. If you look around, you and I are the only ones here. So do me a flavor and drink up and drive home safely.”

Claire looked the woman over a little closer. She was a pretty girl, maybe around thirty, tops. A tad on the chubby side, but nothing really disgusting. Claire could do her easily enough.

“I think I can manage the drive home part, but home is over three-thousand miles from here. I don’t think I could get back there tonight.”

“Oh. Where from, then?”

“Seattle. I came out here to get out from under a bad relationship with a girl after six years.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” The bartender placed her hands over both of Claire’s. “Where are you staying for now?”

“I’m at the Ryan Inn, just up the street from here.”

“Mmmm. You know that’s an adult motel, right?”

Claire smiled and winked.

“Forgive my manners. My name is Cyndie.” She stuck out her hand and was pleasantly pleased when Claire traced her fingers over her hand.

“I’m Claire. I have a rental parked in the lot. I can wait there until you close. Then you can either follow me over, or just drive over with me. We could worry about your car in the morning.”

“I’ll just follow you.”

Claire stood, and leaned across the bar. Cyndie leaned forward as well. Both gave each other a lingering kiss that promised so much more.

The Squad Room

December 26th - Wednesday – 8:01 a.m.

Ed was looking over the reports that were faxed to him from Buffalo OD. As he studied them, several of the team members came strolling in, followed by Baker.

She wasn’t going to like this.

“Hey, Ed. I can already see that look in your eye. Just once I would like to walk in here and hear absolutely that nothing went wrong for a change.”

“Snowballs don’t melt in hell, either,” quipped Rodgers.

“They don’t,” grinned Adams.

That made a few people laugh.

Ed handed Baker the reports.

“Looks like she’s headed this way after all. Damn. This makes her fourth kill already, and she isn’t but maybe sixty miles outside of Buffalo.”

“The roads are still screwed up there, Baker. There have been reports the city might run out of salt to keep the roads clear. So, I’d say the longer she takes to get here, the better prepared we can be when she does show up.”

“Good point. Other than that, is there anything pressing we need to go over before I start the briefing?

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Over half of what’s been discussed since last week has been taken care of. The other half we’re still dealing with as far as day-to-day shit goes.”

“Give me ten then to talk to the Captain about removing the surveillance.”

Ed cocked his head up in surprise.

“I’m sending Stevie back home Saturday. I don’t want him here if she gets close. And, I don’t want any of our guys to get caught unaware. Remember what happened last time?”

Ed didn’t say a word.

She walked toward the Captain’s office, opened, and closed his door, and started telling him what she told Ed.

If you were on the other side of that glass such as Ed, Rodgers, Adams, Saul, and a few others; you could hear the muffled voice of Captain Todd as he waved his arms about, arguing his case for her protection.

Captain Todd gave in, but with one stipulation. The surveillance would last until Monday night.

Baker’s Desk – 1:19 p.m.

Baker had just returned from lunch when she spotted a file-folder marked PRINTS, staring up at her from her desktop. Below was a post-it note; payphone prints and matches. Signed, A. That would be the Lab Assistant, Lori Alomar. That girl would be heading up her own department in a couple years. She was a bright, articulate woman, with a no-nonsense attitude.

Opening the folder, she scanned the list.

Eleven sets of prints and three partials.

Looking down the list of names; people she would have brought in for questioning, one name caused her to stop.

“If this isn’t interesting. Mr. I-don’t-go-anywhere. What were you doing at the payphone?”

Thinking to herself, she wondered why he would use a payphone way across town. What would compel him to be on that side of the city? It’s strictly a business mogul’s haven.

The rich and too important-to-care-about-the-poor, work there. Their homes were a half million or more.

Why would Bishop Ekerson waste his time there?

She put out a dispatch to her team to bring in everyone on the list for her to question, but one. She would talk with Ekerson personally.

St. Peter’s Church – 2:35 p.m.

“Thank you for seeing me, Father.”

“My pleasure. And what do I owe you for this visit?”

“Actually, you owe me a few answers to some questions I have. Didn’t you once tell me, you hardly, if ever, leave the church? That your secretary handles most of your personal needs for things?”

“Yes, that is true. But there are times when I must get away. There are also times when I am required to be away; especially when it comes to the church and matters of the estate.”

“How often are you in or around the business district at 19th and Murrate?”

“Forgive me, Lieutenant, but is there a problem here I’m not aware of?”

“I hope not. But again, how familiar are you with the area?”

“I am very familiar with the area. The church’s legal firm and accountant are in the Snyder Building. Respectively, the second and fifth floors. Their names are Donald Dracos, the church’s attorney, and Millicent Washington, our accountant.”

Baker wrote all of this in her pad.

“Let me ask, Father Ekerson; there is a payphone on the corner of 19th and Murrate, exactly where the Snyder Building sits. Can you tell me who you called from that payphone on Christmas Eve? I would assume a call you could have made from the Rectory.”

“You have found me out, then. I had only moments before the call, left Ms. Washington’s office, when I realized I left my hat there. I called and explained I would be returning to get it. You can call and ask her if you like.”

She thought about doing so.

“She works on Christmas Eve?”

“Police, firemen, doctors and nurse, paramedics and priests work on the holidays too, Lieutenant. And, so do lawyers. If you must know my reason for being there, I had to sign documents to be forwarded to the Arch Diocese in Buffalo.

“This is something that is done quarterly. I cannot entrust my secretary to do this for me. Besides, forgery is a crime.” He smiled at her.

“Okay, Father Ekerson, that’s all I have for now. I’ll give this Millicent Washington a call.” Closing her note pad, she stared at him and asked, “Have you seen or heard from him at all?”

“No, Lieutenant, I haven’t. When I do, I will call you. Heaven knows there is still a place for him there, but he must be brought to justice first. Then, and only then, can his soul begin to heal and accept Christ.”

A Situation – 3:22 p.m.

Rodgers and Hinkle, a rookie assigned to learn the ropes, were on one of their dispatches to bring in Edward Marley. They didn’t have much on him. Single, almost forty, did some time in Chino eight years ago for armed robbery. Clean as a whistle since getting out. Now, he works for a construction outfit.

Marley’s easy to recognize. Bald, with a python tattoo all over his skull that wraps around his neck and the tail ends just above his heart. Marley also sports a scar that runs down the left side of his face from a knife fight when he was seventeen.

At this time of day, they didn’t think he would be at home, and he wasn’t. As they were leaving his apartment building, and headed back to their car, Rodgers spotted Marley walking up the street.

“There he is Hinkle. Just stand beside me and stay relaxed. This guy is clean as far as we know, but we don’t want to give him a reason to bolt on us if he doesn’t have to.”

Rodgers and Hinkle walked toward Marley, with Hinkle on his left side, his eyes slightly nervous. He didn’t want to make any mistakes. It’s his first day on the force.

“Hello. Edward Marley?”

Marley stopped about five feet from the two men. His eyes shifted from one to the other. Cops? Damn.

Without wasting another second of thought, Marley, stepped into a run between both men, catching them off guard, and kept running the length of the street, past where he lived.

Rodgers regained his balance, shouting, “Marley! Stop where you are! I don’t want to have to shoot you!” Rodgers had his revolver in his hands and aimed at Marley’s running frame.

Hinkle drew his weapon as well.

“Last chance, Marley! FREEZE!”

Marley was almost out of range of both the weapon and the voice, when he decided to stop. Without being told, he got to his knees, both hand laced together behind his head. Old habits are hard to forget.

Rodgers and Hinkle raced toward him.

“Put the cuffs on him, Hinkle.”

Pulling him to his feet, Rodgers looked at Marley and read him the Miranda Act. As he and Hinkle were taking him back to their car, he said, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you ran.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only wanted to ask you a few questions. If I liked the answers, I would have walked away and never bothered you again.”

“Huh? This ain’t about my stash upstairs?”

“Stash,” said Hinkle. “What stash?”

Marley’s eyes rolled, and he tightened his lips. He just realized he said way too much.

Rodgers shook his head.

“Just answer this; 19th and Murrate, a couple days ago, actually Christmas Eve, you made a call from a payphone. Remember who you called?”

“I ain’t saying.”

“Have it your way then.” Looking at Hinkle, “Put him in the back. I’m calling this in.”

Once in the car, Hinkle wrapped the seatbelt around Marley then got in the front seat of the car.

Within two hours, Marley’s apartment had been searched thoroughly. There, they found over three-dozen home-grown marijuana plants. But they also found a pair of size ten work boots. And, a Bowie knife.

The Interview – 4:26 p.m.

Both Baker and Ed were in the room with Edward Marley.

Behind a one-way glass, stood Captain Todd, along with Rodgers and Hinkle. They were witnesses to what was about to happen.

Ed started first.

“Marley, according to this report, you’ve been out of prison quite a while, and have a steady job. Seems that prior to this job, you couldn’t find steady employment. Why is that?”

“Easy. No one wants to hire a convict out of prison.”

“Come off it, Marley. You have been out over six years. Are you telling me that for six years you couldn’t get any kind of work?”

“Do time. Try it sometime. It ain’t that easy. Hell, I got day labor work easy enough, but a regular paying job, no way. I’m surprised I still have this one. Last construction site lasted seven months before they found I lied on my application. But you guys popping me today took care of me keeping this job.”

Ed went in another direction.

“Who were you selling the grass to?”

“Nobody. C’mon, man, that was just me personal stash. I don’t sell drugs for Christ sake. I really don’t need to be hassled by the feds and have them up my ass.”

“You made a call the other night from a payphone on the corner of 19th and Murrate; remember that?”

“Yeah, but why do you care?”

Baker jumped in.

“Because several unexplained dead bodies says we have the right to care.”

“Hold on a minute. Dead bodies? I don’t know nothing about any dead bodies.”

“Let me refresh your memory. Last spring, a rash of murders took place in Montie. Several people were killed, and they were all killed by this weapon.”

Baker pulled up a clear see-thru evidence bag holding his Bowie knife.

Before Marley could respond, Baker continued.

“Also,” she held up a much larger evidence bag holding a pair of work boots.

“The killer also wore a pair of size ten boots. You see, Mr. Marley, at around the time you first went to work for Marsh Construction; that was also about the same time the murders first began. Now why is that, do you suppose?”

“I swear, I didn’t have nothing to do with nobody being killed! I don’t know what you are trying to do to me, but I didn’t kill nobody!”

“Then, Mr. Marley, simply tell us who you spoke with on the payphone.”

“I, I, I can’t do that.”

“As it stands Marley,” Ed blurted out, “you can’t afford not to. If you are as innocent as you claim, we’ll know soon enough, but let me remind you that the wheels of justice can move incredibly slow. It may take us days, weeks, even a year before we might clear you of all charges. And, I’m sure you’ve heard stories about how us cops can leak the word … snitch, out on the street. That could go bad for you.”

Marley looked at Ed with nervous fear in his eyes. They darted back and forth between Ed and Baker.

“Okay, but I was just trying to make a few extra bucks is all. The call was to a broker, Silva Machelli. I was to take a drive south into the Carolina’s and fill up a Hertz rental truck with cigarettes and bring them back for resale in one of a dozen or, so package stores he owns. That was all I was supposed to do. There was two grand in it for me. It was one of those jobs I could do once a month on my days off or when the weather was bad.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

“I swear, that’s all I know.”

Just then, Captain Todd walked in with a court stenographer.

“Baker, Ed, you two can leave. Get that property over to the lab for a thorough examination.”

As they left, Captain Todd motioned for the stenographer to sit down and begin taking Marley’s statement.

“Here is how this works, Mr. Marley. If what you say is true, and nothing of yours we have in evidence points to you as our suspect in a multiple murder homicide, then there will be no charges filed against you.”

Marley felt the weight of the world come off his shoulders. He knew he was innocent of that.

“However, we will be placing you under arrest for illegally growing and harvesting, and the use of marijuana. It generally carries a penalty of $5,000 and five years in the state prison. Since you already have a record, you know there will be no probation or parole offered.”

Marley felt the weight of the world falling down and crushing him to the ground.

“Mr. Marley, I am prepared to make you an offer of a once in a lifetime deal. Give me your statement once more to be recorded here, and of your relationship with Silva Machelli. In return for that, I will explain to the District Attorney of the help you have supplied and have the felony charge reduced to a Class-A misdemeanor. That’s sixty days jail time. That’s the only offer you get.”

Ed Marley started talking.

The Captain’s Office – 6:12 p.m.

Baker and Ed walked into Captain Todd’s office and he motioned them to have a seat while he was on the phone.

“Yes, that’s right, judge. With his statement, we’ll have enough on Machelli to search every business he owns, including his home. I feel confident we finally have something on him that will stick this time. Yes, I know what will happen if I’m wrong, but that’s not going to happen. Thanks, judge. I’ll have one of my men, Rodgers, come down to the courthouse to your chambers to pick up the arrest and search warrant.”

As he hung up the phone, with a small smile creasing his lips, he looked up and said, “Silva Machelli is finally going to get what’s coming to him. When we get finished with him, the feds can have him. Of course, that might be twenty years from now.

“He’s avoided criminal prosecution twice, but this time we will have physical evidence and his shyster lawyer won’t get him a ticket home this time. And all that muscle he has behind him will fade and go away.

“Now, tell me, what did you two find out with Marley’s boots and knife?”

“I just got off the line with Carl from the Lab before you called us in here. The boot markings from the imprint of the heel and sole doesn’t match with what we have. There was evidence of blood on the knife. But not human blood. That could mean he was skinning a dead animal like a deer, or he was just killing animals just because.” Baker grimaced at that last part.

“This little incident today panned out in the long run. Ed, I want you to get in touch with Rodgers and tell him to pick up the warrants. I want you to be the lead on this. Take six of your best to search everything and everywhere. Also, tell Rodgers, I want him to bring Machelli in and book him.

“It’s never been proven, but back in the day, Rodgers was shot by one of Machelli’s boys, but there was an arrest, but his boy had an airtight alibi. I’m pretty sure this will please Rodgers. I know it does me.”

“Can do, will do, Captain.” Responded Ed.

“Meantime, Baker; we still have nine people sitting in a holding cell, waiting to be interviewed. Half of which doesn’t even remotely look like our boy. But, we’ll go through the motions. We might as well get to it.”

All three had hoped Marley might have been the end of a terrible set of murders. Baker wanted this worse than anyone.

As Baker and Ed left the Captain’s office, with Todd going to one of the interrogation rooms, Ed was on his cell phone informing Rodgers what was up.

After he was off the phone, he looked at Baker and grinned.

“He’s pumped. You know what this will mean, don’t you? If this goes down right, Rodgers might very well get a medal and a promotion for this.”

“I know. He deserves it. He’s a good man to have around, present company included.

“Right now, I have interviews to conduct while you play cops and robbers. I want this to go quickly because they want to get out of here as badly as I do.”

As it stood, Baker was right. None of the people she and Captain Todd spoke with, were guilty of anything other than using a payphone.

Sometimes police work nets a big kettle of fish, and sometimes that kettle has holes in it.

“Doesn’t make sense, Captain,” she said in his office. “One of those people personally called me from that payphone, but everything they said checks out. Well, except for one.”

Todd’s eyebrows arched. “Which one? Who did we miss on?”

“You didn’t. I spoke with him earlier today. Bishop Ekerson.”

“No way, Baker. He was almost instrumental in helping us catch our killer last spring.”

“I know this. Maybe that’s why I haven’t bothered to follow up on his story. With a bishop, I don’t like using the word, alibi.”

“Maybe you should, just to clear your head.”

“I will. I’ll call his accountant first thing in the morning.”

Outside the Twenty-Second Precinct – 7:41 p.m.

A dark blue Mazda sat unnoticed; headlights off, engine idle, with one person in the car behind the wheel, staring at the front set of doors that led into the police station.

The driver watched as people came and went through those doors. The driver was only looking for one person to come walking out.

Claire Waynestead ducked down when she saw six or seven police cars coming her way and continued to drive by without stopping. Obviously, they were on a mission.

Claire had fantasized seeing Baker walk down those steps, and herself, standing in the street with a gun and put a bullet in her head for what she did to Claire’s life. But, Claire realized a bullet wouldn’t be good enough. She would make Baker’s pain last much, much longer.

Claire waited another hour but didn’t see Baker. She decided she would come back tomorrow and observe. Eventually, she would catch Baker alone somewhere. From there, it would only be a matter of time before she would destroy her.

The snow started falling again and the temperature dropped another five degrees, leaving the quaint city in the single digits for the night. Claire drove back to her motel room and planned for her next deliverance.

Just as she pulled away, Baker and Ed walked down the front steps, saying goodnight to one another, and headed in opposite directions for their cars.

Ed would go home, unwind, make himself a chef salad and pop open a cold beer.

Baker would go home and tell Stevie the bad news. On Friday, he would be going home, and for the second straight time, his vacation time gets cut short because of issues all relating to herself.

Maybe Mark was right, she thought. Maybe I do love my job more than family. Maybe, I should throw in the towel and find a job that doesn’t require me to carry a gun practically around the clock. A job with less stress. A job that doesn’t put Stevie in harm’s way every time he comes here. A job where she can just be a mom, raise Stevie properly, and one day be a grandmother without a gun attached to her hip.

“I’d hate everything except for the grandmother part. As would Stevie. This is what I do. It’s all I know.”

God, that’s terrible. All I know.

She remembered Harry Greenwood. Five years ago. Good cop. The Twenty-Second threw one hell of a retirement party for him. She remembered one of the last things he said to her.

“Thirty years, kid. Thirty good years. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world except maybe another thirty. Being a cop is all I know.”

Two months after the party, Harry was found on his bedroom floor with a bullet to the temple. Suicide.

Driving home carefully in the snow, and just before she turned onto her street, she said, “Harry, it’s all I know, too.”

December 27th - Thursday Morning – 1:45a.m.

Winter reminds me of dead bodies. It starts out pretty but then turns cold and without remorse, and snow doesn’t care about anything, just like the dead.

I can’t even begin to remember how many fucking people I have killed in my lifetime. Maybe 200, maybe 300. What’s oddly funny; less than 30 were paid contracts. I go in, put two bullets into the head, and leave. But I always make absolutely certain there will never be a way anything can be traced back to me.

But it won’t be much longer before I am going to have to give up my second life here. Doing my paid assignments and still wanting to keep a watchful on sweet Janis, is beginning to take a bit out of me. So, this will mean the end game will soon be approaching. Then I can walk away from here and not worry about her tenacity.

Now that asshole for a detective that goes damn near everywhere she goes; killing him wouldn’t phase me in the slightest.

But I still have this problem. Killing sweet Janis, still conflicts with the reasoning of why I killed all those other assholes.

Liars, cheaters, thieves, perverts, one and all. Some, like those few in this town, claim they are godly, and don’t even have a clue who God is.

But, sweet Janis, is nothing like those people.

Sad to say, I can never rid all the evil people that walk the city streets in this world. But I will be damned if I will just sit back and watch a judge, jury and the law take its sweet ass time keeping these fuckers locked away. And for what? Three years? Five years? Very few get life.

This is where my mind is: I see no difference between a drug dealer selling drugs to kids, and an adult, sexually abusing their own kid, or someone that kid may know and trust. It sucks.

I didn’t want to believe that at first, but it’s truer than not. Child abuse happens more from someone the kid knows. So, when I’m in the neighborhood, and I find out, that kid won’t have to worry.

It’s my rules. My justice.

It’s late. At least I won’t have to come back to my delivery job until after New Year’s.

I have twin hits to focus on in Madrid and Portugal. Three days from now, I’ll be back here doing what I do. Watching and waiting for the right time.

sweet Janis. It will yet be some time before your time ends. Until then, make a resolution. It will be the last one.

Freddy turned off all the lights, laid down in bed on his back. Then his thoughts rambled to years back, and tonight, no different than on all nights past; the quiet tears streamed from the corners of his eyes until sleep finally finds a safe haven for him where memories no longer haunted him; for now.

The Squad Room – 8:19 a.m.

December 27th – Thursday – 8:19 a.m.

“This is going to be a day where you all have your emergency kits handy, and in the break room, I want each one of you to grab ten blankets, ten winter coats and an extra car battery with you.

“Montie is not a metro city; we all know this, but we do have people out there that are homeless that may not have a coat, yet alone a place to stay.

“Because this weather isn’t going to let up temp wise; I am issuing an order that all homeless people are to be picked up and delivered to one of the four churches on this list I’m handing out. AND, if the churches are full, then bring them to the jail. I’ll be damned if we let someone freeze to death out there. Just like the church, we can at least give them a meal in the morning.

“Nothing really new to share in the way of Waynestead or the St. Peter’s killer.

“Watch out for traffic accidents today. I would hope only those that really need to be out in this weather; the rest would stay home.”

“Fat chance of that,” said Hinkle. “Places like Wal-Mart, Office Max, and Food Lion, etcetera; they have to make a living. That’s prosperity and the American way of life. My granddaddy called it, greed.”

“At least your granddaddy knew the truth for what it’s worth,” said another cop called, Horner.

“Okay, guys. That’s something we could debate for days and still get different answers. Either way, it’s that time. Hit the break room on your way out.

“Get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

As Baker was headed toward her office, she saw Ed and motioned for him to come in.

“What’s up, Baker?”

“Last night I told Stevie I’m sending him back home until I can be assured there won’t be any problems if Waynestead does come back here. I can’t rule her out, not until I know she’s back under lock and key again.

“Stevie’s flight leaves out mid-afternoon tomorrow, and I’m asking you to cover for me while I’m gone. Handle the meeting in the morning. I want to have the next several hours with him.”

“Can do. Will do. I know how much he means to you, Baker. You’re a good cop, and a good mother. If he were my son, I’d probably do the same thing.

“Now, I have to get up with Rodgers and let him know what’s going on. Meantime, if there is anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Ed. I appreciate that. Have a day and be careful. Tell Rodgers the same. Machelli is a dangerous man.”

“Not to worry. We can handle this one. It’ll be a pleasure to see that piece of scum in handcuffs.”

Ed left her office, and then Baker proceeded to pull out files that she does every Thursday to check on missing persons. Mainly young kids. There are five boys and three girls, twelve to sixteen where the bodies have never been recovered. This was always a personal thing for her. Families need closure, and until she could locate every child, those families would never be fully at peace.

The Raid – 2:09 p.m.

Everything went according to plan. Twenty-four policemen under the direction of Rodgers and Ed hit eleven businesses belonging to Machelli.

Machelli screamed, cursed, and threatened lawsuits, but there was no denying the warrants. The next several hours would uncover an illegal operation that had been ongoing for a number of years; one that would find Machelli going away for a very long time.

Including Machelli, thirty-one others were arrested, and charged with numerous crimes from extortion, to murder. When the dust would finally settle on all this, Machelli would end up getting forty years in Attica. As it would later happen, he would die there. He was sixty-seven when arrested. Eight years into his sentence, he had a heart attack on the prison yard.

No one came to his funeral.

Friday - December 28th - 2:35 p.m.

Johnson County Airport

“You know, Stevie, if there could be another way, I wouldn’t put you on this plane. I miss you already.”

“I understand, mom. We’ll have other vacations, other times. It’s not like you’ll never see me again.”

“It’s just that my job seems to be getting in the way more and more when you’re here. So next time, I tell you what is going to happen. When you and I make plans for you to come out next summer, I’m taking three weeks of vacation time, so we can have our time together be special. For once, just the two of us. No cell phones, no three in the morning calls, no nothing except you and me, bub.”

“That will be way cool. Just us doing outrageous things. Riding the rapids, going to Six Flags, and riding the awesome rides, maybe go hang-gliding and ….”

“Slow down, Stevie.” She shook her head and smiled. “We’ll work on that later. Right now, they’ve called your flight for boarding. We better get you to the boarding gate. Let’s go.”

She hugged and kissed him on the cheek, and Stevie gave her an even bigger and tighter hug back. It was what he said before he left that caught her by surprise and confirmed her belief in who she is.

“Mom, the vacation next year is a really great idea, but if something comes up, it’s cool. Outside of being my mom, being a cop is all you know. And you do it so well.”

She stood by the loading gate and kept her eye on him until he was out of sight.

How did he get to be so smart?

As she was headed to the airport parking lot, her cell phone rang.

“This is Baker.”

“Lieutenant Baker? This is Millicent Washington. You called my office. I was out of town.”

“I just have one question, Ms. Washington.”

She got her answer. Bishop Ekerson did come back for his hat.

The Tail – 3:04 p.m.

She followed Baker from her townhouse to the airport, waiting patiently.

Without too much expertise, she had seen the unmarked car sitting across the street from Baker’s home, so she knew she couldn’t just knock on the door and say, “Hi, it’s me,” and then slash her into a million pieces.

She would have to catch her completely off guard somewhere, and it would have to be quick. Too many people meandering around the airport parking lot, but she was enjoying following Baker around, who hadn’t a clue she was here.

She was bored last night. Nothing to do.

Claire had seen a really nice-looking man who checked in two rooms down from her and she was almost tempted to rearrange his face, but that would have meant announcing her arrival, and she wanted that to be a surprise.

Over the next hour, she continued following Baker to a grocery store. She parked far enough away and waited. From there, there was a trip to Wal-Mart which only took about ten minutes. Then to a corner bookstore where she dashed inside, returned with a newspaper tucked under her arm and a bag of Skittles. Then it was back to her townhouse.

Claire had followed her everywhere, and when she came home, Claire continued on, driving past her place, again seeing an unmarked car, still in the same spot.

She realized this was going to be easier than she thought.

Just not today.

“Soon though, you bitch. Then I can get on with my life as it’s supposed to be.”

Crosstown – A Family Home

Saturday – December 29th – 10:30 a.m.

Jarrod was once again in the shed, only this time, he was removing weapons; grenades, ammunition, two pretty pearl-handed .45’s, and a Beretta. His parents were gone for a few hours, so this gave him plenty of time to put his plan together.

He was going to prove he could handle his life without his parents help, or any of his classmates, or anyone else for that matter who believed they knew more than he did.

In two days, his first new year’s resolution would take place and come true. He would start his new life as his own man, with his own rules.

Baker’s Townhouse – 5:35 p.m.

Baker had just gotten off the phone with Ed, wishing him a Happy New Year. She wouldn’t be back in her office until the second.

Reflecting back, the year was going to end rather well for a change. What with Machelli behind bars, Rodgers up for a commendation, Stevie safe, and the day peaceful for a change, things seemed to shift into relax mode for her.

Then came her call from Stevie, who told her he was back home. He told her he couldn’t wait to come back so they could spend time together.

All in all, her life felt as full as he could be.

The only thing that would make the end of this year better would have been to catch the St. Peter’s killer, grab Waynestead, and send her back to Buffalo’s mental ward, but with tighter restraints.

But what if she doesn’t give anyone a choice this time and forces one of us to shoot, maybe even kill her.

If it happens, so be it.

She walked to her front window and looked outside. She could see the car sitting across the street. Otherwise, the night was quiet.

Where are you Claire?

Sunday in Montie

December 30th

People old and young alike were making preparations for the New Year’s Eve bash that would take place with fireworks in the city park.

Many did what they always do on a Sunday morning; attend church services. Montie is, for the most part, a small quiet town of nearly 45,000 people who have an unspoken respect for their town’s history, dating back to the pre-revolutionary war.

Montie has seen many sons and daughters go to war and not come home alive. But the memories are strong, and the respect is there.

Montie has seen its fair share of problems with crime and injustice but the residents have always managed to come together in a crisis, and like 911, they lend a hand to a neighbor, and help where and when they can.

On this day, sidewalks will be shoveled, there will be family dinners, friends coming together, and lovers enjoying the quiet from a snow that has finally abated. Fireplaces will glow, and crackling embers will dance in the flames, but the worries of the world will not affect what they do this day.

Montie is a strong town, with strong people. A good place to raise a family.

Rodgers will be at home with his wife, Margaret, laughing and carrying on, while attempting to show her how to flambé a steak. Rodgers is a very good cook. Ed will be watching a playoff football game. Another officer, Satchell, will be remembering a love lost with a fond remembrance, as he does every Sunday. Captain Todd and his wife will be having a quiet dinner at home. He will discuss with her his thoughts about retiring soon, and where they can go to live out the years peacefully. Baker will reflect back on the loss of her parents, a tear sliding down, not from sadness, but in remembering what they meant to her.

These people and others, will all come to a point in knowing who they are and what their lives can accomplish with courage and faith.

Then of course there was Claire, whose driving ambition was to lay waste to Baker. Her hatred consumed her, and holiday festivities weren’t on her things to-do list. Baker however, was.

Crosstown, Freddy prepared himself a simple meal, nothing extravagant. New York Strip and baked potato with Italian cut beans.

Sitting at the table, between bites of his meal, he studied his itinerary for the next six months. His schedule was a busy one. The false identity he used around town would soon have to come to an end. Almost a shame, he thought. Fresh doughnuts in the morning just makes the day that much sweeter.

Crosstown – A Family Home

Monday - December 31st – 11:58 p.m.

Jarrod’s parents were glued to ABC’s Rock and Roll New Year’s Eve celebration in New York City, and opted to stay home instead of being at the park where thousands attended.

Though Dick Clark wasn’t the host any longer, Jarrod’s parents were caught up in the glitz and glamour of watching the ball, awaiting the countdown.

Big deal.

“Jarrod,” his mother said, “come in here. They are about to start the countdown to let the ball go! Hurry!”

Jarrod grabbed the Beretta from under his mattress with the silencer attached, placed in inside the back of his jeans, and walked into the living room.

“You almost missed it,” said his father. “Only about thirty seconds left. Countdown is going to start here pretty quick.”

“Another new year for all of us,” cried his mother, happily.

Twenty seconds.

Ten seconds.

Jarrod pulled the Beretta out in front of him.

Five seconds.

“Happy New Year, mom and dad.”

They both turned to wish him the same.

Both froze with what they saw.

It was a bit messy.

The first shot hit his mother in the cheek. The second, in his father’s throat.

Standing over his mother, he pressed the gun up against the back of her head, like they do in the movies, and squeezed the trigger. She stopped screaming and moving, lying face down on the carpet.

Turning, he saw his father clawing his way toward the phone. Not good. He fired three more times. One missed, one struck him in the chest, the other in the stomach; his father’s body twisted across the recliner as if in slow motion as he tumbled to the floor with his left arm draped across his wife’s stomach as if they had fallen asleep.

The start of a new year was in full swing.

Jarrod sat down in his father’s recliner and watched the rest of the show, munching potato chips and drinking his father’s glass of wine.

Afterward, he went upstairs and took a shower and went to bed.

He got the first of his resolutions out of the way.

He felt much better.