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 number of characters.

Janis Baker, a Lieutenant with the Montie Police Department, is 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 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 every 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 and 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 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 317thAirborne 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 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 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 fell 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. Do you 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 wrongdoing.”

“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 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 in 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 was also what I saw inside the confessional booth that made 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 whole 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 truly 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.

“Alrighty, guys, listen up. I just left the captain’s office, and he’s authorized some overtime for twelve men. It's rougly 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.

“Stow 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 more than likely believing 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. And if not this Sunday, maybe not for a month of Sunday’s, but eventually 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 investigated. Even trivial details play a crucial role. 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 to 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.

“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 hung up no sooner than her cell phone rang again.

She sighed. Stevie looked at her and grinned.

“Baker.”

“J.B., Carl here.”

She’d known Carl for 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 in 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, and it appears to have been enclosed in surgical gloves. One set belonged to the vic. The other two sets belong to a Mrs. Josephine Gulatta, and the last one, 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 stop 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 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. I just received the prelim autopsy report on the two vic's from the other night. Seems the general was a busy boy before he went to heaven; or 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. 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 eyehole 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 did you him 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 entirely different stories.

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. I may even 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 particularly decent 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 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 peeked, Baker. Couldn’t help myself.”

She smiled at Stan.

“Don’t worry about peeking. 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 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, might be worth a few bucks if they are.”

“Maybe. Anyway, here comes mom. Bye.”

Baker grabbed the phone as Stevie walked past her and whispered, “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, looks to be two inches wide from its most narrow point, and 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 one, or both 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 busted 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 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 whites, 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.

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 murmured.

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 enjoyed 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 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 on 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 suitcase 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 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.

Maybe 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 through 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 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 likely stop 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 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 whale.

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 terribly 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 do 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 plath 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 of 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 for the rest of you, there is 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 into her office and was concerned over the look Baker had on her face.

“Baker? You all right? What? Sad 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, refurbished into a sewing room, her face blanched.

“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 Abram's foot.

LIVE NO RAEH

“Ed, contact 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 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 in 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 apologies. As I was about to say, I’m not incredibly happy about being hauled out of my own office in the middle of the afternoon and held here 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 film 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 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 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 are 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 a sworn statement 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 sworn statement 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 aren't all that good.”

Captain Todd spoke again.

“In signing this statement of facts, 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 must 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, 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 cocksucker 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 won’t. But I will take my time with you very slowly.

“Slow and slower.”