

The Killer Strikes

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2001-2004 by Rodney Mountain

Reedit © 2017 Rodney Mountain

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

## Other Titles by Rodney Mountain

Immortal Universe Novels

The Healy Murders

The Accidental Immortal

Undercover

Anoki's Revenge

The Immortal Progression

Corporate Immortality

Not With A Whisper

The Mullinix: Ascension

The Mullinix: Redemption

The Mullinix: Resolution

Other Works

Durell's Insurrection

Night Strike (Short Story Anthology)

The Black Fossil

##

Dedication

This one is to all the people who have actually bought my books and keeping me going on this. Without people to read the output I would never get around to finishing any of these books. You all have kept my interest alive and allowed me to get better at what I do. Thank you all.
Chapter One – 'Crime Scene Number Three'

The dark eyes of the killer darted about, left and right, as if trying to decide the best way to enter the old Victorian style house. You could tell that this was something to be relished, the challenge of the entrance. She looked at the house and figured that the back would be the best way.

She walked slowly and with purpose. She had planned far too long for it to be rushed. This was not a hack and slash barbarian, rather someone that had taken the time to learn how to do it right. There was purpose in each step as if she were conducting a military operation, though few military operations were ever conducted with this black a purpose.

The killer's black hair flew behind her as she jumped over a four-foot chain link fence and landed flat-footed on the other side. The grass was overdue for a mowing so it muffled the sound of her landing. She then walked over to the phone box and used the tip of a combat knife to open it, slicing all the wires inside after getting it open. She then used the darkness of the area to hide in as a car passed on the street.

Once the car was gone, the killer's lithe form slid around the back of the building with the grace of a cat on the prowl. She was not ham fisted at all in entering, partly from practice and mainly because there was no need to be. The rear door of the house was old and had not been fitted with a deadbolt. A simple thin tool was all that she needed to slip the flimsy rear lock. It would have been a burglar's dream, but theft was not on her mind, at least not theft of property. She was there to steal something more precious than that.

The killer's soft-soled shoes made no sound she walked through the victim's kitchen. Everything went exactly as planned. She stopped only to take a large knife from the large wooden block on the counter. She had been prepared to use a combat knife on the victim, but she felt using a knife that could not be traced back to anyone but that victim had a certain delicious irony to it. It fit her personality to change her careful plan on the fly if circumstances dictated it.

The killer stepped quietly, but quickly, to the front stairs. She detested two story dwellings for this sort of thing normally, but the profile of this victim would surely make for headlines. She knew nothing if not the power of headlines. After the first two killings, there were whispers going around about a serial killer on the loose, though the official police department line was that the first two killings were unrelated.

Tonight, the killer intended to prove the police department wrong. The first two killings followed the same pattern, which she did not deviate from this time. First thing she did was survey the entire house and make sure that everyone was asleep. The upstairs consisted only of three rooms, so this did not take very long.

The master bedroom had two people sleeping in the bed, a couple in their early fifties. The killer looked at them dispassionately, not caring in the slightest about them. She was far beyond caring about taking lives. Life meant nothing to her and they would be disposed of quickly. The true victim was in another room.

The second bedroom was a slight surprise, containing a crib and a sleeping mother, possibly friends of the victim that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer frowned at the inconvenience, but decided that scrapping the mission now would be foolhardy, as well as impractical. She knew that the mother would have to be dealt with first, as the maternal instinct was dangerous when aroused.

In the final bedroom lay the prize the killer was seeking, a young woman with a high enough profile to bring this case to the front of the newspapers. The newspapers had featured her on their front pages numerous times, though usually for achievements, not the least of which was becoming second runner up in the Miss America pageant.

The death of this woman would be pleasurable, as this killer had a particular disdain for pageant contestants. It would also serve her greater goal, the goal of television coverage. She knew that there had not been a Son of Sam style spree in the age of CNN, Fox News and round the clock news coverage. Although she was nowhere near as insane as Berkowitz, Bundy, or Ramirez, she eagerly awaited watching the people of America keep their eyes glued to the television set waiting for the next killing.

The killer smiled slightly and stepped out of the victim's room. Turning back into the room with the mother and child the killer approached quietly and got a firm grip on the wooden handle of the serrated butcher knife. With a smile and a gleam present in her eyes, the killer's knife plunged down quickly into the soft flesh under the temple. The force was so great that the young woman, actually the pageant winner's sister, did not even have a chance to wake up before dying.

Flush with the excitement of the first kill of the night the killer pulled the knife out, watching the satisfying splatter of blood as the knife was extracted. She took the woman's hand and made several bloody hand prints posthumously, just to confuse the police. She did so love to torment the police and had the knowledge to make the investigation a living hell.

The parents were the next ones that had to go. Taking care of two people at once was always tricky, so the killer went into the room and shut the door in case it got noisy. She silently wished for the silenced pistol that had been left back at the apartment, but then remembered why it had been left behind. The pistol was only for laziness. She was brutal but was anything but lazy when it came to the games.

The killer decided that the man had to go first. The woman might be noisier, but would be less of a threat if things got out of hand. She stood right next to the man for a moment looking at the motions of his chest as he slept. He really had no idea that these breaths that he was taking were going to be his last. The killer reflected on this as the knife silently ended the man's life.

But, perhaps this was not so silent after all, because it was enough to wake up the woman. The woman sat bolt upright and saw the killer plunging the knife into her husband's body. She screamed loudly, not knowing that she was one of two adults left alive in the house. She saw that her husband was beyond help and decided to make a break for it.

The killer cursed silently and hopped over the bed, grabbing the woman before she could reach the door. Her temper was fired by the mistake, so the woman's head was rather brutally bashed into the wall. This, however, made enough noise to wake up the intended victim who was now, after her mother's death, the only living adult.

The killer heard the girl wake up and the distinctive clatter of a phone being removed from a cradle. Little did the Beauty Queen realize that the phones were already dead and that she was to be next. The killer let the Mother's body drop limp down on the floor and ran for the Beauty Queen's room.

The Beauty Queen was on her feet quickly and running for the stairs. Her Winnie the Pooh pajamas were already wet with nervous sweat. The killer smiled and started running after the beauty queen.

The beauty queen was stumbling over her own feet as she sped down the stairs. Not so the killer. She jumped up and held on to both railings, much like a crewman on a submarine tends to do. This allowed her to get to the bottom and kick the beauty queen behind the knees, causing her to fall and smack her face on the floor.

"Now, now," The killer said in a patronizing voice broken only by a few coughs, "Look at what you made me do. You've made a mess of yourself, you know that?"

The bloodied beauty queen could do little but moan as the killer picked her up and laid her out on the couch. The killer had wanted this to go a little smoother, but a little excitement always made things more fun.

The first thing to go was the Winnie the Pooh pajamas. The killer wanted the pictures to be irresistible to the press so that they would be posted everywhere. She then took things slowly from this point. Torture was an art as far as the killer was concerned, and one that needed time to be enjoyable.

The killer did the dirty work on the girl, but left enough to be recognized. It was an agonizing way for anyone to die, alive, but unable to scream because the tongue was no longer there. Dying, but not fast enough to spare the pain. The killer had fun with this, as this was the reason the killer went through so much preparation. It took time to do things right, and she loved working on young victims like this.

When the young beauty queen had finally died, the killer started the arrangements. She had no particular religion, dark or otherwise, but occult symbols always made things look spooky, and the spookier it got the more press it got. She also removed one of the young woman's fingers, dropping it into a plastic bag for later use. This also tended to confuse the police, which was usually a good thing for her purposes.

The killer went upstairs and moved the bodies around a little, her six-foot frame giving her the strength and leverage to do so. She did it to confuse the detectives who would be there in a few hours. The beauty queen's parents were placed back into bed as if sleeping. Her macabre sense of humor showed when the baby's mother was wrapped into an intimate embrace with a large teddy bear.

As a final note, the killer put the bloodied knife into the crib, edge away from the baby. The baby was not the target, and she had no need to inflame the public that much yet. Besides, she felt leaving the child alive as the only living witness added flare to the scene. As a final insult to the police officers, however, she turned off the air conditioning to make sure that the smell was nice and ripe when they got there.

The killer smiled at what was left and decided that it was time to fade away into the night. Slinking down the steps, the killer slid back out the door. Looking around for early morning activity, she hopped back over the chain link fence and slid away into the night, very satisfied with how things had gone. It was time to go back home and watch the ensuing television coverage.
Chapter Two – 'The Scene of the Crime'

Lieutenant Michael Miller climbed out of his old Mercedes and looked at the average city street, one that was crawling with cops and reporters. He growled, as he had to fight his way through a crowd to get to the barricades surrounding the crime scene. He knew that this one would be bad. Unlike some of his superiors, Miller already knew that this one was a serial killer. His instincts were too good to ignore in this regard.

Miller flashed his badge to the patrolman who was working the barricade and was let through without any problems. He looked for familiar faces and saw his old friend, Detective Nick Jones, standing just below the front steps smoking a cigarette. Miller walked over and chastised his friend for the cigarette.

"I thought you quit those things years ago, Nicky," Mike said, "Is it that bad in there?"

"Take a look for yourself, Mike," Nick said, "I'm pretty sure you'll want one too."

"How bad?" Mike Miller asked him.

"This guy makes Pena's thugs look like school children," Nick said, "I still can't figure out what happened. Not sure I even want to, truthfully."

Mike Miller and Nick Jones went back a nearly a decade to when Miller was an undercover cop infiltrating the Bullock/Pena organized crime syndicate. Nick was a low ranking member of the outfit who defected to the good side when Miller's cover was blown, even saving the undercover cop's life in the final hours.

Miller and his employers had arranged for a full pardon for Jones, wiping out his criminal record so he could join the police force. As soon as Jones had served his rookie days in the streets Miller scooped him up to work under him in the homicide unit that he had headed up after the Bullock trials finished and the gang became a footnote of history. That was over five years in the past. They had been together ever since.

"Ok," Mike said, "I'm going to go in. Has the smell started yet?"

"Oh yeah," Nick said while making a face, "The other reason for the smoke. To deaden my sense of smell before I go back in there. This killer is a prick. He turned off the air conditioning before he left."

"Assuming it's a he," Miller reminded him.

"Too much moving of bodies for it to be a woman," Nick said, "It's possible, but unlikely."

"True," Mike nodded, "Ok, I'm going in."

"Good luck," Nick chuckled, "I'll go in again once my stomach settles."

Miller nodded and walked up the steps. If it was anything like the last two murders he knew it would be a gut wrenching experience. He opened the door and got a whiff of the smell. He frowned and continued to walk in anyway. He had barely gotten inside when a younger officer ran into him, trying to get outside.

"If you're going to puke," Miller suggested to the young man, "Do it out back where the reporters won't see you. I don't want the reporters all over us yet."

The young officer nodded at the suggestion and made a break for the back door, careful not to touch anything. Miller chuckled a little and walked into the living room, where he heard some voices. He saw the medical examiner standing there while the photographer took pictures of everything.

"Welcome to hell, Lieutenant," Jake Sanders, the local Medical Examiner said, "This is the worst one yet."

"How many this time?" Miller asked as he looked over the scene.

"Four," Sanders sighed, "This one here and three upstairs."

"How long?" Miller asked.

"Won't be able to tell for sure because the AC was turned off," Sanders said, "My guess is sometime between midnight and four. Any less and the stench wouldn't have been as profound."

"Same guy as last week?" Mike asked him.

"I don't know," Sanders said, "It's just as brutal, and there's crap on the walls again, but it could be a copycat."

"Yeah," Miller said without even looking at Sanders, "Somehow I doubt it though."

Miller walked back towards the front and saw Nick walk into the house. He was holding a handkerchief up to his face as he walked in, and he paled a bit. He had been working homicide with Miller for several years but was still not used to the stench of death yet.

"Stupid question," Miller said, "But I'll ask it anyway. Did you find any witnesses?"

"Only one," Nick said, "But she ain't talking."

"Why not?" Miller asked, surprised at the response, "Injured bad?"

"Not a scratch," Nick shrugged, "But she hasn't learned how to talk yet."

Nick went on to explain about the baby in the crib and how the knife was laid gently down with the child, blade away. Miller growled at the killer's cruelty, but realized that this was not the work of a standard madman. This killer had a sense of humor, albeit a cruel one.

"This is a bad one, Mike," Nick said as they climbed the stairs, "Are they still pressing you upstairs not to call this one a serial?"

"Of course," Miller growled bitterly, "They hate the sound of it. Nothing good ever comes out of these cases, never will. I don't think it matters now. As soon as the details from this one are released there will be no stopping that flood."

"Especially once the press gets wind of who the victim is," Nick agreed.

"You have ID's?" Mike asked.

"You didn't recognize her?" Nick asked, surprised.

"I doubt I'd recognize my own mother in that condition, Nick," Mike said, "Who is she?"

"The state beauty queen," Nick said, "Miss America contest too. Second runner up, I think. This one is going to gather some serious press in a few hours."

"Angela DiTonno?" Mike said and whistled as his memory kicked in, "Who were the others?"

"Parents and sister," Nick said, "The girl's boyfriend said that the baby was the sister's."

"Where is he?" Mike asked.

"Out back with Creighton," Nick said, "Going through the standard questions. The guy is rather distraught."

"And you left him alone with Jay Creighton?" Mike said, "You should know better, Nick!"

Miller sighed and made his way to the back of the house. Sure enough, Detective Randall Jay Creighton was laying into the young man in the back yard. Miller could see that even before he got within earshot of the two men.

"Where were you last night?" Creighton said to the young man, probably for the hundredth time, "I haven't got all day here."

"I told you!" The upset young man exclaimed, "I was home sleeping."

"Cool it, Creighton," Miller said as he walked up, "Go out front and make sure the uniformed guys are keeping the press out of the perimeter."

"But I was just..." Creighton started to say before Miller interrupted him.

"Going out front," Miller finished for him, "I'll take it from here, Jay."

Randall Jay Creighton had been a thorn in Miller's side since first having him thrust into the unit a year ago. Creighton was a below average cop being retained mainly because of his connections. He was not particularly bright and had very few problem solving skills. Miller tended to use him as little as possible and even then only on crimes that he did not expect to go in front of a jury.

"Sorry about that, kid," Miller sighed when Creighton was out of earshot, "I hope he didn't rattle you too bad."

"No," the kid said, "You don't really think I did this do you?"

"Not really," Miller admitted, "But we do have to ask the questions. What is your name, anyway?"

"Jason Trotter," the young man said, "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Miller," Mike said and held out his hand, "The other man with me is Detective Nick Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Jason," Nick said, shaking the kids hand as well, "Sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances."

"I know Jay probably asked you repeatedly," Miller smiled, "But could you tell me where you were last night?"

"I was with Angela until ten," the shaken kid said, "I was feeling lousy from all the candy we ate at the fair yesterday. I went home and went to sleep. She asked me to come pick her up this morning so we could go see some friends."

"Why was she home?" Nick asked, pulling out his notebook.

"Time off from the events circuit," Jason sniffled, "We got to spend some time together and we were going to go see some mutual friends this afternoon."

"You wouldn't happen to know if anyone was threatening her?" Miller asked him.

"Not off hand," the kid said, "But she probably wouldn't have told me about it anyway. Morris Stans would know about stuff like that. He handled her publicity and that sort of garbage. Fat lot of good it's going to do her now."

Miller nodded solemnly. The kid was certainly right about that. He was sure that the kid had nothing to do with it. He knew he had a serial killer. He just did not want to admit it anymore than the police brass did.

"That's all for now," Mike smiled, trying to keep him calm, "Just sit back and try to calm down a bit. If Creighton bugs you again, tell him that I said not to. If he doesn't listen, come get Nick or Myself."

"Thanks," Jason half smiled, "I appreciate it Lieutenant."

Miller walked back towards the house grumbling, telling Nick to go check on Creighton. He walked inside to see how the crime scene analysis was going. That was one of the bad parts of the promotion he had received after the undercover gig; he could not do everything hands on anymore. He had to rely on his orders being carried out.

"Lieutenant!" someone exclaimed to get Miller's attention.

Miller looked up and saw another one of his detectives, Marcus Holbein. He was a transfer from Seattle, but a good one. He had been with Miller's squad for about three years at this point. He was following the bloodstains and saw something that he thought the boss should see.

"What is it Marcus?" Miller asked.

"Come on upstairs," Holbein said, "I'm trying to puzzle this out and I think you should see it."

"Lead the way," Miller nodded.

They carefully went up the stairs, avoiding the parts that had been mapped off by the CSI people. The stench was even worse upstairs than it was below. Miller was lucky, as his sense of smell was dull. Holbein brought Miller into the master bedroom, where the CSI people were working.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before, Marcus?" Miller asked him.

"I saw the results of a massacre once," Holbein nodded, "Happened at old Bolantine's mansion in Seattle years ago. But this is far worse. This was cruel and calculated. What I saw up there was a slapdash mess of an organized crime fight. This is methodical."

"That's what scares me," Miller muttered, "This one is too organized."

"Take a look over here," Holbein said as he went over to the wall, "You finished with this yet, Charlie?"

The crime scene technician nodded and moved out of the way so both Miller and Holbein could move in around the bloody hole in the wall.

"I thought the bodies were found in the bed," Miller said, "Where the hell did this come from?"

"That's what is puzzling me," Marcus Holbein said, "It looks as though they didn't even make it out of the bed."

"That may not be true, Detective," Sanders who was examining the bodies, put in.

"What have you got Jake?" Miller asked.

"The top of the woman's head," Sanders said, "Covered with what looks like chalk dust. Probably came from that hole over there."

"So there was a struggle after all," Holbein said, "That means the killer took time and moved the bodies."

"Probably after they were all dead," Miller nodded, "My guess is that he killed the three up here quickly and then took his time on the girl downstairs."

"But why waste time with arranging the bodies up here?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know," Miller sighed, "None of this makes any sense at all."

"What do you want us to do, Lieutenant?" Holbein asked, not having any clue where to go with this.

"You and Nick finish the analysis of the scene," Miller instructed them, "When you stop making progress there, start talking to the neighbors. Do not, under any circumstances, say to anyone that you think this is a serial killer. Treat it like a standard garden variety murder until I say differently."

"I hope you're planning on doing something about the other possibility," Holbein said.

"Yeah," Miller nodded, "I'm going to have to go up the chain a little and start chomping at the bit."

"Telling them they have a serial killer?" Nick asked as walked up behind them, "That's not going to make the brass happy."

"This type of case never makes anyone happy," Miller said sourly, "Where's Creighton?"

"I left him out front barking at the patrolmen," Nick shrugged, "It seems to have made him happy."

"Let's just hope he doesn't manage to spill anything to the press," Holbein said.

"Start the door knocking when you can," Miller said, "Keep Creighton on the perimeter. Marcus, you have that disarming look about you. You take the crowd here. Nick, you go ahead and talk to the people who stayed in their homes."

"And if the reporters ask us questions?" Nick asked.

"Tell them No Comment," Miller said sternly, "Nobody is to talk to the press. Make sure Creighton gets that message too."

"What are you going to do, boss?" Marcus asked.

"I'm going to go downtown and try to convince the brass that it's time to get some experts in on this case," Miller sighed.

"Somehow I don't envy him his job anymore," Nick chuckled, "How bout you Marcus?"

"Nope," Holbein agreed, "I'll take crowd work any day."

"Get moving," Miller growled and referred to the CSI people, "Do you have anything for me? I'd like to tell the brass we have at least one piece of physical evidence."

"Knife came from the set in the kitchen," A.J. Dupriex said, "Only prints on there are smudged. Probably belong to one of the victims. I'd say our killer wore gloves the whole time."

"Anything else?" Mike asked.

"Girl was torn apart," Dupriex said, "But Sanders doesn't think there was any sexual contact."

"Great," Miller sighed, "Thanks A.J. So the long and short of it is we have nothing?"

"Pretty much," Dupriex nodded, "We're still going through things though."

"Keep at it," Miller said, "Talk to Nick or Marcus if you find something."

"Not Creighton?" Dupriex asked, surprised

"I'd rather you tell it to the press," Miller growled, "They'd get it to me more accurately than that idiot would."

With that Miller made his way down the stairs and out of the death house. He pushed his way through the crowd, only to get noticed by a handful of reporters. They all started swarming him and the car. Miller could not help but scowl.

"What happened in there?"

"How many victims?"

"Is this the killer from the previous two?"

"Was this a sexual crime?"

The rest of the questions started to blur together as Miller had to fight hard not to tell them all to screw off. He stood up and looked the crowd of reporters straight on and stood up straight.

"We are still investigating," Miller said, "Other than that, I have no comments now. This is not a time for speculation. When we have information to give, we will give it. Please keep back and let the detectives perform their investigation."

Miller got into the car and turned the ignition. The line of reporters, realizing that they were not going to get anything out of him at that time parted to let him drive slowly out of the area. Miller knew that sleep was about to become a rare commodity for him.
Chapter Three – 'Return to Boland Creek'

Chris Gabriel woke up to the sound of bustling people in the house. He sighed and sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes until he was awake. His first instinct was to reach for a pack of cigarettes until he realized that he had quit years before. He cursed the impulse silently and picked up the remote control unit for the TV.

Gabriel, a fairly tall man just shy of forty, turned off the sappy women's network that his wife, Carrie, had been watching the night before and turned on the news. He had little use for Hollywood style entertainment, as he'd had enough gore to last him a lifetime.

Unfortunately for him the television gave him worse than what he had expected, as the lead story even for the national outfits was the shocking murder of a young beauty queen. Gabriel groaned, but watched the coverage. He had enough experience investigating serial killers that he could not help but be interested in the coverage.

"I figured I'd find you watching that garbage," Carrie Gabriel said as she walked into the room, "Poor girl hasn't been dead a few hours and they're already working the hell out of the story."

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "That's the way it always works. It was the same when we were kids; we just didn't exactly have time to watch the coverage."

"Your brother saw to that," she nodded and then sighed, "He saw to a lot of things."

Chris nodded and tried not to let the images back into his head. He sat up and looked up at his wife of many years. She smiled at him, though he could see something was troubling her. He patted the bed next to him, and she sat down.

"What's eating you, kiddo?" Chris asked her, "I haven't seen that look on your face in a long time."

"The demons are coming back," she sighed, "They always do when I see that stuff happening on the news."

"There's more to it than that," he said, "I haven't seen that look in your eyes since we were kids."

"Jason asked me the question this morning," she sighed.

"What question?" Chris asked, "Is it time for the birds and the bees talk?"

"No," Carrie laughed, "I wish it were that simple. Frankly, I'd rather have to explain that than I would what he asked about."

"What is it then?" he asked.

"He asked about your brother," Carrie sighed, "Evidently he read something about it on the Internet and wanted to know if it was about us."

Chris Gabriel let his breath out slowly and slid back against the headboard. Now, he knew why she was upset. This was the talk that they both had been dreading for years. Chris had already had to give the talk to their oldest, now it was Jason's turn. Chris wondered how you explain a family history as screwed up as theirs was.

Chris Gabriel, then under his birth name of Healy, had been born into a normal family environment. He had a twin brother named Jerry that he lived with and knew fairly well until their 15th year. During that year, Jerry became distant and disenchanted and eventually he became a psychopathic murderer.

Jerry Healy was not just any murderer. He was generally considered the granddaddy of the school killers. He went into serial murder with a gusto that would have made Bundy or Gacy proud. Whether Jerry the Slasher had been a serial killer or a spree killer was still debated on college campuses all over the country. Both of Chris and Jerry's parents as well as Carrie's father and brother fell victim to the young killer, as did many others during his weeklong reign of terror.

"Shit," was all Chris could manage to say, "How curious is he?"

"He's your kid," she grinned, "You're the one that taught them to ask questions if they don't know."

"Point taken," Chris said, "All right. I'll have the discussion with him like I did with Tommy."

"You want me there?" she asked, hoping she knew the answer.

"No," Chris sighed, "I know how hard it is on you to even think about Jerry."

"I still don't know how you do it," Carrie said, "You lost even more than I did, yet can still talk about it."

"I had a healthier environment after it was over," Chris reminded her, "Rael and Kelly made sure that I learned to live with it. I had counseling and a stable environment."

"True," Carrie nodded, "My mother just became an alcoholic and pretty much left me to fend for myself. Mentioning you or your brother got me nothing but grief, especially with the presence of our son."

"Given that," Chris told her, "I'm amazed you can take it as well as you do."

"Yeah," she sighed and just leaned into her husband.

Chris held on to her and stroked her long brown hair softly. He smiled as he saw a little head poke into the room, adorable little Cassi's reddish mane showed into the door frame.

"Come on in you," Chris said, "No need to hide."

The young child bounded into the room and leapt onto the bed. Chris had to fight to keep the covers on himself as they did so.

Carrie and Chris played with the child for a while. Cassandra, usually called Cassi, was their youngest at only seven. The Gabriels were attentive parents, as Chris knew too well what could happen when you ignored your children.

His children were turning out well. Tommy, their oldest at 23, was following his father's footsteps in the FBI. Jason, the middle child, was the computer maniac. He and his father often talked about the new computer parts and built machines together. The time was coming when the son would be leading the father, although Chris Gabriel had been playing with computers since the Commodore 64 era. Little Cassi was definitely her mother's girl, hanging around on Carrie's coattails whenever possible.

Family was important to Chris Gabriel. He believed that much of what went wrong with his brother could have been prevented if his parents had not been so wrapped up with a dying marriage that they were neglecting their kids. Even if Jerry's madness could not have been prevented at least the damage could have been minimized.

"Where's Jason?" Chris asked his daughter.

"He was looking at something on the computer," Cassi said with a sour face, "It was all adult junk, not sure why he was so interested."

Gabriel instinctively knew that his son was looking at the Crime Library entry on his brother. He sighed and sat up. He wondered just how badly Carrie had handled it when Tommy had asked her the question. He wished Jason had asked him directly, as he was better equipped to deal with it than his wife was.

"All right," Chris said to her, "Cassi, go ahead and tell your brother that I'll be down in a few. I'll meet him downstairs after I get dressed. He and I will go for a walk."

"Do I get to go, daddy?" Cassi chirped.

"No sweetie," Chris smiled, "You're going to go out with your mother for a while. Isn't that right hon?"

"We need to go shopping, hon," Carrie said, "I think the boys will be all right on their own."

"Probably better off in this case," Chris grinned, winking at his wife, "Better get moving. The sales are beginning, and it will take you thirty minutes to get there."

Carrie nodded and was relieved to be let off the hook for this particular talk. She herded Cassi up and left the house very quickly. Chris had not even gotten his pants all the way on by the time he heard Carrie's little Nissan pull out of the driveway. He just chuckled at his wife's continued avoidance of the subject.

Chris put on his usual T-shirt and boots and walked out into the main part of the house. He saw his boys sitting out on the deck and smiled as he went to the fridge. He thought about grabbing a beer, but then decided he had better start with a bottle of root beer. He stopped drinking years before, pretty much the same time he had left the feds. He still kept a few bottles in the fridge for when Frank Otter came over for a poker game.

He popped the cap off the root beer and took a long pull of it before going downstairs. It was not exactly the way he wanted to start the morning, but it had to happen some time. Tommy managed to wait until he was 17, Jason was only twelve and already asking. He walked into the room where his son was sitting at the computer.

"Hey Dad," Jason said upon noticing his father, "Is Mom mad at me?"

"No," Chris smiled, "You just managed to touch a sore spot for her. For both of us, actually."

"Mom really went pale when I asked her about it," Jason nodded, "You going to tell me more or do you not want to talk about it either?"

"I can handle it better than she can," Chris chuckled, "Why don't we take a walk through the back lots and have a little talk about things."

"Ok," Tommy nodded.

Chris Gabriel and his younger son walked out into the back yard and headed into the wooded areas behind the house. Chris seriously wished he had not quit smoking at this point. It was an urge that always came up when he had to discuss his brother, especially like this.

"Ok Jason," Chris said finally, "What exactly did you ask your mother and where did you get your information?"

"My friend Eddie came across this web site," Jason said, "Had some interesting stuff on crimes and criminals. Not the fiction like we usually read, but the real thing."

Chris knew exactly what site he was talking about. The Crime Library had been on his reading list for a long time. He had even contributed to the article that they had done on his brother and on a few articles on serial killers whose cases he had worked on while in the FBI.

"Anyway," he continued, "They had this article on a kid named Jerry Healy who killed a whole lot of people. They told the story about how the cops could not find him and how his own brother had to stop him. Sorta cool, but scary too."

"Nothing cool about it," Chris sighed, "Go on Jase."

"The names looked very familiar," Jason said, "Chris Healy, Jason Brigand, Carrie Caron, Thomas Caron, and others. Aunt Cookie was mentioned as well. I asked Mom about it this morning, figuring that she could tell me more. She went all nuts on me though."

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "She would. It's a painful subject for her, even after all these years."

"So she was involved with it?" Jason asked.

"Both of us were," Chris told him, "Though let me tell you, there was nothing cool about it."

"You were there too?" Tommy asked, "I didn't see mention of you?"

"Yes you did," Chris said, "You just didn't know it. You see, Christopher Healy was the name I was born with."

"Really?" Jason asked, "How come I never heard about this?"

"Long before you were born," Chris said, "Let's go sit down and we'll talk about it a little."

The two of them sat down under an old oak tree, with Jason facing his father. Chris was just glad that he was old enough to be told. He really did not want to do this three times, so he hoped that Carrie would be able to have this conversation with Cassi when the time came.

"So that was you that chased Jerry Healy down?" Jason asked.

"Yes," Chris said, "There wasn't anyone else who could."

"What happened?" Jason asked, "Why did you have to do it and not the police?"

"Jim Calysto," Chris said plainly, "He was the incompetent detective they put on the murders. He could not have found a kid in a candy store. After the initial mess, I told him outright what had happened and he wouldn't believe it."

"Why not?" Jason, ever the questioner, asked him.

"He thought he had me dead to rights," Chris sighed, "To his credit it did look bad, since he caught me with the bat that had killed my parents. Unfortunately, Jerry would probably have been stopped after my parents were killed if Calysto had listened to me."

"So you went after him?" Jason asked.

"Someone had to," Chris shrugged, "I was the only one who knew him well enough to be able to do it."

"And mom was there too?" Jason asked.

"Jerry and I had been friends with your mother and her brother for a long time," Chris confirmed, "Also with Jason Brigand. Carrie and I began dating a few months before Jerry's total disintegration. I wouldn't have been able to do it alone. They saved my life more than once."

Chris spent a good hour telling his son the sad story of what he went through and what his brother did. He did not pull any punches, figuring that it would hurt less for the boy to hear it all from his mouth than to read it in books or on the web later.

"Why did he do it?" Jason asked and listened.

"I wish I had a good answer for that," Chris said, "It's been over 20 years and I still don't have one. He was always the odd man out; the kid everyone dumped on. That year was worse than most. Our parents were fighting a lot. Jerry and I were being pretty much ignored. He went through some trauma at school, suspended a couple times, and he was rejected in other ways as well. His art was brutally rejected from a contest and the popular kids were being particularly cruel."

"What finally set him off?" Jason asked, "The story on the internet never covered this."

"I don't know what happened, but it started when he killed Annie Jenkins" Chris said, "After her death, he pretty well lost it completely. He decided to take out the kids who had been tormenting him. He also managed to take out three of your grandparents and your uncle Tommy as well."

"Is that who my brother is named after?" Jason wondered.

"Yes," Chris said, "He was named after her brother and her father. Thomas Matthew Gabriel. Jason, you were named after Jason Brigand and his close friend Mike who also were killed by my brother."

"Ok," Jason said and waited for his father to continue, "What happened to Jason?"

"I think you could safely say Jason was Jerry's last victim," Chris told him, "He got into drugs to kill the pain of losing Mike and lost himself in the process. He died in New York back in 1993."

"Now I see why you don't like drugs," Jason said, "I take it this is where you met Cookie too?"

"Yes," Chris said, "I really got to know Cookie during this time too."

"How?" Jason asked.

"I saved her from getting killed by Jerry," Chris informed him, "She was moments away from it when I came into it. You know that scar on my right side? That's where it came from."

"Ouch," he said.

"It wasn't fun," Chris admitted, "But Cookie has turned out to be a good friend for all these years."

"Cool," Jason said.

"Not exactly the word for it," Chris sighed, "It shouldn't have happened like it did. The police should have caught him instead of me."

"What happened?" Jason asked, keenly interested in his father's story, "You told me about most of it, but what about the end?"

"We caught up with him," Chris said, "Your mother and I found him at the old lighthouse after a bad storm."

"Did you kill him?" he asked.

"I tried," Chris admitted, "My gun was empty. I threw it at him and then started fighting with him. I even tossed him into the freezing water of the sound. My brother, however, was nothing if not persistent."

"He didn't die?" Tommy asked, surprised.

"He managed to get out of the water," Chris nodded, "Your mother and I went back to land and he attacked us again."

"This sounds like a bad horror movie, Dad," Jason said.

"It does," Chris chuckled and nodded, "But it's what happened."

"How did it end?" Jason wondered, "Quite obviously you and mom survived it."

"With me in the hospital, your mother pregnant with Tommy, and my brother lying on a slab, his brains splattered all over the park,"

"You got lucky, in other words," Jason said, seeing the look on his father's face.

"If I had been lucky I wouldn't have been there in the first place," Chris sighed, "I spent a week in the hospital after that mess. That's what happened to my knee. It took three surgeries just to get it so I could use it normally again."

"So what happened after that?" Jason asked.

"After Jerry's death," Chris said, "Rael Gabriel took me in. He and his wife moved me down to North Carolina, and I took their last name to get some peace after the mess. That's how come you've got the name you do now."

"Even after all that you and Mom ended up together?" Jason asked, "Guess you really love each other, huh?"

"It took a while," Chris admitted, "We didn't see each other for seven years. I didn't even know about your brother. We met again by chance when my boss in the FBI sent me back to Maine. It was probably the best thing he'd ever done for me, allowing me to clear up some demons."

"Why does Mom have so much trouble with it?" Jason asked him, "I mean, you've told me the whole thing and she couldn't even talk about it."

"The first few years pretty well determine how you handle it," Chris said, "Rael and Kelly made sure that I learned to deal with it. I spent several years getting counseling and learning how to deal with the demons of the past."

"Your mother wasn't so lucky. Her mother did not get her counseling and forbid her to even talk about it in the house. Your grandmother forbade the mention of my name or of my brother's name around her right up until the day she died. I'm still not sure whether or not your mother ever told her that we had gotten married. Not sure if she ever cared."

"When did she die?" Jason asked, "I don't remember Mom ever talking about her."

"Just after you were born," Chris told him, "I was between books at the time. She left me with you and went to Maine for a few days to tie up the loose ends and arrange for the burial. I don't know exactly how it went because she wouldn't talk about it later."

"I was wondering," Jason nodded, "Because you were mentioned in several other stories on that site as well."

"Not surprising," Chris chuckled, "I've been involved with several of those cases. That's pretty much all I did the last three years I was with the feds, work serial killer cases."

"Do you still work on these cases?" Jason asked him.

"Once in a while," Chris admitted, "I hate to admit it, but I haven't done a book tour in nearly ten years. My publisher finally realized that I hate them enough that I lose more readers than I gain from them. We just used that as an excuse when I went off to assist in an investigation."

"It must be exciting," Jason said.

"More like sickening," Chris sighed, "I wish I didn't have to do it."

"Then why do you?" he wondered.

"Because, sad to say, I'm good at it," Chris told his son, "That's one of the legacies of my brother. I know how these people think, and I can help track them down. I don't like to do it, but as long as I can stop at least one person from dying at the hands of a psychopath, I'll gladly do it."

Jason nodded. He did not understand it all, but he understood enough. He looked at his father that day with a new respect. Chris Gabriel also looked at his kid with respect. Chris was glad he understood. He just hoped that he would never have to learn firsthand what he knew of the world.
Chapter Four – 'Top Brass'

Miller was chomping at the bit a little as he waited outside the commissioner's office. He knew he had to clear much of what he needed to do with them, and he wanted to get it over with. He had been waiting there for nearly thirty minutes when they finally deigned to see him.

He walked in and saw the reason for the delay. The Mayor was there, along with several city councilmen as well as a couple of community leaders. Miller could not help but groan when he saw this display. He walked into the room and took the offered seat.

Commissioner Roger Latham looked at Miller as he walked in. Miller was one of his best homicide people. His squad had the highest case closure rate in the city. Unfortunately, he knew that Miller was a maverick, had been since his undercover days, years before. He just hoped that Miller would be cooperative with the civic leaders.

"Sorry to keep you waiting Mike," Latham said, "You were just at the DiTonno site, right?"

"Yes," Miller nodded, "It doesn't look good."

"Do you have any suspects?" One of them asked.

"No," Miller said, submitting to the inquisition, "There was nothing to suggest a suspect, though my detectives are still working on it."

Miller spent the next forty minutes going through this sort of question and answers, giving what little he knew and holding back the only real clues he had. This type of session always irked him, but he knew that it was important to have the upper crust of the city on their side. It looked good for PR.

"What exactly do you have?" Gary Gray, the young Mayor of the city finally asked him, "There are a lot of people crying serial killer and asking us to do something."

"I hope nobody is saying this to the press yet," Miller said, "We don't know for sure if the killings are related. I sure as hell don't want a media frenzy for no reason."

"I'm all for that," Gray agreed.

"You have to do something!" one of the community leaders said, "You can't sit on your ass about this!"

"We're not sitting on anything," Miller said, trying hard to hold the edge back in his voice, "I have three detectives sifting through every piece of evidence now. CSI is still going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. I just don't want to create a panic until my people have some answers."

"I need to discuss strategy on this with Lieutenant Miller," Commissioner Latham told the assembled group, "We are working diligently on this."

"Let us know when you have something?" one businessman asked.

"Sure, Bob," Mayor Gray agreed, "Just do us all a favor. Please keep speculation on this out of the papers."

They all agreed and filed out of the room, leaving Mayor Gray, Commissioner Latham, Deputy Commissioner Robert Donovan, Lieutenant Miller, and a secretary in the room to take notes. Miller looked at Latham and waited for him to ask the question.

"Ok Miller," Commissioner Latham said, "Out with it. You've given us the bullshit for the public, now what is really going on?"

"It's the same guy," Miller said, "No doubt about that. Same M/O, same styling, just on a grander scale. He's getting bolder."

"How long can we keep this out of the papers?" Gray asked, concerned about the press as usual.

"I'm amazed it hasn't hit yet," Donovan shrugged, "I give it a few hours, no more, no less."

"Robert's right," Latham agreed, "This is about to hit. The murder of a Miss America Runner Up is tailor made to go national."

"What do you propose, Miller?" Gray asked him.

"I have a good set of detectives," Miller said, "But I don't have anyone who has worked on one of these cases before."

"So grab someone who has," Latham said, "I want you to keep the case. You're probably the best Homicide man we have, and the least likely to become a press hog."

"There's a problem," Donovan sighed, "We've never had a case like this before."

"Robert is right," Miller said, "We just plain don't have anyone who's worked on one of these. One of mine was on the edge of the Yates case in Washington years ago, but he was not a primary on it. We don't have anyone who has seen a case like this."

"So you're working at a disadvantage?" Gray asked, "What can we do?"

"First we need to be doing just this," Miller said, "If you want me to do this I need several people dedicated to just this."

"How many people do you have now, Mike?" Commissioner Latham asked.

"Since Herb retired last month?" Miller asked rhetorically, "Five. Nick Jones, Marcus Holbein, Randall Jay Creighton, Terry Moore, and Colby Chandler. So, truthfully I have about four and a half."

"How do you get that?" Gray, unaware of Creighton's history, asked.

"Creighton is incompetent," Miller said, "I've been trying to get rid of him since I got him."

"I can't afford to give you that whole squad just for this one investigation," Latham said, "Charlie Roberts just lost three. Why don't you pass off the ones you want to get rid of, along with your standard caseload to him?"

"Ok," Miller nods, "I'll keep Jones, Holbein, and Chandler. Let Charlie deal with Creighton and Moore."

"What's wrong with Moore?" Donovan asked.

"He's good," Miller shrugged, "But he's burning out. He's getting too old for this and I need people that are willing to put in the hours."

"Who is there now?" Latham asked.

"Chandler was in court this morning, so I have Holbein, Jones, and Creighton there," Miller said.

"I can't let you do that to Roberts," Latham said, "He's got enough problems with IA investigations into the three who were drummed out. I want you to keep Creighton. Give him Moore and one of the others."

"Ok," Miller sighed, "He can have Moore and Chandler. Can I still give him Creighton? I'd rather have just Nick and Marcus than have to deal with Creighton."

"No women on the team?" Gray asked, "That won't look very good to the press."

"I don't have any women detectives," Miller shrugged.

"You know," Latham said, "We just had a couple women take the Detective's exam. Did any of them pass?"

"I'm sure some did," Donovan nodded.

"Give me Holbein and Jones," Miller said, "And I'll take one of the new female detectives if they're qualified. I'd rather have someone untrained than I would Creighton."

"Sorry Miller," Latham said, "You know I can't do anything about Creighton as long as the governor is on his side. You're stuck with him. Give Chandler and Moore their orders and have them report to Charlie. If you don't like it, vote against him next year."

"I'm going to put him and the rookie on the shit work you know," Miller said, "Creighton will not get near a witness if I have anything to say about it. Also, if I have to deal with that moron, I get my choice of all the rookie detectives, not just the women."

"You got it. I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, Mike," Latham smiled, "I just want you to do it."

"That brings me to the other problem," Miller said, "Addressing the fact that I don't know how to conduct one of these investigations."

"What do you need?" Gray asked.

"Someone who has had experience with this," Miller said honestly, "I'm hoping I can con the feds into sending me someone."

"Doubtful," Latham said, "They don't get involved unless it crosses state lines."

"If I have to go outside to hire someone," Miller said, "Can I do it?"

"Yes," Gray said without hesitation, "You can pay them up to a police officer's salary if you need to."

"Plus lodging?" Miller asked hopefully.

"Sure," Gray nodded.

Miller looked to the Commissioners who merely nodded. Gray could overrule them on something like this, and on an important case like this one he was willing to do so. Miller's request was reasonable, and they all knew it.

"Do you think you can do this?" Latham asked Miller.

"If anyone can," Miller shrugged, "I'll do the best job I can."

"One more thing," Gray said, "What do we tell the press?"

"As little as possible," Miller said, "I don't want to admit this publicly until I have no choice, unless the expert thinks we'll have better luck using the press."

"Consult us on anything like that, please," Latham cautioned, "You can handle the investigation anyway you'd like, but I want regular reports."

"You got it," Miller nodded, "Anything else? I need to get this together."

"Go with Robert and choose your detective," Latham said, "Keep me informed and let me know what you do for an expert."

Miller nodded and walked out the door. Robert Donovan followed along, leaving the Mayor and the Police Commissioner alone in the office with the secretary. The secretary bowed her head and scurried back out to her desk, knowing that the need for notes was over.

"Ok Roger," Gary Gray said, "You know Miller better than I do. Can he do this?"

"He's gone against the odds before," Latham said, "Remember the Bullock mess?"

"Sure," Gary said, "I was an associate in the DA's office then. I worked on some of the files."

"Mike Miller is the undercover cop that brought Bullock down," Latham reminded him.

"Shit!" Gray exclaimed, "I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. He was the one that tossed Freddie Pena off the plaza!"

"That was never proven," Latham grinned, "Though it's a good bet he did. Now, you know why I want him to run with this. He's got this annoying habit of following through on things."

"I hope so," Gray sighed, "I've got people chewing me out six ways from Tuesday on this."

"Put on some new pants then, Gary," Latham said, "'Cause the chewing hasn't even started yet. Miller can't keep this quiet much longer, despite his intentions. When the press realizes just how nasty this guy is, expect the storm to come."

"I'll get my speechwriters on it," Gray agreed, "If you need funding to cover Miller's investigation, let me know. I'll get it for you somehow."

"Thanks," Latham said.

Gray nodded and walked out the door, leaving Roger Latham alone in his office to sit back and rub his temples and pray that Miller can catch this killer before their city becomes a national crime focus.
Chapter Five – 'Corrie'

"How many women took the exam this time?" Miller asked Donovan as they walked down the hall.

"There were sixteen total," Donovan shrugged, "Probably no more than five of those women. Jack will have the list and you can choose from it."

Miller nodded as they walked into Jack Lewis's office. The head of Human Resources smiled as he saw Miller and Donovan and welcomed them in.

"Mike Miller!" Lewis exclaimed, "It's been a long time!"

"Yeah," Miller nodded, "Better circumstances now too."

"Hey," Lewis grinned, "Don't complain. You got the job done."

"All things being equal," Miller grinned, "I'd rather forget the experience."

"So what brings you two by?" Lewis asked.

"The detectives test," Miller told him, "Have you got the results?"

"Why?" Lewis asked.

"We're putting together a team to work on these killings," Donovan explained, "Miller is going to head it up, but we can't afford to give him all the detectives currently working for him. To make up that loss, we're letting him have his pick of the ones who passed the test."

"You mean to make up for me having to retain Creighton," Miller growled, "Also, the Mayor wants me to have a woman on the team for PR purposes."

"Governor Thornton is still propping up Creighton?" Lewis said, "I'm amazed Jay Creighton hasn't shot himself in the foot yet."

"Let's not dwell on it," Miller chuckled, "Do you have the list?"

"Sure," Lewis nodded and rummaged on his desk, "Sixteen officers took it, six actually passed. Typical, actually."

"Any of the women?" Donovan asked hopefully.

"Two," Lewis said, "Donna Jean Maloney and Corrie Jane Albiston."

"Got their personnel folders?" Miller asked, "I want to know how they all rate."

"Not handy," Lewis shrugged, "But I know both. What do you want to know?"

"How good are they?" Miller asked.

"Donna Maloney has been on patrol for fifteen years," Lewis said, "This is her third time taking the test. She won't be a bad detective, though I doubt she'll be anywhere near the caliber you're looking for. I'm betting she'll be a good addition to burglary or to sex crimes."

"Albiston?" Miller asked.

"Corrie Albiston is a different story," Lewis said, "She grew up on the bad side of town and rose above it. She has an associate's degree in criminology, got it while working full time on a beat. Her first time taking the test and she got the highest score in the group. Truthfully, even if they weren't pushing you to take a woman I'd suggest taking her."

"Where's she working now?" Miller asked.

"Downstairs," Lewis said, "She's been on the downtown beat for about a year. Spent five years in central before that. Got rotated here when they realigned the precincts last year. She should be in the building now. Tom Vance usually does the briefings about this time."

"The Mayor is pushing on this one," Robert Donovan said, "How hard will it be to expedite the transfer?"

"Not hard," Lewis shrugged, "Just so long as Vance signs off."

"He'll be ordered to do so," Donovan said.

"I want to meet her first," Miller said, "If she's here, let's go talk to her. If I want her on my team, I'll take her with me and let you two work out the paperwork."

"You got it," Lewis said, "Just call me and I'll start the transfer."

"Also start the paperwork to transfer Colby Chandler and Terry Moore to Charlie Roberts," Miller said, "We're going to stock him up so he can take over our caseload. We're going full time on this new mess."

"I figured as much," Lewis nodded, "Good luck, Miller."

"We'll need it," Miller nodded.

Donovan and Miller went down to the squad room that was on the second floor of the central police plaza. Miller's unit worked out of the third street office, but the central police plaza also had a full police division itself. They slid into the back of the briefing room as Tom Vance was giving instructions to his patrol officers.

"Keep your eyes open today," Vance instructed them, "We've all heard about the killings out in the suburbs. If you see anything out of the ordinary, report it. Also, if the press tries to pump you for information, give them nothing. It's not your job, and you don't know anything."

Vance spent a few more minutes talking to his people and then let them go. He saw Miller and Donovan standing in the back of the room and walked up to them. He wasn't used to higher-ranking officers watching his briefings unless something was coming down.

"What's going on, Robert?" Tom Vance asked him, "Something brewing?"

"Not really," Donovan said, "We're actually here to talk to one of your people."

"Which one?" Vance asked.

"Corrie Albiston," Miller said.

"Corrie huh?" Vance shrugged, "Never thought she'd bring attention like this."

"Nothing bad," Miller smiled, "Much the opposite, actually. She may be getting the chance of her career. I just want to talk to her first."

"I guess she passed the exam," Vance chuckled, "Not surprising, I was expecting her to be promoted, just not this quick. All right, Miller. She just walked out into the hall. You can't miss her, really. She's the smallest of the bunch, but she makes up for it in brains. She has reddish hair, though that changes a couple times of month, and sometimes wears glasses when her contacts annoy her."

"I'll find her," Miller nodded, "Who's she partnered with?"

"Barry Rockwell," Vance said, "He's one of my most senior patrolmen. Truthfully, he's probably going to become my second in command in a few months. That's why I put him with Corrie. I knew she'd pass the exam when she took it."

"That might happen in a few minutes," Miller grinned, "I'll let you know after I talk to her."

Miller walked out into the hall and looked through the gaggle of people. He was about to ask whether anyone had seen her when he saw a small woman with reddish hair. She was standing by a door and talking with a few other officers. Miller made his way over to them and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Lieutenant Miller," Mike said, "Are you Corrie Albiston?"

"Yes," she said, in her husky, held back tones, "I'm Corrie Albiston."

"Good," Miller smiled, "Can we talk for a few minutes?"

Corrie, not expecting this in the least, nodded and looked to her friends who all merely shrugged. Miller led her back into one of the interrogation rooms and offered her a seat. They both sat down, and Miller looked her over a little.

She was not frail, but she was definitely of slight build. She was attractive, but not in a fashion model sense. Her eyes were extremely focused and took notice of her surroundings and the man sitting with her. Miller sensed this as well and knew right away that she had the makings of a good detective. A good detective noticed everything.

"What is this about?" she asked him, "Is there something wrong?"

"Not at all," Miller said, "Just wanted to get a chance to talk to you for a minute to see if you would fit in on the team."

"What team?" Corrie asked suspiciously.

"I'm sure you've heard of the string of murders," Miller said, "I'm the guy who's going to be running the task force on it."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Miller smiled at that one, "Well, I can't bring my whole squad into this, and I need warm bodies. The Mayor is also demanding that I have a woman on the team."

"No," Corrie said outright, standing up in outrage, "Not this bullshit. I am not going to become a token woman. I will make it on my skills or not at all."

"Sit down, Corrie," Miller invited and smiled, "I said that the Mayor wants a woman. I'm more interested in your qualifications. That's why I'm here."

"I'm sorry," She said, smiling sheepishly, "I've been battling this double standard crap for years, you know?"

"Trust me," Miller chuckled, "I'm already hampered by one bad detective. I don't need another one. Will you at least hear me out?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"Not really," Miller shrugged, "But I admire your spirit. You've got guts, not everyone would question something like this."

"Thanks, I think," she said as she sat back down.

"This isn't going to be a pleasant investigation," Miller said, "There are already nine bodies. There will probably be more and they won't be pretty."

"I can take it," she said quickly, "What will I be doing?"

"Mostly grunt detective work," Miller admitted, "Marcus Holbein and Nick Jones will be the senior detectives. You and Jay Creighton will be cleaning up loose ends mostly. Depending on the skills you show, we may adjust your duties as we go along."

"Sounds interesting," Corrie said, "I take it I passed the detective's exam?"

"I wouldn't be here if you didn't," Miller nodded, "Actually, you had the highest score in the group. I think you'll fit in well on this team."

"How many of us?" Corrie asked.

"There will be five from inside the department," Miller told her, "Marcus Holbein, Nick Jones, Jay Creighton, Myself and you if you want in. Truthfully, I'd rather just take you and leave Creighton, but I don't have that option. I may bring in others who have had experience with this type of case if I can find anyone. It's going to be a difficult case and there will most likely be a lot of hours until this is over."

"That's no problem for me," she said, "I don't have much of a social life."

"So do you want in?" Miller asked, knowing she would take it, "This could be a career maker for you, Albiston."

"When do I start?" she asked.

"Now," Mike said, "Do you have a set of appropriate civilian clothes here?"

"Not really," she said, "I usually come to the station in sweats so I can work out before I go on patrol."

"Ok," Miller nodded, "Go home and get into something appropriate. You can put away your blues. You won't need them for a while. After you get dressed meet me down at the Third Street precinct. My office is on the second floor. I'll have your temporary identification by the time I get back there."

"How soon do you need me?" she asked.

"Go ahead and take lunch now too," Miller said on reflection as he got up, "It'll give me some time to make some calls. Be at my office by 2:30, ok?"

"That works," she nodded, "Do I need to go tell Captain Vance?"

"No," Miller said, "I'll tell him."

Corrie nodded and stood up, nearly bounding out of the room. Once the initial shock was over, she realized that this was the opportunity she was waiting for. She went whistling into the locker room, leaving Miller there chuckling. He remembered being that eager once. He also remembered the feeling when he realized how jaded he'd become.

Miller walked out to where Robert Donovan and Tom Vance were still talking. They looked at him and nodded their greetings.

"I'll take her," Miller said, "She's young, but she's already smarter than Creighton, which is a definite plus. Not to mention she has spirit."

"Good," Robert said, "I guess we'll get the transfer in order."

"Let's make a stop up there together," Miller suggested, "I want to get some ID for her so I can use her immediately. I'm sorry to have to do this to you Tom, but I need her to start today. I sent her home to change."

"That's all right," Tom nodded, "I have one officer out sick. I'll have Barry ride with him today. I hope she does well for you, Mike."

"Me too," Miller said, "Let's go Robert. I want to get that identification for her out of the way so I can go make some calls."
Chapter Six – 'The Call'

Chris Gabriel spent the rest of the morning running around with Jason and answering whatever questions he had about his brother's killing spree. Despite Jason's initial shock at his family history he took it all in stride. Deciding that Carrie probably needed a bit more time to deal with it, Chris decided to take the boy to the little BBQ restaurant that they could walk to across the back lots instead of going home for lunch.

Chris and Jason walked back into the house shortly after two in the afternoon. He was happy to have had a good day with his kid, especially since he had spent most of the past week in writer mode, finishing his latest novel. Carrie and Cassi were back by the time they walked through the door, and Carrie was sitting at the table reading the paper and waiting for him.

"Did you get Jason some lunch?" Carrie asked Chris.

"Yeah," Chris nodded and kissed his wife on the forehead, "We walked over to the BBQ Shack. Figured we'd save you the trouble."

"That's ok," Carrie said, "How'd he take it?"

"Better than you did," Chris grinned, "He was surprised, but he took it all right. He asked some questions, and I gave the best answers I could."

"What did you say about me?" Carrie asked.

"I told them why you have more problems talking about it," Chris said, "You know, babe, you may want to consider a little counseling on this."

"Will it stop the nightmares?" Carrie asked.

"No," Chris admitted, "But it might help you learn how to live with them."

"I'll think about it," Carrie said dryly, as she always did when this came up.

Chris knew that she would not do it. She never did. He just hoped that she could at least learn to talk about it a little eventually. He didn't want to have the talk alone with Cassi.

"Did you finish the book?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "Put the final touches on last night, that's why I was up til 2am."

"You got a call while you were out," she told him, "From a Lieutenant in the city, a guy named Miller."

"Oh yeah?" Chris said, "Which city and what did he want?"

Carrie merely held up the newspaper, which had the news about the Beauty Queen killings on the front. Chris did not have to ask anymore, as the paper had a large picture of a man getting into his car, probably saying "No Comment" as he did so.

"They're calling for help already?" Chris asked.

"Probably," Carrie admitted, "Why couldn't they have called last week when you were in the middle of writing and couldn't go?"

"You aren't that lucky," Chris smiled, "Let me give Miller a call and see what he wants. He may just want a little over the phone advice."

"It doesn't matter," Carrie sighed, "You're going to go if he asks you, you always do."

"Probably," Chris admitted, "But you gotta think of how many lives can be saved if I'm there and able to spot something that catches them early."

"I know," Carrie smiled, "I just worry when you do that. I remember how you were when you were chasing Jerry, remember?"

"Listen," Chris said and slid in a chair next to Carrie, "You know me. I prefer to stay on the sidelines now. I've done my time chasing them directly. If Miller offers me a temporary job on this case, I'm strictly sideline and crime scene. His own detectives can risk their necks catching the guy. Besides, I couldn't even pass the physical now."

"That's what you always say," Carrie reminded him.

"Why don't I call him and find out what he wants before we argue this?" Chris suggested, "I'm not in the mood to fight with you on it right now."

"Go for it," Carrie said, knowing there was little she could do, "His number is on the pad by the fridge."

Chris nodded and went and pulled it off the pad. He decided that he would rather be comfortable while calling, so he walked into his computer room and sat down in his recliner. He picked up the phone and dialed the number that his wife had written down, wondering what he was in for this time.

"87th Squad," a voice answered, "This is Jones."

"Hello," Chris said, "I'm trying to reach a Lieutenant Miller. My name is Chris Gabriel."

"Sure," Nick said, "Mike's been waiting for the call. Hold on a moment and I'll get him."

Chris heard some shuffling over the phone and a click as he was put on hold to transfer the call. He waited for a few moments, and it was not long before another voice came on the phone.

"Mr. Gabriel," Mike Miller said, "I'm Lieutenant Michael Miller. Thanks for returning my call."

"No problem," Gabriel said, "I saw the paper this morning. I'm guessing that's what you're calling me about?"

"I'm afraid so," Miller told him, "This is confidential right now, because we don't want it to go to the papers yet, but we think we have a serial killer."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Chris sighed, "What do you want from me?"

"We don't have anyone here who's even seen a case like this," Miller said, "I've got a good squad of detectives, but..."

"But this is a whole different ball of wax," Chris finished, "I know the drill. I've seen a lot of these over the years. Who gave you my number?"

"A buddy of mine over at the FBI," Mike told him, "Spike Chavis. Said he worked with you back in the nineties. He couldn't get involved officially, but said you might be able to help."

"You've got good timing, Miller," Chris chuckled, "I just had to tell my kid about my past this morning. What are you offering?"

"All I can offer is a policeman's salary," Miller said, "Also travel and lodging. You'll have access to everything we have and if you need something else we'll do our best to get it for you."

"Do you have a working team for this, or is it still being handled like a standard investigation?" Chris asked.

"By the time you get here there will be a special squad on this," Miller promised, "I've selected them and was getting ready to have the meeting on it when you called. I'll be heading it, and I'm keeping half my original squad to work on just this. Also got a rookie to help fill out the staff. We have access to additional manpower from the blues if we need them."

By "the blues" Miller meant the uniformed police officers, which was a standard term in his department for them. Chris understood and liked the sound of what Miller was telling him. He figured that if they were smart enough to put a task force together this early it was worth going in for.

"All right," Gabriel said, "The money is fine, I'm not in it for that anyway. I do have a couple conditions I need to impose on my involvement."

"I'm listening," Miller said, listening intently.

"Ok," Chris told him, "I'm there for advice and observation only. I don't do street work anymore because I can't run with my bad knee. Your people will be making any arrests. I don't go into dark corners or crime scenes until they are secured. My days directly chasing serial killers are over. I've served my time on the front lines."

"Ok," Miller said, he'd been warned on that point by Spike Chavis.

"Basically, if you need a general I'm your man," Gabriel simplified, "If you need a foot soldier, call someone else."

"I can live with that," Mike grinned, he liked Gabriel already, "How many of these investigations have you worked on?"

"I've been involved one way or another with sixteen," Chris told him, "Some of them directly when I was in the FBI, one when I was the Sheriff of Boland Green County, and several as advisors in the vein of what I'm offering to do for you."

"Sounds good," Miller smiled, "When can you get here?"

"Go ahead and make the travel arrangements," Chris said, "Set up a flight for tomorrow, anytime after 10am. I'm going to spend tonight with my wife and kids and take them out to dinner. My wife will want to kill me for accepting another one of these assignments."

"I can understand that," Miller chuckled, "My Ex was the same way. I'll have the arrangements made and you'll get a call later."

"Can you send it by email?" Chris asked, "It'll save time all around and I can print it out."

"Sure," Miller said, "Email address?"

Chris gave him the private one so he would get it quick without having to sort through a million emails to do so.

"All right," Miller said, "I'll get this stuff out to you this afternoon, as soon as I can get one of the secretaries to make the arrangements."

"Be sure to have one of your people meet me at the airport," Chris said, "I'd also appreciate it if whoever it is could have a copy of the file so I can start pouring through it. The sooner I get started, the sooner I can come home."

"You got it," Miller agreed, "Anything else you'll need?"

"I don't think so," Chris said, then remembered something necessary, "Actually, yes. Pistol and permit. I don't want to go on the street, but I'm not working one of these cases without one."

"You got it," Miller said, "I'll have them work up a temporary officer's identification for you. Your FBI and city sheriff experience should suffice for that."

"That works," Gabriel agreed, "All right. I'm going to go break it to my wife that I'm going out on another one of these. Something tells me that I'm going to be buying her an expensive dinner tonight."

"Sorry I had to do this to you," Miller said, "I wish it wasn't necessary."

"I know it," Gabriel chuckled, "Nobody is ever happy to have to call me on this. But, if I can help you put this down quickly, I'll be glad to do it."

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then," Miller said, obviously relieved.

"Yep," Chris nodded and they rang off the line.

Chris Gabriel leaned back in his easy chair and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. He thought for a few minutes and made a few calls, the first to a young woman who often did babysitting for them, securing services for the night, and the second for reservations at Boland Creek County's only five star restaurant, which was also a dinner theatre.

Chris Gabriel sighed and put his email on auto-check. He stood up and walked out into the kitchen. It was time for him to face the music with his wife.
Chapter Seven – 'Beauty Queen Killer Special Task Force'

After putting down the phone and giving the secretary instructions on getting Gabriel's travel information together he went out into the squad room. All five of his detectives were sitting at their desks waiting for him to come out. It was about 2:15 in the afternoon, and Miller wanted to get this started before Corrie came in.

"Ok guys," Miller said, "It's time for a meeting."

"I just started on this report," Terry Moore complained, "The ADA wants it by five."

"He can wait a few more minutes," Miller shrugged, "This is an important one."

"Gotcha," Moore nodded, "Beauty Queen?"

"You got it," Miller acknowledged, "I need all of you in the conference room. Even you, Creighton."

The five detectives walked into the room and sat down in their usual parallels. Moore and Chandler sat down next to each other on the left side of the beat up table, Creighton sat alone as far from the others as he could manage, Marcus and Nick sat together on the right side of the table.

"What's up, boss?" Nick asked, "Marcus and I were going through the evidence logs again."

"Anything from the top?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"It's not like this is the only case we have," Chandler grumped, "I have other unsolved cases too."

"That's what this meeting is about," Miller said, "I need to know how many cases you guys have open."

"Marcus and I have three," Nick said.

"Since Jerry left I have six," Creighton said, "Plus the work I'm doing on Sleeping Beauty."

"We've got two after Terry delivers that report," Colby Chandler said, "Nothing new, why?"

"Well," Miller said with a sigh, "The brass wants us to focus directly on this case."

"Oh shit," Moore growled, "I smell too much overtime coming in."

"I could use some," Creighton shrugged.

"Me too," Chandler agreed.

"You might get some, Colby," Miller said, "But it won't be on this case."

"Why's that?" Chandler asked, suspiciously.

"They're splitting us up," Miller told them, "Marcus, Nick and Jay, you're to spend the rest of the afternoon tidying up your cases. Colby and Terry, you two will be going to Charlie Roberts' unit for the duration. You'll also be bringing their cases along with you to distribute among his people."

"He's going to love you for that," Moore chuckled, "They're only putting you four on this?"

"No," Miller said, "They just didn't want to give Charlie inexperienced detectives. To make up for losing you I got my choice of the new detective crop."

"Makes sense," Chandler nodded, "Have you got the newbie yet?"

"Corrie Albiston," Miller told them, "She should be here any minute, that's why I decided to spring this on you now."

"Works for me," Moore said, "I hate the press cases."

"Charlie should be expecting you today," Miller said, "So give him a call and find out what he wants you to do. I'll tell him the score here when I can and probably send over the other cases with you."

"What do you want us to do on Beauty Queen?" Nick asked him.

"They're dead, and CSI is still working," Miller said, "I've also managed to get an expert on this type of crime. He'll be here tomorrow afternoon."

"Feds?" Holbein asked.

"Ex-fed," Miller said, "He's worked sixteen of these cases and was highly recommended by Spike Chavis."

"That's good enough for me," Holbein nodded, "I guess we'd better get to work. Nick, I'll take Jackman if you'll take Jakes and Strong."

"Sure," Nick agreed, "I'll probably kick those two out before you can finish with Jackman."

"I'll probably be doing these half the night," Creighton groused.

"Don't sweat it," Miller said, trying to keep his voice even and ignoring Creighton, "After you finish you've both got work to do. Marcus, you'll take Corrie with you and continue with interviews. Nick, I want you to start putting together a comprehensive file for Gabriel. You'll be picking him up tomorrow at the airport."

"Not a problem," Holbein shrugged, "Is the newbie any good?"

"Best score on the exam, actually," Miller grinned, "She's smart and she didn't take any patronizing bullshit from me, which I like."

"Sounds cool," Nick said, "So it's the five of us and that guy you called in?"

Miller nodded and looked up as Corrie Albiston walked in. Corrie saw Miller and nervously walked over, taking a spot at the back.

"Welcome to hell Corrie," Miller grinned, "Meet the rest of the team. Marcus Holbein, Nick Jones, Randall Jay Creighton. Terry Moore and Colby Chandler here are going over to Charlie's squad this afternoon."

"Nice to meet you, Corrie," Nick said, holding a hand out.

She smiled and shook hands with him as the introductions passed around the room. Corrie was obviously nervous, but she was holding her own in the group. Before long everyone went to their various tasks, leaving Corrie and Mike standing there.

"What now?" Corrie asked.

"Come on into my office," Miller said, "Have some forms for you to fill out and some ID for you."

"Cool," she shrugged coolly, "What am I going to be doing to start off with?"

"Today you'll probably be riding my coattails," Miller admitted, "Tomorrow I'll have you riding with Marcus. Nick is going to be picking up our expert at the airport."

"Sure," she nodded, "No problem. Say, have you seen the news this afternoon? Sleeping Beauty is all over it."

"Say what?" Miller asked, "They've named it already?"

"Yeah," She nodded, "The news station I listened to in the car had a lot about it."

Miller growled for a moment and walked into the office. Corrie followed him, along with Holbein, Chandler and Jones. Miller flipped on to the local news channels and listened to the reporter for a few minutes. He was livid at what he saw, which was more details than any news outlet should have had on this case.

"We have more information on the murder of Angela DiTonno," slimy reporter Stephen T. Derringer said, "This case, which is being called the Sleeping Beauty murder by police insiders, is thought to be the third episode in a string of murders that have already produced eight bodies in the metropolitan area."

"Sources in the detective division claim that this was the worst one in the bunch and that there are certainly more to come. Why is the city not telling us anything about these heinous crimes? We don't know for sure, but it's for certain that Mayor Gary Gray is going to have to answer questions about this sometime soon."

"Son of a bitch!" Miller cursed, "Did any of you talk about this?"

"Hell no," Jones said, "I told the reporters to get screwed."

"No comments from me," Holbein agreed.

"I was in court most of the day," Chandler shrugged.

The question was answered for them when the camera broke to a side shot of Randall Jay Creighton and a reporter talking. To Creighton's credit, it did not look as if he was talking to the camera, but he was talking more than he should have been to anyone.

"Creighton!" Miller said, as if it was a curse, "Did you give him that order, Nick?"

"Yes," Nick nodded, "And you did at the beginning too."

"Creighton!" Miller yelled, "Get in here!"

"What is it?" Creighton said as he lumbered into the office, "I've got work to do."

"What the hell did I tell you about talking to the press?" Miller asked him.

"What are you talking about?" Creighton asked.

"This!" Miller shouted and pointed at the TV, "You goddamned idiot! You've not only given this killer a name for the press to lock on to, you've given him the publicity that he's obviously fucking seeking!"

"I didn't know he was a reporter!" Creighton claimed, "I was just trying to keep the crowd at bay."

"Which part of don't talk to anyone did you not understand?" Miller asked him, "Do you realize what an ass-chewing I'm going to get from the commissioner and the Mayor over this?"

"I didn't know!" Creighton exclaimed.

Miller moved over and got right in Creighton's face, "Listen to me you worthless sack of shit. Consider this an official reprimand. If I had my way, you'd be turning in your badge as we speak here over this. You might still be when I tell the commissioner how this hit the news. Get out there and get these fucking writeups done. I don't care how late you stay. You are not to leave this squad room again until those files are ready for Charlie's team."

The secretary who'd popped in during the middle of this performance cleared her throat and the tension dropped just a little bit. Creighton took the opportunity to slip out of the room to go back to his files and let Miller cool off a little.

"Sorry, Cecilia," Mike said as he cooled down, "What's up?"

"I have the travel information for Mr. Gabriel," she said, "I sent it to the email address you gave me. Commissioner Latham is also on the phone demanding to talk to you."

"Ok," Miller nodded, "Corrie, stick around here for a few. Cecilia, can you dig up identification paperwork for her to fill out while I talk to the commissioner?"

"Sure," she nodded, "Anything else?"

"Give the information on where to pick Gabriel up to Nick," Mike said, "He's picking Gabriel up tomorrow."

"Why me?" Nick asked, surprised, "Why not use Jay? That's something even he can't screw up."

"Because I don't want his first impression of us to be Creighton," Miller snapped, "Go and get those files done. Gabriel wants that master file. Corrie, while you're filling out paperwork kindly go watch the news so you can fill me in on just what that moron has spilled."

"You got it boss," she said and scurried out with Cecilia.

Nick looked at Miller and thought better of saying something. He and Marcus slipped out of the room to get their work done. Nick figured he would go out and buy Mike a beer that night and find out the real story of why Creighton was still in the unit.

Miller sighed and sat down at his desk. He punched the button on the phone and greeted Commissioner Latham. Latham, however, was not about to bother with courtesy and started screaming right off the bat. Miller growled and held the handset out away from his ear for a few moments until the commissioner calmed down a bit.

"You promised that you would tell us before making anything public!" Latham exclaimed, "What in the hell were you thinking?"

"I didn't make a goddamned thing public, Roger," Miller said through clenched teeth, "I just found out about this myself."

"If you didn't then who did?" Latham demanded, "I'll be down there to fire them personally!"

"Do you mean it?" Miller said with an evil grin forming, "I've been trying to get Creighton out of here for a year now."

"Shit," Latham sighed, "He's the one who leaked this?"

"You got it," Miller said, "That asshole Derringer managed to trick him into talking."

"Christ," Latham said, "The Mayor called a few minutes ago, ready to shit."

"Give me the word and Creighton is out on the street," Miller said, "Any of the others had done this I'd have fired them in a heartbeat."

"Even Nick?" Latham asked him, knowing how close Miller and Jones were.

"Yes," Miller said without hesitation, "But he wouldn't do this. He knows better."

"Go ahead and put Creighton on an official reprimand," Latham said, "From here on out, try to keep him out of the way and be sure to document it when he screws up."

"You mean you're not going to let me dump him after that?" Miller asked.

"I can't," Latham said, "But I will get the Mayor off your ass. You are going to have to do something though."

"What?" Miller asked.

"You and one of your detectives," Latham told him, "I want you both at city hall in an hour."

"My detectives are busy, Roger," Miller reminded him, "I'll go, there's little I can do until CSI finishes. The others are trying to get their cases ready to transfer."

"Bring the newbie," Latham suggested, "Robert said that you took one of the women. It'll smooth things over with Gray and look good for the cameras."

"She hasn't even seen anything on this yet," Miller protested.

"Good," Latham said, "Means they can't pry anything out of her."

"Whatever," Miller growled, "I want you to do something for me. Call the fucking governor and let him know just how big a fuckup he's making with this."

"I'll do my best to get him out of your way," Latham promised, "Be there at 3:30 ok?"

"I'll try," Miller growled and hung up the phone.
Chapter Eight – 'The Television Gauntlet'

The television gauntlet that always comes with a high profile case started in force with the television news conferences. The Mayor, a fairly young man with much higher political aspirations, took the opportunity to look involved and decisive as he always did. He introduced everyone and told the cameras about what they were doing.

Mike and Corrie stood at the back, mere appendages to the proceedings despite the fact that they were going to be on the front line of the investigation. Both the Mayor and the commissioner fielded questions and played the political whores that they were known to be.

"Is it always like this?" Corrie whispered to Miller.

"Yes," Miller said sadly, "The players change, but the rhetorical bullshit always remains the same."

"Been through this before?" she asked him.

"A few times," Miller replied without looking at her. He was watching the crowd.

"Why are we here if we don't get to say anything?" she asked.

"It looks good," Miller shrugged, "I'll be asked to field questions in a few minutes. You're here just to look pretty and show that we're not playing boys club politics on this."

"I don't like the sound of this," Corrie said, managing to keep a straight face while in front of the cameras.

"Like I said," Mike mumbled to her, "It's part of the game. I grabbed you because you had the highest score of the lot. Just grin and bear it and be happy. You aren't expected to say anything today."

Corrie did not have a chance to say anything else because Latham began to introduce them. They looked into the cameras and nodded. Miller managed not to scowl at the spectacle. Corrie even managed a half-hearted smile.

"I'd like to introduce to you the man in charge of this case," Commissioner Latham said, "Lieutenant Michael Miller."

Miller sighed and walked up to the podium. Corrie stood a few paces back and tried not to do anything at all. Miller was greeted with harsh lights and a barrage of questions.

***

In Boland Creek County, Chris Gabriel watched the television as he prepared for his night out with Carrie. He was not overly surprised at the excess coverage on the case, even a state away. What did surprise him was the amount of information the press had managed to get on it.

"What's going on?" Carrie asked him.

"Sounds like Miller has a leak," Chris said, "A bad one too."

Carrie shrugged as she could not have cared less. She loved her husband dearly, but still had a hard time dealing with her husband's interest in cases such as these. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that whenever one of these things came up she would lose him for a few weeks. She longed for the day that he would settle down and just write books full time, but she knew that it would not happen any time soon.

Chris dressed himself in his nice clothes as he watched the TV. He was surprised, however, when he saw the large press conference. He wondered if they had actually decided to go public or if they had been forced into it. He watched as the politicians took the stage and then practically pushed Miller up onto the stage.

Chris thought that Miller did fairly well, considering the circumstances. No true police officer ever liked a press case, though he had met a few incompetent ones in the past that reveled in that sort of scrutiny. Jim Calysto had been one of those, preferring to talk to the press than investigate what had actually happened.

"You ready dear?" Carrie asked him as she finished dressing, "Or are you going to watch TV all night and miss the early show?"

"I'm coming," Chris said, sighing as he watched Miller field questions.

Carrie smiled as she watched him. She hated watching him get ready for these operations, but it was good to see him feel useful. He loved writing books, but there would always be the part of him that craved the action of being involved with a case. She just prayed that he would get it over with soon and come back home.

***

Chris Gabriel was not the only one watching Miller struggle with the press. The killer had been watching television all day, wondering just how long it would take them to start breaking through the wall of silence the police had managed to hold up for two murders now.

She sipped on some cappuccino while watching the news conference. She had not been pleased with the way things had been leaked in the background, as a full news release was what she desired. She did smile when the Mayor was on the stage taking questions about the situation.

"I do love seeing politicians squirm," she mused while continuing to watch the coverage, sipping cappuccino, and smoking a thin cigar.

The killer's face changed when Miller took the stage, however. Before Miller had even said a word the Killer knew that he would be her main opponent in this case. She could see it in his eyes.

"Michael Miller?" The killer pondered, "That name brings back a few memories. Wonder if he still has that sidekick Jones."

The killer sat back with the thin cigar and watched intently, looking for clues to the way the investigation would be handled. Miller, however, was giving little to the frustrated reporters, much to the delight of the killer. Even coughing a little did not change the mood for her.

"Good, good, good," she said quietly, "Don't make it easy for me. I'm looking for a challenge."

***

The squad also watched Miller fend off the reporters at the press conference. Marcus Holbein and Nick Jones were putting the finishing touches on their case workups when Miller went out onto the stage. They put things down and moved over to the little TV set that they had in the squad room. Colby Chandler and Terry Moore joined them in watching as well.

"Looks like the boss is in the hot seat," Chandler said.

"He's used to it," Nick shrugged, "He may hate it, but it's nothing he can't handle."

"The press cases are always the worst," Holbein said, "Though it's worse when someone screws up and leaks important information."

Jay Creighton ignored the crack and watched along as well. He was incensed that Miller would get all the credit for this investigation. He was also even angrier that Corrie Albiston, someone who had been a detective for only about ten minutes or so, was getting to go on the public stage along with him.

"How'd she get lucky enough to go?" Creighton complained.

"I don't think it is luck," Holbein shrugged, "I think she was dragged along because Miller didn't have another assignment for her."

"Not to mention she doesn't know enough to spill," Nick said his eyes boring deep into Creighton, "Unlike some people here."

There was marked animosity in the room for Jay Creighton. Both Nick and Marcus still wanted to know why Creighton had been retained for this investigation. They were going to have to have a long talk with Miller about this one once he returned from television hell.

***

"Lieutenant Miller!" one of the reporters shouted, "What about the reports we've heard that the department is calling this killer Sleeping Beauty?"

"We do not have an internal name for this unknown suspect," Miller said, "We don't encourage such things and ask that you not make this case into something it is not."

"So are you saying that we do not have a serial killer?" Another reporter asked.

"I'm saying that our investigation is still ongoing," Miller said, trying not to let his frustration show, "We do not want to create panic or encourage speculation. It is still too early to know what we have here."

"But comments from one of your detectives this morning..." Stephen Derringer put in before being interrupted.

"Mr. Derringer," Miller growled, "I saw your so called interview with one of my detectives today. Your shoddy reporting does nothing more than cause panic and waste time. Now are there any more questions from the legitimate journalists out there?"

Stephen Thomas Derringer sat back and fumed at the rebuke, though many of his colleagues were laughing. Derringer's television reporting was famous for ripping people apart, and he determined that Miller would be the next victim.

Miller went on to answer a few more questions for the other reporters before finally deciding that he had done enough with the reporters for one day and left the podium. He and Corrie dodged a few more reporters while making their way back into the Mayor's office.

"Not too bad, Miller," Gray said, "Though you went pretty hard on Derringer. He's going to crucify you for that."

"Let him," Miller growled, "I still don't know who I'm more pissed at... Creighton who didn't know any better, or Derringer who should have."

"You need to put a muzzle on that boy," Gray warned him, "I don't want to see another leak of that level."

"I didn't want him in the first place!" Miller exclaimed, "I still don't. I can do this job better with just my guys and Corrie than I can with him there."

"We still need the governor's support," Latham told him, "Without Creighton getting choice assignments we don't get it. Plain and simple."

"What good is the governor's support if it costs us this case?" Miller asked reasonably, "Creighton is incompetent. He should never have made it past patrolman, let alone become a detective on a high profile case."

"Go ahead and write him up for this," Gray said, "Keep a record on him. If it gets bad enough, maybe we can counter the governor with Creighton's file."

"If nothing else the fact that you're putting permanent notes in his file may scare him straight," Latham said hopefully.

"Not likely," Miller shrugged, "It's going to get worse before it gets better. Cases like this always do."

"It usually does," Gray agreed, "Ok. Do you have an expert on tap?"

"Chris Gabriel should be here tomorrow," Miller nodded, "Nick will prepare a file for him and pick him up at the airport."

"What are you doing with the others?" Latham asked.

"Marcus is doing interviews, and I'll send Corrie with him," Mike said, "I may help out with some of them in the morning, but I plan on meeting with Gabriel in the afternoon. Probably have to talk to CSI and the coroner as well."

"What are you doing with Creighton?" Latham asked.

"Waiting for him to complete his case transfers," Miller shrugged, "I'm hoping he'll spend most of the night doing them and be out of my hair for tomorrow. I'll come up with some bullshit assignment for him later on to keep him from screwing up the real police work."

"Good luck," Latham said, "Keep us posted."

"We'll need it," Miller said as he and Corrie left the room.

"What now, Lieutenant?" Corrie asked.

"Time to face the music," Miller said.

"Time to go home and face your wife?" she asked, not quite understanding.

"No," Miller chuckled, "Time to face Marcus and Nick and explain why I had to keep Creighton. We often meet for dinner at O'Malley's Bar and Grille. You're welcome to join us."

"I take it Creighton doesn't get invited to this?" Corrie asked.

"He wouldn't go," Miller shrugged, "He probably finds our company almost as undesirable as we find his."

"Do you ever go home, Lieutenant?" she asked him.

"Occasionally," he chuckled, "And the name is Mike. Rank is for the pompous and the weak minded. You only have to use my rank when my bosses are around."

They got into his aging Mercedes and drove towards O'Malley's.
Chapter Nine – 'The Home Front'

Mike and Corrie walked into O'Malley's Bar and Grille and were greeted warmly by the young woman working the door. O'Malley's was not the average cop bar, which was one of the reasons that Miller's crew tended to meet there. Marcus Holbein was allergic to cigarette smoke, and both Mike and Nick were trying to keep from starting again. O'Malley's was more a family style atmosphere than a standard bar, which was all right to this bunch.

"So that's why we don't see you downtown at Mike's," Corrie said as they walked towards the table where both Nick and Marcus were sitting, "You guys meet here."

"Yeah," Miller nodded, "It started as an attempt to keep Nick and Me from smoking."

Corrie nodded and then they saw Nick and Marcus sitting at the usual corner booth. Miller slid in at the side with Marcus and Corrie slid in to the booth next to Nick. Nick was sitting back and jittering a bit, Marcus was slumped into the corner with his usual happy go lucky smile.

"Nice job on the TV," Nick said, "I'm a bit disappointed you didn't publicly castrate Creighton for the slip."

"Damage was done," Mike shrugged, "Nothing I could do and it would just give the reporters a sign of weakness."

"True," Nick said.

There was an awkward silence around the table for a few moments. Miller knew that they wanted to ask about Creighton but were a little afraid to. Corrie looked at the lot of them and wondered just what exactly she was in for. A little of the tension was due to having someone new and not knowing exactly what they could say about Creighton in front of her.

"Ok guys," Mike said finally, "Spill it."

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Nick asked him, in his usual animated manner, "Letting Moore go I can understand. He's a burnout and needs to get off the streets. But you dropped Colby for Jay fucking Creighton?"

"Marcus?" Mike asked, figuring it best to let them get it out.

"I have to agree with Nick," Marcus said in his more reserved manner, "That doesn't make a bit of sense."

Corrie sat back and watched, she really did not want to be part of this conversation. She got the idea that Creighton was not a particularly good cop, and he was grating as hell to talk to, but she didn't particularly want to join a war party so soon.

"What makes you think I had a choice?" Mike asked them, "I tried everything I could to keep Colby and dump Creighton. I even offered to give Charlie Roberts both of them. They weren't buying."

"So that's how it is," Marcus nodded, "I didn't think you would have kept him willingly."

"Creighton is a pain," Mike agreed, "He'll be getting a formal writeup in the morning for the leak. Latham won't let me get away with doing anything else at the moment. He just told me to go ahead and document Creighton when he gets out of hand."

"Some help," Nick groused, "What are you going to do with him?"

"You know," Marcus said, thinking about it, "He does have a cousin at the Courson Profilers."

"Those quacks?" Nick asked.

"Why would I want to get a profile from them?" Miller asked, "Creighton is incompetent enough without them."

"Who are the Courson Profilers?" Corrie asked, still being new to this.

"A think tank that works on high profile cases," Marcus explained, "They are highly regarded and in my opinion very overrated."

"Last case we used them on they completely screwed up," Mike continued, "They create a profile on what the perpetrator most likely looked like. Everything down to race and age."

"I remember that case," Nick chuckled, "They determined that it was perpetrated by a white male that didn't know the victim. Turned out to be a black woman who had been having an affair with the victim. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry because if we hadn't dealt with Courson we would have solved it faster."

"So why would you want to use them at all?" Corrie asked.

"Good question," Mike said, "Why, Marcus?"

"Who's talking about actually using them?" Marcus said with that sly half smile of his, "I'm talking about sending Creighton over there to try to help get a profile. The profile will be garbage, even more so with Creighton feeding them the information, but it will get him out of our hair and give him the pretense of doing something useful."

"I like it," Miller smiled.

"What are the assignments tomorrow?" Nick asked.

"You're putting together a comprehensive file on the three murders for Gabriel to bite into," Miller told him, "Marcus, you are taking Corrie with you and re-interviewing everyone you can find."

"And you?" Nick asked, always liking to know what everyone else is doing.

"I'm going to ride herd on CSI so they put this at the top of the priority list," Miller shrugged, "After you get Gabriel and get him up to speed I'm sure I'll meet with him."

"Should we set a meeting time?" Marcus asked.

"Leave it loose," Miller shrugged, "This is going to be a fluid situation and a lot of these plans will change once Gabriel gets here."

"How bad do you think this one will get?" Corrie asked.

"I've got no idea," Miller admitted, "If all three of these crimes are the same person, then it's going to get worse before it gets better."

"Enough of this," Marcus said, "Work's over for today. Let's eat and talk about other things."

"Sounds good to me," Nick agreed.

"So how long have you guys been together here?" Corrie asked, "You seem like a pretty tight group."

"Mike's been here longest," Nick said, "You got this job just after you were cleared in the Pena mess right?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "They gave me the promotion as a reward for shutting down that syndicate."

"Shutting down a syndicate?" Corrie asked, "How'd you do that?"

"Oh God," Marcus chuckled, "Good going kid, you just gave Nick and Mike a chance to relive that again."

"It's not that bad," Nick said, "And you haven't had to listen to it since we inducted Colby."

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus nodded, "Go on, you've got the newbie hooked anyway."

"Mike was an undercover guy for a while," Nick told Corrie.

"Less than a year," Mike said.

"One hell of a year though," Nick said.

"Let Mike tell it," Marcus suggested dryly, "He does it better than you do."

"I was there too!" Nick protested.

"Yes," Marcus agreed, "But you were clueless until the end."

They ordered dinner, and Mike proceeded to tell the story about how he had entered Crazy Harry Lupo's crew and his rise through the ranks while they ate. Corrie was amazed that Mike Miller had been able to survive it, let alone succeed.

"Ok, ok," Corrie said after Miller had finished, "How did you fit into this Nick? I didn't think they put two undercover people together."

"I wasn't," Nick grinned, "I was nothing but a punk kid working for Crazy Harry."

"You were a gangster?" Corrie asked, surprised by this.

"Yep," he nodded, "I had a rap sheet as long as my arm."

"How the hell did you end up being a detective then?" she asked.

"I wonder that myself some days," Marcus chuckled.

Nick laughed and tossed a dinner roll at his partner.

"Don't worry about them, Corrie," Mike said, "They're pussycats."

"I sort of was left without a job after Mike's fall from grace," Nick explained, "I'd tossed out any chance of going back to my old life when I decided to stick by him."

"He was drifting, and I thought he could use a little direction," Mike continued.

"Mike managed to wrangle a few concessions out of the brass," Nick told Corrie, "I received a full presidential pardon that allowed me to join the police academy. Mike was able to pull some strings and keep me on track."

"He did well, despite the fact that he barely had a high school diploma," Miller grinned, "I kept tutoring him. As soon as he qualified, he took the Detective exam and made it. He's been with me ever since."

"He's a good sod," Marcus agreed with a mock British accent, "He's been a good partner despite his lack of taste."

"They really do make a good team, Corrie," Miller smiled, "What about you? How did you end up in this?"

"Looking for something interesting," Corrie said with her usual reserved tone, "My poor excuse for a family left me looking for something better. Decided the best way to piss off my parents would be to become a cop and lead a clean life."

"Rebellion comes in many ways," Marcus noted.

"My mother was actually proud of me," Nick shrugged, "She was happy that I had reformed. She'd almost written me off like she'd done to my father."

"Do any of you go home at night?" the waitress came by and asked as she brought refills on drinks for anyone.

"Not if I can help it," Marcus was the first to say, "If I go home, I fight. Much easier to stay here and get drunk."

"Nothing to go home to really," Nick shrugged.

Corrie began to understand about these three men a lot more. They had their jobs to do, and they did them well, not out of duty alone, but because the job was the only meaningful thing they had in their lives. It was something that she could sympathize with. She had done little but work since her last relationship had fizzled, over a year before.

***

Chris Gabriel and his wife Carrie were sitting and enjoying their drinks and watching the poor excuse for a show the dinner theatre was offering for the night. The actors were bad and the play itself was worse. There is a lot to be said for the art of conversation, and the play was so bad that most of the people in the place were choosing to practice it rather than listen.

"This is terrible, babe," Chris said as he looked at his wife, "I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it," she smiled, "You tried. It could be worse."

"True," Chris grinned, "The food could have been as bad as the play."

"That's the spirit, studmuffin," she smiled, using a term for him that she had used when they were teenagers, "Look at the bright side."

"You going to be ok while I'm gone?" Chris asked her.

"I hate it when you go on these hunts," Carrie admitted, "But I do understand that they are something you have to do."

"Jerry's ghost lives on," Chris admitted, "But it's also something that I can do better than nearly anyone else."

"That's why I won't get in your way, Chris," she said, "I saw the photos on the TV just like you did. People like Jerry have to be stopped, and if you can help, that's what you have to do."

"It isn't just because of him," Chris said, "I've seen too much over the years."

"I sometimes hope that we'll be able to make it a week without the nightmares," Carrie sighed, "I just don't know if I ever will."

"Maybe when the Alzheimer's kicks in," Chris grinned, "Until then I don't think it's going to happen, even if I quit working on these cases."

"I know it," she sighed, "Maybe I'll go see one of the therapists up at the med center this week."

"Enough about this," Chris smiled, "We've got better things to do than talk about this."

"Such as?" Carrie asked him, "Watch them destroy this play?"

"I can think of better things," Chris grinned, "We can settle up the check, go home, slip one of Cookie's discs into the player and have a little bit of fun before I have to go."

"That sounds like an interesting idea," Carrie chuckled, "Cookie's music has always been good for that."

Chris quickly paid the check, and they left to go home. Chris had planned to spend the night alone with Carrie and had paid the sitter extra to keep the children overnight. He drove slowly, enjoying having his wife next to him. The years of marriage had not soured them on each other any. Chris Gabriel still felt the same way about Carrie as he did when he first fell in love with her, nearly a quarter century before.

He pulled into the driveway, and they quickly went inside to avoid the rain that was starting to fall. Chris hoped that his buddy Frank Otter had come through for him and once he heard the music playing in the house Frank had.

"What is going on here?" Carrie asked her husband when she heard the music.

"A surprise," Chris smiled and scooped his wife up in his arms.

Carrie screamed for a second in surprise and then started laughing. Chris started hobbling his way to the first floor bedroom that they shared. When the house was built Chris had it designed with the master bedroom on the first floor because of his deteriorating knees.

"Put me down Chris," Carrie suggested, "You're going to be no good to me tonight if you blow out your knees."

"They'll last for another thirty seconds," Chris grinned, "I spent too long preparing this to not do it right."

Carrie laughed and let her husband go along with his folly. Chris Gabriel was a stubborn old soul and made it into the room. He even managed to put her down softly on the bed. She smiled as he managed to get himself out of the suit jacket he was in. She knew his knee must have been killing him.

"May I help you with that," Carrie asked with a smile.

"Certainly," he smiled, "Just so long as I can return the favor."

"I think that can be arranged," Carrie agreed.

***

The killer was taking things easy that night, reliving the thrill of the crime. Carrying a camera, she blended in quite well with the reporters who were still giving live updates on the crime, although the only people still there were CSI and the patrolmen who were being utilized as guards.

The killer was quite adept at mingling with the crowd, asking questions of people standing by. Everyone was expressing horror and sorrow at what had happened. She enjoyed every minute of it. The look of horror on people's faces, the tearful testimonials, it was a true playground for a psychopath.

The level of reporting today has so far outpaced what had been done in the past that it was so much easier to talk to people at the site. Reporters were expected to be nosy and a general pain in the ass. So much the better for the voyeuristic public at home to see just how rotten a tragedy it was.

"Excuse me," one of the police officers asked the killer, "May I see your credentials please?"

"Certainly," the killer said confidently and produced them, "Here you go."

"Thank you," the officer said and examined the exquisitely forged credentials, "Please keep back from the house."

"Is there anything you can tell my readers?" The killer asked smoothly, just as any reporter would.

"I'm afraid not," the young officer said, "Lieutenant Miller was on the warpath after he heard how much had been spilled by Detective Creighton."

"I understand," the killer said, jotting down some notes.

"Just do me a favor and keep behind the barricades," the officer asked, "I don't want to arrest anyone else tonight."

"Sure thing," the killer smiled, "Don't want to spend another night behind bars."

The killer winked at the officer and let off a smile before walking away. The officer smiled back as she slipped back into the crowd. The killer loved today's world and wondered how Berkowitz or Ramirez would have enjoyed being able to go up and look at the scene of their crimes without being caught.

***

"Good God," Corrie said, "Is it 8:30 already?"

"Yep," Mike agreed, "They probably want us to leave so they can reuse our table."

"Yeah," Nick chuckled, "It's been getting worse lately. We don't have any reason to go home so we end up spending hours just sitting here after work."

"None of you are married?" Corrie asked, in mock shock. She knew well that marriages did not often last long among detectives.

"Been divorced for nearly a decade," Miller chuckled, "No real interest in repeating the marriage thing."

"I'm still married," Marcus sighed, "Though I doubt I will be much longer. Only thing that happens when I go home now is that we fight."

"He spends more nights on my couch nowadays than he does in bed with his wife," Nick grinned, "Not that my bed has seen a whole lot of action as of late either."

"A sad state for you, I know, Nick," Mike jibed, "But at least the action you do get nowadays is of a higher quality."

"No doubt," Nick agreed emphatically, "Can't be any worse than the girls I went with before Bullock's fall."

"Ain't that the truth," Mike laughed, "You did have the worst taste in women."

"What do you expect?" Nick asked, "I grew up with my father and Crazy Harry as my two biggest influences."

"Point taken," Mike agreed.

At that point a young woman walked by the table with a few of her friends. She was probably in her mid 20's, very pretty with straight blond hair. Miller saw her and watched her for a moment. His mind flashed back to a time many years in the past. Nick saw her and knew just about what was going on in Mike's head. She was the spitting image of Tracy Howard, a former flame of Mike's that died in the culmination of the Pena/Bullock debacle.

"Mike," Nick said, "Still with us, buddy?"

"Yeah," Mike said after finishing a double take, "Sorry."

"Whose turn is it for the check?" Marcus asked.

"I'll get it," Corrie said, deciding to make nice with her new team, "I'm the rookie here."

"I like her already," Marcus grinned.

"It was my turn," Nick said, "But I'll get it tomorrow."

"That works," Corrie shrugged, "Not like I have anywhere else to go. I'm a bit short on family as well."

"Ok," Mike said, halfway coming back to reality, "One last thing before we split up."

"What is it, old bossman type figure?" Nick asked him.

"On call duty," Mike said, "We're going to be having an on call schedule until this mess is over with."

"Oh shit," Marcus growled, "This doesn't sound good."

"There will be three of us, one each night," Mike said, "If a call comes in that we even think might be the result of our killer, the on call man goes out."

"Three?" Corrie asked, "There are four of us?"

"Five including Creighton," Nick said, "Why only three on call?"

"Corrie," Mike said, "No offense, but you're too new for this. If this goes on long enough, you will be added to the call list, but I want some experience under your belt first. I also don't want Creighton making these judgments. He'll either throw out a false alarm or, even worse, decide to try to handle it himself. I don't want to take the risk either way. If Gabriel wants a shift, he'll get it, but until then it's us."

"That's cool," Marcus said, "Not like I sleep anymore anyway."

"Your car back at the station, Corrie?" Mike asked.

"Yep," She nodded, "Can you drop me there before you go home?"

"I'll do it," Nick offered, "Gotta drop Marcus there too."

"Go for it," Mike said, "Saves me the drive."

"Let's go," Corrie said, "I'm paid up."

They walked outside and started to go to their cars. Miller saw the young woman who had walked by him in the bar again. Though she was at least ten years too young to have been Tracy, she did look exactly like her. Mike's eyes watered slightly as the woman turned towards him and flashed a wide smile as she passed.

Miller's mind flashed back to the last time he'd seen Tracy, walking out of the safe house he'd been housed in after he officially 'broke cover' from the Bullock organization, nearly a decade before. She had flashed him a similar smile. Unfortunately, the next time he would see her would also be the last, and she was unable to speak at that occasion.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Miller said and quietly went to his car and drove away.

"What was that about?" Corrie asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"Come on," Nick said, "I'll explain as we go to the station."

Corrie nodded and the three of them climbed into Nick's little car. Corrie had taken the back because of her smaller size, but was leaning forward between the seats so she could listen to Nick.

"The girl in the parking lot resembled Tracy Howard," Nick said, "She was part of his support team when he was undercover with the Bullocks."

"Why would that faze him so much though?" Corrie asked.

"They also had a relationship most of the time they worked together," Nick explained, "She was the one who kept him going when things got bad, and they often did during that time."

"I take it something happened to her," Marcus said, this was one of the few stories he had never heard. The last days of the Bullock Empire were not something Nick, and Mike liked to talk about much.

"It happened during the fall of the empire," Nick nodded as he drove, "Mike had broken cover and everyone was going nuts. The Bullocks were fighting among themselves and with Freddie Pena as they realized how they'd been had."

"Where were you during all this?" Corrie asked him, "Did you get out with Mike?"

"Not the first time," Nick replied, "I didn't know what was going on. Basically, he left that first time with little more than a cryptic warning to me. I didn't join him until a few days later."

"Why did you join him?" Corrie asked.

"Pena decided to force the issue all around," Nick said, "I was laying low at the time. One of the guys at the mansion put me in with his brother until things settled down. Pena decided to strike back and force Mike into the open."

"That's where Tracy came in, I'm sure," Marcus deduced.

"Pena didn't know about Mike's relationship to her," Nick continued, "But she was young and pretty, so they grabbed her, rightly figuring that Miller would go after her."

"This doesn't sound good," Corrie said.

"There are no happy endings," Nick agreed, "Pena and his people tortured her. We found her when we found Pena. She died in the hospital the next day."

"That sucks," Corrie sighed, "I guess he still hasn't gotten over it."

"Probably never will," Nick nodded, "He still gets really quiet when he sees someone that looks like her."

"So if he broke cover without you," Marcus asked, "How the hell did you end up here?"

"It happened while Mike was searching for Tracy," Nick said, "Fat Tony had managed to get hold of Mike and I walked into the room. They decided to use it as a test of my loyalty."

"They wanted you to kill him?" Corrie asked, horrified.

"That they did," Nick said, "It was one of the hardest things I ever had to decide."

"I know the choice you made," Marcus said, "Why'd you make it?"

"I looked at Mike and thought about the way he'd treated me," Nick told them, "Mike had told me more truth in the months that I'd known him than anyone in my whole life. So after a few seconds of hesitation, I used the gun to blow Fat Tony's ugly head off."

"Sounds like you made the right choice," Corrie agreed, "I see now why Mike likes you so much."

"I decided to go for the winning side," Nick grinned, "I've never once regretted it either."

"So that's how he got you the pardon," Corrie said, "Cited your service with him?"

"He and his boss threw up a lot of bullshit," Nick nodded, "Basically said that I'd joined with Mike in his crusade much earlier than I did. Actually, I was an unwitting aide to him for a long time. I just formally joined him at the end."

"That's all that matters," Marcus nodded, "You going to be home tonight, Nick?"

"Probably," Nick nodded, "I want to catch up on my sleep a bit. Something tells me it will be the last chance for a while."

"I'm thinking the same thing," Marcus said, "And I don't know if I'm going to get any at the house. Margie will probably be yelling again."

"She usually does," Nick agreed, "Just knock on my door. I'll be around."

"Will do," Marcus said.

"Nick," Corrie said, "Can you stick around a couple minutes until I get my car started? It's on its last legs. I figured I'd wait until I got promoted to get a new one, or maybe get issued one."

"Sure thing," Nick agreed as he pulled into the parking lot, "Wouldn't want you to get stuck here. You'll spend enough time here as it is."

***

Mike pulled in to the driveway of the little apartment block he had lived in since he left the undercover division. He sighed as he looked up and saw the dark lights of his apartment, the same way he had seen them every night for years now. He locked up his old Mercedes and started walking up the old steps into the building.

He was not particularly watching where he was going and ran into a woman who was walking down the stairs. Claudia Benson, Mike's neighbor from across the hall nearly fell over, would have fallen if Mike had not managed to grab hold of her and solidify his stance.

"Nice catch," she said with a smile and a thick British accent, "Rough day, Michael?"

"Yeah," Mike grinned, "Sorry Claudia. New case has got my head spinning."

"I figured as much," she nodded, "I saw you on the tele earlier."

"Did I sound as stupid as I thought I did?" Mike asked her.

"Not hardly," she chuckled, "You did lay into that Derringer chap awful hard though."

"Good old STD," Miller grumbled, "He's the one who managed to talk my idiot detective into spilling the beans."

"I see," Claudia nodded sympathetically, "I take it you weren't ready for the press."

"There's no such thing as a good press case," Miller shrugged, "Enough about that. What are you up to tonight? Hot date?"

"I'm afraid not," she said with a smile, "I was heading down to pick up a movie and hoping that Eddie's was still open."

"They'll be open," Mike said, "But the good films will be gone by now."

"I guess that I'll have to get a bad one then," she smiled.

"I've got a decent size movie collection," Miller smiled, "You're welcome to look and see if there's anything that interests you."

"Does this mean I get company with the movie?" she asked him hopefully.

"I think that can be arranged," Mike smiled and opened the door for her.

***

Marcus Holbein sighed as he parked his car in front of the simple ranch style house that he and his wife bought upon their arrival in this city. It was not a place he particularly liked going home to at night, as he and his wife had been on worsening terms for months.

He locked the door and walked slowly up to the door. Gathering his courage he opened the door and hoped he had a chance to see his two kids before his wife lay into him.

"Daddy!" Little Laurie Holbein exclaimed when she saw her father.

"Well hello there," Marcus smiled as his little girl rushed him to give him a hug, "How was school today?"

"Too long," the young child said, "First grade sucks!"

"That's no way to talk about it," Marcus admonished, "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"From Jason," Laurie giggled and pointed at her brother who had just walked into the room.

"Ummm," Jason said, "Hi dad."

"We'll talk about that later," Marcus said, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Mom's been pacing around waiting for you," Jason said.

Marcus sighed and looked at his son. The family unit had been falling apart for some time. Jason Holbein stood there and waited for his father to finish up with Laurie and talk to him.

"How are you doing?" Marcus asked his son.

"Eh," Jason shrugged, "Not too bad. High School isn't as bad as I thought."

"Good," Marcus smiled.

"I do want to talk to you, Dad," Jason said, "You got a minute tonight?"

"Sure," Marcus nodded, "Just stay up until your mother and I finish talking."

"Funny way to put it," Jason frowned, "More like when you and she finish fighting."

"Whatever works," Marcus mumbled then talked audibly, "Don't sweat it. I'll come talk to you afterwards."

"Ok," Jason nodded, "I have some homework to do anyway."

"Good," Marcus said, "Why don't you take your sister upstairs to bed on your way."

"Good idea," Jason nodded and left the room with Laurie at his side.

Marcus Holbein took a deep breath and took off his overcoat, laying it on the back of the chair in the room. He knew that his wife would be sitting and waiting for him to come into the room and face her wrath. He still loved his wife somewhat, but she had been getting to him more and more as time went on. He decided to face it full on and walked into the room.

"Finally decided to come home, huh?" Margie Holbein said, "Did you have fun tonight?"

Margaret Holbein was in a particularly foul mood that night. Marcus knew it as soon as he saw the look on her face. He knew he would catch a little hell for not coming home right after leaving work, but the look on her face was filled with little but hate.

"I had dinner at O'Malley's," Marcus shrugged, "Nothing new about that."

"With your little lady friend?" Margie taunted him.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Marcus asked, perplexed at this one. This was a mite over the top, even for Margie's active imagination.

"That little hussy that you were eating with at O'Malley's," Margie said, "Charlotte told me all about it."

Marcus looked at her with a bemused expression for a moment and finally started laughing his ass off. Margie had been friends with Charlotte Bergin for over thirty years, and it never ceased to amaze Marcus how Margie would take her word for gospel, despite the fact that the woman was nearly blind. He knew that Charlotte must have seen him having dinner with Mike, Nick and Corrie.

"What is so funny?" Margie demanded.

"Charlotte is an idiot," Marcus chuckled and sat down, "She saw me having dinner with Mike, Nick and the new detective."

"They assigned you a new detective did they?" Margie said, not believing her husband, "Bullshit. You would have told me."

"I didn't know," Marcus shrugged, "Corrie was a political move on the Mayor's part and a partial compensation for making Mike give up Colby Chandler and keep Jay Creighton."

"Right," Margie said, "Like I believe that."

"Believe what you want, Margie," Marcus sighed, "I'm finding myself caring less and less what you believe."

Marcus knew that his marriage was falling apart. Margie was the reason that they had come back to the city in the first place. She hated Seattle's rainy climate with a passion. Marcus loved his job there in Seattle, but eventually he had agreed to find a job in the city where she had grown up. Unfortunately, the move had started to sound the death knell for the marriage.

Nothing was the same in the city of Margie's birth. Marcus was hired quickly by the police force that was short of qualified detectives and had fit in like a glove with Miller's team. Marcus loved his job even more after the addition of Colby and being partnered with Nick Jones.

Margie had been getting worse over the years since the move. She ate excessively and then worried that her husband would not want her because of her weight. She had been a rather beautiful woman in her youth, and she was not taking well to growing older.

"Aren't I still enough for you?" Margie cooed to him, "Why do you have to go around playing with other women?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" Marcus exclaimed, "I'm not seeing anyone. I was having dinner with colleagues for Christ sakes. I have never cheated on you, though the more you act like this the more I think about it."

"You don't mean that!" Margie exclaimed.

The argument kept on going from there. It never got violent, but it did get fairly loud. In fact, Margie throwing a lamp at Marcus was the only violent thing that happened that night, and that was nearly an hour into the argument. It was at that point that Marcus decided that it would be best to leave for the night.

"That's enough, Margie," Marcus sighed, "I'm sick of fighting for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow. I'm going to sleep at Nick's again."

"Don't you walk out of here on me!" Margie begged and started crying.

Marcus sighed and walked out the door. He was sick of it all. He used to love his wife, but the more this went on the harder it was for him to remember just what he loved about Margie in the first place. He walked out the door and then remembered his promise to have a talk with Jason. He decided that he had better do that before leaving.

Jason was sitting on the stairs when Marcus walked back into the house. Jason was looking at his father with a sad face. Marcus felt guilty about what this was doing to the children. He just was not sure about what to do next.

"Come on outside," Marcus said finally, "We'll take a walk and have that talk."

Jason nodded and walked outside with his father. Marcus and his son walked silently for a few minutes, as neither one knew what to say. Jason finally broke the silence by asking the question that was on his mind.

"Why do you and Mom fight so much?" Jason asked him.

"Good question," Marcus sighed, "People change over time, Jason. Your mother and I just don't get along together like we used to."

"Are you going to get a divorce?" Jason asked him.

"I don't know," Marcus admitted as they walked, "I guess I'm still hoping that there's something that I can do to prevent it."

"If it's something that I've done," Jason started, "I can change it. I can do better..."

"No," Marcus said firmly, "It's not your fault son. It never has been. I love you more than anything. Your sister too."

"Then why can't you and mom get along?" Jason asked him, desperately wanting to understand.

"Let's sit down for a few minutes," Marcus suggested, "See if we can't make some sense out of this."

Jason nodded, and they sat down on a park bench after walking about a block away from the house. Marcus smiled at his son to make sure that the child knew he was not mad at him.

"Your mother and I are growing apart," Marcus said, "She's never been really thrilled about my job, and things are getting worse now that I'm working with people I like."

"She said you were seeing someone else," Jason said.

"I'm not," Marcus sighed, "There's been nobody but your mother."

"But Charlotte..." Jason said and saw the look in his father's eyes.

"Son," Marcus said, "Charlotte is a busybody who doesn't know her ass from her elbow."

"So it isn't true?" Jason asked.

"Charlotte saw me having dinner with the rest of the team," Marcus informed him, very annoyed that Charlotte had said this in front of the kids, "We got a new detective today, a young woman. That's who she saw at the table."

"Figures," Jason said, much relieved, "That really didn't sound like your style anyway."

"No," Marcus admitted, "If I were going to screw around I'd be going somewhere that I wasn't known. But I'm not doing it, so you don't have to worry about it."

They sat there in silence a few more minutes, the elder Holbein's features scrunching up into that inscrutable Columbo-like stare he was known for. Jason sat back and smiled for the first time in days. He now knew that his father was still the same old Dad he always knew, even if he was fighting a lot with his mother.

"Anything else you want to know?" Marcus asked him.

"Are you working on Sleeping Beauty?" Jason asked him.

"I guess that name has spread already huh?" Marcus asked, "Where did you hear about that?"

"It was all over the news," Jason shrugged, "We talked about it in our current events class."

"I'm working on it," Marcus confirmed.

"Is it as bad as everyone is saying?" Jason asked him.

"Worse," Marcus admitted, "I've never seen anyone that torn up before."

"How can anyone do that?" Jason asked, "How can people kill?"

"Some people are missing something," Marcus sighed, "The one thing that makes them human. Once that is gone, they can do things like this."

"How do you deal with it?" Jason questioned, "How do you look at stuff like that every day?"

"I'm there to try to catch the person who did it," Marcus said, "Sure, it's bad having to look at it, but every time I catch a killer and get him off the streets, that's another life saved."

"I guess so," Jason nodded, "You staying at the house tonight?"

"I don't think so," Marcus sighed, "I think it'll be quieter if I stay at Nick's again."

"Yeah," Jason nodded sadly, realizing it would not be long until the end came for his parents' marriage.

"Here," Marcus said as he pulled out his notebook and wrote Nick's number down, "When I'm not at home, that's the number of where I'll be sleeping for now. If something happens and you need to find me, I'll either be with Nick or he'll know where to find me."

"Cool," Jason smiled, "I guess you want me to keep this from mom?"

"She can probably find out," Marcus shrugged, "But don't give it to her unless she asks you if you have it."

Jason nodded, and they walked back to the house. Jason slid inside quickly and locked the door. Marcus got into his car and drove down the street. He called Nick to warn of his presence and found that Nick had not made it home yet. Marcus sighed and went to a cheap motel nearby, figuring that it would be the best bet. He left a message on Nick's machine telling his friend where he was staying and watched bad television until going to sleep.

***

The killer was not sleeping, however. She took a final look at the television coverage caused by the killings. The amount of television play pleased her, but the amount of coverage given to Miller's press conference did not. They were quickly making Michael Miller the unwilling star of the drama, something that she could not afford.

"They're starting to focus in on the wrong place, Michael," the killer said to the thin air, "I guess it's time to remind them who's really the boss around here."

The killer went to a suitcase that had been sitting under the bed of the apartment for a few months now. Taking out the arms dealer first had turned out to be a fortuitous move. Because of this, she had an arsenal of weapons that could not be traced. It was time to put these weapons to work.

The killer pulled out an Israeli submachine gun. The weapon had not been particularly well cared for, but it would have to do the trick, as it was the only one ready fitted with a silencer. She methodically cleaned out the weapon and inspected it as a marine would before going into battle.

The killer smiled when the job was finished and loaded four compatible clips for the weapon. All systems were ready, and it was time to find a place to go. To accomplish this task, the killer turned on an internet ready pc. Research was the key to the successful mission, as anyone in the military would tell you. The internet age just made it so much easier.

***

"Turn it again," Nick Jones told Corrie Albiston from his position leaning over into her car, "Let's see if I can figure out what's going on."

"You got it," Corrie said and turned the ignition switch, letting it grind for a few moments before Nick waved his hand out from under the hood.

"Any luck," Corrie asked as she stuck her head out the window.

"Yeah," Nick sighed, "I've pretty well tracked it down."

"Can you fix it or is this thing going to cost me another fortune to fix?" Corrie asked him.

"The ignition is turning over," Nick replied, "But the cylinders are so close to being dead that it can't catch. Looks like your old car here is going for a total burnout."

"Shit," Corrie cursed, "I'd hoped it would last for another paycheck or two. The raise that comes with the promotion would have let me get a new car."

"Don't worry about it," Nick shrugged, "Mike will get you a car issued that you can use in the meantime. As long as you pay for the gas they don't care if you keep it overnight. Mike has been driving his for years now and still hasn't bothered to buy one."

"That Mercedes is a city issue?" Corrie asked, surprised, "Guess they bring out the big guns when you become a lieutenant."

"Not exactly," Nick chuckled, "Spoils of war. That was the car he had while in the Bullock outfit. He couldn't legally keep it afterwards so it went back into the police system. It was issued back to him after everything was settled as his standard issue vehicle. A minor thank you for services rendered."

"Cool," Corrie shrugged, "Well, since my car seems to be DOA, is there any chance I can beg a ride off of you?"

"Sure," Nick said, "If you're nice I'll even come by to pick you up in the morning."

"That works," Corrie agreed, "Though I should probably call Marcus. It'll save a bit of crisscrossing."

"Don't bother," Nick said, "He's probably in a motel by now. Things are not going well with his wife. He's spent most of the last week on my couch."

"In that case," Corrie replied with a smile, "I'll gladly take you up on your offer."

"Come on," Nick grinned and walked over to his car.

"My apartment is over on Second Street," she told him as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Hope that's not too far out of the way."

"Not a problem," Nick chuckled, "My apartment is over on Third."

"Practically neighbors," Corrie nodded, "Didn't know you lived that close."

"I'm not in the directories," Nick said, "There are a few lowlifes out there that would like to see my life end painfully after the way I left the outfit with Mike."

"I'm amazed you two are still out in public," she grinned, "Not sure they could pay me enough to do what you two did."

"It wasn't the money," Nick shrugged, "I made ten times as much while I was in the mob than I do now."

"Loyalty?" Corrie chuckled.

"That is why I saved Mike's life," Nick said, "I could have killed Matt d'Antoni and gone back into the mob, claiming that I'd found them like that. Miller wouldn't have done anything to dispute it."

"Here it is," Corrie said and pointed to a dilapidated apartment building, "Want to come up for some coffee or something?"

"Sure," Nick nodded.

They walked up into the building. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the building. It reminded Nick of the places he'd been shuttled around to among his family when he was a kid. He wondered why Corrie would bother staying somewhere as old and broken down as this.

Corrie unlocked the apartment and the two of them stepped into what looked like another world. In sharp contrast to the outside surroundings the apartment was neat, clean and well-taken care of. The furniture was fairly new and there was almost no sign of wear.

"Damn," Nick said, "Not what I was expecting."

"I know it," Corrie grinned, "That's why I stay here. Nobody expects this here. I haven't had a break in yet."

"Cool," Nick agreed, "This place is cleaner than mine."

"Figures," Corrie grinned as she started the coffee, "So why did you stay with him and become a cop?"

"I'd been sick of the life for a while," Nick grinned and took a seat at her kitchen table, "I'd even entertained thoughts of defecting more than a few times in the last months there. Ironically, Miller, then Raymond Nester, was one of the few people who had kept me from leaving sooner."

"Sounds like he was lucky you stayed," Corrie said as she sat down across the table, "Coffee will be ready in a few."

"I was lucky too," Nick said, "I'd be in a lot worse shape if I'd gone sooner. Languishing in the witness protection program for the rest of my life or even spending time in jail."

"So what kept you going?" Corrie asked him.

"The look on my mother's face when I told her what I'd done," Nick grinned, "All my life I'd been a disappointment to my mother. She'd expected it, of course, having lived with my father for years, but it pleased her so much when I started to make things right."

"I'll never forget the first day that I went to see my mother in my new cadet's uniform. She had an indelible smile of pride that I had never seen on her face before. It was at that moment that I knew I had made the right choice. I had made my mother proud and that's all that matters."

"You see," Corrie said, "I got into this business for exactly the opposite reason."

"Why's that?" Nick asked her, "Wanted to piss off your parents?"

"You got it," Corrie smiled, "My father was an abusive prick and my mother was as bad or worse. I made it through high school and was considering colleges when the idea came. My father was beating on my brother and ranting about the cops that had arrested him the night before."

"Let me guess," Nick chuckled as Corrie got up and filled up the coffee cups, "You went down and signed up for the police academy the next day."

"Just about," Corrie admitted, "I had already been spending as much time away from home as I could get away with. I signed up for the academy and was slotted for the first one possible after my diploma. It actually started two days before the ceremony, but they let me in that one so I'd have a place to go."

"Sounds like it's worked out for you," Nick agreed.

"Yep," Corrie admitted, "I got in at 18 and have been on the beat ever since. Even managed to take a criminology curriculum at night for a while. Got an associate's degree in that a few years ago. I was offered a promotion before, but I decided I wanted to be a detective."

"Crazy," Nick chuckle and put some sugar in his coffee, "Seems we come from similar backgrounds then. You still in contact with your family?"

"Not really," Corrie said as she sipped her black coffee, "My brother disappeared into the streets a few years back. I have no urge to speak with either one of my parents again."

"You're beginning to make me think mine weren't so bad," Nick chuckled, "My old man was slime, but at least he never abused me. He got his kicks elsewhere."

"I like my life now," Corrie smiled, "I can come and go as I please, I have some good friends. My family is mainly just a bad memory, one that I'm content to leave as such."

"Very cool," Nick agreed, "What time is it now anyway?"

"Clock is on the mantle," Corrie pointed and they looked.

"Shoot," Nick sighed, "Nearing ten now. Probably should get some sleep tonight. It's a good bet that Mike won't let us have much for a while."

"All right," Corrie agreed, "You can find your way home from here right?"

"No problem," Nick shrugged amicably, "We are practically neighbors. I have a house over on third, three blocks from here."

"Sweet," Corrie smiled, "See you in the morning, Nick."

"I'll be honking outside most likely," Nick said, "Holdover from my younger years. I still don't handle mornings well."

"Who does?" she chuckled and walked him to the door of the apartment, "Have a good night Nick."

"You too, Corrie," he smiled and shook her hand.

"Here," she said as she scribbled something down, "Sorry about the chicken scratch. This is my number in case I don't hear the horn."

"That works," Nick said with a smile as he went outside.

Corrie watched him go out to the curb and smiled. She liked the whole team she would be working with, but she liked Nick a whole lot. She shook her head. Maybe it was just the fact that they shared backgrounds so similar. Maybe it was the simple fact that he was the closest to her age and very cute as well.

She took a quick shower and went to bed early, deciding to heed his advice about sleep. She knew from experience that sleep was an essential weapon, and one that she could not afford to be without. Despite the cup of coffee she had just consumed she was asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow.

***

Chris Gabriel was lying in bed next to his wife, staring at the ceiling. Usually, the man falls asleep after the act, but Chris's mind was racing too much for him to sleep. The same thing happened every time he got ready to go on one of these trips.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Carrie asked him.

"Never can on a night like this," Chris grinned, "You should know that by now. How many years have we been married?"

"Too many," she chuckled, "Let's not dwell on the years right now."

"Good idea," Chris said.

They laid back and just looked at the ceiling for a while. Finally, Carrie sat up a little, letting Chris look over her face in the dim light of the room. She had retained her good looks and aged well, barely showing any hint of gray in her long brown hair. He smiled at her as she lay back down.

"Can you still remember the good times?" Chris asked her, "The times before Jerry went nuts?"

"Sometimes," Carrie said softly, "I'll remember the snowball fights, the goofing off, sitting together in school."

"Yeah," Chris agreed, "I sometimes remember the times when Jerry was simply my brother."

"I do remember those, Chris," Carrie agreed, "But then I also remember my own brother, Tommy. He was always there too."

"I know it," Chris sighed.

"Just when I can almost remember your brother as a human being," Carrie said, "I remember the fact that he is the direct reason that you and I are the only family we have left. He killed all our parents, Chris. He killed my brother. He changed our lives forever."

Chris knew how she felt. She was right, despite the fact that Jerry was only an indirect reason Carrie's mother died. The good times Chris had with his brother were never enough to make up for the damage Jerry caused during the last weeks of his life. He just could not let go of them because it was the only bit of worth he could still find in his brother's short life.

"I know it," Chris finally said, "There are a lot of ifs that can be said on the subject."

"Such as?" Carrie asked, "I know a few of them, but I'm curious to hear yours."

"What if I'd stayed out of it," Chris said, "What if I'd never left the police station? What if I'd told your brother to follow you?"

"They always said if was a big word," Carrie agreed, "You know that there's nothing you can do. You were fifteen, Chris. So was I. We had no experience with someone as crazy as your brother. Hell, there still aren't many people who know what to do with someone like your brother."

"Yes," Chris said, tears welling, "But I was the one who got most of those people killed."

"You did no such thing," Carrie said, "And we weren't the only ones who failed with this. Jim Calysto and his merry band of idiot cops screwed the pooch even worse than we did."

"True," Chris said, "I guess that's why I keep going on these quixotic manhunts."

"You want to succeed where you've failed in the past," Carrie nodded, "I understand, I really do."

"So why do you get worked up about it so much every time?" Chris asked her.

"I still hate to think about it," Carrie shrugged, "Nothing unusual. Just because I understand why you do it doesn't mean that I'll ever learn to like it."

"Ok," Chris chuckled, "I see your point."

"Now if you intend to catch the plane to your latest quixotic chase I suggest you lie back and get some sleep," Carrie suggested, "I'm sure we'll talk about this again, just like we do every time."

Chris smiled at her and put his head back on the pillow. The usual tension of the night before was gone, just as it always was after this conversation. He leaned back and went to sleep, the usual cold dreamless sleep that came before leaving on a mission.

***

Mike had let Claudia choose the movie from his collection, just as he did every time she joined him for a film. It worked well, as he only kept movies he liked in the house. Claudia had actually chosen one of the big budget action movies, for some reason she actually liked them.

About a third of the way through the movie, she was in his arms. This was not the first time this had happened with them watching a movie. In fact, it was the usual outcome of the process. It was something that had been going on with them on and off for several years.

During the big action scenes, favorites of both Mike and Claudia, she was in her usual place in his arms, but his mind seemed out of focus. She had noticed this early, but did not say anything until about halfway through the movie. When he had missed a beat on Nic Cage's big line, she knew something was wrong.

"What's wrong, Michael?" she asked him, "You're not entirely here tonight."

"It shows, eh?" Miller chuckled, "I'm sorry Claudia."

"No reason to be sorry," she smiled, "What is going on? This new case already got you down?"

"Nah," Mike chuckled, "I don't have my expert here to tell me how bad it is yet."

"Did you lose your best friend or something?" She prodded, trying to get him to open up a little, something that was always difficult when he was in a funk.

"No," Mike said softly, "Old memories, I guess. Nothing major."

"Forgive me for saying this, dear friend," Claudia smiled, "But that is bullshit. You have seen this movie enough times to repeat it word for word. I should know living across the hall and hearing it when you do. I also know your usual habits while watching a movie like this. So will you please cut the pretense and tell me what is bothering you?"

"You know," Mike said with a chuckle, "Sometimes I think you know me too well, Claudia."

"I probably do," she admitted, "But never as well as I'd like to. If something is bothering you, let it out. That's what friends are for."

"I saw someone tonight that looked exactly like someone out of my past," Mike said, wondering how much he was willing to say.

"Your ex-wife?" she asked, knowing that he had once been married.

"No," Mike grinned, "Though if I'd seen her I'd probably be disappointed that she's still breathing."

"Typical," Claudia muttered, "What is it about ex-wives that does that to a man? I'm sure that if asked my ex-husband would say the same about me."

"I couldn't imagine saying that about you," he said honestly, "But my ex-wife is different."

"How?" she asked him, "You never told me what happened."

"We spent the latter half of the 1990's fighting," Mike told her, "The breaking point came in early 2000 when I found out by accident that our son was not of my blood."

"Ouch," she said, cringing a little, "That must have hurt."

"That was only the beginning," Mike said, "She was a programmer for a large software concern, making really good money. Much more than I ever could expect as a cop."

"A little envy going on there?" she asked him with a mischievous smile, "The wife outdoing the husband?"

"I didn't much care about that," Miller told her, "I became a cop because I wanted to, not for the money. I loved the job, still do really."

"Admirable," she nodded, "Go on."

"She decided that the time was right to file for divorce," Mike continued, "She got some high dollar lawyers and I got an attorney out of the legal aid division paid for by the Patrolmen's Benevolent Association. Guess who won?"

"I'd say that she most likely creamed you, dear Michael," she nodded, "How bad did you lose?"

"She got what she wanted out of me," Mike said, "Mainly the house and the child. She got both and I couldn't visit either one. My PBA attorney managed to keep me from having to pay support, but it was a mixed blessing. I lost all rights to visit Bobby."

"Not even a father's day card?" Claudia asked, "That just isn't right if you supported and cared for the child for years."

"Nothing I could do," Mike said, "I've made my peace with that. I'm sure I'll meet him again someday and be able to apologize."

"That must have been devastating," Claudia asked, "How did you deal with it?"

"That's why I went undercover," Mike grinned, "What other reason would a sane man have for doing something that overwhelmingly stupid?"

"Good point," Claudia said with a smile that shone in her bright brown eyes, "So whom did this person remind you of, if not your former wife?"

"Her name was Tracy," Mike said, "She worked with me in the undercover program."

After a little more prodding from her Mike told Claudia the entire story of what happened between him and Tracy, from the beginning in a motel to the ending on the floor of Frederick Pena's hideaway. He was almost in tears by the point that he told her about the way Tracy had died in the hospital while he was giving the initial deposition against the remnants of the Pena/Bullock gang.

"I still blame myself for her death," Mike said, "Seeing a girl that looked so much like her just threw me off a bit."

"I can understand that," she said as she rocked him in her arms, "You can't blame yourself for the bad actions of others, however. Surely you know this."

"I do know it," Mike smiled, "One thing I will never regret though."

"What's that?" Claudia asked him, wondering.

"Pushing the son of a bitch who killed her off the roof," Mike smiled, "It doesn't make up for it, but at least he died first."

"That's the spirit," she smiled, "Besides, Michael. Don't you think she would have wanted you to be happy?"

"She would have," Mike admitted, "That was her way."

"Well I could use a dose of happiness myself," Claudia smiled at him, "What do you say we share a little happiness tonight?"

"I like the way you think," Mike grinned.

"You usually do," she reminded him with a light kiss, "Besides, I owe you one for the last time I felt that bad."

"One hand washes the other?" Mike asked her with a smile, a genuine one this time.

"That comes later," she said with a smile as she led him into the other room.

***

Nick Jones walked into his apartment alone, looking around the little one bedroom place he'd had ever since he had been allowed out of the safe house after the Bullock trials. He did his usual nighttime check of the alarm system and went over to his couch.

His apartment looked more as if it should have been inside the building Corrie Albiston lived in. His housekeeping skills were minimal and after years of living on the streets a little garbage around the place did not faze him in the slightest. He kicked the pizza box onto the floor and sat down on his couch, finding his remote control on the pile of newspapers next to the couch.

He turned on the television and watched the national news for a while. He became disgusted quickly when he found that he could not escape from the case that he knew would quickly become a pain in all their asses. Nick kicked more junk off the couch, watched for a few more minutes, and flipped over to the adult channels.

"Much better," Nick said with a smile.

Nick Jones kept his eyes on the writhing forms on his TV until he could remain awake no longer, falling dead asleep on his couch as his dreams were seriously improved by the images of the naked women he'd seen on his television before finally drifting off.

***

"Still awake I see," Mike said to Claudia, "What are you thinking about?"

"Not much," she smiled, "Just enjoying having a blond in bed."

"The blonde goes away more and more every year," Mike laughed, "Another five years and I'll be completely gray."

"It'll make you look distinguished," Claudia said with a smile, "Especially if it's a light gray around the temples."

Miller laughed and pushed his hair back. It was getting too long for his tastes again, which for him usually meant more than an inch long. She played with his hair a little too.

"How long have you been in the states?" Mike asked her, "I've known you for over four years now, but never asked you how you got here."

"That's a long story," she said with a sigh.

"You've heard my long story for the night," Mike prodded, "It's your turn."

"Well," she said, "I was working for a pharmaceuticals firm in Wales when I was given the opportunity of a lifetime. They wanted me to head a research team up here and were willing to double my salary to do it. I'd made a few advances that I won't bother trying to explain now, and they were especially eager to have me here."

"That's it?" Mike said, "Doesn't sound so much like a long story."

"More complicated than that I'm afraid," Claudia said, "I was married at the time."

"He didn't want to come here?"

"He and I had been having trouble for a while," she said, "He prefers younger women, and I was starting to get a little old for him."

"Stupid man," Mike shrugged, "You're a very beautiful woman, must have been even then."

"Thank you, Michael," Claudia smiled, enjoying the compliment, "Thankfully I never contributed to him passing his genes on. We went through a nasty divorce just before I came over here."

"I'm sorry," Mike said, "Divorce is always painful."

"It was for the best," Claudia smiled, "I like my life here. I work at a place I enjoy in a city that I like. I can come and go as I please and spend my time with people that like me for me. That's one reason I enjoy spending time with you, Michael. You have never tried any lines, given me any crap or been anyone other than yourself. You also don't complain if I don't come around for a week or so."

"I'm the same way myself in case you never noticed," Mike grinned, "If Tracy had lived something might have come out of it, but that was a long time ago. I'm too used to living alone now. I like some companionship now and then, but not all the time."

"Some nights it does help though," she smiled, "I am glad you ran into me tonight."

"Me too," Mike said, "Though it's starting to get late. We probably need to get some sleep."

"I have most of the day off," Claudia smiled, "I just completed a project and don't have to go in until noon. Of course, I deserve it, I have to go in for a board meeting and present the results."

"I have to go in by eight. Should have some CSI results by then," he said, "I also have an expert flying in this afternoon."

"It really is a serial killer isn't it?" she asked him, a little concerned.

"Probably," Mike admitted, "Though I refuse to say it publicly yet. The only reason I said as much as I did at the conference was that one of my idiot detectives had already leaked it."

"Figures," she smiled, "Well if you don't mind me being here when you wake up, I'll stay with you."

"I'd like that," Mike told her, "We'll have breakfast before I go in."

"I like the sound of that," Claudia said and curled up next to him again.

Moments later both of them were asleep, the last of them to do so. Neither Mike Miller nor any of his team knew what they were in for, as it was still in the killer's hands.
Chapter Ten – 'Crime Scene Number Four'

The killer smiled while parking the car at a deserted strip mall some three hundred yards from the intended target. The last mission, that's how she thought of these outings, was designed to bring things into the papers. This one, in the killer's mind, was meant to confuse the issue and to put the initiative back in her court.

The killer snapped on a pair of cheap surgical gloves. The briefcase was checked next, the powerful submachine gun and the clips for the weapon were in the case and loaded properly. She made sure that the wrapped box and card were there as well.

Unlike the blacksuited figure that she had been during the DiTonno murders, she was wearing a lighter colored blouse and a skirt this time. She carried the briefcase just like a middle level executive on her way back from doing some late night work.

The killer went up to the front door and walked inside. Unusual for a small building, but expected by the killer, there was a guard on duty 24 hours a day. She was prepared for this and approached the guard station with a winning smile, ignoring the cameras that were photographing the entire event.

"Can I help you?" Adam McKenna, the security guard, asked.

"Sure," she said with a winning smile, "I need to use a telephone. My car broke down outside."

"Sure," Adam nodded and turned around to get the cordless phone.

The killer struck quickly and hard with a blackjack. She was not ready for noise yet so once Adam went down to the floor she hopped over the table. The blow struck to the back of the neck was not yet a fatal one. She corrected that quickly by picking Adam McKenna up by the neck and giving him a strong twist. The young security guard died without making another sound.

The killer stood upright and made sure that nobody was watching. McKenna's body was left by the wayside as she went to work on the security panel. Punching a few memorized numbers, investigative override codes obtained from a crooked insurance agent, she shut down the lobby video systems.

"One down," the killer smiled, "Four to go."

The killer took the guard's key badge and walked over to the main guardroom. She knew it would be empty this time of night, but the main security system needed to be disabled and the video discs retrieved. The key card was swiped over the pod, but instead of opening the door a second panel opened to show a palm symbol.

"That damned agent lied to me," The killer growled, "Let's hope this kid had access."

The killer dragged the kid's body over to the pod and put his cold hand on the palm print. The reader checked it out thoroughly and matched it with the one on file. Luckily for her, and unluckily for the other people in the building, this was an older model of the reader that did not check for heat or pulse for life.

"Better," the killer said while entering the room.

The first thing she did was disable the outside phone lines. The killer knew that the call center on the first floor would notice this quickly, so it was time to move things along quickly. Next thing she did was unlock the closest entrances and place a security lockdown on outside doors.

Finally, she removed the storage disk from the security monitoring devices. The killer put it in the briefcase and disabled the backup systems, taking its disk as well. She completely then turned off the system, yanking the power cord out of the wall. Finally, she pulled the Israeli submachine gun out of the bag and took off the safety.

"Let's rock and roll," the killer said with a smile as the bolt clacked into place.

The killer moved like a cat, slithering around corners. The briefcase was left on the table in front of the security station for easy access. She wanted to be sure not to leave it behind, as it would yield more evidence than necessary.

She slid through the first door and looked at the empty reception area. It was nearly three in the morning and the only people in the place would be in the call center. She was sure that more than a few people would be glad when this one made the news. The chat rooms were abuzz with hatred for this particular company.

The three people who ran the call center during the night were sitting on desks trying to figure out what happened to the phone system. Nobody expected an attack such as the one that befell upon them.

"Holy shit!" a young man, a poorly paid call tech shouted upon seeing the killer.

"What the hell?" was the general sentiment as the killer walked in.

"This is what you get for bad service," the killer said and pulled the trigger for the first time.

The closest target to her went down quickly, taking four shots point blank in the chest. The other two did not wait around to see if he was dead before hitting the deck and trying to get out of range.

The killer smiled, getting the same thrill that always came out of taking life. Not waiting for the other two to make a move the killer moved in, knowing the advantage was in surprise. The next call center technician tried to make a break for the back door, only to be cut down by a silenced stream in the back when he found it to be locked by the security system.

"Oh please!" the last one said, "I didn't do anything. I just answer the phones for these people and try to fix it. If you're pissed at anyone, be pissed at the management."

"They're next," She said coldly and pulled the trigger, silencing the pleading call tech.

The killer checked each body and made sure that they were truly dead. Identification was not something this killer wanted to happen yet. She knew that it would come eventually, but not until the great game had come closer to the end.

She was pondering the next move when something moved in one of the offices. She decided that whomever that turned out to be needed to be dispatched next. The first three offices were empty. She realized that it had to be coming from the President's office.

"How quaint," she said, "I get to have a big score."

The killer kicked in the door and saw a balding middle-aged man cowering behind his desk. She walked closer and reloaded the submachine gun while doing so.

"Don't kill me," the man said, "Whatever you want, you'll get it."

"Don't patronize me," she said, "You don't have the power to get me what I want."

"What is that?" the man asked, "I can do it!"

"I want you to die," The killer said, her voice and eyes like ice, "Can you do that?"

"No!" the man exclaimed and then made the fatal mistake of trying to run.

The killer tripped the man as he passed, sending him sprawling out onto the floor. When the man tried to get up she put a short burst into his left knee, sending him on the floor again. The president of the company was a fighter though, and tried to get up on his last leg. His hopes were crushed when the last burst took out his right knee.

"Oh God!" The man yelled.

"Better pray to him," she suggested, "You're about to meet the son of a bitch."

The man's eyes opened wide as he realized that his time on earth was about to end. The killer raised the weapon and took a final aim at his head. Before he could scream anymore, she pulled the trigger. A rapid burst from the weapon took out the rest of his head.

Unlike the last scene the killer did not touch the bodies. The killer merely stepped over the President's body and walked into the other room. Remembering that two clips remained she burned them off into the equipment, making sure that none of the outside windows were hit, something sure to bring people rushing in much sooner.

"Now for the adornments," she said and went out to retrieve the briefcase.

The stereo in the tech room was a passable one, perfect for the purpose. A music disc was placed in the player and set to turn on in twenty minutes. The killer turned the volume knob all the way to the top and pulled off the knob to inconvenience the poor people who had to deal with it.

The killer pulled a can of glitter paint out of the case and viciously coated the stereo with it so that when it turned on it would have to be unplugged to turn it off. The killer then sprayed the plug so they would have to wait until the crime scene units showed up to be able to turn off the noise.

"Beautiful," the killer said and went into the CEO's office, "Now time for the final act of this play."

The killer went around the room and put some messages on the walls for the police to find, keeping an eye on the time. She wanted to be gone when the music started in case it attracted people early.

For a final parting gift she left a neatly wrapped box on the table. She smiled and placed a card with neat block printing on the front of it. Satisfied that the gift looked entirely out of place in the chaos left behind from the gunfire, she walked out and went into the security station one last time.

The killer played with the automatic light system and started it going almost like a strobe. The killer grinned and shattered the automatic control system with a few well-placed kicks into the circuit boards.

"That should do it," she said quietly while leaving the building.

The killer threw the radio knob with a deft twist of the wrist, sending the piece of plastic careening into the road. She also pulled off the gloves and dropped them into the briefcase while walking to the car. Upon reaching the car she put the case in the passenger's seat and drove a few miles away before disposing of it in a dumpster outside a fast food restaurant.
Chapter Eleven – 'A Wake Up Call'

The phone rang three times before either Mike or Claudia shifted. She curled up with a pillow over her head as Miller moved slowly to the bedside table that held the phone.

"This better be fucking good," Miller muttered as his eyes slowly focused on the clock that said it was 4:30am.

He picked up the phone and growled out an acknowledgement that could not be actually considered a greeting.

"Lieutenant Miller?" the young officer on the other end of the line asked.

"Yes," Miller managed to get out, "This had better be good."

"Um," the officer stammered, not expecting this much hostility, "Sorry to wake you, sir. But, you are the one in charge of the DiTonno case, right?"

"If you're a reporter expect to find your ass nailed to a wall," Miller growled.

"No sir," the young man said, "I work for Charlie Roberts. He asked me to call you."

"Get to the point then," Miller said, hostility still evident in his voice, "I'm in charge of that investigation."

"We may have a related murder here," the kid said.

"May?" Miller asked him, sitting up.

"Yes sir," the young man told him, "We've got five bodies here."

"How were they killed?" Miller asked, waking up quickly.

"Shot," the kid said nervously.

"My guy uses a knife," Mike stated, "Probably some other lunatic."

"How many lunatics can we have in this city?" the kid asked reasonably.

"Enough," Miller growled, "Is Roberts there? Put him on the phone."

"Sure," the kid said.

Miller heard some shuffling over the line and some music in the background. Claudia, awakened by this activity, sat up and moved closer to him. He kissed her on the cheek and pushed some of her hair out of her face. She smiled back and before too much time passed Charlie Roberts' gruff voice came onto the line, taking Miller's attention again.

"Mike?" Charlie asked.

"What's going on?" Miller asked, "Why do you think this one is mine?"

"I'm not sure," Charlie said, "But there are some elements that suggest it. I didn't know who else to call. There's some writing here that suggests that it could be your lunatic. I haven't seen the other sites so you'll have to make that call."

"Shit," Mike said with a sigh, "So much for sleeping. All right. Where is it?"

"If you're still living in the same place just head down 192," Roberts told him, "You'll see the lights on the southern corner of Aetna and the highway."

"Let your boys know I'm coming," Mike said, "And keep the press the hell away from the scene. Anyone talks to them without my say so I will rip 'em a new asshole. I don't need another repeat of that mess from yesterday."

"You got it," Charlie said, "Hope it's a false alarm."

"I know you better than that," Miller mumbled, "You wouldn't have called me if it was."

"Yeah," Roberts said, "See you in a few."

"Right," Miller growled and put down the phone.

Claudia looked at him and knew something had happened. She could see it in his eyes.

"The killer strikes?" she asked.

"Not sure yet," Mike said, "I didn't think it would happen again so soon."

"It's ok," she smiled, "You do what you have to do."

"Thanks for understanding," Mike said as he started to get dressed.

"Don't worry," Claudia smiled, "You'll just owe me one for next time."

"Consider it a date," Mike grinned.

He decided against dressing up, putting on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He strapped on his holster and pulled out the chain around his badge, putting it around his neck.

"You can stick around if you like," Mike said, "Just lock the lower lock when you take off."

"No thank you," she chuckled, "I'll go back to my flat. Makes it easier. Just let me pick up my clothes."

Mike smiled and waited for her to collect what she needed. He went to the door first and took her keys. Their doors were facing each other, so Mike walked across and opened it up. Looking to make sure that nobody else was around, she scooted across the hall and he followed her into her apartment.

"You'd better get moving love," she said.

"No hurry," Mike shrugged, "They won't get any more dead in the next five minutes."

"So cynical," she chuckled, "I'll see you when I see you, Michael."

"Count on it, Claudia," he said and handed her keys to her, "Take care of yourself, eh?"

"You too," she said as she watched him go out and lock his own door.

Miller went to his car and drove quickly to the area. He could see the massive amounts of flashing lights before he even got there. He sighed and pulled off the exit, pulling into the parking lot where most of the lights were coming from. He had seen the building before, but had never really paid much attention to it. That would change after this day.

Mike walked up and was let through the hasty lines by a patrolman that recognized him. He saw Charlie Roberts and two detectives conferring by the outer door. Miller made his way over and sighed. Roberts was a few years younger than Miller was, but had aged quite a bit in the past year. His hair has almost completely gray and his middle was a mite larger. It saddened Miller a bit to see Charlie looking so bad, though glad that he was still on the active list.

Mike knew he wouldn't like what he saw. He already did not like what he was hearing. He had heard the music all the way from the car, though it was distorted enough so that it was unidentifiable. He covered his ears a little as he looked at his old friend.

"Sorry to roust you, Miller," Charlie said, "This looks too much like one of yours though."

"Where's the music coming from?" Mike asked.

"Inside," Charlie told him, "Haven't figured out where yet. After they found what I called you about I got my men out of there. Don't know what your procedure is with this yet."

"Haven't had time to set one up yet," Mike growled, "Wasn't expecting another one so soon. Gave my guys the night off."

"Be careful in there, Mike," Charlie advised, "There's a lot of blood."

"Got a flashlight?" Miller asked, "I didn't think to bring one."

"Patrolman?" Roberts asked, "Got a flashlight for the Lieutenant?"

One of the young patrolmen handed Miller a steel flashlight. Miller let Charlie lead the way inside, as he had been there before. As soon as Charlie opened the door the music became identifiable, as well as much louder. Guns N' Roses "Welcome to the Jungle" was blasting repeatedly at full volume.

"What happened to the lights?" Miller asked, shouting over the racket.

"Some were shot," Roberts said, "Couldn't find the control panel."

"In the security room," Mike said automatically, "How many bodies?"

"Five," Roberts said, "First one is on the floor behind the security station there."

"How did he die?"

"Don't know," Roberts said.

Miller turned on the flashlight and examined the security guard's body. Unlike the last few bodies he had seen this one had very little blood. From the obscene angle of the neck, it was not hard to discover that the kid's neck had been broken.

"This doesn't look like my guy yet!" Mike shouted.

"Keep going," Roberts replied, also shouting, "The next three are in the call center!"

"What is this place?" Miller asked as they walked.

"Internet provider," Roberts informed him, "Don't know much about it. You know how I am with the computers. Still need to get my secretary to do the reports for me."

Miller nodded and walked into the room that Charlie had pointed to. Further conversation was extremely difficult, as this was where the music was coming from. The light from the flashlight was doing a passable job at lighting the room, but the flashing lights on the ceiling gave the place a surrealistic look.

He looked over the three bodies, noting that they had all been shot. He looked at Charlie with a questioning glance. The surrealistic look was well within the norm, but his guy had yet to use a gun. Charlie was good and knew what Miller was thinking. He said nothing, knowing Miller would not be able to hear it, and pointed Mike to the executive offices.

Mike walked carefully, trying to avoid the blood pools. He took a special note of the stereo, realizing that the killer had covered it with that glossy paint to make it difficult on them. Finally, Mike and Charlie walked into the office section and walked into another nightmare.

"Shit," Miller said aloud, though was drowned out by the music.

The room was covered with a whole load of paint, very similar to what had been used on the radio. Miller stepped over the body and moved the light around the room. He now knew why Charlie had called him in. The tired sayings on the walls made little sense, just like the others, but they were undeniably the same style.

Charlie just stood there and let Mike go through things. Miller spent about ten minutes reading all the stuff on the walls. When he finally made it to the desk, he was surprised by the box. This was something new in the pattern. The card was propped up and left open, ready to be read.

"What's this?" Mike asked himself.

The card on top was a greeting card featuring a picture of Garfield and an amusing joke. That alone was not surprising. What surprised him was that the card had a personally written note on it. He read the card aloud, though the noise from his vocal chords was completely lost to the loud music.

"Welcome to the party, Mike Miller," The card read in neat block handwriting, "Did you bring your little friend Nick along too?"

Miller sighed. This was their killer, and the killer knew them. He took one last look at the room and the corpse. The man lying on the floor was the main victim in this case. The others were incidentals, just like the one the night before. He motioned for Charlie to meet him outside.

"Well?" Charlie asked him as soon as they were outside the door, "Is it your guy?"

"Yes," Mike nodded, "Too many coincidences, too much similar."

"What's the next step?" Charlie asked him.

"I need to get Nick and Marcus down here," Miller sighed, "I don't want any mention of this over the police band. None. How many of your men were in there?"

"Four of mine," Charlie said, "The two blues that found him and the kid who worked upstairs. He's the one who found them."

"Good," Mike said, "Talk to them. Tell them that if they leak anything to the media, I'll have their head on a stick."

"I figured," Charlie nodded, "I saw your fiasco with Jay Creighton yesterday."

"Got a phone?" Mike asked, "I left mine at home."

"Use mine. I'll get one of my guys to let me have his for a bit," Charlie said as he tossed over one of the little phones, "Want me to give CSI a kick?"

"Yes," Mike said, "If they give you any shit, give me the phone. I've got high level approval on this."

Miller let Charlie's crew take care of the mundane stuff and punched in Nick's number. He was hoping to get both Nick and Marcus at once and hoping that Nick could get conscious enough to be of use to him.

***

Nick Jones woke abruptly to the harsh ringer of his old telephone. He disliked the beeping ringers of modern phones so much he had paid an old telephone repairman to rig up one of the old style bell ringers to the only phone he kept in the apartment.

"What the hell?" he asked himself.

He rustled through some of the junk to find the headpiece of his telephone and pick it up. He mumbled something incoherent about it being way too early for anyone to call him before putting it up to his mouth.

"This had better be fucking good," Nick finally managed to say.

"Same words I said forty-five minutes ago," Miller said over the crackling line, "We've got another one. Is Marcus there on your couch tonight?"

"Not tonight," Nick said while rubbing his eyes, "You sure about this?"

"Enough to roust you," Mike said, "I'll call his place while you get your ass down here."

"You going to call Jay and Corrie?" Nick asked him.

"I'm not in the mood to deal with Jay," Mike said, "Let Corrie come in at the normal time."

"Odds are Marcus is in a motel tonight," Nick said, "We could use an extra hand. Besides, I promised her I'd pick her up. Her car is dead."

"She's going to regret that," Mike said, "Roust her and get down here."

"Will do," Nick said and then thought for a minute, "How many, Mike?"

"Five this time," Mike sighed, "CSI should be here by the time you get here. Get a move on."

"You got it," Nick said and put down the phone.

He stood up and looked for some clean clothes. He looked at the phone for a minute and decided to give Corrie a heads up. He searched his clothes from the night before and found the sheet of chicken scratch she had given him last night. He punched the numbers into the phone and waited for it to ring.

***

Corrie Albiston sat bolt upright when the phone rang. She had never had too many friends, so it was always a strange event when her phone rang at all. She picked it up and greeted Nick much more warmly than he had greeted Mike earlier.

"Sorry to wake you up, kiddo," Nick said, "Mike's at the scene of another murder. He wants us there pronto."

"Same case?" Corrie asked him, not quite awake yet.

"Sounds like it," Nick said, "Get up and get dressed. Don't worry about style. Just be ready. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"I'll be there, Nick," she agreed.

"Sorry kid," Nick said and put down the phone.

Corrie got up and got herself ready. Being more organized than Nick she was able to get ready and be waiting outside by the time Nick managed to make it over there. He saw that she was much more coherent than he was, so he let her take the wheel on the way out.

Corrie and Nick showed up on the scene just as the reporters were beginning to come out in force. They left the car and walked over to find Miller standing outside barking orders to the army of patrolmen surrounding the place. Corrie suddenly felt like a very small piece of the equation.

"Good to see you two," Mike said, "CSI got held up. They'll be here in ten minutes."

"Where do you want us?" Nick asked.

"You're primary, Nick, because Marcus isn't here," Mike said and then turned to Corrie, "Corrie, stick with Nick and take notes. His note taking skills are pitiful. I'm hoping you'll be better at it. If you have a question, ask it. I don't care how stupid it is. You might see something that we don't."

"Got it," she nodded.

"Any witnesses?" Nick asked hopefully.

"No," Mike said, "Just the kid who found them."

"I'll talk to him," Nick said, "How old is he?"

"21," Mike said, "He was the one watching the internet connections at night. He was up on the third floor in the equipment rooms. When he noticed that the call center was off the grid it was all over, or so he says. Talk to him and get the whole story."

"Will do," Nick said, "Did you get a hold of Marcus?"

"No," Mike chuckled, "Did get yelled at by Margie though."

"Where is he then?" Corrie asked.

"Motel, most likely," Nick shrugged, "Probably because we spent so long messing with your car. Either that or it was late enough when he and Margie stopped fighting that he just went to the motel six."

"I left a message at the precinct," Miller said, "He'll contact me as soon as he gets in."

"CSI is here!" Charlie Roberts shouted, "Let them through!"

"How long will Charlie and his crew be here?" Nick asked.

"Until things calm down," Mike told him, "They're handling the diagramming. CSI will do the photographs. I'm going to ride herd on CSI for a bit. There's a package in there that I want to know the contents of."

"Package?" both Nick and Corrie asked in unison.

"Go take a look inside," Mike said, "Cover your ears and don't touch anything. The music is loud, and we can't turn it off until CSI goes over the place."

"Lovely," Nick said, "Come on Corrie."

"Corrie!" Mike said as they reached the door, "If you are going to get sick, do it outside so you don't contaminate the crime scene."

Corrie nodded and followed Nick up to the building. Nick collected two large flashlights from the patrolmen stationed at the door. He handed one to Corrie and smiled evilly. He always enjoyed watching a new detective at their first murder scene. He usually ran a pool on how long it would take for them to throw up the first time.

Nick went in first, glad to see that the air conditioning was still on. He turned on his flashlight and looked around the room. He saw the security guard's feet and directed Corrie in that direction.

Corrie handled it well to start with. Nick almost thought she was going to make it until they went into the next room. Whatever Corrie Albiston was expecting in a murder scene, she was not expecting the massacre that she saw in the room.

"Good lord," she said, though nobody heard it over the music.

Nick said nothing as he methodically shined the light around the room. He'd seen many murder scenes over the years, both his years in the syndicate and during his years working with Miller in homicide. He'd never seen three people shot up as meticulously as these three. He sighed at the carnage and watched Corrie carefully. The blinking lights in the room were not enough to show the color in her face though he was dead certain there would not be any.

Nick turned out to be right, because Corrie looked in horror at a scene that she was ill equipped to deal with. She had seen dead bodies before, but nothing along these lines. She waved her flashlight around and thought she would be ok, until she made it to one of their faces. The top part was untouched, but the cheek had been blown away. The young man's eyes were almost staring right at her, although they couldn't see anything at all.

The sight was enough to make Corrie run for the nearest exit. Nick followed her and made sure she did not slip on the pools of blood. She was out the nearest exit like a shot with Nick slipping out afterwards and closing the door behind them so the public lined up near the barricades outside could not see the grisly scene.

Corrie stood out there for a moment trying to get her stomach to calm down. Nick watched her, hoping she would make it. She looked at him and then closed her eyes again, trying to push the scene out of her mind. It turned out to be a battle that she was destined to be unable to win. Her face showed the horror for a second, and then she was doubled over, throwing up the little that she had eaten during the past twelve hours.

Nick sighed and stood behind her, trying to block the way. Unfortunately, he was not big enough to block it entirely and Stephen Derringer managed to get around to a position to get a perfect photo of her in mid retch. Nick flashed him a get lost glare and got nothing but a shit eating grin in reply.

"Get out of here, Derringer!" Nick exclaimed.

"Fuck you, Jones!" Derringer said, "I've got as much right to be here as you do."

"You also have a right to become the victim of police brutality," Nick quipped, "If you don't stay behind those barricades you're going to be the next Rodney King."

"You don't have the balls, Jones," Derringer taunted.

"Try me," Nick said with a quiet menace.

Derringer saw the look in Nick's eyes and slipped back across the barrier. Nick scowled once more in his direction and went back over to where Corrie was still doubled over.

"You going to be ok there, Corrie?" Nick asked him.

"How do you do this?" She asked him while wiping the bile from the corner of her mouth, "How can you look at this every day?"

"This is where I'm supposed to say you get used to it," Nick sighed, "Truth is, you never will. You just learn how to deal with it."

"And to think I wanted this job," Corrie chuckled, "I'm not so sure I'm cut out for this."

"It's always that way at the beginning," Nick told her, "You never get used to it, but you learn to control your reaction to it. The CSI guys will have the lights on in there in a few minutes. I promise you, Corrie, it won't look any better, but it will be a little less scary."

"Did you puke your first time?" Corrie asked him.

"No," Nick admitted, "But I'd already killed several people by then. Remember, Corrie, I was once in the Bullock syndicate. Mike and I killed several people while we were exiting."

"Oh," Corrie said, not knowing what to say next.

"Everyone else did," Nick told her, "And the first time I saw a murder scene I did too, just not the first time I investigated one."

"So what do I do now?" she asked him.

"Suck it up, smile, and let's go see if we can catch ourselves a lunatic," Nick grinned.

"Ok," she said.

Because the side exit they had left through locked itself on the way out they walked around the building back to the front. Mike looked at them and Nick gave him a wry smile and thumbs up. Miller nodded and watched his people reenter the building. He knew Corrie had seen her first blood.

Nick and Corrie saw three of the CSI technicians working on the security area.

"Did you get the lights on?" Nick asked them.

"Yep," the senior one said, "We're going over the room now."

"Do you have anyone working on that boom box yet?" Corrie asked, "It's rather hard to think in there."

"I'll go take care of that," one of them promised, "Don't touch anything until we finish though."

"Thanks," Nick said.

After doing a full walkthrough and being horrified by the sight again they went into the back office. Nick read the card and was as disturbed by it as Mike had been. While they were in there the CSI team pulled the plug on the stereo, allowing silence to reign for the first time.

"About time," Corrie said, obviously relieved.

"Tell me about it," Nick said, "The MO, modus operandi to the uninitiated, is different here, but this part is the same."

"What's in the box?" Corrie asked.

"Going to need CSI check that out for us," Nick said, "In this department we don't touch anything without CSI checking it over and thoroughly photographing it first. Do you have gloves?"

"No," Corrie said, "Didn't know I'd need them."

"Go get some from Mike," Nick said, "He usually carries an extra package of surgical gloves in the car."

"Do you think we'll find much in here?" she asked him.

"Not if it's our psycho," Nick informed her, "We're probably going to find very little, but CSI can do wonders with just a few threads or a few hairs."

She nodded, and they walked out again. Two CSI guys were working on the stereo area still and Nick stopped to talk to them.

"Thanks for turning off that crap," Nick said, "Can I get you to work on something else for me once you finish there?"

"Sure thing," one of them said.

"The box in the other room," Nick said, "Get to that as soon as you can."

"Your boss told us that already," he grinned, "We'll get on it as soon as we've finished this section."

Nick nodded and went back outside with Corrie following closely. Mike was still ordering people around like a general.

"Take a good look see?" Mike asked.

"Too much," Corrie said.

"What's with the box?" Nick asked.

"I don't know," Mike said, "CSI about to get to it?"

"As soon as they finish on the radio," Nick nodded, "Thorough bastards don't want to forget anything."

"Helps us in the long run," Mike reminded his impatient friend.

"I know it," Nick shrugged, "Where's the kid you want me to talk to?"

"Sitting in the back of Charlie's car," Mike said, "You two take a crack at him and then I want you to search the upstairs for the weapon."

"You don't think he did it?" Corrie asked, "Do you?"

"Probably not," Miller shrugged, "But we have to check everything. Trust, but verify."

"What about the report you wanted me to gin up for Gabriel?" Nick asked, "Still want me to do that?"

"Don't worry about it," Mike instructed him, "I'll pick up Gabriel. Charlie isn't going to be able to stay much longer. Get up to speed on this. You're going to run this crime scene."

"What about Marcus?" Nick asked, surprised by this.

"He'll handle the DiTonno mess," Mike told him, "I'm going to stick around here at least until we find out what's in that blasted box."

"You saw the note too, huh?" Nick asked.

"I'm hoping that this isn't going to become a personal game," Mike sighed, "Go talk to the kid and then coordinate with Charlie's men. Figure out what you can."

Nick and Corrie nodded and went over to the car that the young man was sitting in. Nick and Corrie looked at each other, wondering what they were going to find from this young man.

"Any suggestions?" Corrie asked him.

"If you have any questions, ask them," Nick said, "That's what this is all about."

Corrie nodded and opened the car door. The sun was starting to come up over the horizon. The young man sitting in the car flinched visibly as the door clicked.

"My name is Nick Jones," Nick said, "This is my partner, Corrie."

"Hello," the young man managed to choke out.

"I'd say good morning," Corrie said, as her instincts took over, "But that seems horribly out of place, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "It is."

"I know you've probably said this a few times already," she said to him, "But can you tell me again what you know?"

Nick simply sat back and watched as Corrie went through the story with the young man. She was even better than they expected, deftly bringing the young man through the story. She was thorough, precise, and she knew instinctively what to ask and what to believe. It was not long before both Corrie and Nick had all but eliminated this kid as a suspect.

"Thank you," Corrie said when they had finished, "If you think of anything else please let us know."

The kid nodded silently and watched as Corrie and Nick walked away. Nick looked at her and smiled. He was very pleased with how she handled the questioning.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" Nick asked, "This can't be the first time you've conducted an interrogation?"

"The secret to surviving an interrogation is knowing how to lie," Corrie grinned, "My father was a master interrogator. I learned young how to dodge his questions. Apply that to the other side of the coin and that's what I did a few minutes ago."

"My compliments," Nick laughed, "Your first interrogation and you've already outclassed Jay Creighton by miles."

"Thanks," Corrie said with a half smile, "But I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, considering what I've seen of him."

"A few more lessons and you'll be rivaling me," Nick said, "Maybe even Marcus, though I doubt you'll have the deft touch that he does."

"Deft touch?" she asked.

"Marcus just has a way of getting things out of people," Nick grinned, "Mike and I are good, but Marcus is in a league of his own. Put him in a room with a suspect and within an hour Marcus will know if he's guilty or innocent and usually will be able to talk him into confessing. All this without ever even leaving a mark."

"Sweet," Corrie said with a smile, "Remind me to compare notes with him."

"Good luck," Nick laughed, "I've been trying to get him to teach me the secret for years."

"Nick! Corrie!" Mike shouted from the entrance of the building, "Get in here!"

They jogged up to the door and followed Mike into the death zone. They walked around the blood pools and the CSI photographers to go to the president's office. The sun was up and shining into the windows. Three unidentified technicians worked on the box that had been left on the table. The card had been bagged to bring to the laboratory, leaving the box sitting alone on the table.

"You've checked for explosives?" Mike asked.

"X-Rayed the box thoroughly," the technician said, "Can't tell what the hell it is, but it isn't explosive."

"Prints?" Nick asked.

"None," the man said, "Not sure about the inside though."

"Slice the wrapping paper," Mike said, "Check it for prints at the lab."

The technician did as he was told, carefully slicing the paper with a utility knife. The paper was bagged for examination and the box was left there. It was a plain white box under the colorful wrapping paper. Mike, Corrie and Nick were all hunched over the box looking carefully as the technician worked on it.

"Sure you want me to open it?" the technician asked.

"Do it," Mike nodded, "I want to know what's in there before I go back and do some reports."

"Ok," The technician sighed and lifted the top half of the box off with his latex covered hands.

The three cops and the technician looked in and were surprised by the first thing they saw. The top of the box was covered with a picture of Mike and Nick together, taken numerous years before at a department graduation ceremony. The graduation ceremonies were usually the only places both Mike and Nick would go all dressed up. Most of their time was spent in more casual settings.

"The killer knows us," Nick said, "Or at least knows who we are."

"Probably dug into the archives," Mike said, "I was well profiled in the news during the Bullock trials. It would not take much to put us together if they dug in that far. I became the public face for the police once I stood up at that press conference yesterday."

"Is that it?" Corrie asked.

"There has to be more," the technician said, "Let me bag the picture and send it to the lab too."

The technician prepared another Ziplock style evidence bag and removed the picture. Everyone was horrified to see what was under it. Five human fingers, all neatly severed, were neatly stitched together with a slightly desiccated palm forming the base.

"Yuck!" Corrie exclaimed, trying to calm her already churning stomach.

"What do you want to bet this matches the previous three?" Nick asked the others.

"Yeah," Mike sighed, "Get this thing to the lab and check prints. Match 'em to the others and if that doesn't work match them to the print database."

"Will that get them?" Corrie asked.

"All kids are printed now," Mike said, "Have been since the end of the Clinton administration. Anyone who gets a government job or a government loan is printed as well. Same goes for food stamps or a driver's license. Odds are that they're in the database if they're US citizens."

"Comforting," Corrie sighed.

"What do we do now?" Nick asked.

"You and Corrie wrap things up here," Mike said, "I'm going to go back and get things started on the reports. I'll gin up something for Gabriel and pick him up as well."

"What are Marcus and Jay going to be doing?" Nick asked.

"I'm going to send Jay to the institute like we agreed last night," Mike smiled, "Putting together that package alone will take him days. Marcus will keep working on DiTonno, crossing T's and dotting I's. We'll push on as if this were normal unless Gabriel gives us a push in another direction."

With that Mike slipped out, leaving Corrie and Nick standing there as the technicians continued around the bodies. They left the room themselves, letting the technician photograph and document the gruesome evidence.

"What now?" Corrie asked.

"Let's start searching the upstairs," Nick said, "We'll confer with Charlie's people and then start the annoying part."

Corrie nodded and they went out the door again.
Chapter Twelve – 'Out for Coffee'

Mike Miller sat in his office rubbing his temples between sips of his coffee. He knew he was getting too old to sleep as little as he was, but there was much work to be done. He was in the midst of putting a report together when Marcus came running into the room. He looked as though he had been struck with a board, as he had just heard about the new crime scene.

"Mike," Marcus said as he came in, "I just heard about it from the front desk. Was it one of ours?"

"Yeah," Mike said, "Have a seat, Marcus."

"Sure," Marcus nodded and sat down, "I would have come in sooner if I'd known. Margie and I had another blowout, and I spent the night at a super eight."

"Don't sweat it," Mike shrugged, "I wasn't expecting it either. None of us could have known that sleeping beauty would strike again so soon."

"Even you're calling him by that name?" Marcus asked, surprised.

"Have to call the bastard something," Mike told him, "That's as good as any. Press is doing it, no reason not to now."

"True," Marcus said, "Do you want me to go down there and help Nick out?"

"He and Corrie had it under control when I left," Mike told him, "Nick is very impressed with our new detective."

"Does he want to do her or is she actually pretty good?" Marcus asked him.

"Both," Mike smiled, "Though this is Nick we're talking about. He thinks with his dick, but isn't ruled by it. He wouldn't compliment her like that if she didn't deserve it."

"What do you want me to do?" Marcus asked.

"Wrap up the DiTonno mess," Mike instructed him, "And be available tonight. You're going to be the on call tonight because you actually got a full night of sleep."

"Sure," Marcus nodded, "No problem. I'll stay at the house tonight, even if it's on the couch."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that," Mike grinned, "I got chewed out by Margie for calling this morning. If you need to stay at a motel just leave the number at the desk. The front desk will be the one contacting you."

"I may go ahead and get a cell phone," Marcus said, "You've been bugging me on that for three years now."

"That will work," Mike nodded, "There have also been a few new developments as well."

They spent the next few minutes discussing the new developments in the case. Marcus was a hardened pro, but even his stomach turned a bit at the graphic descriptions provided by his boss. After hearing just how much happened while he was sleeping he felt even worse about not being there.

"Damn," Marcus said, "This is turning into a true nightmare."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

They heard a scuffling in the squad room behind them and turned around to see Randall Jay Creighton coming in, looking very pissed off. Marcus looked at Miller who merely shrugged.

"Wonder what's got him pissed off?" Marcus wondered quietly before Creighton made it to the room.

"What the hell is going on here, Miller?" Creighton demanded angrily as he blustered in, "I'm a part of this team and I have to hear about the fact that there was another murder on the fucking news?"

"Chill out, Jay," Marcus said in his laid back tone, "What is the problem?"

"Five more murders!" Creighton said, "And you leave me home thinking that everything is ok! Am I part of this investigation or not?"

"You are still part of this team for now," Miller said, showing in his eyes that was true only over his objections, "I didn't call you because I didn't need you. I didn't call Marcus either, for that matter. I had Nick and Corrie, as well as Charlie's men. That's all you really need until CSI finishes up."

Marcus knew that Mike was lying about why he had not called Creighton, but was not overly surprised by this. It was often easier to just tell Jay something that was bullshit than to tell him he was not called because he was not wanted.

"Great," Jay groused, "So what's going on?"

"New set," Mike said, "Probably related, despite differences in the MO. I'm waiting on some stuff from CSI to know for sure."

Miller gave Creighton a capsule, though much less than he had given Marcus. Creighton, being as incompetent as he was, did not realize how much Miller had left out and did not have the wits to ask any further questions.

"Do you want me to go down there and help Nick?" Creighton asked.

"You've got another job for the next couple days," Mike said, "Your cousin still work for Courson?"

"Yeah," Creighton said, "But I thought you hated those people."

"They're useless for run of the mill," Mike admitted, "But I want another opinion on this case. They had to get their reputation from somewhere, so let's give it another try. You will be the go-between for that. Put together an information package and bring it over to them."

"That's it?" Jay asked, surprised by this.

"Did you get those files over to Charlie?" Mike asked.

"They're all done," Jay said triumphantly, "It was too late to get them to him."

"Bring those over this morning first thing," Mike instructed him, "Then get to work on the Courson information."

"Sure," Jay said, not knowing how to take this, "Anything else?"

"Yes," Mike said, "Work with them. You've been on the streets for a while; they'll need your insights on this profile. You're to work with the psychiatrists there to get me a decent profile of this lunatic."

"You got it," Jay said, "I'll go get started."

"Jay," Mike said, stopping him.

"Yeah?" he said as he halted.

"You leak any of this to a reporter I'll have your badge," Mike said, "Governor be damned. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Creighton scowled as he left the room.

"You go ahead and get started too," Mike instructed Marcus, "Cover the bases on DiTonno so we look busy."

"What are you doing?" Marcus asked.

"Putting a report together for now," Mike shrugged, "Nick can't do it, so I'm going to do it. Latham and the Mayor will want it soon anyway. Might as well kill two birds. As soon as I hear something from CSI I'll call you in for a meeting."

"Mind if I take a side trip and pick up a phone?" Marcus asked.

"Sure," Mike nodded, "Be sure to take your badge and a phone list disc so you can have it loaded. Hedley's Electronics will give you a police discount on an iPhone."

"Ok," Marcus said and went on his way, leaving Mike to deal with the paperwork.

Marcus passed Creighton's desk and saw him talking on the phone. He shook his head and kept moving. Creighton looked back and stopped talking until Marcus was out of range.

"Can we meet somewhere?" Jay Creighton asked the person he was talking to on the phone.

"Sure," a female voice said, "You name it."

"I've got to drop off some files," Creighton told her, "Second precinct. There's an old coffee shop near there. Grab one of the back booths and we'll talk."

"I'll be waiting, Jay," the female voice said, "Hurry along."

"I'll be there with bells on, doll," Creighton said with a smile and hung up the phone.

Randall Jay Creighton was uncharacteristically jovial as he scooped up the six files and quickly went out the door. He went down and unlocked the old squad car that he had been using as his official vehicle. The older squad car was one he had used for four years of patrol duty, and he hated to part with it. It was due to be retired after his elevation to detective, but he managed to talk the brass into letting him take it with him.

Creighton drove the dilapidated Crown Victoria automobile to Charlie Robert's precinct and went inside to drop off the files. Roberts had only freshly returned from the latest crime scene and was not particularly interested in the files. He had Creighton put them on his desk, which Creighton did and quickly left the precinct.

He left his car parked at the station and walked over to the coffee shop nearby. He was nervous, as he always was when he met this woman, but he tried to act cool. He finally saw her sitting in the corner booth waiting for him. She looked up and flashed a toothy smile at him as he approached.

"Julie," Creighton said and smiled, "Glad you could make it."

"I wasn't busy," she shrugged as she flipped her golden hair back, "Never too busy to have a cup of coffee with you, Jay."

Creighton had been seeing Julie Styles for nearly two months. Nobody at the office had seen them together yet, but the few friends of Creighton's that had seen her were surprised that she was with him. She was tall, nearly six feet of woman, and had golden blonde hair. Her eyes were a sharp blue that made her very attractive. Creighton did not know for sure, but guessed that she was in her late thirties.

"Thanks Julie," Jay smiled, "It's been a rough day or so."

"Yeah," she nodded and took his hand over the table, "I saw you on the TV yesterday. I imagine you caught hell for that little display."

"Miller went through the roof," Creighton admitted, "I still don't know what the big deal was."

"Me either," she shrugged, "Maybe he just hates us reporters?"

"That's a given," Jay shrugged, "He's hated them ever since I knew him. Still not sure why."

"Aww," Julie shrugged, "Enough about that sourpuss of a boss. Sorry I couldn't be with you the last few days. The paper had me take a trip to Washington. I'll be here tonight though if you're willing."

"Always am," Jay smiled as he thought about another night with her, "My door is open any time you want to stay."

"I'll be there tonight," she cooed to him, "So tell me about what's been going on here. I have been so involved with the DC politics that I have missed the local stuff. I heard there was another murder?"

"Several of them," Jay sighed, "Don't know what is happening to this city."

"Do you think they're related?" she asked him as she pulled a cigarette out of a golden cigarette case.

"Too close not to be," he shrugged as he told her more while trying to sound important, "Miller has guessed at that for a bit, he just was too chicken shit to say it out loud. We all knew it after seeing that DiTonno mess yesterday, but he wasn't willing to say it. Well, I said it and now it's in the public."

"Bravo!" Julie said and clapped quietly before lighting the cigarette, "I'm glad someone has balls in this town. Sure as hell most of the people in your department don't have any."

"That's for sure," Jay agreed.

"Go on darling," Julie said as a deep racking cough erupted from her.

"You've been smoking too much, dear," Jay noted.

"You've got to die somehow," Julie shrugged, "Go on with your story."

They sat there talking for about an hour or so. She was engrossed by his tales of the investigation, and he did not want to stop talking. He was not worried because he had already figured out that Miller was sending him to Courson as punishment for what he had done the day before. Luckily for him Julie did not know just how close he came to losing his job.

"You'd better get back to work," Julie told him finally, "I want you to be able to get off reasonably early so we can have some time together tonight."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Jay shrugged, "Where do you want to meet? My place or yours?"

"Yours," she said with a smile, "My place is still a mess because of the trip to DC."

"That works," Jay smiled, "I should be home by six."

"You know me," Julie smiled playfully, "I'll be there when I get there."

"That's cool," Jay nodded, reminding himself to go to the drug store tonight, "I'll see you then, Julie."

"Later loverboy," She smiled and kissed him deeply before leaving.

Jay watched her walk out of the place with her distinct swaying walk. He decided that today would not be such a bad day after all. He paid for the food and coffee then walked out the door and went back to his car. At least Miller had given him something rather interesting to do, if not particularly useful. He just hoped he could parlay it into something that would give him a chance to surpass Miller.

Julie Styles walked off down the street and got into a little import car and drove away, flashing Randall Jay Creighton a quick smile as she passed him on the street.
Chapter Thirteen – 'Connections'

Mike Miller walked into the dank coroner's building and found his way down to the lower levels. The building was nearly fifty years old and had seen nearly every dead human being within the city limits during that time. Old, young, accident or murder, most of the denizens of the fair city ended up there sooner or later.

Jake Sanders was in his office working on one of the many piles of paperwork that he had to deal with over the course of the day. Corpses were not good for much in the city, but the one thing they did well was create paperwork. This new series of killings had created a brand-new headache for an overworked medical examiner.

"How's life treating you Jake?" Mike asked as he walked into the room.

"Just about like it's treating you," Sanders chuckled, "Like shit. How can I help you, Mike?"

"You can tell me you got something useful out of that package," Miller said, "We could really use a break on this one."

"Mayor breathing up your ass too?" Sanders asked, "We've got ID's on some of the fingers, still working on the base of the hand though. It's a real mess you've got there. A.J. was working on it when I came in here to fill out a few reports."

"What room is he in?" Mike asked him, "I'll leave you to your paperwork."

"To hell with that," Sanders said with his big barrel laugh, "I did the initial work up on this stuff. I'm not going to let him take all the credit. Come on."

Miller followed Sanders to an examination room. He had seen this type before numerous times on cases, though there was usually more on the table. A.J. Dupriex had his small form hunched over the box that had been removed from the latest crime scene. It looked little like the artistic piece it did when it was first opened.

"You got company A.J." Sanders said, "Miller wants the ID's."

"All right," A.J. said, not looking up, "You have any guesses you want me to validate or what?"

"Surprise us, A.J." Sanders growled, "None of your cloak and dagger shit tonight."

"Well, we've got the connection down," A.J. said, "Each finger is from a different person. Hand comes from someone else entirely, but we don't know who yet."

"I'm guessing DiTonno was one of them," Miller said.

"You got it," Dupriex nodded, "Hers was the ring finger. Easy to identify as her ring was still on it."

"The others?" Mike asked him.

"The middle and index fingers belonged to the primary victims on the first two you suspected," A.J. said as he slid a handwritten file to Miller, "The index finger belonged to one Harry Rames. You know him well, considering you've been investigating the case for nearly a month now."

"Let me guess," Miller sighed, "Middle finger belonged to someone on the second crime scene?"

"Teri Rios," A.J. confirmed, "Right middle finger. Poor girl was still living when it was carved off her too."

"Ok," Miller said, trying not to picture that, "Who did the other two fingers belong to? The thumb and the pinky?"

"That's where this gets strange," Dupriex shrugged, "Not sure where the hell the pinky came from. The tissue has been dead longer than the rest, years maybe. It was preserved in something, most likely formaldehyde. No print match yet, but the computer database does not go back on corpses for more than five years. I'm waiting for lab tests to tell me just how old that one is, but my guess is at least four years."

"And the thumb?" Miller asked, wondering how much stranger this mess could get.

"It came off a gun dealer across the river," Dupriex said, "I still don't know how he could fit in though. You'll have to talk to the Summitville cops on that one. He was killed in a shakedown over a month ago."

"Give me the name," Mike said wearily, "I'll go over to Summitville and check it out."

"Thomas Hardin," Dupriex shrugged, "Don't know much about him, the file was rather sketchy."

"I guess that'll have to do," Miller nodded, "I'm sure Summitville will have more. Don't sweat that, you gave me a name. That's a start. Have you found anything else about the card or the package?"

"Card is clean," Sanders said, "I did the work on that one an hour ago. Not a spec of DNA on it. The killer either never handled it or cleaned it well after handling it."

"What about the package?" Miller asked.

"The picture is clean too," Dupriex told him, "No prints, no hair, nothing. This killer is fastidious when it comes to that. We didn't find a damned thing at DiTonno either."

"Or the other ones for that matter," Sanders shrugged.

"What type of print was it?" Miller asked them, "The picture in the box. It was of Nick and Me, but was it a cheap copy or a full chemically done print?"

"It's a photo lab print," Dupriex said, "I haven't finished the report yet. Didn't think it was important."

"Rethink that," Miller suggested, "I want to know how the killer got this picture. If he did it after my press conference that gives us a narrow timeframe. If the hand is old then put it on the back burner. I want to know about the picture first."

"A.J. can work on the hand," Sanders said, "I'll go ahead and see what I can find out about this picture for you."

"Just give me the specifics on its makeup," Miller said, "Send it via Email to Nick, Me and Marcus Holbein."

"I'll do it as soon as possible," Sanders agreed, "You trying to keep this information close?"

"Yeah," Miller nodded, "Keep it as close as possible. You and A.J. here if you can manage it."

"You'll have to clear it with the Mayor," Sanders said, "It will require us abandoning the rest of our duties."

"It won't be a problem," Miller grinned, "The Mayor is pissed about how much has been leaked already. I'm sure that they won't argue too much if I appropriate you two to keep it quiet."

"Cool," A.J. said, "Easy duty."

"Not really," Jake sighed, "With only the two of us working on it we'll spend a lot more time on autopsies alone."

"You got that right," Miller grinned, "Don't worry, I've got to go see Latham next anyway. I'll get him to get you clear with the Mayor. They want this taken care of and if it will help stop leaks, he'll live with it."

"I may need to talk to someone about the picture," Sanders said.

"I don't want to hamper you," Mike shrugged, "Do what you can to the best of your ability. If you need help, get it, but try to keep it quiet."

"Will do," Sanders agreed.

"Keep at it," Mike told them, "You two are as much a part of the team as those of us on the street. We couldn't do it without you."

"Remember that," Sanders suggested, "Especially if they ask you about funding."

"I'll try," Miller chuckled and left the room.
Chapter Fourteen – 'Shady Gun Deals'

Miller came away from the meeting with the commissioner and the Mayor with a renewed loathing for politics. Miller did his best to ignore the politics, but they were unavoidable when it came to a case like this. The press was still complaining about the fact that Miller was not being more forthcoming, and some of those complaints were going straight to the Mayor.

Miller could not complain for the most part, however, as he got most of what he needed out of the meeting. He even got approval for sending Creighton to the profilers, which was something that he was almost positive he would get his ass chewed out for. The only thing that they kept on him about was the lack of progress. Miller got a few words in and left quickly.

On the way to Summitville he called Nick and gave him the scoop on what he found. Marcus called in on his new phone, hating every second of it and received the same briefing. Miller conscientiously avoided calling Creighton and dodged one of his calls because he did not feel like talking to the man.

A very tired Mike Miller pulled up in the parking lot of the Summitville police station. He looked at his watch and noticed it was still morning. It felt later because he had already put in nearly a full day's worth of hours. He went to the front desk of the much smaller police station and asked for someone in the homicide department.

"Your name please sir?" the pleasant young receptionist asked him after talking on the phone for a second.

"Mike Miller," he said, "I'm from the police force across the river. I'd like to talk to them about the Hardin case."

She relayed that information over the phone and directed Miller to wait for a minute. Miller sat down and rested his head in his hands for a few minutes while waiting for someone to come out for him. It was not too long before someone actually did.

"Lieutenant Miller?" detective Fred Hale asked after a moment, "I'm Detective Hale. I've been working on the Hardin mess."

"That's me," Miller said, rising slowly and shaking his hand, "Nice to meet you, Detective. Wish it could be under better circumstances."

"Come on back," Hale said, "Better place to talk and I have my files there."

The two men walked into the back rooms of the police station where they sat down in Hale's office. The office was not much to look at, but it was nicer than the average one in Miller's district. This was mainly because Summitville was a much wealthier and smaller place than Miller's own city.

"So what does a big city cop want to know about a small time local hood like Tom Hardin?" Hale asked Miller, "That killing is nearly two months old now."

"What type of hood was he?" Miller asked.

"Gun dealer," Hale shrugged, "Been around for years. Never big enough to catch the eye of the ATF, but big enough to deal with the Bullock gang years ago."

"What type of stock?" Miller asked him, "And who does he work with now?"

"Used to do bigger stuff," Hale shrugged, "Since you brought down Bullock he's been mostly small time. A few rifles and a lot of handguns. Some shit for serious collectors."

"So how was he killed?" Miller asked.

"Three shots to the head," Hale said, "Pretty standard takedown, if a little more professional than most we see around here. What is your interest in Hardin anyway? I can't imagine what you'd be working on that would bring you out here to ask about a two-month old murder of a second rate gun dealer."

"You didn't mention that he was missing a thumb," Miller said with a smile.

"Jesus Christ!" Hale exclaimed, "How the hell did you know that."

"Do you have any idea what was taken from him when he was killed?" Miller asked, "I'll get to the why in a few minutes."

"We know he had just received a load of pistols and a few AK-47's," Hale said, realizing there was a purpose to this now, "He probably also had a few Israeli submachine pistols. He sold those things like hotcakes. Now how did you find out about the thumb?"

"We have the thumb in our morgue," Miller said, "Part of a care package from our serial killer. Whoever this sick fuck is wanted to make sure we knew that they were connected."

"That one from this morning?" Hale asked.

"That's where we found it," Miller nodded, "I'm betting one of those Israeli rifles is the one used on them."

"Shit," Hale said, "That puts Hardin in the same ball park."

"Makes him victim number one," Miller agreed.

"What do you need from me?" Hale asked, "We'll help as best we can."

"First off, keep this under your hat," Miller requested, "I don't need any more press up my ass on this."

"Not a problem," Hale nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Push in on the investigation some more," Miller asked him, "And share with me what you get. I'll let you in on anything we find on Hardin, though since he operated in your neck of the woods you probably will find more than I will."

"I'll do what I can," Hale shrugged, "Though we turned over most of those cracks when we first worked on it."

"Even the file will help," Miller said, "We need to figure out what these people have in common, if anything at all."

"I can't commit to assigning personnel to helping you with this," Hale said, "But if you send people here to look at it, or if you come yourself, we'll cooperate in every way. I'll have a duplicate made of the file, even of my notes. It'll be ready by tomorrow morning."

"That's all I ask," Miller smiled, glad that they were not pulling jurisdictional bullshit, "This guy will be a pain to catch. If we work together maybe we can do it before he strikes on your turf again."

"If he does, I'll call you," Hale promised, "How can I get a hold of you?"

Miller handed Hale a card, "This is how to get a hold of me. The front desk of the precinct will know how to get me at night."

"Let's hope I never have to use it," Hale grinned, "Tell you what, I've got most of this file on my hard drive already. I'll just have the secretaries digitize the rest and send it to your email."

"That's fine," Miller nodded, "Nick and I can print it out for our computer illiterate ones."

"You still have a few of those too, huh?" Hale chuckled, "Good luck, Miller."

"Thanks," Mike sighed as he stood up and shook hands with Fred Hale, "I do believe I will need it."

Miller left the station and made a few calls, checking to make sure that Chris Gabriel's plane would be on time. Miller grunted in annoyance when he found out that not only was the plane going to be on time, it was also going to be nearly twenty minutes early. He hurried out to his car and pulled out of the parking lot, determined to meet the man on time.
Chapter Fifteen – 'Miller and Gabriel'

Mike Miller made it to the airport quickly from Summitville. He put his police tags out so he could get inside quickly. He hoped that he would make it before the plane did but knew he had missed it when he saw the arrival signs in the lobby. He jogged up the moving walkway and made it to the mostly deserted gate.

Chris Gabriel was sitting down on in one of the chairs outside the gate, stretching his legs and rubbing his bad knee. Flying was always bad on him because of his large frame and the knee that his brother had all but destroyed when he was fifteen. He looked up and chuckled as he saw Miller hurrying up the walkway.

"Lieutenant Miller I presume," Gabriel said as Miller approached.

"You must be Sheriff Gabriel," Miller said with a smile, "Yes, I'm Lieutenant Miller. Call me Mike though."

"I don't have a title anymore," Gabriel chuckled, "Gladly gave that up when I let Laura Miller run in my place several years ago. Chris is fine as far as I'm concerned."

"Thanks for coming out here on such short notice," Miller said, "I intended to have a file ready for you, but we haven't had time for that. There were more killings last night. Highest body count yet."

"I saw it on the news before getting on the plane," Gabriel nodded, "They were speculating on it, but they weren't sure."

"It's your choice," Miller shrugged, "We can go back to the precinct and look at the file or you can check out the latest scene."

"Let's look at it," Chris said, "How many people are working on this?"

"As few as I can manage," Miller said, "I've got two experienced detectives, one rookie and an idiot."

"Sounds promising," Chris chuckled as they went to pick up his luggage, "I'm assuming the idiot was the reason for yesterday's press conference?"

"Randall Jay Creighton," Mike spat out, "A third rate incompetent with protection from the governor's mansion. The one person I didn't want on this team and the higher ups decided they'd saddle me with him."

"Sounds like bureaucracy to me," Chris said and made a face, "How good is the rest of the team?"

"I'd trust Nick Jones and Marcus Holbein with my life," Mike said, "I've known Nick for nearly a decade now. He and I have saved each other's lives numerous times. Marcus is just as good, maybe even better in some respects."

"Marcus Holbein," Chris said as he remembered the name, "Where is he from?"

"Seattle," Mike said, "You know him?"

"I think I've talked to him on the phone," Chris said, "Back when I was sheriff of Boland Creek County."

"It's a small world," Mike chuckled as he took one of Gabriel's bags.

The two men walked out of the airport slowly. They could not have been more different in appearance. Mike Miller was thin with a full head of blond hair. He was getting slightly thicker through the years, but he exercised enough to keep a decent shape. Chris Gabriel was an inch shorter than the 6'2" Miller, but he was a lot fuller through the body due to the fact that his ability to exercise was mostly gone because of his bad knee. His black hair was starting to thin in the back, though it retained his usual black.

They went to Miller's car and headed out to the latest scene. Mike spent the entire drive going over what he knew about the murders. Chris sat back and absorbed the information, actually preferring getting it in this form instead of in a dry written report. Miller was impressed with the questions Gabriel asked and knew that he had a valuable resource in his hands on this subject.

They saw the usual tangle of police lights and reporters as they pulled up at the scene of the latest crime. Miller used his siren to get them through, but it was still a slow process. The reporters were snapping a whole bunch of flash photos as they passed through the lines.

"They're like buzzards, aren't they?" Gabriel asked Miller.

"Only with less class," Miller confirmed.

Gabriel looked around the horde of reporters. He did not know it at the time, but the killer was standing there in the crowd. She and Chris locked eyes, and she smiled at him. They did not recognize each other, but the killer waved lightheartedly and then disappeared into the crowd.

Miller was directed by the patrolmen to park in a spot just outside the building. Gabriel looked the place over and was slightly surprised to see it was a business of some sort.

"What sort of place was this?" Chris asked him.

"Internet Provider," Mike told him, "One of the little ones that took some of the void after the big crashes earlier in the decade."

"Anything remarkable about it?" Chris asked.

"Other than a horrendous rep?" Mike chuckled, "I would have written this one off as a pissed off customer if it hasn't been for the grisly package left behind."

"I see," Chris said, "I guess we'd best go inside."

"Nick and Corrie should still be here," Mike said, "Unless they've gone to get some food."

They got out of the car, and Chris deliberately avoided facing the reporters. The two of them went into the building and saw Nick and Corrie eating hotdogs in a corner that the CSI people had already determined to be clean. Mike went over there with Chris closely following.

"Hey Mike," Nick said between bites of hotdog, "Caught us in the middle of lunch."

"I noticed," Mike grinned, "I want you two to meet Chris Gabriel, our new expert on this type of nonsense."

Nick pushed the rest of his hotdog into his mouth, wiped his hands off and shook hands with Chris Gabriel. Corrie nodded politely and shook hands as well. Chris nodded amicably and waited for Miller to break the silence again.

"Are you having any luck here?" Mike asked them.

"Not a bit," Corrie said, "We've been through every piece of this building twice. Can't find any evidence that the killer went upstairs. Even checked the elevator logs. They didn't move until this was long over. The elevator moves coincide with the logs of when the kid working upstairs used his thumbprint to open the doors up there."

"Are we sure there is only one killer?" Chris asked them.

"No footprints, no fingerprints," Nick said, "We couldn't find any signs of any more people and we think it was either only one weapon or they were all using identical weapons."

"I'm betting on one person," Corrie said.

"Why's that?" Chris asked, agreeing, but wanting to know her reasons for thinking this.

"Too direct," Corrie said after a moment of thought, "Groups want credit for things like this. Real psychos work alone."

"She's got a point," Mike nodded.

"Ok," Chris said, "Have you done a full walkthrough yet?"

"What do you mean by a full walkthrough?" Nick asked.

"A replay of what the killer most likely did?" Chris asked him.

"No," Mike said, "Never even thought about that."

"Ok," Chris said, "Where were the corpses?"

"One of them was lying about six feet behind you," Nick said, "Three inside and one in the CEO's office."

Chris nodded and walked over to the door. He looked at the place and surmised that if this was a single killer and it happened quickly then it could be reconstructed. He looked around for a few moments and then decided to do a run through.

"How many people are still here?" Chris asked.

"There are a few CSI techs inside," Nick said, "The bodies were removed an hour ago."

"All the body positions are marked?" Chris asked.

"Tape outlines all around," Corrie confirmed, "One of the CSI guys did that before the corpses were removed."

"Ok," Chris said, "Get the CSI out of there if they're not doing anything important. I'm going to try to recreate this, and I really don't think you'll want it to leak."

Mike nodded and had Corrie ask the CSI people to step outside. They were not complaining about the break very much. The blood was hard to stomach for long periods. Chris Gabriel looked around the place a little and used the clues left to figure out what happened.

"Ok," Mike said, "They're clear. Do your thing."

Chris nodded and went outside the door for a second. He walked in and looked at the desk. Common sense told him that the guard would be there and be rather bored. He guessed it was a single killer, because anymore would have caused the guard to get to the alarm in time.

"How many wounds on the guard?" Chris asked.

"No gunshots," Nick said, "Neck was broken. ME said that there was a bloody bruise on the back of the head."

"Ok," Chris said, "The killer probably came in looking to use a phone. Probably looked tired and used a broken down car as an excuse."

Chris went over to the desk and looked back there for where the phone was. He saw it and went over.

"The killer was quick," Chris said, "After asking for a phone. The guard turned around. That turned out to be a fatal mistake."

"Should have had mirrors back there," Corrie said.

"Probably," Chris agreed, "After knocking the guard on the back of the head, the killer twisted his neck to make sure he was dead."

"Our killer has to be big then," Nick said, "Of course, we knew that already from the sheer amount of damage."

"Jerry Healy was 5'5" and fifteen years old when he was active," Chris said, trying to repress the memories, "He was a little shit and accounted for more bodies in a week than most killers do in a lifetime. Adrenalin can make up for a lack of size, especially when surprise is on your side."

"True," Nick agreed.

"Go on, Chris," Mike said.

"What about the position of the body?" Corrie asked, "He was pretty far away from the desk."

"What type of security system is on that room?" Chris asked.

"Hand print identification," Corrie said and then stopped, "The killer dragged the guard to the station and used his hand."

"Exactly," Chris said, "This killer was good. You said that the security system was disabled and the storage disk missing."

"Even the backup systems," Nick nodded.

"From the security system getting through the other locks was a breeze," Chris said and started into the other room as everyone followed him.

"This is where it gets complicated," Nick said.

"Not really," Chris said, "Give me a minute to get into the mindset."

He looked around the room again and took in the little details of the room. He noted the position of the tape outlines and the holes in the walls. He also noted the position of the headsets and which ones were in the on position. He nodded and then stepped out the door.

"Ok," Chris said, "The killer came in and did this quick. Weapon was already out. I'm guessing some 9mm automatic of some sort?"

"I think it's an Israeli 9mm Submachine gun," Mike agreed.

"First one to get it is the closest," Chris says, "The other two scramble."

"Killer must be a bad shot," Nick notices, "Must have gone through three clips on these clowns."

"On the contrary," Chris told Nick, "The killer is a very good shot. The killings came first. The other damage came later."

"How do you know that?" Nick asked.

"Look at the later holes in bloody areas," Chris said.

"There's blood inside some of the holes," Mike nodded, "The killer did the killings first and then shot things up with remaining ammunition."

"Which means that it's probably the last time you'll see this weapon," Chris agreed.

"Why switch to a gun now?" Corrie asked, "The first ones were all knife killings."

"Less time," Chris said, "As soon as the killer cut the phones the timer was clicking on this one."

Chris went through and fairly accurately mimicked the killer's moves. When he had finished his reconstruction of the crime scene Mike, Nick and Corrie were all in awe of Gabriel's powers of observation. He could see little inconsistencies that even the experienced officers had not noticed. Little things that normally are not important in a murder investigation began to take on new significance.

"So what do you think, Chris?" Mike asked him, "Do we have a bona fide serial killer here?"

"The body count leaves little to doubt," Chris nodded, "But I haven't seen one like this before."

"How many have you worked on?" Corrie asked.

"Sixteen," Chris told her, "I've heard of this type, but to my knowledge there hasn't been an active one in over thirty years."

"Son of Sam type?" Miller asked.

"Probably," Chris agreed.

"So this isn't the end?" Nick asked.

"This one is good," Chris said, "I'd say probably some military or paramilitary training. I want to look over the rest of the evidence and crime scene photos before I hazard any other guesses. I could even be wrong on what I've said already."

"Ok," Mike said, "How much do you have left to do here?"

"We were wrapping it up when you arrived," Nick said, "What's the next step?"

"I've got to bring Chris over to the First Plus Inn," Mike said, "I'll get him checked in and we'll meet over at the precinct."

"Have you set up a war room on this yet?" Chris asked them.

"We were waiting for you," Mike told him.

"Ok," Chris said, "I like that. You know what you don't know."

"Exactly," Mike grinned.

They looked around for a couple more minutes as Nick and Corrie finished getting the place sealed up. Chris and Mike were talking when Mike's cell phone went off. He growled and stepped back a few steps and answered his little telephone.

"Miller," he said into the annoying black device.

"Please hold for Commissioner Latham," a secretary's monotone voice said.

Miller growled and waited for the commissioner to get on the phone. Anyone who could not dial their own phone was an asshole in his book. The commissioner was turning into a total politician, one who was beginning to see himself running for mayor once the current one went on to Washington DC, as was expected to happen within the next two years.

"Mike," Latham said as soon as he came on the line, "Have you got anything new now that your ringer is there?"

"He just got here," Miller managed to keep from growling, "Give us some time to work, will you?"

"You know damned well there's some serious pressure from above on this," Latham reminded Miller needlessly, "The Mayor wants a briefing in person from you."

"You're kidding me!" Miller said, "I reported to you already today."

"He has people breathing down his neck over this," Latham said, "He doesn't like the hot seat."

"He was elected for it!" Miller exclaimed, "I'm just here to clean up the pieces."

"Meet me at City Hall," Latham ordered, "This isn't a request, Mike. Bring pictures. The mayor wants to see them, but doesn't want to be seen at the crime scenes."

"It would probably be good for his PR," Miller grumbled, "I've got to get Chris checked into the motel. I'll be there when I can."

"Let one of your subordinates do it," Latham said, "I want you at city hall with the pictures in 45 minutes. See you there, Mike."

Latham hung up the phone before Miller could protest again. He had all he could do to keep from hurtling the little phone down the corridor. He very much hated politics and he knew that it would get worse.

"Ok," Mike said with a growl, "Change of plan."

"Political heat is starting already eh?" Chris chuckled.

"Is it always this bad?" Mike asked him.

"This is just the beginning," Chris said, "If our boy here is as intent on getting in the papers as it looks, then this is just the beginning."

"Great," Mike said sadly, "All right. Nick, you and Corrie finish up here and then take Chris to the First Plus Inn. The arrangements should already be in place."

"What then?" Nick asked, "Go home or are we working late?"

"Go on over to the precinct and start sifting the data with Chris," Mike said, "I'll be there as soon as I can. See what Marcus has pulled up and see if Summitville has gotten all the data on the gun dealer yet."

"Sounds like we'd better order some pizza," Nick said.

"See to that too," Mike agreed, "Put it on my account."

They moved Chris Gabriel's bags to Nick's car and Mike took off through the ring of annoyed reporters. Nick and Corrie finished the site investigation and left the scene to the annoyed patrol officers who had been pulled into the guard duty.
Chapter Sixteen – 'Politics'

Mayor Gary Gray paced around the office while Commissioner Roger Latham sat calmly in a chair smoking a rather smelly cigar. Gray hated the cigars, which was the main reason Latham made sure to bring one along when having to meet with the Mayor.

"Will he bring everything?" Gray asked, "We need to see it all for this to work."

"I told him to," Latham shrugged, "Depends on how annoyed he is at being dragged down here again."

"How will we know?" Gray asked nervously.

"Miller is stubborn, but honest," Latham told him, "If he didn't bring everything he'll tell us and he'll tell us why."

"You think he'll crack this?" Gray asked Latham again, starting to annoy the commissioner a bit.

"I doubt it," Latham said and put his cigar out in the lousy coffee, "It won't happen easily or quickly, if ever. This type of case is never easy."

Finally, about fifteen minutes late, the buzzer from the receptionist went off. Mike Miller walked into the office carrying a midsize briefcase. He looked at both the commissioner and the mayor and sat down, not really trying to hide his annoyance.

"All right," Miller said, "I'm here. Still not quite sure why, but I'm here."

"We just want an update, Mike," Roger said and sat back in his chair, "Did you bring the photos."

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "The extra sets from the first three crimes. Still waiting for the ones on the gun dealer from Summitville and on the ones from this morning."

"That'll do," Gray said with a nervous smile, "I want to know what you've pieced together about this killer. Have you figured anything out at all?"

"A bit," Mike shrugged, "All surmise at this point."

"Fill us in," Latham suggested, "We just want to know what we're up against."

Miller sighed and started talking. He did not like having to explain the entire investigation to them from scratch, but he was left with little choice because they were his superiors in name, if not in fact. He explained what Gabriel had surmised during the walkthrough and what steps they were going to take in the next few days. The whole process wasted an hour and a half of his time.

"Do you have any physical evidence at all?" Gray asked.

"None," Miller admitted, "This one is careful not to leave DNA. We haven't found a lick of DNA that didn't belong there."

"You're no closer now than you were when Harry Rames was found," Latham stated, "You have nothing new."

"I know one thing for sure now that I didn't before," Mike said, "The killings are connected for certain now. We have a serial killer, one that has a taste for it and one who is not stupid. This is a dangerous individual."

"And he has the initiative," Gray said.

"The criminal usually does," Miller reminded the mayor, "We're rarely there when the crime is committed. We just have to clean up the mess."

"All right," Gray sighed, "Leave those pictures with me so I can look over them some more tonight. I want to be up on this when I talk to the press."

"That's a bad idea," Mike said, "You don't need to have these pictures and if these get out you could destroy our case."

"How so?" Gray asked, truly not seeing.

"High profile cases like this generate cranks," Mike explained, "We need to hold this stuff back to make sure that the cranks can't lead us too far in the wrong direction."

"I'm not going to leak them," Gray said, "I just want to look at them."

"I'm sorry sir," Mike said, his fingers digging into the arm of the chair, "I cannot allow you to do that. You want this guy caught? You have to let me work."

"Leave the pictures, Mike," the Commissioner said, "I want to go over them too. You have another set, right?"

"That's not the point and you know it, Roger," Mike said, "That's a blatant breach of protocol."

"This is too high profile for protocol," Commissioner Latham shrugged, "They won't leave this office and I'll get them back to you tomorrow. Ok?"

"Do I have a choice?" Mike asked, knowing he did not.

"No," Latham smiled, "You don't."

"All right," Miller sighed and put the folder out on the table, "Keep those close to your vest. If I see any of this in the paper, you will need a new lead on this. I swear to you I'll quit in that case and call a press conference of my own."

"Duly noted," Gray said gruffly and sat down.

Miller stood up and looked at the two politicos that were ordering him around. He sighed and decided it was time to leave before he said anything that he would regret. He said his goodbyes and left the room quickly. Neither Roger Latham nor Gary Gray were particularly disappointed at his departure.

"Do you think he's serious?" Gray asked him.

"Knowing Miller," Latham said, "It's possible. He's a bulldog, but as long as the press doesn't get in the way he won't know what's going on. Just don't do anything stupid and it'll be all right."

"Not a problem," Gray said nervously, "The press is the last group I want to have this information."
Chapter Seventeen – 'It's a Small World'

Chris Gabriel sat back in the Government Issue chair and rubbed his temples. He had spent the previous few hours working with Nick and Corrie to get the conference room they had taken over turned into a macabre shrine to the victims. They had started collating and sifting through the piles of evidence that had come in too quickly to go through before.

"You ok there, Chris?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Chris said with a wry smile, "It's been a while since I've done this."

"How did you get into this?" Corrie asked him, "Just seemed like the thing to do?"

"Not that simple," Chris sighed as he started flipping through some papers, "Let's just say that it runs in the blood and leave it at that."

"You're a cryptic man Gabriel," Nick chuckled, "I guess it goes with the business."

"Something like that," Chris chuckled, "When do I get to meet the rest of the team?"

"Marcus will be in anytime now," Nick told him, "As for Jay, the less said about him the better."

"Yes," Chris nodded, "Mike told me about him in glowing terms on the way from the airport."

They chatted idly for a little while longer as they continued to sort through the data. Nick downloaded and printed out the information on the gun dealer which was passed page for page between them until they had all read it and Corrie had put it together.

Marcus Holbein walked into the station and looked for everyone else. It was late enough that most of the upper floor of the precinct was deserted. Most of the night action took place downstairs in the other areas in the building. Marcus knew that Nick would be around if he was not out investigating something. He saw the lights on in the conference room and went in to see who was there.

"Ah," Nick said upon seeing Marcus, "I see you've decided to join the party."

"Yep," Marcus said as he pulled up a chair, sat down and pulled his hat down to sleeping position, "It's been a long ass day."

"Well perk up a little," Nick said to him, "The expert is here. Marcus, this is Chris Gabriel. Chris, this sorry sight you see here is my partner in crime fighting, Marcus Holbein."

Both Chris and Marcus perked up at the names. They had never met in person before, but they did know each other. Many years before Chris Gabriel had been working on a very strange string of murders in the county he was sheriff for. With the help of a mysterious friend Chris figured out who was behind it and that man was finally brought down in Marcus's territory in Seattle.

Marcus tipped his hat back a little before speaking, "Were you Sheriff Gabriel of Boland Creek County?"

"That was quite a while back," Chris said, "You were the guy I talked to in Seattle, weren't you?"

"The Sumner mess," Marcus nodded, his memories returning as well, "Spoke on the phone a few times about that one. One of the strangest cases I've ever worked on."

"You'll never know," Chris said, hoping to Christ than no one ever found out just how strange that one had been.

"Any of you hungry?" Corrie asked.

"I could use some food," Nick agreed, "How bout you, Marcus? Chris?"

"I haven't eaten since the plane," Chris said, "If you can call that eating."

"What about Mike and Jay?" Marcus asked, "Not that I give a rat's ass about Jay, but he might actually prove to be useful someday."

"That'll be the day," Nick grinned, "Mike should be back as soon as the political morons let him go."

"Want me to place an order?" Corrie asked, "I'm sure we could have something delivered."

"We'll be working for a while yet," Chris said, "Might not be a bad idea to get into the habit of eating here."

"Do we have to eat here?" Marcus asked, "A little bloody for my taste."

"We can move into the other room to eat," Corrie suggested.

"Bad as it is to say," Chris said, "After a while the pictures will lose their shocking effect."

"I'm hoping it won't go on that long," Nick said, "I've seen enough of this shit to last me a lifetime."

"Heh," Chris said, "I'll be the first to admit, I don't know how long this could be going on, but from the looks of these photos, I'm willing to bet this son of a bitch could keep going for a while."

"Let's not dwell on that now," Marcus said as he put his feet up on the table, "Let's just decide what to eat, ok?"

"I don't know the area like you do," Chris shrugged, "What delivers around here?"

"I was just assigned here yesterday," Corrie told him, "I was working on the other side of town before then."

"You name it, it delivers," Nick told them, "Pizza, subs, Chinese, Italian."

"Just so long as you don't order from that God awful Indian place again," Marcus shuddered, "I still turn green thinking about that meal."

"I could go for some good Chinese," Chris said, "How bout you guys?"

"I don't know about good," Nick grinned, "But I'm sure we could come up with some mediocre Chinese."

Marcus looked up at Chris and decided he had a few questions that he needed to ask the man. He put his feet back down on the floor and stood up slowly. He stretched out a little bit and then looked at the others.

"Why don't you two order the food," Marcus said to Nick and Corrie, "You know what I like, eh?"

"Sure," Nick said, "What about you, Chris?"

"Either sesame chicken or pork lo mein," Chris told him.

"Chris," Marcus said, "Could I have a word with you in private?"

"Sure," Chris said, a mite puzzled by the request.

Nick and Corrie went over the phone book looking for places to order food from as Marcus and Chris went into the deserted main squad room. Chris took a chair and looked at Marcus and guessed quickly what the conversation would be about.

"What's up, Marcus?" Chris asked.

"Mason Stone," Marcus said, "That rogue agent you sent into my district in Seattle back when you were sheriff of Boland Green."

"I figured as much," Chris said, his suspicion confirmed, "What about him?"

Many years before, when Marcus Holbein had been a detective in Seattle, one of the investigations he was leading sighted a man that was wanted for several murders in Gabriel's district. After notifying Gabriel through proper channels, two people showed up in Seattle only a few hours later.

Identifying themselves as Mason Stone and Karen Hall, they were like no police officers that Holbein had ever seen before. Mason Stone was young and dressed in all black, though he at least talked and acted like a police official. Karen Hall was a very pretty young woman who was with Stone, though it was obvious that she had barely seen the inside of a police station before.

The four days that Stone and Hall spent in Seattle were active ones. Marcus never proved their involvement in any of it, but during that period there were several shootings, including an unsolved murder of an army Colonel. He could never prove Stone had anything to do with it, but Marcus had always had doubts about the whole mess.

"I know there was more to that mess than either you or Stone told me," Marcus told Gabriel, "I've always wanted to ask you about how it came about."

"I'm not sure you want to know," Chris chuckled, "There are parts of it I won't tell you because you're better off not knowing."

"I think the main thing I want to know now is who Stone was," Marcus said, "He definitely wasn't a small town cop. I couldn't find anything about him in any of the national registers either."

"Mason Stone is an enigma," Chris said and tried to figure out how much to tell him, "He showed up in my district one day during the Sumner mess and was a welcome addition to the team."

"Just showed up out of the ether?" Marcus asked skeptically, "Why did you trust him?"

"He had his reasons to want to catch Sumner," Chris said, trying to evade the question, "You've met the man. You know what Sumner was up to in Seattle."

"I have an idea," Marcus admitted, "Bolantine. Nobody ever did see that old son of a bitch again. We'd written the former boss of Seattle Crime off as dead. Even if he were still alive he'd be almost a hundred by now."

"Probably better that way," Gabriel nodded, "Don't ask me what it was because I wasn't involved with all of it. I was mainly the cover for Stone in that situation. He was handling the work on his own. He wanted Sumner as much as I did, and frankly I didn't care if he brought him back alive or dead after the mess he left behind in Boland Creek."

"I see," Marcus said, "Stone didn't work for the government did he?"

"Mason Stone doesn't work for anyone," Chris chuckled, "I don't think he'd last long like that. He works on whatever interests him whenever it interests him. He and his two partners change identities like you and I change underwear."

"Do I even want to know how he's funded?" Marcus chuckled, "Or is it better not to ask."

"I don't know for sure," Chris told him, "Though after Sumner's death we couldn't recover the millions he embezzled. My guess is that Stone and his people did. Small price to pay as far as I'm concerned. I had over a dozen corpses gracing my morgue from that mess."

"Not from Stone himself, I hope?" Marcus asked.

"I don't think so," Chris shrugged, "I do know he was on the right side of the thing. The military took over, that's how you ended up with Strader. There was something hinky there, but I never found out all the details. I got a call from Stone after a few weeks saying that the matter was taken care of, but no details. I honestly think we're all better off that way on that."

"I'd say so," Marcus nodded, "I'm sure I'll have more questions later. That was just one of the strangest things I had ever dealt with. I'm an inquisitive cuss. I don't like unexplained phenomena."

"Don't blame you," Chris nodded, "It was a mess all around, but it's over now. Best to just let it lie. We've got more pressing issues to deal with."

"Yeah," Marcus agreed, "Definitely. Glad to have you on the team, Chris."

"Wish I could say I was glad to be here," Chris smiled, "But I'm not and you wouldn't expect me to be."

"Not a chance," Marcus laughed.

"You know," Chris said, "I wouldn't mind having Stone and company along for this one. He's forgotten more about tracking a fugitive than we'll ever know."

"Really?" Marcus said, "He didn't look old enough for that."

"You'd be surprised," Chris said seriously, "Anyway, let's go see what they've ordered for us and get back to work."

"Sure," Marcus agreed, "I'm going to call my wife and get my nightly yelling over with. I'll be there in a few."

"All right," Chris nodded and walked back into the conference room.

"What was that all about?" Nick asked him.

"A mutual friend," Chris told Nick absently, "One from a long time past."

"Cool," Corrie said, "Guess what they say is true."

"What's that?" Chris asked her.

"It really is a small world," Corrie told him.

"Not small enough sometimes," Chris muttered and dove back in to the gun dealer's file.
Chapter Eighteen – 'The Mystery Man'

Mason Stone did not look much like the mystery man that had shown up in Marcus Holbein's district so many years before. Instead of his trademark black leather jacket and dark jeans he was wearing light slacks and a Hawaiian shirt. The woman that Holbein had known as Karen Hall stood next to him in the store that they had stopped at.

"Anything else we need, Mason?" Karen asked him as she showed him the basket she was carrying, "This should be enough to keep us going for another week don't you think?"

"Did you get the smokes?" Mason asked her, "I think I'm just about out."

"We'll get those at the counter," Karen told him, "I don't think I want to contemplate you without them."

"You know better," Mason smiled, "Ok, let's get out of here."

They paid for their items in cash and walked out with a carton of his usual brand. They went to their conversion van and loaded the supplies inside. Karen took the driver's seat, as Mason had been driving for six hours before the stop. Mason went into the back and put the stuff away in the cabinets.

"You look like quite the tourist," Jim Entragian said with a chuckle, "What's with the Hawaiian shirt Mason?"

"Trying to look like a tourist," Mason grinned and threw a balled up plastic bag at him, "Something that you should work at occasionally."

"That's why you two go inside most of the time," Jim chuckled, "I stick out like a sore thumb."

"You always have," Mason agreed, "Anything good on the news watch?"

"Usual scandals and bullshit," Jim shrugged, "The only interesting thing is that serial killer."

"More victims?" Mason asked him.

"Yeah," Jim said still watching, "Looks like an old friend of ours is in the middle of it."

"Oh yeah?" Mason said, "Who?"

"Looks like Mike Miller is running the investigation," Jim said.

"Good," Stone said as he sat down to look at the TV, "The man is tenacious, good for an investigation like that."

"Who's Miller?" Karen asked from the front seat.

"The undercover guy we sat through the deposition of," Mason told her, "Right about the turn of the millennium."

"Oh yeah," Karen said, "The guy that had gone through hell and back, right?"

"Looks like he's about to go through it again," Jim chuckled.

"Turn it on the speakers," Karen said, "I want to hear it."

Mason stood up and flipped a few switches to put the television audio through the main sound system for the van.

"The scene is still active," the newscaster continued, "There has been no official word from Lieutenant Miller or anyone else from the police department. The only words that any of the officers will give are either 'No Comment' or 'Ask the Lieutenant'."

"Has there been any word from the city's mayor or any federal sources?" A voice asked from somewhere off camera.

"Federal agencies are still staying out of this one, as there is no evidence of any federal crimes," the newscaster told the camera, "City Hall is doing little but assuring us that the police are investigating the crime. Mayor Gray has not spoken publicly since the press conference yesterday."

Next on the screen came various shots of the crime scene. Most of them were standard shots of the bodies being wheeled out on stretchers, though they did show pictures of the police milling around the site afterwards. Most of them were unknown to them, though Mason recognized one of them.

"Son of a bitch," Mason said, "Have you got that on the recorder?"

"Sure," Jim nodded, "It's a DVR. It always keeps the previous hour."

"Go back to the last shots of Miller," Mason said, "I want to see who's talking to him."

Jim worked the controls of the DVR to get a clear shot of the three people. The one in the middle was Mike Miller, and the other two looked familiar to Jim.

"Who are they?" Jim asked.

"One to Miller's left is Nick Jones," Mason told him, "The kid that worked with him in the Bullock organization. Last I heard he was a cop too. The one on his right is another old friend of ours I think. Can you focus in a little more on him?"

Jim nodded and poked a few more buttons. He used a mouse to select the man's face and then ran a graphic routine on the spot to focus it in better. Jim did not recognize the face that materialized out of the pixelated area, but Mason certainly did. He had aged quite a bit from the sheriff he had known years before, but it was the same man.

"You recognize him, Mason?" Karen asked from the front.

"It's Chris Gabriel," he told her, "I'm sure you remember him."

"Doubt I'll ever forget him," Karen agreed.

Mason sat back in the chair and closed his eyes for a minute. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair and stretched his legs a little. Jim sat back in his chair and looked at his partner. He knew Mason was considering bringing them out on another goose chase.

"You're thinking of paying Chris a visit aren't you?" Karen asked, "Seeing what's cooking with this serial killer mess?"

"It's been a while since we've done something interesting," Mason said, opening his eyes, "If it's bad enough to bring Gabriel in on it means that they might need some extra hands."

"I'm not sure I want to be there if Gabriel is," Jim told him, "He probably still isn't all that thrilled with me."

"Neither are we most of the time," Karen quipped, "But, we take you along anyway."

"Bite me, Karen," Jim grinned.

"You can stay in the shadows, Jimbo," Mason told him, "Karen, care to set a course to the city?"

"Do I have a choice?" Karen asked him.

"Do you have anywhere else to go?" Mason asked her.

"No," she chuckled, "I guess not. North it is. How soon do you want to get there?"

"How long do you want to drive?" Mason asked her.

"I don't," Karen grinned, "I had hoped to sleep at least a little while tonight."

"Jim?" Mason said, "You want to drive for a while?"

"Sure," Jim chuckled, "Pull it over, Karen. I've been goofing off for a while now. I have a pile of podcasts I want to catch up on anyway. How far do you think it is from here?"

"Should be able to get there by midnight if you go straight through," Karen said as she pulled the van into a rest stop, "Maybe sooner if you don't adhere too closely to the speed laws."

"Don't play speed demon tonight, Jim," Mason cautioned, "I want to get there in one piece and without incident with the authorities. We have only one set of extra ID's. If we're going to get into the fray up there I don't want to take time to set up new ones."

Karen parked the van and left the engine running. She moved into the back of the van and climbed over both Jim and Mason to get to the bed in the back. Jim grinned and moved to the front seat, adjusting it for his longer legs. Mason followed him to the front and checked out his ready id set and rechecked Karen's map calculations.

"You remember your way, right?" Mason asked, "It's been a few years since we've been up this way."

"Yeah," Jim nodded, "Not a problem. Straight shot up the freeway, just need to detour around a couple cities where the construction is lousy. I'll hit the CB circuit when I get near to find out where the worst of it is."

"No more than five over tonight," Mason warned him, "I'm not in the mood to get busted today. I'm not so sure how solid your ID is. I didn't check this one in the computer systems."

"No problem man," Jim said, "Don't worry about me. Go hang with Karen and watch a movie or something."

"Will do," Mason smiled, "Have fun and try not to wreck the van."

"I haven't done that..." Jim started.

"In about six months," Mason finished, "I know. Let's try not to do it again, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim grinned, "Get back there before Karen comes up here and kills the both of us."

"Again?" Mason said as he laughed and went into the back of the van.

"Hey Mason," Jim said as Mason left, "Separate the sound systems so I can listen to my podcasts while I drive."

Mason flipped a couple of switches and closed the curtain off between the back bedroom compartment and the front of the van. Karen smiled at him as she sat down on the bed beside her. Her blue eyes were shining as she pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail.

"You know, Mase," Karen told him, "Hawaiian shirts really do not look good on you."

"You'd prefer I wear nothing," Mason grinned, "You're biased."

"What's wrong with that?" Karen smiled, "I rather miss the days in the tropics when we could easily get away with that."

"Maybe if you're lucky we'll go back sometime," Mason said.

"Don't make promises you'll never keep," Karen grinned, "You know damned well you'll have us ass deep in some frozen muck of war come wintertime."

"Now, now," Mason grinned, "I don't remember you complaining too much about that month in Aspen last winter."

"True," Karen purred and moved closer to him, "That was a fun time. Even though you spent most of your time trying to catch a killer."

"Hey," Mason chuckled, "That didn't happen until later. How the hell was I to know that a murder would take place while we were there?"

"Once a cop," Karen said, "Always a cop."

"I can't do it for a living anymore," Mason shrugged, "I gotta get my fun in somehow."

"That's ok," Karen said and kissed him on the cheek, "I love you anyway."

"You know," Mason said, "We've got several hours before we get there. Care to have some fun first?"

"Thought you'd never ask, loverboy," Karen smiled.
Chapter Nineteen – 'The Victims'

Mike Miller and Chris Gabriel were pouring over a couple crime scene photos while Nick, Corrie, and Marcus continued pouring through the piles of information that had been collected on all the victims. It had been a long evening and the lack of sleep for Mike, Nick and Corrie was beginning to show.

"Good God," Corrie said, "Nobody ever told me that being a detective would be this boring."

"Welcome to the glamorous world of a high profile investigation," Chris chuckled, "Long hours, no sleep and the entire world bitches at you until the killer is caught."

"And you do this willingly?" Nick asked, "You must be some kind of crazy."

"I have the easy part," Chris laughed, "You have to take the press heat, not me. I just have to help you along and try to help you figure this shit out. As far as I'm concerned that's the easy part."

"He's right," Mike said as he remembered the last press conference, "The press sucks. Speaking of the press, did Jay ever bother to show up tonight?"

"Do you care?" Nick asked him.

"Not really," Mike admitted, "I just need to make it look like I do occasionally."

"He came in around six," Corrie told Mike, "I told him we were going to pull a late one to get some of this done. He said he had a date and left. I didn't think it was my place to challenge him."

"Wait a second," Nick said, "Randall Jay Creighton had a date?"

"Call Ripley," Marcus chuckled, "That's a first."

"Don't worry about it," Mike told her, "As far as I'm concerned Creighton is here only because nobody else wants him. If he wants to go home early, that's fine. It means we'll actually get some work done."

"What the hell do we know about these people?" Chris asked, "I've been working this type of case for years and I've never seen a more disparate mix of victims in my life."

"Ok," Mike said, "Let's go through the list of known victims."

"Has there been anything new on the package?" Nick asked.

"No word from CSI," Mike said, "They know the other parts are old, but how old we don't know."

"Ok," Chris said, "Let's go over the victims we know of. We can worry about the other parts later."

"First off we have Thomas Hardin," Mike said, "He's a gun dealer that goes way back."

"I knew the guy and bought shit from him occasionally," Nick said, "Back in the bad old days. He was the one I got the Berettas from during the Northrup mess in Y2K."

"Didn't know he was that far in," Mike said.

"According to the sheets from Summitville they did," Corrie said while flipping through a file, "Seems he'd calmed down some since then. He was mostly retired since the Bullocks went down."

"Other than the hand there was no guess before that this was a similar crime?" Chris asked.

"I don't think it was intended to be a true start," Mike said, "I'm willing to bet it was a utilitarian start."

"You think the killer was after the guns, don't you?" Marcus asked.

"Don't you?" Mike asked.

"Good theory," Chris agreed, "Especially given the lack of other trade marking features."

"Ok, so that brings us to Harry Rames," Mike said, "He and his wife were the second victims."

"Harry Rames was no angel," Marcus said, as he had done most of the initial workup on Rames, "He was a low level pornographer. He word is he specialized in the cheap DVD porn that you get for next to nothing on the internet now. Usually cute kids off the streets that would have been hooking anyway."

"Nick," Mike said, "Any connections to the syndicate that you know of?"

"He probably contracted with someone for girls back during the heyday of the Bullock Empire," Nick said, "Don't know who exactly, but that was never my end of the business. Once the Bullocks were out of the picture the porn business went mostly legit around here. The internet clobbered his business more than anything else."

"Rames was slime," Marcus explained, "So nobody really thought too much about it then. We were not getting any pressure to solve it, and we had other cases that were more important. Some of our interviews probably weren't the best either."

"Besides," Nick shrugged, "We didn't have anything anyway."

"All right," Chris said, "That's the way it usually goes at the beginning. No need to kick yourself for it. It's time to put together what we know, not what we did wrong."

"Well," Corrie said, "It looks like we have two connections to the Bullock Syndicate. What do we have on Teri Rios?"

"I highly doubt she had anything to do with the syndicate itself," Nick said, "She was fifteen when we brought the Bullock boys down."

"How about the other victims?" Chris asked, "Weren't there three that time?"

"Her boyfriend was a year younger than she was," Nick said as he flipped through Colby Chandler's notes, "The other one was an anomaly. Edgar Rice wasn't even known to the families of the others. What do we have on him? Colby didn't put it in his notes. Terry probably handled that."

"He lived in the same building as Teri and her man," Corrie said as she found Terry's notes on it, "They probably knew each other in passing, but everyone Terry talked to in the building said that it didn't go any farther in that."

"What did the writing on the walls of the Rios murder say?" Chris asked, "Was it as much nonsense as it was in the previous crime?"

"Pretty much," Mike nodded as he handed over a picture, "None of it even looks like proper English. The only thing really noteworthy was that the bodies were posed after death."

"How were they posed?" Chris asked.

"Rios was naked and sliced up pretty badly," Mike said, "She was laid out spread eagle towards the two dead men who were propped up in kitchen chairs."

"As if it was a gruesome sex show," Nick said, "That is a common pose of a room dancer."

"Room dancer?" Corrie asked.

"Stripper that performs completely naked inside a peep room," Nick said, "I worked security for one of Harry Lupo's strip joints for a year or so."

"Where did Miss Rios work?" Chris asked them.

"Terry doesn't have it listed in his notes," Corrie said.

"Colby does," Nick said and scrambled through them, "She supposedly worked for the student bookstore."

"Did he check this out?" Mike asked, slightly annoyed at the possibility.

"The main one at the university didn't have a record of her," Nick said, "He was confused by that, but he didn't have all that much time to work on it. It was an insignificant point. Her family was bugging him, but he didn't have time to check that point out probably."

"You know," Marcus said, "She was pretty enough to work in one of those places. Maybe she did and didn't want her parents to know?"

"Nick," Mike said, "You still have contacts in those places?"

"Sure," Nick nodded, "My cousin Eddie still frequents them and works security for one of them. He could probably find out if he's even willing to talk to me now."

"Know how to get a hold of him?" Mike asked.

"Let me go make a couple calls," Nick said and went out of the conference room.

"Nick's the man with the contacts huh?" Chris asked.

"Oh God," Marcus lamented, "Don't get them started."

"Oh?" Chris grinned, "Do I hear a good story?"

Mike told the story quickly, in deference to Marcus and Corrie who had heard it all before. Chris was surprised at Nick's checkered past, and a little surprised he had been allowed into the police force. Nick came in just at the end of the story.

"Good call, Marcus" Nick told the group, "Teri Rios, better known as Lola Ray, was a dancer at Chuck's."

"Son of a bitch," Mike said, "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Nick said, "Eddie never forgets a nice set of..."

He trailed off in deference to Corrie.

"Yeah yeah," Corrie chuckled, "You can say the word. I won't file a complaint."

"Is Charlie's connected?" Marcus asked Nick.

"Used to be," Nick shrugged, "Probably still is in a limited way. A lot of them are. I've been out of the loop for too many years."

"That brings us to the DiTonnos," Chris said, "We've got a tentative link between the first three crimes. What connection could that crime have?"

"This is my department," Marcus said, "I spent most of today running the information on the DiTonno family."

"Dazzle us," Nick said with a chuckle.

"Funny," Marcus said and flipped Nick off, "Ok. Jack DiTonno is unlikely. He was a cop for seven years and ran security for years."

"Corrie," Mike said, knowing she was likely better on the computer than Nick or Marcus, "Can you pull up DiTonno's service record in the computer?"

"Sure," she said and started hitting keys on the keyboard, "Give me a few, the records are somewhat scattered."

"How bout the others?" Chris asked, "Was there anything on them?"

"Angela was too young to have had any connections to the old syndicate," Nick said, "I don't know about the sister. Marcus?"

"The sister wasn't interesting," Marcus said, "The father of her child was already dead, a military man who died in a training accident before the child was born. She was a secretary for a local accounting firm."

"Scratch her for now," Nick said while looking at the notes, "The firm she was working for was clean, and there wasn't any hint that she was anything other than incidental."

"Same thing for the mother," Marcus said.

"There has to be a link of some sort," Chris said.

"There may be one here," Corrie said, "I don't think he left the police force under amicable circumstances. Anyone care to try to translate the 80's bureaucratic doublespeak in the file?"

Mike went over and read the file. His record was not particularly distinguished, and he had resigned after only seven years. Corrie moved out of his way and let him look at it. He scrolled down and didn't find any reasoning, seeing as the file was so old they might have discarded some information. It was not until he got to the list of partners that he jumped.

"I have our link," Miller said, surprised.

"What?" Nick asked.

"Does the name Howard Bronson ring any bells, Nick?" Mike asked.

"Son of a bitch," Nick said as the others looked at them, "He was partnered with that motherfucker?"

"Was drummed out around the same time too," Mike said, "A dollar will get you ten he was involved, at least peripherally, with the syndicate."

"Who is Howard Bronson?" Chris asked.

"Was. He's dead, thankfully," Nick said, "A crooked ex-cop. A really bad one."

"You probably know him better as Frederick Pena," Mike said, "He killed my partner when I was young and damn near killed me during the end of my undercover days."

"Yeah," Marcus said, "He was the shadow head of the Bullock/Pena gang, at least until Mike tossed him off the top of the Pinestone Building."

"He did make a nice hood ornament on that Honda," Nick smiled, "Fitting end to one rotten son of a bitch."

"I guess we can call that a connection," Chris chuckled, "Why didn't he use the man as the primary though?"

"Remember," Mike said seriously, "This guy also wants press coverage. That is probably why Teri Rios got it, even if the other ones were revenge. I'm betting that this is just the connection, not necessarily the reason."

"Ok," Nick said, "Hate to burst your bubble, but why did today's killing happen then?"

"I have a suspicion that when we go through the books we'll find some connections," Mike said, "Of course it also could be because it was easy."

"Let's go through some more of this stuff," Chris suggested, "The answer may well be here."

Again, everyone began sifting through paperwork, trying to make some sense of it all. Charts were made of possible connections and lists of things to investigate the next day were made. It was coming together, but the sad fact was that they had a lot of information, and absolutely none of it led anywhere.

The evening passed along and little more was accomplished other than to make everyone tired. Corrie finally curled up on the couch to sleep a little. Mike was barely holding up, since he had slept the least, and Nick was not far behind.

"Ok," Chris said, "Perhaps it's time to call it a night. You guys are way too tired for this."

"Yeah," Mike said, "Let's call it a night. Marcus, you are on call tonight. You actually got a full night of sleep yesterday."

"Sure," Marcus nodded, "No problem."

"I need someone to take me to the inn," Chris said, "I still don't have a car."

"I'll remedy that tomorrow," Mike promised, "We'll get both you and Corrie cars then."

"I'll take him in," Marcus said, "I'm not even going to try to go home tonight. Not in the mood."

"The room they gave me has a second bed," Chris told him, "Want to crash there?"

"That works," Marcus agreed.

"I'll take Corrie home," Nick volunteered, "She lives a block from me anyway."

"Ok," Mike nodded, "Nick, you and Corrie get a good night's sleep. I don't want to see you in any earlier than ten. Marcus, you and Chris can start when you want, but please get in by eight or nine."

"No problem," Marcus agreed, "I'll give my cell number on the way out. Any instructions for Creighton?"

"I want him to get the profile from Courson," Mike said, "Even if it will be useless."

"I'll work on the picture tomorrow," Nick promised.

"Good," Mike nodded, "That's probably our most solid lead."

Everyone scattered for the night and another day ended. The killer was still out there, and every one of them knew that time was on the killer's side. There would be another murder, nobody knew when.
Chapter Twenty – 'Press Leaks'

The street lights peeked through the blinds of Randall Jay Creighton's little apartment. He sat back in his bed while looking at Julie Styles' blonde mane on his chest. Julie looked at him playfully and kissed his chest a little bit. Jay was still a little surprised that it had gone so far so fast that night, but he wasn't about to complain.

"What are you thinking about?" Julie asked him, "Work again?"

"Yeah," Jay said, "Thinking about that stupid assignment Miller gave me."

"What's so stupid about it?" Julie asked.

"You'd have to know Miller to understand," he said, "He can't stand the profilers, especially the ones over at Courson. I think he just gave me the assignment as make work."

"Why would he waste your time like that?" Julie asked him.

"He doesn't like me," Jay shrugged, "He never has."

"Maybe he's afraid of you?" Julie asked him, "Maybe he doesn't want to give you a chance to get ahead."

"That's a possibility as well," Jay conceded, "He's probably pissed enough that I was right about the press."

"Maybe we should increase the pressure a bit more?" Julie suggested.

"If I go on TV again Miller will get me fired," he reminded her, "He's an asshole, but he's still my boss."

"There are ways to do it without him knowing it," Julie smiled evilly, "My friends at the paper can leak it and just refer to you as a source."

"They won't reveal my identity?" Jay asked.

"Of course not," she said, "Reporters will go to jail first. Besides, you are not the only one who can leak it. They may not even realize it's you."

"If nothing else it'll piss Miller off some more," Jay grinned, "I like this idea. They can't fire me if they can't prove it's me!"

"Exactly!" Julie said with a wide smile, "I know just who to connect you with. That way they cant trace it through me."

"We can do this later though," Jay said, "I can think of more important things to do now."

"Me too," she said as she climbed on top of him.

He smiled up at her form in the dark room as he slid his hands on her waist and held on to her as he entered her. He was so caught up in the moment that he barely even noticed the rough spots where his fingers touched her lower back. In the heat of the moment, the little imperfection of her skin did not seem to matter at all.

***

Nick Jones and Corrie Albiston stumbled into the office around ten after nine in the morning. Neither one of them looked particularly well rested as they had sat around her apartment talking for several hours after leaving the station. Nick had given up on living without the cigarettes for the duration of the current crisis. He was holding a well-used plastic mug filled with coffee in one hand and his lit cigarette dangled from his mouth.

Corrie had obviously just woken up, her reddish hair tied sloppily behind her head. She was dressed neatly, but not carefully. She made a beeline for the coffee machine and poured herself a Styrofoam cup full of Marcus Holbein's horrid brew. She took it straight and managed not to make too much of a face at it.

"I guess the sleep didn't help you two much either," Chris said as he surveyed them, "Seeing what you did yesterday I'm not surprised."

"You know," Nick said as he sat down in his desk chair, "You're too damned calm about this, Gabriel. You also look too damned rested."

"Practice," Chris shrugged, "I've been through this too many times to get excited anymore. I want to make sure we catch him, that's all. As far as sleeping, I don't think I've had more than five hours in a row without alcoholic aid since Reagan was president."

"I take it from the looks that neither of you have seen the paper yet today," Marcus said and tossed a copy over on Nick's cluttered desk, "You do know that there's no smoking in here don't you?"

Nick cocked his eye and scowled at Marcus as he picked up the paper. The headline was big and official looking. It read _Serial Killer Still At Large!_ with a smaller headline saying Police determine killings are related. Corrie downed more coffee while reading the front page over Nick's shoulder.

"Has Mike seen this yet?" Nick asked.

"He hasn't come in yet," Marcus said, "He's going to go ape shit when he sees it though."

"Whoever wrote this story had some damned good sources," Corrie said, "There are a couple things that I didn't know until I read the files last night."

"Too good, makes me wonder if someone talked somewhere," Nick said, "Speaking of someone talking, has Creighton been in yet?"

"No sign of him," Marcus said, "We've been here since just before eight. It's still too early for him anyway."

"I still haven't met him except in passing," Chris said, "Is he as bad as Miller implies?"

"Unfortunately," Marcus sighed, "He's not stupid, at least not completely."

"He's mainly incompetent," Nick said, "He also doesn't have much in the people skills department."

"I've only met him a few times," Corrie said as she sat back down, "He was a prick those times, though."

"So what is the game plan for today?" Nick asked.

"Run down leads on what we figured out last night," Chris said, "It would be nice to be able to run around without you guys though."

"Ditto," Corrie nodded, "I could go try to run down a few records if I had a car."

"I'll get Mike to push through the requisitions today," Marcus promised, "You both need cars with terminals and radios. Hopefully, Mike won't be hell bent on tearing someone's head off when he sees this."

"Looks like forensics has finished its report on the picture," Nick said as he checked his email, "Seems it's a true print, so that's my starting point for today. They got some numbers on the photos, so I'm going to have to do some research on that."

"There's still plenty for me to do here," Chris said, "Corrie and I can finish cleaning up that mess of paper..."

He trailed off as a very pissed off Mike Miller stormed into the room. Chris saw the look in his eyes and chuckled. Miller threw the paper down on the table and sat down in one of the chairs. He rubbed his temples for a second and tried to calm down before actually saying anything.

"I know I probably shouldn't have to ask this," Mike said slowly, "But I will anyway just to be sure. None of you did this, right?"

"Hell no," Nick said, "You know me better than that."

"Same here," Marcus said, "This makes it more difficult on us all to have the press on our ass."

"I'd sooner talk to the cockroaches," Chris told him, "They're a higher form of life."

"I just got here and I like you guys," Corrie said, "I don't particularly want to throw my career away."

"Ok," Mike said, "I believe you all. You've got no reason to do this shit. That leaves city hall and Creighton, and I can let the Mayor's office out. Mayor Gray has been calling me on my cell all fucking morning."

"You think Creighton would risk it again?" Corrie asked, "You tore his head off for it last time."

"Creighton is incompetent," Mike said, "He also thinks he's God's gift to investigation."

"More importantly," Nick said, "He also thinks he can do the job better than we can, despite the fact that he's blown nearly every case he's ever worked on."

"How does someone like that keep his job?" Corrie asked, "I had to bust my ass to get in here."

"One of his relatives is close to the governor," Mike said bitterly, "The commissioner won't let us fire him."

"Fire who?" Jay Creighton asked as walked into the room.

"Your sorry ass if you're the one who is responsible for this story," Mike said as he picked up the paper and threw it at Creighton.

"Not me," Creighton said without even looking at it, "Why would I do it?"

"Why did you do it the first time?" Nick asked him.

"Listen," Creighton said, "We should be working with the press, not against them."

"No," Mike said, "You listen, you incompetent moron! I held those facts in for a reason. I want to be able to weed out the wackos that confess to things like this. You just made that job a lot harder."

"Fuck you, Mike!" Creighton said, "I'm a part of this team and you've been treating me like a goddamned pariah."

"And it's going to get worse for you now," Mike said while trying to keep his voice calm.

"You can't fire me or even have me reassigned!" Jay declared arrogantly, "You wouldn't know a quality investigator if one came in and blew you!"

That statement right there sent most of them into a fit of laughter. Even Corrie could not help but see the humor in that statement. Nick fell out of his chair laughing at that one, while the more subdued Marcus was quietly snickering. Corrie put her head down on the desk while Chris was giving a good hearty laugh.

The only ones who were not laughing were Mike and Jay. They were locked in a stare of hatred that had both of them fighting the urge to pull out their weapon and shoot the other. Miller knew that Creighton had just spent his last day in the squad room.

"Clear out your desk," Mike said.

"You can't fire me!" Creighton taunted, "I don't have to do what you say."

"You're wrong about that," Mike said quietly, "I may not be able to fire you, but I can still choose what to do with you."

"Good," Creighton said, "Give me an investigation."

"I will," Mike said, grinning, "You now have a new job. You're right, Courson was bullshit. Time to make your job worse. I tried to play it easy on you. No more."

"Lay it on me!" Creighton exclaimed.

"Go report to Danny Hunter down in booking," Mike said with a smile, "You get to deal with the mess you've made."

"How's that?" he asked.

"You get to question all the fucking lunatics!" Mike said, his smile growing even wider, "Anyone who tries to confess, you get to talk to them. You have no other job on this investigation."

"This is in between crime scenes?" Jay asked hopefully.

"No," Mike said, "I don't want to see you in this squad room again. If you show up at a crime scene, I'll have you removed. If you talk to a reporter again and I see it, I'll have charges filed for obstruction of justice. I meant it when I said clean out your desk. You won't be using it again, and after this you won't even be allowed into this room."

"You can't do that!" Jay exclaimed.

"I am doing that," Mike said solemnly, "You've got a job. You are to report to me by email. If you do this properly, I'll consider dropping my bid to have you fired and only have you reassigned. Now get your shit and get the hell out of here!"

"You'll pay for this," Jay promised, "You'll rue the day!"

"I'd suggest getting out of here before you say something else," Marcus advised, "Because if he hits you, we'll all swear you swung at him first."

"You wouldn't dare," Jay said simply.

"Try us," Nick said coldly, "You've screwed us all for over a year now. We're not going to take it anymore."

Randall Jay Creighton stood there fuming for a few moments and then went over to his desk and started taking the few personal artifacts that were there. Everyone went rather quiet as he did so, at least until Chris decided to break the ice and start talking again.

"Who's on call tonight?" Chris asked Mike.

"Marcus had it last night and got lucky," Mike said, a slight smile returning to his face, "Guess it's Nick's turn tonight."

"I'll do it again," Marcus offered, "I don't think you and Nick have recovered from the other night yet."

"No need to screw up the schedule like that," Chris said, "If you get me a car today I'll take the run tonight."

"I want to give you a few days to learn the city before you take night duty," Mike said, "But I'll definitely get a car issued to you today."

"Me too?" Corrie asked.

"You're lucky," Mike said, "You're still too new for me to put onto night duty."

"I meant the car," Corrie grinned.

"I'll call the garage in a few," Mike agreed and picked up a piece of paper, "Let's get the schedule down for this week. Nick tonight, Chris tomorrow, then back to me."

"Sounds good," Nick shrugged, "It's not as if it matters. If it turns out to be one of ours we're all getting up anyway."

"This is true," Mike acknowledged, "But with the details that are now public record, we're sure to see a copycat. The on call person's job is to try to weed those out first."

Mike scrawled down names and phone numbers on a list as everyone started to look through paperwork. Creighton finished cleaning his desk out into a box and looked at Miller. Miller ignored him until he was just about to leave and then decided to make Jay Creighton do something useful for a change.

"Jay!" Mike said and walked over to the man, "Drop this schedule at the front desk on your way out."

Jay was about to tell him where to get off when he saw an opportunity. He merely nodded and took the sheet of paper in his left hand. He left the room and walked down to an unused conference room where he went inside and looked at it.

"Well," Jay Creighton said to himself, "Cut me out, will you? Let's see how you like it when I cut you out, Miller."

Creighton picked up a piece of paper from the table and wrote a quick note on it, with instructions to call his cell phone. He imitated Miller's unintelligible scrawl of a signature and checked his work.

"Perfect," Creighton grinned.

He walked out and dropped the paper off just as Miller had intended. He was whistling quietly as he walked down the stairs and away from the precinct that had been his home for several years. He knew he had to report over to the holding areas soon or face some more bullshit from Miller. It was ok. He could wait. He would have his shot soon enough.

Several sets of eyes took notice as Creighton walked by. They watched as he walked away and put his box into his car, and then their eyes went back to the police building.

"He's the first one to emerge," Karen Stone said to Mason, "Should we follow him?"

"Did you see the box?" Mason asked her.

"You think he's been fired?" Jim asked.

"Probably," Mason nodded, "If someone that had worked for me had talked to the press like that one did, I sure as hell would have fired his ass."

"So forget about him I guess," Karen sighed, "You know, Mase, this is a lot like work."

"Let me have my fun will you?" Mason grinned, "You've got books and TV back there. You don't have to watch if you don't want to."

"Daytime television?" Karen asked in horror, "No thanks. I'll take watching this building with you over that anytime."

"I wonder if I can get any porn off the dish from here?" Jim asked as he decided he did not care and went into the back.

"Who are we waiting for anyway?" Karen asked.

"My preference would be Chris Gabriel," Mason said, "I want to find out where he's staying so we can talk to him when the time is right."

"Here we go again," Karen sighed.

"Absolutely," Mason grinned, "Fun, isn't it?"

The look from Karen's eyes managed to convey her negative response to that better than any words could have.

Chapter Twenty-One – 'Photographic Evidence'

Marcus Holbein walked into the squad room with a rather dejected expression. He had gone over numerous leads that day and had found absolutely nothing. He found Nick sitting at his desk looking at something through a magnifying glass. Marcus pulled up a chair to see what Nick was looking at.

"What's going on?" Marcus asked, "Where is everyone?"

"They went to get the cars taken care of," Nick said without looking up, "I think Mike had an appointment to get his ass chewed out by the Mayor too."

"Have you even been out today?" Marcus asked him.

"Nope," Nick said, "I've been doing research on the photograph here."

"The one of you and Mike taken out of the package?" Marcus asked, "Anything good?"

"It's a true print," Nick said, "I'd never been into photography before, but I've learned a lot in the last few hours. It came off the original negative, an actual film based photograph, so it's not a copy of a print or a digital reproduction."

"That should make it easier," Marcus said, "Where are the negatives?"

"They're held down in the depository at the academy," Nick told him, "I checked with them. Nobody has had prints made of this one since I graduated. They have better shots used for newspaper file photos."

"Who had copies originally?" Marcus asked.

"I did," Nick said, "My mother had one and it was framed on her wall until she died."

"What happened to it after that?"

"It's still in a frame hanging on the wall of my place," Nick said, "Been there since I got her stuff."

"Where did your original copy go?" Marcus asked as he looked at the image, "I've seen that one somewhere before."

"It was on this desk," Nick said and then thought for a minute, "Shit. You don't think?"

"Let's go through your black hole of a desk," Marcus sighed.

They dug through the inches thick pile of papers on his desk. Finally they found the frame that had once held the picture. Marcus and Nick looked at each other for a second in horror.

"The killer was here," Nick said, "The son of a bitch was here in this room."

"Let's call Mike," Marcus suggested, "See if he thinks it's worth getting CSI in here."

"Let me make one call first," Nick said and punched in the archivist's number.

"This is Detective Jones," Nick said, "We spoke earlier."

"How can I help you Detective?" the man asked him.

"Do you have the number of the print that was given to me eight years ago?" Nick asked him.

"Hold on a minute," the man on the end of the line said, "That's usually in the computer."

They waited for a few seconds and Nick turned the photograph over and found the printed number on the back. The man came back onto the line and read off the number that had been left by the photo machine on the back.

"Son of a bitch," Nick said, "Thanks."

"No problem," The man said, not sure what to make of it, and put the phone down.

"Confirmed?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Nick nodded, "That's the same photo that was given to me eight years ago."

"Call Mike," Marcus said, "I'm going to go see if we have surveillance tapes for the past week or so."

Nick nodded and punched in the buttons on the phone. Mike picked up quickly and Nick told him about what he just found. Mike was understandably pissed off and gave Nick some instructions before ringing off.

"What did he say?" Marcus asked.

"In between the stream of four letter words?" Nick chuckled, "He's pissed. Told me to get CSI down here and to have them give the place a once over."

"Guess we're going to have to close this room off for a bit," Marcus sighed, "Maybe even post a guard."

"Go down and get the blues to cover it," Nick sighed, "I'll call CSI and get a unit up here post haste. Make sure the guards know that Creighton is persona non grata, huh? No need to have him fuck this up anymore."

Marcus nodded and walked out the door. Nick sat down and started making telephone calls to the CSI people. It was going to be another long day.

***

The killer sat back in a chair and watched the news coverage. The night had been quiet, but she wanted to give the media a chance to digest the new killings. The point had been made that nobody was safe anywhere. People were going all over the place and the city was in a frenzy. She most definitely liked this.

"Now to figure out what to do next," The killer said while going over photographs taken of possible kill points.

This killer was a product of the high tech world. Photographs were not the only things she used. She was adept at playing roles and going in to see the security of places first hand. The internet, with a new high-speed data connection into this temporary apartment, was proving exceptionally useful. You could even get high quality satellite reconnaissance data for mere pennies. The killer marveled at the modern world.

She noticed that most of the police encrypted bands were silent about this case. Not surprising, anyone with a basic mode of decryption software could break that band. She smiled at the latest purchase, however. The killer had bought it from a crooked technician at the phone company.

A new model Stingray that not only could impersonate a cell tower, but could be set up to track the cellular phone communications of anyone programmed into it. This particular model could intercept and save conversations of up to five telephones. The best part about it was that it was mobile, connecting to the internet via WIFI or a 3G connection. The whole unit was conveniently the size of a small briefcase.

The photograph had only been picked up on a whim for the hell of it. The real purpose of going into the police station had been to find out the cell numbers of the investigative team. Within minutes of hooking up the device and plugging the cell numbers of Miller, Jones and Creighton the killer was listening to the entire volume of their cell calls. Holbein's number came quickly from caller ID, as it was not on the original list.

"Good work boys," the killer said while sitting back in a recliner listening to Mike Miller curse over the revelation of the intrusion, "Now let's see if you're ready to deal with me."

***

The mood in the squad room was tense as the entire team watched the CSI people go over the entire room with their tools. Miller was displaced from his favorite chair for a few minutes as they went over it with a fine tooth comb.

"I can't believe this," Corrie said, "Why would the killer come here?"

"To prove he could," Chris said, "This one likes to play games."

"That's how we'll get him, isn't it?" Nick asked, "He'll take the game too far and make a mistake."

"Probably," Chris nodded, "I will admit, this one has balls up the wazoo."

Miller growled and sat back in the uncomfortable chair he'd had to take while CSI worked in his office. He was rubbing his temples slowly to try to get his mind back in order. He knew he would have to face the press again soon to try to explain why CSI just spent four hours in his office.

"What are you going to tell them?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know," Miller admitted, "I don't particularly want to deal with them at all."

"Just go out there and tell the truth," Chris suggested.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Miller said, "About this?"

"They'll find out anyway and make it worse," Chris said, "It will also throw the killer off guard. This son of a bitch is expecting us to stonewall. Creighton's little number last night pretty well clobbered any chances of using that evidence to weed out idiots. Might as well use it to throw sleeping beauty off guard."

"I'll have the schedule the conference tomorrow," Mike said, "I don't want to deal with it now."

"That's the best bet," Chris agreed, "Don't face the press angry. They'll pick up on it."

"You sound like a political consultant," Nick said, "You know that, Chris?"

"You sort of have to be one in this type of case," Chris said, "Investigation is easy. Dealing with the consequences of the investigation is the hard part."

"What did you guys get done before this?" Mike asked the rest of them, changing the subject.

"I went down and talked to someone I knew on the beat," Corrie said, "Barry and I were often called in to take care of disturbances in the club where Rios worked."

"They actually talked to you?" Nick asked, "That's unusual."

"We saved them some trouble a couple months ago," Corrie told him, "The guy that runs the place owed me one. He answered the questions I asked, though he'll never repeat it again in a courtroom."

"What did you find out?" Mike asked, "We'll probably never have to use most of it in a courtroom."

"Sweet little Teri was a little whore on stage," Corrie said, "She would really get into it with the other girls and even go down on guys in the back room once in a while."

"Great," Marcus sighed, "Her parents are going to love to hear that one."

"No need to spread the news," Mike said, "Especially without proof. Did you get anything else out of them?"

"She had been hassled by four guys in the time she'd worked there," Corrie told him, "They weren't reluctant at all to give me their names, as they'd long since worn out their welcome."

"Great work kid," Mike smiled, "You're getting the hang of this quick."

"Thanks," she said.

"All right," Mike said to the others, "Reports?"

"Nothing here," Marcus sighed, "I finished up the interviews of family and day workers at the internet place. Nobody has any clue. They're still working up a list of clients that hated their guts. It'll be a long list."

"When do they expect to have it?" Mike asked him.

"Tomorrow," Marcus said, "I'll start working on it then."

"Ok," Mike said, "What have you been working on, Chris?"

"Going through files of known deviant killers," Chris told him, "Seeing if this sick puppy has been active before."

"You know that end better than I do," Mike nodded, "Run with it. Got any suggestions about what else to do with this investigation?"

"Actually, you're handling it about as well as you've been able," Chris told him, "That idiot Creighton has probably done more damage than anything else, but you couldn't help that."

"I know," Mike sighed, "Don't remind me. I've been dealing with the repercussions of tossing him down to the sharks."

"Political heat?" Chris asked him.

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "Though when I told the commissioner what he had done he didn't fight me much."

"So is it a night of Pizza and death pictures?" Nick asked.

"Just so long as it isn't bad Chinese again," Marcus said, shuddering when remembering his bad dinner last night.

"No," Mike said, "We're not doing this to ourselves every night."

"You'll burn out if you do nothing but stare at the pictures," Chris agreed, "Especially when we have nothing that's even relevant to the killer."

"Dinner at O'Malley's?" Nick suggested, "Introduce Chris to the place?"

"I'm up for it," Marcus nodded, "Though I'm going to try to go home tonight."

"Corrie?" Mike asked, "You want to come along?"

"Sure," Corrie nodded, "I'm in."

"You buying?" Chris asked with a grin.

"The department is buying yours," Mike laughed, "So come on."

They gathered their stuff up and got ready to leave when one of the CSI people went over to Miller. Mike told the rest of them to move on and that he would meet him there. Mike stayed put for a minute to see what CSI wanted.

"What's up?" Mike asked.

"We haven't found much here," the leader of the team said, "A few stray prints, but those probably belong to the janitors. How thorough do you want us to be?"

"Give it a good run through," Mike said, "Especially around Nick's desk. Compare the fingerprints and give me a list of who touched what."

"Ignoring your people, right?" the leader asked hopefully.

"You can exclude everyone but Jay Creighton," Mike said after a moment of thought, "I want to know what he's been up to as well."

"Define everyone?" the man asked.

"Myself, Nick Jones, Marcus Holbein, Chris Gabriel and Corrie Albiston," Mike said, "You can also let out Colby Chandler and Terry Moore."

"You want a full list of anyone else and what they touched?" the man asked.

"Yep," Mike nodded, "Especially any unidentified prints."

"You got it," the man told him, "I'll put the report on your desk."

"No," Mike said while shaking his head, "Encrypt it and email it to me."

The leader of the CSI team nodded and went back to work. Miller left the building and nodded his head to the young officer who was standing duty in front of the door. The officer nodded back and then went back to his magazine, bored senseless at having to guard an empty room.

Mike walked out to his car and drove to O'Malley's, parking in his usual spot in the lot. He walked up to the door and then turned around. He had this eerie feeling that he was being watched. He eventually shook it off and went inside to join everyone else at the table.

Little did Miller know that he was right, he was being watched. Mason Stone was watching O'Malley's through a pair of binoculars from the back of his van that was parked across the street. Karen was sleeping in the bed down below him and Jim Entragian was watching the area through a hidden camera on the television screen.

"Looks like they're all having dinner together," Jim said, "Do these people do everything together? Gabriel hasn't been alone since we picked up on him today."

"Probably," Mason said, "Looks like a friendly group. We'll probably have to catch him at his hotel."

"That's if he's staying in one," Jim said, "He could be staying with one of them."

"Entirely possible," Mason acknowledged, "Let's just hope that we get one break here and can talk to Chris alone tonight."

"All this work to get in on a case that will never be solved," Jim sighed, "No wonder we go through identities like water."

"We all need hobbies," Mason grinned as he continued to watch the place through the binoculars.

Jim scoffed and flipped the TV to one of the porn stations he managed to get off the dish. He sat back and watched people gyrate on the screen as he used a little joystick to calibrate the dish hidden in the roof of the van. Mason ignored the television and kept his eye on the bar, hoping that Gabriel would go out alone.
Chapter Twenty-Two – 'And Mason Made Three...'

Blissfully unaware of the surveillance of the place from the outside Miller and company took their usual corner table in O'Malley's. Mike kicked back in his usual place in the corner, while Marcus sat against the wall. Corrie and Nick, fast becoming the best of friends, sat together on one side of the table while Chris sat where he could see all of them.

"I see you guys come here a lot," Chris said, "Do any of you eat at home?"

"If you'd met my wife you'd understand why I rarely go home," Marcus laughed.

"Yeah," Nick chuckled, "I gave up on cooking for myself years ago."

Corrie sat back and smiled while taking a pull from her beer. She took part in the conversation, but her eyes kept going towards Nick. It was a mutual attraction, for he was looking at her too. It was hard not to notice the attraction that the two police officers had for each other.

After a while someone turned on the jukebox and the music drowned out a little of the conversation. People were getting up to dance, and Corrie and Nick were no exception. Mike, Chris and Marcus laughed as they watched them go.

"Look at them," Mike said, "They're just dancing up a storm."

"Nice to know someone can put this out of their mind," Chris said.

"Did you sleep last night?" Marcus asked him.

"Not really," Chris said, "But then I rarely do nowadays. Too many old memories."

"Been doing this for too long?" Mike asked him.

"Most of my life," Chris admitted, "But I wouldn't be who I am with the family I have if it hadn't been for this type of thing."

"That's a scary thought right there," Mike chuckled, "But I guess we all have our life changing events."

"That's the way life goes," Marcus agreed.

The jukebox switched discs, and a heavy rock number came on. It was one that both Chris and Marcus knew well as their kids loved it. Marcus had never cared for it so much, but Chris actually rather liked it.

"Damn!" Marcus swore.

"What?" Mike asked.

"I've had this nagging feeling for a week or so that I've forgotten something," Marcus said, "Now I know what it is. I promised to try to get my son tickets for a concert."

"Which one?" Mike asked him, "Anyone good?"

"She's hot," Marcus shrugged, "I don't know about her musical ability. I only hear bits and pieces. Blonde chick leads them, been billboards all over town."

"Cookie Monsters?" Chris asked, chuckling at the coincidence.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "You familiar with them?"

"A bit," Chris grinned, "They playing around here?"

"Tomorrow night according to the radio," Mike said, "If you want tickets Marcus, you're shit out of luck. They sold out weeks ago."

"How many tickets do you need?" Chris asked him.

"Just me and the kid," Marcus shrugged, "Why? You know a good scalper?"

"Not exactly," Chris said.

Corrie and Nick, laughing like kids, came back to the table and collapsed down in the chairs. Chris, Mike and Marcus laughed when they saw Nick breathing hard, much harder than Corrie was.

"You out of shape or something, Nick?" Mike asked while trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Smoking too damned much," Marcus observed.

"Be nice guys," Corrie grins, "Give me a little credit. I worked him hard out there on the dance floor."

"Yeah," Nick said and then tried to change the subject, "You guys still talking about that depressing stuff?"

"Nahh," Mike said, "Talking music, actually. Marcus forgot to buy tickets to the Cookie Monsters concert tomorrow."

"Didn't know you were hot for Cookie?" Nick said, "Not that I blame you much."

"I saw her in concert back when I was in the academy," Corrie told them, "One of my friends there had won a set of tickets off a radio contest. The show kicked ass."

"I nearly went a couple years ago," Nick nodded, "Didn't know if I'd be able to get the time off to go to the show this time so I didn't buy tickets."

"You guys want to go to the show?" Chris asked.

"No way you'll get tickets now," Nick said, "Not at a price any of us can afford at any rate."

"Wanna bet?" Chris asked with a wide grin.

"Sure," Nick grinned, "What do you want to bet?"

"If I can get us all tickets for the show," Chris grinned, "You buy all six of us an expensive dinner before the show."

"Six?" Nick asked.

"Marcus's kid," Chris said.

"I don't think you can do it," Nick chuckled, "I'll take that bet. I'll only pay off for good seats though. Nosebleeds aren't going to cut it."

"This is going to be good," Marcus grinned.

"I hope you have extra cash around," Corrie grins, "Chris looks too sure of himself."

"Way too sure of himself," Mike said.

"Can I borrow your phone, Nick?" Chris asked with a wide grin on his face.

"Sure," Nick said and handed the little mobile over.

Chris dialed a number that he'd memorized long ago. He did have an ace up his sleeve. The Cookie Monsters were headed by none other than Cookie Morris, someone who he'd known for most of his life. She was nearly murdered by his brother twenty-five years before during Jerry Healy's murderous rampage. She was saved only by Chris's timely intervention and at the cost of taking a knife in his side. She'd returned the favor several times over the next days as they tried to stop him.

"Hello?" came the hesitant voice of Cookie's manager over the telephone.

"Hiya Celia," Chris said, "Is Cookie nearby? It's Chris."

"Sure," Celia Saliban said once she recognized his voice, "She's having dinner in the other room. Let me see if she wants to talk."

"Tell her that she'd better," Chris chuckled, "Otherwise I'll sic Carrie on her."

"Ok," Celia chuckled, "She wouldn't want that."

Everyone at the table looked at Chris in wonder. Everyone except for Nick. He had a sinking feeling that he was about to lose that bet and lose it expensively. Corrie smiled at him and felt his pain.

"Buck up," Corrie said, "I'll be nice and get the cheapest thing on the menu."

"Not me," Marcus laughed, "I'll get the most expensive cut of meat they have."

"Chris?" Cookie Morris said over the phone, "Is that you?"

"It's me, Cookie Monster," Chris affirmed, "How are you doing kiddo?"

"Not bad," Cookie said, "I've been meaning to take a little time off to come out there and see you and Carrie. Been a busy year, you know?"

"I know it," Chris said, "I just finished another book myself."

"Cool," Cookie said with a smile, "So what prompts a call?"

"Just found out that we're in the same city at the same time," Chris said.

"Oh God," Cookie said, "They've got you out here investigating Sleeping Beauty, don't they?"

"Know me too well," Chris admitted, "Yeah, figured I'd see if I could get in to see the show."

"Who did you sucker bet into buying dinner first this time?" Cookie asked.

"Nick made the bet willingly," Chris laughed, "Why shouldn't I get a good dinner out of it?"

"Uh huh," Cookie laughed, "How many tickets do you need?"

"Six should do it," Chris grinned.

"I'll be busy with the talk show circuit tomorrow, but Celia will be at the hotel and will have them by then," Cookie said, "They're yours provided you all come backstage so I can meet them. I'll have Celia get you six passes as well."

"I think Marcus's kid will love that," Chris said with a smile, "Besides, it's been too long anyway. I'd love to see you."

"Carrie coming along for the ride?" she asked.

"No way," Chris sighed, "You know how she is about this sort of thing. She can barely even talk about Jerry now, let alone a new one."

"True," Cookie sighed, "Ok. I'll see you tomorrow night then, after the show?"

"Count on it," Chris agreed, "See you later kid."

They both clicked off the line, and Chris handed the phone back to a very stunned Nick. Nick just looked at Chris with that patented 'What the fuck?' look of his. Marcus, Chris and Corrie were laughing hysterically.

"Front row seats tomorrow night," Chris said with a smile, "Where are you taking us to dinner?"

"Where do you know her from?" Corrie asked.

"There's something about saving a girl from a homicidal maniac that tends to make her willing to give you front row tickets whenever you want them," Chris told Corrie.

"Wait a minute," Nick said, "I read a lot of the entertainment papers. I've never read anything about an incident like that. It would have made the national news."

"She wasn't famous when it happened," Chris told him, "I saved her from my brother when we were both fifteen."

"Your brother?" Everyone asked in unison.

"Wait a minute," Mike said, "When was this?"

"Running on a quarter century ago now," Chris said, "We were both teenagers then."

"Jerry Fucking Healy," Mike said, "I remember reading about that mess when I was in high school. He was your brother?"

"Not something I'm proud of," Chris admitted, "It was a mess from all around. It's one of the reasons I still do this. I like to try to make sure nobody else is ever put in the same position I was put in when I was a kid."

"If memory serves the cops dropped the ball badly on him," Mike said, "You even went so far as to tell them exactly what happened and they didn't believe you."

"A moronic cop named Jim Calysto ran the investigation," Chris told them, "Acted a lot like Jay Creighton, truthfully. His people skills were just as bad, but his boss was worse. To make things worse he also had a thing against teenagers as well. Hated my guts from the start."

"How did you get him?" Corrie asked, "Or did the cops do it?"

"Jerry was outside of their comprehension," Chris said, "The cops didn't know him as well as I did."

"So you had to stop your own brother?" Mike asked.

"I had no choice," Chris said and then shook his head, "It's history now. My fucking brother is dead and so are his victims. I guess I just look at it as my mission in life to use what I learned from that to catch pricks that think like him."

"That my friend," Marcus said and held up his beer, "Is a thoroughly depressing thought to end the night with. I think I'm going to go give my kid the good news."

"Going to go face Margie tonight?" Nick asked him.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "I want to see the kids tonight. I'm assuming that we're going to get to go to the show right?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "Unless a murder happens during the show, but I'm sure that I can take care of the scene until the show is over regardless."

"Let's hope that isn't necessary," Marcus said as he stood up, "All right. Adieu ladies and gentlemen. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Odds are that I'll be there before all of you."

"You usually are," Nick chuckled, "If you need to get some sleep you can have the couch again."

"I'll suffer through it tonight," Marcus shrugged, "Later guys."

Marcus walked out the door and left the others sitting at the table. Mike sat back and took another pull on his beer while Chris ordered a refill on his coke. Corrie and Nick sat there in silence finishing their food.

"Ok," Chris said finally, "Where are you taking us tomorrow?"

"Obie's sound good?" Nick asked.

"You think you'll get away with it that cheap?" Mike asked with a laugh.

"C'mon Nick," Corrie chuckled, "You can do better than that one."

"Hush you two," Nick said with an evil grin, "You're not supposed to tell him that stuff."

"From the sounds you'd better choose again, guy," Chris laughed.

"Hmmm," Nick said, "Fine, fine. We'll go to that Italian place over on fifth."

"I'm all for that one," Mike said, "Best Lasagna in the city."

"Sounds good to me," Corrie agreed, "I haven't had good Italian for a long time."

"Ok," Chris chuckled, "Guess that will work then."

"So how many times have you pulled that scam with the dinner?" Mike asked him.

"Usually anytime she's around," Chris laughed, "Especially when there are people around dumb enough to fall for it."

"Nick, I do believe that you fall into that category tonight," Corrie laughed.

"Watch it kid," Nick laughed, "Otherwise I'll make you wear a dress for tomorrow."

"You might get that lucky," Corrie grinned as she leaned back in her chair, "But if I wear a dress tomorrow you have to actually be a gentleman and open the door."

"Now this is something I'd have to see," Mike said, "Nick is about as much a gentleman as I am."

"Heh," Nick said, "I'm sure I can out-gentleman you any day."

"We'll see," Mike laughed.

"I'll tell you what," Corrie said to Nick, "I'll wear a nice dress for the concert and we'll see just how well you do."

"This should be good," Chris grinned, "Can't wait to see it, but since I have to I think I will go back to the motel and get some sleep."

"Night man," Mike said, "You can find your way around now, right?"

"Sure," Chris nodded, "I bought a map this afternoon. You have my cell number so you can get a hold of me if you need me."

"You coming in at 8am tomorrow?" Mike asked.

"I may be a little later," Chris said, "I'm going to go in first thing and see if I can get access to the current FBI indexes of wanted criminals. It's a long shot, but I want to see if there's anyone known out there that matches our lunatic's MO. I know Spike from way back, he'll let me at the bureau's database."

"I'll call you if anything happens," Mike nodded, "I do want you there before I deal with the press tomorrow though."

"Call me when you find out a time," Chris shrugged, "I'll give you advice beforehand, but you can't pay me enough to face those Jackals. I don't even want my involvement public."

"That's fine," Mike chuckled, "I might just put you on an earpiece so you can give me advice."

"If you like," Chris shrugged as he got up to leave, "You guys take care tonight, eh?"

"Always," Mike said, "Later Chris."

Corrie and Nick said their farewells as Chris walked out of the bar and grille. Chris unlocked the loaner police car he had been issued and looked around him. He also had the feeling, correct as it turns out, that he was being watched.

Mason Stone smiled as he saw the former sheriff leaving alone at last. He had Jim Entragian start the motor of the van and pull out into the street. Mason went to the front passenger's side and kept an eye on Gabriel's car as they drove down the street.

"Take the tail slowly," Mason warned Jim, "He's a cop and he's wary. No need to get a whole contingent of police on our ass."

"We should have gotten a second car," Jim told him, "This sort of stuff always works better with two cars."

"Not enough time," Mason said, "Besides, I'm fully planning on breaking the tail anyway. I just want him to be alone when I do it."

"What are you going to do?" Jim asked, "Go up and tell him that you're planning on butting in on his investigation?"

"Yep," Mason grinned, "That's exactly what I'm planning on doing."

"You know, Mason," Jim said as he switched lanes to take cover advantage of another car, "Sometimes I think you really are insane."

"At least I know how to get a little fun out of life," Mason chuckled.

"So do I," Jim shrugged, "Give me a bottle of Jack Daniels and a fifty-dollar hooker and I'm set for the night."

"Don't sell yourself short, Jimbo," Mason said as he kept watch on Chris's car, "Go for the hundred dollar hooker next time, we can afford it."

"I've done that," Jim shrugged, "I find the fifty-dollar hookers give better head."

"Do I even want to ask why?" Mason asked him.

"They're more used to working for their money," Jim grinned evilly, "They want to make sure they get paid so they do a better job."

"You're a truly sick man, Jim," Mason said, suppressing a smile, "You know that?"

"Thank you very much," Jim laughed, "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Shut up and drive the fucking van," Mason grinned.

Jim kept the van at a fair distance back and managed to make it look like he was not following too close to Gabriel's unmarked unit. Gabriel parked in front of the Inn and walked inside, barely taking notice as Jim parked the large conversion van in a parking lot across the street.

"Ok," Jim said, "What next?"

"See you later," Mason said as he opened the van door, "Time to go make contact."

"Alone?" Jim asked.

"Safest way," Mason shrugged, "If Chris turns against us for some unknown reason it'll be up to you and Karen to get me out."

"She'll be thrilled with that, let me tell you," Jim sighed, "Ok. Go talk to the man."

"Don't sweat it," Mason said, "I'll be back later."

"You know how to find me," Jim said as he closed the blinds on the van, "I'm going to get a few hours of sleep."

Mason nodded and jogged across the street. He went into the motel and dodged by the front desk, hoping to catch Gabriel before going into his room. Mason saw Gabriel limp down the hallway and turn a corner. Mason followed quickly, trying to at least see which room he went into.

Mason turned the corner and was surprised to not see Gabriel around anywhere. He walked down the hall slowly and looked around. After passing the cracked door of the Janitor's closet, he stopped and growled. Mason had hoped he would not have to try to get it from the clerk, but it was beginning to look as if he would have to.

Mason turned his back to the closet door and was about to walk back down the hall when the door flew open and Chris Gabriel jumped out, weapon in hand. Before Mason knew it, he was against the wall with the barrel of the weapon jammed against his neck. Mason knew better than to fight; he simply raised his hands.

"Kindly don't shoot me, Chris," Mason said, "I don't think either of us would enjoy it very much."

"Stone?" Chris asked, turning him around to look at his face, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Social call?" Mason asked with his usual grin.

"Bullshit," Chris laughed, "It's been too many years for this to be a social call."

"Can we go somewhere a little less public to do this?" Mason asked, "And can you remove the gun from my throat please?"

Chris nodded and put his gun away. They looked around and made sure that nobody was out and around before going to his room. Chris turned on the lights and sat down on the bed and started rubbing his bad knee. The jump out of the closet had hurt it again, a bad thing because his doctors had already been bugging him to have it replaced.

"You ok?" Mason asked as he sat down in the easy chair.

"Damned knee gets worse every year," Chris said, "Nothing new there. It's been bad since my brother smashed it so many years ago."

Mason nodded. He reached for his pack of cigarettes and then noticed that there was no smell of smoke in the room. He sighed and put them back in his pocket. He looked at his old friend sitting on the bed. It was depressing for him to see how everyone he knew was getting older.

"You're looking tired, Chris," Mason said, "This new one is as bad as the press says, isn't it?"

"I should have known that's what brought you into town," Chris sighed, "I take it Karen and Jim are not far behind?"

"They're here," Mason said, "Didn't know how you'd take seeing me again after so long."

"Depends on what your intentions are, I guess," Chris said as he sat up a little higher on the bed, "The last time we worked together it was a true mess."

"I want to help," Mason said, "Nothing more."

"How can you help?" Chris asked.

"You know my qualifications," Mason shrugged, "I can check things out quietly where the police can't. I can also dig in places that you can't."

"I'm not going to argue with that," Chris agreed, "I just remember your methods aren't always the most legal."

"I'm effective," Mason grinned, "That may be why I go through identities like water too, but we won't go into that. I still know how to play cop though. Karen was a criminal psychologist so she could be useful in that regard."

"You will have to keep a low profile," Chris warned him, "At least one of them will recognize you from what we worked on before."

"Who's that?" Mason asked.

"Marcus Holbein is part of the investigative team," Chris told him, "It's one hell of a coincidence you showing up like this. He and I were talking about you two yesterday."

"The detective out of Seattle?" Mason asked, "Shit, I knew he looked familiar for a reason."

"If you get involved with this you'll have to keep Entragian on the sidelines," Chris warned, "I don't know how Miller will react to your presence either."

"Let me handle Miller," Mason grinned, "I'm sure he won't fight you too much."

"Do I even want to know?" Chris asked.

"Let's just say I met Miller a number of years ago," Mason said, "He won't have as much baggage with me as Marcus will though. We left things rather raw in Seattle."

"I can imagine," Chris nodded, "Where are Karen and Jim anyway?"

"Out in the conversion van we've been living out of," Mason said, "We'll probably find a place to park it and get a civilian vehicle in the area."

"Do I want to know how you're funding this?" Chris asked.

"Criminal activity pays well," Mason grinned, "So does stopping it when you take the profits away from them."

"I was right," Chris chuckled, "I really didn't want to know. All right, as far as I'm concerned I'll be glad to have you around. Extra manpower always helps, especially since they don't have to pay you. You'll have to clear things with Miller before he lets you see a crime scene or the files though."

"I bet he's a mite skittish," Mason nodded, "He's had some bad leak problems. We've been watching the local news channel feeds off the satellite for a week now."

"Randall Jay Creighton," Chris said, "He shouldn't be a problem now. Miller essentially threw him off the team. He's been demoted to dealing with the wackos that always come out and confess to this stuff."

"If it had been me I'd have fired his sorry ass," Mason said, "Miller must be going soft in his old age."

"Miller wanted to fire him long ago," Chris shrugged, "I think Creighton has some really high level political connections that are keeping him employed."

"One of those fun situations," Mason laughed, "Makes me glad I don't work in a bureaucracy anymore."

"You too?" Chris chuckled.

"Can I ask you one favor though?" Mason asked.

"Sure," Chris nodded.

"Can we make use of your shower tonight?" Mason asked him, "We haven't had time to do a sewage dump in the van and limited time showers get a mite annoying after a while."

"Sure," Chris shrugged, "Feel free. I haven't seen them in a long time anyway."

Mason made a quick phone call to the mobile in the van. Karen and Jim were knocking at the door within minutes. Much as their paths ran in different directions, Chris was actually glad to see Mason's company show up. He knew that Mason was a highly effective individual and getting another talented brain on this could definitely not hurt.

Jim took the first shower while Mason, Karen, and Chris discussed the details of the case. Chris gave them the basics, knowing that he would get a good view out of them even if Miller did not want them on the case. After a couple hours of conversation and long showers for all three of them they retired out to the van. Tomorrow was going to be another day.
Chapter Twenty-Three – 'Red Herring'

Two men sat in a car looking at a simple suburban house somewhere near the edge of the city limits. They were parked at the edge of a cull de sac watching a little house. The one in the driver's seat was especially nervous at the time, his black sneakers shaking along with the rest of him. The other one was calm and smoking a cigarette.

"Cool down," the calm one said, "It'll be over soon."

"I just wish the bitch would go to sleep," the jumpy one said, "I want to get this shit over with."

"Remember the rules," the calm one said, "Put your fucking gloves on."

The jumpy one nodded and put on an expensive pair of leather gloves. He looked and then saw that the lights in the little house finally turned off. The calm one looked at the nervous one and sighed. It was time to do the dirty work.

"It's time?" the nervous one asked.

"Let's do it," the calm one nodded, putting out his cigarette.

They stood up and got out of the late model sedan. The nervous one was carrying a crowbar while the calm one was carrying a knife. They jogged up to the door and the nervous one was about to bash it in when the calm guy stopped him. With the large knife he had in hand he slipped the door lock and pushed the door open.

"Think before you do," the calm one said, "Now let's get this over with."

They went in and directly went for the back bedroom. The nervous one knew the place very well, having spent a lot of time here. He led the way and opened the door. The girl had taken some sedatives just before going to bed and did not even notice the new presence.

The girl was very pretty and had not worn much to bed. The nervous one lost a little of his jitters when he saw her lying naked there. He went over and fondled her loose breast a little bit. He looked over at his partner and smiled.

"You know," he said, "It's a shame to waste this."

"That's what got us into this mess in the first place," the other one said, "She's your fuck up. You take care of her."

"You're right," he said with a sigh, "Let's do it."

With that he raised up his crowbar and brought it down on the woman's head. She never even knew what hit her. He brought it down a few more times until the back of her head was a pile of mush and gore. He was panting, and sweating when he finished and let the crowbar drop onto the carpet.

"Now that felt good," he said and the nerves started to kick in again.

"Now let's get this done right," the calm one said, "Start breaking things."

"What are you going to do?" the nervous one asked.

"I'm going to carve her like a Christmas turkey so they'll include her in the victims list," the calm one said, "Now get your ass to work on ransacking the place."

The nervous one tore the place apart, kicking things and breaking things. The calm one worked on the corpse with a surgeon's precision, removing pieces and making it look good. He then turned the corpse over and placed what was left in a sitting position.

The calm butcher thought about what to do next and then smiled. He lifted the dead girl's arm and put it against the wall behind her. He put her hand palm against the wall and folded the thumb and three of the fingers behind the hand, leaving the middle finger extended up into the air. He then rammed the knife through the hand, pinning it against the wall.

"Beautiful," the calm murderer said with a smile, "How are you doing?"

"All set," the nervous man said, "Let's get out of here now, huh?"

"We need to make with the spray paint," the calm one reminded him, "They won't believe it is related without that. It's the one thing that all of them have had in common."

"All right man," the nervous guy said, "Let's do this quick though. That corpse is giving me the willies."

They both pulled out a can of spray paint and started in on the walls. They did three rooms worth of idiotic banter. None of it made any sense at all, but it would play well and give the impression that this killing was being done by the same lunatic that has been leaving bodies all over town.

"Ok," the nervous one said, "Now can we get the hell out of here?"

"Absolutely," the calm one agreed, "It's time."

"Good," the nervous one said, "Let's go."

They left the house quickly and drove a few blocks away in their car. The calm one was doing the driving this time and he drove slowly and carefully out of the area. He guided the car towards the riverfront and a specially selected warehouse. They went back to the riverside portion of the warehouse and parked the car.

"Ok," the nervous nelly asked, "What next?"

"Strip down and put your clothes in that barrel," the calm one instructed him, "All of them."

"What am I supposed to wear?" the nervous man asked his partner.

"There's a set of sweats on the seat of my car," he said, "But let's get this car taken care of first."

They drove the car to the edge of the riverfront down to the boat ramp. He started the car in drive and let it idle down towards the water. A swift kick in the bumper sent the car sliding into the water, where it sank minutes later.

"Put the rest of your clothes into that barrel," the tired killer said, "Let's start the fire and get the hell out of here."

The nervous man nodded and complied quickly, throwing his clothes into the barrel. The still calm leader of the duo went over to the barrel and duplicated the feat, dumping the last of the gasoline on top of their sets of clothing. He struck a match and tossed it into the barrel afterwards, getting dressed in the light of the burning clothing.

"Ok," the calm man said, "Go home and go to bed. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Yeah," he nodded and went to his car. He was gone in seconds.

The calm man shook his head and lit a cigarette. He stayed a few more minutes to make sure the clothing was burned to the point of being unrecognizable. When he was satisfied with the work of the flames he tossed his cigarette butt at the barrel and walked off as it missed and hit the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Four – 'Creighton's Gambit'

Randall Jay Creighton woke up to the harsh beeping of his mobile telephone at nearly three in the morning. He sat straight up with a smile on his face as he picked up the tiny cell phone he had placed prominently on his bedside table. He answered authoritatively and listened to what the night officer at the front desk told him. He scrawled down an address on a notepad and threw on his clothes quickly. He had a crime scene to go to and he did not intend to be late.

Listening to the short conversation on the mobile phone tap the killer, the real killer, listened to this report of a new crime with interest. Copycat crimes were to be expected, but not this early in to it. The killer was not happy that someone was trying to cut into the action. Just as Jay Creighton was doing across town the killer quickly got dressed and ready to go into action.

Jay Creighton was able to get dressed faster than the killer was and managed to get out of his place first. He turned on the lights and sirens on his car and raced through the streets in a way that he had always enjoyed doing. He finally had a reason to drive fast and a crime scene of his very own. Something that Miller had never allowed him to have before.

"I'm going to show him," Creighton thought, "After this he'll have to realize he was wrong about me."

The killer had no illusions about Creighton's ability. Days of listening to him had proved Creighton's lack of common sense, something that the killer was actually hoping to use to an advantage. Instead of rushing to the crime scene that Creighton had been given the killer went first to Lieutenant Miller's apartment. Two silenced pistol shots ensured that he would not be driving anywhere anytime soon.

Creighton arrived quickly. The only people who were already there were the two patrol officers who had responded to the suspicious persons complaints. The only reason they had found the body so early was that the copycats had left the door wide open with spray-painted messages visible from the doorway. Creighton parked his old style black and white unit at the curb and paused for a second to get his nerve up.

The next stop for the killer was Marcus Holbein's house. Four more silenced shots disabled both the cars in the detective's driveway. A few blocks more took the killer to Nick Jones' unlisted apartment. The dilapidated car he drove was not particularly hard to find and two additional bullets made certain that Nick would be delayed in any response that he gave.

"What have we got?" Jay asked Thomas Richards, one of the two patrol officers who had found the body. His partner was rather busy throwing up in the bushes.

"Single corpse," Richards said, "Spray paint on the walls and the body is posed, just like in the notices."

"Who else is coming out here?" Jay asked him.

"Additional blues are on the way sir," Richards stated, "I'm at your disposal."

"I know you are," Creighton said arrogantly, "Have you searched the area for the perps?"

"No sir," Thomas Richards said through clenched teeth, immediately disliking Creighton, "We called it in as soon as we found it."

"Then I suggest you begin searching," Creighton said, "I'm going in to look at the scene."

"Are you going to call the ME sir?" Richards asked.

"They can wait," Creighton shrugged, "The dead don't need doctors. Get started on the perimeter."

"What are you doing?" Thomas asked again, realizing something was amiss.

"None of your business," Creighton said, "Do as I tell you and make sure the killer is gone."

"Yes sir," Richards sighed and went around the house. He knew better than to argue with a superior, especially if the superior was an idiot.

Jay Creighton walked into the house and looked around with his flashlight. He had been around crime scenes for many years but had never bothered learning the lessons that Mike, Nick and Marcus had been trying to teach him during that time. He made several mistakes right off the bat, first one being that he forgot to put on his gloves.

He looked at the walls and knew that he had what he wanted, one of the crime scenes under his control. Mike, Nick, Marcus or Chris would have realized quickly that this was a pale imitation, but Creighton's limited powers of observation coupled with his intense desire to prove himself blinded him to the obvious.

"About time," Jay smiled as he walked into the other room.

He looked at the dead woman closely, uncaring about the damage that had been inflicted on her. He touched the knife in the wall and most everything else around her. He even looked for a pulse despite the fact that it was perfectly obvious that the back of her skull had been caved in.

He tripped over the crowbar while walking around the bed and managed to touch more stuff. He got himself up and walked back out of the house trying to decide what to do next. More black and white units rolled up and he went on with setting up the perimeter, the one part of the job he knew really well, as it was the usual place Miller put him.

The killer drove by the place twice while watching Creighton fumble around the crime scene. Further units arrived and she pulled into a driveway just around the corner from the scene. The killer's parking spot allowed a direct line of sight through a couple of nearly bare trees on the corner lot. The killer did not hold much hope of Creighton figuring out who was responsible for this one, but there was hope he would screw it up enough to make things interesting.

Barry Rockwell and his new rookie partner reported to the scene about an hour after Creighton had taken over. Most of the blues were doing what they were told and trying to ignore the lone asshole cop, but Rockwell was a thirty-year veteran of the streets. Having worked in three major cities over the years and seen hundreds of crime scenes he knew that something was seriously amiss with this situation.

"Does this jackass even have a clue as to what he's doing?" Rockwell asked Thomas Richards.

"Not likely," Richards said with a sigh, "But he outranks us. What can we do?"

"Hey Barry," Rockwell's new partner, Lonnie Delvecchio put in, "Isn't your last partner working on this case now?"

"Corrie?" Barry said thinking, "Yeah, she was pulled out by Miller earlier this week. Word is that Sleeping Beauty is his only job right now."

"I tell you this," Thomas said through clenched teeth, "If he gives me another stupid ass order, I'm going to cap him and claim the killer showed up and did it."

"Why don't you call Corrie and see if you can get her to put a word in with Miller to get this guy out of here?" Lonnie asked, "He obviously doesn't know his way around a crime scene."

Barry nodded and went to his car. Lonnie and Thomas followed him and watched over in case Creighton came out and tried to interrupt the telephone call. Barry dialed Corrie's home number and hoped that she would wake up to the phone.

Corrie Albiston growled softly as she fumbled to the other side of the bed for her telephone. She knew now that the second beer had been a really bad idea as her head was pounding quite badly from it. She picked up the phone and managed to get out a single word greeting.

"Sorry I had to wake you up Corrie," Barry said, "It's Barry."

"Barry?" Corrie asked, her head coming back into focus a little, "What's up?"

"Were you yanked out by Miller to work on Sleeping Beauty?" Barry asked her.

"You called me up to ask me that?" Corrie asked incredulously, "You know I can't talk about an ongoing case."

"I know that Corrie," Barry said, making allowances for the fact that he had woken her up, "This is important. Are you working on that case?"

"Yeah," she said finally, "Why?"

"Because you may want to get on the phone to your boss," Barry told her, "I'm out here at a crime scene that looks like it's related."

"Call the precinct," Corrie told him, "They'll get the on call man. I'm too new for that stuff."

"That's already been done," Barry said, "That's the problem."

"I don't follow you, Barry," Corrie said, "If our guy is out there what's the problem?"

"Your guy is the problem," Barry said, "He doesn't know his way around a crime scene and he's pissing off a lot of the rank and file here. He hasn't called in the ME like he's supposed to and he's an arrogant motherfucker to boot."

That statement made Corrie sit straight up. Barry was one of nicest guys she had ever met and he rarely used profanity that strongly. He was also usually a pretty good judge of character and that description just didn't sound like Nick, who was supposed to be on call.

"That doesn't sound like Nick," Corrie said softly after a moment.

"Nick?" Barry said, "That isn't Nick Jones working the scene."

"Who is it?" Corrie asked.

"Detective Randall Jay Creighton is the name that was told to me," Barry told her.

"Oh shit!" Corrie exclaimed, "Please tell me that you are kidding?"

"No, why?" Barry asked her.

"He's not supposed to be anywhere near a crime scene," Corrie said, "Miller all but fired his sorry ass yesterday."

"He's the one that the precinct sent," Barry said, "What do you want us to do?"

"Just hold on," Corrie told him, "Stay by your phone. I'm going to call Nick and tell him what's going on."

"I can hold on," Barry said, "But I have some people here that are about ready to kill him."

"You won't get any complaints out of me," Corrie said through gritted teeth, "Just remind them that they'll have to clean up the mess. I'm going to call Nick now. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Thanks Corrie," Barry said.

"Don't thank me yet," Corrie said, "It may take me a few minutes to get someone down there."

Corrie stood up and stretched out a little bit. She looked for her notepad in the kitchen and found Nick's home phone number. She wished she had thought to grab a list of home numbers of the whole team before. She punched his number in on the phone and listened to it ring about eight times before he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Nick's weary voice asked.

"Nick, it's Corrie," she said, "I think we have a problem."

"What's up?" he asked her, waking up a little.

"Creighton is running a crime scene," Corrie said.

"Good joke," Nick said, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I'm not kidding," Corrie said, "I just got a call from my old partner."

Corrie explained what Barry had just told her and Nick damn near hit the ceiling. He questioned her and was wide awake by the time she finished the story. He growled at the thought and thought about what to do next.

"Corrie," Nick said, "Head down there. Get Barry to give you directions. I'll meet you down there and call Mike on the way. Creighton has gone way too far this time."

"What do I do if I get there first?" Corrie asked.

"Take over," Nick told her, "You're part of the investigative team. As of yesterday he was not. At least try to distract him long enough for either me or Mike to show up. If any heat results from it, I'll take it. You're following my orders."

"Ok," she sighed, "I'm on my way out the door."

"I'll be right behind you," Nick promised.

While Corrie called Barry for directions Nick pulled himself out of bed and threw on some clothes. He found his mobile phone and called Mike's place. Miller answered on the fourth ring and sounded groggy.

"If you aren't tall and blonde then you're going to die," Miller said into the phone, "You just interrupted a wonderful dream."

"Sorry Mike," Nick said, "But I've got a more pressing problem than your sex life."

"We got another one?" Mike asked him, snapping more awake when he recognized Nick's voice, "How many bodies?"

"I don't know yet," Nick said, "I'm just about to go there."

"So why are you calling me?" Mike asked.

"Because I wasn't called for it," Nick said, "I just got a call from Corrie."

"She's there?" Mike asked, wondering what happened.

"Not yet," Nick sighed, "Creighton is out there. Her old partner called her because the blues are about to revolt."

"You didn't just say Creighton was out there, did you?" Mike seethed.

"Fraid so," Nick said, "I'm getting dressed now and she's on her way out there."

"I'm getting up too," Mike told him, "I'll wring his neck if he's screwed up that crime scene."

"I told Corrie to take over if she got there first," Nick said, "I know she's new, but she's smarter than Creighton."

"I've met corpses smarter than him," Mike said, "Get down there. I'll be there as soon as I can drive safely."

"Right," Nick said and rang off the line.

The killer laughed while hearing the surprise on the phone. The killer had no idea how Creighton was called for the case, but if nothing else it was going to be worth it for the entertainment value. She wished for a bucket of popcorn and a better view, as it was going to be great to see it when the girl showed up. Especially since Miller and Jones were not going to be there anytime soon.

Nick threw on his jacket and ran out the door. He was unlocking his door when he realized that the car was leaning backwards in a more severe angle than usual. He looked at his rear tires and realized that his car was not going to be moving anywhere any time soon.

"Shit!" Nick cursed and wished he had Corrie's cell phone number. He sighed and punched the speed dial number for Miller's phone.

Mike Miller was looking at the blown rear tires of his own car when his phone rang. He looked at the ID screen and turned it on. He knew instinctively that Nick was in the same boat.

"You too?" Mike asked.

"Your tires are blown too?" Nick asked, "Shit! Do you have a cell number for Corrie?"

"No," Mike sighed, "I forgot to put her in the list."

"What do we do?" Nick asked.

"I'll call Marcus," Mike said, "See if they got him too. If they didn't, I'll send him down there."

"I'll see if I can get a ride down there," Nick said, "If it's not too far from here I'll fucking run down there if I have to."

"Find out which car she's in," Mike instructed him, "Get her on the radio if you have to."

Corrie, not knowing about the problems with Mike and Nick's cars, drove quickly to the address Barry had given her. She drove right by the killer's car and parked next to Barry's cruiser. Barry Rockwell stood up and walked over to her, very glad to see that she had arrived.

"How long has he been here?" Corrie asked.

"A couple hours now," Rockwell said, "He's spent most of that time alone in the house. He hasn't even called the medical examiner yet."

"Ok," Corrie said, "Nick Jones is on his way out here. In the meantime I'm in charge."

"You can tell him that one," Barry chuckled.

"I will," Corrie said, "Nick is backing me on this one and Miller will back Nick. Can I count on you guys to back me on this?"

"Compared to that asshole?" Thomas Richards said, "We'll back you to the hilt."

"I don't believe I got your name?" Corrie asked Richards after extending a hand, "I'm Corrie Albiston."

"I'm Thomas Richards," he told her shaking her hand, "My partner and I were first on the scene."

"Did you call him in here?" Corrie asked, trying to figure out how Creighton was called.

"I followed the instructions in the bulletin," Richards said, "I called the precinct via a landline and they sent him out here. If I'd known better I would have called a standard homicide team."

"Not your fault," Corrie sighed, "Ok. I'm going in to talk to him. We have to get him out of there."

"Is he even part of the team?" Richards asked.

"Sort of," Corrie sighed, "He's not supposed to be on call for this sort of thing, just like I'm not yet. I'm not going to be able to do much yet. We just need to make sure that he doesn't completely destroy the crime scene."

"I'll back you up," Barry promised.

"Me too," Thomas said, "I've had enough of this."

"Count me in," Lonnie Delvecchio shrugged, "You go down, we all go down."

"Nobody is going down," Corrie said, "I'm acting under orders. Creighton isn't. He doesn't have the rank to break you."

"Sounds good to me," Barry nodded, "We'll back you and even if the rest of the blues here don't, they won't interfere. None of them like Creighton."

Corrie sighed and wished she could take a quick drink. She walked up to the house with the three officers a few steps behind her. It was an interesting sight, considering that each of the men were at least five inches taller than her. Barry noticed that she didn't have a flashlight and handed her one so that she wouldn't have to turn on any lights.

"Creighton!" Corrie shouted into the house, "Where are you?"

"Stay outside!" Creighton shouted, thinking it was one of the blues trying to butt in on his thought processes again, "I'll have your badge if you come in here."

"You don't have the power," Corrie said as she walked in and saw Creighton sitting in a chair in the bedroom, "What the hell are you doing here, Jay?"

"My job," Creighton said, "Who called you?"

"None of your business," Corrie said, protecting Barry, "You're not supposed to be anywhere near a crime scene."

"You don't have the right to tell me that!" Creighton exclaimed, "You also don't have any purpose being here. Escort her off the premises, Rockwell."

"I don't think so," Rockwell said, openly defying Creighton, "From the sounds she has more right to be here than you do."

"Orders from Nick," Corrie said, "I'm here to take over. You're the one who needs to leave."

"You?" Jay laughed, "I don't think so. You've been a detective three days. I've been one for over a year. Nick can't make that call either. I hold the same rank he does. You'll have to do better than that."

"You know damn well that if it comes from Nick it comes from Miller," Corrie told him.

"Prove it," Jay smiled, knowing he had nothing left to lose, "Get him down here. Until then, get your ass out of my crime scene!"

"Remove him," Corrie instructed the blues.

"You do that and you'll all go to jail for obstruction," Creighton reminded them.

"What do we do?" Delvecchio asked Rockwell, the senior man.

"I'll back you, Corrie," Barry said, "Let's get him out of here."

"I don't want to lose my job," Thomas said, worried, "What if..."

"Get out of here!" Jay yelled, "That's an order!"

They all looked at each other and knew that Creighton was not going to back down. The crime scene was already compromised and doing more would make it worse. Corrie decided a strategic retreat was in order until she could get direct orders from Miller.

"Let's get out of here," Corrie said, "I have some calls to make."

The three officers followed her outside where she was turning red with anger. Corrie was pissed that she had to handle this alone. She wished she had a direct way to contact Miller, because Creighton was right. Miller was the only one who could directly overrule him as long as Creighton still held official rank.

"What are you going to do?" Barry asked.

"Try to contact Miller," Corrie said.

"Call the precinct and get his number?" Darryl Mifflin, Richards partner asked.

"Good idea," Corrie said, "Thanks Darryl."

While Corrie was trying to find a way to contact Miller directly both Mike and Nick were trying to find ways to get to the crime scene. Miller was exceedingly annoyed that he could not get a black and white to pick him up because most of the extras were at the new crime scene already. He damn near threw the phone when it started going off, but answered it instead.

"What?" Miller growled.

"No luck for you either?" Nick asked him.

"No," Mike said, "Both of Marcus' cars are in the same shape."

"Did you call Gabriel?" Nick asked, "They might not have gotten him yet."

"Shit," Mike said, "I'm too fucking tired for this. Forgot about him entirely. Did Corrie call you again?"

"No," Nick said, "They probably didn't get her for some reason. That's why I'm thinking Gabriel might be all right."

"Ok," Mike said, "Did you find out where it was?"

"Precinct says that it's on the south side," Nick said, "It'll take me three hours by foot."

"Taxi?" Mike asked.

"Not at this hour," Nick said.

"I'll call Gabriel," Mike said, "You keep trying to get a hold of her."

"Did you try calling Creighton?" Nick asked.

"He's either shut off his phone or is ignoring it," Mike said, "Don't worry. I'll either come get you or send someone to get you. I want someone I trust backing me up in case I shoot his sorry ass."

"No argument out of me," Nick said, "I'm sure if we pick up Marcus we can have a full firing squad."

"All right, I'm going to call Gabriel," Mike said, "Do what you can."

It was turning into a full comedy of errors, all of which the killer listened to on the phone. She was laughing hysterically at the situation, which couldn't have worked out better if it had been planned. She decided to play another quick trick and disabled Miller's call waiting, just to make the communications more difficult.

Miller dialed Gabriel's cell number just as Corrie dialed his own number. Gabriel's phone started ringing while Corrie received nothing but voicemail. She sat down on her seat and wondered just what she had to do next.

"Should we try again?" Corrie asked.

"Not without Miller's say so," Barry sighed, "Let's hope we can get him soon."

"I'd welcome being able to talk to Nick again," Corrie said, "I can't get through to him either."

"Well," Barry shrugged, "The damage has been done. We'll just let your bosses clean up the mess."

"Yeah," Corrie sighed.

Meanwhile Chris Gabriel had been woken up and spurred into action. He had hoped to introduce Mason to them in a much more pleasant way, but he needed the extra vehicle. He left the motel quickly and looked for Stone's conversion van.

"Good," Chris said as he saw that both his vehicle and Stone's van were still in running order. He ran over to Stone's van and pounded on the door. Jim's head popped up in the window and he rolled down that passenger side window to talk to Chris.

"What the hell?" Jim asked, "What time is it?"

"Too early," Chris said, "I need to talk to Mason."

"Yeah?" Mason said as he worked his way to the front, "What's up, Chris?"

"A mess," Chris said, "Do you know your way round this place?"

"Sure," Mason said, "I've updated the navigation software too. Why?"

"Another murder," Chris said, "We don't know if it's related or not, but something got screwed up in the command chain. Jay Creighton is running the site. The newbie is on her way out there or is there, but she may not have the ability to displace him. Someone also shot out Mike, Nick and Marcus' tires as well."

"What do you need from me?" Mason asked.

"I'm going to go pick up Miller," Chris said, "I'll get him on site fast. I want you to go pick up the other two, Marcus and Nick."

"I thought we weren't supposed to meet Marcus?" Jim asked.

"He'll live," Mason said, "Hopefully Marcus won't hold a grudge."

"Anyway," Chris said, "I have to get over to Miller's. Here are the other addresses. Tell them I sent you."

"Holbein will believe it," Mason said, "I'll get him first so he can convince Jones."

"All right," Chris said, "However you want to play it. Thanks Mason."

"I told you," Mason said, "I'm here to help. Jim, I'll drive. Wake Karen up and tell her to get dressed."

"You got it," Jim nodded.

Chris went over to his car and pulled out of the parking lot. Mason Stone rubbed his eyes a little as he turned over the large motor in the van. Jim punched the addresses into the navigation computer before going into the back and throwing a pillow at Karen so she would wake up.

"What's going on?" Karen asked as she looked up and saw Jim.

"We're going into action," Jim said, "Actually, playing Taxi to start with. Evidently some of the investigative team's cars were disabled. Chris is going to pick up Miller and we're going for the others."

"Great," Karen frowned, "Ok. Close the curtain and I'll go ahead and get dressed."

"Ok," Jim nodded and closed the curtain around the master bed area that Mason and Karen shared.

Corrie was pacing around the car. Her face was red and she was exceedingly pissed. Her attempts to contact Miller were fruitless. All she was getting were busy signals. She was beginning to wonder just what the hell was going on.

"Nick should have been here by now," Corrie told the core of blues surrounding her, "He was about to leave when I did and he lives a block away from me."

"Something must have happened," Barry said, "Try his house and see if his car went out?"

"I've already done that," Corrie said, "His cell too. It's like both Nick and Mike have gone off the grid. No point in calling Marcus, he won't be home."

"Keep trying Miller," Barry said, "Until we talk to him there's little else that can be done."

"I know," Corrie said, putting her head in her hands, "And Meanwhile that moron is fucking up the crime scene."

"Too late now," Thomas shrugged, "It's already screwed."

"At least Miller will have a reason to bust him out now," Corrie said, "If Creighton is retained after this I might just kill him myself."

"I think you'll have competition for that one," Barry chuckled.

"So what do we do now?" Lonnie asked.

"Wait," Barry said and sat on the hood of Corrie's car.

Mason Stone pulled over in front of Marcus Holbein's house. Karen was awake and sitting in the jump seat behind him. Mason thought about sending Jim into the back and having him shut the curtain, but figured it would be easier if Holbein learned that Entragian was alive sooner rather than later.

Marcus was outside and saw the van stop. Mason stepped outside and lit a cigarette. Marcus was taken aback for a second until he recognized the face, one he had last in Seattle more than a decade earlier.

"Stone?" Marcus said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Playing taxi," Mason shrugged, "I got into town yesterday and Chris suggested you could use some help on this one."

"Great," Marcus said, "Just like in Seattle?"

"That was a different sort of mess," Mason shrugged, "Besides, who are you to turn away experienced investigators who work for free?"

"Good point," Marcus said, "But that isn't up to me."

"Come on," Mason laughed, "We've got to go get your other guy as well."

"They got Nick's car too?" Marcus asked, "Motherfuckers. Wonder if it was Creighton's way of keeping us away."

Mason went over and looked at the tires. He pulled out a large knife and pulled out one of the slugs that flattened them. He looked at it for a few moments and whistled. He squinted and let the cigarette hang out of his mouth for a second. The bullet itself, while deformed, was recognizable for what it was not. It did not come out of any weapon that a policeman would carry.

"Recognize it?" Marcus asked.

"Silenced Beretta," Mason said, "Couldn't tell you which one without further ballistics. As deformed as it is might never be able to."

"That lets out Creighton," Marcus shrugged, "He carries a snub .32."

"Too high class," Mason said, "This baby didn't come from a crude silenced weapon. The silencer was crafted, probably small. Subsonic 9mm ammunition. Shots were probably no louder than handclaps."

"Great," Marcus said, "Let's go get Nick. He's probably going ballistic."

"I'm sure," Mason nodded and got into the van.

"Hiya Marcus," Karen said with a smile, "Welcome to our little home."

Marcus looked around the van and saw that it was much different on the inside than it was on the outside. The outside of the van was dirty and looked like a beat up old Econoline. The inside was much neater and filled with high tech devices. It was an apartment on wheels, crammed into a tight space.

"Miss Hall," Marcus said, "Been a long time."

"The name is Stone actually," Karen said with wry smile, "Karen will do though. We don't stand much on formality."

Marcus looked at her and at Mason. They had not changed much at all in the intervening years. Mason was still tall and lean with a strong but not muscle bound frame. Karen looked almost identical, wearing her hair in the same straight shoulder length cut that she had been wearing for years. She was as lean and trim as Mason was, wearing simple sweat clothes.

"I don't want to know how you pay for this stuff, do I?" Marcus asked.

"We're in the same business you are," Karen said, "When we choose to work that is."

"I've been a cop for years," Marcus said, "I couldn't afford something like this on a bet."

"Freelancing pays better," Mason said as he drove, "It also removes bureaucratic bullshit."

"Can't argue with you there," Marcus grinned, "Probably more fun too."

"Not always," Karen chuckled, "But some habits die hard for him."

"You can say that again!" Jim scoffed from the back.

"Who was that?" Marcus asked.

"Might as well come on out Jim," Mason chuckled, "Better for him to meet the whole team before we get Jones."

Jim came out and sat down at one of the table seats. He smiled at Marcus and kicked back. He pushed his wild hair to the back of his head and stretched out. Marcus had seen him before too, but the memory had faded mostly because of context. The only time he'd ever seen this man's face was in photographs. It took a full ninety seconds for Marcus to remember him.

"You're dead!" Marcus exclaimed when he remembered Entragian, "You're fucking dead!"

"I got better," Jim shrugged, "Unfortunately Strader didn't."

"It's a long story," Mason said, "But in the end Jim made a miraculous recovery."

"I saw the tape and the bodies," Marcus noted, "I know something was up with the Military sniffing around and putting a lid on the Colonel's death. What happened?"

"Like I said, it's a long story," Mason said with a dry grin, "But in the end, the bad guys are all gone and Jim is still here."

"It was a put up job?" Marcus asked, "All of what happened in Seattle?"

"Not exactly," Mason shrugged, "That would be assuming we had a plan. Let's just say the military was looking for something that shouldn't have existed, something Sumner was trying to deliver to Bolantine. Bolantine stopped Strader, but we stopped Bolantine before he could use it."

"I hope it was worth it," Marcus shrugged, "Nothing ever felt right about that mess. The only good thing is that we were about a week away from serving a warrant on Bolantine for some old crimes of his. Saved us a whole shit storm of paperwork."

"I aim to please," Mason chuckled as he pulled over onto Nick's street.

Chris Gabriel and Mike Miller were driving fast through the city streets. Miller rang off the line with Nick and sat back in the car rubbing his temples. He was exceedingly pissed about how this night was going. He and Chris were saying nothing because neither one of them were in the mood to talk. Finally Mike's phone rang again. He looked at the indicator and saw that it was a number he did not recognize.

"This is Miller," Mike said when he hit the on button.

"About time!" Corrie nearly shouted into the phone, "What the hell is going on Mike? Where are you? Where the hell is Nick?"

"Calm down!" Miller commanded, "What is the situation where you are?"

"He's still in control of the crime scene," Corrie said, "I don't have the rank or the clout to overrule him here."

"Shit," Mike said, about to chew her out, but calmed down realizing how new she was, "All right. Who's the lead officer other than him?"

"My old partner is the most senior of the blues," Corrie said, "He's willing to listen, but without orders none of the others are willing to butt heads with him. So when the hell are you going to get here?"

"Ok," Mike said, "I'm on my way and Nick shouldn't be too far behind. Someone had some fun with our cars, blew out the rear tires on mine, his and both Marcus's and his wife's. Chris just picked me up and someone is getting both Nick and Marcus."

"Great," Corrie sighed, "What do I do now?"

"You're going to remove Creighton and secure the crime scene," Mike told her, "Give the phone to Barry. I'll give him his orders."

Barry Rockwell took the phone and listened to Miller for a few seconds. Miller rang off the line and Barry handed the phone back to Corrie with a smile on his face. Lonnie, Thomas and Darryl were looking at each other and wondering what had made him so happy.

"Ok boys," Barry said, "Corrie is officially in charge now. Lieutenant Miller has ordered us to give her all support in removing that asshole from the premises. Other than that, we take our cues from her until his men show up."

"All right!" Thomas exclaimed with an excited hand gesture.

"Ok guys," Corrie said, letting out a deep breath, "Shall we go in and get this over with?"

"Absolutely," Barry said with a smile.

Corrie led the way again, this time much more confident in her support. Barry stood beside her a step back. Lonnie and Darryl followed behind both with a determined expression on their faces. Thomas went around and spread the word of Miller's orders, something that after this much time taking orders from Creighton they were all willing to accept.

"You ready?" Barry asked Corrie.

"Let's do it." Corrie smiled half-heartedly. She was scared out of her mind.

Corrie opened the door and they walked inside. Creighton and two officers were standing around the place gawking at the body. Corrie saw him and her resolve went up. She walked into the room and ordered the two police officers to leave.

"No," Creighton said, "You're the one who's leaving."

"Get out," Barry confirmed, "I'll take the heat."

The two officers who had been with Creighton nodded and slipped out of the room. Corrie walked over to Jay and looked him square in the eyes.

"You now have a choice," Corrie said, keeping her voice a lot more solid than she felt, "You can leave quietly now or I can have these guys drag you out. Either way, you are leaving. These orders come straight out of Miller's mouth. If he sees you here, you're not only going to be chewed out, you're going to be put in jail for obstruction."

"He wouldn't dare," Creighton said with an arrogant smile, "Now get out of here!"

"You're the one who is leaving Creighton," Barry said, "Willingly or not, you'll be leaving this room before you cause any further damage to the crime scene."

"Then you'll have to fucking remove me!" Creighton growled.

"Not a problem," Corrie smiled, "Guess it's going to happen the hard way. Feel free to remove him guys. Anytime you're ready."

"With pleasure," Lonnie said as he moved closer to Creighton.

"I don't fucking think so!" Creighton yelled as he drew his weapon and held it in a clumsy police stance, "Now back the fuck off!"

"Don't do this, Jay," Corrie said, "You've lost this round. Don't go making it worse."

"Put it down, Creighton," Barry said, "You don't want to do this."

Lonnie started going for his own weapon, but stopped when Creighton aimed his shaky hands at him. Darryl backed off a little bit and both Barry and Corrie stood firm keeping eye contact with the very shaken Creighton.

"All my life people like you have been keeping me down!" Jay shouted, "You! My parents! Miller and his fucking idiot cronies Marcus and Nick! I've had it with all of you!"

"You brought this on yourself, Jay," Corrie said slowly, "The world isn't to blame for your problems. You've brought most of them on yourself."

"You would say that!" Jay growled, "You're just as bad as they are. You're the same as those bastards!"

Barry started to say something but Corrie held a hand up to stop him. She knew that the situation was out of control, but she did not want to let go. She had seen men like Creighton all her life. Weak, scared, impotent little men who would not know courage if it were thrust upon them as a gift from the heavens. She was fed up with this one and wanted to talk him down herself.

"Put the gun down, Jay," Corrie said softly, "You can't win this fight. You might wing one or two of us but if you do that you will die. This place is surrounded by cops any one of which would gladly shoot you for doing that."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jay scowled.

"Not really," Corrie shrugged, "I don't want to die anymore than you do."

"You can't know whether I want to die!" Jay screamed, his hold on reality fading quickly.

"Then do it!" Corrie goaded him, "Put the fucking gun in your mouth and pull the goddamned trigger. You know you want to do it! So get it over with so we can work on this goddamned homicide!"

"Fuck you!" Jay Creighton screamed at the top of his lungs, "Fuck you, you cocksucking bitch!"

"Big words for a little man!" Corrie said dryly, "I guess that lets you out though, considering I doubt I could find your cock to suck."

Jay did not say anything else. He straightened up a little and looked at Corrie with a fire in his eyes that he could not control. Creighton realized he had gone too far this time. Now the time had come for him to act. His gun hand stopped shaking and he aimed the pistol at Corrie with a determination in his eyes. She was surprised but knew she had nowhere to go. She thought she was going to die.

Barry Rockwell saw it coming and shouted at Corrie. Darryl Mifflin was the closest to Creighton and jumped into the insane detective's line of fire. Corrie had braced for the impact of the bullet, but that was absorbed in Darryl's flesh. Lonnie Delvecchio caught Darryl as he fell wounded. Barry pulled Corrie back to make sure that she was uninjured.

Creighton realized that he had fucked up severely and came back to his senses a little. He launched himself over Darryl and Lonnie and pushed a still stunned Corrie back into Barry, rushing past them and sprinting out the doorway. It happened so fast that nobody knew quite what to do.

"I'll take care of Darryl!" Lonnie yelled, "Get that lunatic before he shoots someone else!"

Corrie snapped out of it and nodded. She and Barry ran out the door and ran past the stunned officers, just as Creighton had done moments before. Creighton had sprinted over to his car and managed to get inside. Like a lot of cops at a crime scene he'd left his keys into the ignition and he started the car.

"Stop him!" Corrie yelled, "He just shot Darryl Mifflin!"

That got everyone in an uproar. Creighton threw the car into drive and squealed the tires out as he tried to get out of the place. Corrie jumped into her car and started her car up while Creighton squealed his way down the straightaway right near the cull de sac.

Mike Miller and Chris Gabriel were driving at around fifty down the street trying to go relieve Corrie when Creighton's old unmarked police car took the corner at a high rate of speed. Mike and Chris barely had a chance to prepare when they collided with Creighton's car with the airbags going off and throwing both Mike and Chris back into their seats.

Corrie stopped her car by the accident and ran over to Creighton's car. She looked inside at the accident and saw Creighton, bruised and bloodied by the side impact with the door. He was not out cold as he should have been, though. He was reaching for his weapon and trying to bring it up to his mouth. He knew his life was over and intended to end it there.

"I don't think so," Corrie said as she took the gun away from Creighton, "You're not getting off that easy you son of a bitch!"

Creighton wasn't coherent enough to do anything else so he lost consciousness, his head falling down and hitting the horn. Barry Rockwell went over to him and reached inside. Instead of moving him slowly as he would a regular injury Barry punched Creighton in his already shattered jaw, sending the now ex-cop slumping to the passenger seat.

"Rot in hell, asshole," Barry said as left the accident scene to Check on Lonnie and Darryl.

While the drama played itself out the killer sat a few football fields away watching with joy. The killer was not sure what had happened inside the house, but knew that it must have been good. A wide smile plastered the killer's face while driving the little import past the crash scene, completely unnoticed by the people milling around the accident scene.
Chapter Twenty-Five – 'Copycat'

Mason Stone saw the smoke coming up from the crash and floored it until he hit the perimeter. Marcus and Nick jumped out and showed their badges with Marcus telling them to let Mason's people into the perimeter. Karen and Jim threw caution to the wind and followed Marcus and Nick. Mason parked the van at the side of the road and was running in with them.

The ambulances were already there and one of them was attending to the cuts on Miller's forehead. He was still obviously agitated and when one of the EMT's went to Creighton's car Miller shouted at them.

"You leave his sorry ass for last!" Miller shouted at them, "Make damned sure that kid inside is taken care of!"

"He's already on the stretcher, Lieutenant," Lakendra Phillips told him, "They're putting him on the other ambulance. I'm going to take this man out of the car now."

"Keep a guard on him at the hospital," Miller said, "Suicide watch too. I want his ass gang raped in prison for a few years before he has the luxury of death!"

"What the hell happened?" Nick asked, "Where's Corrie? Is she ok?"

"She's over in Barry's car," Mike told him, "Creighton went nuts and one of the blues took a bullet, one aimed at Corrie."

"Shit!" Nick exclaimed and ran over to her.

"Jesus," Marcus said as he looked around, "What the hell?"

"I sent Corrie in with the blues to remove Creighton," Mike said, "I figured he'd leave peaceably. I was wrong. Stupid paranoid son of a bitch pulled out his gun. Corrie tried to talk him down and it didn't work. One of the blues got in the way and got shot for his trouble."

"You're fucking kidding me?" Marcus asked rhetorically.

"I wish I was," Mike said, "It could have been worse. If Chris and I weren't coming around the corner at the time who knows how much damage he would have caused."

"He ran right into you?" Mason asked, "Shit! No wonder he's out of it."

"Stone?" Mike asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You know him?" Marcus asked.

"It's been a long time," Mason said with a nod.

"We were witnesses to a deposition for him for several days," Jim said, "Just after the millennium celebration."

"I give up," Marcus sighed, "Is there any place you haven't been?"

"The question still stands," Mike said.

"We got into town yesterday," Mason shrugged, "Figured I'd see if I could lend a hand. I made contact with Chris last night and happened to be nearby when he needed another person to pick up people."

"Gotcha," Miller shrugged, "What a mess."

"Where is Chris anyway?" Karen asked.

"In the house," Mike said, "There's still a crime scene in there I'm told. Not sure what it's like. Waiting for IA to come investigate this mess now."

"Karen," Mason said, "Why don't you go talk to Corrie? You used to work with officers after shooting incidents didn't you?"

"It's been a few years," Karen said, "But I'm sure I can help."

"Thanks," Mike said, "She could use the talk."

"Is this our boy?" Marcus asked Mike.

"I don't know," Mike shrugged, "I haven't even gone in the house yet. Chris is in there now checking it out. I'm going to have to deal with internal affairs before I deal with that. Marcus, you've got the crime scene for now."

"What about Nick?" Marcus asked.

"You know damn well he's going to stick with Corrie," Mike said, "You and Chris can work this for now. We're still waiting for the medical examiner and for the Crime Scene Investigation team."

"They should have been here hours ago," Marcus said, "Why the delay?"

"Creighton in his infinite wisdom," Miller scowled, "Decided he could do it without them. I don't know what he did for the three hours he was here, but it wasn't much. Probably screwed the entire crime scene. Go on in there and do what you can with it."

"Mind if I go with him?" Mason asked, "You look like you could use an extra hand."

"Go on," Miller nodded, too pissed at Creighton to care, "Just stay out of sight of the cameras if you're not on the force anymore."

"No worries there," Mason grinned, "I'm camera shy."

"Good," Mike said as his phone rang, "Get to work. That's probably Corelli from Internal Affairs. Your job is the new crime. Get with Chris and find out if it's one of ours or if this mess just fell on our heads only because Creighton was a moron. I don't know who the hell you really are Mason, but if Gabriel is recommending you, I'll give you a shot."

Miller then picked up his phone and started talking. Marcus, Mason and Jim started walking up the street towards the house. Jim, the most camera-shy of the group, pulled his hat down tightly over his head as they walked.

"Jesus H. Christ," Marcus said while shaking his head, "Is there anyone on this planet you haven't met yet?"

"Plenty," Mason grinned, "But that number grows smaller every day."

"I bet," Marcus chuckled, "I'm sure I don't want to know how small that number is getting."

The three of them walked towards the house past the car where Corrie, Karen and Nick were sitting. Karen was sitting in the front seat turned around while Nick was sitting next to her in the back. Corrie had just finished telling Nick the whole thing, from her point of view.

"How could he do it?" Corrie asked them both with tears in her eyes, "Why did he have to shoot Darryl? Why didn't he just leave like he was supposed to?"

"Because he's a stupid son of a bitch," Nick said, not knowing what to say to her.

"I've met men like him before," Karen told her, "Chris told me a little bit about him last night."

"I was just doing my job," Corrie said, her mind wandering, "Mike is probably pissed at me."

"He's not mad at you, Corrie," Nick said, taking her hand, "If he's mad at anyone other than that incompetent son of a bitch Creighton it's himself. He's probably out there blaming himself for the shooting now."

"He'll have to wait in line," Corrie sniffed, "I've got the lead in the blame game right now."

"What makes you think that?" Karen asked reasonably.

"I was in charge," Corrie said, "He was my responsibility."

Nick was about to say something but was not quite sure what. He looked at Karen Stone and wondered just who she was. She looked back at him and nodded. He knew that she had to be a psychologist of some sort. Nick simply held on to her hand and decided to let Karen do the talking.

"Ok," Karen said reasonably, "So go through it. What did you do?"

"I got him shot!" Corrie exclaimed.

"Don't focus on that right now," Karen said, "Besides, you didn't shoot him. That idiot Creighton did. Let's go through it. What did you do today?"

"What the hell is the point of this?" Corrie sobbed, not wanting to relive it.

"Humor her, Corrie," Nick suggested, "Let's go through it so we'll have it straight when IA gets here."

"IA?" Corrie asked horrified, "There's going to be an IA investigation?"

"For Creighton," Nick said, quick to try to relieve her on that point, "Creighton is, or actually was, a cop. IA will investigate it."

"Oh my God," Corrie said, looking at Karen, "Are you from IA?"

"I'm not a cop," Karen said honestly, "I'm just here as a friend. I've been through a few of these before."

"But I got him shot!" Corrie exclaimed again.

"Now hush about that one," Karen sighed with her calm tone, "Start from the beginning. How did you get here?"

"Barry called me," Corrie told her, giving in to Karen's kind tone, "He knew I was on the investigative team and he wanted to give me a heads up."

"Ok," Karen nodded, "What next?"

"I called Nick," Corrie said, "I didn't know who else to call."

"What did you do when you got her call, Nick?" Karen asked, trying to get some perspective on the situation for all of them.

"I sent her down here," Nick nodded, seeing where Karen was going, "I was going to call Mike and then follow her down there."

"Only he never came," Corrie cried.

"Why not?" Karen asked, not in an accusatory tone, "What happened?"

"My tires were shot out," Nick said, "Same for the others. Whoever did it knew our cars, but hers was new, so they did not know hers. Might even have gotten her old one in the parking lot."

"Ok," Karen said, "Reasonable enough. So what happened next for you, Corrie?"

"We went in to try to get him out soon after I got here," Corrie said.

"How did that go?" Karen asked her.

"He refused to leave," Corrie said, "They only had my word, which was a vague order from Nick. I didn't have Miller's word so most of the blues were hesitant to do anything, despite the fact that Creighton was a dick."

"I'm guessing that you left the first time and tried to contact Mike," Karen said, "That's what I would have done in your shoes."

"Took me thirty minutes to get a hold of him," Corrie sighed.

"What did he tell you?" Karen asked.

"He was apologetic," Corrie chuckled, "He said that I was in charge. Good laugh that was. Told me to give the phone to Barry."

"He gave orders to the blues right?" Karen asked.

"Yep," she nodded, "He gave them the orders to go in with me."

"So you were just following orders when you went inside, right?" Karen asked.

"I know Mike," Nick said, "He probably told them to drag Jay out kicking and screaming."

"Ok," Karen shrugged, "Nothing wrong yet. Keep going. What happened next?"

"I took the lead and was surrounded by Barry and his officers," Corrie said, "We went in and confronted Jay."

"Sounds like you did what you're supposed to," Nick smiled, "Keep going."

"We went in and talked to him," Corrie said, "He wouldn't leave. I gave him a choice, leaving or having Barry's guys take him. He refused to go."

Karen smiled warmly and encouraged her to go on. Nick gave her hand a tight squeeze and smiled at Corrie. She was still upset but willing to go on with it.

"He refused to leave, even after I threatened him with an obstruction charge," Corrie said, "Barry and the others moved in to remove him and he pulled his gun."

"I still don't hear anything that is your fault, Corrie," Karen said, "What did you do when Jay pulled the gun?"

"I tried to talk sense into him," Corrie said, "I told him the truth. That if he shot a cop he would die."

"What was his attitude?" Karen asked her, "He couldn't have been completely sane at that point."

"He was ranting and raving," Corrie said as she clutched Nick's hand for dear life, "He'd truly lost it. He started raving about how Mike and the others had kept him down. He even blamed me for it."

Corrie started crying again and Nick let her sob into his shoulder. He looked at Karen with a questioning expression. Karen smiled and gave him a thumbs up, her sign that this was the best thing for Corrie right now. Nick nodded and hugged Corrie softly and waited for Karen's next question.

"What happened after that, Corrie?" Karen asked, "What did you do while he was ranting?"

"He was ranting about whether it was worth it to live or not towards the end," Corrie said finally, "So I started goading him on about it. Finally, he started calling me names, finally calling me a cocksucking bitch. The last thing I said before he completely went over the deep end was that he was out of luck there, I didn't believe I could find it."

Nick laughed at that one, liking that line. Corrie remembered the look on Creighton's face as he straightened up. Karen looked on suppressing a smile as Corrie remembered it.

"Keep talking," Karen asked, "What happened?"

"That comment set him off," Corrie said, still crying quite a bit, "His hands were shaking before I said that and afterwards he just sort of hardened up. He looked straight at me, and I thought I was going to die. His hand stopped shaking and the pistol was aimed directly at me."

Corrie started crying harder as she did not want to relive the next moments. Karen knew that getting her to say it quickly would mean less damage in the long run. Nick had been through several shooting incidents over the years and knew what Karen was trying to do. He'd meant to do the same thing, but Karen was much more efficient at the process than he would have been.

"Ok," Karen said, "Is that when Jay pulled the trigger?"

"Yes," Corrie sobbed into Nick's shoulder, "Darryl saw what Jay was doing and tried to knock his gun hand out of the way. Next thing I saw he was down on the floor and Jay was shoving me into Barry."

"I think I can guess the rest," Karen told her, realizing she had said the important part, "You followed him out and saw him crash into Chris and Mike?"

"Yeah," she said and continued crying.

"Corrie," Nick said, "You didn't do anything wrong. You handled it as well as anyone could have."

"Not well enough," Corrie said, "You guys trusted me with this and I screwed it up royally."

"None of us expected Creighton to shoot anyone, kiddo," Nick told her, "If I'd had any inkling that this son of a bitch was that far off his rocker I wouldn't have told you to come here at all."

"Now just tell Mike that one," Corrie sulked.

"He can't blame you for Creighton," Karen said, "And if he's half the commander that everyone thinks he is, he'll realize that."

"I want to go to the hospital and see how he is," Corrie said finally.

"Let me go talk to Mike," Nick told her, "See what's going on here. You going to be ok for a minute?"

"Sure," Corrie nodded.

While Nick and Karen left the car to go talk to Mike, Mason Stone, and Chris Gabriel were looking over the crime scene. Mason, who had seen more bodies than even Chris had, was looking over the corpse closely. Chris, was more interested in the writing on the wall at the time.

"There's something wrong here," Chris said as he looked at the writing.

"You think so?" Mason asked.

"The text is too literate," Chris said, "Our guy never used full sentences."

"The previous corpses," Mason asked Marcus, "Did your guy ever go for the quick kill?"

"Only with the gun," Marcus told him, "He likes to play with the knife."

"This one never suffered," Mason told them, "I'd say that crowbar on the floor that someone kept stepping on was what killed her."

"Look over here," Marcus said, "Notice something different?"

Chris went over to the side of the room Marcus was looking at. Mason gave up on the corpse and looked as well.

"Did you ever work gangs?" Marcus asked both of them.

"No," Chris said, "Only place I did local work didn't have any."

"I spent most of my time as a cop in homicide and swat," Mason said.

"You get a style when you write with a spray can," Marcus explained, "After a while you learn to read people's work."

"So?" Mason asked.

"Look at the writing on this wall," Marcus explained, "And then compare it to the writing on the other wall over here."

Then, Mason and Chris began to see what Marcus was saying. The painting on the walls was completely different. There were different angles in the way the painting was done indicating height differences in the painter as well. They saw in ten minutes of investigation what Jay Creighton had missed in the three hours plus that he had been in the place.

"This is a copycat," Chris said finally, "There's no way in hell our guy did this."

"I've seen all the crime scenes," Marcus nodded, "I'd have to agree."

"Too quick," Mason nodded, "The purpose here was the killing. The rest of it is eye candy."

"You two keep working on the inconsistencies," Marcus said, "I'll go give the word to Mike and see if he wants to pass it on."

"It won't happen," Chris said, "Creighton screwed up the scene too much. We'll never be able to prove who actually did it."

"Leave that to CSI," Mason shrugged.

"I'll be back," Marcus promised and walked outside.

Marcus walked outside and saw Mike standing and arguing with Jericho Corelli from Internal Affairs. Nick and Karen were standing aside and watching as well, not wanting to get in the way.

"He was your man!" Corelli exclaimed at Miller, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I didn't want him here to begin with," Mike growled, "He had orders not to be at any crime scene. I sure as hell didn't tell him to come here and shoot a police officer."

"So what is your excuse for this?" Corelli asked him.

"I don't need one," Mike said, "I wasn't even here. I still want to know which idiot decided that calling Creighton was a good idea."

"Was there damage to the crime scene?" Corelli asked.

"Some," Marcus said, entering the conversation, "Not enough to hide the fact that it's a copycat."

"It's a what?" Miller asked.

"Chris and Mason think it's a copycat," Marcus told them and explained why.

"Shit," Mike growled.

"So how do you want me to play this?" Corelli asked Miller.

"By the book," Mike said, "Interview the witnesses and charge Creighton with attempted murder, jumping the charge to murder if Mifflin dies. Add on obstructing justice at least and Impersonating a Police Officer if you can manage it. I want him in prison for a long goddamned time!"

"Ok," Corelli shrugged, "You really want me to play this one full out?"

"Creighton is an embarrassment and needs to be punished," Mike said, "If you can cut a deal, great. Better for the department, but if it doesn't include jail time it isn't a good deal."

"All right, let me start talking to people," Corelli sighed.

"Might want to start with the blues," Nick suggested, "Corrie is still a bit shook up."

"I'll talk to her later this morning," Corelli told him and then went over.

"Goddamn that fucking incompetent moron," Miller seethed, "What next?"

"How's Corrie doing?" Marcus asked.

"Nick?" Mike asked him.

"She's still shaken," Nick said, "She still blames herself a bit. You need to go talk to her Mike. She still thinks she failed you."

"Just be gentle with her and tell her the truth," Karen advised, "If you lie about anything and she finds out she'll feel worse."

"You a psychiatrist?" Miller asked Karen.

"Yes," Karen said, "Though I'm not licensed anymore. Haven't bothered to renew the certificate."

"She wants to go to the hospital and check on him too," Nick told Mike.

"You two go ahead," Mike said to him with a smile, "I know how you feel about her, Nick. Go ahead and stick with her for a bit. We can take care of the mess on this end."

"We may not be here long anyway," Marcus shrugged, "Like I said before, it's a copycat."

"Somehow I don't think we'll get off that easy," Miller growled, "Nobody is going to take it off our hands now."

"So who works it?" Marcus asked him.

"Until I figure out what to do next, you do," Mike said, "Let me go talk to Corrie so they can get over to the hospital."

Marcus sighed and went back to the house, pulling out his notebook so he could get started on a murder he knew that he had no business working. Mike and Nick walked over to Corrie's car.

"So much for the concert tonight," Nick chuckled as he pulled out a cigarette.

"Fuck that," Mike said with the first smile he'd shown all morning, "After today we're all going to need a break. We're going tonight. I'm not going to let you get out of buying dinner that easily."

"You would say that you cheap bastard," Nick laughed.

"Give me a minute and then she's all yours," Mike said with a grin as he sat down in the car.

"Guess you're pretty disappointed," Corrie sighed as she looked at her boss.

"You did fine," Mike said, "I'm disappointed, but not in you. You did your job. I'm very disappointed in Creighton, but I'm rather used to that feeling."

"You're not mad?" Corrie asked.

"I'm madder at myself than anything," Mike sighed, "I had no business sending a rookie in on this."

"I'm not a fucking rookie!" Corrie said, "I should be able to handle something like this."

"You've never been a command officer," Mike shrugged, "And truthfully, this probably would have happened even if I was here. Probably faster, in fact since I wouldn't have been as careful about it as you were. It sounds like Creighton was completely off his rocker this time."

"Then I compound it and break down," Corrie said, "Everyone must think I'm a washout."

"No," Mike smiled, "We think you're human. Nick is going to take you down to the hospital so you can find out how Mifflin is."

"You don't need us here?" Corrie asked.

"I could use you," Mike said, gratified that she said us and not him, "But I've got Marcus and Chris and they think this is a copycat anyway."

"You're kidding me right?" Corrie asked him, "He went this nuts over a copycat?"

"I don't know," Mike admitted, "He was probably too stupid to figure out that it was a copycat."

"What do you want me to do after I go to the hospital?" Corrie asked.

"You'll spend an hour or two talking with IA about the incident," Mike instructed her, "Nick will stay with you for this so they don't gang up on you. Barry will back you up too, so there's nothing to worry about. If they try to push this on you, I'll back you up all the way to the end. Creighton will not get away with this on my watch. Trust me on that."

"Thanks Mike," Corrie smiled.

"Now get over to the hospital," Mike smiled, "I want you to get this shit done today so we can all go to that concert tonight."

"You got it," Corrie smiled, a shaky smile to be sure, but she was getting better.

Mike got out of the car and looked at Nick and Karen, giving them a thumbs up.

"Take her to the hospital, Nick," Mike said, "You play chaperone with IA for her as well. If they try to push anything at all on her, you call me so I can put a stop to that at once."

"I'll go along for the ride," Karen told them, "Be sure to tell Mason where I am, ok?"

"You're one of Mason's people?" Mike asked, "I should have guessed that."

"Talk to him," Karen suggested, "Now that I've seen what this is about, I think we can help."

"I don't turn down good help," Mike promised, "Especially if it's free."

Karen nodded and got into the car. Nick took the driver's seat and Miller made sure that they were allowed out through the barricades. He stopped to take a quick look at what was left of Chris' and Creighton's cars. He shook his head and walked back inside. He had to see the scene himself before he decided what to try to do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Six – 'Political Bullshit'

After getting an object lesson from Mason and Chris on why this killing was a copycat Miller was called in to City Hall by the Mayor and Commissioner. He had a squad car drop him off at the city garage to get a loaner car. While he was there he also arranged to get his, Nick's and Marcus' cars picked up and fixed. After stopping for a large bottle of Mt. Dew, he arrived at the City Hall to find the usual amount of chaos as he entered the building.

Mike was not dressed for the occasion, being dragged out of bed quickly, but the first thing he walked into was a press conference being held by the Mayor and Commissioner Latham. He growled as he tried to slip into the back room, but the Mayor saw him from the stage.

"Lieutenant Miller!" Mayor Gray exclaimed, "Please come on up here and join us."

Mike did fairly well at hiding the fact that he wanted to rip Mayor Gray's head off as he walked up and stood next to him and the commissioner. Gray continued with his longwinded political hot air while Mike and the commissioner stood off to the side.

"Lieutenant Miller here came from the site of this latest murder by the Sleeping Beauty killer," Mayor Gray said, perking Miller's ears right up and pissing him off, "Can you give us an update on this?"

"Is this indeed a sleeping beauty murder?" one reporter asked.

"What about the reports of an officer being shot at the scene?" another one asked.

Miller scowled at the Mayor as he stood up at the podium. He had been ambushed, and he knew it. He looked at the reporters and tried his best to keep his cool as he began to answer questions that had been posed to him.

"At this time, it is still unclear whether or not this is a related murder," Miller said into the microphone.

"But it does indeed fit the style doesn't it?" Donaldson from the post asked.

"The investigation is ongoing," Miller explained, "It is still too early to make that call."

"What about the shooting reported afterwards?" a smug Derringer asked, knowing that was where the real story was.

"There was a police officer injured on site," Miller said, "I cannot confirm anything other than that until the investigators release the information."

"Did the killer shoot this officer?" Derringer persisted.

"Someone else?" Miller asked, "I've answered enough questions for Mr. Derringer."

"Yes," Holt from the Sentinel asked, "Please answer Mr. Derringer's question."

"Ok," Miller sighed, "Yes, there was an officer shot. No, he was not shot by the killer."

"Do you know who the shooter is?" Holt asked.

"Yes we do," Miller nodded and then spoke too much, "I cannot confirm anymore than that until IA finishes their investigation."

"You mean he was shot by a cop?" Derringer put in.

"Shit," Miller said under his breath, realizing his mistake.

A general murmur among the crowd was spreading, and Miller knew he had to share something else.

"Yes," Miller confirmed, "But the officers identities will not be released until the Internal Affairs has a chance to go over this."

"What happened?" Derringer persisted.

"Sorry," Miller said with a scowl, "That's all I have for now. More will be released later."

Miller shot a look of death at the Mayor and slipped off the podium. Before he could be barraged with any more questions Mike went into the back room, followed by both the Mayor and Commissioner Latham. He stared at both of them as they walked into the room.

"What in the hell was that all about?" Mike asked them, "I thought I was called in about the mess with Creighton, not to be devoured by a drooling horde of reporters."

"The press is a fact of life, Miller," Latham reminded him while pulling out a cigar.

"You handled it well," Mayor Gray, looking nervous as his eyes darted around the room, "Gave out a little too much, but that's ok. It'll get out eventually anyway."

They left that back room and went back to Mayor Gray's office. Gray and Latham sat down in their usual spots, but Miller was still pissed. He decided to remain standing as he looked at the two political animals in their natural environment.

"So what the hell happened to your man out there?" Gray asked.

"Don't you even think about starting it like that," Miller growled, "I take no responsibility for this clusterfuck. I've been trying to get Creighton fired for over a year now. If you'd listened to me before we wouldn't be standing here talking about this now."

"You have a point," Latham conceded, knowing that Miller was right, "How could we have known he was that far over the edge?"

"Nobody knew that," Mike shrugged, "And now Darryl Mifflin is paying for it in the hospital room."

"Did your people screw the pooch?" Latham asked.

"Corrie did the best she could," Mike said, "She was backed by experienced patrol officers and she was one of the best patrol officers we had before I snapped her up. She's new to being a detective, but this had nothing to do with that. It had more to do with Creighton being off his rocker in the first place."

"So what do we do about him?" Gray asked, "How far is the city's ass exposed?"

"What do you mean?" Miller asked suspiciously.

"If we admit Creighton's record it could make us look bad," Latham explained.

"That is not my problem!" Mike exclaimed, "You are the ones who created this mess, not me and not my people."

"That remains to be seen," Gray said, "First we should wait for the IA report."

"Fuck the IA report," Miller growled, "IA will tell the truth. Creighton lost it and shot another officer in cold blood. He needs to be charged and prosecuted accordingly."

"That may not be good for the city," Gray persisted.

"If you even suggest not trying him," Miller said, "I walk out that door and have a conversation with the press on the subject. My people will back me on this, and you'll have an even bigger mess on your hands."

"Is that a threat, Miller?" A very displeased commissioner Latham asked him.

"Yes it is," Miller promised, "It most certainly is."

"I don't like being threatened," Latham said, his eyes locking with Mike's.

"I don't like coverups," Mike told him, "And if I give the press the word that you're willing to try to cover up something like this, what more will they dig up after that?"

"Hey, hey," Gray said with a nervous smile, "There's no need for us to bicker like this. You're right, Mike, we need to make sure that Creighton is prosecuted. But, it may be best for the city to try to work out a plea deal with him."

"Ok," Mike said, "I can see that. I don't like it, but I can see it. As long as this plea includes significant jail time."

"I was thinking more along the lines of an institution," Latham said, cooling down a bit, "You know as well as I do that he needs help."

"Just so long as he's off the streets," Mike told them.

"Enough about Creighton," Gray said, his nervousness returning, "Tell me about this new Sleeping Beauty murder."

"That's the other bone I had to pick with you!" Miller told them, "Where the hell do you two get off telling them it was a Sleeping Beauty killing?"

"It was, wasn't it?" Latham asked, "That's the word I got out of the scene."

"No it wasn't!" an exasperated Miller exclaimed, "It's a fucking copycat. That's why I didn't want Creighton on call in the first place. He's too stupid to read the signs."

"What makes you think it wasn't?" Gray asked nervously.

"The writing was different for one," Miller explained, "Too few victims for another. This victim was also dispatched too quickly for it to be the same killer. I was going to talk to you about handing over to someone else."

"Too much of a coincidence," Latham said, "You work it as best you can. I can't give it to someone else after what Creighton did with it. Do you have an ID on the victim?"

"Jesus Christ," Miller sighed, "It's not like we don't already have enough to do. We haven't had time to find out much about her yet. No, we haven't gotten an ID back yet. There was no ID on the body or in the room."

"We'll assign you another person to replace Creighton," Latham said, deciding he'd heard enough about the victim, "Though you have to keep the overtime down."

"Keep the overtime down!" Miller couldn't believe his ears, "You trying to cut this operation off at the legs?"

"I'm trying not to bankrupt an already ailing budget," Latham lied, "I want your people out by six today. I saw other people milling about the site too. I gave you authority to hire only one additional person."

"The others are not being paid. They're experts that Chris knew and were willing to look at things to help," Miller said, getting even more pissed, "Listen, this one may have been a copycat, but the real guy is still out there! I need time to work on it."

"That's fine," Latham told him, "Keep the overtime down and stop wasting your time talking to me about it."

Miller stormed out of the room and left Latham and Gray alone. Gray looked nervously at the commissioner as soon as everyone was out of earshot. Latham smiled and sat down in the comfortable chair in the office while blowing smoke rings into the air to piss off Gray.

"You said he'd never be able to tell!" Gray said, "The bitch hasn't even been dead six hours yet and Miller already knows it was a copycat."

"Relax Gary," Roger Latham, "Miller is the best, we both knew that. And you're the one who authorized him to bring in that expert."

"It would have been bad form not to authorize that," Gray sighed, "You know that as well as I do."

"We've got to live with it now," Latham told him, "Keep your cool and don't say a word to anyone. As far as the world is concerned, Courtney was a little slut that was selling her ass for profit. Nobody can legally prove anything different. Even Miller won't spend an inordinate amount of time on this one. Especially since he thinks it is a copycat."

"That really doesn't make me feel better, you know that?" Gray said as he slumped into his large desk chair.

"Relax," Latham smiled, "Tomorrow you'll be announcing your candidacy for the Senate and I'll be running for your job in the special election that results from your resignation. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and smile."

"Right," Gray sighed, "And pray that Miller doesn't dig too deeply."

"The Creighton fiasco will keep him busy," Latham smiled, "And the lack of overtime authorization will keep his force unable to focus."

"How bout some pressure from the press?" Gray asked with a smile.

"In what way?" Latham asked him.

"Stephen Derringer is looking to hang Miller from the nearest light pole," Gray told his partner in crime, "I can always give him some ammunition."

"Now you're thinking like a senator," Latham laughed, "Give the bastard a call."
Chapter Twenty-Seven – 'Dropping the Pieces'

Corrie and Nick paced around the hospital waiting room for nearly two hours waiting for some word on Darryl's condition. Karen had been through it too often to let herself worry about it, though she did spend some time with Darryl's wife trying to calm her down. Cheryl Mifflin, a young woman with a small child, was crying and had Karen's arm around her shoulder.

After about three hours of waiting a doctor came out to tell them what was going on. The young doctor looked tired, and he still had blood on his shirt that had to have come from the surgery.

"Mrs. Mifflin?" the young doctor said.

"I'm Cheryl Mifflin," the crying young woman said.

"Darryl is going to live," The doctor assured her, "The bullet missed his heart completely and punctured a lung. Luckily he was shot with a low caliber standard bullet, and not one of those manstoppers most people carry nowadays."

Cheryl wept with relief and collapsed on to Karen's shoulder. Corrie smiled and leaned against Nick's shoulder. He smiled and looked at the doctor.

"Thank God Creighton was an idiot and never upgraded his pistol," Nick said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"That's probably the only thing that saved Darryl's life," the doctor admitted, "That cannon you carry would have killed him."

"What is the next step?" Karen asked the doctor.

"Rehabilitation," the doctor said, "He'll be on his back for a while, but barring something completely unexpected he'll make it now."

"When can I see him?" Cheryl asked.

"He'll be sleeping for a few more hours," the doctor told him, "But you can go sit with him in recovery in about ten minutes."

"Thank you," Cheryl said.

"I'm going to go with her," Karen said, "You two going to be ok on your own?"

"Yeah," Corrie said, "Thanks for talking it out with me, Karen."

"No sweat," Karen smiled, "Nick, you hang with her, ok?"

"I will," Nick assured her, "Though we're probably going to have to go in a few."

"If you meet up with Mason tell him I'll call the mobile when I need a pick up," Karen told them before following Cheryl towards the recovery room.

"Will do," Nick nodded.

While Corrie and Nick watched Karen go down the hall someone else was going into Jay Creighton's room. Julie Styles looked at the man she had been seeing and goading along for months lying in the hospital bed. She pulled back the hard chair and sat down near his head.

"Jay," Julie said with a smile, "It looks as though you've had a very bad day."

Creighton was unable to say anything as his jaw had been completely wired shut. He merely looked at her with fully open eyes. Being under the complete suicide watch his arms were firmly strapped to the rails of the bed, as were his feet. He had been docile so far, but it was not unknown for people who had blown it this bad to try to kill themselves by any means necessary.

"I know you can't talk, Jay," Julie said to him, "So all I want you to do is listen for a while."

Creighton could not even nod his head, but his eyes were focused on the lady.

"The lawyers will try to talk to you soon," Julie said, "The city is going to be quite embarrassed by the stunt you pulled, so they will try to sweep it under the carpet. You'll be a scapegoat, of course."

She did not know exactly how right this was, but she figured it sounded good. She smiled at him and tried to decide the best thing to say to the man. She knew it had to be good because he was not the most stable man even at the best of times.

"First thing to do is keep your mouth shut," Julie said, "They'll waste a week just trying to figure out if you're crazy or not. Sit here and let your body heal. I looked at your chart before I came in. Your jaw will be wired for a few months, but your body isn't hurt too badly. You should be able to walk very soon."

Creighton looked at her wondering just what she was referring to. He knew that there was no way to get out of the mess he'd walked in to.

"Trust me, Jay," Julie said as she stood up, "The times, they are a changing."

Creighton grunted a little, but Julie said no more as she walked out of the room. Jay could do little but watch her. Despite the dire predicament he knew he was in now he would follow her advice. Anything to just be able to see her walk like that just one more time.

Julie Styles walked down the hall knowing that eyes were watching her backside and not her face. That was the way she liked it. She knew that when she wore tight clothing nobody could ever recognize her in a lineup. It worked for her this time as well. She walked right by Nick and Corrie who were still sitting in the waiting room.

Nick looked at the parts of her that were prominently on display, just as he was supposed to. Corrie saw her face, but it didn't mean anything to her. She looked back at Nick who seemed to have only eyes for her again once the blonde bombshell was out of sight.

"Earth to Nick," Corrie said, "What do we do now?"

"Well," Nick said, "Probably the best thing to do is check with Mike and see what he wants us to do next. You ready to go back to work?"

"Yes," Corrie nodded, "I'm mad. I want to get this son of a bitch. I know it wasn't the killer's fault that Creighton did this, but damn it I want to get this person."

"If it wasn't for him Creighton wouldn't have had a chance to go this nuts," Nick agreed, "Let me make a quick call."

Nick hit the speed dial on his phone and started ringing Mike. Mike picked up on the third ring and grunted a greeting into the phone.

"Caught you on the news earlier," Nick said, "How did it go with the commissioner?"

"We're stuck with this one," Mike growled and then told him exactly what went down and why they think it's a copycat, "No worries about the concert tonight though. He's denying us overtime for now."

"You're kidding me!" Nick said, "Is he insane? We get overtime even during normal times."

"Gray was with him," Mike said, "Something is not right about this one, but I'm still not sure what."

"Shit," Nick said, "What do you want us to do?"

"Corrie in any condition to work?" Mike asked.

"She's raring to go," Nick assured him, "Darryl Mifflin will be ok. Karen Stone is sticking with Cheryl Mifflin for a bit. What do you want us to do?"

"You and Corrie have the only police car," Mike told him, "I don't want Chris or Mason doing any official work, so that leaves you. I'm hitching a ride down to the impound garage to get our cars taken care of. You two go meet with the others at the site and start working the copycat. See if we can take care of it quick since we have nothing on the other killings."

"And be done by three?" Nick asked.

"Screw them," Mike grinned, "We work 'til six, then you buy us all dinner."

"Fuck you too, Miller," Nick laughed.

"I'll probably be fighting with impound for the rest of the day," Mike said, "Call my cell if you need me."

"Will do," Nick agreed and got off the phone.

"Back to the scene of the crime?" Corrie asked.

"We're going to do the field work since you have a car," Nick told her, "We need to go coordinate with Marcus."

Arriving back on site was a difficult experience for Corrie. She shivered as she saw the house again in daylight. Nick parked her car in nearly the same spot she had been before.

"You going to be ok?" Nick asked her.

"Yes," Corrie resolved, "I'm not going to let one lunatic's actions keep me away from the job I know I'm good at."

"Good," Nick smiled, "Let's go."

They walked up to the door and flashed their identification to the officer standing out front, though Corrie did not really need to. The first words out of his mouth were about Darryl. Corrie smiled and told him the good news that Darryl would be all right before entering the house.

Mason and Chris were still rifling through the young victim's things while Marcus was conferring with one of the CSI people. The body of the young victim had been removed, but the bloodstains and the tape marks where her body had been lying were still visible.

"Ok," Nick said, "Who was she?"

"I don't have a clue," Marcus said, "We've been tearing this place apart for her identification and we can't even find a name for the woman."

"Not even any mail?" Corrie asked.

"No license, no mail, nothing," Mason said, "I've been rifling through people's lives for years and I can't find a damned thing."

"We're waiting on prints," Marcus told them.

"Guess that shoot's Miller's plan out of the water," Nick growled, "Without a name there's nothing for us to go out and investigate."

"Who owns the house?" Chris asked.

"Tax office would have that information," Corrie said, "Let me give them a call."

"I'll do that," Nick said, "There are already three men searching this damned place. Go ahead and give that woman's touch of yours."

"Great," Corrie said, "Wading through blood, great fun, thanks Nick."

"Welcome to rookiedom," Marcus laughed.

"Your day will come," Mason promised as he moved to the next shelf on the bookcase.

"Who are you, anyway?" Corrie asked.

"I'm freelance," Mason explained, "I got into town last night. My name is Mason Stone. You've already met Karen."

"Oh," Corrie said, "Yeah. Karen told me to tell you that she was going to stay with Cheryl Mifflin for a while and that she'd call the mobile when she needed a pickup."

"Jim can go get her later," Mason nodded and pulled out the next book to begin sifting through.

"Is she your wife or what?" Corrie asked him.

"I guess you could say she's my common law wife," Stone acknowledged as he was going through her copy of War and Peace, "We've been using the same last name for years now."

"That doesn't mean much," Marcus chuckled, "Since neither of you were born with that name."

"A name is a name," Mason shrugged as he put the volume back on the shelf.

Corrie nodded and went into the bedroom. CSI had finished while she and Nick had been at the hospital so she was able to go through things without worrying about destroying evidence. She crouched down and looked at the bloody spot and then realized what was missing.

"Where is her purse?" Corrie asked.

"We haven't found one yet," Marcus said, "Any ideas?"

Corrie stood up and walked outside of the house for a minute. She looked at the location of the driveway and walked over to the car. She smiled and looked into the late model Japanese sedan. There was a purse sitting on the front seat. She went over to a cruiser and borrowed a slim jim. She had been on the streets long enough to know how to open a car like a pro.

"Come to mama," Corrie smiled as she picked up the purse and walked inside.

The look on the men's faces as she walked in carrying the purse was priceless. None of them had thought about checking the car.

"It was in the car," Corrie explained, "Wedged between the seats. Looks like she came in the house in a hurry last night."

"Good work kid," Mason said, "Care to do the honors?"

"Go ahead, Corrie," Nick nodded.

She readjusted the plastic glove on her hand and unzipped the large gaudy purse. She felt a little trepidation in going through the private belongings of another woman, but this particular woman was in no condition to complain. She pulled out the first object and identified it for the men.

"Birth control pills," Corrie said, "Next, I think we all can identify this."

Corrie pulled out an industrial size box of Trojan condoms. The box held a hundred packets, and it was over half-empty. Nick let out a little whistle when he looked inside.

"Looks like someone was having a little fun," Nick said.

"Working girl," Entragian said when he saw that, "High class prostitution in the age of aids. Most of them will use pills on top of condoms to make sure they don't have a kid with one of their johns."

"Redundancy?" Marcus asked, being completely unfamiliar with that side of the business.

"That and disease prevention," Entragian, being the expert on prostitutes, continued, "She might have one john that pays for the bareback privilege regularly or she rode bareback with her boyfriend. Either way, I'd say this girl was a working girl. Probably a moderately expensive one considering how pretty she was and where she's living."

"Trust me," Mason said when he saw the faces of the others, "Don't ask how he knows. You don't want to know."

"Gotta live life to the fullest," Entragian grinned.

"Next," Corrie said, shaking her head and pulled out the wallet, "We have the prize. Our corpse's name was Courtney Diffley Sivetson. Twenty-four years old and won't see twenty five."

"We know more than the neighbors do now," Marcus said as he looked at the license, "All of them had seen her and drooled, but none of them had ever found out her name."

"I bet if you ask them again you'll find she had a lot of men over one at a time," Entragian put in, "Girls like this don't work in bars or cheap motels. They either pay visits to businessmen on their lunch hour or they stop by here to do it on that large bed in there."

"Probably a bit of both," Corrie said, "What type of clothes in the closet?"

"Professional," Chris said, seeing the logic, "Something a secretary would wear."

"She may have been a secretary that just liked to get around," Marcus cautioned, "We may be wrong."

"I'm betting we're not," Mason said, "Jim. Go on out to the van and run a full credit check on Miss Sivetson. See if you can get her tax records too."

"We can't do that," Marcus told him, "That's illegal."

"It's illegal for a cop to do it," Mason smiled, "That's why I don't work for any agencies. I don't care a rat's ass about if it's legal, I just want the results."

"Now wait a minute," Marcus said.

"Do you want the information or not?" Mason asked him.

"It'll be quicker than requesting it through channels," Nick said, "I didn't hear him say where it came from, did you?"

"Mason?" Jim asked.

"Go for it," Mason instructed him.

Jim looked over the cards for a few moments to memorize the name, birth date and social security number. He slipped out the door and headed off to the van while the rest of them kept going over the stuff in the purse.

"Ok," Corrie said, "Why would our killer want to off a hooker?"

"I still think it's a copycat," Chris said, "So the real question is why would someone want to off a hooker and cover it as another serial killing victim?"

"Gotta admit it makes a good cover," Marcus sighed.

"Maybe the killer is getting sloppy?" Corrie asked.

"Explain the two types of writing then?" Nick asked.

"True," Corrie slumped.

"Ok," Mason said, "Remember the basic rules of why a person kills."

"Refresh me," Marcus said.

"Money, necessity, or emotion," Mason said, "A robber or a hit man kills for money. A person might kill in self-defense, or upon threat of exposure. That's necessity. Then there is the emotion factor. Someone might kill a lover upon being shunted or kill an enemy for pure hate."

"I think we can rule out money here," Corrie said as she pulled out a wad of bills from the purse, "Her cash is here and her jewelry is still in the other room."

"That leaves necessity or emotion," Mason said.

"This is too elaborate for emotion," Nick said, "Lovers kill with something handy. They don't bring spray paint and a crowbar from outside. This may be a copycat, but it wasn't a hasty one. They took their time. They just didn't give us enough credit, or they didn't know enough about the crimes."

"And that leaves us with necessity," Marcus said before Mason could, "Who could need to get rid of a prostitute that much?"

"Her pimp?" Corrie asked and then answered her ringing cell phone.

"No," Nick said, "I've worked with operations like that before. Harry had a number of whorehouses. They don't kill people like this. It's easier to just dump them in the bay. Less evidence and less fuss."

"So who then?" Mason asked, "This is your town."

"I still want to know who she worked for," Marcus said, "That may answer a few of these questions."

"She officially worked for Silas Shipping Company," Jim said as he walked into the room, "IRS was very cooperative for a change. Idiot in Wyoming is still using his daughter's name as his terminal's password."

"What did you find out about Silas?" Mason asked him, knowing that he would have yanked as much as he could out of the networks.

"They're a front," Jim said as he showed Mason the printouts, "Maybe Kosmo could have pulled out who they are a front for, but I don't have the time. Her credit record sucked, so unless I miss my guess Silas owns this house as well."

"Good call," Corrie said as she got off the phone, "This house is owned by a Silas Products Limited, listed as a rental company. They pay the utilities as well. Nobody in the local tax office has ever heard of Courtney Sivetson."

"Five will get you ten that Silas is nothing more than a PO box and paperwork," Mason said, "We'll go that route. We're better equipped and less hindered in that sort of investigation than you are."

"Less hindered how?" Marcus asked.

"People will tell us things that won't be told to the cops," Mason shrugged, "And since I'm not a cop, but acting as a pure informant, it's admissible."

"And a good defense attorney will get anything questionable tossed by a liberal judge," Marcus reminded him.

"Anything I get can be duplicated by legal means," Mason said, "We don't leave traces either. Besides, you'll never find out any other way."

"Go on your own," Nick said, "We don't want to know what you're doing."

"I work better that way," Mason smiled, "Jim, hop on that computer and dig a little more. We're going Silas hunting."

"We'll start tearing apart public records on Courtney Diffney Sivetson," Nick said, "Mason, call me anonymously with any tips you can give."

"Will do," Mason said and slipped out the door.

"I'll finish up the notes and search here," Marcus sighed, "Be careful with Mason, eh? He's dangerous."

"He's dangerous," Chris agreed, "But he's good. The man is a bloodhound when he wants to be."

"I'm not so sure about the morals though," Marcus sighed.

"He's got morals," Chris said, "He believes in right and wrong, not shades of gray. Catching the bad guys is right, not catching them is wrong. He's not a cop anymore, so he doesn't deal with the shades of gray like you do. That's why he only works significant cases like this."

"The ends justifies the means," Nick smiled, "I know that one well."

"It probably won't matter," Chris said.

"Why's that?" Marcus asked the former fed.

"Cases like this one end one of three ways," Chris told him, "The guy kills himself, we kill him, or we catch him. Even in the third case it's rare that one of them lives long in captivity. They usually either kill themselves, or someone does the job for us."

"Gacy and Bundy lived to see execution," Corrie reminded him, "Richard Ramirez still lives as well."

"All of them tried to commit suicide numerous times," Chris said, "Gacy and Bundy were under suicide and escape watch for the remainder of their lives. Richard Ramirez is simply a psychotic son of a bitch. He lives for the sheer enjoyment of pissing off his captors and trying to kill anyone who turns their back on him. He also tried to get the cops to shoot him when he was caught."

"Have you met him?" Corrie asked.

"I interviewed him for a psych evaluation back in 94 when I was still working for the feds," Chris nodded, "Of the sixteen cases I've worked over the years, only three of them concluded with a suspect who lived more than six months after capture."

"Including your brother?" Marcus asked.

"Especially him," Chris told them, "I made sure that son of a bitch was dead. Even dug him up a decade later to make sure. Torching his body was probably one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. I highly recommend it to any surviving family of one of these bastards."

"Ok," Corrie said as she stood up, "I don't think I want to hear any more of this today."

"Don't sweat it," Chris chuckled, "What my brother did to me was personal. This is business. I want this one caught, but it's not the crusade that the search for my brother was. I'll settle for this one being behind bars, I'm just warning you not to expect him to come willingly."

"They rarely do, Chris," Nick said as he stood up with Corrie, "They rarely do."

"Can you drop me off at the station?" Chris asked, "This wasn't our guy so I'm useless here. I'll go back to work on the files there for a bit."

"Can you finish up here?" Nick asked Marcus.

"Sure," he nodded, "I'll have one of the blues drop me off at the station this afternoon. I'll finish the narratives and get this wrapped up as much as possible from this end."

Corrie and Nick nodded and walked out the door. Chris nodded at Marcus and limped out the door after them. Marcus watched all three of them climb into Corrie's car and drive off. He went back to his narratives and tried not to think about the chewing out that Margie would give him later about the cars.
Chapter Twenty-Eight – 'Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here'

Chris Gabriel was sitting in his usual place in the conference room surrounded by the piles of paper that had been generated by the investigations. For the team's strengths, organization had never been one of them. He spent most of the day cleaning up and organizing the material in binders that he stole out of a supply room.

Mike Miller walked into the conference room and looked at the work that Chris had only half finished. He sat down in another chair and took a long drink of his coffee. The dark circles were showing under their eyes. It had been a long day already.

"Looks like someone committed a neatness in here," Mike said as he looked at the binders.

"With all due respect to your skills," Chris chuckled, "Your team has a lot to learn about putting the notes together on a case like this."

"Nick barely finished high school," Mike shrugged, "Marcus is a bit better at it, but neither of them are used to cases this big."

"You could use some work too cause your files aren't much better," Chris grinned, "Another day or so and I'll have this mess finished."

"I'll keep that in mind," Mike nodded, "Have you heard from anyone lately?"

"I haven't been taking calls," Chris said, "Don't know what is going on. Marcus was still working at the scene last I knew. Nick and Corrie dropped me off hours ago on their way to do some digging on the Sivetson girl and deal with IA."

"They called me an hour ago," Mike told him, "The IA interview was short and sweet, Corelli has all the evidence he needs. They should be back here at any time. Where's Mason?"

"He and Jim were going off to dig into the mysterious Silas Shipping Company," Chris informed him, "Not sure when he'll show up again."

"What do you know about him?" Mike asked, "I've meant to ask that, but I didn't have time."

"Mason?" Chris asked, "I don't even know where to begin."

"With the beginning?" Mike suggested.

"I first met him during the mess back in Boland Creek," Chris told him, "We had a few bodies and a missing doctor that we thought was part of it."

"I think I read about that," Mike said, "Some chap by the name of Sumner, wasn't it? I think I saw the APB back before I went undercover."

"Yep," Chris said, "The three of them make a good team, worked as my advance team on that messy case. They're thick as thieves, thought I don't know how Karen stands living with the two of them."

"Karen?" Mike asked, "The blonde that calmed Corrie down after the shooting?"

"A multi talented girl," Chris agreed, "She's been Mason's partner for most of the time I've known him. Girl has guts a mile long."

"Lucky man," Mike said, "They look too young to have been in it that long."

"It's in the genes I guess," Chris semi-lied, as he knew the real genesis of their relationship, "Just believe me when I say they are as good as we are, probably better in some ways, because they live on the edge all the time. The fact that they are alive at all sometimes amazes me."

"Do I want to know how many people want his head on a stick?" Mike asked.

"More than either of us will want to know," Chris conceded, "But he works cheap and he's an effective son of a bitch."

"I'll settle for that," Mike grunted, "Especially with the chief penny pinching us."

"I don't get that one," Chris said as he sat back, "Usually the pockets come open when cases like this show up. They prefer to make them go away and reduce the political heat."

"I don't either," Mike agreed, "Something is out of kilter with the commissioner and the Mayor. They are working too close together."

"Scheming politicos are never good things," Chris conceded and then took note of Mason being hassled out front of the office, "You may want to go save Mason from the palace guard."

"I don't think Mason has needed someone to save him for a long time," Mike quipped, "But I guess I should let them know that he's allowed in."

Mike walked over and instructed the guards to let Mason in from then on. The two men, Mason dressed in his usual black and Miller in his basic cheap cop garb, took seats in the room. Mason kicked back in his chair and looked over the other two men.

"So what did you find on Silas?" Chris asked.

"It's a holding company out of Panama," Mason told him, "Covered like nobody's business. I've seen crime syndicates that weren't this good at covering themselves."

"Do we know who the owners are yet?" Mike asked. He had been filled in on the mystery of Silas on the phone with Marcus earlier.

"Not yet," Mason grumbled, "Kosmo taught Jim well, but he's having to break through the new Swiss encryption methods that banks all over the world are using. Kos would probably have the info now, but it'll take Jim most of the night."

"Who's Kosmo?" Mike asked, echoing the thought Chris was having.

"A computer whiz kid I knew for a long time," Mason explained, "Kid could crack into anything and did it fairly often."

"Did he finally get caught?" Chris asked him.

"He got dead," Mason sighed, "His office was in the World Trade Center. He didn't make it out. He was teaching Jim and I some computer techniques at the time. We made it out of the damned building, but he was killed by falling debris."

"You were there?" Chris asked, surprised.

"The three of us spent a month working at ground zero," Mason confirmed, "Jim and Karen doing medical assistance and me working on the recovery teams. It was a hellish time. The fires were still burning when we left."

"I was getting ready for my fourth day of testimony in the Bullock trial," Mike remembered, "We all watched in horror as the second plane hit."

"I'd just resigned as sheriff," Chris said, "I was in bed when the first plane hit. Carrie saw it on the news and woke me up. We were watching together when the second one hit."

"That's neither here nor there," Mason shrugged, he'd seen too many of his friends die to dwell on it anymore, "Jim will crack this. It'll just take him some time."

"Will using the computers here at the station help?" Mike offered.

"No offense, Mike," Mason grinned, "But we have better equipment in the van. Also, you don't want to be tied to what he's doing. It's better if you don't ask how we find the information."

"No arguments from me," Chris laughed, "I'm all for bucking the system."

"I know nothing," Miller said, shaking his head, "All right. So we have the same thing on this one that we did on the others. Bupkis."

"Essentially, yes," Chris agreed, "I've improved organization of the information, which might mean something later, but we still don't have a damned thing new."

"How about a connection between the internet place and the syndicate?" Mike asked, "I don't expect to find a connection with Sivetson, but is there a connection between Frederick Harrison or any of his employees and the mob?"

"Harrison's books are shaky," Chris said, pulling the folder he had done while eating the lousy sandwich from the department cafeteria, "I'm not a financial expert, so I don't know what to look for. You'll probably need to have an accountant look over the books."

"Let me take that for tonight," Mason said, "I'll find someone to get it dissected."

"Don't tell me one of you is a financial expert," Mike said, rolling his eyes.

"Better than average," Mason grinned, "We have to be to hide our finances from prying government and private eyes. If it's something I can't handle we'll roust a good financial man out of bed and compensate him excessively to decipher it for us."

"We can't afford something like that," Mike warned him.

"It's on me," Mason smiled, "We cleaned out a den of drug dealers a few months back. I figure this is a worthy cause to spend some of the proceeds on."

"I was right," Chris said, "I really don't want to know how you fund your games."

"You're surprised by this how?" Mike asked.

"I'm not," Chris chuckled, "I don't much care about a few crack dealers going down."

"I don't mess with the street guys," Mason grinned, "I go after distributors. The big boys. Hit and get. It's a war that we'll never win but I like to take out a few of the more offensive players every once in a while. The bigger the boy you hit, the longer it takes them to replace him."

"Whatever works," Chris nodded as one of his best friends died of drugs in the early 90's, "I won't cry over it."

It was at this point that the secretary came into the room and suggested that they turn on the television set. Miller fumbled through the papers that Chris had not gotten to yet and found the remote for the aging color television set that was recessed into the wall of the conference room. He punched the power button and switched over to the broadcast channel that Cecelia had told him to watch.

The scourge of the city press, Stephen Thomas Derringer, was being introduced by the standard daytime anchor of the local television station. Miller watched with his eyes glaring at the balding cretin that had been the bane of the local police for years. Derringer had a twinkle in his eye that made all three men realize that something nasty was coming up.

"Thank you, Mr. Donner," Derringer said, his polite smile of malevolence showing through to the world, "I come here to report not on the senseless crimes that have been plaguing our city. You have heard enough on that subject in the past two weeks to make your stomach churn."

"I am here to report on the people who are charged with the awesome responsibility of trying to catch the scum who are killing people indiscriminately in our fair city. The police forces in this case are being led by homicide lieutenant Michael J. Miller. Miller alone has had a colorful history in the annals of police department lore."

Half the city watched as Miller's nine months as an undercover agent were depicted in the worst possible light. Corrie, Nick and Marcus listened to the tirade on the radio as they drove towards the police station. Nick's knuckles turned white on the wheel. The killer sat back and watched the screen with admiration. She was learning, not for the first time, just how formidable an adversary Miller was.

"Not only did he break every rule for an undercover police officer written into law," Derringer continued, "He became a vigilante with the help of one of his underworld cronies, a young thug by the name of Nicholas Jones. The two of them, in the last days of the year 2000, killed no less than a dozen members of the Bullock crime syndicate. This, as most people know, culminated in the dramatic death of Frederick Pena in a fall from the roof of his office building as the ball fell on the new millennium."

"This was explained as a suicide by the police department. I now have corroboration that it happened differently. Pena had given up and had his hands in the air when Michael Miller, in cold blood, pushed the unarmed man right off the roof of the building, sending him to die on impact with the roof of an aging Honda Civic."

"Why is he not in jail for these crimes you ask? This man was, twenty days after the death of Frederick Pena, given a full free and unconditional pardon by William Jefferson Clinton, quite possibly the most corrupt man ever to hold the office of President of the United States. A similar pardon was granted to Miller's partner in crime, Nicholas Jones."

"How was Nicholas Jones, a lifelong criminal, rewarded for his participation in Miller's vigilante war? In addition to the pardon, he was granted admission into the police academy, which he graduated and has now become Miller's trusted right hand man. There are also rumors abounding about the lack of honesty and marital infidelity of his other experienced detective, Marcus Holbein, but I have no confirmation on those so this is not the forum for them."

"Who does this leave on his investigative team? We've all heard Miller's admission that a police officer was shot on the site of the latest crime and that it wasn't done by the serial murder. Well, this reporter has found out that patrolman Darryl J. Mifflin was shot in the chest not by a random criminal, but by a fellow police officer."

"Details are still sketchy on the exact circumstances of the shooting, but one of Miller's detectives, one Randall Jay Creighton specifically, cold bloodedly shot and attempted to kill Patrolman Mifflin and tried to escape the scene, blundering into an oncoming car carrying Lieutenant Miller and a so far unidentified other man. Creighton is currently being held under guard at County Memorial Hospital."

"This leaves the last member of his team, a young detective, pulled straight out of the ranks of patrol officers, having only passed the detective's exam in the last week. Corrie Albiston, seen here at the site of the last murder, is simply too inexperienced to be working on a case like this, and probably too susceptible to suggestion to be learning from these less than savory people."

"This has been Stephen Thomas Derringer, here to set the record straight and expose the people who have been hoodwinking this fair city for too long. Please, let your councilmen know what you think of having men like these running the city. Have a good afternoon."

Derringer nodded and left the screen. Miller threw the remote control at the television, shattering the plastic device against the wall. Mason and Chris sat back, annoyed almost as much as Miller was. Corrie, Nick and Marcus came rushing into the room just in time to see Miller's temper flaring up.

"I see you heard it too," Marcus said.

"I say let's go shoot him," Nick suggested, "Just one bullet will do, right between the slimy son of a bitch's eyes!"

"Too quick," Miller growled, "Shoot him in the stomach. It'll hurt more."

"How much of it was true?" Chris asked.

"I don't know about the other allegations," Mason said, "But I was there for Miller's deposition. Most of the hard facts were true, but most of the reasoning was left out."

Miller paced around for a few seconds and then calmed down a little. Nick (who had a rougher temper than Mike did) had to be calmed down by Corrie, who'd taken his arm in an attempt to calm the nerves down a little bit.

"All of it was true," Miller said, "He just put it in the worst possible light. Nick and I did fight a Mack Bolan style war on the Bullocks that last week of December. We had to. Pena had taken one of our officers, a girl named Tracy. That fight was one to try to get her out. We failed."

"And Pena's death?" Chris asked.

"I don't know how he found out," Miller said, "But that was true. I had just found Tracy, nearly tortured to death. We'd been a couple for months, despite the difficulties of our situation. Pena had done it himself. He was standing there being glib about it, and about killing my partner years earlier. He was near the edge. I pushed."

"I would have too," Mason said, "You've been there, Chris. You did it with your brother as well."

"No arguments from me," Chris sighed.

"What do we do?" Corrie asked.

"You're the expert, Chris," Marcus said, "You have any suggestions?"

"I've never seen the press so completely try to eviscerate a team like this," Chris said and sat down at one of the desks, "First thing is to avoid the press right now."

"That just makes us look guilty," Nick said.

"Better that than for them to see you this pissed," Chris said, "They'll still be clamoring tomorrow. I need to know something. Is there any legal liability for you in this?"

"No," Miller said, "Both of us have legal pardons and have been law abiding citizens ever since, though it looks like the pardons may bite us in the ass."

"Stonewall," Mason advised, "There may be some furor over this, but it will subside. Will the department back you?"

"I know too many secrets for them not to," Miller grinned, "If they don't back me up, I'll spill everything on Creighton."

"Now for the most important question," Corrie said, "Who sold us out?"

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"Think about it," Corrie said, "Who knew this much about what happened back then? I'm willing to bet that it wasn't really talked about much."

"She's right," Chris nodded, "Derringer didn't get this from a public source. I'm sure this stuff didn't even come out in the final trial."

"We'll have to look into that," Mike said, "So what do we do for now?"

"I don't think we will get much done tonight," Chris said, "Why don't we go get ready for the concert. The press can't hurt us if we disappear. Want me to get your people some tickets, Mason?"

"The mayor will be calling in a few minutes," Mike said, "And the reporters will be calling in force soon."

"Fuck the reporters," Mason said, "And I'll pass on the tickets. I have stuff to do and I don't much care for places that public. Call it my general paranoia."

"The higher ups can catch you on your cell phone," Nick said, liking the idea of getting out of there, "The worst they can do is fire us right?"

"True," Mike chuckled, "How do we do this?"

"You and Chris ride together," Nick said, "If you have to deal with the phone it'll take you forever to get ready. Marcus and I will ride with Corrie. She lives close to my place and we can go get his kid. We'll coordinate by phone on the restaurant."

"I may poke into this a little bit tonight," Mason said, "I'm in a better position to trace a leak from the outside than you are from the inside. This way you can deny knowledge of me."

"We need to meet somewhere else from now on," Chris said, "It's too dangerous for both you and us to be meeting here. Sorry to have to do this to you, Mason, but no more crime scenes either."

"I'll manage," Mason grinned, "I'm going to find a place to hide the van for a while. I don't like being this exposed anyway. I'll probably look a bit different next time you see me."

"If you change names, let me know," Nick said, "I'll get you a building pass. Karen and Jim need them?"

"Karen might," Mason said, "Jim stays out of the spotlight as much as possible. He'll probably be sticking at the van doing research for the duration. He'd rather eat nails than walk willingly into a police station."

"We'll worry about this tomorrow," Mike said, "Let's get out of here. Chris, you're driving. I don't want to be driving when I talk to the commissioner on the phone."

"We'll stop and get the tickets on the way to Mike's," Chris said, "We'll meet at the restaurant at, say, six?"

"Sounds good to me," Nick shrugged, "That'll give us time to go get ready and pick up Jason."

Marcus merely shrugged. He did not care about the timetable, and going home was not something he particularly looked forward to.

They walked towards the front when they saw Cecelia answering the phone frantically. She finished with one call, and the phone started ringing for the next. They were going off the hook.

"They started just after Derringer's piece finished," Cecelia told him, "I think every reporter in the city is calling."

"Go home," Mike said, "Let the machine get it. I'm not ready to respond, and I'm too pissed off still to face them in person. Get some rest."

"You sure?" she asked him.

"Go on," Nick smiled, "The boss will let that bastard have it later on."

Cecilia did not have to be told anymore than that. She grabbed her purse and walked out the door. All of them filed out of the room and Miller smiled as he locked the door behind them. Let the press frenzy for a while. They would get it straight eventually.
Chapter Twenty-Nine – 'Pieces'

"It looks like that cretin Derringer delivered for you," Latham smiled, "Miller must have been fuming when he saw that one."

"Yes," Mayor Gray smiled as he sat back in his desk, "That should keep him confused enough to let the copycat slip by the wayside. You should have heard him on the phone."

"He was pissed, I imagine," Latham chuckled, "I'm amazed he didn't try to call me."

"He'd calmed down a bit before talking on the phone," the Mayor shrugged, "He's seething, but he's ignoring it for now. He's avoiding the press like the plague and sent the secretary home."

"Are they minding my instructions about overtime or working on in spite of it?" Latham asked him.

"He said something about a concert," Gray said, "Probably something he already had tickets for and decided to not think about this mess for a few hours. Perhaps we should tip off some reporters?"

"Don't push it," Latham advised, "He's probably suspicious enough as it is. Don't underestimate him. This will only slow him down. I'm hoping that this other killer will show himself or screw up before he has time to figure out who the copycat is."

"Let's just hope he either doesn't see the significance of Silas or can't crack the code," Gray said nervously, "He's bound to stumble on it. She was too neck deep into it."

"They can't do that without help from the feds," Latham smiled, "That type of cooperation has to go through my office. Those requests go through me for approval. All I have to do is change an account number or reword a request and he'll get nothing. Miller won't be able to get a damned thing."

"So what do we do now?" Gray asked him.

"Wait," Latham said with a smile and a puff of smoke.

***

Nick and Marcus had just left Corrie's place and were on the way to pick up Jason Holbein. Nick knew that he would have to go without the smokes while they had the kid with them. He planned to swing by his place last because he knew he could change clothes in five minutes flat. He figured that even if Corrie was not a typical female she would still take longer than he would.

"So is Jason excited?" Nick asked Marcus as they drove.

"Yeah," Marcus smiled, "He can't believe that I managed front row seats. Wait until he finds out about the backstage pass."

Nick laughed, "It should be a good show. After the beating we've taken today we could use a good time."

"No shit," Marcus said, "My beating isn't over yet. Margie has been screaming at me all day over the tire damage."

"The department should be taking care of that," Nick grinned, "My car is getting a new set of the solid rubber tires so that this can't happen again."

"My car too," Marcus said, "But they aren't touching Margie's Dodge. My insurance is taking care of that one and you know how slow that is. Tack on the bullshit Derringer spewed out in the news and you can imagine what my last conversation with Margie was like."

"I don't want to think about it," Nick chuckled, "If she already thinks that you're cheating on her why don't you just go ahead and do it?"

"Believe me," Marcus laughed, "If I get a halfway decent offer I'd likely do it. There's no point in me remaining faithful to the bitch now."

"Are we walking into a war zone?" Nick asked as he pulled up into the driveway.

"Probably," Marcus shrugged, "I don't care. You can stay put."

"Nah," Nick grinned, "I can't let you face the bitch alone. Let's go rescue your son."

"You're a brave man, Nick," Marcus laughed.

"Some would say stupid," Nick grinned, "But then, I followed Mike into hell. I guess I can do the same for you."

"Let's go," Marcus sighed.

The two of them walked towards Marcus' house with a sense of trepidation. Both cars were gone from the driveway, so it was probable that she was still going to be pissed if she was there. Marcus put his key into the door and opened it. It was strangely silent in the house, and they briefly wondered if the place was empty.

"Is anyone home?" Marcus asked the quiet house.

"Yeah Dad!" Jason yelled and came bounding down the stairs.

"Where's your mother and sister?" Marcus asked him.

"Sis is in her room playing with dolls," Jason shrugged, "Mom hasn't left her sitting room all day. You going to go talk to her before we go?"

"Did she make food for you guys today?" Marcus asked him.

"We had cereal for breakfast," Jason told them, "I made Laurie a TV dinner an hour ago. I held off 'cause you said we'd go to dinner before we got to see the Cookie Monsters."

"Yep," Marcus smiled, "Nick's taking us to dinner and I suggest we go before your mother comes in and starts a fight about it."

The three of them went outside and made it almost halfway to the car before Margie came storming out of the door. She was dressed in a housecoat that was two sizes too small for her ever-widening frame. She stormed over and faced her husband down.

"You son of a bitch!" Margie said, "You don't even have the guts to come in and face me!"

"I don't have the time or inclination right now, Margie," Marcus said, "We've got to go pick up Corrie for the show."

"Oh, so now you're taking your little hussie to the show with our son?" Margie said.

"Whoa!" Nick said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Marcus told him, "Her friend Charlotte saw us having dinner at O'Malley's with Corrie and now for some unknown reason Margie thinks I'm doing her."

Nick looked at Margie with a bemused expression on his face for a moment. She looked at Nick with an extremely pissed off expression and Nick started laughing his ass off. Jason and Marcus just looked at each other while Margie gave Nick what they called the look of death.

"You've got to be kidding me," Nick laughed.

"You think this is funny?" Margie asked him, "You think this is fucking funny!"

"I think it's hilarious," Nick laughed again, "Marcus has to be the squarest man in the department. If anyone is going to be having an affair with the new girl, it won't be him, it'll be me."

"Bullshit!" Margie exclaimed to Nick's back as he started to walk away, "You're just covering for him. All you cops are that way. Cover your own and to hell with everyone else. I saw that on the news today. You're even worse than all the rest of them."

This caused Nick to stop quick and turnaround. He had worked long and hard to overcome his past. He wasn't going to take that even from his Partner's wife. Especially not after the way she'd been treating Marcus over the past year.

"You bitch!" Nick said, his blood pressure rising, "You unbelievable bitch. I can't believe I've been counseling him to stay with you all this time. Well screw you, you beached whale!"

"Nick," Marcus said, knowing that Margie would explode at that comment, "It's time to go. Margie, I'll see you tomorrow."

"You son of a bitch!" Margie screamed and then started going into more hysterics.

Nick wanted to say something else, but Marcus sent him to the car with Jason while he tried to get Margie back into the house. Nick and Jason watched as they argued on the front lawn. Jason looked at him and Nick wondered just what to say to another man's child when his parents were having a knock down drag out on the lawn.

"They're never going to work it out, are they?" Jason asked Nick.

"I don't think so kid," Nick sighed.

"I wish they'd just split up," Jason said, "I love them both, but if they can't live together they shouldn't kill us all trying."

"I know it," Nick said, "I'm sorry I said what I did about your mother."

"She pushed your buttons," Jason shrugged, "If she wasn't my mother I'd have said it myself. Dad has always been a straight shooter. He doesn't deserve this."

"Yeah," Nick said, "No one does."

They watched the fight for a few minutes and then saw it end when Margie reached out and slugged Marcus in the left eye, knocking him back on the grass. Jason looked at Nick with a pleading expression and Nick jumped out of the car.

"Break it up!" Nick exclaimed to them, "Think about what you're doing to your son!"

"Stay out of this Nick," Marcus said as he rubbed his eye.

"Not anymore," Nick said, "Margie, go in the house or I'll have you arrested for assaulting a police officer. Marcus, get your ass in the car with Jason."

"You rotten son of a bitch," Margie said, "You'll get yours!"

"Not tonight," Nick said while he helped Marcus up, "Let's go, Marcus."

Marcus grumbled but allowed Nick to lead him to the car. Nick refrained from flipping Margie the bird as he pulled the car out of the driveway. Jason and Marcus sat in the back and talked for the first time about what the next step may be.

***

The Killer parked about two blocks away from the scene of the copycat crime. Carrying a set of journalist identification and a camera in case of being caught she walked over to the house through the back yards and surveyed the place. Not overly concerned about evidence this time the killer smoked a cigarette while walking up to the place.

"Let's see if our copycats were at least good ones," the killer stated while slitting the yellow tape on the rear door of the house.

The killer walked in to the scene of the crime and looked around much like another painter admires or dismisses the work of another painter. There was not much admiration in this case, however, as the killer noted the same thing that the police did.

The copycats were sloppy, as they had no love of the killing. The real killer did. She lived for the killing, but these killings were for a purpose. The copycat was not senseless enough to be for fun. It had to have a purpose. The killer wanted to find out what the purpose was.

The copycat was cutting in on the action. She could not have that.

***

Nick pulled the car into the driveway in front of Corrie's place. Marcus and his son were sitting together in the back seat, talking like father and son. They were trying to put the negativity of the first part of the evening and look forward to the oncoming show.

"So where are the tickets?" Jason asked him.

"Chris and Mike were going to pick them up before meeting," Marcus told him, "Be sure to thank Chris Gabriel when you meet him. He's the one who put all this together."

"And rooked me out of six dinners," Nick moaned.

"Stop crying," Marcus laughed, "You walked into it hook, line and sinker."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick laughed, "It'll be worth it to see Corrie in a dress."

Nick was not disappointed, because Corrie walked out the front door of her apartment building wearing a slinky little maroon number. In the hour since they left her she had been able to clean her hair and give it another dose of reddish tint to match the dress. All three of the men in the car were impressed as she walked over and flashed them a smile.

"You're not having an affair with her?" Jason asked his dad, "Too bad."

Nick and Marcus could not do anything but laugh at that comment. Corrie opened the car and slid into the front seat next to Nick. Nick looked her over and smiled at her, a smile that was definitely returned.

"Looking good, Corrie," Nick said, "Too bad I didn't have time to try to match you."

"You look good enough," Corrie said to Nick with a smile and then turned to the back, "You must be Jason."

"Guilty," Jason said, "How are you, ma'am?"

"Polite too," Corrie grinned, "The name is Corrie, forget about the ma'am crap. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Jason smiled.

"What the hell happened to your eye, Marcus?" Corrie asked, noticing the burgeoning shiner.

"Margie objected to my departing with Jason for the night," Marcus chuckled, "No big deal. It'll heal."

"All right," Nick grinned, "You all ready to go eat well and drive me broke?"

"Why is it going to drive you broke?" Jason asked as Nick pulled out of the driveway.

"Because I lost a bet to Chris and am having to pay for all your dinners," Nick said, "It's going to cost me almost as much as one of those tickets would have."

"Exactly," Marcus laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder, "So grin and bear it, bucko."

***

Chris and Mike walked up to Cookie's hotel parking lot, having had to park a half a block away because of city traffic conditions. Mike had just had two very unproductive conversations with the Mayor and Commissioner and still looked pissed. Chris smiled as he saw Celia Saliban, Cookie's personal assistant, standing outside catching a cigarette.

"I thought you quit that," Chris said as he walked up.

"So does Cookie," Celia grinned, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her either. How are you, Chris?"

"I'm doing ok," Chris shrugged.

"He should be," Mike groused, "The press didn't cut him a new asshole today."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Celia said, holding out her hand.

"Celia," Chris said, remembering his manners, "This is Lieutenant Michael Miller. He's running the investigation I came out to work on."

"Oh yeah," Celia said, "You're the one that asshole Derringer tried to tear apart on TV today."

"The one and the same," Mike admitted, "You saw it?"

"I was in the studio for it," Celia said, "Cookie was being interviewed across the hall and I went over to the news set to catch up on the local news."

"Better you than me," Mike said, "If I'd been there I'd probably be in jail and he'd be dead."

"Was anything he said true?" Celia asked.

"Technically most of it was true," Mike explained, "He didn't outright lie. He just left out much of the truth and bent it to make it look as bad as possible."

"There were a lot of pissed off people in the studio too," Celia told him, "The news director was not happy about it and is half-considering a retraction."

"It'll never happen," Mike said, "Though Derringer will be tossed out of any police press conference he tries to attend now. I'll see to that."

"So how are things going for Cookie anyway?" Chris asked, "You always know more about it than she does anyway."

"The new album comes out next week," Celia grinned, "It's probably the best one she's done in several years. That's why she's running herself ragged with appearances and concerts. She wants it to do well."

"I'll buy a couple copies," Chris promised.

"I'll have a stack of advance copies when you see her tonight," Celia promised, "You'll all get one signed. I'll have copies ready for the kids as well, Chris."

"Thanks Celia," Chris grinned, "The kids will love it."

"Marcus's kid will be going nuts when he finds out that he's going to get to meet her," Mike grinned, "That kid has been nuts over Cookie's music since he was about ten."

"He'll have pictures too," Celia smiled, "We'll have a photographer nearby, we usually do while on tour. He might even end up in the tour book."

"Great!" Chris laughed.

"We need to meet Nick and the rest over at the restaurant soon," Mike told them, "We wouldn't want to miss out on a truly rare occasion."

"What rare occasion is that?" Celia asked.

"Nick paying for dinner," Mike grinned.

"Ahh," Celia chuckled, "Is he your victim this time?"

"Yep," Chris grinned, "There's just so little trust in the world."

"Here," Celia chuckled and dug through her purse, "Six front row tickets, right in front of the stage, and six back stage passes to get you in to see Cookie afterwards. How many cars do you have?"

"We're using two tonight," Mike said, "My loaner and Corrie's unmarked."

"Here's two parking passes," Celia said, having brought three just in case, "Show the guard at the back gate your parking pass and backstage pass and he'll let you park in the crew area. That way you can ride back to the hotel with us for a while for the after show party."

"Is the party appropriate for a fourteen-year old?" Mike asked.

"It should be," Celia grinned, "It isn't an orgy or anything. Mainly just a little blowing off steam. Booze is tolerated, but not encouraged. Drugs... well, Chris, you know Cookie's stance on that."

"She hates them as much as I do," Chris nodded, "That still an immediate firing offense for her?"

"We got around the unions by writing it into the contracts," Celia smiled, "She'll tolerate booze or cigarettes and will pay for treatment for those. Do drugs on her time or that she finds out about and you're out the door."

"Wise woman," Mike grinned.

"You'll like her," Chris said, "Cookie is one stand up lady, something I found out early and the rest of the world is still coming to terms with."

"I probably need to go back inside," Celia said, "I'll see you later when you come backstage."

"Count on it," Chris said, "Give Cookie my best if you see her before the show."

"Will do," she said as she walked back into the hotel.

Mike and Chris walked back to the car and switched places, letting Mike find the way to the restaurant.

"Better call them and tell them we'll be there soon," Mike said, handing his cell phone over to Chris, "Call Nick's cell phone. It's speed dial four. Hopefully he's got everyone else by now."

"Yeah," Chris grinned, "Tease him a little more before he pays off his debt too."

"Marcus's kid is probably bugging to know if we've got the tickets," Mike chuckled.

"He won't be disappointed," Chris said, "Cookie always looks after the kids. They are her bread and butter. Any kid she converts early is a fan for life. She learned that lesson early and well."

"Sounds like a cult leader," Mike said with a thin grin.

"No," Chris said, "Just a sound business move. That's why her albums sell well, because she gives her all. Especially with young fans."

"Sounds like we're in for a good show," Mike said.

"You bet," Chris agreed as he hit the speed dial, "Just wait and see."

***

The killer sat back in an easy chair with a drink, having returned to the safe apartment after investigating the scene of that copycat crime. There was no luck to be had there. She knew it was a crude copy, but did not have any clues who had done it. It did not matter too much at the moment, so long as the copycat did not strike again.

Besides, the killer knew that Miller and his team were competent, that idiot Creighton notwithstanding. Creighton was all right, however. He had been an interesting diversion if nothing else. She also had plans for him later on to keep things interesting.

There was a beeping noise from the wireless intercept box. She sat up and reached for a pack of cigarettes while looking at the display on the box. The display said it was a call from Miller, Michael to Jones, Nicholas. She hit the listen and record button and sat back in the chair to light a cigarette.

"This is Jones," Nick's voice came out of the speaker on the box, clear as a bell due to the digital system, "What's up, Mike?"

"This is Chris, actually," Gabriel said over the box.

"So that's who he is," the killer said, putting a name with the face, "You brought in a ringer, Miller. Very good. Makes the game even more interesting."

The killer punched Chris Gabriel's name into the computer while listening to the rest of the conversation. Surprisingly little came up, so the killer had to resort to other methods of searching.

"What's up, Chris?" Nick asked over the speaker, "Mike driving?"

"We're on our way to the restaurant," Chris told him.

"I assume you've got the tickets?" Nick said, his voice resounding through the room over the speaker, "Or do I not have to pay off after all?"

The killer wondered just what the bet was on and listened carefully for insights on the opposing team.

"I've got them," Chris said, "You're not getting that lucky, Nick. Cookie's personal assistant gave me six tickets to the show and six backstage passes. She even rounded up two internal parking stickers for us to park in the crew area behind the arena."

"Damn," Nick chuckled, "I guess we're going to see the Cookie Monsters in the front row, and I'll be paying for dinner for the next three years."

The Cookie Monsters were playing tonight. She remembered the radio ads. The killer had very little interest in music, but thought that seeing the cops up close could be useful. She clicked open another web browser window and set about looking for tickets.

"So is everyone ready?" Chris asked.

"Marcus had a little problem with Margie on the way out," Nick said, "But we're all here and ready to meet you. If you get there first, get a table for six. They don't stand on reservations there. The food is so good they don't have to."

The killer was wondering what restaurant, but was not going to get it. They talked for a few more seconds about plans and then rang off the line, the audible click of disconnection coming over the speaker. The restaurant had obviously been pre-planned, and they did not have to mention it over the phone.

The thing that puzzled the killer was why in the hell would they all be off tonight. Obviously it was planned, but Miller was usually too businesslike for that. They had just had another murder and had a police officer wounded by that idiot Creighton. Something was definitely rotten in Denmark, and she wanted to know what it was.

The killer stubbed out the cigarette into a used diet coke can and went back to the computer. Unsurprisingly, there were no tickets available for the concert through the legitimate sources. That left scalpers and, of course, quite a bit of money. The killer went through a few sources and found an ad that sounded good. The killer picked up the phone and called the number.

"This is Moore," a voice answered quickly.

"I'm interested in a ticket to the Cookie Monsters show," she said.

"Good luck," Moore said over the phone, "They sold out weeks ago."

"I'm sure you can be more accommodating than that," The killer said with a smile, "Especially for enough money."

"How much money?" Moore asked.

"Plenty of money," the killer said, "I'm sure you can work something out."

"I may have access to a single ticket, very good fourth row seat," Moore said, "But it will cost you. I had planned to use it myself, but for the right price I'll part with it."

"Name it," the killer said, patience starting to wear thin.

"Fifteen hundred," Moore said without hesitation, "Take it or leave it. If you try to negotiate, the price goes up to two grand."

"I'll take it," she said, "We need to meet. Shall I pick it up at your place?"

"No," Moore said, "Meet me at the corner of third and vine. We'll make the deal behind the bus terminal there. This is a cash transaction. You'd best be prepared."

"Don't worry," she said with an evil smile, "I'll be prepared."

"Be there in thirty minutes," Moore said and clicked off the phone.

"Don't worry," she said to empty space, "I will."

The killer then picked up a silenced pistol and checked the breech.

"I certainly will," she mumbled while putting the pistol into the shoulder holster. She then put an overcoat on and walked out the door.

***

Mason spent rest of the afternoon obtaining a dark blue Crown Victoria automobile and finding a place to park the van. Finding a trailer park with the necessary facilities for sanitation and electricity was easy, and they parked the van there, purchasing a six-month lease as they usually did.

Mason, Karen and Jim were in the sitting area of the conversion van. Jim looked at Mason and sat back onto his reclined side that doubled as a bed area for him. Karen cooked up a pot of spaghetti on the stove.

"Ok," Jim said, "What's the next move, boss?"

"Did you see that bullshit on the TV today?" Mason asked them.

"I saw it at the hospital," Karen said from the kitchen.

"I read the text on the local news feed," Jim said, "It was bullshit."

"I wasn't there when you helped depose Miller," Karen said as she started heating up the sauce, "How much of it was true?"

"Except for Marcus's infidelity, I don't think that scum lied outright," Mason said, "He just twisted it as far as possible. As far as life goes, what Miller did is probably cleaner morally than some of the stuff we've done."

"If an average person did most of what we do," Karen pointed out, "They'd be either dead or in jail."

"Point," Mason chuckled.

"The point is that Miller is a stand up guy and most of what he did is understandable," Jim said, "He went after them to try to save his girl's life."

"Ok," Karen agreed, "I can buy that. He didn't look like a cold blooded killer."

"He's not," Mason said, "But when there are lives on the line, he can kick some ass. He's no pushover."

"Why did Derringer hit Miller so hard though?" Karen asked while idly stirring the pasta, "Usually they go after the police for inept handling of the case, not for their past."

"The better question is how he got his information," Mason told her, "Miller said that most of it wasn't public record."

"I can't start the Silas searches until everything closes down in Panama," Jim said, "But I can hack the phone company anytime. Maybe that dipstick was stupid enough to talk to his source on the phone?"

"Go for it," Mason nodded. He knew computers well, but Jim far outclassed him in hacking skills. He learned his lessons from Kosmo well while Mason was taking a refresher on paramilitary training and Karen was in a French language immersion program.

Jim pulled out the laptop and logged into the satellite ISP. The first thing he did was run a shell connection through several secure anonymizer services. He found some guides and traded some hard won bank codes for the relatively less lucrative codes to the phone company's mainframe.

"Ok," Jim said, "I'm in. What do you want to see, Mason?"

"Let's start with the phone records under his name," Mason chuckled, "I'll do some research to find his other numbers."

"I'll finish dinner," Karen chuckled.

"You do that," Mason said as he pulled out a disposable cell phone, "Let's see what we can find."

Mason got the number the number to the television station out of the information system and dialed it. He went through two different secretaries before he finally got a new one who did not know the security rules as well as she should have.

"This is Bob Murphy," Mason lied, "I work down in the newsroom. I've got a lead for Stephen Derringer that he's going to want to pick up. What's his number up there?"

"You should have a list," the woman said.

"Not on me," Mason continued, "I have to get this to him quick. I need his direct line."

"I can connect you sir," the woman said.

"So do it," Mason told her, "This phone is flaky though. Give me the number in case I lose you."

"I can't do that," she said.

"Like hell," Mason told her indignantly, "Listen, if he misses this tip it's your pretty little ass that's gonna get ripped. Just give me the number."

"I don't think..." she said. Wrong thing to say.

"You're not there to think," Mason said cruelly, "You're there to get me the number."

The woman was too flustered to think clearly. She gave him the number and Mason rang off the line. He tossed the cell onto the table and handed the piece of paper with the number written down over to Jim.

"How much of the info do you want?" Jim asked him.

"How long will it take to get all the numbers and the numbers that all of them called?" Mason asked Jim.

"Ten minutes to get them," Jim shrugged, "It'll take you and Karen most of the rest of the night to go through them."

"Do it," Mason said as he sat back again, "We'll start going through them after dinner."

"Dinner will be ready by the time you get those things," Karen said, "Then we'll get to the search."

"Works for me," Jim said as he continued picking through the phone company's computer, "It's a good thing to exercise these skills."

"At least these skills won't turn you into a human petri dish," Karen said.

"They aren't quite as much fun either," Jim countered.

"Children, children," Mason said, "Might I suggest we concentrate our energies on these records?"

"How bout on the spaghetti?" Karen asked, "It's ready."

"Let's eat!" Jim exclaimed.

"Get the records," Mason chuckled, "Then we'll eat."

"Done," Jim grinned, "I'll pass them around after we eat."

"All righty then," Karen smiled and passed the plates around.

***

Nick pulled into the restaurant and let the attendant take his car. The four of them walked in and saw Mike and Chris sitting at a large rectangular table, already munching on some bread. Nick and Corrie sat on one side together, while Jason and Marcus took the other elongated side. Chris and Mike had counted on this and had taken the short ends. The first thing Mike noticed was the brand-new shiner on Marcus's eye.

"Did you get the plate off the truck that hit you?" Mike asked Marcus.

"Yeah," Jason chuckled, "I call her Mom."

"Margie did that?" Mike asked with concern.

"No big deal," Marcus said, trying not to bad mouth Margie too much in front of Jason, "Things got out of hand. Worry about it later. How's the bread?"

"Great," Chris said and handed over the basket, "Have some."

The conversation continued in the restaurant and managed to studiously avoid two major subjects, Margie Holbein and the case at hand. Everyone was disgusted enough with both subjects to not want to speak about them anymore. They all ordered well enough to make Nick groan at the thought about what it was all going to cost.

"Chris," Jason finally got the courage to ask, "You're the one that got the tickets?"

"Yep," Chris nodded, "Cookie and I have been friends for years."

"Coolness," Jason said, "What's she like?"

"You'll find out yourself after the show," Chris grinned.

"What?" Jason asked.

"You didn't tell him?" Chris asked Marcus, surprised.

"I figured I'd wait until dinner," Marcus shrugged in between bites of linguini.

"Tell me what?" Jason asked, losing interest in his spaghetti.

"Chris got us backstage passes," Marcus informed his son with a smile, "You're going to get to meet her."

"Sweet!" Jason said, amazed by his luck, "Why didn't you tell me? I'd have brought something for her to sign!"

"Don't sweat it," Chris chuckled, "She'll have pictures and will gladly sign a couple for you. She loves that sort of thing."

"If she's even half as good as the last time I saw her play this will be a night to remember," Corrie told them.

"Cookie just has to be the most beautiful woman in the world," Jason said, like the awestruck teenager he was.

"Depends on where you're sitting," Nick said, his eyes fixed on Corrie.

"She's always been striking," Chris said, remembering her back when they were kids themselves, "Even when she was your age, Jason."

"You've known her that long?" Jason asked.

"Since before you were born," Chris grinned.

"Cool," Jason said.

Jason kept asking Chris rapid-fire questions, which he was more than happy to answer. Mike sat back and simply enjoyed his Lasagna and let the conversation pass him by. He was still very pissed about the Derringer piece on television. He knew that the opinion piece wouldn't make a difference in the end, but it still pissed him off.

Corrie and Nick were not a big part of the conversation either. They were talking together and making eyes at each other like a couple of school kids, and their hands were often together under the table. It was a mystery to no one that there was some serious chemistry going on with them.

As the dinner progressed everyone ate much more than they should have. All of the food was good and a bottle of good wine was shared as well. They were all having a very good time, all except Miller. He was still looking a bit glum, despite the large satisfying dish of Lasagna, by far his favorite Italian dish.

Marcus was not as up on Cookie Morris' career as his son and Chris were, so he was cut of that conversation. He saw that Mike was staring blankly at his team, not looking particularly happy either.

"You're looking rather glum, boss," Marcus noted to Mike.

"Not been a good day," Mike shrugged, "One I'd prefer to forget, you know?"

"I know that one," Marcus chuckled and then pointed to his eye, "I think mine has been just about as bad as yours."

"Who do you want to kill more?" Mike asked, "Derringer or your wife?"

"Don't want to kill either one," Marcus shrugged, "Though the thought of locking them in a cell together for twenty years is rather appealing. They deserve each other."

"Thinking about filing?" Mike asked him.

"Don't know yet," Marcus shrugged, "I'm not going to worry about it right now. This is supposed to be a good show."

"I don't know her music that well," Mike said, "Not sure if I'm going to like it or not, but I don't turn down free tickets as a rule."

"I've listened to Jason's ipod with him enough," Marcus grinned, "She's got a great voice and decent songs. They might even be cynical enough for you to enjoy."

"Maybe so," Mike smiled, "Speaking of the concert, we probably need to head over there soon."

"Yeah," Marcus agreed and then turned to the rest of the table, "Hey guys, it's running on time to head towards the stadium."

"Yeah!" Jason exclaimed, "I don't want to miss anything!"

"Time to pay off, Nicky," Mike chuckled, though he was still looking a mite out of it.

"I do love a good meal," Chris declared, "Especially if it's free."

"Ok, ok," Nick laughed, "Let's get the check and head out. Waiter!"

The waiter brought the prepared check over and everyone pointed at Nick who received it and peeked inside. He shuddered momentarily and finished off his glass of wine. Corrie looked at him for a second and then he winked at her, showing that he was putting on an act. He then pulled out his debit card and put it in the black folder, handing it to the waiter.

"Ok," Nick said, "Time to produce tickets, Chris."

"Here we go," Chris said as he pulled the tickets out of his pocket, "Take one each, we'll be able to interchange if we need to. Who's driving who?"

"Marcus," Nick said, "Why don't you and Jason go with Mike and Chris so I can have a cigarette on the way to the show?"

"Fine by me," Marcus shrugged, "Corrie, you willing to put up with his smoke?"

"I think I'll manage," Corrie said with a wry grin, "Cigarettes never bothered me much."

"Here's your pass," Chris said, "Who's driving?"

"He is," Corrie said, "I have trouble working the pedals in these damned shoes."

"You should have worn sneakers," Chris chuckled, "Nobody would have said anything."

"That was a side bet," Nick grinned, "She lost, so she had to get dressed up for this."

"That's ok," Corrie grinned, "I like dressing up occasionally and if he keeps smoking those damned things I'll get him in the gym and win a bet of my own."

"I don't want to know," Mike said while shaking his head.

"Here's your parking pass," Chris said after handing the laminated card to Nick, "Show it to the gate guard behind the arena and park where he directs you."

"Wait for us," Nick said, "We'll all go in together."

"That works," Mike nodded.

The waiter brought the black folder back along with a fancy pen and handed it over to Nick. Nick opened it up and filled out the credit card slip. After a few moments of figuring, he put down the tip on the slip and took his copy, putting it in his pocket.

"Let's go," Nick said as he stood up and offered his arm to Corrie, "Shall we?"

Corrie smiled and took the offered arm. They walked out the door arm in arm while the rest of them could just look. Mike and Marcus, who'd known Nick the longest were all but shocked at this display. Chris and Jason were merely bemused by this. Finally, all four of them walked out the door just in time to see Nick open the car door for her and get into the driver's side. He lit up a cigarette and waved at the four of them as he pulled out the parking lot.

"I've never seen him this hot for anyone," Marcus said, "Have you?"

"No," Mike laughed, "He's falling for her and hard."

"Looks like it's reciprocal," Chris shrugged, "Is there a rule against it?"

"Probably," Mike shrugged, "As long as I'm their boss I won't worry about it too much as long as there's no problem."

"Can we go now?" Jason asked, "What's the big deal?"

"Yeah," Marcus chuckled and shook his son's hair, "We're going. Seeing Nick act like that is a bit out of the ordinary, that's all."

"More power to them," Mike mumbled as he fished for his car keys and let them into the car. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove towards the stadium. It was time to go see a concert.

***

The killer walked down the street, deciding that a car was too dangerous for the mission. She had no intention of parting with fifteen hundred dollars for the ticket, not when a bullet would be a lot cheaper. The streets at this hour were starting to clear out as the skies went dark.

There were only two people waiting for the bus when she walked up to the bus stop at third and vine. Neither one of the two people looked like a scalper, so she paced around the bus stop, getting annoyed at the wait. She did not want to have to go find Moore to get the ticket.

The killer stood there and waited a few minutes, getting more and more impatient as time passed. She had been waiting for about ten minutes by the time Moore finally showed up. He was about five foot seven and wearing a grubby denim jacket. She looked at him with a bemused expression before speaking.

"What are you looking at?" Moore asked.

"You must be Moore," the killer said, "I believe you have something I wish to purchase."

"Yeah," Moore said, "I might. How do I know you're not a cop?"

She laughed, "I'm not a cop. Do you have the ticket?"

"I do," Moore said, "But there's been a change."

It was at this point that Moore looked the killer up and down. From the husky voice on the phone Moore had been expecting a rather stern looking man wanting to stare at the eye candy of the Cookie Monsters show. He was surprised to find that she was actually a rather good-looking woman dressed in a dark overcoat and slacks. She was not smiling, but had a pretty face regardless. The killer knew that Moore was looking over her and smiled a little to help that along.

"What is the change?" she asked, hiding her annoyance behind the smile.

"I've got another offer," Moore explained, "But since I arranged to meet you I figured I'd give you the chance to meet the other buyer's price."

"We had a deal," the killer reminded Moore.

"So sue me, lady," Moore said, "The price is now two grand even. Take it or leave it. I'll go meet that other guy."

"What if I didn't bring that much cash?" the killer asked, playing the game.

"Well," Moore said, his dirty little mind churning, "I haven't had a good blow job in a while. If you blow me, the ticket is yours for the fifteen hundred."

"I see," the killer said, chuckling, "I would like to see what I'd be blowing you for first."

"What?" Moore grinned, "You don't trust me?"

"About as much as much as I would trust Bill Clinton," the killer said.

"Ok, ok," Moore said and showed her the ticket, "Here it is. A single ticket fourth row for the Cookie Monsters. Are you ready to put those sweet lips to work?"

"Sure," the killer said, "And where do you propose we do this, out here in the open?"

"I'm not too proud," Moore shrugged, "There's an alley over here."

"Perfect," the killer cooed.

They walked over to the alley, and Moore went behind the dumpster, beckoning the killer over. The killer chuckled softly and knew that Moore would be an easy target, one that was unlikely to be missed. She walked around the dumpster and saw that he already had his dick out of his pants, ready.

"Is that it?" the killer asked.

"What?" Moore asked, "Get on your knees, bitch."

"I'm sorry," the killer said, "I don't have a magnifying glass."

"And if you don't start sucking on it you don't have a ticket either!" Moore, a bit pissed off now, almost yelled.

The killer just shook her head and pulled the silenced pistol out of the jacket. Moore's eyes went wide with this development, but she did not give him a chance to say anything. Two whistles and a stream of flame came out of the silencer as the two bullets slammed into Moore's skull. The former scalper slumped down on the ground, dead long before his body came to a rest on the ground.

"Asshole," the killer sighed as she leaned down and pulled the ticket out of his pocket.

She put the pistol back into the holster and searched his other pockets, taking a large bankroll of cash and four other tickets. She wanted to make sure that this looked like a standard robbery. She looked around and made sure that nobody was watching her and walked out of the alley as if nothing had happened. Just in case she was noticed she walked in the opposite direction of her safe house.

The killer smiled when she got about two blocks away. She doubled back into another alley and headed back over to the safe house. She knew she had to change clothes and ditch the gun before going to the arena. She had pushed the envelope this far and she was ready to push it the rest of the way.
Chapter Thirty – 'Concertina'

Having made it to the stadium on time the six of them were walked to their seats by security, as if they were visiting dignitaries. The passes and seats set up by Celia were usually reserved for such people. Corrie, Nick and Jason were chatting up a storm about their experiences with the music. Corrie and Nick sat together on one side of the group of seats. Marcus and Jason got the middle because Jason wanted to see the show the most. Chris and Mike took the other side.

Mike slumped down into his seat early, not interested in standing up. All of them were waiting for the opening act to come out on stage. None of them were really certain who the opening act was supposed to be so when the lights came down all of them sat down and strained to see in the darkness.

The killer was sitting in her fourth row seat as well. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dark so she could see the men that were arrayed against her. She sat back in her seat and smiled content in the knowledge that they would not be able to see her from where they were sitting.

The lights started to come up a little bit and five men in spandex came out on to the stage. They were all relatively decent looking men, though two of them should not have been wearing spandex anymore. The harmonic and rather soulless music started soon after they were on stage.

"Who are these clowns?" Jason asked.

"I thought these bozos were dead," Nick said.

"I'd hoped they were," Corrie groaned.

"Aren't they the backstreet dolts?" Mike asked from his seat.

"Yep," Corrie confirmed as the bad music continued, "They were really big when I was a teenager."

"Are they as bad as they look?" Jason asked.

"They were terrible back when they were new," Nick said, "Though I'm sure someone loved them. They sold a lot of albums."

"My friends loved them," Corrie shrugged, "I always thought they were phony schmucks. Still can't stand that crappy music."

Everyone groaned as the act started. Even the kids that were there saw through the crap. The killer silently wished for a sniper rifle as the act droned on for an excruciating forty minutes. Mike and his people even had to duck a few times as popcorn and other harder things were thrown up on the stage. The show did not start particularly well.

***

Mason Stone sat back in his pile of pillows on the master bed area of the conversion van. He smoked a cigarette and looked at the lines and lines of numbers on the screen of the laptop propped on one of them. He hated this end of the business even when he did it for a living, but he hated to lose more than he hated wading through numbers.

"Finding anything?" Karen asked from her own computer setup.

"Yeah," Mason chuckled, "Stephen Derringer is a complete and total slime. You name the biggest slimes in the area and the odds are good that Derringer has called them in the past week. You have anything good?"

"I've got a few numbers here that don't have Names attached to them," Karen said, "They were all done on his cell phone. They don't even have an unknown on it The name is blank."

"That shouldn't be," Mason said and then shouted at Jim, "Hey Jim! Did the retrieval program puke on those?"

"It shouldn't have," Jim said as he pushed back the curtain, "Let me see."

Karen showed him. The screen and Jim picked up the laptop to hit some keys on the data. He looked back at them with a perplexed expression and gave her back the machine.

"Let me look at the raw data," Jim said, "Can I borrow your machine for a few, Mason? Mine's busy crunching on the codes on the Panamanian bank for the Silas track."

"Sure," Mason nodded. He had finished going through the numbers anyway.

Jim pulled up the data from his hard drive over the network and looked at the raw logs he'd pulled. He was puzzled for a bit so he decided to jump back into the phone network to see why they didn't pull though. Mason had almost as much experience with the phone networks as Jim did so he watched over Jim's shoulder.

"The search didn't malfunction," Jim said, "The data isn't there. That's odd."

"System blip?" Mason asked him.

"I don't think so," Jim said with the shake of his head, "When that happens it usually puts in garbage or the whole thing isn't logged."

"Government number?" Mason asked, "Most government numbers aren't put into that system. Protection from people like us."

"That's possible," Jim said, "It also gives the fuckers immunity."

"Not really," Mason grinned, "Their records are saved. Just have to reverse the search."

"I gotcha," Jim chuckled, "Slick, Mason. Do a search on those numbers that didn't show up."

"Only one number," Karen said, "One that was called four times."

"Search it," Mason said.

"What's the number?" Jim asked Karen.

"601-555-1223," Karen told him.

Jim punched in the number and retrieved the information. His eyes went wide when he saw it. He looked at it for a few moments before looking up. Karen and Mason looked at him, and finally Jim slid the laptop around so they could look at the scene.

"What the hell is the Mayor doing calling that prick?" Mason asked.

"Maybe he called to bitch about the hatchet job?" Karen asked hopefully.

"More likely to start it," Jim said, "Those four calls came within an hour."

"Some three hours before the piece aired," Mason said, "I think Jim is right."

"Why?" Karen asked, "That just puts more pressure on his office."

"It is just a bit on the insane side," Mason admits, "But it would explain a lot too."

"Like Creighton?" Karen said.

"Among other things," Mason said, "The administrators usually go ape shit on cases like this. We had one when I was a cop and nobody had fun during that time. There's usually a shitload of overtime and a lot more cops than they let Miller have."

"You think that the whole thing is a put on?" Jim asked.

"Probably not," Mason said, "But it's entirely possible that someone is using it to their advantage."

"Which explains the copycat," Karen nodded.

"Exactly," Mason nodded.

"You don't think Silas is connected to them?" Jim asked.

"That's what we need to find out," Mason shrugged, "How long until you crack those codes?"

"I don't know," Jim said as he looked onto the screen of his laptop, "They're using top dollar stuff. Unless the program hits a lucky break probably another two or three hours."

"Enough time to watch a movie," Karen smiled.

"I've got the pay per view cracked on the dish," Jim grinned, "Choose your poison. I'm going to grab a nap."

"Ok," Mason said, "I'll wake you up after the movie."

"That works," Jim said as he folded down the front passenger seats down to make his bed, "Enjoy."

"Comedy or action?" Mason asked Karen.

"Comedy," Karen said, "I've seen enough gore today."

"Fair enough," Mason shrugged, "Let's see how good this is."

"Can't be any worse than the last one you picked," Karen grinned.

"We'll see," Mason chuckled and laid down on the bed with her, "If it is, I'm sure we can think of something else to do to kill a couple hours."

"I'm sure you can," Karen grinned and kissed him, "I have no doubt of that."

***

There was a collective sigh of relief from the front row as the Backstreet Boys left the stage and the lights turned off. Chris explained that there would be at least fifteen minutes between the sets, as they had to bring out props and let the audience wind down between shows.

"Good God that was terrible," Marcus said, "I hope that's not indicative of what's to come."

"If Cookie saw that display she was probably cringing," Chris laughed, "I've never seen one of her opening acts blow it that badly."

"Yeah," Mike said from sitting back in his seat, "I could have been home sleeping."

"It gets better," Corrie told them, "When I saw her in the academy the opening act sucked almost as bad as this one did. The show went on to blow us all away when she came on."

"Sounds interesting," Marcus shrugged and sat back.

Everyone sat back a little bit, though it was well noticed by everyone but Jason that Corrie and Nick were pulling even closer together, with Corrie laying her head on Nick's shoulder. Mike could not help smile about that. He hoped something good did come out of it. Nick's personal life had been almost as barren as his own since coming over from the dark side.

Finally, the lights dimmed again and the background music stopped. Jason was up in his seat and ready for the show to start. The lights started moving and a strobe was applied as a loud thumping beat started. Finally, a deep male voice came out from nowhere.

"And now..." the man said, "The woman you've been waiting for. Let's hear it all for the Cookie!"

Then music started in a hard, but better-played parody of Limp Bizkit's "Nookie", which was appropriately reworded for the circumstances and sung by a chorus of men who were dimly lit on the left side of the stage.

"I did it all for the Cookie... For the Cookie... For the Cookie..." they chanted as the lights moved over to the right side of the stage. A brightly smiling and skimpily dressed Cookie Morris sauntered out from the off stage area. The dancers quickly came out and tossed a cordless microphone to her.

"Sing it loud boys!" Cookie yelled as she danced around with the singers, most of which were at least fifteen years younger than she was.

That is not to say Cookie Morris looked her age by any stretch. Fast approaching her fortieth birthday she did not look a day over thirty. Her golden blonde hair, though it had been touched up by her stylists, was the same color it had been her entire life and her two-hour workout each day ensured that her lithe figure stayed as tight as it always had been. She put a lot of time and money into maintaining her body.

After the interesting introduction Cookie collected a six-string electric guitar and seamlessly moved the band, which was being revealed by the lights as the music started, into one of their most famous numbers. A very typical fusion of rock, blues and late 90's hip-hop, the Cookie Monsters had clawed their way to the top by heavy touring, a lot of hard work, not to mention quite a bit of sex appeal and charisma.

The mix worked well for everyone and despite the annoyance of the opening act. The crowd took to the dazzling sights and sounds of the show really well. Cookie had people dancing around before the end of the first song. She was in her element, and she damned well knew it.

The killer was not a big music fan, but found gatherings like this amusing just to watch the stupid ways people moved. Her eyes darted all over the audience, looking for interesting people. A young man moved closer to her, looking her up and down as if this were a singles bar instead of a concert. She smiled at him, just because she knew that idiots like him could be amusing.

By the fourth song in the set, he was close to the killer and she was dancing with him. She did not like him very much, but that was not unusual. She did not particularly like anyone. Being misanthropic had its advantages, she had found, as nobody ever disappointed her, even idiot teenagers dancing with a beautiful woman.

Before long the entire police contingent was up and dancing with the music. Even Marcus, the oldest one of the six, was watching and enthralled by the performance. Not being the rock and roll aficionado that the others were he had never really seen a performance like this one.

Both Nick and Corrie kept looking at the show only periodically. Their eyes were mostly on each other still. They were dancing, holding hands and playing like a couple of lovebirds. It was so obvious that even Cookie was beginning to notice from the stage. After about twenty-five minutes of solid song, dance and rock and roll Cookie dialed down the pace a little, mainly to give the band a breather.

It was standard practice for her to banter with the audience about this point in time, so she decided to have some fun with her new friends in the front row. She walked to the edge of the stage and smiled.

"How is everyone doing tonight?" Cookie yelled to the audience.

A general roar of approval came from the crowd.

"Great to hear," she said with a smile, "It looks like we have a lot of friendly faces in the crowd tonight, including a dear friend of mine. Chris, it's great to see you here tonight."

"Always great to be here, Cookie," Chris shouted back up on the stage.

"I recognize a few of these faces from the local news," Cookie said into her microphone, "Lieutenant Miller, good of you to come out here. I think that asshole on the TV gave you a bad rap today. Same for the rest of you."

"Thank you," Mike said to her, though she never heard it, only saw his lips move. Chris nodded a thank you as well. Miller needed this right now.

A general roar of approval came from that statement, all except for the killer, who was laughing. Cookie made a few more comments to the audience and decided to do something off the program for them. She just hoped she could remember enough of the song to get it right.

"I think I'm going to take a quick trip back into the early 1980's," Cookie told the crowd, who roared as they always did, "Guys, I hope some of you know this. It should not be too difficult. I'll play the guitar lead, just try to keep up with it. This song was done by Debbie Harry back when I was a kid. It's the only police related song that I can think of right now, a tune called 'Under Arrest'."

She started playing a hard guitar riff for the tune. Luckily for her, the drummer knew the tune as well as she did and she had some help. The bass player was good at improvisation and followed along very well. Once Cookie had the tune going, she started with the words.

"The name on the list..." Cookie sang, "Didn't fit the ID..."

***

Finding himself completely unable to sleep with Mason and Karen making noise in the back, Jim Entragian decided to take a walk while waiting for the key cracking program to get into the absurdly well-protected Panamanian bank.

Jim walked to the entrance of the mobile home park and decided that he would look for somewhere to get a beer. He pushed back his wild hair as he walked down the nearly deserted street. The city here slept better than other parts, because there were very few businesses open although it was not very late.

Jim found an open bar and walked in the door. It was a slightly run down place, having seen the wear and tear of the years. There were pictures all over the place of people who looked as though they had been important at one time. There was only a solitary customer sitting drinking alone at one end of the bar now though. Jim took the other side and looked around for the bartender.

An older man limped out of the back room and went over to Jim. He looked Jim over and shrugs.

"You have any ID?" the man asked Jim

"Sure," Jim shrugged, and put his ID down on the table.

"Ok," he said, "What do you want?"

"Beer," Jim told him, "Whatever you have on tap."

"That will be two bucks," the older man said.

"Thanks," Jim said and slid a five across the bar, "Don't worry about change. I'll have another beer when this one is done."

The man merely nodded and pulled out a cloth to wipe down the table. Jim downs a bit of the beer and looks around at the pictures again. Jim decided that he was in a mood for a little conversation.

"Who is that in the pictures?" Jim asked the gruff old bartender.

"Not from around here, are you?" the man asked.

"Nope," Jim admitted, "I'm staying in that RV park down the road."

"Heh," the man said, "The man in the pictures is the one who started this place, nearly thirty years ago now."

"Really?" Jim asked, "Cool. Anyone I should know of?"

"His name was Big Jack Kirby," the man lamented, "Back in the days when the syndicate was still king around these parts. I don't believe I caught your name?"

"Jim Entragian," he said and held out a hand, "And you are?"

"Jerry Bradley," he told the younger man, "This place was much different when Kirby was alive."

"What happened to him?" Jim asked.

"Eh," Bradley shrugged, "Big Jack stepped on too many toes. Charlie Bullock let Crazy Harry Lupo take him out and take his territory. Too bad Crazy Harry turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes either of us ever made."

"I remember hearing something about him," Jim said, not wanting to let on how much he really knew about it, "Didn't he kill a bunch of people?"

"Yeah," Bradley shrugged, "Then that son of a bitch Nester set him up with the cops. That's the one that really blew the organization apart."

"Really?" Jim asked, "Who was Nester?"

"Have you seen that shit on the TV in the past few days?" Bradley asked and continued when Jim nodded, "That cop that's getting his ass beaten in the media was Ray Nester. Son of a bitch damn near decapitated the fucking syndicate. Killed off Freddie Pena, got the Bullocks locked up. I think Charlie's due to fry this year too. Hope they make it painful."

"I think I read something on that," Jim said, "What was the real scoop there?"

Jerry spent the next forty-five minutes and three beers talking about the way the last year of the syndicate had gone. He was not thrilled with the way that Miller had gone through and played them all off each other successfully. He told the story well though and surprisingly accurate, for a negative perspective.

"Huh," Jim said at the end of the story, "Never knew they could get away with so much."

"That sorry prick Clinton pardoned their sorry asses a few weeks later," Bradley groused, "They get to be king shit cops and I am still trying to eke out a living out of this shithole. It could be worse. I could be spending the rest of my days in a prison cell like Max, Charlie and Crazy Harry."

"Or you could be dead like Freddie Pena," Jim chuckled.

"That too," Bradley admitted, "Though Howie brought that one on himself. Dumbass."

"I've got to run," Jim said, "Thanks for the story."

"You're welcome kid," Bradley grunted, "See you around."

Jim walked back towards the park and decided that it was just about time to see whether his program had broken through the codes yet.

***

The killer was beginning to get bored with the set of songs, though her "friends" in the front row were all still really in to the act. The teenager that had been hitting on her was still around trying to make small talk, despite the fact that she had long since lost interest.

She finally decided that she had enough and started walking towards the back. The teenager, being predictably more interested in a beautiful woman that had once almost responded to him, followed her when she started walking out. She internally growled at him, but kept the feeling to herself temporarily.

Cookie's band was about two-thirds of the way through the act, and she was tired of her own material again. Having played three simple pop numbers in a row she decided to cover a song that she had done on and off for years, PJ Harvey's "A Perfect Day."

"He got lucky, got lucky one time..." Cookie sang.

The killer snorted at the line, but it seemed to embolden the teenager. He moved up closer to the killer as she walked. She decided to have a little more fun with the situation and smile at him while speeding up the pace. The pounding beat of the song followed them up to the edge of the stadium.

The killer ducked into an area of the stadium known to be a good place to hide out without camera coverage. She did a cursory glance and was thankful that more people were interested in the concert than in making out. The area was devoid of life, as even the security guards were up watching the show.

The music was still perfectly audible in this back area and its muted acoustical characteristics made the volume a little lower. The killer smiled as she saw the kid follow in the area, completely unsure of himself. He summoned up the courage to walk up to her, and without another word the killer pulled him close to her and kissed him deeply.

"God is the sweat running down his back..." Cookie sang.

The kid got totally into the moment, kissing her back and surprisingly not making too much of a mess of it. She let him begin feeling her up and touching her body. He finally decided to touch her hair and got a surprise as he knocked the blonde wig off her, revealing her jet black hair.

"The water soaked her blonde hair black..." Cookie sang abruptly.

The kid could not believe his luck, but it wouldn't be luck for long. The killer was beginning to tire of the kid already, having had much better over her life. The music and the singing continued in the background. Finally, she had enough and physically pushed the kid back away from her. He stumbled and then just looked at her in rage. She knew that he wouldn't go away easily.

"Said a prayer, pulled the trigger and cried..." Cookie sang while the killer let off a devastating sidekick that drove the kid's nose into his brain.

"It's a perfect day," Cookie continued to sing, blessedly oblivious of the murder having taken place in the stadium, "A perfect day..."

"It most certainly is," The killer said as she collected her wig from the floor and secured it back on her head.

The killer walked over to the nearby bathroom and slipped in to clean up her lipstick and straightened the wig. Once that was done she left the stadium through one of the side exits, walking as far away from the scene of the crime as she could before dropping the wig into a dumpster on top of some very foul smelling rotten Chinese food.

Straightening her natural black hair as she walked she meandered around the neighborhoods until she got back to her safe apartment. Knowing that she would not get anything else out of the police that night, she went to sleep quickly, as if she had only stomped on a fly at the stadium.

***

"You know," Cookie said to the audience, "I think I'm going to need help on this next number."

A rousing cheer of approval came from the crowd. The multigenerational nature of the show was definitely showing in the front row. Mike, Nick, Corrie, Chris, Marcus and his son were all enjoying the show equally. Marcus, probably the least rock and roll inclined of the bunch, was probably enjoying the show even more than his son was.

"Ok," Cookie said, "I need a guy up here to join me for this next song. Someone young, someone cute..."

The crowd roared with approval. Every guy in the audience was hoping to be chosen by Cookie for this.

"Hmm," Cookie said as she walked around the edge of the stage, "I don't know... There's a lot of you out there."

Jason was jumping around like a maniac hoping to be chosen. Cookie winked at Chris who simply nodded at her, though he was smiling too. Cookie sauntered around a couple times, teasing the entire audience and then went over to the section of stage right in front of the six of them.

"Ok Cutie," Cookie said to Jason, "I think I'll choose you tonight."

"Me?" Jason asked, surprised.

"Yes you, come on up here!" Cookie told him, "I don't bite. Well, not unless asked nicely."

Jason did not need any further encouragement, though he got plenty out of it from his father and the other police officers. Jason took Cookie's offered hand and climbed up onto the stage, face to face with his idol in the most public way possible. He was damned near speechless by the time he got up there.

"So what's your name, Cutie?" Cookie asked him.

"Jason," he managed to stammer out.

"You having fun here tonight, Jason?" Cookie asked him.

"Best show I've ever seen!" Jason exclaimed.

"I always love to hear that," Cookie smiled, "All right. I need help for my next song. I didn't bring anyone cool enough to sing it with me. Can you help me out?"

"I can try," Jason said, beginning to feel more at ease with her.

"Ok," Cookie grinned, "The song is 'Do You Feel What I Feel'. Are you familiar with it?"

"Oh yes," Jason nodded emphatically, "I know that song."

"Great!" Cookie exclaimed, "Since Scott Weiland isn't here to sing it with me tonight, I was hoping that maybe you could fill in for me."

"Sure," Jason said, though he was shaking in his boots.

This was another long standard part of Cookie's show. Without fail, she pulled one lucky guy out of the audience to sing that song with her. It usually turned out horrible, but that was part of the fun. The guys were never supposed to get it right, just be fodder for Cookie and a comedic bit for the audience.

"Lucky kid," Chris said with a smile as Cookie started the song.

"You set this up, didn't you?" Marcus asked him.

"Yep," Chris agreed, "She always does this, but I asked her to choose Jason tonight."

"Thanks," Marcus said, "Jason's been bearing the brunt of the discord between Margie and me. He deserves a night like this."

"Don't sweat it," Chris said, "I've been in his shoes."

"Got any advice?" Marcus asked him as they watched the song continue.

"Get out before you hurt the kids anymore," Chris told him, "If you can't save it, don't destroy the whole family trying. That was one of the things that helped push my brother over the edge."

"I'll keep that in mind," Marcus sighed and watched his son having the time of his life.

***

Mason was lying in the bed of the conversion van smoking a cigarette when Jim pushed open the curtain. Jim chuckled as he saw Karen sleeping against Mason and tried to decide if he should actually bug them.

"What's up, Jim?" Mason asked him.

"The program is finished," Jim said, "I've got about a dozen working codes to get into the bank in Panama. Whenever you're ready to look at Silas we can do it."

"Sure," Mason nodded, "Go ahead and log in. I'll be there in a second."

Mason put on a set of sweats and went up to the front of the van. He sat down in one of the swivel chairs and looked at Jim's screen. Jim punched a few more buttons and up came a graphical interface for the Panamanian Banco General. It was all in Spanish, however, so Jim did not know what to do next.

"Better roust Karen," Jim suggested, "She knows Spanish better than either of us do."

"Why couldn't they have stuck to Switzerland?" Mason growled, "I speak German."

"We cooperate too much with the Swiss," Jim grinned, "The Panamanians keep secrets better and don't open up for anyone."

Mason nodded and sighed as he got up to shake Karen awake. She brushed some of her fine blonde hair out of her face and looked at him. Mason smiled and waited for her to wake up a little bit more trying to get her to move.

"What's up, Mase?" Karen asked him.

"Banco General," Mason told her, "GUI is in Spanish. Jim needs you to translate."

"You need to learn that one you know," Karen told him as she slid on a robe.

"I probably do," Mason agreed, "But I'm already Tri-lingual."

"German and Russian are good," Karen admitted, "But I speak those, as well as Spanish and French."

"Sue me, chickie," Mason shrugged, "Let's go check some records. We can debate this point later. Maybe we'll try our luck abroad again in an area that speaks Spanish."

"A few months on the Mediterranean coast could be cool," Karen said, grinning as she got up.

"Just what we need," Jim growled, "Another place where nobody can understand a word I say."

"Just find a local prostitute and you'll be fine, Jimbo," Mason laughed, "No matter how bad you are at a language you always seem to learn enough for that. Now, let's see what we've got at Banco General."

"Ok," Karen said as she started poking through the interface, "It seems to be a fairly straight forward interface. What do you want me to search for first?"

"I want the full account records for Silas Shipping," Mason said, "Let's see where they came from."

"Right," Karen said, punching in the account information, "Let's see what we have here."

Karen pulled up the records and transferred them to the laptop's hard drive, along with several other records to cover their tracks. Once downloaded through the satellite connection she pulled the records up in another window for them all to examine.

"Why are the records in English?" Jim asked, "The GUI was in Spanish, wasn't it?"

"It's an American account," Mason explained, "They'll keep the records in the language of the account owner."

"This account doesn't see much activity," Karen said as she scanned the records, "It's been around for a couple years, but doesn't have more than a dozen transactions a month."

"Except for last October," Jim said, "That month has nearly three thousand transactions going out."

"Why would they need so much one October and then drop down again to nearly no transactions?" Mason asked.

"The transactions are nearly identical too," Jim said, "All of them are 2,500 dollars each."

"Before that the only regular payouts were to our dead girl," Karen agreed, "Those payouts continued after then too, but in higher amounts."

"Ok," Mason said, thinking about options, "In increments like that I have an idea on what it is."

"You're a better man than I am then," Jim said, "I have no clue. It's not laundered very well if they are doing it like this."

"It's Panama," Karen countered, "They didn't need to launder it much."

"She's right," Mason said, "No legitimate concern could have gotten these records. They'd be inadmissible due to exclusion rules. Can you tell which banks received the outgoing transfers?"

"Sure," Karen said as she looked over the October records, "Looks like some of it went all over. Most of it to banks around here."

"How many to the same bank Courtney Sivetson used?" Mason asked, "I want to be sure of myself before I say what I'm thinking."

Jim counted for a minute, "32 that I've counted so far."

"Do you have codes for that bank?" Mason asked.

"Give me ten minutes on the dark net and I will," Jim grinned, "I'll trade off one of the Banco General codes."

"Do it," Mason said, "See if you can get codes for the other banks too. I want to check out all those deposits."

"Want me to piss off the owners of Silas?" Jim asked.

"How?" Mason asked him.

"I can remove the cash from their account and bankrupt them," Jim grinned, "We wouldn't be able to touch the cash for a few years, but it will be useful eventually."

"Not yet," Mason said, "Can you hack in a tracker on that account though?"

"Sure," Jim said, "I'll have it email a hotmail account whenever a transaction comes through on this account."

"Good," Mason said, "Get trading. I want to nail down who owns Silas."

***

Cookie's show finished with her usual flourish and several encores of old favorites from earlier in her career. When the lights went down for the last time Chris stood up and put the backstage pass around his neck, telling the others to do the same. Chris had never been in this arena before, but it was not too difficult to figure out where to go. Seeing that the passes were in order the security guards let the group into the backstage area.

"We need to find Celia," Chris said, "Cookie will still be showering and changing into something more comfortable."

"What she was wearing looked good," Corrie said, "But I bet it's not that comfortable to stand in."

"For clothes that look that good she says they are as uncomfortable as all get out," Chris chuckled, "There's Celia there."

"Enjoy the show?" Celia asked them when they walked over.

"Loved it," Chris smiled, "Cookie crashed out yet?"

"She'll be out of the shower in a few," Celia said, "I don't believe I've met the rest of your friends here?"

"Well," Chris said, "You met Mike earlier. This is Marcus Holbein and his son Jason. Nick and Corrie round out the crew here."

Greetings were exchanged and all of them walked into the back dressing rooms. Far from the luxurious settings they were all expecting the dressing room was rather run down, with little for furnishings except for a few comfortable couches and a bunch of folding tables with food.

"Cookie will be out in a few minutes," Celia told them, "She's been looking forward to meeting all of you."

"You taking off, Celia?" Chris asked her.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Show is over, my job is done for tonight. My boyfriend is in town and I'm going to go out and get plastered with him. I figured I'd leave Cookie in your capable hands, Chris."

"That works," Chris laughed, "Have fun, Celia."

"I intend to," Celia grinned devilishly as she departed with a wave.

"She's nice," Corrie said.

"She's been with Cookie since those days she lived on our couch in North Carolina," Chris told them, "Right about the time Carrie and I got back together."

"Cool," Jason said, "Before she got famous, right?"

"Yep," Chris nodded, "Long before the monsters hit it big. I was still an FBI agent then, and Carrie was just out of college."

"Why'd you leave the feds?" Mike asked him.

"I was a burnout," Chris admitted, "I'd done ten serial killer cases in three years. I had also written two books and the first novel hit the bestseller list. I decided to bug out and write books for a living."

"So now you just consult," Nick said, "Not much of a change."

"I was also a sheriff," Chris reminded them, "I lasted less than a year living out in Boland Creek before getting drafted into the election. Did that for two years in addition to writing."

"Only two years?" Marcus asked, "When did you leave?"

"After I rebuilt the department," Chris replied, "The Sheriff that preceded me was a corrupt son of a bitch."

Luckily for Chris, Cookie walked into the room wearing a cloth robe, immediately earning looks from all the men in the room. She smiled and went over to Chris first.

"It's been too long, Chris," Cookie said as she jumped in to his lap to give him a hug, "How are you doing?"

"Not too bad," Chris grinned and hugged her tightly, "I see the tour is going well."

"Except for the opening act," Mike dryly added.

"I'm trying to forget about them," Cookie admitted, "The promoter's daughter still loves those idiots. I've been trying to get them tossed for weeks. How bad were they? I didn't get here until halfway through their set and I don't like to watch the opening acts unless they're good."

"Let's put it this way," Chris told her, "We got pelted by more than a few empty beer cups while they were up there."

"Yuck," Cookie said, "I'm sorry. I guess we should make official introductions here, though I know this little Cutie."

"I can't believe I'm here," Jason managed to stammer out, "I thought it would be more glamorous though."

"Everyone thinks that," Cookie laughed as she slid out of Chris's lap and onto the couch beside him, "We tend not to go too far out backstage. We're not here long enough."

"You seemed to know who I was," Mike said, extending his hand, "I'm Mike Miller. Nice to meet you, Cookie."

"Likewise," Cookie said as she shook hands with him, "I hope the show brightened up your day a bit."

"Oh it did," Mike grinned, "Thanks for your vote of support."

"Idiots like Derringer do no good for anyone," Cookie shrugged, "It wasn't much, but at least I could say something about it."

"I'm Jason's dad," Marcus said, "Marcus Holbein at your service."

"Now I can see where he got his looks from," Cookie smiled, ever the flatterer, "So who are the lovebirds here?"

Nick and Corrie blushed at that one. They had tried not to be so obvious about the feelings they were sharing, but they had fooled no one, especially not Cookie.

"Those are two of my detectives who are supposed to be professionals," Mike said with a mock seriousness, "Nick Jones and Corrie Albiston."

"Hey now," Nick protested, "We're not that bad."

"Like hell," Marcus scoffed, "I've known Nick for five years now and he's never been like this with anyone else that I've seen."

"Maybe he just hadn't found the right girl before," Corrie grinned, enjoying the look of discomfort on his face.

"You rarely do when dealing with cop groupies and hookers," Mike noticed.

"The sordid world of a policeman's life," Cookie laughed, "I love it. More than worth the tickets to the show."

Nick blushed, but Corrie could not help but laugh. From their conversations over the previous nights she knew all about his sordid past. She did not care because she liked him regardless. She smiled at Nick to let him know that. He smiled right back.

"Celia said that the new album is done," Chris grinned, mercifully changing the subject, "She said it's good."

"Probably the best one I've done in years," Cookie admitted, "I have copies at the hotel for all of you. You will join me for a drink, right?"

"I'd love to," Marcus said, wondering why he was so keen to spend more time with this woman.

"Sounds good to me," Chris chuckled, "I'm assuming you still keep seltzer cold for me?"

"No alcohol for you," Cookie agreed, "Carrie would have my ass if I started you on that stuff again."

"A little bit of a problem, Chris?" Mike asked him.

"Not for about fifteen years," Chris said, "Until I met up with Cookie and Carrie again I was hitting the bottle rather hard trying to forget what my brother did."

"I still have nightmares about him," Cookie said, visibly shuddering.

"What did your brother do?" Jason asked.

"My brother was not very nice," Chris told the younger Holbein, "He killed a lot of people, many years ago."

"Jerry killed my parents too," Cookie said, "He would have killed me as well if Chris hadn't stopped him."

"Whoa," Jason said, "How come I've never read anything about this?"

"I'm sure the information is out there," Cookie told him, "But this happened long before I got famous for my music. We were teenagers at the time."

"How old was your brother?" Jason asked Chris.

"We were fifteen," Chris told him, "We were fraternal twins."

Chris and Cookie told the bulk of the story together for the next few minutes, enough to chill all their bones. It was not a pleasant story, and one in which there were no happy endings, simply empty lives. The story of how Cookie and Chris ended the life of Jerry the Slasher was an interesting one, however, and would have made a great movie if Chris had ever allowed it to be filmed. His book on the subject was still in a sealed envelope containing a printed manuscript and a CD Rom, not to be opened until after the deaths of himself, Cookie and his wife.

"Enough about Jerry," Cookie said finally, badly wanting to change the subject, "I've already remembered enough to bring back the nightmares."

"It's over," Chris agreed, "Jerry is dead and will stay that way."

"He's dead," Cookie assured them, "Chris made sure of that about a dozen years ago."

"Do I want to know?" Mike asked him.

"I'll admit it," Chris grinned, "I dug the son of a bitch up and burned the body. Felt damned good too. Don't regret it a bit."

They began to notice the security guards running around. Mike began to be concerned when he heard the radios going off. Before they could decide to get up and find out what was going on around them Celia Saliban came walking into the dressing room again. Her face was exceedingly pale. Everyone in the room knew that something was badly wrong.

"What is it Celia?" Cookie said, "It must be something serious to keep you from going to meet your man."

"They found a kid dead down there," Celia said, "I don't know the circumstances yet."

"Oh God!" Cookie exclaimed, "In the audience?"

"No," Celia said, "In the stadium though."

Cookie buried her head into Chris's shoulder and cried a little. Corrie did much the same to Nick and he wrapped his arms around her. Mike and Marcus looked at each other and sighed. They wanted to know what happened. Jason did not quite grasp the enormity of it.

"What do we do?" Cookie asked.

"Have the police been called?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Celia nodded, "Security did that."

"Did you see it, Celia?" Cookie asked.

"They won't let me through," Celia told them.

"They'll let me through," Mike said, "I'll go see what happened."

"Can you go with him, Chris?" Cookie asked him.

"Sure," Chris said, "Marcus, can you sit with her?"

Marcus nodded and moved over to the couch with Cookie to take her hand.

"Want me to go?" Nick asked them.

"No point," Mike shrugged, "You and Corrie hang out. It's not going to be our case anyway."

Nick nodded and continued to hold on to Corrie as Mike and Chris walked out of the room, getting directions to the location of the body from one of the security guards that were running around. Celia and Marcus sat with Cookie while they waited for word from them.

***

Completing his dark net session and successfully obtaining entry codes for three local banks in trade for one of the Banco General codes he pried out of the system, Jim shut down the IRC client and logged into the bank that Courtney Sivetson used regularly.

"What do you want to see?" Jim asked Mason.

"Grab the records for Sivetson and for the others on that list." Mason instructed him, "I want a search for the entrance of that 2,500 dollars and any transactions within 300 dollars of that 2,500 that occurred within a week of that transfer."

"That's a bitchy search," Jim chuckled, "Give me a minute to write the SQL code for it."

Jim punched away at the keyboard, grateful that Mason had given up on languages for him and let him go to a computer clinic the last time they had done an immersion course. He ran the search and came up with exactly two entries for each one of the people who had met the criteria.

"Smart call," Jim said, "Each of them had a check go out the next day for 2,300 bucks."

"Who did the checks get made out to?" Karen asked.

"Gary Gray for Mayor," Mason said without even looking at the screen.

"How the hell did you know that?" Jim asked him.

"Gray is crooked," Mason explained, "I'd guessed that already. Now, I know why he was trying to screw Miller over."

"Why go through all the trouble?" Karen asked him.

"It effectively launders the money," Mason explained, "Other than Sivetson, there's no link between the Mayor and the money. He, or someone close to him, used Silas to funnel dirty money into his political campaign."

"Each person received 2,500 bucks," Jim said, "But only gave 2,300 to Gray."

"The 200 was payment for making the donation," Mason explained, "2300 dollars is the legal limit for personal contributions. It cost them a fair bit of money, but this technique insulated Gray from it and put millions into his coffers."

"What do you want to bet Courtney Sivetson was the one who made the offer?" Karen said, "The one who doled out the cash?"

"We'll never be able to prove this," Jim said, "Especially if Courtney Sivetson is the only link."

"Can you get back in to Banco General?" Mason asked, very unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Jim chuckled, "What do you want me to do?"

"Break the account codes for the Silas accounts," Mason grinned, "Time for us to profit from the criminals again."

"Want me to clean out Silas after all?" Jim asked.

"Yep," Mason nodded, "Bleed them dry."

"Won't that wreck Miller's case against the Mayor?" Karen asked.

"No," Mason shrugged, "He couldn't get to these records anyway. He'll never be able to use them. Not to mention, there does not have to be cash in the account for the records to be there. If by some miracle he gets a legitimate way of getting those records, they'll still be there."

"So do a legitimate transfer?" Jim asked his partner.

"Yep," Mason grinned, "We'll use it as a rainy day fund. Put it in a numbered Swiss account. I'm betting that Gray will fall soon and his backers with him. Miller and company will go in like attack dogs with the information we've got."

"Now, that we know what to look for there may be some physical evidence," Karen smiled, "But that only takes care of the copycat. The original killer is still out there."

"One mess at a time," Mason grinned, "Truthfully, this one is probably more dangerous, especially if they were good enough to set something like this up."

"They're probably still hanging out with the stars," Karen said, "Should we call them?"

"Let them rest," Mason said as he sat down in the back, "I could use a good night's sleep as well. This will keep until morning."

Mason kicked off his boots and slid under the blanket. Karen chuckled as she joined him in the master bed, leaving Jim to his single bed in the front. Both Mason and Karen were asleep in minutes. Before he put his bed down, Jim quickly went back into Banco General and got the codes for the Silas account, spending about thirty minutes transferring every dime into a numbered account that they could access at a later date when they needed money. As soon as he finished that task he shut down the computer and pulled down his bed. It was time for him to sleep as well.

***

Mike and Chris walked down to the cordoned off area of the stadium and found that the security staff had roped it off properly. Miller showed his identification and the two men were escorted by the security staff to the location of the body.

"Who's in charge here?" Mike asked the security staff.

"That would be me," a middle-aged man with balding hair said, "I'm Ross Travis, head of security for the arena. I assume you're taking over the investigation?"

"No," Miller said, "I was in the building and wanted to see what happened. Did you call it in?"

"They said that they were sending out a homicide unit," Travis told him, "I've been keeping my men out until they get here. I cannot believe this happened. We've never had any real problems here before."

"Really?" Chris said as they walked into the secluded area, "You'd think this area would be a place where fights break out."

"It's more a make out spot usually," Travis said, "Kids want to get a little friendly during a show. It's healthy enough most of the time. Never expected anything like this."

"I know the spot well," Miller grinned, "I got my first blow job here, during a Rolling Stones show. They were still doped up and sucking, but the girl sucked a hell of a lot better."

"Comforting to know," Chris deadpanned, "Let's take a look at the body."

Travis nodded and led them around the corner. The young man's body was lying crumpled back, in the same position that it had fallen in at death. The only sign of struggle was a stream of blood that emanated from the badly deformed nose on his face. Miller crouched down to take a closer look. Chris stayed upright, knowing that there was too much of a chance of him falling and messing up the scene if he tried to get down there.

"His nose was shoved into his brain," Mike said, "Rather expert job too. Very little bruising on the outside of the face. I'm willing to bet that they won't find another bruise on the kid."

"Robbery?" Travis asked.

"His wallet is still in his pocket," Chris noticed, "There are easier ways to steal something. Whoever hit that kid knew where to do it."

"Did they dupe the call?" Charlie Roberts asked as they walked around the bend, "What are you doing here, Miller?"

"I was here for the show," Miller explained, "Figured I'd see what happened."

"Cookie freaked when she heard about it," Chris told him, "Wanted to make sure it wasn't something that could have been prevented."

"Well," Charlie said, "Since you're here... What's your impression?"

"Flat out murder," Miller said, "Can't make the official pronunciation, but the coroner is going to tell you that the kid was murdered by a single blow that put the bridge of his nose up into his brain."

"Fuck," Charlie scowled, "No chance of it being your guy?"

"At a concert?" Miller chuckled, "Not likely. Too public. Our guy likes privacy. This was also too quick. Probably an impulse crime of some sort. Either way, it's your problem, buddy."

"Thanks," Charlie said, "Just what I need. Another murder without a purpose."

"Now you know how I feel, Charlie," Mike grinned.

"Very few murders have a purpose," Chris observed coldly.

"Ain't that the truth," Charlie agreed.

"Ok," Mike said, "We've seen enough. Enough to tell Cookie that it was not security's fault. It's just another useless death."

"That works," Charlie said, "I've got work to do I guess. Good luck, Miller. If the TV is any indication, you're going to need it more than I do."

"Don't worry," Miller grinned, "Derringer has more to worry about than I do."

"Damn right," Charlie chuckled, "He spits on the sidewalk and he's going to get a ticket. Word is already spreading through the blues. Derringer is a hot ticket. Anyone who gets a valid ticket on that son of a bitch gets a bottle of Irish whiskey, care of Tom Vance. That's the unofficial word though."

"Of course," Mike nodded with a sly grin, "I don't approve, but I love it."

"Of course," Charlie grinned, "Now get out of here so I can get started."

"Can you let us know if anything important happens?" Mike asked.

"Will do, buddy," Charlie nodded.

Mike and Chris walked out of the crime scene and headed back towards the dressing area again. Chris looked at him with a wry grin as they walked.

"Think they'll actually follow through?" Chris asked.

"About STD?" Mike pondered, "Probably. My guess is that Derringer is about to have one really bad week. He's been attacking cops for years, but this one was over the line, even for that son of a bitch."

"What do you think about the dead kid back there?" Chris asked, "You know the garden variety murder better than I do."

"I don't know," Mike sighed, "It's another one that doesn't make sense. Probably never will."

"Great," Chris said.

They went back and explained to Cookie what they found. It did not comfort her much, but it was reassuring that her show and the precautions she forced arenas to take on her behalf were not the cause of this mess.

"I'm going to go see my guy," Celia told them, "Have fun tonight."

"Let's get out of here," Cookie said, "They put me up in a dynamite hotel. Drinks will be on me. What do you say? We'll drink to that young man's memory."

"Sounds good to me," Chris nodded, "How about you guys?"

"I'd really love to," Marcus said, looking at Cookie again, "But I really need to get Jason home. He's got school tomorrow."

"That's a shame," Cookie pouted, "I'd looked forward to having you all over."

"Hey Marcus," Nick said, "Why don't you go with Cookie and Chris? You're not going to sleep at home anyway."

"I'd like to go," Jason quickly said.

"You have to go to school," Marcus said, "You know that."

"We'll take him," Corrie smiled, "I need to get some sleep tonight sometime and if we spend the whole night talking away with you it's not going to happen."

"You don't fool me for a minute," Mike laughed, "You want to go spend some time alone with him, just like you've done every night this week."

"Hey," Nick protested, "It was her idea, not mine."

"I'm sure you aren't objecting," Corrie told him.

"Of course not," Nick grinned, "But we can take him if you want to stay."

"Why don't you all come out to the hotel for a little bit," Cookie said, "I have a limo for tonight. They can run us all out there, we'll have a drink, I'll give you all copies of the new CD, and the limo can bring you back for your cars when you're ready."

"That works," Chris said, "I'm game if you are."

There was a general murmur of agreement. Even Marcus was not grumbling, because he knew Jason wanted that CD badly. He could not stop looking at Cookie, however. There was just something about her that attracted him. Cookie smiled at all of them and led the way to the limo, pleased to be able to share her success with friends.
Chapter Thirty-One – 'Mid Life Crisis'

Arriving at the hotel in the limo was interesting. The reporters were out in force, as was the norm for a superstar of Cookie's status. She helped the others through it as best she could, but it was still a daunting thing for people not used to seeing it every day. Cookie was prepared for it, however. She had large hats that were very good for covering the whole head.

"Pull it down and walk straight forward," Cookie instructed them, "Don't worry about hitting anything, the hotel staff will keep the way clear for you."

"It must be hell having to deal with this whenever you move around," Corrie said as she looked at the big floppy hat.

"I'm used to it," Cookie smiled, "I won't be wearing one. So most of the reporters will be photographing me anyway, taking the heat off you. I figure you don't need the exposure right now."

"You got that right," Mike nodded, "Thanks."

They easily made the gauntlet run, with Cookie stopping to take a few questions to allow all six of them to glide gracefully inside and be guided into the elevator by the hotel staff. It was a very smooth drill and Cookie met them upstairs after it.

"Wasn't that fun?" Cookie asked with a mischievous grin.

"I don't see how you can live like this," Marcus said, "Too much trouble."

"I only do this for friends who don't want their pictures taken," Cookie shrugged, "Most of the time we just walk through and let them take their pictures. More publicity for the album and better sales."

"A constant promotion," Corrie nodded, "Just makes for an inconvenient way to live."

"I like it," Cookie smiled, "I'm never alone, I have people out there who like me, and I get to perform. I'll take the little inconveniences."

Cookie Morris was one of those rare people who not only liked the media spotlight, but also thrived on it. It was something that most of the police officers in the room could not understand. Cookie herself did not understand how anyone could live any way else.

"I've got the CD's in one of the other rooms here," Cookie said, "We've taken over this entire floor for a couple days and they came in when we got here. Some of them will be distributed to the Top 40 stations for prize giveaway promotions, but I get to give out a few myself."

"Cool!" Jason exclaimed.

"I think Celia said that they are in room 1033," Cookie said, "You want to come over with me, Jason?"

"Sure!" Jason exclaimed, "I'd love to!"

"The bar is fully stocked," Cookie said, "Even your dreadful seltzer, Chris. Help yourself while Jason and I go next door."

Chris meandered over to the bar and poured a glass of seltzer for himself. He was in the midst of pouring a scotch and water for Mike when they heard shouting from the next room. Mike ran first, followed by everyone else. Chris even moved quickly, catching up with Mike despite his bad leg.

"What's going on?" Mike asked as got to the room.

Cookie and Jason were standing there looking at two half-naked people. Cookie looked very pissed off, more than Chris had ever seen. All of them filed into the room as they saw there was no danger. Obviously, they had walked in to something that they did not want to walk in to.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?" Cookie asked them, "You know better than this!"

"It isn't so bad," Mike started to say and then he saw the drug paraphernalia lying on the bed, "Oh."

"You two picked a really stupid time to pull this shit," Cookie said, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Allow me," Nick said and went over to the two people. He licked his finger and dipped it into the white powder, tasting it with the tip of his tongue, "Columbian white. High-grade stuff. This is what Crazy Harry used to rot his brain with."

"Very stupid," Cookie said, "You two know what I think of drugs! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I...I..." the girl stammered.

"We were just having a little fun," the man said coolly, "There's nothing wrong with a little fun."

"Let me introduce my friends here," Cookie smiled evilly, "This is Lieutenant Miller, Detectives Holbein, Jones, and Albiston. Not to mention former federal agent Chris Gabriel. You two have fucked up bad."

"Oh God no!" the girl wailed, "I don't want to go to jail."

"How long have you been using?" Chris asked the girl.

"A few months," the girl cried.

"Jack?" Cookie asked, "Did you start her on this shit?"

"We sort of started together," he said, his eyes facing down.

"If you want to arrest them, feel free," Cookie told Mike, "I don't tolerate this. Especially in rooms that I'm paying for."

"How much stuff do you have?" Miller asked him.

"What?" the guy asked.

"How much dope?" Marcus said, clarifying Miller's question.

"Just an eight ball," the guy admitted.

"Flush it," Miller ordered, "I'm off duty. I don't want to deal with arresting you."

"I'd do it now before he changes his mind," Cookie suggested.

It did not take the two lovers long to toss all the cocaine into the toilet, flushing away nearly two hundred dollars worth of dope. Cookie stared at them and the anger was still apparent in her eyes.

"You two knew how I felt about this," Cookie said, "It's in your contracts too."

"I'm sorry," the girl said, but was cut off.

"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Cookie almost yelled, "I don't tolerate drugs. I don't have to and I refuse to do it."

"But..." the man said.

"Shove it!" Cookie said, "Go pack. You are both fired."

"You can't do that!" the man exclaimed.

"Read your contract you idiot!" Cookie shouted at him, "I don't have to give notice of firing you if I catch you doing this shit. You have fifteen minutes. If I see you in here after that I'll have you arrested for trespassing."

"But how are we going to get home?" the man asked.

"I don't care," Cookie said, "Take a bus. You are no longer needed."

Cookie picked up a pile of CDs and walked out of the room, going back to her own larger room. She told the security guard the score and asked him to escort the two druggies out of the area as soon as they were packed. She invited the police contingent back into her room again and apologized profusely.

"A bit hard on them, weren't you Cookie?" Chris said as he went back to the bar to pick up his seltzer.

"Everyone here knows how I feel about that," Cookie sighed, "Sorry you had to see that display Jason. I really am usually a very pleasant person."

"You really hate drugs huh?" Jason asked her.

"I've seen too many people die from them," Cookie said, "Chris knows what I'm talking about."

"Jason Brigand," Chris said, "That visit in New York still haunting you too, huh?"

"Probably always will," Cookie agreed.

"Who is he?" Jason Holbein asked.

"I'm guessing a friend of theirs," Marcus said, "One who had a problem."

"'Was' is a better word," Chris said, "You should tell this story, Cookie. I was absent for most of it."

"Yeah," Cookie nodded, "After Chris's brother died things started to settle down. Those of us that survived the fight had to move on. Carrie and I became good friends, but Jason started to drift away. His parents finding out he was gay did not improve his situation much either."

"He couldn't cope with the nightmares and the reality of the world. He started with minor drugs early and kept getting worse and worse. I joined him occasionally and did a little bit myself up until I got busted for them. But, I never did them to the extent Jason did."

"After Chris pulled me out of my self-destructive stint in '92, Chris, Carrie, and I drove with all our combined stuff to where he had been living in North Carolina. I knew that Jason was living in New York City at the time, so we decided to visit him. We didn't know how far gone he was at that point. Would you care to finish it, Chris?"

"Not really, but I will," Chris sighed, "We found him living in a fleabag place in the Bronx. The place was dirty and filled with addicts just waiting to die. He was pale, gaunt, and very sick at the time. He barely even recognized who we were. I wanted to get him out of there, but he was just too far gone."

"I was still in the FBI then, so I left a message for the local office to keep an eye out for him. They sent me a death certificate about six months later. He was buried in a potter's field somewhere. I guess, in a way, Jason Brigand was the last victim of my brother."

"That's not good," Corrie said, "I've had a couple friends go that way too. Ugly way to go."

"My brother went the same way," Miller put in, "Overdosed on Heroin back in 1983."

"I guess they aren't kidding when they say drugs are bad," Jason sighed.

"No," Marcus said, "And if you ever get the urge to try them, just let me know. I'll bring you to the morgue so you can see some people who had that same urge."

"Ugh," Jason said, shaking his head, "I'll pass on that one dad."

"Let's sign some cd's huh?" Cookie said hopefully, "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you Jason?"

"You bet!" Jason agreed.

"Good idea," Marcus said, "After that you go with Nick and Corrie so you can go to school, ok?"

"All right, Dad," Jason sighed.

"It's ok," Cookie smiled as she signed the first one for him, "Do you have a best friend that you share these experiences with?"

"Robbie was at the show too," Jason said, "I had better seats though. He's probably going to be busting a gut tomorrow."

"What's Robbie's last name?" Cookie asked, "Let's make him even more jealous and prove you were here."

"Robbie Curpre," Jason said, "He'll love that!"

"To Robbie Curpre," Cookie said as she wrote it, "Hope you enjoyed the show as much as Jason and I did. Much love, Cookie."

"Sweet!" Jason said, "Robbie will positively flip!"

"Good," Cookie said and rubbed the youngster's head, "It's people like you two that keep me in business. I try not to forget that."

Marcus mouthed a thank you to her and she winked at him. Cookie then went ahead and signed copies of the CD for Nick and Corrie, as they were not going to be staying much longer.

"We'd best get going," Corrie said, "How do we get back to the stadium?"

"The limo will take you," Cookie told them, "The press won't pay much attention to you if they know you're not me."

"Wear the hats just in case," Miller warned, "More press is something I don't need."

"Gotcha," Nick said, "We'll take it quiet tonight. Believe me."

Marcus went over and hugged his son, "Take care of your sister tonight. Make sure that she gets some food tomorrow morning ok?"

"Will do, Dad," Jason promised, "You going to chicken out tonight?"

"I think so," Marcus nodded, "Call my cell if you need me. No need for me to go home and make things worse."

"Right," Jason agreed, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll try to stop by," Marcus told him, "Keep those CDs under wraps too. No need to give your mother ideas."

"She won't even notice," Jason told him, "She tends to sit and watch the TV and brood when you're not around. She barely even notices Laurie and I are alive at those times."

"This won't last forever," Marcus promised, "I've got some thinking to do. Things will change soon."

"I know it," Jason said, "Don't sweat it."

"Nice to meet you Jason," Cookie said, giving the young man a hug, "Give my best to your friend Robbie."

"I will," Jason told her and hugged back, "Thanks!"

Jason then left with Corrie and Nick who were walking hand in hand, leaving Chris, Mike, and Marcus alone with Cookie. Cookie went over to the bar and made the drinks herself, happily playing hostess. Chris and Mike sat down on one of the couches and looked at Cookie as she made the drinks. When she finished she brought the glasses over and passed them out.

"Ok," Cookie said as she sat down, "What's the scoop on this new mess you're involved in, Chris?"

"Sleeping Beauty?" Chris asked, "A mess is a kind word for it."

"I gathered that from watching the TV today," Cookie chuckled, "It sounds like a total disaster. How did you get involved with it?"

"That's my fault," Mike told her, "I got his name from the local feds and called him."

"So tell me about it," Cookie said, "Maybe I can give you some insight. Chris used to talk through his cases with Carrie and I when he was still with the feds and I know more than I should about how fame seekers think."

"Ok," Chris told her, "Here's what we have so far..."

***

After dropping Jason off at the Holbein home, Nick pulled into the driveway outside Corrie's building and shifted the cruiser into park. He sat there for a second and simply looked at her. She smiled and shifted a little in the seat.

"It's been a good night," Nick said.

"Makes up for the day, doesn't it?" She asked him.

"I think so," he nodded, "I should go get some sleep."

"Why don't you come upstairs for a while?" Corrie asked, "I don't particularly want to be alone right now."

"I can understand that," Nick agreed.

They walked up the stairs, with Corrie stumbling several times in the heels that she had been wearing all evening. Nick caught her each time though she was grumbling at the heels by the time they had reached her apartment. She unlocked the door and walked inside, kicking the heels off as soon as she was on the carpet.

"I hate those goddamned things," Corrie said, "Always have."

"Why did you wear them then?" Nick asked.

"I wanted to look good tonight," Corrie said as she faced him, "Didn't you like it?"

"I loved it," Nick told her, "You don't need that stuff to look great though."

"Thank you," Corrie said with a nervous smile, "You want to sit down for a while?"

"Sure," Nick agreed.

"Want a drink?" She asked him as she picked up the shoes and tossed them under the table.

"No," Nick said as he shook his head and looked at her, "Just some company."

Corrie smiled and walked over with him and they sat down on her plush, overstuffed couch. He took her hand and looked into her eyes as they sat together. Neither one knew where to start, though they were both certain how the other was feeling.

"We really need to talk about this, you know," Corrie said, "It's becoming obvious to everyone how we're feeling."

"You feel it too, huh?" Nick asked her, "Well, what do you think?"

"I'm a little scared," Corrie admitted, "But I've never felt like this with anyone before."

"Me either," Nick said, "Never."

"Never?" Corrie asked.

"Not once," Nick confirmed, "You don't tend to meet a high class of person in the life I was living though."

"You've been out for a long time," Corrie reminded him.

"Sometimes I don't think it's been long enough," he told her, "Women tend to get scared when they find out just how bad I was."

"I don't think you're that bad," Corrie smile, "I think you like people thinking you're a bad guy."

"Sometimes," Nick admitted, "It makes life easier out on the street."

"And lonely everywhere else," Corrie reminded him.

"You saw through it though," Nick smiled, "You read me like a cheap novel."

"Not cheap," Corrie smiled, "I don't go for cheap. If I wanted that I'd have stayed with the life my parents lived."

"Fair enough," Nick told her, "So what's the next step?"

"Depends on how far you want to go," She said with a devilish smile.

He leaned over and kissed her softly. She pulled him closer and returned the kiss, holding him tightly as they did that. Whatever tension they had been feeling about it, whatever indecision they had melted away when they were in each other's arms. When it was finally time to come up for air they stared into each other's eyes.

"This is quite insane you know," Nick said.

"Shh," Corrie said as she put her finger on his lips, "Don't talk about it, let's just do it. To hell with the rest of it."

She stood up and pulled him into the bedroom with her. He followed without question, not wanting to argue. One of the few luxuries that she had splurged in over the past few years was a large king size bed. She was happy to finally have someone worth sharing it with.

***

"So this one seems to be a press hound?" Cookie said, "Then why hasn't he shown himself?"

"He wants the press," Chris told her, "That doesn't mean he wants to be caught immediately."

"I don't know anymore," Marcus said, "He's been quiet for a couple days now."

"If he's going for effect the one this morning did it," Mike shrugged, "It doesn't matter that it's a copycat, the fear spreads anyway."

"You know he's going to have to come up with something special now," Chris said, "He probably is still planning it."

"I don't even want to think about this right now," Marcus sighed.

"Want another drink?" Cookie asked him.

"I might as well," Marcus shrugged, "Not like I'm going to face Margie tonight anyway."

"Better make it a quick one, Marcus," Mike chuckled, "I think I need to go get some sleep."

"Where are you staying, Chris?" Cookie asked him.

"Business inn down the road," he shrugged.

"Police department can't afford luxury like this," Mike chuckled.

"Not tonight you aren't," Cookie said firmly, "The security people insist on having us rent the whole floor when we stay in a hotel. Half the bloody floor is empty. That goes for all three of you if you like."

"I'm in," Marcus grinned, "Beats going home right now."

"You know me," Chris chuckled, "I never say no to a free room in a luxury suite."

"I might as well," Mike shrugged, "I'll just have to come up and pick these two up anyway."

Cookie picked up the phone and called the security guards to let them know more people would be staying. She gave the names and descriptions to them and then put the phone back down on the hook.

"Put your clothes in the laundry bag and put it on the door when you go to bed," Cookie told them, "They'll clean them and have them back by 6am."

"Good to know," Mike shrugged, "I hate to be a spoil sport, but I haven't had a decent night's sleep since this case started. I think I will take advantage of the nice bed if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Cookie grinned, "Thanks for coming. I've enjoyed talking to non showbiz people for a change."

"Don't stay up too late guys," Mike told them, "We've got to go back to work tomorrow."

"Don't remind me," Marcus said, "I'm trying not to think about it."

"Take room 1,034," Cookie told him, "Marcus and Chris will have the ones next door."

Mike thanked her and slipped out of the room. Cookie got up and walked back over to the bar, mixing another light drink for herself and another double for Marcus. She even brought over a refill of seltzer for Chris.

"This is a treat I don't get every day," Marcus said as he took the glass Cookie handed to him, "Getting served by an international superstar."

"I have to be normal sometime," Cookie shrugged, "I may be larger than life on the stage, but I'm a flesh and blood woman off of it."

"I can attest to that," Chris grinned, "Carrie and I have been keeping her real for years.

"Really," Marcus laughed, "And just how have you done that?"

"Not that way, though there were times I wouldn't have minded," Cookie shrugged, "You and Carrie belong together anyway. I have never seen anyone who belonged together more. Besides, Little Tommy pretty much ensured their lasting connection."

"I know," Chris said and a silence filled the room, "I just wish I didn't have to wait seven years to know I had a son."

"If you hadn't you would never have healed," Cookie reminded him, "Besides, absence made the heart grow fonder for both of you. Besides, one of you had to learn how to handle living with what Jerry did to us. I don't think Carrie ever will."

"I wish I still felt like that," Marcus said, "At this point I'd be almost thrilled if Margie would keel over and die."

"Margie is your wife?" Cookie asked.

"Yep," Marcus said and raised his glass, "The nastiest bitch ever to annoy the hell out of her husband."

"Not to mention beat him up," Chris chided.

"She do that to your eye?" Cookie asked.

"Yeah," Marcus sighed, "We had a little disagreement over bringing Jason here, among other things. It ended with Nick calling her a bitch to her face and her throwing an admirable right hook."

"Does it hurt?" Cookie asked as she moved over to the couch to take a closer look, "Want some ice or something?"

"I've been hit before," Marcus shrugged, "It's just more proof that my marriage is going down the toilet."

"Listen guys," Chris said as he saw where the conversation was going, "I'm going to give Carrie a call and then go get some sleep. I'm sure you can find something to talk about for a while."

"We'll be fine," Cookie smiled, "Be sure to give me a hug in the morning before you leave, ok?"

"Of course, I will," Chris told her, "Always do, Cookie Monster."

He kissed her forehead and limped out of the room afterwards. She looked on as he walked out with a wispy expression on her face. Marcus just looked at her for a few moments until she decided to turn back to him.

"I still love that man," Cookie said, "Probably always will."

"It shows," Marcus nodded.

"I wouldn't be who I am today if it wasn't for him," she sighed, "Hell, I'd most likely be dead if I hadn't met him."

"It was that bad, huh?" Marcus asked her.

"I was asleep that night, upset over what had been happening, but still rather insulated from it," Cookie said, "My boyfriend had been killed and another one of my group had been murdered along with his parents."

"Jesus," Marcus said, "I'd have been jumpy too."

"It happened all of a sudden," Cookie said, reliving the moments in her mind, "One moment I heard something and the next I was taped to a kitchen chair watching the school nerd carve up my mother."

"That must have been horrible," Marcus said, not knowing what to say.

"I thought I was dead," Cookie told him, tears forming in her eyes, "I would have been too. Jerry fully intended to kill me. If Chris hadn't figured out what his brother was up to and come in to stop him, I wouldn't be here with you now."

"I don't know what to say," Marcus told her, "I've got nothing to compare with that story."

"I'm glad," she said with a half smile and downed the last of her drink, "I've had enough nightmares of my own on it; I don't need anyone else's."

"There are enough nightmares in the world already," Marcus told her, "And some of them are only beginning."

"You're a cryptic soul, aren't you?" Cookie laughed.

"I've been a cop for nearly twenty years, spending time in both Org Crime and Homicide," Marcus said, "I've got too many bills; two wonderful kids, and a wife that thinks I bang every cute little chickie that I happen to run into. I also have Mike and Nick for best friends. That tends to build a little cryptic cynicism in a person."

"Do you?" Cookie asked him, "Bang every woman in your path I mean?"

"I've never cheated on her, if you can believe it," Marcus shrugged, "But the older she gets the worse she gets. As her looks fade so does her self-confidence. It's degraded to the point where I have to spend most of my nights crashing on Nick's couch."

"Do you love her?" Cookie wondered aloud.

"I used to," Marcus told the pop star, "I really did. I don't think I can anymore. She's spent so long accusing me of cheating that I would like to do it."

"That doesn't make much sense," Cookie told him.

"Sure it does," Marcus sat up and told her, "If you tell a child he's an idiot enough, he'll become one. If you tell a man his whole life he's a criminal, he'll become one. If you continually accuse your husband he's an adulterer he will sure as hell become one."

"Ok," Cookie chuckled, "I see your point, Marcus."

"This week she thought I was doing Corrie," Marcus told her, "Simply because I had dinner with her, Mike and Nick."

"It sounds like we both have our problems in life," Cookie told him as she looked at the older police officer.

Marcus was not a large man nor did he work out, but he was not in horrid shape for his age either. All the walking he did for his job kept him lean. Cookie had to admit that she found the man almost as attractive as he found her. She had long since tired of the tinsel town pretty boys that were always available to her. She found herself wondering just how serious his words were that night.

"You're an interesting man, Marcus," Cookie said as she smiled at him, "Not like I expected at all."

"Same here," Marcus nodded, "You don't have the air of superiority that a lot of stars do. You've managed to keep your humanity in a mad world."

"How many have you met?" Cookie asked him, sliding a little closer to the man.

"Enough," Marcus chuckled, "Quite a few celebrities live in the Seattle area. I was there during the 90's grunge years."

"True enough," Cookie admitted as she smiled at him. She let a little more cleavage out, very smoothly. She was having fun with the situation and figured she would see how far it would go.

Marcus was taking notice of the signs as well. He had been enraptured with her since the show. The thought of being with her had run through his mind a couple times, but he was surprised at the fact that she looked interested in him as well. He decided to try his luck and let his hand slide onto her leg.

"After all the memories you guys have dredged up," Cookie told him, "I really don't want to be alone tonight."

"There's no reason for you to be," Marcus said as he went to kiss her.

They kissed deeply, and she let him come in closer. She rarely wore bras when not in public, so there was nothing in the way as he started caressing her breasts. Not to be outdone, even in a situation like this, Cookie unzipped him and started caressing him as well.

"There's a perfectly good waterbed in the other room," Cookie purred in his ear, "Shall we put it to good use, Marcus?"

"Sounds good to me..." Marcus said as he nibbled on her some more.

They managed to make it to the waterbed without tripping as they shed their clothes. Once there they proceeded to break a few city ordinances, once or two state laws and the last shred of Marcus's marriage vows. In retrospect, it was one of the easiest decisions that Marcus had made in years.

***

Corrie smiled as she laid there with her head on Nick's chest. He stroked her hair slowly with one hand as he looked at her. They were both feeling rather good by this time, but they still had some questions to work out. Nick was the first one to actually get around to asking them.

"So where do we go from here?" Nick asked her quietly.

"Where do you want to go?" Corrie asked him.

"Anywhere I can be with you," He told her.

"There's no reason why we can't," Corrie said, "You know the rest of the team better than I do though. Do we have any worries there?"

"I think they were all rooting for us," Nick laughed.

"You got that feeling too, huh?" she smiled as she kissed his chest softly.

"The only thing we need to worry about are regulations," Nick told her, "Though that isn't the big deal it used to be. As long as I'm not your commander there's no problem with it."

"They haven't pushed one of those cases in years," Corrie shrugged, "It happens all the time now."

"That's good," Nick smiled, "Now for the big question. Should I go home before morning?"

"No way," Corrie said as she climbed on him, pinning him to the bed, "I've got you here in my bed, so you're staying. Unless, of course, I get to go with you."

"No way," Nick said.

"Oh?" Corrie said, wondering what he's hiding, "Afraid the rest of your girlfriends would see me?"

"No," Nick chuckled, "I'm more afraid that you'll hurl when you see what filth I live in."

"Did you fire the maid?" Corrie asked him.

"Either that or she was lost under the piles of trash," Nick told her.

"Ugh," Corrie said, "You're one of those, aren't you?"

"I don't spend enough time there to make it worth cleaning up," Nick chuckled as he looked into her eyes.

"You know what we should do now?" Corrie asked him.

"Yeah," Nick grinned, "Sleep. We've got to go back to work tomorrow."

She looked over at the digital clock on the bedside table, "Shit, I guess we should get a couple hours before work."

"Mike will give us a little respite, but not much," Nick agreed.

"Will you at least stay tonight?" Corrie asked him hopefully.

"I'm not going anywhere," Nick promised as they curled up together, falling asleep and ending a long day.
Chapter Thirty-Two – 'Mask of Betrayal'

Mike Miller poured a cup of coffee from the continental breakfast setup that the hotel put in the lobby area of the floor. Chris Gabriel was already awake and sitting in an easy chair looking over the morning paper, sipping on a glass of orange juice as he went through it.

"You sleep well, Miller?" Chris asked without even looking up.

Mike scoffed at that, "I slept, can we leave it at that?"

"Here," Chris said and handed the front section to him, "This will bring your spirits up a little."

Mike took the page and read the lead story. For once it was not blasting him and his team but smacking down the political bullshit that led to the Creighton debacle yesterday. It looked like there was another leak, but this article made Miller's team look good. It certainly was not publicity that he was going to complain about.

"Damn," Mike said, "They finally got something right. Gotta wonder who leaked it though."

"I did," Chris grinned, "I called Spike Chavis and gave him the low down. He arranged the leak. We needed some good publicity for a change."

"I don't know whether to thank you or slug you," Mike said, a wry smile forming, "But thanks."

"No problem," Chris grinned, "It had to be done. If anyone else asks, I'll deny it."

"No big deal," Mike shrugged as he took a belt of coffee, "Have you seen Marcus?"

"Nope," Chris said, "He didn't sleep in the room next to me though. The door was still open when I walked by this morning. The other two rooms on that wing were already filled when I went to bed."

"You don't think he left already do you?" Mike asked him, "Who went to bed first, you or him?"

"They were talking relationship woes when I left," Chris said, taking another sip of orange juice, "Having a grand old time it seemed."

"You don't think," Mike said and let the thought go on.

"Knowing Cookie it's a possibility," Chris said with a smile, "She always did like older men. Would Marcus go for it, that's the question?"

"With the way things are going at home?" Mike laughed, "He'd be nuts not to take an opportunity like that. He gets accused of it so often he might as well do it."

"Maybe it will spur him to finally leave," Chris said, "From the sounds it would be the best thing for everyone."

Before they could discuss the subject anymore Chris's phone started ringing. He opened the unit and answered suspiciously, because very few people had the number to his line, and it was still too early for Carrie to be calling him. The fact that it came up unknown was even stranger.

"This is Chris," Gabriel said into the line.

"About goddamned time I found you," Mason Stone said over the phone, "I've been trying to reach the team for two hours now. Nobody is answering phones anywhere."

"Probably nobody is there yet," Chris told him.

"No shit," Mason said, "They're not home either. I tried everyone. Hell, where did you stay last night?"

"Mike and Marcus are here with me," Chris chuckled, "Cookie had extra rooms, so we opted for high class for last night."

"Figures," Mason laughed, "I'd have stayed too if I were you. Where is Nick then? I tried his place too."

"He's not at home or the precinct?" Chris asked, "I don't know where he would be."

"Nick?" Mike asked. Chris nodded, and Mike laughed, "Nick is probably with Corrie. Five will get you ten he didn't go home last night."

"Mike said he's probably still with Corrie," Chris told Mason, "Why? What's shaking?"

"I've got information," Mason said, "We had a rather productive night, though I don't know if you're going to like what we found."

"Do I want to know how you found the information?" Chris asked him.

"Of course not," Mason grinned, "But you'll want to know it."

"We'll get everyone together," Chris said, "I assume you don't want to do this in the precinct?"

"Hell no," Mason said, "I need Jim and the computers here to explain it. Can you bring everyone to the place we're staying?"

"Sure," Chris agreed, "I'll let you tell Mike where it is, he knows the city better than I do."

Chris handed the phone to Miller who scrawled down an address and let Stone off the line. The two men looked at each other and wondered what had gotten Stone this interested.

"You know him better than I do," Mike said, "You think he really has something?"

"Probably," Chris said, "If anything, he's understating what he has."

"Does he have any ulterior motives?" Mike asked him.

"Always," Chris shrugged, "But he believes in what he does. He might not go about it like you or I would, but he believes in a sense of right and wrong. He doesn't give a rat's ass about the law. He cares about what is right. A sort of Robin Hood type, if you will. He's a thief, but he only steals from the dregs of society."

"Drug dealers and the like?" Mike asked him.

"That's right," Chris grinned, "Drug dealers, corrupt politicians, corporations that take a lot while giving nothing back. He'll take them all on."

"And cases like this?" Mike asked.

"He was a cop once," Chris chuckled, "Just like you and me. It's in his blood. He can't walk away from it."

Some of the crew began to filter out of their rooms to take advantage of the food. Chris and Mike decided that they had been there long enough. They went over to Cookie's room to say goodbye to her and to collect Marcus if he was there. Chris knocked on the door, jolting Marcus awake and beginning to stir Cookie.

"Jesus," Marcus said when he saw the time, "It's nearly nine."

"It's still early," Cookie mumbled as she stirred a little from her spot curled up next to him, "The day doesn't start 'til eleven."

"I'm a cop, Cookie," Marcus chuckled, "I'm betting that's either Mike or Chris pounding on the door. We should have been to work an hour ago."

"I always knew you guys were nuts," Cookie said, stretching as she woke up a little more, "You want to get the door in that case?"

"Think I should?" Marcus asked her, "It's your room and all."

"That's what the peephole is for," Cookie told him, "If it's Celia, Chris, or Mike then let them in."

"Would you like a robe first?" Marcus asked as he stood up.

"Good idea," Cookie smiled, "There should be a couple of them in the bathroom."

Marcus found the hotel robes quickly and tossed one to her. He put one on himself and walked over to the door. He looked in the peephole and saw Chris and Mike standing there impatiently. He smiled and opened the door, wondering if they had figured it out already or if they would be surprised.

"Morning guys," Marcus said as he opened the door.

"Figured we'd find you here," Chris said, not showing any surprise at all, "Sorry to roust you, but we do have work to do today."

"Yeah, but I thought we didn't have any leads," Marcus said, "Not to mention nobody cared."

"Stone may have something," Mike shrugged, "He called Chris a while ago."

"Ok," Marcus nodded, "Come on in."

They walked in and sat down just as Cookie walked out of the bedroom area to greet her guests. Her blonde hair was still rather disheveled, and she was wearing a satisfied smile as well. Chris and Mike could not help but smile at the situation. Mike was just glad that Marcus had actually done something. Maybe this would finally spur him to change his home situation.

"Looks like you two had a good night last night," Chris remarked dryly.

"I've definitely had worse," Cookie said with a grin.

"I know that one," Chris grunted, "I believe I was there for several of them."

"What does Stone have?" Marcus asked the two cops.

"I don't know yet," Chris told him, "He wants us to meet him though. As insistent as he was, I'm certain that he has something good."

"All right," Marcus said, "Give me ten minutes will you?"

"One of us should retrieve the car," Mike said, "It's still at the Stadium. I'll call a taxi."

"I'll call the car," Cookie said, "No need for you to deal with a taxi."

"I'll go to get the car," Chris told them, "No need for both of us to go. You haven't eaten much anyway."

"Ok," Mike shrugged, "I'll go have another donut and try to find Nick and Corrie."

"The way they were hanging off each other last night I'm betting if you find one you'll find the other," Marcus grinned.

"No bet," Mike shrugged, "But just so I can play dumb until they decide to tell me I'll call Nick's cell."

"Good move," Cookie said.

"How long are you in town for, Cookie?" Chris asked her.

"I've got to go tonight," she sighed, "Next date, next town. You know how it goes."

"Yep," Chris agreed and went over to hug her, "It's been good seeing you, Cookie Monster."

"You too," Cookie smiled, "Don't let this one get you too bad. I know how you get with these cases."

"I'll try," Chris smiled, "And don't forget, when things die down and you need a vacation..."

"I might just take you up on that," Cookie grinned, "Think I can spend a week in Boland Creek and act like a normal person?"

"Just so long as you don't try to cook again," Chris laughed.

"No worries," Cookie told him, "I learned my lesson last time I tried. I can do a lot of things, but cooking is definitely not one of them."

"Take care of yourself, kiddo," Chris said.

"Always," Cookie smiled, "The car should already be downstairs. Let me roust the driver."

She called the front desk and told them to have the driver bring Chris to wherever he wanted to go. Chris walked over to Cookie and kissed her forehead before leaving. Mike smiled and nodded at Marcus and Cookie.

"I'll be outside when you need me," Mike told them from the door, "I'll hit Nick from the cell so he'll actually answer the phone."

The door closed and left Marcus and Cookie alone again. She smiled at him and sat down in one of the easy chairs in the room. He didn't even know where to begin.

"I don't know what to say now," Marcus said, "A lot has happened, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," Cookie said, "Last night was beautiful, but it wouldn't stay that way."

"I know," Marcus said, "I needed it. I really did."

"I saw that," Cookie smiled, "I needed it too. Sometimes you just have to live a little. I don't give a damn what the religious pundits say, every once in a while you just need to live and get laid. There's nothing wrong with it at all."

"It just annoys me to have proved Margie right," Marcus said.

"I can't help you there," Cookie laughed, "But if it's as bad as you said it is, then you know you can do better."

"I think I already did, at least for one night," Marcus grinned.

"No hard feelings, no regrets," Cookie said as she went over to him, "Right?"

"None," Marcus smiled as he hugged her tightly, "I have some, but not where you're concerned."

"If I'm in town again, please try to contact me," Cookie told him, "I'd like to see you again sometime."

"That goes for you too," Marcus smiled.

"You'd better get dressed," Cookie told him, "It looks like the city needs you again."

"Yeah," Marcus said as picked up his pants, "Thank you, Cookie."

"For what?" Cookie asked, "I enjoyed it as much as you did."

"For being here when I needed someone," Marcus told her while pulling his belt on.

"I'm glad I could help," Cookie grinned, "So are you going to stay with her?"

"I don't think so," Marcus said, "It's been over for years. I just needed a good spiritual kick upside the head to realize it."

"I'd say you got a bit better than that," she laughed.

"Oh yeah," Marcus nodded as he put on his shirt.

"At least you aren't completely stuffy and wear a tie," Cookie grinned.

"Mike doesn't make us wear ties," he grinned, "Something I love him to death for."

Marcus finished dressing quickly and ran a borrowed comb through his hair. He felt better than he had in a while, though he was still a bit tired. He went over to Cookie and smiled at her. She stood up and looked him in the eye.

"I guess this is it," Marcus sighed.

"Always the hardest part," Cookie nodded, "The goodbye."

"Yep," Marcus nodded and kissed her softly, "It is."

"Take care of yourself, Marcus," Cookie said to him.

"You too," He replied.

"If Celia is out there, send her in ok?" Cookie asked him.

"Will do," Marcus said and walked out the door.

He saw Celia drinking a cup of coffee and told her that Cookie wanted to see her. Celia walked in and started talking to Cookie. Cookie was not going to dwell on things it seemed. She started talking to Celia on business right away. Marcus looked at her through the doorway for a second and then at the signed CD he was carrying. He smiled and walked over to Miller who had been waiting for him.

"You look like you're feeling a bit better," Mike said, barely suppressing a grin.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "I think I do."

"Nick and Corrie must have been up late," Mike said, "Nick was barely able to maintain consciousness when I called him."

"Figures," Marcus said, "So where do we go now?"

"Chris should have the car here in a few," Mike told him, "Why don't we head downstairs and wait for him."

"Ok," Marcus nodded.

The two men silently walked to the elevator, with Marcus taking a final look at the floor and a world that he would never understand as the doors closed in front of them.

***

The killer was pacing around the living room of her safe house. She was getting rather annoyed at the lack of momentum being shown in this case, which was not what she wanted at all. The press was still covering it hard, and the personal attack against Miller had been nice, but there had been almost no movement by the police for over eighteen hours.

"I need to do something," she said as she lit up another cigarette.

The only call she had intercepted on the cell phones since the concert was a call from Miller to Jones that had told her nothing. She was starting to get impatient and was thinking about setting up another killing to keep the momentum going. She coughed hard and looked at the cigarette. She jammed it into the ashtray in disgust.

"Patience," the killer said to herself, "These things take time. They're probably still reeling from the damage Creighton and Derringer put to them yesterday."

The killer paced some more and flipped channels on the television, trying to find something good to watch that was not news. The news-idiots were predictably covering all the stories and saying the same things repeatedly. She wanted to see something else to take her mind off the boredom.

"Gotta keep focused," the killer said as another heavy cough racked her chest, "Let them work. They've got to work sometime."

The killer finally found a Friday the 13th movie on one of the obscure cable channels. She watched the mayhem for a while and found it truly hilarious. She knew how stupid this really was.

"What an amateur," the killer said as Jason slashed another teenager.

***

Mike and Marcus sat on a bench outside the hotel waiting for Chris to return with the car. Mike was still amused and slightly jealous that Marcus had managed to make it with Cookie, but he was happy for his friend too. He just was not sure how Marcus was taking things.

"So how was it?" Mike asked finally.

"Hmm?" Marcus said and then realized, "Oh. It was possibly one of the best experiences of my life."

"So what's wrong?" Mike asked him, "You seem fairly down, considering."

"I'm just thinking about the next step," Marcus sighed.

"Margie or Cookie?" Mike asked.

"Cookie and I had a wonderful night," Marcus told him, "But it's no more than that. No, I'm thinking about what to do about the mess with Margie."

"What do you want to do?" Mike asked him.

"Tonight has made me realize that I've got no life left with her," Marcus sighed, "I haven't been living with her for a number of years, only dying with her."

"Go on," Mike said, pleased that Marcus was finally coming to that foregone conclusion.

"I need to leave her," Marcus said, "Even Jason sees that it's over. There's no benefit to him or Laurie by us staying together in conditions like this."

"Nope," Mike said, "It's only going to get worse if you stay."

"I just hope I don't get shafted like you did," Marcus grinned.

"It's a divorce," Mike told him, "You know it as well as I do. Nobody wins in a divorce. It's like a serial killer case. Nobody wins."

"Got any advice, seeing as you went through it too?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah," Mike chuckled, "Get your own lawyer. Don't use the PBA lawyers. You'll get screwed sure as hell."

"Margie doesn't work," Marcus said, "I'm going to get screwed anyway."

"Beats living the way you have been," Mike reminded him.

"I guess that means I'll have to find a new place soon," Marcus said.

"Or bunk with Nick for a while," Mike grinned, "I'm betting you'd have the place to yourself most of the time right now."

"Oh?" Marcus asked.

"Nick spent the night at Corrie's last night," Mike explained, "He didn't tell me outright, but I could hear her groaning about the phone when I woke them up a little while ago."

"Are they going to meet us there?"

"No," Mike told him, "I figure Stone can live with just you, me and Chris. If it's something Nick and Corrie need to know we'll fill them in later."

"What's the plan for today?" Marcus asked him.

"We'll meet with Stone first," Mike shrugged, "We'll figure out where to go after that when we find out what he says."

"That works," Marcus nodded and then he leaned back to think for a while on what had happened.

Chris drove up and picked the two of them up, letting Miller take the driver's seat because he knew where they were going. Mike drove quickly, and the silence in the car was deafening. He guided the car into the RV Park and pulled up to a stop in front of Stone's van. Mason was leaning against the dark blue Crown Victoria that he had purchased the day before smoking a cigarette.

"Where's Nick and Corrie?" Mason asked.

"They are still a mite indisposed," Miller told him, "I figured I'd let them sleep a bit more."

"That works," Mason agreed, "I don't know how much of it will be of use to you guys anyway."

"Spill it," Chris suggested, "Let's get it out and we'll decide how best to use it."

"Where do you want to start?" Jim asked Mason as he set up a laptop on the trunk of the car.

"Derringer," Mason said, "You might want to sit down for this, Miller."

"Spit it out," Mike said sourly.

"We found out who sold your team out to Derringer," Mason said, "Jim, pull up the phone records."

"Does it matter?" Mike shrugged, "That's a side issue."

"It ties in," Mason told him as Jim displayed the records.

"I managed to obtain these records," Jim grinned, "In the hours before Derringer's broadcast had seven calls, two in and five out."

"Ok," Miller said. He, Chris and Marcus were still unimpressed.

"Two of them were to his bimbos," Jim said, pointing them out with a mouse, "One was a call to the state penitentiary. The other four stumped us for a while. Nothing listed for them."

"No listings at all?" Mike asked.

"Just a phone number," Jim nodded, "Two in, two out."

"I'm listening," Chris said, "Wow us."

"They were made to Mayor Gray's private line," Jim told him.

The news hit Mike and Marcus like a ton of bricks. Mike looked over the information on the laptop again, and his jaw dropped. He could not believe that the mayor would undercut them like that.

"Who the hell would he have called at the state pen?" Marcus asked, "That call was sandwiched between two of the calls between him and Gray."

"It was also the longest call of the bunch," Mason noted.

"Crazy Harry Lupo," Mike said absently, stepping back, and letting it sink in, "That's probably how Derringer got most of the information. Either him or John Stockton."

"Who is that?" Chris asked.

"People I worked for or with in the mob," Mike told them, "Harrison Luponi was the meanest SOB around until the drugs rotted his brain away. I faked a hit on him to get him out of the picture. He pled guilty to six murder counts and agreed to testify to avoid a contract that I had talked Charlie Bullock into. John Stockton was Pena's right hand and had a piece of Tracy's death. He was lucky the troopers got him and not me, otherwise, he'd be dead too."

"Not bad," Chris chuckled, "Either one would have a reason to hate your guts."

"How many people could set up a call with one of them?" Mason asked.

"Not many," Miller said, "It looks more like Gray is involved up to his neck. The big question is why. As far as I can see it's just making him look bad too. Nobody wins with a serial killer case."

"I think he had bigger fish to fry, Mike," Mason told him, "Namely our little chickie from yesterday morning."

"Whoa," Marcus said, "I don't see a damn thing here that links him to that."

"Spill it, Mason," Chris said, "I know you. You wouldn't say that if you didn't have some proof."

"It's circumstantial," Mason shrugged, "But it goes a long way to explaining why Gray sold you out to Derringer."

"Go on," Mike said, not liking what he was learning.

"Jim, show them the Silas accounts," Mason said.

"Ok," Jim nodded, "I broke into Silas Shipping's accounts in Panama last night."

"You got into a Panamanian bank?" Marcus asked, very impressed, "I thought those bad boys were unbreakable. Even the feds don't get in to those."

"The feds aren't allowed to get into those," Jim shrugged, "It isn't so bad, it Just takes time and money. Between my computer and a few thousand cores on Amazon Web Services, I can get into most anything I want."

"I take it that I can't use a bit of this," Mike said sourly.

"Call it a very detailed anonymous tip," Mason grinned, "You didn't break the law. We're just giving you leads to follow up."

"Go on," Mike told them, still not looking particularly happy.

"For the first part of its existence," Jim continued, "Silas shipping received a lot of money. Some of it was put in by its only employee, Courtney Sivetson, most came from anonymous wire transfers."

"No way to crack those?" Mason asked Jim, not noticing that last night.

Mason stepped back and lit another cigarette while everyone else fidgeted and watched Jim's screen. Jim went on with the explanation of what was going on.

"No records are kept," Jim explained, "I'd have to know both sides to find out. I only know amounts, not the originating bank. They went through one of the international bureaus. Given enough time I could crack it, but it would be a bitch and probably immaterial anyway."

"Especially since I can't use any of this anyway," Mike said, "Get to the point, please."

"Ok," Jim nodded and continued, "The real activity for the account started in October of last year. Money began pouring out of the account in 2,500 dollar increments."

"Pouring out how?" Mike asked him.

"Wire transfers to individuals." Jim told them, "Nearly three thousand of them, including Courtney Sivetson."

"What's the connection?" Mike asked, "You've obviously made one."

"We looked into Courtney Sivetson's accounts, along with the accounts of a large sampling of that three thousand," Mason told them, "For every 2,500 dollar transfer in, there's a 2,300 dollar check written to Gary Gray's election fund. Always within two days."

"Son of a bitch," Miller said as he put the pieces together, "Silas is a political scam."

"That explains the influx of money in the last election," Marcus told them, "It looked for a while like Gray's campaign would crap out until that money came in."

"That's too much for just him to be involved with," Mike sighed, "And the way it was set up is beautiful. Gray can deny the whole damned thing, if he even knew about it in the first place."

"I admit," Mason said, nodding thanks to Jim, "I don't have anything hard to connect him to it. But it looks damned suspicious. It also explains a few things that have been strange to the whole thing."

"That it does," Miller admitted, "I just don't know how to prove any of it."

"Well," Mason grinned, "Gray is probably going to be going fairly nuts soon."

"Why?" Mike asked, suddenly chilled by the thought.

"Silas just found itself rather bankrupt," Jim explained for Mason, "There is no way you could get any of this legally, so I decided to throw a monkey wrench into the mix."

"And get your payday," Chris chuckled, "You cleaned out the accounts, didn't you?"

"Yep," Jim nodded.

"You know me, Chris," Mason said, "I only rip off crooks if I can help it."

"I have no problem with it," Chris said.

"Now for the big question," Marcus said, "How the hell do we prove any of this?"

"There's a worse part," Mike said, "There's no way Gray could have done this alone."

"Do you think this whole mess is the cover up?" Mason asked.

"No," Chris said, "The other killings were too ritualistic."

"Chris is right," Mike nodded, "Even if you are correct, it's only the copycat killing that they did. Hell, I should have thought of this because they ordered me to leave a copy of the file with them."

They all turned around as Karen hopped out of the van and looked at the screen. She kissed Mason as she passed him and sat down silently on the bumper of Miller's car while they debated what to do next.

"We need proof," Marcus reminded them again, "We know a lot, but can prove little."

"Sivetson was a whore, right?" Mike asked them as his mind churned.

"Probably," Marcus said.

"We need to hound Sanders for the forensics," Mike said.

"Don't forget," Chris told them, "We still have a serial killer to deal with too."

"Ok," Mike said, "I think I've got a plan for today. Mason, do you have more leads you can follow with this?"

"We can try to turn some of the donors," Mason said, "Jim and I can do that."

"Do it," Mike said, "Chris, you're not going to be a damn bit of use on this part of the case, are you?"

"I've dealt with some corruption cases before," Chris said, remembering a few from his past in the FBI, "But I'm better with the serial killers."

"You know the case now, if I give you Nick and Corrie can you start running down stuff on the real killer?" Mike asked him.

"We still have some places to check," Chris nodded, "Especially if we can discount the Sivetson killing."

"Assume it's not related for now," Mike agreed, "Our cars should be ready, so I'll give you this one when we stop at the garage."

"If you want me I'll go in and help work up a profile," Karen said, speaking for the first time, "It's been a few years, but I still have those skills."

"I remember your skills," Chris nodded, "As far as I'm concerned you're welcome to join us."

"Just don't get too focused on the profile," Mike warned, "I've seen cases go bad on that before."

"It's just a guide, nothing more," Karen promised.

"So where does that leave us?" Marcus asked Mike.

"You're going to ride herd on Sanders," Mike said, "I want you to sit in that room with him until he finds something."

"I can do that," Marcus shrugged, "Want me to have any DNA found run against the Mayor?"

"I'm not sure yet," Mike said, "I want some more proof first before we do that."

"What are you planning on doing then?" Mason asked.

"I'm going to drive up to the prison," Mike grinned, "I haven't seen Crazy Harry in a few years. I think its round about time for me to do so."
Chapter Thirty-Three – 'Proof'

Miller and company spent an hour trying to extricate their cars from the police garage. They finally talked their way through it and went their separate ways to investigate. Marcus headed towards the morgue to see how the autopsy on the Sivetson girl was going.

Mike decided to make a beeline towards the state prison. A few calls to a friend of his that worked in the prison confirmed that Derringer had talked to Lupo and not John Stockton. He had not seen Harry Lupo in a long time. It was time to see if he could convince the aging mobster to spill the beans on what had transpired the day before. Knowing Harry as well as he did, Mike did not think he would have to work too hard to do it.

Mike pulled into the initial search station at the prison compound and got out of his car at the orders of the guard. He surrendered his weapon and parked his car in a special area due to the shotgun kit in the trunk. One of the guards drove him up to the prison proper to check in.

"Good Morning Sir," the receptionist, a burly woman carrying a taser said, "Who are you here to see?"

"Harrison Luponi, 3,827,328," Miller said.

"I'm sorry sir," the receptionist said, "He's on a restricted visitor list."

"I should be on it," Mike said, "Miller, Michael J. Probably listed as detective. I haven't been up here in a few years."

The woman looked over the list on her computer screen and found the nine-year-old entry at the bottom. She pulled up the file photo of Miller and compared it to the older man standing in front of her. Without Miller knowing she transmitted a status check on him to make sure that he was still employed by the police department.

"Would you please put your right thumb on the pad please?" the woman said, "New procedure for the high security cells."

Miller nodded and put his thumb on the pad. The receptionist watched as the thumb prints compared favorably. She relaxed a bit and asked Miller to sit down. Mike sat down to wait for someone to come up to escort him to Lupo's cell. Miller was surprised when the warden of the prison, Edgar Fleming, came down to escort him personally.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Miller," Warden Fleming said pleasantly, "What brings you here to see one of our stars today?"

"I want to talk to him about a conversation he had yesterday," Mike told the warden, "I've been led to believe he was allowed to talk to a reporter on the phone."

"Yes," Edgar nodded, "He talked to a Stephen Derringer."

"Who authorized the talk?" Mike asked.

"He's allowed to talk," Fleming noted.

"I'm not disputing that," Mike said, "I'm not accusing anyone here of anything. I just want to know who cut through the red tape."

"Mayor Gray of your city," Fleming said, "I don't know what the fuss about an old murderer is. This is the first activity we've had on him in two years."

"He knows a lot about the past," Mike shrugged.

"Now that you know who cut through the tape, do you still want to talk to him?" Fleming asked him.

"Yes," Miller said, "I want his take on it. I also want to see how prison life has changed him."

"Why?" Fleming asked.

"Because I'm the one who put him here," Miller explained, "And I want to make sure that it's the hell he deserves."

"You?" Fleming asked, "I thought the feds put him in?"

"I handed him over when I was undercover," Mike grinned, "Under the pretext of shooting him."

"Interesting," Fleming nodded, "All right. Want him in a room, or do you just want an impromptu visit to his cell?"

"The cell will be fine," Mike grinned, "I don't expect him to talk that much anyway."

"That's fine, but be warned, he doesn't get along with others well," the warden warned him.

"Heh," Miller sighed, "Not much has changed then. He never did."

"He's managed to kill two guards in the last four years," Fleming warned, "That's part of the reason we keep him in lockdown."

"Lovely," Mike sighed, "Lord, if I'd known he'd have been that much of a problem I would have shot him that night."

"You sure you want to see him?" Fleming asked, "He's probably going to want to kill you."

"He's welcome to try," Mike grinned, "I still want to see him behind bars."

"Behind Plexiglas actually," Fleming as they walked out the door towards the cell blocks, "After he killed Jay Mitchell two years ago we gave him the Hannibal Lector treatment. Full security measures are in place. We don't take any more chances with this son of a bitch."

The part of the prison that they went to was not the dirty and abused place he was expecting. It looked more like a hospital actually with sterile white walls and guard stations that could easily be mistaken for nurse's stations. It did not even really look like a prison.

"No bars, No noise?" Mike asked.

"This facility was well designed," Fleming said as they walked, "The cells are practically noise proof. They can shout and it doesn't do much good, though the guards can listen in if they need to."

"Interesting look to the cells," Miller said as he looked in to a couple of them, much to the annoyance of the residents.

"All plastic insides," Fleming explained, "There's no metal to turn into weapons, no concrete to sharpen weapons on. The smooth surfaces scratch easy to allow us to tell if they are trying to make weapons but are practically impenetrable. The scratches can be filled with a simple chemical applied by wiping."

"Very neat," Miller admitted, "Do they get books?"

"E-books only," Fleming said, "No pencils, no pens. Nothing remotely sharp. They don't get paper either. Their mail is scanned into the computer."

"They can't break the computers?" Mike asked him.

"Built into the desk area," Fleming said, proud of this place, "The monitor is a tough screen. You can pound on the damned thing for days, and you won't be able to go through it. The same for the keyboard. This place is designed so that you can't break anything with a sledge hammer."

"What if the prisoner can't use a computer?" Mike asked.

"We can control the monitor from the guard station," Fleming said, "If they need to see something we can put it under a camera there and put it on their screen. They also have access to a full electronic library. We encourage them to read. It keeps them quieter."

"The cells seem rather large," Mike said, "How many together?"

"One per cell," Fleming told him, "Too dangerous for any more. The cells are so large so we don't have to let them out to exercise. They can walk around the cell whenever they want to. The bars have been designed for a physical fitness regimen. We don't much care if they exercise or not."

"How long has Harry been in this cell?" Mike asked.

"Since it was completed," Edgar Fleming stated, "I think about three years now. He hasn't left this prison since he was transferred from ADX Florence back in 2001. The deal he signed because of you means he isn't going to court regularly. He doesn't even have parole hearings now that he's killed guards."

"What happened to the guards?" Mike asked.

"They got careless," Fleming shrugged, "Let him too close. He likes to go for the throat, and he'll be all over you in a second. For someone of his age, he's a pain in the ass."

"If they don't leave the cell, how do they shower?" Mike asked.

"The room has a drain at the bottom," Fleming said, "They are not allowed any personal effects in these cells that aren't made of plastic. It's their choice if they choose to seal them or not. We can direct the water spray anywhere in the cell. We use it to calm prisoners down."

"Hair? Grooming?" Mike said, "I can't believe you don't let them out of the cell."

"They get haircuts occasionally," Fleming said, "But to do it they have to sit down in the chair and be restrained. If they don't do it we can put sleeping gas into the room and we'll restrain them while they're out cold. We don't take any further chances with these people."

"I can think of a serial killer I want to live in one of these," Mike grinned, "So where is Harry?"

"Last cell," Fleming said, "He's been in this facility since it opened because he takes joy in killing people. Even though he's never seen general population he's managed to kill two guards and three other prisoners."

"Has he been tried for any of them?" Mike asked, surprised he hadn't heard this.

"The state's attorney pleads him out for each one," Fleming said, "He doesn't want Luponi in a courtroom again, ever."

"I can understand that," Miller agreed as they approached.

"I'll let you go see him alone," Fleming said, "He won't say a word if I'm there. He hates my guts."

"He probably won't say much to me either," Mike shrugged as he walked over to the cell.

***

Chris Gabriel was pouring through a pile of papers when Nick and Corrie walked into the room. They looked as though they had a good night, as it showed on their smiles as they sat down in the room. Karen Stone chuckled as she looked up to see the goofy grins each of them were wearing.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Chris said, "Ready to go back to work?"

"What's the plan for today?" Corrie asked.

"Where are Mike and Marcus?" Nick asked.

"Dealing with the copycat," Chris told them, "We have some new information that is rather disturbing."

Chris spent a few minutes explaining what Mason's team had uncovered last night. The thought that the Mayor may be hip deep in this mess really did not sit well with either one of them. They wondered what else could go wrong with this investigation.

"So what are we doing here?" Nick asked.

"Mike and Marcus are going to run down the leads on the copycat," Chris told them, "We still have a serial killer, so that's our job."

"Today, we do some profiling," Karen said, "We need to compile all the information we have and come up with a likely profile for the killer."

"Does this work?" Corrie asked.

"Most of the time," Chris answered, "If we find something worth following up on, it gives us a direction to go."

"All right," Nick said, "Where do we start?"

"Physical characteristics?" Corrie asked them.

"Good place," Karen agreed, "Let's look at the physical evidence we have."

"What little there is," Nick pointed out.

"We can also deduce a lot from what is not there," Chris told him, "The art of catching a serial killer is to look at what's missing and try to figure out what he wants."

"Did you ever figure that out for your brother?" Corrie asked him.

"Yes," Chris nodded, "Jerry wanted to win. He could take the game to the limits. He was at war with the world and planned to take out as much of the enemy as possible."

"That doesn't make sense," Nick said.

"The criminally insane rarely do make sense," Karen told them, "I've got a lot of experience with this subject."

"You don't look old enough to have been doing this for long," Nick said as he looked at Karen Stone closely.

"I'm older than I look," Karen smiled sweetly and left it at that.

"Ok," Chris said, agreeing on a subject change, "We've got a pile of data. Corrie, you go through the photographs and look for anything that will suggest size. Nick, you do the same with the reports. Karen and I will go through this other pile that came from the Hardin killing."

"Great," Nick said and dove into the pile of paper.

***

Marcus found Jake Sanders sitting on a stool and carefully examining Courtney Sivetson's body, making notes into a microphone that was hanging down over the table. Marcus rapped on the door lightly and got a grunt from Sanders indicating that he could enter.

"How bad is it?" Marcus asked the Medical Examiner.

"They don't get much worse," Sanders said, "Your people were right though. Definitely not the same killer. The killing blow came first. Everything else is post mortem."

"Figures," Marcus nodded, "Find anything else interesting?"

"I'm amazed I'm finding anything at all," Sanders growled, "Fingerprint evidence will be useless."

"Creighton," Marcus guessed, "How bad did he screw up the scene?"

"The only prints were his," Sanders told the officer, "Not surprising, but doesn't help our case much. Whoever this copycat was, they lucked out with this."

"Do you have any good news for me?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"Yes," Sanders smiled, "I've got some great news and some good news, but it won't be any good unless our guy actually did the deed."

"What?" Marcus asked him, thoroughly confused.

"The girl had sex before she died," Jake told the confused cop, "That's the good news. Lucky for us it was unprotected sex. I've got AJ running a DNA profile on it now."

"Son of a bitch," Marcus smiled, "That's the first good news I've had all day."

"It will take a while to run the full database though," Jake told him, "Unless you have any specific requests on places to start."

Marcus had a hunch that if the girl had not used a condom it was with someone very close to her. He wondered just how much he could get away with testing. Marcus decided to ask the question in a way that he could get away with.

"Are city employees logged for DNA?" Marcus asked the medical examiner.

"Sure," Sanders nodded, wondering what brought this on, "Everyone was logged when they switched to the electronic identification about three years ago. Even the elected officials are logged now so they can have official city ID. Why?"

"Run it against the city employees," Marcus said.

"Sure," Jake said, though he was suspicious as to the reasoning, "Why?"

"A hunch," Marcus said, "It won't cost you much time will it?"

"Not much," Sanders shrugged and picked up the extension, "A.J. When you get that sample done, run it against the city employee subset of the database first. The detectives have a hunch. Thanks."

"Thanks Jake," Marcus said, "What's the great news?"

"The crowbar had some carpet fibers on it that weren't related to the girl's house," Sanders smiled, "Your guy was driving a Ford sedan made between 1999 and 2004."

"How the hell do you know that?" Marcus asked.

"We traced the type of carpet," Sanders explained, "It isn't made anymore, hasn't been made in about four years or so. This type and color was only put in the Ford sedan models for those years."

"Good," Marcus nodded, "It gives us something to look for. Now, we just have to wait for those DNA tests."

"You going to be here for a while?" Sanders asked him.

"Miller wants me to stick with you for a bit," Marcus informed the man.

"Good," Sanders grinned, "You can put on some gloves and help me flip the girl's body."

***

Mike walked down the last part of the hall towards Lupo's cell. The last time he saw the former syndicate underboss he was sitting in the witness stand testifying against Charlie Bullock. Harry Lupo was in much different surroundings now, sitting on his bunk staring at the rear wall of the facility.

Lupo had aged badly in prison, although he had been living healthier in captivity than he ever had while free. His gray hair was still full, but thinning throughout. His body was flabby, though he did keep himself in good enough shape to be a danger.

"Enjoying the view?" Miller asked the reclining prisoner.

"I recognize that voice," Lupo said without moving.

"You should," Miller grinned and sat down on the built in bench across the hall from the cell.

Lupo sat up and looked at Miller. The recognition was quick as the older mobster walked over to the glass to get a better look. Miller enjoyed the fact that Lupo lived in a cold, austere place. Considering the fact that he had killed more people than the average serial killer, Lupo had been having an easy time.

"I wondered if you'd ever show up here," Lupo said, "I didn't think you'd ever have the guts, Nester."

"Nester," Mike said, remembering the days that he had lived under that name, "I haven't used that name in years."

"Oh yes," Lupo nodded, "It was a wonderful cover. Fooled me completely. Charlie and Max too I guess."

"It didn't have to be that good to do that," Mike said, deliberately insulting the man.

"I could ask you what you're doing here," Lupo said as he paced around the six by fourteen cell, "But I really don't think that's necessary. I read the transcript of Derringer's televised piece on you. Did you see the televised version?"

"I saw it," Miller acknowledged, "Either you or Stockton had to be a part of it. The information was too good and too specific to have come from anywhere else."

"Now why would I agree to an interview?" Lupo asked, "What could I possibly gain from that?"

"A chance to piss me off?" Mike said, "I don't know. I'm sure that's why the man set up the interview."

"If you know that Gray set up the interview," Lupo asked him, "Then why the hell are you here?"

"I didn't know for sure until now," Mike grinned, "Now what did he promise you?"

"Why should I tell you?" Lupo grunted.

"Satisfaction," Miller said honestly, "You want to let me know how much you've profited on my back. It's a petty pleasure, but it's one of the few that you get. There's no real reason for you to hold back on it now."

"You know me well, Miller," Lupo conceded, "I have to admit that much. You played me like a fucking fiddle nine years ago."

"I didn't have to," Mike said, "You played yourself. Barry got you hooked on the drugs. Nick and I actually kept you propped up. It could have kept going for years if you didn't kill those kids."

"You never did know how to have any fun, Nester," Harry said, "Forgive me if I choose not to call you by your other name. It doesn't fit you well."

"So what did you get out of it?" Miller asked.

"An hour of moonlight," Harry chuckled, "Of course, they shackled me up like Hannibal Lector, but it was still nice. More than worth selling your sorry ass out."

"Enjoy your petty victory, Harry," Miller said as he stood up, "It will most likely be your last."

"What do you mean by that?" Lupo asked as Miller began to walk away.

Miller decided not to dignify the question with an answer. He figured that Lupo would worry so much about the threat that it would be better than actually threatening anything. Lupo continued shouting at Miller until he was out of earshot and then sat back down on the bunk to reflect on it.

***

The killer paced around her apartment and smoked cigarettes nonstop. The racking cough in her chest was getting worse, but she had expected that much. What she had not expected was the lack of information that she was getting out of her tap on their phones. None of Miller's team had used their cell phones in hours.

"Why aren't you working harder on this?" the killer asked no one in particular, "What the hell is taking so long?"

The killer looked over the collection of newspaper clippings that had been accumulating since she had started the process. Things were going as well as could be expected for a situation as fluid as this one. She was just itching to do something else.

"Patience," the killer said to herself as she turned walked into the other room, "There will be something to do soon. Especially if Miller figures out who the copycat is."

***

Charlie Roberts was working the stadium murder case personally due to the intense media coverage on it. For a murder that happened with 25,000 witnesses nearby he had very little information. He had found the friends of the murdered teenager, but they couldn't add very much.

"He went off with a woman," Charlie said to Colby Chandler, who was assisting him, "None of the people he went to the concert with knew her?"

"Nope," Chandler shrugged, "They'd never seen her before the show. Evidently, our boy never had much luck with the girls, so it was a real shock when this one started cottoning on to him."

"Great," Roberts growled, "How old was she?"

"They put her at around thirty-five to 40," Chandler said, "The security boys at the stadium are going through the tapes trying to find a picture of them together. Maybe if we can find her we can find out what happened."

"Let's go over there and interview the concession stand workers again," Charlie sighed, "There's gotta be something we're missing."

"If nothing else we'll be able to pick up the pictures and see the tapes," Chandler nodded.

***

Clinton Malpass decided to take advantage of the waning warm season and take his son Jamie out for a final fishing trip down the river. The municipal boat ramp was in better shape, but the old water access in the warehouse district was larger and easier to navigate the boat trailer in to, so he usually went there.

"Want to get out and direct me in to the water?" Clinton asked his son.

"Sure dad," Jamie nodded, "Think we'll catch anything worth eating?"

"I hope so," Clinton grinned, "Otherwise we'll have to go buy a fish at the market to keep mom off our tails."

"That works," Jamie laughed as he went out to start directing his father.

Jamie was standing on the concrete side of the embankment and waved his father normally. Clinton had done this frequently at this location, but it always went faster with someone able to direct him in.

The trailer was lined up almost dead center in the waterway and was lowering as usual into the river. This was not a normal day, however, and before too long Jamie Malpass heard a loud thud and some breaking of glass. Clinton heard it as well and stopped the truck moving before Jamie could even wave him to stop.

"Did I hit the wall?" Clinton asked as he got out of the car.

"No," Jamie said, "It looks like there is something down in the water."

Clinton shielded his eyes from the sun and saw the outline of something in the murky water. Jamie crouched down and looked more closely and managed to detect the outline of a car of some sort on the bottom of the riverbank, just barely down the bottom of the ramp.

"I think there's a car down there dad," Jamie said.

"Great," Clinton said, "Guess I'd better call the police. No way that could be an accident."

***

Marcus Holbein was still playing assistant to Jake Sanders when A.J. Dupriex came barreling into the room. He had a smile on his face wide enough to engulf it. Marcus and Jake were wondering if he had won the lottery.

"Did you make a match?" Marcus asked him.

"Not yet," A.J. said, "But they just found a 2001 Ford Taurus in the river."

"So?" Marcus asked, not making the connection.

"It has blue carpeting?" Sanders exclaimed, making the connection immediately.

"Yep," A.J. nodded.

"The fibers on the crowbar?" Marcus asked.

"You got it," A.J. said, "I'm going to head down there and do the prelims. I've got the samples ready on the DNA. You just need to run it through the database."

"That works," Jake nodded, "If there's an available CSI unit, bring them with you to save time."

"And get me the plate and VIN number," Marcus said, "I'll run it down to see if it's connected."

"Will do," A.J. said as he bolted out of the room.

"He loves getting out of here," Jake explained, "Shall we go run the DNA?"

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus nodded.

The two men walked into the laboratory, where Marcus took a seat against the wall. Jake Sanders picked up the samples that had been carefully labeled and stored by A.J Dupriex and brought them over to a computer station that was sitting next to a slide machine.

"What does this do?" Marcus asked.

"A.J. broke down the DNA from the semen sample to it's core code," Jake explained, "This machine runs the DNA through the database query, looking for matches."

"Does it have to be a 100% match?" Marcus asked him.

"We get 99% usually, though the search program will flag anything that is over 80%," Jake explained, "That type of match comes from a close relative, usually either parent or child relation."

"Not bad," Marcus nodded appreciably.

"Ok," Jake asked him, "Where do you want me to start? All city officials?"

"How far can you break it down?" Marcus asked.

"Location, dates of employment, branch of city government," Jake shrugged, "Your choice."

"City hall," Marcus said without further hesitation.

"All right," Jake said, his apprehension apparent, "I hope your hunch is wrong though."

"So do I," Marcus nodded.

Jake put in the query information and let the machine scan the samples. Because the query was only running on a very small subset of samples on a machine designed to process hundreds of thousands at a time it took only three minutes to get a single positive match, just as Marcus knew they would.

"Son of a bitch!" Jake exclaimed when he saw the results, "You knew! You fucking knew, didn't you?"

"Let's just say I suspected it," Marcus sighed.

"I need to solidify these results before you can breathe a word about this," Jake warned, "This machine only gives preliminary matches. It's not admissible until I make it a full match."

"Get to work on it," Marcus said, "I've got to let Miller know. We need to plan on what to do next."

"Miller is fine," Jake warned, "But don't say a word to anyone else yet until I get the report done."

"How long?" Marcus asked.

"An hour, maybe a little more," Jake said, "I want to run the tests at least twice to make sure that there is no chance for error."

"Do it once and make a report," Marcus ordered, "You can run further tests afterwards."

"Fair enough," Jake shrugged, "But you can't use the report until I run the second test."

"Don't waste time talking to me," Marcus said and pulled out his cell phone.

***

The killer was watching a horrible television show when the phone tap unit started beeping. She threw her hair back out of her eyes and pressed the button to listen to the conversation over the unit's internal speaker. She saw that it was an unknown number calling Mike Miller and sat back to listen to the conversation. Anything had to be better than watching Jerry Springer.

"This is Miller," Mike's voice said over the speaker, engine noise clearly audible behind them.

"It's Marcus," he replied, "I've got some information, though I'm not sure how much you are going to like it."

"I haven't liked any of the information I've gotten today," Mike grunted, "Stone was right about Derringer. Gray tipped him off and set up the phone interview with Lupo. Harry and the warden confirmed that for me."

The killer laughed at that one. It figured that city hall was undercutting their own. She was beginning to wonder why. Marcus answered that question for her.

"Gray did something else too," Marcus sighed, "Namely the victim."

The killer blinked at that one and listened more intently.

"What?" Mike asked, nearly losing control of the car.

"Sanders found semen in the girl," Marcus told him, "I had a hunch so I had him run it against city hall employees first. I got a little more than I bargained for. Nearly perfect match on his honor himself."

"Son of a bitch!" Mike said, "The son of a bitch didn't blink an eye when I told him who the victim was either."

"You know what this means don't you?" Marcus asked him.

"Yeah," the killer said to herself, "The mayor has been cutting in on my action."

"I know it," Mike said, "If Gray is involved, then so is Latham."

"That makes this an IA investigation," Marcus said.

"Not yet," Miller said, "No proof on Latham yet."

"Treading dangerous water, Mike," Marcus said, "What do we do now?"

"You stay put," Mike told him, "I want you to have that report in hand as soon as Jake can finish it."

"There's more," Marcus told him, "They may have a match on the car for the tire iron."

"How?" Mike asked.

"Not sure if it's a match yet," Marcus temporized, "But they're pulling a late model Ford out of the river. They found carpet fibers on the jack that match ford carpets from that model series."

"Sounds thin," Mike said, "But follow up on it while you're waiting for Jake's report."

"What are you going to do?" Marcus asked him.

"I'm going to talk to the one man I know for sure I can trust in IA," Mike said, "Al Martinez transferred over there back in 04. He saved my ass several times back when I was undercover. He wouldn't turn on me now."

"Should we tell the others?" Marcus asked.

"Not yet," Mike said, "Let them keep focused on the other problem. He's our bigger deal now. You and I can run this one down."

"That works," Marcus said, "I'll call you if I find anything."

"Do that," Mike said, "And make sure that Jake doesn't hurry this one."

"He's planning on running the test two more times just to be sure," Marcus assured him, "Good luck, Mike."

"You too," Miller said and rang off the phone.

The killer sat back in her chair and thought about the things that she had just heard. She did not know whether to be amused or annoyed. She knew that this could create one hell of a scandal for the city government, one that might even go national. This was not what she wanted to see happen.

"Damn it!" the killer shouted and threw something at the wall, "Why did this asshole choose my murder spree to horn in on?"

The killer knew that the momentum was not going in her direction now and that she was risking losing control of things if they kept on going like this. She sat back and tried to figure out a way to get the momentum back and the attention back to her case. She looked at the television and saw that the morning news had come on after Springer ended. She turned the sound back on and listened for a few minutes while trying to figure out what to do next.

Finally, something caught her attention. A live report was happening from outside city hall. She opened her eyes and looked at the reporter, listening intently to what the report was about.

"There's a lot of activity at city hall today," the reporter said, "A lot of excitement too. The popular Mayor of this fair city is holding a press conference this afternoon where he is expected to announce his candidacy for the United States Senate. It's a move that has long been rumored, but it's only recently that there have been concrete signs of his candidacy."

The killer smiled as she looked at the preparations for the major announcement. She thought about the possibilities of such a move and decided that if she was going to make a statement this could be the way. She sat back and started to think about how to go about this. In the midst of a couple racking coughs it came to her. She picked up a telephone book and started to make some calls.
Chapter Thirty-Four – "Day of Reckoning"

Marcus Holbein was sitting at Jake Sander's desk with his head in his hands rubbing his temples. Memories of the night before were keeping him going as he waited for Sander's report. Jake's head popped into the room after a few minutes of sitting there, shouting for him to take line two.

"This is Holbein," Marcus said as he picked up the line.

"It's a color match," A.J. Dupriex said over the line, "It's a 2001 Ford Taurus, blue gray."

"Got the numbers on it?" Marcus asked, rubbing his temple.

"Sure," A.J. said and rattled off the VIN and License numbers.

"Slow down," Marcus said as he stole a pen out of Jake's desk, "Give me those numbers again."

Marcus jotted them down, checking them twice to make sure he had them down.

"They're going to bring it down to impound," A.J. told Marcus, "I'll run my tests after CSI finishes up with it."

"Ok," Marcus nodded, "I will have someone back at the precinct run the damned thing. I want as much data as you can come up with."

"You got it," A.J. said and rang off the line.

Marcus sighed and punched the main number for the precinct, hoping that someone was there. It took five minutes to make it through to the switchboard, however. Cecelia was sounding frazzled as she answered the phone. Marcus smiled and decided to be kind to her.

"Hiya kiddo," Marcus said, "It's Marcus."

"Thank God," Cecelia sighed, "The reporters are still calling nonstop."

"It's going to get worse before it gets better," Marcus warned her, "Is anyone in the squad room?"

"Everyone but you and Mike," Cecilia said, "Plus a few I don't recognize."

"Send me on through please," Marcus asked her, "And then take fifteen. Let the machine get the phone for a while."

"Works for me," Cecilia smiled as she punched the buttons to transfer the call.

"87th squad," Corrie's voice came over the line, "This is Corrie."

"Guess you finally did make it in," Marcus said, "You and Nick get any sleep at all last night?"

"Probably about as much as you did," Corrie grinned, "Chris said that you had a good night too."

"Touché," Marcus laughed, "I need you to look something up in the computer Corrie. Can you take a break long enough to do it?"

"Sure," Corrie said, "We're mainly brainstorming right now, trying to figure out what this lunatic would be like. Karen is leading us through the steps of profiling."

"Just so long as she does better than Ray Courson's people," Marcus said, "I need you get into the DMV to run a plate and VIN number for me."

"Hold on," Corrie said, "Nick has to log me in. I don't have DMV codes yet."

Marcus held on as he heard Nick grunt a few times as he tried to remember his DMV password. Finally, Corrie came back on the line and was ready to run the numbers, which Marcus gave Corrie. She punched the VIN and the plate in to run simultaneous searches for.

"Are you sure you have the right numbers, Marcus?" Corrie asked him.

"I triple checked them with Dupriex," Marcus said, "Why?"

"The license plate belongs to the city," Corrie said, "It's a dealer plate for the impound resale department. According to the computers it was seized in a drug raid about a year ago, title was transferred to the city for resale."

"Ok," Marcus sighed, "Thanks Corrie, he said over the phone. Guess I need to talk to Impound."

"Is this something we need to know about?" Corrie asked.

"Not yet," Marcus told her, "It might be related to the copycat. Not sure yet. A.J. has to run some more tests first. I'll call you if we get anything else solid."

"Got it," Corrie said and hung up the phone.

"Did he get anything out of the plate?" Nick asked.

"It belongs to impound," Corrie shrugged, "Probably got his numbers wrong or it's a red herring."

"More likely the latter," Nick shrugged, "Not our problem right now."

"We've got more pressing problems," Karen said, "Namely trying to figure out this serial killer."

"What do we know?" Chris asked.

"Not a large hulking man," Corrie said, "The footprints are too small for that."

"Very coordinated," Nick said following the vibe, "I've seen a lot of murders in my time and these were neat."

"Contract hitter?" Corrie asked him.

"Too neat for that," Chris said, "The neat professional contract hitter is a myth. Most of them chew up the bodies with bullets and dump what's left in concrete."

"He's right," Nick agreed, "I was high enough in the syndicate to know. They had a few that were good, but they were still messy for the most part. Even the best of Charlie's people were still thugs."

"It sounds like he's a bit too neatness obsessed to be a thug anyway," Chris said, "Hell, I have never seen a serial killer this obsessed with neatness."

"Everything posed, everything in it's place," Nick said, "Just like a woman."

"Why couldn't it be a woman?" Corrie asked.

"I can't remember a female serial killer," Nick said.

"Wuornos," Chris said, "Christ. We never even thought of that possibility."

"It's unusual, but entirely possible," Karen said, "It would explain a lot."

"Size ten shoes," Corrie said, "That means it could be a rather large woman."

"It gives us something to look at," Chris said, "Let's start running known female criminals. Nick, want to check your sources?"

"Sure," Nick said, "I can work a few leads, maybe even check with the strip clubs."

"I'll work up a possible female suspect profile," Karen said, "Corrie, mind helping me with that? You've got a better feel for the streets than I do. I usually am in the outfield."

"I'm in," Corrie said, "Let's get started."

***

The killer watched the crowds grow outside for the press conference as she walked into the Pinestone Building. Having been repossessed by the city and sold to developers after Frederick Pena's death, the building was finished and became one of the prime sources of office space in the city. Only a few people even seemed to remember the crime boss that had been thrown off the roof at the turn of the millennium.

The killer, dressed in a short flower print dress and letting her natural black hair down to her shoulders, wore a smile on her face. She had long ago learned the power of her body to retard identification attempts, and she dressed sexy today, from the low cut front to the size ten high heel pumps. Despite this, she knew that it would not be long after this stunt before her identity was known to the police.

She was carrying a cello case and a purse and purposefully leaving off gloves for this trip. She walked into the leasing office and greeted the receptionist warmly, asking if there was still any office space left to lease.

"I believe so," the receptionist nodded, "Gerard is here, if you'll wait for a few minutes I'm sure he'll be happy to show you some of the space."

"That would be lovely," the killer said, staying in character.

While the killer sat down in one of the chairs and played a lady, crossing her legs properly and pretending to read one of those stupid women's magazines that was left on the table with copies of Field and Stream. Luckily she did not have to wait very long before the leasing director walked out.

"Welcome to Pinewood!" the man exclaimed, happy to meet a potential client, "I'm Gerard Underwood, leasing director for this place. What type of office space are you looking for?"

"Small office space, two or three rooms," The killer said, "I run a small instrument repair shop and am looking for a better place to locate it."

"How much square footage do you need?" Underwood asked her.

"I can make do with 800, but I'd prefer 1,000 to 1,200 square feet," the killer told him.

"No extreme chemicals I hope," Underwood asked her.

"Nothing worse than varnish and household cleaner," the killer smiled, "I do mostly tuning and cleaning."

"That will be fine then," Gerard said, "The rents here are actually fairly reasonable, though they may be higher than where you are at."

"If it gets me here in downtown it will be worth it," she shrugged, "Especially if I get an office with a good view."

"I have a 1,000 square foot office suite overlooking City Hall if you would like to see it," Underwood said, hoping to unload that turkey for good.

"I'd love to," the killer purred, "It sounds good. Bring the contract if you like. We can work on it up there."

"Great," Underwood grinned, "Can you leave your information with the receptionist here so she can confirm your bona fides? She'll get the contract ready while we look."

"Of course," the killer said, handing over a set of credentials that had been created for this express purpose.

They went up to the twelfth floor and Gerard Underwood unlocked the office. She walked in and looked around as a standard customer would. She did not care about the looks of the place, but did not want to alarm Underwood by agreeing too fast. There would be time for that later.

"This is a prime office space," Underwood lied, as it had not been used in two years, "We're lucky to have it open."

"I like it," the killer said as she went to the large open window overlooking the courtyard of city hall, "I like it a lot. If this is such a hot property, I'd like to get a lease signed now then."

"Of course," Underwood said, "I'll go down and get the paperwork. If you'd like to stay here for a few minutes while you're waiting..."

"I'd love to," the killer said to him with a smile, "I'll be here when you get back."

"Excellent!" Underwood exclaimed and headed down to get the paperwork before she changed her mind.

"It'll do," the killer said to herself with a much more evil smile once Underwood had left the room.

***

Marcus walked in to the impound sales office and looked for Floyd Frazier, the manager of the place. The lot was full up as usual, but there were few people around the place. Marcus found Floyd sitting in his office, knee deep in paperwork again.

"How can I help you?" a very tired Floyd Frazier asked Marcus.

"I'm trying to track down a car you had in here," Marcus said, "Trying to find out who had it last."

"All the sales or auctions are logged with the DMV," Frazier said, "State law."

"This one wasn't," Marcus told him, "Just checked the DMV listing on it and the last owner is listed as this place. It also has one of your plates."

"Hmm," Floyd said, "Got the plate and VIN?"

"Here," Marcus said and handed Floyd the notepad, "Hope you can read my chicken scratch."

Floyd scratched his head and then entered the number into the database that they used to keep track of impounded cars. It took a couple minutes for the nearly fifteen-year-old database system to find the number. He was surprised by the results.

"That's odd," Floyd said, "This says the car hasn't left the lot. Where did you find it?"

"It was pulled out of the water a few hours ago," Marcus told him, "A blue 2001 Ford Taurus."

"That's our baby," Frazier agreed, "It was in lot three, section two. Let's run over the camera feed for the area."

Floyd went to another more modern table and punched up the video. He went back a week in the feed and zeroed in on the space. He then kept the coordinates and jumped ahead 24 hours. He did this until he reached a point that the car did not exist on the tapes anymore.

"The car was taken three days ago," Frazier said, "Let's zero in on when and then find out who. We can ask the attendant why it wasn't signed out."

"Ok," Marcus said.

Floyd ran the same type of search pattern until they found the video of people going to the car. There were two men in suits around that car instead of one of the usual blue jumpsuited attendants. Floyd played with the machine a little bit until he managed to focus the frame on their faces. Both their jaws dropped.

"Isn't that the Mayor?" Floyd asked Marcus.

"Shit," Marcus sighed, "Yes. That's Mayor Gray and the Commissioner. That clinches it. Son of a bitch!"

"What do you want me to do?" Floyd asked.

"Run me a DVD copy of that," Marcus said, "I've got a phone call to make..."

***

Mike Miller groaned when he found out that Marcus actually had proof that Commissioner Latham was involved. He pulled up in front of the little café that he had arranged to meet Al Martinez at and had to stop himself from throwing the phone across the parking lot. Dealing with a killer was one thing. Dealing with corrupt cops and public officials tended to piss him off.

He walked in to the café and looked around, seeing the Internal Affairs detective sitting at a table hunched over a cup of coffee. The years had not been particularly kind to Martinez who in the past five years had presided over some of the worst police corruption cases this city had ever seen.

"You look tired, Al," Mike said as he pulled up a chair.

"Been a bad month," Al said, "Busted four detectives last week for running a heroin ring."

"Now that mess with Creighton," Miller nodded, "That can't be good either."

"Hell," Al laughed, "That one is easy. Cut and dried shooting. Not my problem though. I'm too close to you. I removed myself and let Jericho take it."

"Lucky you," Mike said, "Sounds like you need a break."

"Knowing you I'm not going to get one," Al chuckled, "What did you drag me here for?"

"I thought it was simply a possibility," Mike sighed, "But Marcus got the proof we needed to bring you in while I was on the way over."

"Your serial killer is a cop?" Al said, knowing what he was working on.

"Don't even think that," Mike said, "No, we don't know who the serial killer is."

"Then what's up?" Al asked him.

Mike spent the next ten minutes outlining the case they had put together against Roger Latham and Gary Gray. Al, despite his dark Hispanic features, went nearly white when he heard what the leaders of the city had been up to. Mike did not know what bothered him worse, the crime or the fact that it was all falling squarely on their laps.

"Jesus Christ," Martinez said when Miller finished, "They are either really brilliant or very stupid."

"A little of both," Mike said, "Though if I hadn't been tipped about Silas I wouldn't have known to check it out."

"Do I even want to know who tipped you?" Al asked him.

"No," Mike grinned, "The information refers to a Panamanian bank."

"Unobtainable at the best of times," Al nodded, knowing Panama was a haven for corrupt profits, "Now we need to figure out what to do next."

"We have to do something," Miller said, "I didn't go through all that shit back in Y2K for slime like this to be our Mayor."

"Not to mention senator," Al reminded him, "His Senate campaign is going to kick off today."

"Son of a bitch!" Miller exclaimed, "I'd forgotten all about that. Guess the party is going to have to find a replacement."

"Won't break my heart," Martinez chuckled, "I belong to the other party."

"I always knew there was something wrong with you," Miller laughed.

"Right," Martinez shrugged, "What do you want to do and what do you need me for?"

"I need you to legitimize my investigation on Latham," Mike explained, "I also think I need to have a conversation with Mayor Gray."

"Why Gray and not Latham?" Martinez asked.

"Gray is the weaker of the two," Mike said, "He was also dumb enough to fuck the girl. He may crack if we get him alone and present him with the facts."

"You need to question him about the girl anyway," Martinez shrugged, "When do you want to do it?"

"Before he goes on stage," Mike said, "When he's most nervous."

"We probably should get going then," Martinez said.

"Let's have some lunch," Mike shrugged and pulled out his cell phone, "It'll take Marcus another 45 minutes to get the stuff ready to use. I want stills of his ugly mug to show him with the car. We'll meet him at City Hall."

"Works for me," Al laughed, "Let's eat!"

***

"What the hell happened to the money!" Gary Gray shouted at the commissioner.

"I don't know," Latham said as he looked at the computer screen, "It's insane. It's like someone cleaned out the account."

"I'm going to need that money for a senate campaign!" Gray said.

"Relax Gary," Latham said, "We can step up the earnings from the syndicate deals. Getting the money into the campaign will go smoothly. Tricia is much more solid than Courtney ever was."

"But what the hell happened to it?" Gray asked him, "Money just doesn't fucking disappear!"

"Banco General's records show that it was removed legitimately in cashier's checks by someone who had the codes," Roger shrugged, "My guess is that Courtney did it before she died."

"But it happened after we killed the bitch!" Gray said, "I checked the account yesterday morning, Roger. It was normal then. We check today and it's fucking empty!"

"Do you know who she was fucking?" Roger Latham asked reasonably, "She could have given the codes to anyone. We have no way of knowing without setting up an investigation that could blow things out of the water."

"Lovely," Gray sighed, "What do we do now?"

"You go out there at two and announce your candidacy," Latham said, "Next week I'll file to fill your position. With you around campaigning and boosting my candidacy I'll win with a landslide."

"All right," Gray said, "We don't have a choice now. We do need to change those codes though."

"I'll take care of that tomorrow," Latham promised, "You don't go near that account right now. I'll do it from Tricia's place."

"She doesn't get the new codes," Gray said, "We've been burned once. We need to make sure that she continues to need us to get to the money."

"Goes without saying," Roger nodded and smiled, "Go on and get ready. Today is a big day."

"There's one more subject we need to talk about first," Gary told him.

"Miller?" Latham asked.

"You got it," Gary nodded, "You need to get that son of a bitch off this case."

"Why?" he asked, wondering what was up this time.

"He's getting too close to us," Gray told the commissioner, "He was up at the state pen today. My cousin up there told me the warden told him about the interview I set up between Derringer and Crazy Harry Lupo. Lupo probably confirmed it."

"Shit," Latham said, "Wonder what's up Miller's sleeve? Why the hell did you do that anyway?"

"Derringer wanted proof," Gray shrugged, "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Looks like it may backfire a little."

"It'll piss him off," Latham said, "But he's professional. He won't go after us without reason. He can't connect us to Courtney, so we're safe."

"Hopefully the serial killer will strike again and take Miller's attention away from Courtney," Gray said hopefully.

"That can always be arranged," Latham shrugged.

"Not yet," Gray cautioned, "No need to tempt fate, especially so soon after Courtney."

"Don't worry about it," Latham told him, "You won't be anywhere near if it becomes necessary. No more risks for you. You're too important now."

"We'll see," Gray said, not sure what would happen next. It did not matter. His fate was sealed. He just had to keep going. There was no choice for him.

***

Colby Chandler found the sections of video that they were looking for after about four hours of going over the security feeds for the show. The security cameras gave some passable images, but they found what they were looking for on a crowd camera used by Cookie's production company. They always recorded her shows for publicity purposes and to make concert recordings from.

Luck was with the police force this day, there were clean and clear images of the victim getting up and following a woman out of the crowd. The cameras covered them most of the way up until they disappeared from the stadium proper. Chandler knew he was looking at both the last photos of the boy and photos of the last person to see him alive.

Charlie Roberts walked in to the room just as Colby was going through the tape looking for the best image of the woman's face. The digital video of the crowd shots was excellent for being able to enhance a small part of the image, so he used the mouse to select the area around the girl's seat. Charlie watched as the woman and the victim moved around together.

"So that's the woman, eh?" Roberts asked Colby.

"Yep," Colby nodded, "I'm hoping to find a shot when she looks directly at the camera so I can get a good head shot of her."

"Pretty," Roberts noted.

"Great body," Colby nodded, "Way too old for him though. She's gotta be pushing forty."

"I'd do her," Roberts noted.

"Looks like the kid was trying," Colby said and then hit the pause, "Ok, there's my shot."

Colby zoomed in and took four good shots from that still. One of the head and neck, one of the face only, one of the upper torso and one of the immediate area around them. All four printed out well and the head shot looked like it had almost been taken intentionally.

"Good work," Charlie nodded, "Fax a copy over to identification. They'll find her."

"I'm going to send it to the precincts as well," Colby said, "Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Make sure you're clear that she's not a suspect yet," Roberts cautioned, "I don't need a persecution lawsuit. Do you?"

"I'll pass on that," Chandler chuckled as he prepared the flyer on the computer, "I'll have this out in about ten minutes."

"Good," Charlie said, "Good work kid, now I know why Miller was so reluctant to lose you."

"I don't know if it's that or if he didn't want Creighton," Colby said.

"Judging from what happened," Charlie shrugged, "I can't say as I blame him."

"I still can't believe Jay snapped that much," Colby told his new boss, "He was always stupid and a pain in the ass, but I never thought he was completely crazy."

"That type of case can drive anyone over the edge," Charlie said, "Remember that."

"Ok," Colby said, "I'm going to get this flyer sent out and then I'll hit some more of the leads."

"Good luck," Charlie said, "Print me off a copy of that, will you?"

"Sure," Colby nodded, "It'll be on your desk in a few minutes."

Charlie nodded and walked into the other room to fill his coffee cup.

***

Corrie and Karen sat in the padded conference room chairs going over every piece of evidence they had on the serial killer, trying to figure out reasons to prove or disprove their hypothesis on gender. Karen looked at the pages and was starting to zone out again. There was nothing more boring than this if you had no leads.

"This is nuts," Corrie said, "We've got absolutely nothing."

"Some vague size measurements and some guesses," Karen agreed.

"If only the killer didn't take the drives from the internet company," Corrie sighed, "We'd have photographic evidence."

"Wait a minute," Karen said, "The internet place had electronic camera systems right?"

"Fairly modern ones too," Corrie nodded, "Why?"

"I wonder just how smart the bitch is," Karen smiled and reached for the phone, "Most of those devices use flash based write caching."

"Huh?" Corrie said.

"I don't understand it either," Karen assured her, "But Jim might."

"Call him," Corrie smiled and glanced over as the fax machine rang in the next room.

"Right," Karen said as she dialed the telephone.

"Mason here," Mason's voice said over the phone.

"Where's Jim?" Karen asked him, "I need him to look at a piece of electronic equipment for me."

"He's at the van trying to run some legitimate queries on Silas," Mason said, "I'm still trying to find someone willing to talk about Courtney Sivetson."

"Does he have a phone?" Karen asked him.

"He's on the instant messenger," Mason said, "I can send him a message."

"Have him meet us at the internet place with the van," Karen instructed him, "It's a wild hunch, but I have a feeling it might work."

"You got it," Mason said, "He'll be there before you are, probably. He's closer."

"Right," Karen said, "Let's go Corrie."

Corrie nodded and grabbed her jacket. The two women told Chris what they were up to and he nodded, knowing that they were not going to goof off. The fax machine finished spitting out three pages just as Corrie walked by it. She grabbed the pages to review on the way over to the other place. She saw that they were suspect stills from the stadium security cameras. They would make good reading for the drive.

***

The killer looked out the window at the growing crowd and smiled. She knew that it was going to be a good day for her. Knowing that she did not have too much time she put the cello case on a table on the other side of the room and opened it up. The trip had not shaken the contents too much, a little careful inspection ensured that they were still in their correct shape.

She pulled out a high-powered hunting rifle and clicked a telescopic sight on to it. It was much louder and had a bigger kick than the sniper rifles she had used years before, but it was legal and much easier to find than a true sniper rifle. It also made a bigger mess, and that was certainly what she was looking for. It had just enough range for the job since she could see the stage easily from the window.

She put a clip of the large ammunition into the rifle and worked the bolt to make sure that it was ready to use. She was testing the sight when she heard the annoying voice of Gerard Underwood coming in to the front door. She sighed and put the rifle down, reaching to the floor to pick up her handbag.

"There you are!" Underwood said, a big smile on his face, "I've got the contract here..."

He walked in to the room and saw the rifle and cleaning implements and looked at the stolid face that was on the previously smiling woman. The killer looked at him and wondered what the reaction would be. Fight, flight, or no movement at all.

"What the hell are you doing?" Underwood demanded, "You said that you worked on instruments."

"What can I say?" the killer said as she reached into her handbag, "I lied."

"You can't bring weapons in here!" Underwood blustered.

"Don't worry," the killer said as she pulled out her silenced pistol, "It's not your problem anymore."

Before Gerard Underwood could say anything else she double-tapped the trigger, putting two well-aimed shots into the leasing director's head, sending the body falling backwards on to the carpet. The killer listened for screams or movement as she moved in to the other room to make sure no one saw the killing.

She held the gun behind her back and went over to the door, closing and locking it. To ensure that nobody could come in with another key she also propped an old wooden chair that was in the corner under the doorknob. Once the suite was secured she examined the body to make sure he was dead. The fact that she would be sharing the room with a corpse did not bother her at all, but she covered him up to keep the blood out of the way.

She then surveyed the fire field some more from the window, choosing the perfect spot to see the platform from. It was not the ideal field, but it would do, she thought. Checking her watch she knew she had a few minutes to wait, so she spent a little time doing some decorating around the place. Underwood's blood turned out to be useful for leaving a little message on the wall.

She knew it was time to reveal her identity, so she did not even bother with gloves as she worked on the place. Finishing up with the blood, she walked over to the bathroom and washed her hands thoroughly, taking a moment to fix her hair in the mirror, smiling at her image as she did it.

The killer went over to the cello case and pulled out the glass cutting equipment she had brought with her. She licked the suction cup and affixed it to the glass in the place she intended to fire from. The brand-new blade on the glass cutter worked beautifully, cutting a perfect 18" circle of glass from the window, which she brought in and put on the table.

She brought the weapon stand over to the wall and put the well-crafted weapon rest against the wall, using a portable drill to bolt it in to the studs. Finishing that job she brought the rifle over to the open area and clicked the rifle in to the holder, testing her sights and making sure that she could maneuver the rifle. Seeing that it was working the way she wanted it to she removed the rifle from the stand and leaned it down against the wall.

"Perfect," the killer said to herself as she looked over the crowd with binoculars, "Now all we have to do is wait."

***

Jim Entragian was waiting for Karen and Corrie in the van when they pulled up outside the internet company. Karen pounded on the side of the van and Jim poked his head out.

"What's up?" Jim asked them, "What's the rush?"

"Remember what you did on that video system last year in Germany?" Karen asked him, "The one that some joker destroyed and they wanted to find out who?"

"Sure, the one in Gundheim," Jim nodded and then remembered the place fondly, "I hooked up with this cute little blonde girl..."

"I don't think Corrie cares about your sex life any more than I do," Karen said, interrupting him, "Think you might be able to pull that same trick here?"

"Depends on the ram," Jim said, thinking, "If they're using the old type, probably not. If it's flash memory, I might be able to get enough for a still taken at the very end."

"Do it," Corrie told him, "I want a picture of this fucker."

"Let me see if they have everything I need for it," Jim said, "You have the keys?"

"No," Corrie smiled, "But the cops at the front should have them if it's locked."

"Great," Jim groaned, "More cops."

"Don't worry," Karen grinned, "I don't think you're going to get busted around here."

"Not with me present anyway," Corrie agreed.

"Just watch your rear, honey," Karen said, "Jim can be a real letch if he wants to."

"They all misunderstand me," Jim protested humorously.

They went into the building with Corrie leading the way. She opened the door to the security room and Jim looked at the system. He crawled down under the table and looked at the hidden electronics units.

"It's using flash memory," Jim said as he climbed out, "But this is an old unit so it likely didn't cache much. I'll need to pull it apart and see if I have the right software to decode it."

"How long will it take?" Corrie asked.

"Ten minutes or so if I have the right software," Jim said, "If I don't, then it will most likely won't be happening anytime today."

"No time like the present, Jimbo," Karen said.

Jim crawled down on to the floor and yanked the flash memory module. He then went through the shelves in the room and found the initial setup disks for the security system. Jim then thought for a second and remembered one important point.

"I have one important question," Jim said, "Did the killer shut off the system or just take hard drive?"

"The killer turned it off," Corrie said, "You're seeing it just like the killer did."

"Good," Jim said, "If he'd left it running then we'd be screwed because it would have still kept feeding data until it was shut off."

They walked out to the van and Jim opened the side door. He went inside and pulled out the bubble memory reader that he had picked up for a job before and inserted the chips into it. He used the scanner to make a digital image of the current memory state of the chips, something he could experiment on and restore if he screwed it up.

"I need a list of camera locations," Jim said, "Each camera wire should have a unique number on it for the system's identification."

"There must be forty cameras in that place, Jim," Karen said.

"I only need the ones on that might have caught the killer," Jim told them, "At least the one in the security booth."

"Ok," Karen acquiesced, "Let's go, Corrie."

Jim chuckled and set to work on the memory module. Pulling raw memory out of it and decoding it is always a bitch. He started reading the instructions to the unit in hopes that it might shed some light on the data structures he would be dealing with...

***

Mike Miller and Al Martinez pulled up behind the city hall building and walked over to the entrance. Marcus Holbein was waiting for them as they walked up. All three of them looked rather miserable, which was not surprising considering that they were about to walk in and accuse the sitting mayor of murder.

"Any chance we are wrong?" Mike asked Marcus hopefully.

"Not anymore," Marcus said, "They found the girl's blood all over the floorboards. They haven't finished typing it, but A.J. says it's a lock. Jake triple checked the match on the semen in the girl. Between that and the tapes, I think we can make a good circumstantial case. A.J. has found other evidence in the area as well, but hasn't tested it yet."

Marcus handed Martinez and Miller copies of the pictures. Martinez was convinced that they were guilty, though he still despaired a little about their ability to prove it enough to get it past the DA, who was a longtime crony of the Commissioner's.

"You realize that this will probably do no good," Martinez said as they walked down the long hallway towards the Mayor's office.

"Worst case we go to the press," Mike said, "They will not get away with this."

"We've worked too hard on it for them to get away with a murder this brutal," Marcus agreed.

"Marcus," Mike said, "I want you to wait outside in the crowd, just in case he panics. If anything happens to us, you're to go to the press."

"You got it," Marcus nodded and slipped off into the crowd.

"Ready?" Mike asked Al Martinez.

"No," Martinez replied honestly, "But let's go anyway."

They walked to the mayor's office and pushed their way through the crowds of supporters and staffers that were all there to support their boss as he announced his bid to become a United States Senator. They did fairly well until they reached the inner circle, which required them to talk to the Mayor's closest aid.

Brent Smalley, a young man who had worked his way up the Mayor's staff to become the principle keeper of the Mayor's time, looked at Miller and Martinez and said that this would have to wait.

"I don't think so," Mike said and showed his badge, "I need to have a conversation with your boss."

"Are you mad, Miller?" Smalley asked him, "Mayor Gray has to give the speech of his life in about ten minutes. No way am I going to let you in there."

"You have a choice," Miller told him, "Get me in to see him now, or I go public with proof that he's a crook before his speech. We'll see which gets more coverage."

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" Smalley asked.

"Do you really want to go in to it out here?" Miller asked him, "Do you really want to talk about your boss fucking one of my murder victims hours before she died?"

"You trying to derail his candidacy?" Smalley hissed.

"Not yet," Miller grinned, "But if he doesn't talk to me now, I'll be happy to do so."

"Who's he?" Smalley asked about Martinez.

"Al Martinez," he informed the mousy little Chief of Staff, "Internal Affairs Division."

"Good," Smalley said, "You can inform your friend here on the dangers of libeling the Mayor."

"It's not libel if it's true," Martinez said, "We're starting to attract a crowd out here. I suggest we move this into the Mayor's office."

"Yes," Smalley sighed as he saw the people starting to listen, "I guess we'd better."

The three men walked in to the Mayor's office, where Gary Gray was putting the finishing touches on his tie. Not even bothering to turn around he started talking to them as if he did not have a care in the world. He did not know that he had less than fifteen minutes left to live.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to be disturbed, Brent," Gray said as he finished with his tie and started fixing misplaced strands of hair.

"He didn't get a choice," Miller told the mayor as he took an uninvited seat in one of the comfortable chairs, "I told him I could either talk to you or the press. He wisely chose to let me in."

"Sorry Gary," Brent said, "But the stuff he was talking about wasn't something..."

"Stuff it, Brent," Gray said, his charm oozing through to make that almost sound like a compliment, "I can handle Lieutenant Miller. Go on out and tell everyone everything is all right."

"You sure?" Smalley asked, "This sounds important."

"Get out of here!" Gray shouted.

Smalley ducked out of the room, leaving Miller reclining in one of the easy chairs in the room and Martinez standing in a corner. Gray growled and felt his stomach turn over. Miller was entirely too confident for his taste. He wondered how much Miller had found out.

"So what is your problem Miller?" Gray said, "I've got a campaign to start in a few minutes."

"I've been wondering for days now why you and Roger Latham have been systematically screwing my team over," Mike said, "You stick me with the most incompetent detective this police force has ever seen, despite my objections."

"That was..." Gray started, but was interrupted by Miller.

"That was just the beginning," Miller said and stood up, "You and Latham have acted against the grain. You've released information; you've pushed me in front of the cameras when I've had nothing. You've been encouraging this as a press case."

"I have not!" Gray exclaimed indignantly.

"Then why did you announce that the Sivetson girl was a Beauty Queen killing?" Mike asked, "I had only been on it for a couple hours, and most of that was spent dealing with Creighton's folly."

"Everyone else said it," Gray said nervously.

"No policeman except maybe Creighton said it," Mike said, "The press is still hounding me for an official statement on it."

"Then make one to them," Gray said.

Martinez leaned against the wall and let Miller continue with his tirade. Mike was the one who had been screwed the most out of this mess. He was here only to lend moral support and to catch any bad cops that come out of this.

"If I talk to the press I'll be sure to tell them about the girl's last hours too," Miller grinned, "About the fact that you didn't even stir at the girl's name, yet you fucked her within hours of her death."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gray asked, visibly scared now, he did not know that they would be able to trace that.

"That was stupid, Gray," Miller said, "Sperm lives for days inside a woman. You should have worn a rubber."

"That doesn't mean I killed her," Gray said, "And you wouldn't admit to fucking a woman of that nature either. Doesn't mean a thing."

"No," Miller said, "I probably wouldn't if I were in your shoes. I wouldn't admit to a scam like Silas Shipping either."

"What?" Gray said, doing a double take.

"I can't prove that part yet," Miller said, "But I'm getting closer. Nice campaign scam, Gary. I'm sure it would have been a great help in your Senate race."

"You son of a bitch," Gray said, confirming the truth of the allegation to Miller.

"I don't know why you and Latham killed Sivetson," Miller said, "I'm betting it's because she was threatening to blow the deal or because she was a liability. I don't know, but you and Roger decided to get rid of her."

"You can't prove any of this," Gray said, praying he was right.

"I can't prove Silas in court," Miller acknowledged, "But I sure as hell can prove you and Roger killed the girl."

"Bullshit!" Gray said, though his face was going white, "Lay your cards on the table."

"If you say so," Miller said and laid a photograph on the table.

"What's this?" Gray asked.

"You and Roger getting stealing a car from the impound lot," Miller smiled, "The same car that we pulled out of the river this morning. The same car that one of you took a tire iron from and bashed Courtney Sivetson's head in with."

"You can't prove any of this!" Gray exclaimed.

"I could probably get an indictment on this," Miller said, "When the forensics come in your ass is as good as convicted. I don't even have to rely on Silas, though I'm sure that will come out in the trial."

"You're bluffing," Gray said.

"Try me," Miller smiled.

"Who's he?" Gray asked about Martinez.

"He's here to deal with Roger," Mike smiled, "Internal affairs tends to frown on murderous cops."

"You can't prove a goddamned bit of this!" Gray exclaimed.

"Suit yourself," Miller said, "I wanted to give you a chance to bow out gracefully and save this state a whole lot of pain."

"Back off this and save yourself a whole lot of pain!" Gray said as he walked out the door, "I've got a speech to make. If I see this in the paper, I'll have your badges. Both of you!"

Gray stormed out of the room, leaving Miller and Martinez watching. Miller was inexplicably chuckling as Gary Gray stormed out of the room. Mike calmly picked up his photos and looked at Martinez, who just did not realize the gravity of what had just happened.

"Why are you so happy?" Al asked him.

"I got under his skin," Mike grinned, "He's not strong enough to have been the leader in this endeavor."

"So why did we hit him first?" Al asked and then remembered basic investigative techniques, "Shit, you don't want him, do you?"

"I do," Mike said, "But he didn't do it alone. We have a stronger case on him than we do against Latham. I'm hoping that he'll do something stupid and solidify our case on both of them."

"Great," Al said, "So what's the next move?"

"Let's go watch his speech," Mike grinned, "I have a feeling it will be his last."

Neither Al Martinez nor Mike Miller himself knew just how right that statement was going to be. The Killer did not intend to let this trespass on to her territory go unpunished. It was fast turning in to payback time for Gary Gray.

***

After twenty minutes worth of work and more swear words than Corrie had ever heard directed at a single piece of electronic equipment Jim Entragian managed to get a working decoder set up for the data in the flash module. He looked at Karen and Corrie and smiled.

"Ok," Jim said, "I think I have it. What cameras are we looking for?"

"How much time are we looking at here?" Corrie asked.

"Probably no more than five frames," Jim said, "This was an old unit and barely used any caching. It also was using a horrid compression ratio. If there was a camera in the security room, it's our best bet."

"32E," Karen said.

"Let's see if this works like it's supposed to," Jim grinned and hit a few buttons.

Karen and Corrie watched as an image decoded on the screen fairly quickly. It wasn't a great image and it wasn't in color, but it was definitely an image of a person.

"Is that as good as it gets?" Corrie asked.

"Let me get the other frame elements," Jim said and clicked away for another minute or so, bringing the image clearer, "Good, he was facing the camera when he pulled the plug."

"Still very unrecognizable," Karen said.

"That's just the raw image," Jim smiled, "Now for photo enhancement. This would have been done at the hardware level. I don't have that with the software. I just needed to pull the image out some more."

The women watched in fascination as Jim ran it through the latest photo enhancement software. What used to take millions of dollars of equipment to accomplish could now be accomplished on a top of the line laptop computer. Within two minutes, Jim had produced a photo quality color image from the data contained on the flash module pulled from the security system.

"Son of a bitch," Corrie said, "The killer is a woman."

"Not a bad looking one either," Jim agreed.

"I've seen that face before," Karen said, "I know I have."

"Where?" Corrie asked and then it hit her, "The Fax!"

"That too," Karen said, "Mason and I dealt with her over a decade ago as well. I never did find out her real name."

"I don't remember her," Jim said, "I doubt I'd forget a woman like that."

"You weren't there," Karen said, "This was before you joined us."

Corrie walked over to her car, followed closely by Karen and Jim. She sat down and grabbed the discarded informational sheets and looked at the facsimile photo. She studied it for a second and looked at them.

"You're right, Karen," Corrie said and handed her the fax, "That's our killer."

"Where did that come from?" Jim asked.

"Concert investigation," Corrie said as she actually read the fax, "There was a kid killed during the show. Evidently, this is the last person seen with him."

"Now we know why," Karen said, "This is probably the best piece of evidence we have yet. We need to get this back to the rest of the team."

"I'm going to see if I can pull anything else out of that data," Jim said, "I'm going to drive back to the park first though."

"Print me off a couple copies of that first," Karen said.

"Email it to my account at the station please," Corrie said and gave Jim the address.

"You got it," Jim nodded, "I'm out of here,"

"You drive," Corrie said and tossed her keys to Karen, "I'll call Nick and we'll find out what to do next."

"That works," Karen agreed.

***

Gary Gray, still a little white from his conversation with Miller made a beeline for Roger Latham who was making small talk with some of the city counselors looking for support for his Mayoral bid. Gray managed to maintain his composure long enough get the police commissioner to a separated area where they would not be overheard.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Roger Latham asked his partner in crime, "You look like hell and you're about to give the best speech of your life."

"I don't know about that," Gray said, "Miller knows everything."

"What are you talking about, Gary?" Latham asked him, "Everything is a lot."

"Courtney, Silas, the works!" Gray said, "He even has the car. Said they fished it out of the river this morning. Showed me pictures of us getting it and everything."

"Shit," Latham said, "How did he penetrate this far into it?"

"Maybe Courtney left some information behind?" Gray said.

"You didn't admit anything did you?" Latham asked suspiciously, knowing that she did not.

"Hell no," Mayor Gray assured him, "But there's another thing. He knows I fucked her."

"How the hell could he know that?" Roger Latham asked him, "Nobody ever saw you with her."

"He said he had DNA evidence that I'd..." Gray said and was cut off.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Latham exclaimed, "You fucked her that night, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!" Gray told him, "She would have known something was up if I didn't."

"She was a whore and wouldn't have cared," Latham said, a mite pissed at Gray's stupidity.

"Can't undo it now," Gray said, "What do we do?"

"Let me worry about it," Latham told him, thinking strongly about that himself, "You have a speech to give. Don't give Miller the satisfaction of not giving it. If he had anything he wouldn't have come talking to you, he would have arrested your ass on the spot. He's hoping to force you into a mistake."

"Us, Roger, us," Gray reminded him, "He had an IAD guy there. Martinez. I think they're trying to get you too."

"Let them try," Latham grinned, "Now get up there. You're due to be introduced any minute."

Gray sighed and nodded. It was time for him to act like a politician again. He just hoped that it was all worth it in the end. Latham hoped the same thing, though for much different reasons than Gray.

***

Gary Gray took the stage to a thundering cloud of applause shortly after two in the afternoon. He still looked a little pale, but most of the crowd attributed it to the fact that he was making a big announcement. Only Mike Miller's team and Commissioner Roger Latham knew the other reasons for his nervousness.

The state chairman of Gray's political party, DeMarcus Raymon Helmer, finished up his twenty-minute long speech, most of which was spent praising Gray's work as Mayor and City Councilman and introduced the man himself. Gray's inhibitions dropped a bit, and he smiled and waved at the crowd that was there to cheer him on.

Mike Miller, Al Martinez and Marcus Holbein watched the display with utter distaste. They were watching and groaning at the cheering that met this man. Little did any of the people in the audience know that they were cheering for a cold-blooded killer. Gary Gray, like many people in politics, was a purely psychopathic personality. He had no conscience nor did he care that Courtney Sivetson was dead because of him.

The killer who shared a similar personality type with Gray, pulled her weapon up off the floor and put it on the stand, clicking the bases in place. As Gray waited for the applause to drop the killer sighted in on her target chambering a round in the large weapon. She smiled and watched for the speech to begin. She had time and wanted to choose the right moment to pull the trigger, preferably when he said something trite or made a grandstand motion. To allow her to hear the speech, she had a radio tuned on to the news station that planned to cover the event.

"Ladies and Gentleman!" Gary Gray said as he looked out over the audience, absorbing all of the love that he was unable to produce in himself.

"Let the bullshit begin," Miller mumbled to Al and Marcus.

"These are complicated times that we live in," Gray said into the microphone, "The time for trite phrases and small campaign promises in the past. Years ago a simple return to normalcy or a gripping "I feel your pain!" were enough to get a man in office, so long as he looked good for the cameras."

"The world has changed! Technology still follows Moore's Law, terrorists still try to destroy what they are afraid of and poverty still runs rampant. We have crimes and criminals still, even though every political bozo you've heard speak in the last hundred years has promised you that they would fix the problem."

"Well the present is here, and most of them are gone. How much more of this are you going to take? You may think that this type of thing is beyond the scope of what you can help to fix. But I'm here to tell you, that it is not! There is hope and with your hope and your votes, I can make a difference!"

"We can fix welfare, we can slow the crime, we can lower the taxes and make sure what is collected is put to good use. But we can't do it alone. We need to bring everyone in on this. Young and old, white and black, Hispanic and Asian everyone needs to take part of this."

"Keep it going," Roger Latham muttered to himself, "You've got it kid."

"What complete utter tripe," the killer said as her finger rested on the trigger guard.

"This is a world that has challenges!" Gary Gray continued, "Some big, some small, but the challenges are what make us strong and keep us going on. I have a challenge for all of you here today. It's not going to be quick, it's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be fun! But, it is important and it is why we are all here today."

"Today, I ask you to help me make this a better place! I ask you to help me bring empowerment back to our people and to bring a better quality of life for everyone as we work on the challenges of the future! To further this end, I am asking every single one of you to stand up behind me as I challenge the incumbent senator and run to take his place in the United States Senate!"

The crowd went wild at this point and Gray took a step up and raised his arms to incite the crowd further. He knew that he had scored with this audience and that it was his moment in the sun. The killer knew that a better opportunity would never come about and that Gray's speech was likely to get even dumber as he kept going.

The killer took one final survey of the setting and looked hard in to the scope. She took a deep breath as she locked her body in position and pulled the trigger, sending 140 grains of searing lead on a straight collision course with Gary Gray's nose. She kept her eye to the scope and watched the lead hit dead on target, removing the larger portion of Gary Gray's head from his body.

"That'll teach you to fuck with me," the killer said as she walked away from the sniper rifle, grabbed her handbag, and walked out the door calmly as if nothing had happened.
Chapter Thirty-Five – "Revelations"

Chaos reigned on the ground as the reverberations of the shot dissipated into the air. Mike Miller had hit the ground quickly and was looking for the shooter. The security personnel were going nuts as well, but nobody was organized enough to know what to do next.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Martinez asked.

"Pinestone building," Marcus said.

"Get over there!" Mike ordered him, "Al, come with me. We're probably the highest ranking detectives here."

"The commissioner is here," Martinez reminded him.

"Fuck Latham," Miller said, "He hasn't seen the street in thirty years. He's been too busy playing king maker. Let's get up there."

"True that," Martinez nodded and followed Miller.

While Mike and Al were pushing through the crowd up to the stage, the Killer was walking calmly down the staircase in the Pinestone building. She passed a few people, but none of them gave her any more than the usual glances passed on to a beautiful woman.

She reached the lobby before the police did and made a beeline for the leasing office. She knew that she had to silence the secretary to make a clean escape from the building. The secretary was surprised when the killer walked into the room.

"Have you seen Gerard?" the woman asked him.

"Yes," the killer nodded and pulled the pistol out of the bag, "And you're about to see him too."

She fired three quick silenced shots in to the woman's head, sending her chair flipping backwards. Knowing that the pistol was more liability than protection at this point the killer tossed the gun behind the desk with the body and walked out of the room calmly towards the front exit.

Marcus Holbein busted in through the door and saw the killer walking out, but did not realize who it was. Being a standard male chauvinist cop he did not suspect her at all as she walked past. It was something that she had used to her benefit for most of her life. She managed to force herself to look a little confused.

"Did you happen to hear where the shot came from?" Marcus asked her as he took her in with his eyes.

"No," the killer lied, "I was down here and heard a big commotion outside. I was heading to the door to take a look."

"Someone shot the Mayor," Marcus said, "You may want to stay put. It's about to get busy out there."

"Thank you," The killer said.

Marcus nodded and moved on, leaving the Killer to slip out the front door into the crowd. The rest of the security staff was pouring in to the building now and took no notice of the killer walking away. Marcus took two of the security team to check upstairs with him while having the rest of them seal the building.

Mike and Al had to order the security staff to get off the platform so they could actually see how bad it was. Lying on the platform where he had been giving the speech of his life, Gary Gray's body was gushing blood on to the Astroturf platform from the gaping hole where the top of his head used to be. Miller's training took hold and he took control of the situation.

"Cordon off this area," Miller ordered the security staff, "Get those damned reporters the hell away from here. They've already got more than enough to sicken everyone on the six o'clock news."

"Miller!" Latham shouted as he pushed his way through the cordon, "What the hell are you doing?"

"My job," Miller said, "Unless you want to take control of this clusterfuck?"

"The killer isn't here," Latham exclaimed, "He's up in the Pinestone."

"I know," Miller said, "But he's not at his perch anymore. The gun is still in the window, but pointing upwards. Most likely the shooter fired the shot and fled. Marcus and the Security people are working on that."

"How could this have happened?" Latham asked the sky.

"Lucky for him," Miller said coldly, "I was going to arrest his ass in the morning."

"You were going to do no such thing!" Latham said, "I'm still the police commissioner."

"Not for long," Martinez said, "It's all about to come down on you like a house of cards. You know that, don't you Roger?"

"We'll see about that," Latham said as he started to walk away, "We'll see."

"Al," Mike said as he watched Latham start to leave, "Take a team and go search Gray's house."

"We need a warrant..." Al started to say and then realized, "No we don't do we?"

"Not anymore," Mike grinned, "He's a murder victim. If you get there before Latham does, you might find enough to take that smug son of a bitch down quickly."

"You ok here?" Al asked him.

"I've got Marcus and the security people," Miller said, "I'll probably end up handing this one over to the feds or to someone else in the department."

"Got it," Martinez nodded and quickly made his way back to his car.

The killer was taking no chances and following the flow of crowds out of the area. She was doing well at getting far away from the scene and knew that she was practically home free.

Miller continued with establishing the perimeter until his phone rang. He managed to get over to the side and pick it up on the fourth ring. The indicator on the phone showed that it was Marcus, which surprised him considering how much Marcus hated cell phones.

"What's up, Marcus?" Miller asked, "Find the shooter?"

"Not yet," Marcus said, "But I think you need to see this."

"I've got a body to deal with down here!" Miller told him.

"There's one up here too," Holbein told him.

"Shit," Mike said, "I don't suppose it was a suicide, was it?"

"Not when he was killed with a double tap to the forehead," Marcus said, "You'll also want to see the note on the wall."

"Oh shit," Mike said, "It was Sleeping Beauty wasn't it?"

"I want you and Chris to look at it," Marcus said, "But I wouldn't bet against it."

"I'll be up in five," Mike said, "Let me get this place secured for CSI before I look at it. You have the building sealed right?"

"You got it," Marcus said, "I'll look around here some more."

"If it's Sleeping Beauty there will be more bodies," Mike warned, "Try not to trip on one."

"Got it," Marcus said and rang off.

Miller walked around the scene of chaos. The reporters were still trying to break the lines and take pictures of the dead Mayor. Roger Latham was talking to the press, trying to spin this situation in his favor. Miller just shook his head and walked towards the Pinestone building.

Miller's phone rang a second time as he waded through the crying crowd. He saw Nick's number on the caller ID and punched the button. Nick's voice came on the phone asking him what was going on.

"Did you see the TV?" Nick asked him.

"I was there," Mike told him, "I was going to call you in a couple. Get everyone down here. We might have another Sleeping Beauty killing."

"You're kidding?" Nick said.

"I wish I was," Mike said, "I don't know how he found out, but Latham and Gray committed the copycat. We were getting ready to solidify the case when this happened. It looks like the son of a bitch decided that he didn't like Gray stealing the thunder."

"She," Nick corrected.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Sleeping Beauty is either a woman or is working with one," Nick told his boss, "Jim Entragian managed to pull an image out of the memory of the security system at the internet place."

"Great," Miller sighed, "That should be interesting. Have you seen the picture yet?"

"No," Nick said, "Though I'm thinking the same thing you are, I'm sure. Corrie is on her way back here now."

"Call her and redirect her here," Mike instructed him, "Bring Chris down here. We can use the extra manpower. If Mason is around, he can come too, though there may be too many reporters for his taste."

"Will do," Nick said and put the phone down.

Miller made his way to the building and was allowed entrance upon showing his badge to the security personnel. Memories flooded back to him upon entering this building. The last time he had walked in here was when he was chasing down Freddie Pena the last time.

He took the elevator up to the twelfth floor and walked around for a minute before Marcus stepped out and saw him. Miller walked over and peeked in to the room, seeing the body strewn out on the floor.

"Why do you think its sleeping Beauty?" Mike asked Marcus.

"The wall by the gun," Marcus said, "Just like the other places, only this one is a bit more coherent."

Miller walked in, stepping over Gerard Underwood's body, and looked first at the mounted rifle, still in the stand that the killer had bolted against the wall. He sighed and then looked at the wall.

"Damn it," Miller said as he read the wall, "Welcome back."

The wall had a simple statement, this one coherently painted with blood along the white wall. It read as follows: I didn't kill Courtney Sivetson, the Mayor and his cronies did that. I am the Sleeping Beauty Killer. They were mere imitators. It's me that you will be watching. It's me that you need to fear. Remember that Michael Miller. I'm back.

"I don't like this," Marcus said, reading it again, "This bastard doesn't like you."

"Tell me about it," Miller said, his mind reeling, "Did you find anyone as you walked out."

"Aside from a sexy chick, I saw on my way in?" Marcus grinned, "I didn't see a soul."

"Woman?" Mike asked, remembering what Nick told him.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "She was walking outside when I got there."

"Describe her," Mike said quickly, his heart sinking.

"Hmm?" Marcus said, "Umm... She was tall, about 6'1" and probably close to your age. Very good shape though."

"What color hair?" Mike asked, knowing when he asked it that the answer would be black.

"Black," Marcus said, "Why?"

"Fuck!" Mike said, knowing who the killer was now, but not ready to say it.

"What the hell?" Marcus said.

"I want you to look at a picture," Mike said, "Corrie is on the way with some photos. I'll explain then. Let's go downstairs and see if anyone is left alive in the leasing office."

They went downstairs and found the body in the leasing office. Miller sighed and called in a couple of the security personnel to guard the doorway. Mike walked outside and saw Nick and Chris walking up to the building. Miller sat down on the steps and looked at him.

"Is it Sleeping Beauty?" Chris asked.

"No doubt about it," Miller nodded, "Where's Corrie?"

"About five minutes out," Nick told him, "What's wrong Mike?"

"You know exactly what's wrong," Mike told him, "I don't want to say it though. I want Marcus to look at some pictures."

"Why?" Nick asked suspiciously.

Mike and Marcus told them what they found upstairs and what Marcus saw as he entered in to the building. Nick had the same dark feeling in the pit of his stomach that Mike shared, but he wanted to be sure first. They did not have to wait long. Corrie and Karen came walking through the lines and walked over to the group on the steps.

"Why so glum?" Corrie asked Nick.

"I'm not sure yet," Nick said, "It depends on those pictures of yours."

"Show them to Marcus first please," Mike instructed them.

"Sure," Corrie shrugged and handed the folder over to Marcus Holbein.

Marcus pulled open the folder and his jaw dropped. He flipped through several of the large photo prints and then looked over at Miller. It was apparent that he recognized the woman in the photos immediately.

"Son of a bitch," Marcus said, "You knew she'd be in the pictures. You fucking knew."

"Once Nick told me it was a woman I suspected," Mike said, "I'm sure he did as well."

"Suspected what?" Corrie asked them, "You two are starting to scare me a little."

"You know her too, don't you?" Karen said, "We dealt with her over a decade ago. She was the one who transported Elliot Sumner to Seattle."

"I guess you could say that," Nick said, "Mike knew her very well."

"Too well," Mike said as he paced around looking for something to kick.

"Who is she?" Chris asked, "Could she be our Sleeping Beauty?"

"There's no doubt she is," Mike said, rubbing his temples, "She's certainly psychotic enough."

"Her name, at least back then, was Elise Steele," Nick continued, "She worked directly for Freddie Pena."

"Until I arranged a raid that resulted in her arrest," Mike said, "I thought she was dead."

"Why?" Chris asked.

"They never called us to testify against her," Nick explained.

"She was never tried that I knew," Mike said, "And I had hoped she was dead. Now that we know she's not, we're all in trouble."

"Why does she hate you so much?" Karen asked, "It's obvious that she hates your guts."

"Because I was sleeping with her," Mike told them, "And I betrayed her like no one else could get close enough to."

With that Mike walked back in to the building to go up and look at the scene upstairs one last time. Everyone else there looked at him with jaws dropped. Everyone except Nick who had been there and knew almost as well as Miller did just how evil Elise Steele was.

***

Elise Steele arrived back at her safe house and stripped off the constrictive clothing she wore for her trip out into the world. She hated wearing clothing like that most of the time, but it served the purpose it was intended to. She did not even wonder if Miller would figure it out. It was running on time for him to know anyway.

"Let's see if you're as smart as you were back then," Elise said to herself as she dressed in a black jumpsuit, "I'm betting you are."

She turned on the TV to watch some of the coverage that was being heaped on to the Gary Gray assassination. She got to watch several instant replays of her handy work, all with the usual disclaimer about violence and gore. She thought she was a little sloppy, but it did the job.

"That will teach anyone to fuck with me," Elise chuckled softly as she fumbled around for a pack of cigarettes, "I wonder if Miller was there."

Elise lit a cigarette and coughed deeply, nearly dropping it onto the carpet. She scowled and took a deep drag just to spite the coughing fit. She looked and saw the tap device had recorded several calls while she was out. She played them back and laughed when she heard most of them.

"Looks like I was just a bit ahead of you today, Mike," Elise grinned, "Hopefully you'll get the commissioner as a consolation prize."

She skimmed through the call recordings until she came up to the ones between Nick and Corrie. She was impressed that they had managed to pull the picture out of the system like that. She had not thought about the fact that most systems nowadays use flash memory to help make them crash proof.

"Not bad, Kid," Elise laughed and coughed again, "Well, it was expected. Now the games can really begin."

Elise leaned back in the chair again to rest and to watch her coverage on the television, reveling in the chaos she was helping to bring about.

***

"Ok," Chris said, "We know who our killer is. Now it's time for the manhunt."

"We'll go public when we confirm some things," Miller said, "We've got a bigger problem right now."

"Gray's death?" Corrie asked.

"Latham," Marcus said authoritatively.

"Exactly," Mike said, "Elise has gone underground again. We're not going to find her until she comes up for air."

"We don't have a case against her yet anyway," Chris conceded, "So what do you propose?"

"Same teams as before," Mike said, "Marcus and I will wrap up Latham along with Internal Affairs."

"But you know Elise better than anyone else," Nick said.

"You want to tangle with the Commissioner?" Mike asked him.

"Not really," Nick agreed, backing off, "I guess I can handle the basics on Elise."

"Find all the files that are left on her," Mike told him, "I want to know where the hell she's been since November 2000."

"I'll pull Mason in from the field," Karen told them, "He'll be helpful when it comes to the manhunt. We have our reasons for wanting her too."

"That works," Miller nodded.

"Where do you want me to go?" Marcus asked.

"You're in charge here," Mike told him, "The security detail will listen to you. We're taking over this crime scene."

"You expect me to do this alone?" Marcus asked.

"No," Mike grinned, "Take anyone you need. There won't be a hell of a lot of investigation with this. If you want Colby back, get Roberts to release him."

"Might as well," Corrie said, "Colby Chandler was running the stadium case anyway. His name was on the fax."

"On who's authority?" Marcus asked.

"Let Martinez worry about that," Mike said, "Elise Steele is our problem now. I don't think Latham will last out the week anyway."
Chapter Thirty-Six – 'Elise'

The entire team met up in the conference room of the police precinct to plot out what to do next. The whole team was there, official and unofficial. They even managed to convince Jim Entragian to overcome his fear of police officials long enough to walk in to the building.

Marcus Holbein, Nick Jones, Corrie Albiston, and Colby Chandler were sitting in the chairs facing the board. Colby Chandler was officially back on the team when Charlie Roberts acquiesced to Miller's request to combine the Stadium investigation with the Sleeping Beauty task force.

Mason Stone, Karen Stone and Jim Entragian stood off to the side watching Miller closely. Chris Gabriel sat at the far head of the table, letting Miller take the lead of this meeting. He was the expert on Elise Steele, so it was his meeting.

"All right," Mike said to everyone after a few uneasy moments, "The hard part is over. Thanks to Jim Entragian over there we now have an identity on our killer. Here she is."

Mike posted the picture that Entragian had printed out of Elise Steele on the board, along with one he'd had pulled from what little remained of her ten-year old file. All the men in the room were saying to themselves what an attractive woman she was, none of them knew exactly what went wrong.

"What do we know about this woman?" Chris Gabriel asked, "Why would she do something like this?"

"Ok," Mike said, "I'm going to tell you what I know about her. I'll be the first to admit that it isn't a hell of a lot."

"Never was much," Nick said, "I don't think there's anyone left alive who knows how Pena found her."

"John Stockton might," Mike told Nick, "He made a deal to get out of the death house."

"Ok," Mason said, "Elise Steele worked for Freddie Pena, right? One of his right hands?"

"Right," Miller continued, "She was his troubleshooter. If someone was shooting his mouth off to the wrong people, she would shoot their mouth off permanently. If they wanted someone investigated, she'd do it quietly."

"Unusual spot for a woman," Marcus said and then looked at Corrie and Karen, "Not that I have any problem with women, of course."

"Elise is not stupid by any stretch," Mike said, "She got where she was by ruthless determination."

"And probably by a little blowing the boss," Corrie said.

"I never saw her and Pena together," Mike said, "I didn't meet Freddie Pena in person until the day I broke cover."

"Hell," Nick said, "He was why you broke cover."

"Exactly," Mike said, "I'd met him as a cop once before. He didn't remember me immediately, which is why I'm still alive."

"How old is she?" Chris asked.

"We don't have much on her early life," Mike said, "From what I know she's about the same age as I am, give or take five years."

"If anything, take five years," Marcus said, "She looks very good still, and I wouldn't have put her above 35."

"The records we have go back to about 1994," Corrie said, "Before that there's nothing under the name Elise Steele."

"We don't even have a social security number," Mike agreed, "This is nothing new. I even tried to pry clues out of her, but she was not giving. I do know that she was probably abused badly as a child."

"How?" Karen asked, as this was her department.

"Scars on her back," Mike said, "Elise will never wear anything backless or that will show below her neck in the rear for this reason."

"It'll be a useful identifying characteristic," Chris said, "We can ignore anyone wearing a low cut tank top."

"Mike," Karen said, "I want to interview you so I can start on a good mental profile of her."

"My knowledge of her is out of date," Mike protested, his memories of Elise did not rank among his happiest.

"You slept with her," Karen reminded him needlessly, "She let you in close. It may not have felt that close to you, but for her it was probably more than she's let anyone in since."

"She's right," Chris said, "Personalities like hers don't make friends easily."

"I wouldn't call it friendship," Nick said, "I don't think Elise Steele has had a friend her entire life."

"Nick's right," Mike said, "People are like pieces on a chess board to her. We slept together that was it. You couldn't even call what we did lovemaking. It was fucking, pure and simple. Little more than an athletic exercise for either one of us."

"See," Karen smiled, "You know more about her than you think you do."

"All right," Mike said, "I'll go with you and submit to the interview. Nick will join us. He spent time with her too, especially in LA."

"Oh you did huh?" Corrie asked him directly, smiling in a slightly possessive manner.

"No worries kiddo," Nick grinned, "She had Mike in her bed that week. She barely knew I existed. I was there because I was Mike's assistant."

"Uh huh," Corrie grinned.

"Ummm," Nick said, moving nervously, "What are the assignments?"

"Marcus will be doing cleanup on the Mayor," Mike said, "Karen and Chris will be doing profiles. Colby, if you have any cleanup left to do on the Stadium job, do it and then join Corrie in the records division. I want to know what happened to Elise Steele after her arrest back in November of 2000. Mason... I don't know what the hell to do with you. You're a free agent."

"She showed up on that mess I was working on for Chris back in the late 90's," Mason said, "The name Elise name came up in that investigation, but nothing came of it. She disappeared after delivering Elliot Sumner to Bolantine. I think Jim and I need to retrace some old steps."

"What am I doing?" Nick asked.

"You heard Karen," Mike grinned, "You and I are going to sit for interviews."

"Great," Nick sighed, not looking forward to this at all.

***

Julie Styles, better known to the rest of the homicide team as Elise Steele, walked in to the hospital wearing her usual revealing getup that she had used for her encounters with Randall Jay Creighton.

She did not hold any particular like or dislike for the incompetent detective, but Creighton had been a tool that had performed admirably well, even if the performance at the end was particularly over the top. She knew that his original use had ended, but she was restless after the action from this morning. She had to do something so she decided to pay Creighton a little visit.

She walked in to the hospital, a surprisingly open place. The security staff never did learn how to stop people very well, and most of them preferred to stare at Elise's tits rather than ask her what she was doing. This was expected, and how Elise managed to walk in to the hospital with a handbag containing two weapons.

She did not even bother with a disguise, knowing that it would be useless and probably would garner her more attention than just walking in to the room unannounced would. She just hoped that they had not moved Creighton since the day before, as that would have been an unneeded inconvenience.

"Can I help you?" the bored police officer asked Elise as she approached Creighton's room.

"I'm Jay Creighton's girlfriend," Elise explained, "I just want to see him."

"I'm afraid he isn't allowed visitors, ma'am," The young officer said.

"Oh come on," she said playfully, "I just need to talk to him. I haven't seen him since before the awful incident yesterday."

"Why would you want to?" the officer asked.

"Because I need to know why," Elise lied.

"All right," the officer relented, "But only for a few minutes."

"Thank you, officer!" Elise exclaimed and kissed him flamboyantly on the cheek.

"You're welcome miss," the officer chuckled as Elise slipped into the room and closed the door.

Randall Jay Creighton was both awake and alive, but his face did not show much sign of it. He did not even realize that his beloved Julie Styles had entered the room until she touched his arm. His eyes focused for the first time that day and he smiled as much as the wires on his jaw would let him.

"I see they still have you bolted down," Elise/Julie told him.

Creighton nodded sadly. He did not need her to remind him of the predicament that he was in. He did not know what to do anymore, though her last conversation with him had given him some hope. He struggled a little, but not too much. He just wanted to touch her.

"You're looking a little better," Elise smiled as she lifted the blanket to make sure that he was not wearing any casts, "Still taking food intravenously I see."

Jay nodded despite the apparatus on his head. He still did not feel good, but that was to be expected. She smiled reassuringly and caressed him softly, wondering if he would be up for the task that she had for him. She did not expect too much from the blithering idiot, but he could make things a little interesting.

"I have a job for you if you want it, Jay," Julie said with an evil smile.

He simply looked at her with questioning in his eyes, being unable to talk or move his body.

"You want to get back at them, don't you?" she asked him, knowing what that was one of the few things he would want, "Well if you're willing I will give you a chance to do it."

"How?" he managed to rasp out through the wired jaw.

"First you need to get out of here, Jay," Elise said with her smile intact, "Then you will need to meet me away from this place."

He looked at her as if she was crazy. The fact that they were both certifiable by this time was beside the point. She merely smiled and pulled out another silenced pistol, the second of five she stole from gun dealer Thomas Hardin and slipped it under his left buttock.

"That's your way out," Elise told him, kissing him softly on the nose "I'm going to cut your straps and tape them to the frame. They'll look solid, but will give if you pull hard enough."

She did this and fastened the straps back with a roll of adhesive tape, smiling playfully at him as she did so. She wanted to keep him interested and wondered just how far he would get on his way out. If nothing else, it would be entertaining to watch.

"You are to stay put until after midnight," Elise ordered him, "If you leave earlier, I won't be able to find you and you'll get caught sure as hell. You might actually have a chance at night. I'll come get you when I know you're clear."

He nodded fractionally, as far as the headgear would allow and smiled a little. He knew his career was over. He would have braved hell on earth just to get another chance with her. The fact that she was here making this offer to him, just proved her love for him, at least in his eyes. He was too stupid to know that she was just using him as a tool. Just like she did every other man she'd ever met.

"Once you get out, go to the bus stop at the corner of Hospital and Brody," Elise told him, "I'll be watching. If you aren't followed, I'll get you. If you are, keep running. You're on your own. I'll find you later. Understood?"

"Yes," Creighton rasped, "Are you leaving?"

"I've got to sugar," Elise told him, "I need to rest for a bit before you come home."

She winked at him and slipped out the door, nodding a polite thank you to the guard as she wiggled her way down the hall, walking out to go home and get some sleep before the fun and games started.

***

After three hours of having their brains picked apart by Karen Stone for every bit of information about their nemesis Nick and Mike were ready to go do something else for a bit. Karen could synthesize a decent psychological profile about her from the information, but it still did not tell her much about why she was here now.

"Is this actually going to matter a damn?" Nick asked Karen finally.

"I don't know," Karen shrugged, "I know a little more about her now. I may be able to help predict what she would and wouldn't do."

"Maybe you can answer some questions now?" Mike asked her.

"I'll try," Karen shrugged.

"Why did she wait nine years to return?" Mike asked her.

"I don't know," Karen admitted, "Maybe Chris has an idea."

"I'm betting that she couldn't do it before now," Chris said, "The bigger question is why she's doing it at all. The picture you've created of Elise Steele is one of a manipulator. She's got to have a reason for this. Everything Mason has described about her pretty well matches that. These aren't her first murders."

"I've been thinking about that too," Mike agreed, "She never was a publicity hound before. Why start now?"

"I still want to know how the hell she got out of prison," Nick said, "By all rights she should have been locked up and the key thrown away."

"I thought sure she'd get the needle," Mike nodded, "Yet they never contacted us for the trial."

"I guess it's time to see if Colby and Corrie came up with anything down at records," Chris suggested.

Mike put a call through and found that the other two officers had just left the records division. The group still at the precinct decided a coffee break was in order and walked around the building for a bit while waiting for the other two officers to come back with results.

Nick was kicked back on the couch when Corrie walked in, dropped her box of records on the table and hopped on to Nick's lap on the couch. She looked around to make sure nobody was around and kissed him on the cheek. She missed the fact that Colby Chandler was walking in just behind her.

"Fine way to get greetings, Jones," Colby chuckled, "She never greeted me like that."

"Luck of the draw, Colby," Nick grinned, "Good to have you back though."

"Good to be back," Chandler grinned, "Charlie wasn't too bad though."

"Just so long as you're smarter than Creighton I'll be happy," Corrie said as she stood up and let Nick sit up, "I'll be having nightmares about him for a long time."

Nick nodded and put his arm around her. Colby Chandler had not received a warning about this, but it did not take him long to realize that something was happening between Nick and Corrie. He grinned and pulled up a chair.

"What the hell happened anyway?" Colby asked, "I only got bits and pieces."

"Creighton lost it," Nick said, "You want to tell the story or should I?"

"I'll do it," Corrie sighed and proceeded to tell the story of what happened that morning with Creighton at the Sivetson crime scene.

"I can't believe he did that," Colby said, stunned, "He's always been incompetent, but never that stupid."

"I think being essentially demoted by Mike put him over the edge," Nick shrugged, "Mike would have fired him long ago had he been able to."

"No doubt," Colby said.

"Ahh," Mike Miller said as he walked back in to the room with a fresh cup of coffee, "I see you guys have returned."

"Yep," Corrie said, "We brought what little remains of the old Elise Steele cases."

"Not that it was much," Colby said sourly, "The actual official file on her numbers barely fifteen pages, about half of which are pictures."

"Did you read through it?" Mike asked him.

"Twice," Colby said as he pulled the folder out of the box, "Read it for yourself. Rather dull reading."

"When is the last time it was updated?" Nick asked, "Maybe it has something later than we do."

"November 1st, 2000," Colby said, looking at the date, "That's when she left our custody."

"Sounds about right," Mike nodded, "Does it say who took her?"

"No," Colby said, "And that's the strange part. Usually they have dates, times, and whatnot. All it says here is that she was transferred into federal custody on November 1, 2000. That's the last dated entry in her file."

"Son of a bitch," Nick sighed, "We don't know any more than we did before."

"What's the rest of this shit?" Mike asked them.

"Evidence from the various cases against her," Corrie told them, "We didn't know how much use it would be, but we figured that we'd better bring it over."

"For someone that was as wanted as she was and with as much evidence we had against her, I can't believe we didn't have anything on her after that date," Colby said, "I mean there's nothing."

"I can't believe there was never a trial," Nick said, "I saw her in action. I thought sure there would have been a trial somewhere."

"You know what's even stranger?" Corrie said, "The electronic databases don't have anything either. The same databases that keep every parking ticket you've ever received don't have a lick about this bitch after November 1, 2000."

"I think I know who to talk to," Mike said, "Finding him will be a bitch though."

"Who?" Nick asked him.

"Eric Craig," Mike said, "I don't know if he's still working with the undercover unit around here or not."

"I don't know," Nick shrugged, "Maybe Martinez knows?"

Miller shrugged and dialed Al Martinez's cell number. After talking a few minutes about the case and agreeing to have the evidence against Roger Latham ready for pickup this afternoon Martinez gave Mike the latest contact number for Eric Craig, the computer expert who was still working in the undercover division.

Eric Craig was not in the building, however. Long since promoted to one of the undercover supervisors, Eric was out working that afternoon. The secretary knew of Miller, however and agreed to schedule an appointment with Eric the next morning.

"It's getting late," Nick said, "It's been a long day too."

"You got that right," Mike nodded, "You up for the usual dinner spot?"

"Sounds good to me," Nick grinned, "Corrie?"

"I'm in," Corrie grinned.

"Colby?" Mike asked him and received a nod, "How about you, Karen?"

"I'll pass," Karen said as she started looking over the material in the boxes, "Mind if I stay here and look through this stuff?"

"Feel free," Mike shrugged, "I'll let the guard out front know."

"Thanks," Karen said absently and continued to go through the stuff.

The other four left quietly, leaving Karen alone in the room to think and paw through old files and old evidence.
Chapter Thirty-Seven – "Elizabeth"

"Elizabeth!" the man yelled, "Get your butt in here!"

The frightened young child, barely fourteen, scurried in to the room, knowing what would happen if she was slow in obeying his orders. She looked up in to the extremely angry eyes of her father. He was angry about something, but the young girl did not know what she had done this time. Not that it ever took much of anything with him.

"I'm here!" she assured him, hoping to get out without getting hurt too bad this time.

"You were in here again, weren't you?" the man asked the young girl.

"Huh?" she asked, not understanding what the problem was.

"What did I tell you about coming in to this room?" he asked her.

"I didn't!" she protested, lying in self-preservation.

"Don't lie to me you little bitch!" the man yelled, "You're just like your mother used to be."

"I didn't! I didn't!" she exclaimed again, tears forming in her eyes.

"You lying little bitch!" the man exclaimed and smacked the child upside the head, knocking her down on the floor, "I guess your little brother did it from his crib then?"

"I didn't do anything!" she pleaded with him, trying to hold back the tears.

"I guess that money just walked out of my wallet on its own!" the man yelled and pushed her down.

"The baby needed food!" Elizabeth screamed, "There's nothing but beer in the fridge! What was I supposed to do?"

"That money wasn't yours!" the man screamed and took a long pull from his beer, "You little bitches think you're entitled to anything you want around here!"

"He's got to eat!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"You eat when I tell you!" the man yelled at her and kicked her while she was down, "You do what I tell you when I tell you!"

He started kicking her in the ribs roughly. She fought the pain internally and tried not to scream any more than she had to. She had endured enough of this type of beating from the man to know how to make it hurt the least.

Over the next hour the man alternated between beating and raping the young girl. Her little brother screamed in his crib while their mother watched the entire display with what little notice her battered and damaged mind could give it. The man was livid with her and in his usual drunken state. Miraculously Elizabeth was still lucid at the end of the display. She looked at the man and managed to summon up the courage to tell him exactly what she thought of him.

"You rotten son of a bitch," Elizabeth said through her bloodied and bruised lips, "Can't even keep it up."

"What did you say to me?" he asked her angrily.

"You heard me," Elizabeth said after spitting a blood-filled loogie at him, "I'm amazed I'm here at all, considering how much of a limp dick son of a bitch you are."

"Elizabeth," her mother said for the first time, "That's not a nice thing to say to your father."

"You little bitch!" the man screamed, as he looked at the young girl who had just defied him so badly, "You're going to wish you were never born!"

"Too late," she told him and mentally prepared to take another beating.

The livid man tore off the last shreds of clothing off her body. She screamed and fought as much as her battered body could manage, but his size was just too much for her. He smashed her in to the table a few times and tore an electrical cord off a nearby lamp.

"You're going to learn respect you little whore!" he screamed as he started whipping her back with the electrical cord, "You will fucking learn!"

Elizabeth screamed fiercely as the cord tore deep in to the soft flesh of her exposed back. The pain was unbearable, but she was losing the ability to feel it at all. Eventually, the man tired of wailing on the poor child and dropped the cord on to her back, leaving her bloodied and bleeding on the kitchen table. Her mother could only look on blankly and continue rocking the cradle.

Elizabeth's mind was wandering and had not quite come back yet when she managed to come to. She managed to get up on her feet and take a few wobbly steps out of the room. The pain was still coming in strong from the wounds on her back, but she was tuning it out. There was no choice for her now. Her father did not know it, but he had finally broken her, though not in the way he first intended.

"You'll pay," she mumbled as she stumbled in to her father's bedroom.

She searched around through his dresser drawer for something that she knew was there but had not dared to touch before. She knew he would wail on her if caught, but at this point the only thing he could do worse was kill her. She was ready to take that chance, especially since she was not sure if she would live long with the wounds she had.

Elizabeth found what she was looking for, a charcoal gray army issue Colt .45 pistol. She had learned several years before, ironically enough from her father when he was not quite as insane, how to check to make sure it was loaded. She pulled the clip, checked it and shoved it back in. She then managed to stumble back in to the living room.

Elizabeth looked at her mother who stared at her blankly, unable to comprehend just what her daughter was about to do. Elizabeth actually smiled at her, a smile that would come to mean in the future that someone was about to die. Her mother didn't say anything, but the baby started cryingt, prompting her father to get up and tell his wife to shut that kid up.

It was at this moment that he saw Elizabeth standing there with the pistol. He stared at her and snarled as he started to move closer. She cocked the hammer, looking at her father with an expression of complete hatred.

"Give me the gun, you little whore!" her father yelled at her.

"Fuck you," Elizabeth said coldly, "You've hit me for the last time."

"I'll kill you!" he promised her.

"You tried," Elizabeth said, "Now it's my turn."

He tried to rush her when she fired the weapon, showing surprising accuracy for a girl so young. The first shot hit her father in the stomach. She fired it several more times, adjusting the aim so that the bullets would make a red mush of his chest cavity. He never even had the chance to say anything else as the next bullets slammed in to him. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Elizabeth's mother had been so conditioned to take anything by her husband that she did not even really notice that her daughter had just shot him. The baby was crying, however, and the mother rocked the holder just to try to calm him down.

Elizabeth was not crying now, and did not ever plan to cry ever again. She walked over to her mother with the pistol and aimed i t at her skull. Elizabeth knew that her mother would never be anything more than the vegetable she was now. Without even a tear or a second thought, Elizabeth fired a single shot that ended her mother's life.

That left the baby. Elizabeth looked at him for a few moments and decided that she did not care anymore. She put the gun, which was starting to become heavy in her badly injured hands in the crib. Then, without thinking anymore she gripped the trigger...

Elise Steele woke up screaming at this point, just as she always did when dreaming about that horrible day. She stumbled out of bed quickly and had a coughing fit, which she decided to spite with a cigarette. She lit the Virginia Slim quietly and began to pace around the apartment a little.

"It's over, " she told herself as she paced, "They can't hurt you anymore. Nobody can hurt you anymore."

She ran her fingers through her hair and breathed heavily as she let herself calm down. As she got more control back she looked at the clock and saw that it was only eight in the evening. She still had over four hours before she had to do anything. She decided that food would be a good option and pulled a TV dinner out of the freezer.

"Keep calm," she told herself as she watched the microwave tick down, "It's almost over. The fun is yet to come. There's nobody left that can hurt you now."
Chapter Thirty-Eight – 'Escape'

It was the largest crowd that they had ever met with at once at O'Malley's bar and grille. Mike Miller was sitting at one head of the table and Chris Gabriel was at the other. Mason Stone, Jim Entragian and Marcus Holbein took one side of the table, across from Colby Chandler, Nick Jones and Corrie Albiston. Nick and Corrie were hanging off each other as usual.

The conversation strayed from one thing to another, but they all studiously avoided mentioning Elise Steele for a long time. Nobody really wanted to think about her yet. Mike and Nick had serious reasons to not want to remember her. The rest were not ready to deal with the reality of having a name and face to go along with the deeds. Especially one as outwardly pretty as Elise's.

Predictably, Mason Stone brought the subject to the table, though not everyone was paying attention. It was mainly Colby Chandler, Marcus Holbein, Mike, and Mason involved with that discussion. Chris and Jim got in to a heated discussion on the latest Microsoft operating system, while Nick and Corrie were pretty well off in the lala land that lovers occupied.

"I remember your descriptions of Elise back from Y2K," Mason said as he took a sip of beer and tried to put off the cigarette urges that still plagued him, "It gels with the feelings I got about her a couple years before that. The one thing I don't get about this is why the hell she came back after all this time."

"How much of it do you remember?" Mike asked him.

"Word for word," Mason told him, "I've got a near photographic memory."

"Elise holds a grudge very well," Mike said, "And I betrayed her pretty thoroughly."

"I don't quite get that part," Colby said, "How did you betray her, exactly?"

"I was still deep undercover at the time," Mike said, "Nick and I had been sent out to LA with her by Max Bullock. I was as close to Elise as she ever let anyone."

"So how is that betrayal?" Colby asked.

"I set up the final raid that got her," Mike explained, "She'd managed to scare the hell out of me that week and I wanted her out of the picture. So I had my support team drop the right hints in the right places that would get her arrested."

"Does she even know?" Marcus asked him, "This happened about two months before your cover was blown wasn't it?"

"She has to know," Mike said, "It wasn't a very well-kept secret. I was big news for a few months after it happened, and my testimony against Charlie Bullock was televised nationally. Even if she was in a hole somewhere, someone most likely told her sometime in the last nine years."

"How did you get that close to her?" Colby asked Mike.

"She liked me for some reason," Mike shrugged, "I never did figure out why. Maybe she thought I wasn't threatening."

"From what I've learned about her I don't think that's it at all," Mason said, "I remember a little bit about her from the first time I followed her back trail."

"Share the wisdom," Marcus laughed.

"She saw someone that she thought was as intelligent as she was," Mason said, "If I remember correctly, Elise was one smart cookie. She knew how to walk in and out of traps just like a cat making his way into a building. You come off much the same way, Miller. You've got the look. I'm betting that's what attracted her to you."

"I think you're giving her attraction for me too much credit," Mike said, "It's not as though we were in a relationship or anything. It was little more than sex for pleasure. I'll never be convinced it was more than just an occasional fling for her."

"It probably wasn't," Mason agreed, "But from what you've told me about her personality, I'd say that it was likely that she wasn't capable of much more than that. Didn't you say something about her probably being abused?"

"She was abused somewhere," Miller said, "Probably as a child. Her back is covered with thick lines of scarring. Most likely the result of being whipped with something when she was younger."

"Exactly," Mason said after he drained the last of his beer, "My guess is that Elise Steele is a complete psychopath. That's probably the closest thing she's had to a normal relationship in her entire life."

"Was she at least good in bed?" Colby asked hopefully.

"It was a physical race," Mike said, "It wasn't even close to lovemaking. There was no emotion to it at all. It was a physical thing for her."

"She probably doesn't even know what love is," Mason nodded, "Whoever whipped her that badly probably beat that emotion right out of her."

"Scary thought," Marcus said, "But I'm one to talk, eh?"

"You going home tonight, Marcus?" Mike asked him, happily changing the subject.

"Yeah," Marcus said, "I've had enough though. I'm going to pack some things and ask for a divorce. Last night made me realize that I can't go on living like I have been."

"What happened last night?" Colby asked.

"Heh," Mike chuckled, "I guess boffing one of the hottest blondes ever to walk a stage gave you some new confidence, eh Marcus?"

"Damn straight," Marcus laughed, "Though I don't expect that to happen again, it has made me realize that I don't want to deal with Margie anymore."

"Ok," Colby said, "I want answers. Just what the hell are you two talking about?"

"We were invited up to Cookie Morris' hotel last night," Mike explained, "Chris has known her since they were kids. Well, all three of us stayed the night last night, but Marcus got a little closer to Cookie than the rest of us."

"You're kidding me?" Colby said, "Marcus and Cookie?"

"Don't look so shocked!" Marcus said, "It happened, and it was a great night."

"No wonder he looked so happy this morning," Mason grinned.

"It did wonders for his disposition," Mike agreed, "Marcus, if you need a place to stay tonight, let me know."

"When I leave I'll probably just go ahead and take a room somewhere," Marcus shrugged, "I want a bed. I'm sick of couches."

"I can understand that one," Mike nodded.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Colby asked.

"We try to figure out where the hell Elise has been for the last nine years," Mike said simply, "I've got an appointment with Eric Craig. I'm hoping that he'll have some clue as to what happened to her after her arrest."

"Anyone else left that will know?" Mason asked.

"Martinez might," Mike told him, "But most likely Elise was handled by Tracy or Thomas Richter. Tracy won't be able to tell us anything, but she might have told Eric."

"Might even have had Eric lose the records," Mason nodded.

"That's a possibility as well," Miller agreed.

"I don't want to think about this tonight," Marcus sighed, "I think I will go home and face the music."

"Need any moral support?" Mike asked, "I'll go along if you like."

"I don't want her to think I'm ganging up on her," Marcus sighed, "You go on home and relax. If I need you, I'll yell."

"Good luck man," Colby smiled, "You'll need it."

It was getting late anyway and the group started saying their goodbyes. Nick and Corrie left together, as usual and headed off to her place. She had yet to see Nick's, though he knew she'd probably have to do so soon.

Marcus quietly took off on his own towards his house. He was glum about the task ahead of him, but he was looking forward to getting it over with. Soon, the only ones left at the table were Mason and Mike. Jim hitched a ride with Chris to go over and look at some Microsoft Beta releases that Jim had been playing with on a machine in the van.

"Let's go over to the bar," Mason said, "I'll buy you a drink before we go."

"That works," Miller agreed.

The two men walked over to the bar. Two additional beers were ordered and Mason pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a deep drag. He was still adjusting to the fact that most of the world did not allow cigarettes anymore. It was his last major vice and one that he refused to give up for anyone.

"How do you think this is going to go?" Mike asked Mason, "You've been around for a while. Have you seen anything like this?"

"Not exactly," Mason admitted, "But we've got a good team here. We just have to keep pushing until she makes a mistake."

"This girl doesn't make mistakes," Mike reminded him.

"Everyone makes mistakes," Mason said, "Especially those on the wrong side of the law. Elise made a mistake by not leaving the security system on after yanking the tapes. She made a mistake by killing that kid at the concert. She made enough mistakes to allow you to figure out who she was."

"That's the part I don't get," Mike said, "I don't know why she's doing it this way. She always liked killing people, but she never thrived on press coverage. Why is she doing it now?"

"You think she's going for maximum coverage?" Mason asked, "Why?"

"Her choice of targets," Mike said, "Especially Angela DiTonno. She had to know that would get headlines."

"That's true," Mason agreed, "And the way she did the Mayor. It's as though she wants to be on the front page every night."

"Another strange thing I got from CSI today," Mike said, "She didn't wear gloves today, either. It's like she wanted us to find out that she was female."

"And get a set of fingerprints," Mason said.

"No fingerprints," Mike said, "She had hers destroyed years ago. That's probably why we don't have a good ID on her. Her fingertips are little but scar tissue."

"Dedicated woman," Mason said, slightly surprised at this.

"Crazy woman," Mike reminded him.

"So what's your plan for tonight?" Mason asked him.

"Not much I can do on the case," Mike shrugged, "I'm going home and watching a movie. Unless she makes a mistake tonight, there's not a goddamned thing I can do."

"Get some sleep," Mason advised, "It may be your last chance for a while."

"You too," Miller grinned, "You've been a big help, Mason. Thanks for coming out."

"It's been fun," Mason said, "I don't get to work like a cop much anymore."

"I take it you were one at one point?" Mike asked him.

"Many years ago," Mason grinned and put out his cigarette, "It's a life I don't think much about anymore."

"I know the feeling well," Miller nodded and drank the last of his beer.

"Night Miller," Mason said.

"See you tomorrow," Mike agreed.

The two men walked out the door and headed for the places they called home.

***

Randall Jay Creighton kept a fixed stare on the clock for most of the evening, studiously ignoring nurses that came in to check his blood pressure. Most of the doctors were dead certain that he was becoming catatonic after his experience, though they were not sure if it was from the drugs or from the trauma.

Creighton was feeling the effects of the medications, but he also was comforted by the metal feel of the pistol that was jabbing in to the flesh of his buttocks. Not able to do much else under the influence of the drugs, he just stayed motionless, waiting for midnight to come. He did not even question Julie's plan. He was beyond that sort of thinking. He knew he had no choices left and did not care how many people had to die so he could see her again.

***

Mike Miller walked down the hallway of his apartment building and was about to put the key into his lock when he heard some loud shouting coming out of Claudia's apartment. It did not sound as though she was in trouble, but she did not sound happy. He decided to find out what was going on nonetheless.

He went in to his apartment and dropped his stuff off before going to knock on her door. He rapped lightly on her door and waited a few moments wondering if she would come to the door tonight. It took her a little, but she came to the door and spent a few moments looking out the peephole.

She opened the door and waved him inside. She had a cell phone glued to her ear, and she was busy chewing someone out on the other end of the phone, which accounted for the shouting he had heard a few minutes before. He walked in and took a seat on her couch while waiting for her to finish.

"What do you mean it's killed six people?" Claudia yelled, "Goddamn it? Who ran those initial tests?"

Mike looked at her and kept his mouth shut as she continued the conversation.

"What do I want you to do?" Claudia shouted into the phone, her British accent coming through thickly, "Pull the bloody drug out of human testing! I want the test results on my desk by noon tomorrow, Paul! Someone will pay for this."

She then cut off the phone and nearly threw it across the room. Thinking better of it she put it down on the table and slumped down in the easy chair, looking at Miller who was still wondering what that conversation was about.

"Do I want to know?" Mike asked her.

"That new drug we've been working on," Claudia explained, "It seems that there are some really nasty complications developing."

"Not good," Mike said.

"Not good at all," she agreed and rubbed her temples softly, "It's been a long couple days."

"I know the feeling well," Mike said, "I had a circus madhouse around the mayor's assassination."

"You were there?" she asked him.

"Ten yards away," Mike said, "I had just confronted him with knowledge that he'd committed a murder."

"And I thought I'd had a bad day!" Claudia exclaimed, "Can you talk about it?"

"No reason not to," Mike grinned, "Gray is dead and Latham will most likely be arrested in the morning. Last time I talked to Al Martinez he said he's got the case ready. He just needs District Attorney Whitmore to sign off on the warrants. A no-brainer, really. Whitmore hates Latham's guts."

"So it's a waiting game?" Claudia asked.

"Pretty much," Mike nodded, "I'll tell you about how messed up my day has been if you'll tell me yours."

"I can live with that," Claudia smiled, "I tried to pop in on you last night, but you never came home."

"I stayed at the hotel after the show," Mike grinned, "I would have had to go pick up Chris and Marcus anyway."

"I'm sure the fact that Cookie Morris is one of the hottest women on earth didn't hurt," Claudia teased.

"Marcus certainly agreed," Mike laughed, "He spent the night with her."

"He did not!" Claudia exclaimed, laughing.

"I swear," Mike grinned, "Why don't you come on over here? I'll give you a back rub and tell you all about it."

"An offer I cannot refuse," Claudia smiled and went over to the couch, getting in to back rub position.

***

Nick and Corrie pulled up outside Nick's apartment building. She had wanted to see the fabled trash bin of an apartment that she heard so much about. He was not quite sure what to do here, he knew his apartment wasn't something to show anyone, let alone a woman he was dating and hoped to have a permanent relationship with. He had lost more than one girlfriend after showing her that apartment.

"You sure you want to see this?" Nick asked her.

"You ashamed or something?" Corrie asked him.

"A little," Nick admitted, "I'm serious about how bad it is."

"Come on," Corrie smiled, "I'm not going to leave you over a little mess."

"Heh," Nick laughed, "You haven't seen anything like this."

"We'll see about that," Corrie said, truly not knowing what she was in for.

Nick chuckled and shook his head, but led her up the stairs into his apartment building. It was a similar style building to the one that Corrie lived in, though it was in much worse shape. Nick's apartment was on the second floor, one of two apartments. He unlocked the door and gave her a look that said Are you sure? She merely nodded and pushed the door open.

Nick's apartment was as dirty as apartments got. He literally had not taken out the trash in years. Corrie braved it enough to walk in and go to the couch, though she was afraid to sit down. She marveled at the fact that Nick could look at this place and call it home. She just looked at him, wordless at what she was seeing.

"You're already doing better than most," Nick chuckled, stepping over a spilled pile of sports magazines, "The last girl I brought here screamed and ran out the door. Made me take her home on the spot."

"I can see why," Corrie said, whistling at the sheer amount of grime, "Do you actually enjoy living in this?"

"I'm rarely here," Nick shrugged, "I was brought up in a place like this, so it doesn't bother me."

"You seemed to enjoy the other night," Corrie said.

"I don't mind clean," Nick said as he hopped into the kitchen over a couple piles, "I've just never been of a mind to practice it myself."

"Well it's time to start," Corrie grinned, "Do you have any cleaning supplies?"

"I wouldn't know where to start," Nick shrugged, "I don't think I've ever used a broom."

"I don't think you need a broom," Corrie said, "I think you need a shovel."

"Probably explosives," Nick said as he pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge, "Want one?"

"Sure," Corrie chuckled, "Ok. There's no time like the present..."

"Huh?" Nick asked.

"Come on," Corrie told him, "I'll help if you buy the cleaning supplies."

"You're serious?" Nick asked her.

"Sure," Corrie grinned, "I kind of like you and would like to be able to stay with you once in a while. I've worked too hard to get past my background to sleep in a trash heap."

"Ok," Nick said, calling her on it, "Let's go to the store."

"Works for me," she smiled and took the soda, "Do I even want to look in the fridge?"

"Nothing in it but beer and soda," Nick shrugged, "I never learned how to cook. I usually have food delivered."

"I see," Corrie said, shaking her head and taking his hand, "Let's get to the store before it closes. We have a lot of work to do."

***

Marcus Holbein decided to drive around for an hour or so before going to his house. He finally pulled in to the driveway and sighed. He looked up at the house that he had been going to for most days for nearly five years. He realized that it did not matter to him as it once had. Memories of the night before and the freedom he felt for the first time since his marriage with Margie had started to sour.

He knew there was no point in trying to save the marriage. Even if he had not slept with Cookie, it would have been beyond repair. Margie was too paranoid and too far-gone for him to be able to live with her anymore. He knew he had to be strong and walk out before she sucked the life out of both of them. He just hoped that she would be able to build a real life again after he left.

Marcus sighed and got up out of his car. He looked down at the tire on Margie's car and noted that she had not even bothered to have it called in. He just shook his head and walked slowly up towards the house. He was not looking forward to what would happen when he actually told her that he was going to file. There was little reason for him to do so. He knew she would fight and make it ugly.

The front door was unlocked, a sign that Marcus was not particularly comfortable with. He pushed the door open and saw that the house had not been cleaned in a while. He sighed and walked through the threshold, looking for signs of life. Deciding that he wanted to see the kids first, he walked upstairs.

The place was quiet, eerily so, despite the fact that it was still early in the evening. The only real sound was the muted sound of the soap operas coming out of Margie's television in the den. Marcus saw that all the doors were open, so he looked in to Jason's room. Seeing that his son was not there he walked over to his daughter's room.

"What the hell?" Marcus asked himself as he saw Jason sitting by his sister's bed, holding a wet washcloth on her forehead.

"Dad?" Jason asked as he heard motion.

"Yeah," Marcus said as he walked in, "What's going on?"

"Laurie's not feeling good," Jason said.

When Jason moved the washcloth, it did not take long for Marcus to notice why. Laurie's left eye was badly swollen and she had a couple of small contusions on that side of her face. Marcus had been a cop long enough to know that the injury was serious and not naturally inflicted.

"How did it happen, Jase?" Marcus asked him.

"Laurie acted up a little in front of Mom," Jason said, "It happened this morning while we were getting ready for school."

"Your mother did this?" Marcus asked him, surprised.

"She was so angry," Jason said, barely containing his own tears, "I don't know what to do anymore."

"I'll do something," Marcus promised, "Did you go to school today?"

"I didn't want to leave Laurie here," Jason said, "I'm sorry dad..."

"No," Marcus said, "I've let this go too long. We need to get your sister to a doctor and out of here. I just have something I have to do first."

"What's that?" Jason asked him.

"I'm telling your mother we're leaving," Marcus told his son, "I'm going to file for divorce."

"Thank God," Jason said, "You're taking us with you?"

"After seeing that, yes," Marcus nodded, "Can you pack some stuff?"

"Yeah," Jason said, "I would have headed for Robbie's tonight if it wasn't for Laurie."

"Stay here," Marcus said, "It's time for me to go have a talk with your mother."

"Good luck," Jason smiled.

"I'm sorry, Jason," Marcus said before he left the room, "I should have done this a long time ago."

"It's ok," Jason said.

Marcus nodded and walked out the door to go downstairs.

The door to the den was the only one in the house that was actually closed. Marcus pulled it open and looked for his wife, angry enough to want to tear her head off. He knew when he saw her that it would not be necessary, however.

Margie was sprawled out, all 200 plus pounds of her, on the couch, her eyes staring blankly at the television, which was set in the same place it had been for over four years, on the soap opera channel on the television. It might as well have been sucking power for no reason though, for Margie was unable to see the images anymore.

"I guess I don't have to say anything," Marcus said as he walked over and closed her eyes. He put on a glove and examined the empty pill bottle lying a few inches from her hand. A freshly filled bottle of Seconal that had been delivered that day by the drug store was what had claimed her life. From the looks, she had done it hours before, most likely after hitting Laurie. The guilt was too much for her already fragile mind.

Marcus put the bottle down and picked up a telephone. He dialed the non-emergency number for the police station, knowing that an ambulance could do nothing for her now. The number was picked up two rings later by a young operator.

"Police," the young man said, "How may I help you?"

"This is Detective Marcus Holbein," he said into the phone, managing to keep his voice solid as he gave his id number, "I need a unit sent out to my house."

"What for sir?" the young operator said.

"My wife committed suicide," Marcus said calmly, "Please dispatch a unit out here and a coroner's unit."

"Do you need an ambulance?" the operator asked, sensing urgency.

"No need," Marcus sighed, "It looks like she's been gone for hours. No pulse and she's getting cold."

"All right sir," The operator said, "I'm dispatching the resources now. They will be there within thirty minutes."

"Tell them to just come in," Marcus said, "I've got to go upstairs and tell the kids."

"I understand sir," the operator said and did not hold it against him as Marcus put down the phone.

Marcus took another look at Margie's body and walked out of the room. He knew he had to go tell Jason before the police arrived. He was numb himself, not knowing just how to feel about the death of a woman he was moments away from asking for divorce from. He mainly wanted to know just how you told your teenage son and your six-year-old daughter that their mother was dead.

***

Elise Steele knew that she was pushing her luck in relying on Jay Creighton, but she knew it was a small risk. In order to minimize the risk she decided that she needed a new car. She waited until dark and went for a walk, dressed in a dark pantsuit so she would not be overly noticeable. She was carrying a purse, but unlike the average woman's purse it concealed another silenced pistol with several additional clips.

She walked down the bustling street and grumbled silently as it started raining outside. She did not need the cold rain and was unprepared for it. She coughed hard and ignored the looks of a couple men as she walked around looking for a suitable target. She found it in a small apartment complex parking lot.

A mid-sized sedan parked in the dark back corner of the parking lot. Elise walked over to the fence and watched the mid sized man get out and go to the trunk. She smiled and knew that she had her target. She walked up behind him and pushed her drenched hair back out of her eyes.

"Hello," he said as he saw her, "Can I help you?"

"No," Elise said, "Just walking through."

He nodded and made the fatal mistake of turning his back to her. He was going for the grocery bags in the trunk when Elise withdrew the pistol. Quietly slipping behind the man she put the pistol to the back of his head and fired twice. She pushed the body into the trunk and slammed it closed, hoping that the blood would not drip through the carpet.

She pulled the keys out of the trunk and slipped in to the car, driving it away quickly before anyone noticed that a murder had been committed. She smiled as she turned on the heater and turned off his stereo.

Now, she wondered whether Creighton would be able to get out or if he would have the guts to do it. It was the least sure thing she had tried, but she knew it would get a rise out of Miller. Knowing that the time was fast approaching, she let the car heater warm her up as she approached the hospital. She found the perfect parking spot that she could watch for him at. If she heard sirens she was prepared to leave him, but if he showed up she knew he could be useful. In any rate, all she had to do was wait.

***

"This is becoming a habit with us," Claudia told Mike as they lay in her waterbed, "All that's missing is the cigarette afterwards."

"I quit that years ago," Mike laughed.

"Good for you," Claudia said as she laid her head down on his chest, "It rots the lungs."

"Great for concentration though," Mike sighed, "I'm going to need that in the coming days."

"You're worried about Elise?" Claudia asked him, having already heard the story of the identification.

"She's back, and she's killing people like there's no tomorrow," Mike nodded, "That worries me. She was never this bad before. I don't know what set her off."

"You'll find out or you'll figure it out," Claudia promised him, "I've seen that fine mind of yours in action. I wish I had a few people as smart as you are on my research staff."

"I couldn't stay in a lab," Mike said, "My home is on the streets bringing down people like Elise."

"Don't make it personal, Michael," Claudia warned him, "Don't fight the war on the enemy's own turf. You need to make her come to you, not you go to her."

"I know," Mike said, "I'll worry about it when the time comes. I don't even know where she is yet."

"I think I need a shower," Claudia said, "You probably do as well. I'll wash your back if you wash mine?"

"I can live with that," Mike smiled.

They got up and went to her well-proportioned shower. Her apartment had once been the home to a large elderly woman, so it had a large shower stall with a removable showerhead, perfect for two average size adults to share comfortably. Mike smiled at her and turned on the water, blissfully ignorant of the fact that his cell phone was ringing incessantly in his pants.

***

Nick and Corrie were working hard as well, though it was not quite as pleasant as the workout Mike Miller had been getting. After nearly two hours of work and seven trash bags tossed out the window into the dumpster below they had managed to clear out most of the floor in the small living room of the apartment.

Nick was pausing for a cigarette by the open living room window when Corrie declared that the couch was clean enough to sit on. It still needed a serious upholstery job, but she figured that it was progress. They had the television on to the news station, half watching the coverage that was still playing about the assassination that occurred that morning.

"I still can't believe it went down like that," Corrie said.

"I can," Nick said, "Knowing that Elise is behind this makes a lot of sense."

"You sound like you're afraid of her," Corrie said as she took a sip of water.

"You get one of three things out of meeting Elise Steele," Nick said as he put his cigarette out and sat down next to Corrie, "You either get a hard on or you get scared."

"That's two," Corrie noted.

"There is something else you're very likely to get out of meeting her," Nick said, "And that is dead. I have no trouble seeing her behind these killings."

"You've survived her once," Corrie said, "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"In LA, back in Y2K," Nick said, "Mike and I had to watch her take a man apart piece by piece. We couldn't do anything but watch. She enjoyed every minute of his pain and the looks of horror that must have been apparent on our faces."

"How could you do it?" Corrie asked.

"I was in the life," Nick shrugged, "I had no choice at the time. I knew she outranked me and could either kill me or get me killed. I didn't want to chance it. Mike couldn't afford to blow his cover. Johnny Bowen wasn't worth it. He took more risks in getting a blown undercover cop out of there though."

Nick spent a few minutes recounting the story of how he'd been duped by Miller into helping an undercover cop escape from Elise's custody without her even knowing it. It was a good story and Nick was just about finished when the phone rang. He kissed her nose as he went by her to pick up the phone.

"Jones here," Nick said.

"Hey Nick," Marcus said, his voice sounding dazed, "I don't think I'm going to make it in to work tomorrow."

"Going to file?" Nick asked him, "Need a place to stay tonight? Corrie and I have actually cleaned the living room."

"No," Marcus said, his voice still sounding like he was out of it, "I don't need to file now."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"Margie is dead," Marcus said, "I tried calling Mike, but he didn't answer his cell. Can you tell him I have to take care of some things?"

"Shit!" Nick said, jumping bolt upright, "What happened?"

"Seconal," Marcus said, "Probably right about the time I was leaving Cookie this morning. I found her about thirty minutes ago."

"Jesus," Nick said, "Do the kids know yet?"

"I told them after I called the switchboard," Marcus said, "Coroner is on his way."

"Corrie and I will be there in about fifteen minutes," Nick said.

"You don't need..." Marcus said.

"Fuck that Marcus," Nick said, "You're going to need help. We'll be there in a few."

"Ok," Marcus said.

"Jesus," Nick said, "We'll do this some other night."

"Margie?" Corrie asked.

"Fucking Seconal," Nick said, "Let's go over there. He's probably going to need us."

"I'll drive," Corrie said.

"Separate cars," Nick said, vetoing that suggestion, "Just in case we need to split up to help him out."

"I'll follow you," Corrie said in agreement as she grabbed her coat.

"Let's go," Nick said and followed her out the door, locking it on his way out.

***

Randall Jay Creighton looked achingly at the clock as the hours counted down to midnight. When 11:45 came up, he began fidgeting to get the point of the gun out of his ass. He also knew that a nurse would be coming in soon to give him his medications for the night. Medications he knew he couldn't afford to take. To prepare for this eventuality he pulled his restraints and got his arm out, just as Elise had told him he could.

The pretty young nurse walked in to the room a few minutes before midnight with a whole tray of medications to give Creighton. They consisted of two shots and about six pills. Some to help him heal, most to keep him sedated. He growled at the nurse.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," The nurse, an oriental woman by the name of Kami Luu, said pleasantly, "Time for your medications."

"I feel fine," Creighton managed to spit out through the contraption.

"Doctor's orders," Nurse Luu said, keeping her pleasant demeanor, "You want to get better, don't you?"

"Not really," Creighton grumbled.

She ignored that comment and put the tray of medications down on the standard hospital table. She readied the shots first, knowing they would make the rest of the medications easier to administer. Unfortunately for her, Jay Creighton had other ideas. While she had her back to him getting the alcohol he used his unrestrained arm to pull the pistol out from under him.

Jay sighed at the necessity, but he had nothing else to live for. He was going to see Julie Styles again no matter who had to die in the process. He aimed the silenced weapon at the back of the pretty nurse's head and pulled the trigger.

He watched like a train wreck as the shot, no louder than a whisper, ended Kami Luu's life, sending her corpse collapsing on the floor and taking the medication tray clanging down with her. This alarmed the police officer standing guard on Creighton's room. He barreled in there and was shocked to see the blood on the wall from Creighton's first shot.

The young officer, three weeks out of the academy and pulling overtime to help pay for the upcoming birth of his son, pulled his weapon but was too slow to overcome Creighton's advantage of having his weapon out. Creighton fired three shots that took out the young officer's heart before he could even get his weapon raised. The standard .38 revolver clattered on the floor just before his body did.

Jay Creighton looked over his handy work. He thought it went rather well, considering. He freed his feet from the bonds that they had placed him in and tried to stand up, failing miserably. He hit the floor a few inches from the still face of the nurse that he had just murdered.

"Shit," he mumbled and managed to get himself off the floor.

He knew he had only a few minutes, so he went looking for clothes. Finding none he removed the pants from the corpse of the police officer and put them on. They were not a perfect fit, but they would do for that time of night. Creighton hurt in several places, and his headgear was still going to be annoying. He was committed, however. He had nothing left to lose now. If he was caught now, he would not live through the night.

He wrapped his silenced pistol in a sheet to hide it and put the police officer's revolver in his pants just in case. Taking a deep breath, he walked out the door and headed off, hoping that Julie would be there just as she promised him. He was free, now he just had to escape the building.

***

Corrie and Nick pulled up and parked a few houses down the street. Two black and white patrol cars were sitting against the curb and a coroner's van was already there. They approached the house and flashed their identification to the officer sitting out front.

"We didn't call homicide," the young man said.

"We work with Marcus," Nick explained, "We're just here as friends."

"He's inside with Jack," the young man nodded, "It looks like a straight forward Seconal overdose. Nothing we haven't seen before. Detective Holbein seems to be taking it fairly well."

"The marriage was over anyway," Nick shrugged, "Too bad it had to end like this."

"It's cheaper this way," the kid shrugged and sat back down.

"Not for the kids," Corrie sighed, "I wonder how they're doing."

"Let's find out," Nick said and opened the door.

They walked inside and found Marcus talking to the senior officer and the man from the coroner's office. There was no hostility. It appeared that this was going as smoothly as possible. Marcus appeared calm, as though he was still numb. They walked over to the group and tried not to butt in.

"I'm sorry I have to ask, but you know the procedure," the officer said, "Where were you during the last twenty-four hours."

"I spent last night with friends up at the Sheridan," Marcus told them, "Spent most of my day dealing with building a murder case against the mayor."

"No shit?" the officer asked, "Guess that was wasted work."

"Not really," Nick said, "Commissioner Latham is probably going down tomorrow. They were trying to cover their ass in an election scam."

"Whew," Edison Jolley, the coroner's assistant said, "Didn't know we had that many problems at the top."

"They did us a favor," Marcus agreed, "Saved a nasty mess."

"How long has she been gone?" Darrin Greaves, the lead officer asked.

"At least eight to ten hours," Edison said, "She's cold and there's no sign of foul play. We have to do an autopsy by law, but we'll find that it's a straight up Seconal overdose. The bottle was delivered this morning."

"How are the kids taking it?" Corrie asked Marcus.

"Laurie is still too out of it," Marcus said, "I need to take her to a doctor to have her head checked out. Jason is holding up pretty well considering."

"We're going to be another hour or so," Greaves said, "Is she badly hurt?"

"I don't know," Marcus sighed, "Evidently Margie smacked her hard in the head. Jason has been taking care of her all day."

"I'll take her to the hospital if you like, Marcus," Corrie said, "Just make out a quick consent form and I'll get her taken care of."

"Sure," Marcus said, "Thanks Corrie."

Corrie penned out a quick consent form and gave it to Marcus to sign. Nick hugged her quickly and nodded quiet thanks.

"Take Jason with you as well," Nick suggested quietly, "It'll make her feel better and get him out of here before they take Margie's body out."

"I know," Corrie nodded and kissed Nick on the cheek, "I'll call if it's serious."

"Thanks Corrie," Marcus said.

She left the men to talking and found Jason still sitting next to his sister's bed crying. Laurie was still too far out of it to realize that anything bad was happening. Corrie sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Jason.

"How are you doing kiddo?" Corrie asked him.

"Why did she do it?" Jason asked.

"I don't know," Corrie said, "But we have to take care of the living now. Can you help me with your sister?"

"You going to take her to the doctor?" Jason asked.

"Yes," Corrie said, "Your father has to deal with the paperwork about your mother. Mind if I do it?"

"No," Jason said, still crying a little, "She's been like this for a while."

"Then let's get her taken care of," Corrie said and picked up the little girl, "I need you to open doors for me, ok?"

"All right," Jason said.

They hurried on out to the car, leaving the men to take care of the body while they were gone. Corrie knew that neither child needed to see their mother being carted out for the last time on a stretcher. She breathed silent thanks that they had left the removal until after she left with the kids.

Marcus sat down at the kitchen table and moved some of the cereal bowls out of the way. It looked as though Margie had not cleaned the place in weeks. He looked up at the other officers and sighed. He just did not know how to feel about her death. Part of him regretted it, but a large part just did not care anymore. His dislike of his wife had gone that far.

Nick said a few words to the officers and they departed the dining room to go finish up their paperwork and get started on the photographs. Marcus just stared at the wall until Nick finally said something.

"You going to be all right?" Nick asked him.

"I don't know how to feel about all this," Marcus said, "I spent last night with a beautiful blonde instead of at home... And now Margie is dead."

"She had been pushing you away for years," Nick reminded him, "You haven't spent a night here in weeks. Why does it matter that you spent last night with Cookie instead of on my couch?"

"I did something I never thought I'd be able to," Marcus sighed.

"You know how it goes," Nick said, "You might have had a part of it, but it wasn't your fault. She was just as much to blame as you were. Besides, she is the one who took the Seconal, not you. You didn't force the pills down her throat. You can't even blame your night with Cookie for that. Margie couldn't have known about it."

"So what should I do?" Marcus asked.

"Bury her and be there for your kids," Nick told him, "I'll clear the leave with Mike in the morning. You haven't been winning father of the year awards. It's time to rebuild your relationship with them."

"Fine words from you," Marcus chuckled, "He who hasn't kept a relationship for more than a month since I've known you."

"I think I may break that record this time," Nick smiled, "She didn't freak when she saw my apartment."

"Now that is amazing," Marcus managed to laugh, "What did she do?"

"She was helping me clean it when you called," Nick told him, "You can actually sit down in the living room now."

"See the floor and everything?" Marcus asked him.

"Yeah," Nick nodded, "Seven trash bags and quite a bit of junk shoveled into the dumpster out the window. We were taking a break when you called."

"I'm impressed," Marcus said, "Thanks for coming, Nick."

"No sweat, man," Nick smiled, "That's what friends are for, you know?"

They watched as the photographer's flashes stopped coming out of that room, and they brought in the stretcher and body bag for her. Marcus got up and watched them load her up, a sad spectacle for Margie Holbein's last show. He could not even force himself to say goodbye as they lifted her large form on to the open body bag on the stretcher. All he could do was watch.

***

Randall Jay Creighton managed to slip out of the quiet hospital without any more shooting. He went out a side door and walked towards Fifth Street. The cold rain soaked through the thin hospital shirt that he still wore, starting him shivering quickly. He was still rather lightheaded from the days of medication as well.

He managed to make it to the bus stop that Julie had told him about and sat down, praying that she would show up. He wanted to see her badly, and he did not have anywhere else to go. He was cold, and he was scared. The only other person in the bus stop was a derelict, and even he kept his distance from the very jumpy Creighton.

Elise watched him at the bus stop for a few minutes. She wanted to make sure it was not a trap for her. Jay Creighton was a pitiful creature, and she knew it. But, she knew that getting him out would put Miller off balance and escalate the game. She started the car and drove over the bus stop.

"Need a lift, Jay?" Elise said as she rolled down the passenger window.

Jay managed to nod and get up to get in to the car. He was shivering hard from the cold, but he managed to get in and sit down. She cranked up the heat for him and shook her head at the pathetic creature she had. She drove the car out of there and smiled as he curled up on the front seat next to her.

"It's all right," she said as she drove, feigning sympathy, "You're out now. Let's get you home and dried off. Then, you can get some sleep before we do anything else."

She smiled as she saw the blood stains on his shirt. She was frankly amazed that he made it this far. She knew she had a man that would do anything she told him now. That type of disciple was always useful, and the fact that he was not very bright did not hurt either.

***

Mike and Claudia were sleeping comfortably in her waterbed, though Mike was tossing and turning a little bit. He was dreaming about the week in LA that he had spent with Elise. It was the closest to being a victim he had ever become. She had spent most of the week dominating him and Nick and it had left a lasting effect, probably a more profound one than anything else he had gone through during that time.

He'd had the nightmare before, but it was one that he thought he had pretty much outgrown as the years passed since he had gotten out of that part of the business. It involved a mix of sexual memories and revolting memories of her graphically killing a hood by the name of Johnny Bowen.

As the dream progressed Mike began thrashing around, eventually enough to wake up Claudia who watched him do this for a few minutes. It concerned her, but she knew better than to wake him up. She sat up and watched him, waiting for him to wake up. She could almost tell that he would wake up screaming. It did not take long for him to prove her right.

"Goddamn it Elise!" Mike yelled and sat bolt upright.

"It's all right Mike," Claudia said soothingly, "She's not here."

"No," Mike said as he clung on to her, "But she's out there. That's the part that really scares me."

"You stopped her once," Claudia said, "You can do it again."

"She wasn't like this then," Mike said, "Something has changed."

"Then, you need to find out what," Claudia told him, "I know you can do it. She can't hurt you now if you don't let her."

"I know it," Mike said, "She just has a way of getting under your skin."

"I'm sure," Claudia nodded, "But she's not here and I don't want to lose you to her tonight."

"No fear of that," Mike grinned, "I'm here with you now. To hell with Elise Steele."

"That's the spirit," Claudia laughed, "Now let's see if we can get a little sleep."

"Yeah," Mike nodded.

They laid down together again, and Mike tried to keep the memories out of his head, unsuccessfully for the most part. He did not think he was going to sleep well again until Elise Steele was behind bars or rotting in a grave.

***

Nick put down the phone just as the officers gave final condolences. He went over and sat down across the table from Marcus who had not really moved much since he first sat down, nearly an hour before.

"That was Corrie," Nick told him, "Laurie will be fine. Mild concussion. They will hold her overnight for observation, but that's mainly precaution. Corrie and Jason are staying with her."

"Good," Marcus said, "I'll go over there after the coroner's guys are finished."

"Does she have any family that you need to tell?" Nick asked him.

"I probably need to call her brother," Marcus shrugged, "I don't much care. I don't want explain to him why I don't much care."

"I can understand that," Nick shrugged, "What are you going to do next?"

"Try to rebuild my relationship with the kids," Marcus shrugged, "One day at a time after that. I don't know how long I'll be out tomorrow, but I'll be in as soon as I can."

"Screw that!" Nick said, "Stay with your kids. Get them taken care of. We'll take care of Elise. I promise."

"We're finished up here," Darrin Greaves said, "You'll want to get that couch cleaned before really going in to that room again."

"I know," Marcus sighed, "I'll probably get cleaners out here."

"Sorry about your loss, Detective," Edison Jolley said, "Take care of those kids now."

"I will," Marcus sighed.

Nick closed the door and sat down again. Marcus stood up and started pacing. He had energy and emotions that he just did not know how to deal with. He looked at Nick and realized that the answer was one that he would never find. He just shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"Will you drive to the hospital?" he asked Nick, "I need to call her brother while we go."

"Sure," Nick nodded, "Let's go."

Marcus locked the door and joined Nick in the car. Nick wordlessly turned the ignition while Marcus dialed the number for his brother in law. His stomach churned as he waited for Margie's brother Carl to pick up the phone.

"This had better be good," Carl's sleepy voice came through the phone.

"It isn't," Marcus said, "I don't know how to tell you this..."

***

Doctor Bennie Doran was making his early morning rounds and looking for one of his nurses that had not returned to her station in hours. He was concerned by this, as Kami Luu was usually one of his most reliable people. He figured that she was around somewhere and was just trying to calm down one of the patients, although it was nearly five in the morning. If Nurse Luu had any problem at all, Doran thought, it was that she cared about her patients too much sometimes.

Dr. Doran noticed that the policeman that was usually guarding Randall Creighton's room was missing. He needed to check on this patient anyway, so he decided to go over and make sure everything was all right. What he walked in to was a nightmare.

"Oh my God!" Dr. Doran yelled as he saw the police officer's body.

He immediately ran in to check on the officer when he saw Nurse Luu's body. He ran over to the bed and pushed the emergency button to get the emergency staff into the room. He checked the vitals on both the nurse and the police officer and found that they were both cold. He now knew why Nurse Luu had not returned to her station.

"What's going on?" a nurse asked as she rushed into the room. Then, she saw the bodies and screamed.

"Get security," Dr. Doran told them, "If there are any cops in the building, get them too."

"Do you need help with them?" the nurse asked.

"They are beyond help," Dr. Doran said, "Now go!"

The nurse ran out, leaving Dr. Doran to walk outside and lean against the wall. He had seen many people die over the years, but never like this. He just marveled at the uselessness of it all. He knew there was little he could do but wait for the police to arrive.

***

After leaving the car near the apartment she was in Elise brought Creighton up to her safe apartment. She gave him a low dose shot of morphine to dull the pain and make him even more pliable. She knew he wouldn't be very much use if he began whining about the pain he was in.

With Creighton safely sleeping on the one bed in the apartment Elise started to work on a surprise for the next day. She laid her tools out on the table and began tinkering on a box with a couple phone cords coming out of it.

"Let's see how much fun we can have tomorrow," Elise said as she lit up a cigarette, "If they don't know I'm back by now, they certainly will soon."

Her laughter was only interrupted by the racking cough that resulted from it. She stubbed out the cigarette and coughed up some phlegm. She cursed as she spit it into a cup. Without missing a beat she went back to work on the device on the table.

***

Marcus was sitting next to the bed and stroking his daughter's fine hair when the commotion started in the hall. Nick and Corrie told Marcus to stay with the kids while they went out to check out what was going on. They saw some security guards running full tilt down the hall.

"I'm a cop," Nick said, "What's going on?"

"Come on!" The guard said, coming to a quick stop, "We've got a murder up on two!"

Nick looked at Corrie and she nodded. They followed the security guard up the stairs and ran to what had been Randall Jay Creighton's room a few hours before. Bennie Doran was standing outside waiting for the police to show up.

"The black and whites are on the way," the guard said, "They were downstairs."

"I'm Jones, homicide," Nick told Dr. Doran, "This is my partner, Detective Albiston."

"Two corpses in the room," Doran told them, "One of them is a cop."

"Oh shit," Corrie said, "It can't be..."

"Was this Randall Creighton's room?" Nick asked.

"Yes," Doran said.

"Good," Corrie said, "He deserved it."

"Only if he's one of the dead," Nick said and walked in, knowing that he would not see Creighton among the dead.

"Where is he?" Corrie asked.

"Shit!" Nick exclaimed, "Mike is not going to like this. Looks like someone broke him out."

"We can check the tapes," the guard said, "We should be able to track their way out of here."

"What condition was he in?" Corrie asked Doran.

"Creighton?" the good doctor asked, "His jaw is wired shut, but the rest of his body was fundamentally healthy."

"Could he have done this?" she asked him.

"Only if he had a gun," Nick said, "Someone capped both of them. He had to have help."

"Or someone freed him earlier," Corrie said, "Look at the straps."

Nick looked and saw the tape that had once held the bonds in place and the fact that they had been cut with a sharp knife.

"Good catch, Corrie," Nick said, "Let's go look at the tapes."

"What do you want us to do?" the security officer asked him.

"Seal this room until the black and white units get here," Nick said, "Tell them to call it in as normal. I'll probably have to hand this over to another unit anyway."

"Ok," the officer replied, "The camera station is down on one."

The three of them walked down there, with Corrie stopping by Laurie's room to tell Marcus what had happened. Marcus was alarmed, but still too shell shocked by the what happened to really be of much use. Corrie told him to stay put and let them handle it. When she finally made it to the camera station Nick was sitting down and the guard was already backing the tape for that night up to try to see the activity.

"You find it yet?" Corrie asked.

"Backing up now. They've got an old tape based system, going to take a few," Nick said, "Trying to find his departure."

"Here it is," the operator said, "He's leaving the room alone."

"Back it up," Nick said, "I want to know who entered."

The camera operator nodded and went back about twenty minutes. They rolled forward from that point and saw Nurse Luu carry a tray of medication into the room. A few minutes passed, and they watched the young guard run into the room, most likely dying shortly after. A few more minutes passed after that and Randall Jay Creighton stumbled out of the room alone. The fact that he made it out of the hospital was patently amazing.

"He did it by himself," Nick said, "Good call, Corrie."

"Someone had to cut those bonds," Corrie reminded him, "And arm him. He did not jump out of a hospital bed and take a gun from an unarmed nurse. Someone armed him and he shot the nurse before she could shoot him up for the night."

"Back up the tape some more," Nick said, "How far does this go?"

"These are on loop tapes," the man said, "Twelve hours per tape. Changed on the sixes."

"I want to go back on this one," Nick said, "I want to know every person who entered that room yesterday."

"You got it," the operator said, "We've already been through half of it. Should be easy enough to get the rest."

They watched as the operator went to the beginning of the tape and put it on video fast forward. Watching at ten times normal speed they were able to watch an hour every sixty seconds. Nobody else had entered that room on that tape.

"Go to the previous tape," Nick instructed him.

The tech nodded and pulled one out of a rack on the wall. They started at the end of that one, doing fast reverse and taking note of anyone who went in to the room. It was a slow stream of doctors and nurses until they hit about three in the afternoon.

"Who's that?" Nick asked.

"I don't know," the operator said, "She doesn't work here. I'd remember a blonde like that."

"Shit," Corrie said, "Look how tall she is."

"Christ," Nick said, his face turning white, "Can you try to find her on another camera?"

"Sure," the operator said, pulling another camera's tape out of the rack and putting it in the machine, bringing it to the logical point of her departure. It took a few minutes, but he found a good position to get a still of her face.

"Son of a bitch..." Nick said, "I guess this is ours after all."

"Elise," Corrie said, "Why would she bother?"

"I don't know," Nick said, "But I think we need to get the troops out here."

Corrie nodded and pulled out her phone. It was time to start making some calls.
Chapter Thirty-Nine – 'Let the Games Begin'

It took a couple hours to get everyone together. Miller, having been yanked out of Claudia's warm bed to come down to the hospital, was in a rather foul mood. He was also the last one to show up, walking in to the conference room at the hospital about ready to breathe fire.

"Ok," Miller growled, "I want to know who the hell is to blame for this screw up. Who the hell let Elise in there?"

"Nobody had any reason not to," Nick said, "We'd only just found out about her when she went to visit Jay."

"This explains quite a bit," Mason said, "You said that Creighton had been acting strangely before then. If that crazy woman had her hooks into him..."

"Mason's right," Nick nodded, "Creighton is just gullible enough for that, especially if she was screwing him in the bargain."

"She'd have no compunction about that," Mike nodded, "She was the one pushing him for information too."

"It explains something else too," Mason said, "Your tires being shot out the day of the copycat. He might have been with her that night. She probably knew he'd fuck up the crime scene and went to screw us up some more."

"It worked admirably well," Corrie grumbled, "It nearly cost Darryl Mifflin his life."

"And his escape cost the lives of Nurse Kami Luu and officer Wilber Parnell," Nick said, "Parnell was three weeks out of the academy and has a wife that's about to have their first child."

"That son of a bitch," Mike said, "Ok, I want them both on television. It's time to put a dragnet out on Elise Steele and Jay Creighton."

"I disagree," Chris said, "That's just what Elise wants you to do."

"Why's that?" Mike asked.

"She didn't wear gloves yesterday," Chris said, "She knew this place had cameras and she knew you could recognize her. Why did she do it?"

"Maybe she's dumber than we gave her credit for?" Colby asked.

"You know better than that," Mason said, "I don't like press cases, but I know the press can be useful."

"Not this time," Karen put in, "She knows what she is doing. I'm betting she calculated this."

"She's right," Nick said, "Think about it, Mike. You know her as well as I do. Did that bitch ever do anything without calculating it?"

"Bowen," Mike said.

"She knew she was going to kill him," Nick said, "She even waited for us to leave before she started. She also never got caught for doing it. Think again."

"What's your point, Nick?" Mike asked him.

"If she's doing this, she's doing it for a reason," Nick said, "Look at the odds. You know how it works. We caught all the murders that became sleeping beauty. That shouldn't have happened and you know it."

"Unless she timed it," Colby said, "Creighton knew the call schedules and districts. We caught every single one of those crimes. Knowing your history with her, she probably wanted you to have this headache."

"That's why I think publicizing her is the worst idea," Chris said, "I don't know why she wants it, but she does want it."

"You realize that if she doesn't get what she wants she will continue killing," Nick said.

"Elise is nothing if not persistent," Mike agreed.

"Give her what she wants and she will keep going anyway," Karen said, "Same thing that happened in World War II. Give a little and they keep taking. Giving that woman what she wants is an inherently bad idea."

"Ok," Mike said, relenting, "Have you got a better idea?"

"Keep the information about Elise quiet," Chris said, "Don't let her get the satisfaction."

"Question," Nick said, "How many people other than us now remember what Elise looks like?"

"Probably not many," Mike said, "What are you thinking?"

"Ok," Nick said, "We need to get people involved in the search, but don't want to give Elise the exposure she wants, right?"

"Right," Mike said, "What are you thinking?"

"What would piss off Elise most right now?" Nick asked Mike.

"I don't know," Mike said.

"Not getting credit," Corrie said.

"Exactly," Nick said, flashing as smile at Corrie, "That was the same reason she killed Mayor Gray. She didn't want him to receive all the credit."

"So we turn it around on her," Mike smiled, "I like it."

"Turn Creighton into the patsy," Nick said, "We put her picture out as an incidental thing, make it sound as if we don't remember who she is."

"I like it," Colby said, "It's ballsy."

"Risky though," Mason said, "This could backfire."

"She's already pissed," Mike said, "But this could push her into making a mistake. What do you think, Chris?"

"It could go either way," Chris said as he looked over the faces in the room, "It could cause her to make a mistake or it could cause another set of murders. It depends on her self control."

"We can't do any worse than we are now," Nick said.

"I concur," Corrie agreed.

"Mason? Karen? Jim?" Mike asked, "You guys are part of this too."

"I think it will cause another murder," Mason said, "How about you, Karen?"

"Either that or she'll go after you," Karen sighed, "But I don't see any better options."

"Don't look at me," Jim said, "I do electronics and doctor shit. I'll leave the psychobabble to you guys."

"All right," Mike said, "I need to clear this with someone."

"Who's left?" Nick asked.

"Rob Donovan," Mike said, "He's a career man. I'll talk to Al first, but I think he's probably solid."

"I'll prepare the press releases," Chris said, getting behind the decision now that it had been made, "We want this to have maximum impact, right?"

"Maximum impact with giving out the fewest facts," Mike said.

"Karen?" Chris said, "You want in on this?"

"Absolutely," Karen nodded.

"Go back to the precinct," Mike suggested to them, "I'll call you before I talk to the press."

"You got it," Nick said, "I'm going to stop off and make sure Marcus is all right."

"I'll leave him my car," Corrie said, "You and I can ride together today, Nick."

Nick nodded and they started to walk out. Mike went over and caught up to Nick and Corrie as everyone started to leave the hospital. He was as worried about Marcus as the rest of them were.

"How is Marcus taking it?" Mike asked Nick.

"A bit hard," Nick said, "He was all fired up and ready to ask for a divorce when he found her body. Doing Cookie was probably a great bit of fun, but not the greatest timing."

"How long does he need?" Mike asked Nick.

"At least a week," Nick said, "Two would be better. He needs to get himself straight with the kids."

"He's got it," Mike said, "Tell him for me, ok?"

"Sure," Nick said, "You clearing it with payroll?"

"Yep," Mike nodded, "He's entitled to two weeks bereavement leave in a situation like this. I'll clear it with Donovan when I go see him."

"Cool," Nick nodded, "I'll tell him."

"Do it quick," Mike said, "I want all of you at the station ready to go. If a Creighton sighting occurs, I want you there. I don't want him dead. I want him alive and talking. He's the best chance we have to get to Elise."

"I know it," Nick said, "Any other instructions?"

"No," Miller said, "Just get what you can done with Corrie."

"Ok," Nick said, "Later, Mike."

Mike nodded and walked out the door. He was pissed about the entire situation, and he did not know what he was going to be walking in to with Donovan. He also wanted to know how Elise Steele ever got back out on the streets again. Questions that he did not plan to let lie.

***

Elise was surprisingly considerate to her guest, mainly because she wanted him to remain willing to do anything for her. She knew that she would need a second set of hands eventually, and Jay Creighton would do well if she could keep him pussy whipped for the duration. The morphine, which she expected to become an addiction soon, would be an excellent backup for that.

Several hours of sleep had really worked for Creighton who was up and moving a little bit, trying to get used to moving again. Several days without motion had left him very stiff.

"How are you, Jay?" She asked him, despite the fact that she didn't care.

"Damned head thing hurts," Jay managed to get out, "Take it off?"

"It'll hurt worse if I do that," Elise said, "Looks like you're eating through a straw for a while."

Jay merely grunted. He looked at her and took a few seconds to realize that something was different. She had stopped wearing the blonde wig and was seeing the black straight hair for the first time. She noticed him looking at her hair and figured out what he wanted to know.

"My natural hair," Elise explained, "Much nicer than that blonde mane, isn't it?"

Jay nodded, but refrained from saying it because speech really did hurt for him. That was fine with Elise. She really did not want to talk to him anyway. He got up and walked around the apartment, noticing the weapons for the first time. He looked at her and shrugged his shoulders while pointing.

"They are tools, Jay," Elise said, "Tools for us to use to get back at those bastards."

"Who?" Jay managed to ask.

"All of them," Elise told him, wondering just how far his mental state had come, "Everyone who has ever hurt us."

"Miller..." Jay managed to get out. Even after what he'd gone through his hatred for his former boss glared through.

"Oh yes," Elise said a bemused smile coming over her face, "Definitely Michael Miller. He will be a special case for both of us. But not yet."

Creighton shrugged his shoulders to ask her why. He could not think of anyone more deserving of punishment than Mike Miller.

"He has a job to do first," Elise told him, "Something I need him to do. Then he's all yours."

He went over to her and smiled. He liked the thought of getting Miller back. He had gone so far over the edge of sanity that the thought of murder did not even bother him anymore. The morphine was helping to keep him that way, but he needed more than that. He felt no reason to hold back his desires and started to pull the zipper down on her tight jumpsuit.

"You are a randy devil," Elise said, almost smiling at that, "All right. I think we can accommodate you."

She turned off the lights in the room, as she always did to conceal the massive scarring on her back. She then went over, stripped him down, and started touching him. He did not have the wits to notice that she really was not that enthusiastic in her caresses, but the fact that she was there and took off her clothes for him was enough.

As he got hard, she pushed him down on the couch and let him enter her. All she could think about while he pumped away inside her, however, was the nights she had spent with Ray Nester, over nine years before. Thoughts that infuriated her, but that she could not control.

***

Mike Miller pulled up in front of the main headquarters of the police department amid a drooling horde of reporters. Miller had to fight his way through the crowd giving another 'No Comment' every other step until he made it inside the building. He growled as he went through the front door checkpoint.

Mason Stone was standing just inside chuckling as he watched Miller go through the checkpoint grumbling at the reporters. Mike saw him and walked over as soon as his ID was cleared, allowing him to carry his weapon in to the building. Mason had left his pistol out in the car to avoid the hassle.

"What are you smiling about?" Mike asked him.

"Just remembering the days when I had to run that gauntlet," Mason grinned, "I think I'll stick with my anonymity."

"Lucky you," Mike said, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I figured you might like some moral support with Donovan," Mason told him, "I also want to talk to you away from the others at some point and figured this would be the best chance."

"You aren't even supposed to be here," Mike reminded him, "Why do you want to go see Donovan?"

"Maybe we need to have this talk before you see him," Mason said, "It has to do with the last time I was here."

"What about it?" Mike asked as they walked along.

"I had hoped I was wrong in this," Mason said, "But the more I'm hearing the more I'm sure I'm not."

"Explain," Mike said.

"When we first met just after new year's 2001 we were at the tail end of an investigation," Mason explained, "We had reason to believe that someone was making people disappear."

"Who?" Mike asked him, stopping quickly.

"We never figured it out," Mason said, "We spent three months here trying to find something other than vague rumors. Didn't get squat. Nobody talked, nobody really cared."

"Let me guess," Mike said, "Elise was one of the names mentioned."

"Bingo," Mason nodded, "But honestly, given my past experience with the woman, I wasn't really keen on finding her."

"I don't blame you," Mike nodded, "So how does Donovan figure in to this?"

"Donovan was my contact back then," Mason explained, "He was a captain. He'd heard the rumors too and couldn't abide by them. He put me in here, gave me credentials. My job was to find out who was doing it and where the people were being stored. I could never get past square one."

"How many names?" Mike asked him.

"Elise was the only one who I even found a trace of," Mason sighed, "After I sat through your deposition, I decided that maybe she was better off not being found."

"Great," Miller said sourly, "I have a feeling we're all going to regret that."

"So do I," Mason nodded, "That's why I want to see Donovan with you."

"Let's go," Mike said, "We need to catch him early."

Mason nodded and the two of them walked to the elevator, taking it to the third floor where the commissioner's office was. They walked by the glass door to Latham's overdone office and saw a horde of people running around like crazy. Latham looked out to see Miller and Stone walking by. Miller smiled at the look of desperation on Latham's face. Mike waved and smiled, while Mason looked at the soon to be former commissioner with a grim smile.

"You're sure Donovan isn't connected with them, right?" Mike asked Mason.

"Donovan was always apolitical before," Mason shrugged, "Unless he's changed in the last nine years."

"We haven't found any hint of him yet," Mike told him, "Let's go talk to him."

They walked over to Donovan's office, which was on the other side of the floor. Donovan had people all over the place as well, most of which Mike recognized in passing as city council members opposing Latham's party. It looked as though Donovan was doing some shoring up of his position after all.

Mike looked at Mason who simply shrugged it off. Miller opened the door and walked over to the secretary. He did not even get a chance to say anything when Robert Donovan saw him and walked out into the office.

"I'm glad you showed up," he said, offering his hand, "I was going to call you in if you didn't."

"I bet," Miller said sourly, "What's with the political crowd?"

"You stirred up a hornet's nest," Donovan said, "Let's take this into my office."

"Since when did you deal with politics?" Mason asked him.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here, Stone?" Donovan said, seeing Mason for the first time.

"I'm like a bad penny," Mason shrugged, "I always turn up."

"Come on in," Donovan said, chuckling, "I need a break from the politicos anyway."

Robert Donovan gave his apologies to the city council members and asked them to wait outside for a few minutes. They all knew who Miller was and agreed readily. Most of them actually wore smiles on their faces. Their party was about to take power again and probably hold it through the next two elections. Once they left Robert sat down behind his desk and looked at Mike and Mason.

"Let me guess," Robert said, "Mason is the one who dropped this hornet's nest in our laps."

"He broke it," Mike admitted, "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"It was a long time ago," Donovan told him, "If I'd known he was in town I would have sent him to you earlier, Mike."

"I sought them out anyway," Mason said, smiling, "You know I can't resist a good case."

"I know it," Robert sighed, "Today has been a nightmare. Martinez has been pushing this case through like a madman. He's in with Whitmore now laying out the case. I expect him to walk out with the authorization to arrest Latham."

"Latham's support system is falling apart eh?" Mason grinned.

"Jeremy Whitmore has always been a stand up guy," Mike said, "He's the one who arranged the presidential pardons for Nick and myself."

"It hasn't hit the news yet," Robert said, "But there's basically been a coup in the city government. Two members of Latham's cadre switched allegiance after they saw the evidence. They worked with the rest of the council to force the other two, the ones that were hip deep in Latham's pocket, to resign."

"Good," Mike grinned, "I couldn't really care less right now though. I've got bigger problems than a corrupt politician."

"Creighton," Donovan said, "Honestly, I've been trying not to think about that one."

"Creighton is part of it," Mike told him, "But it's all related to sleeping beauty."

"How?" Robert asked.

"Two words," Mason said, "Elise Steele."

"Oh shit," Robert said, his concern immediately roused.

"I see you remember the name," Mike said.

"I should," Robert said, "I ran the org crime unit at the time. I handled the public operations while Tom Richter ran the shadow units. Elise was like a specter that haunted us. Striking and disappearing, we never got a hold of the bitch."

"Until I turned her in," Mike said, "Then you lost her again."

"That pissed me off," Robert admitted, "That's why I brought Mason in. Something fishy happened with that, but we couldn't prove anything. I wasn't about to stick my neck out for her either."

"A common sentiment," Mike said, "But it backfired. She's back and she's pissed. She's also the reason that we're talking now and Latham is about to be arrested."

"Elise is Sleeping Beauty," Robert said, making the connection, "Son of a bitch."

"She also subverted Creighton," Mike told him, "She was the one that gave him the tools to spring himself too."

"Great," Robert said, "Can this get any worse?"

"Don't ask that," Mason said seriously, "You know damn well it will get worse if she's still on the loose."

"Miller," Robert said, "You should have shot that bitch in LA when you had the chance."

"Something I'm sure I will live to regret," Mike nodded, "We need to make some moves in order to catch her."

"I figured," Robert nodded, "Whatever you need, I'll see that you get."

"First off I want you to sign off on Colby," Mike said, "He should have stayed on the team anyway. Charlie can keep Terry Moore, but I want Colby back."

"No problem," Robert said, "Consider him a replacement for Creighton."

"I also want official identification for Stone's people," Mike said.

"I know Stone," Robert shrugged, "No big deal. Just keep out of sight."

"That's not a problem," Stone agreed, "I'm camera shy."

"I also need two weeks leave for Marcus Holbein," Mike told him, "His wife died yesterday. He's gotta take care of the kids."

"I'll take care of the paperwork," Robert agreed, "You have enough problems."

"The last thing is that we're going to try to turn the press to our side," Mike said.

"Publicize Elise?" Robert said, "You sure you want to do that?"

"Not Elise," Mike smiled, "Creighton."

"I don't get it," Robert said.

"We lay it all on Creighton in the press," Mike said, "Elise is a vain bitch. She won't like that very much. We make it look as though Elise is a simple sidekick."

"Nobody who knows Creighton will buy it," Robert said.

"They don't need to," Mike smiled, "We're hoping to piss her off into making a mistake."

"Be careful with it," Robert told him, "Do what you have to do to stop her. I'll back you as much as I can."

"Don't worry," Mason said, "I'll keep him in line."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Robert said, "Let me know if there's anything else you need."

"Just one thing," Mike said, "I'm supposed to go meet Eric in a few minutes. Can you clear Mason for thirteen?"

"I'll call the security station," Robert agreed, "You think they might know something on thirteen?"

"I know Tom Richter," Mike said, "Do you really think he'd let someone that posed as big a threat as Elise did go somewhere without him knowing it?"

"Good point," Mason nodded, "I didn't even think about that. Could Tom Richter have had a part in it?"

"I don't want to bet on it," Robert said, "Tom is retired now, Sam Remordis has been running the program for the last five years, at least on paper. Eric technically runs it and knows where most of the bodies are buried."

"That's what I'm counting on," Mike smiled, "Thanks Robert."

"Good luck," Robert said, standing up and shaking Miller's hand, "You'll need it. Head on over to the elevator. They'll be expecting you."

"Ok," Mike nodded.

The two men stood up and shook hands with the deputy commissioner. Robert Donovan watched wordlessly and took a moment's break before letting the city council members back into the room. It was turning out to be an exceedingly long day for him. He just hoped that Latham would do the honorable thing and shoot himself before they arrested him. Knowing Latham, however, he knew it was a remote possibility.

Mike and Mason went to the elevator and Mike took notice that the old system of having an operator work the elevator had been done away with, probably with either the death or retirement of old George who had done it for so many years. Mason looked around for the button to go to floor 13, but was not able to find it. He looked at Miller who smiled and leaned against the far wall.

"Just lean back and enjoy the ride," Mike said as the elevator started moving, despite the fact neither of them touched a button.

"What the hell?" Mason asked.

"Camera, probably in the ceiling," Mike told him, "They're watching us from the security station on thirteen. They don't let just anyone in there. Too many undercover agents and too much sensitive material."

"I see," Mason said, nodding approval, "Damn."

The Elevator stopped at a spot unmarked by the indicator lights and opened up into a secure room. Miller walked out first and looked up at the camera. Mason followed suit, knowing that he did not have much choice. He really was not comfortable with walking in to this much security.

"Name and rank please," a faceless voice said through a speaker on the wall, "If you're visiting, I need to know who."

"Miller, Michael," he said, "Lieutenant. I'm here to see Eric Craig."

"Mason Stone," Mason said, "Civilian. Same purpose."

"He's a special investigator cleared by Robert Donovan," Mike added for the security man on the other side of the wall.

"You're cleared," the voice said, "Please put your weapons in the drawer. This is a weapon free zone."

"I'm unarmed," Mason said.

Miller shrugged and put his service pistol in to the slot. The drawer closed automatically, and the door opened. Miller walked through and saw that the floor had changed some since the last time he set foot there, over eight years before. It was less open, and there were fewer people milling around. He looked at the security officer who gave them a once over with a metal detection wand. They were both surprised to see that the voice that had come through the speaker had been female.

"Good morning Lieutenant," the young woman said in a pleasant voice, "The speaker distorts any voice so it sounds like a generic male. People are less likely to challenge it that way."

"Makes sense," Mason shrugged.

"Eric's office is this way," the young woman said pointing the way.

"Some things never change," Mike chuckled, "Same one he had nine years ago."

"He refuses to give it up," the security officer said, "Doesn't want to move his posters."

"Still a shrine to the eighties I bet," Mike smiled, "I can find my way from here."

"I'm sure you can," the young woman said, "I have to stay until you are with Eric, though."

"I understand," Mike nodded, "After Price's defection they couldn't afford to trust anyone anymore."

"Yep," She nodded, "There is an institutional paranoia here. It works well though. We haven't lost an agent in four years."

"Good," Mike said, "Glad to hear it."

Eric Craig, a little older but still small and thin with the John Lennon wire rim glasses that he always had, met them outside his office. The usual eighties hair band music was playing as the three men exchanged greetings and walked into the office. Eric turned the volume down so they could talk.

"God," Eric said, "Has it really been nine years?"

"Yeah," Mike said, "It certainly has. I still have the nightmares to prove it."

"I bet you do," Eric nodded, "Good day, Mr. Stone. I don't believe we've met before."

"Not officially," Mason grinned, "I'm just here to help ferret out a serial killer."

"I was puzzled by that," Eric said, "I don't know what we can contribute to your investigation of Sleeping Beauty. I highly doubt he's connected to the scum we investigate. They avoid this sort of spotlight like the plague."

"She's not related to a current investigation," Mike said, "She's related to one we did nine years ago."

"She?" Eric said, "Sleeping Beauty is actually a woman?"

"This woman," Mike said and tossed a folder down on Eric's desk.

Eric opened the folder and looked at the three new 8x10 photo prints it contained. His jaw dropped as he looked at the new shots of Elise from the security cameras and compared it with an old file shot that had been taken of her in the company of Freddy Pena nearly ten years before.

"Elise Steele is Sleeping Beauty?" Eric said, still in shock, "Are you sure?"

"That second shot is from the ram of the security system of the computer company," Mason told him, "One of my people extracted it from the bubble ram. She was the last thing the camera saw as she turned it off."

"Son of a bitch," Eric said, "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what happened to her back in November of 2000," Mike said simply, "The records don't say anything. It's as if she disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Too bad she didn't stay gone," Eric sighed.

"No kidding," Miller told him, "I know you guys had a hand in wherever she went. She was too big a risk to me for you not to. I just need to know what happened."

"Shit," Eric said, "I thought she was dead."

"Oh?" Mason asked, "Why would you think that?"

"Who cleared you?" Eric asked, "And how did you get involved with this?"

"Robert Donovan," Mason said, "I'm here as an advisor on this case. I've had experience with people like this in the past."

"The question still stands," Mike said, "Elise disappeared from custody nine years ago. I want to know what happened to her after that. There is no record of it, but I know you and Tracy wouldn't have let someone that dangerous to me out of your sight without a reason."

"You're sure it's her?" Eric asked, looking at the photos.

"How many six-foot one psychotic women do you know with jet black hair?" Mike asked him, "It fits too well. She has let us know with some of the clues that she knows us."

"I washed my hands of this years ago," Eric said with a sigh, "I just lost the computer records for them. Tom and Tracy did the dirty work."

"What dirty work?" Mike asked.

"I knew it!" Mason said, "There was a conspiracy going around to rid the world of some of it's more unruly members."

"You're not far wrong, Stone," Eric said, "But I don't have all the details you want."

"You wouldn't," Mike said, realizing what happened, "Tracy set it up, didn't she?"

"She was afraid that Elise could pose a danger to you," Eric nodded, "She loved you a lot, you know."

"I loved her too," Mike said, "I still regret the way things worked out."

"So what happened to Elise Steele?" Mason asked.

"This stays between us, ok?" Eric asked.

"I'm not out for blood," Mike said, "Not yet at any rate. I have that psychotic bitch out there killing people and I don't know what particular axe she is trying to grind."

"All I know is that Tracy worked with some feds on it," Eric said, "They probably won't tell you anything."

"We need names, Eric," Mike said, "You can't sweep this under the carpet anymore. It's gone too far for that."

"I don't know who took custody," Eric sighed, "Tracy handled that. Spike Chavis was the contact though."

"Son of a bitch!" Mason said, "I knew that he was lying to me back then! I had investigated Chavis for weeks."

"Nice of you to say something, Mason," Mike said sourly.

"Like I said," Mason shrugged, "I never found a shred of evidence that Chavis was involved."

"He probably did nothing but work as an intermediary," Eric cautioned, "He might not know much more."

"It's a place to start," Mike said, "Another route of attack."

"I hope you have another plan," Eric said, "If Elise is out there she's a definite danger.

"Of course I do," Mike smiled, "That's the other thing I wanted to ask you about. How many people left in the outfit will recognize Elise Steele?"

"Here?" Eric asked, "Not many. Probably only me, in fact. Why?"

"We're about to attempt to throw Elise off kilter," Mike said, "And I don't want anyone in your division to counteract it in the media."

"Mum's the word," Eric said, "We won't say anything, no matter what we see."

"Thanks," Mike grinned.

He and Mason shook hands with Eric as they were led out of the floor. Miller retrieved his pistol from the drawer at the front and they took the elevator down out of the building.

"What next?" Mason asked.

"Go on back with the others," Mike said, "I have one little stop to make before I do the press conference."

"I don't want to be anywhere near when that happens," Mason agreed, "I dislike reporters."

"So do I," Mike said with a smile, "But I'm about to get my revenge against one. I have you to thank for it too."

"Me?" Mason asked.

"Derringer is about to get his," Mike grinned, "And without that phone listing of yours I never would have known."

"Do I want to know?" Mason asked him.

"Probably not," Mike grinned as he walked out the front door of the precinct, "You'll hear about it later though."

"That's what I'm afraid of!" Mason shouted as Miller walked away.
Chapter Forty – 'Press Pass'

Elise finished her project and turned on the news to watch the morning shows, wondering if they had figured out who she was yet. Creighton was watching along with her, still happy from the sex and the first dose of morphine. He still could not talk very much, something that she was still rather glad about, as she never liked talking to him much in the first place.

"This has been a busy week for law enforcement," the announcer on the television said, "Between the brutal assassination of Mayor Gray and the unexpected investigation of Commissioner Roger Latham, this city is still reeling."

"Good," Elise said with satisfaction, "Now get to me."

"The police department has been remarkably silent," The announcer continued, "Though this may be due to the death of Mayor Gary Gray and impending arrest of Commissioner Robert Latham."

"All right," Elise said, "Now have they figured it out yet?"

"Is there anything scheduled from the police department?" one of the co-hosts asked.

"Lieutenant Miller has scheduled a press conference for later this morning," the announcer said, "The department has been tight lipped on what Miller will tell us, but it is certain to be more information about Sleeping Beauty."

"About time," Elise said.

"You?" Creighton asked, starting to put it together in his drug and pain hazed mind.

"That's me," Elise nodded, "You surprised?"

Creighton nodded, but did not appear to care very much. He was just happy to be with her. The murders and his life before were little but an unreal past for him now. He just sat there next to her, just as a dog sits next to its master. That was all that was left for Jay Creighton now. Unfortunately, it was clear to everyone but him.

***

Mike Miller walked in to WXYZ TV 22 and ignored the security stations, simply flashing his badge to get through. He did not have much of a problem getting to the area he wanted to find, as the studio was well marked. He walked in to the news director's office and was faced with the secretary.

"May I help you sir?" the secretary asked, surprised to see the man.

"I'm here to see your boss," Miller said calmly, despite the exceedingly pissed off look on his face.

"Do you have an appointment sir?" the secretary asked.

"The name is Miller," Mike said, going into complete hardass mode, "I don't give a damn about his schedule. I want to talk to him."

The girl looked at him for a second and then figured she had better call in to her boss. She talked to him for a second while Miller stood there, looking very sternly at her. News director Darius Keegan came out to see who it was, then calmed down a little bit when he saw Miller.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Miller?" Keegan asked.

"You and I need to have a little talk Darius," Mike said, "In private."

"It's ok, kid," Keegan said to his secretary, "Push off my next appointment for a bit, will you?"

She nodded and got on the phone. Miller followed in and sat down in a chair. Keegan looked at Miller and decided to go fix himself a drink. He put together a scotch and water and chuckled in Miller's direction.

"I'd offer you a drink," Keegan said, "But I doubt you'd accept. You're here about Derringer's story, I'd imagine."

"You got it," Miller said, "Why did you let him spit that vitriol out?"

"Derringer's stuff is usually good for ratings," Keegan shrugged, "Besides it was all true, wasn't it?"

"Half truth maybe," Miller said, "Badly distorted."

"So what do you want, Miller?" Keegan asked him as he sipped on his scotch.

"A retraction," Miller said simply.

"Never happen," Keegan shrugged, "It would make us look bad."

"It will happen," Mike smiled, "Unless you want me to go to your competitors with some very damaging information."

"What information might that be?" Keegan asked as he sat back down behind his desk, "It can't be that bad if it's coming from you."

"Nothing I can use in a criminal case," Miller admitted, "But enough for your competitors to knock your credibility and ratings down for years to come."

"Go on," Keegan said.

Miller pulled a sheet of paper out of a manila folder that he had been carrying with him. He slid it on to the cluttered desk, requiring Keegan to sit up and reach for it. Keegan looked at it for a moment and then looked at Miller.

"A phone record?" Keegan said, "You trying to become the next Nixon?"

"That's Mayor Gary Gray's phone record," Mike said, "Showing the evidence of conspiracy. Gray was trying to discredit me to cover up the murder he and Roger Latham committed."

"Thin," Keegan said, not wanting to give but not liking the sound of it either, "You can't prove that's what Derringer and Gray talked about."

"Sure I can," Miller smiled, sliding another sheet of paper across the table, "That's an affidavit from three prison officials that Derringer talked to Harrison Luponi, better known as Crazy Harry Lupo, on the telephone yesterday about me. That phone call was set up by Gary Gray."

"What is your point, Miller?" Keegan asked.

"Stephen Derringer was a tool being used by a corrupt politician," Miller said, "I want that story retracted or I give that story to your competitors."

"You're bluffing," Keegan said, smiling.

"Not only that," Miller smiled, with a satisfied smile on his face, "But your news organization will be denied entry to any press conference ever given from the department. All press passes will be voided. You'll be left to cutesy banter and helicopter traffic reports. I can make your life a living hell, Keegan. Don't underestimate how pissed I am."

"All you want is a retraction?" Keegan asked, as he looked over the stuff again.

"A retraction and your word that Derringer will never again set foot on any crime scene in this town," Miller grinned, knowing that he had a unique opportunity, "That's all I want."

"No further blackmail down the road?" Keegan wondered aloud.

"Don't put me in the same league of slime as Derringer," Mike told him, "Once the retraction is made, I put this in a drawer and forget about it."

"How do I know this won't come out anyway?" Keegan asked.

"Gray is dead," Miller grinned, "Latham sure as hell isn't going to bring it up and it's only a side issue anyway. Just one that happened to piss me off."

"I bet," Keegan said and raised his glass, "You're a smooth bastard, Miller."

"Remember that," Mike grinned as he gathered his stuff, "Just get that retraction on the news today and tonight and I'll be happy."

"Noon, six and eleven," Keegan promised, "May I hold on to copies of that? It will be nice to have something to browbeat Derringer with when I put him in the traffic copter."

"With pleasure," Miller grinned, tossing the folder to Keegan, "Those are copies anyway."

Miller stood up and shook hands with Darius Keegan who simply watched Miller walk out the same door he'd entered, with a satisfied smile on his face. Keegan looked over the information and sighed. He knew that Derringer was dirty and this was the proof that he needed. Keegan pushed the intercom button on the phone and barked an order to his secretary.

"Get Stephen Derringer up here now," Keegan instructed her, "And I mean now."

Keegan smiled as he waited for Derringer to show up, continuing to look at the documents.

***

The entire team looked on as Corrie Albiston managed to get the television tuned to one of the local news stations. Miller was set to face the press for the first time since the Mayor's death, and they all wanted to watch to see just how well Miller did with it. Marcus Holbein was the only one missing, though he was watching the conference at home with his children.

"Any bets on how he'll do?" Chris asked the group.

"He'll do what he needs to," Nick shrugged, "He hates these things like the plague."

"As he rightly should," Mason said, "Anyone who actually likes press conferences should be institutionalized."

"Not that we'd have any experience with that sort of thing," Karen grinned, "Considering you'd rather be shot than talk to a reporter."

"Literally," Jim laughed, "There was this one time..."

"Shhh..." Corrie said, "It's starting."

The commentators on the television stopped talking when Mike was introduced and walked up to the podium. Aside from the tension apparent in the crowd the only real noticeable difference was the absence of the Mayor and Commissioner. The only high-ranking official with Miller was deputy commissioner Donovan.

"All right," Miller said, "I will take your questions, though due to the need for security with the investigation I may be required to decline to answer. Please remain orderly and we can make this a much more pleasant experience for all of us. Mr. Boston from the Post, I think we'll go ahead and start with you."

"Do you have identification on the Sleeping Beauty killer," the reporter asked loudly.

"We have some possibilities," Mike told the crowd of reporters, "We now believe that our erstwhile detective, Randall Jay Creighton is at least involved. We are not quite sure this is the work of one person. In fact, it may be the work of a well-organized group of killers. The investigation is still ongoing in to that regard. Mr. Donahue from Channel 11?"

"How did Randall Creighton escape?" the well-coifed anchorman who was trying for reporting credibility asked.

"We're still reviewing the hospital security tapes," Mike told them, "We believe he had help, a young woman who remains unidentified. Pictures of her taken from the security cameras will be distributed at the end of this conference. Next question please, the young lady there in the back."

"Robertson from CNN," the young woman said, "Randall Creighton was in custody yesterday when Mayor Gary Gray was assassinated. If he is the sleeping beauty killer, then who shot the Mayor?"

"We are not entirely certain it was related," Mike told them, "The clues left at the scene of the assassination indicate that it may have been another copycat crime, possibly by the same person who killed Courtney Sivetson. I cannot go into any further details on that at this time. Next question please."

"There are reports that the murder of Courtney Sivetson was committed by Mayor Gray and Commissioner Roger Latham," the Fox News Reporter asked when pointed to, "Do you have any further information on this case?"

"I can tell you that the murder of Courtney Sivetson has been determined to be a copycat crime," Mike nodded, "There is an ongoing investigation concerning the late Mayor Gray and Commissioner Latham, but I do not have all the details at this time. Per regulations regarding the investigation of politicians and officials, the Sivetson murder case has been handed over to the Internal Affairs division. The case is being handled by Albert Martinez and any further information on it will have to come from him. Next question please? The quiet print journalist over there in the corner."

"Should the public do anything to protect themselves?" the Reuters correspondent asked Miller.

"Lock your doors, secure your homes," Mike said, "Same things you should always do. If you see anything suspicious, give us a call. The police are here to help you if something happens."

"He's handling this well," Mason said as he watched Miller take more questions.

"Better than I ever did," Chris admitted, "Of course, I've been on the other side of that limelight. I could never stand reporters."

"He can't either," Nick laughed, "He's hiding it well. He'll punch a wall soon after he leaves that room."

"He'll be entitled," Chris said, "He's playing them beautifully."

"Now for the important question," Colby said, "Will it make a difference?"

"This will piss Elise off no end," Nick assured them, "Especially with us laying the blame on Creighton."

"I just hope it doesn't backfire," Chris sighed.

"No choice now," Mason shrugged, "It's done. Looks like Mike is just wrapping up now."

"What do we do now?" Colby asked.

"Get ready to move," Mason suggested.

"He's right," Nick said, "If she's as pissed as I think she will be, then something will happen soon."

"Let's get prepared," Corrie said and pulled out her service pistol, "I need to clean this up."

"Jim," Mason said, "Let's go down to the van. I want our stuff ready to go."

"You're going to go along?" Chris asked him.

"You signed up for the background, Chris," Mason grinned, "I didn't. Karen and I will provide backup for the official people here."

"What about Jim?" Corrie asked.

"He's more likely to shoot himself than anyone else," Karen laughed, "He'll probably be recon if we need him. He looks too unobtrusive to be a cop."

"If you go along we lead," Nick warned, "That way you can get out of the way should official scrutiny come down on it."

"You got it," Mason nodded.

"Let's move," Karen smiled.

***

Elise gave Creighton a large dose of morphine to put him to sleep after he failed to finish. She was coughing a bit and did not feel like dealing with him. She was also seething after the press conference. She wondered how they had not figured out who she was yet, so she decided to listen in on the telephones for a while. Unfortunately, those were strangely quiet as well.

"Goddamn it Miller," Elise said as she kicked a table over, "You can't have forgotten me. What the hell is the matter with you?"

She turned on the television and made the rounds of the television news shows. Finding that the news was all blathering about the apparent meltdown in city politics she growled some more and kicked another stationary piece of furniture. She was getting more pissed at the lack of coverage. All they did was parrot the party line that Miller had given out earlier. Some of them, even more maddeningly, misquoted Miller and incorrectly identified Randall Jay Creighton as the Sleeping Beauty killer.

"Damn you all!" Elise shouted at the television, her irrationality coming out a little.

She broke a few lamps and a few other pieces of furniture in the apartment. Creighton slept through her ranting and breaking things, as the drugs had rendered him incapable of moving. He did not even wake up as a plate crashed just above his head, showering him with glass fragments.

"All right Miller," Elise said finally, "Let's give you a surprise to remember."

She sat down at the table calmly, her rage having passed a little and set down to work. She knew exactly what to do, having read every paramilitary book she found over the past twenty years. Getting her tools together, she started to complete the project she had started the day before, only this time adding a little twist.

"It's time to give your memory a little jog, Miller," Elise said to herself with a smile.
Chapter Forty-One – 'A Simple Phone Call'

Nick Jones and Mason Stone sat down by the open window in the squad room smoking cigarettes. Corrie and Karen compared notes on several things, with Corrie learning quite a bit from the more experienced woman. Mike, Chris and Colby continued to sort through the information they had on Elise Steele's whereabouts.

"We're not going to find a goddamned thing in here," Mike said, "Eric was too good at rooting out records of that sort."

"We've got an appointment with Chavis this afternoon," Chris said, "I'll go along on that one. Spike might be a little more open with me than he would with just you."

"I don't even know why we're pussyfooting around with him," Mike complained, "We can't afford the time."

"We can't afford to piss him off," Chris reminded Miller, "If he clams up, we're stuck again."

Miller grumbled and started pacing around the room again. The tension was hanging in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Colby who was usually among the most easygoing people shifted nervously as he sifted through the pile of garbage paperwork. Everyone looked up as Cecilia opened the door with a loud audible click and walked in.

"You may want to turn on the television," Cecilia said, "They are about to arrest Roger Latham live."

Mike grunted and turned on the television set, turning it to one of the local stations. They all gathered around as the commentary started and Martinez's people went in with warrants. A general cheer went around the squad room as a very dejected Roger Latham was led out in handcuffs by a smiling Al Martinez. Latham had aged ten years in the preceding days.

Cecilia watched along with the rest of them, though when the main line rang she went over to pick it up. She sighed and looked over at the rest of the police officers.

"What is it, Cecilia?" Mike asked her.

"Someone claiming to have information about Sleeping Beauty," She told them, "Wants to speak with Lieutenant Miller."

"Probably another crank," Mike said sourly, "I've served my time with them today. You want it Colby?"

"Not really," Colby Grinned, "How bout you, Nick?"

"Sure," Nick laughed as he exhaled some smoke, "I'll take it Cecilia. Send it over to 202."

"Ok," Cecilia said and hit the buttons to transfer the call.

"This should be good," Nick said as he put his cigarette out in the coke can he was using as an ashtray. He punched the button on the phone and picked up the phone, "Detective Jones here. How may I help you?"

"Hello Nick," Elise said into the phone, "It has been a long time. I don't think I've seen you since that week in LA back in Y2K. How are you?"

Nick's face went white as soon as he recognized Elise Steele's voice. Stone and Gabriel looked at him and wondered what was wrong. Mike could guess, and he waited for Nick to say something to confirm it.

"It certainly has," Nick managed to say, "How are you, Elise?"

"Get a location on her," Mike ordered immediately to Colby, "Take Corrie with you and go after her. Mason, take your people and follow them in case they need help."

"Got it," Colby said, running in to Cecelia's office to get a location trace out of the phone system.

"I'm doing well Nick," Elise said, keeping her voice even and pleasant, "Is Raymond around there? I'd like to speak to him if I could."

"Raymond?" Nick said, and then remembered that she was referring to the name Mike had used while undercover, "Yes, he is here. If you'll hold on a second I'll get him for you."

"Certainly," she said pleasantly, "Do hurry though. I fear my time is limited."

"Hold on," Nick said and put her on hold, still dumbstruck.

"Chris, I want you on the extension," Mike ordered, "Nick, stay here until I wave you off. When I wave you off, follow the others and help them out."

"I've got the recorders rolling," Cecilia told Mike, "It's all being recorded."

"You ready, Chris?" Mike asked, "Pick up your handset and mute your outgoing audio."

"Done," Chris said.

"Here goes," Mike said and picked up the phone, "Hello, this is Lieutenant Miller."

"It's been a long time, Raymond," Elise said, deliberately using his old cover name, "Though I guess that name is a mite outdated."

"It has been a long time," Mike admitted, "I haven't used that name in nearly a decade."

"I know that," Elise said, "I read about the trials while sitting in my jail cell. I was rather impressed with the quality of testimony. Brilliant move with faking Harry Lupo's death. I'm sure that nobody expected that one."

Chris wrote that down on a note pad and showed it to Mike. Jail Cell? He wrote, and then scratched down the words Push For Details.

"It did simplify things greatly," Mike admitted, "I didn't know they allowed newspapers in prison."

"You should know," Elise said, "But I'm betting that you don't. That is why I'm calling."

"Oh?" Mike said, "Why's that?"

"That was a most disappointing performance this morning," Elise told him, still keeping her tone even and smiling, "I would have thought that your memory would have been better than that."

"It's been a lot of years," Miller shrugged, "I had forgotten that you existed, truthfully."

"Now you're lying," Elise said pleasantly, "But that's all right, I'm sure they told you to try to piss me off. I'll forgive you that one."

"What do you want, Elise?" Mike asked her, "What is your game?"

Chris nodded and gave him thumbs up for that question. 'Keep her talking' he wrote down on his pad and showed it to him. Mike nodded and waved Nick off. He knew now that this was his game and his alone. Something still ate at him. He needed to know why was she doing this.

"My game?" Elise asked sweetly, "What makes you think you can understand my game?"

"You called me, Elise," Mike told her, "I'm assuming you have a reason."

"I merely wanted to know whether you really believed that idiocy you spit out this morning?" Elise asked him.

"I said nothing untrue," Mike lied.

"You know as well as I do that Jay Creighton couldn't tie his own shoes without help," Elise said, "You'd been pushing to have him fired ever since he first set foot in your squad room."

"So you did corrupt him," Mike sighed, "I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Of course I am," Elise said, "I always have been."

Chris looked at Miller and knew something was wrong here. She was too pleasant and too cooperative. She was also staying on the phone way too long. Even ten years before they could trace phone calls in seconds. She had to know that they were not going to sit idly and just chat.

"Then why did you do it?" Mike asked her.

"Jay is a misguided soul," Elise said, her pouting coming through over the phone, "I don't really want to talk about him. I don't think you do either. Why don't you really ask what you want to ask? We're running out of time here..."

While the conversation continued in the office Colby and Corrie raced in her car towards the address that they had pulled out of the computer. Mason, Karen and Jim followed closely in their Crown Victoria, letting Corrie's siren perform blocking functions. The address was across town from the precinct, so they had at least ten minutes of driving to reach the place.

Nick was behind them by about three minutes, racing as fast as he could towards the place. He wanted a shot at Elise himself, the shot that he should have taken years before. He just hoped that he could get there in time.

"Why now, Elise?" Mike asked her, "Why didn't you come back before?"

"All good things come to those who wait," Elise told him, "I'm surprised that you haven't asked other questions. I know that they are on your mind. Now is the time. You'll never get a chance to ask again."

"Why are you doing this Elise?" Mike asked, knowing that was what she wanted, he felt like he just had to keep her talking.

"That is for you to figure out," Elise said, "I think you will be able to do it. You were good enough to fool me nine years ago. Just look and you will find it. I've left you some of the clues already."

Chris Gabriel was listening to this display between Elise and Mike and knew something was out of whack. The woman was clearly insane, but she was not stupid by a long shot. This whole display reeked of stupidity, unless she had ulterior motives. He continued to listen in, though something was nagging at him.

Corrie and Colby pulled to a stop in front of the apartment building. She was in the midst of parking and turning off the car when he jumped out of the car, weapon out and charged in to the building. Corrie cursed and called in their position quickly before getting out. Mason careened to a stop behind them, coming out of the car quickly followed by Karen and Jim.

"Cover the outside," Corrie yelled at Mason, "Colby is already heading in. I'll back him up!"

"Right," Mason nodded, not arguing.

Meanwhile, the conversation continued back and forth between Mike and Elise, with Chris still listening in and taking notes.

"It would appear that I'm running out of time," Elise said quietly, "Do keep in touch, Mike. It's been too long."

"What do you want from me, Elise?" Mike asked her, "Is this game really necessary?"

Chris knew then that it was a setup. He stood up went over to the radio in the corner. He could listen to the tape for anything else. He tried to raise Corrie on the radio to stop them, but she had already followed Colby Chandler inside. He managed to raise Nick who was going around the corner.

"What's the emergency?" Nick asked as he drove ninety down the road.

"It's a trap," Chris told him, "She wants you to find her. It has to be a trap. Stop them from going in before someone gets hurt!"

"You sure?" Nick asked unnecessarily.

"Positive," Chris told him, "She's not this stupid. She has to be setting your people up."

"What do I want from you?" Elise parroted, "I want your head, of course. But, I want other things first. Check the clues Mike. You were good once. I want to see if you still are."

While they were saying that, Colby Chandler made it to the apartment on the first floor where the phone number was listed. Corrie was just entering the door and saw Colby rearing up to kick in the door. She yelled at him to wait, but the sound never quite made it out. When Colby's foot hit the door the door fairly well vaporized, taking him with it. The fireball expanded quickly and threw Corrie out the door she had just entered. The single fact that she had not closed the door behind her was probably the only thing that saved her life.

Karen Stone was fairly close to the rear of the building, but most of the force from the explosion simply went over her head pushing her down to the ground. Mason was thrown against his car, causing him to black out a little. Nick had been just rounding the corner and slammed his brakes as half of a porcelain sink landed on his hood.

Back in the office Mike listened to the dial tone that resulted from the connection being severed in the explosion. Chris looked at him and knew something was happened. He tried to raise the others on the radio, but was getting no answers from anyone, as there was too much shock at what had just happened at what used to be an apartment complex.

From her position at the top of a building a block away Elise Steele looked down at the devastation and smiled. Jay Creighton averted his eyes to the disaster, choosing instead to look at the woman that he had tied his fate to. Despite the drugs and the trauma, he was beginning to see through the makeup and the false beauty. He still could not bring himself to let go yet, however. She was all he had to hold on to.
Chapter Forty-Two – 'Casualties of War'

Mike and Chris pulled up to the barrier that was being put up by the fire department officials and were allowed inside the barrier to go see their people, or what was left of them. They were dumbfounded at the sheer level of destruction. The fact that any of their people were left after that amazed Miller completely.

The two men walked over and saw Mason trying to keep Nick who looked completely uninjured, under control. He was understandably freaking out, as Corrie was badly injured and lying on the ground. Jim Entragian was fighting to patch her wounds and keep her alive as the paramedics pulled out their equipment and rushed over.

"Jesus," Mike said, "How did anyone get out of here alive?"

"I don't know," Chris sighed. He had not seen anything like this since he was part of the Oklahoma City investigation back in 1995.

"You guys all right?" Mike asked Mason and Nick as they approached.

"Do we look all right?" Nick exclaimed. He was still moving around like a madman. They all could tell that he was worried about Corrie. Mike was worried about her too, but not willing to let himself get in the way. The paramedics already had their hands full, despite the work Jim had done.

"How is she Jim?" Mason asked him while lighting up a cigarette.

"Lucky to have made it this far," Jim sighed, "She must have been just inside the door. A few third-degree burns on her, but that's not the bad part. Her ribs are trashed, and she got something through her abdomen. I hope they have a good trauma surgeon 'cause she's going to need it."

"I've got to go with her," Nick said, "She's going to need me there."

"I'll go with her," Jim told Nick, "I can tell them what's wrong. I'll call your cell when I have information."

"You won't be able to do anything but get in their way," Mike said to Nick, nodding silent thanks at Jim, "Sit down and cool off, Nick."

"Cool off?" Nick asked him, "That fucking psychotic bitch damn near killed us all!"

"She did get one," Mason reminded him, "Nobody has been able to find Colby."

"Of course not!" Nick raved, "Whatever is left of him they're probably going to have to put in a Ziplock baggie!"

Nick continued with his ranting and raving while Jim went over to the ambulance and hitched a ride. Karen stayed with Nick while Mason went with Mike and Chris to take a closer look at the damage. Mason, despite his close brush with the explosion, looked fairly well. He had a little blood on his head, but no real injuries were visible.

"You seem to have gotten out ok," Mike noticed.

"I'm sore," Mason said, "But I'll live."

"I shouldn't have let you guys go," Chris said, "I should have known it was a trap."

"We all should have figured it out," Mike said, "How many people died here today?"

"I don't know how many people were in those apartments," Mason said, "But the entire building went down. I'm guessing anyone who wasn't thrown out by the blast is probably dead."

Marcus Holbein pulled up in his old cruiser and went over to the meeting of the minds. He looked at the blast area in shock and then looked at Miller.

"Holy shit," Marcus said.

"Putting it mildly," Chris growled.

"I've got someone watching the kids," Marcus said, "If you need me, I'm back."

"I can use you," Mike said, "We lost Colby for sure. Corrie is on the way to the hospital."

"You want me to stay with Nick?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "As soon as the shock wears off, he's going to want to tear Elise a new asshole."

"And you don't?" Mason asked.

"That's beside the fucking point," Miller snapped.

"I'll go over with him," Marcus said, knowing his boss well enough to know when to stay out of his way. He quietly ducked out and was replaced by Robert Donovan who looked exceedingly flushed. He had been the commissioner for approximately ten minutes and was not thrilled at this turn of events.

"Do you have enough people to cover this crime scene?" Donovan asked Miller.

"Hell no," Mike said, "Though I guess I should consider myself lucky that I only lost one out of this mess."

"How is that possible?" Donovan asked.

"Elise shot her load early," Mason explained, "Colby was the only one inside the building all the way. Corrie is badly injured, but if the trauma surgeons are good and lucky she should make it."

"Lovely," Donovan sighed, "I really don't need this shit now."

"Who does?" Mike asked, "We need to keep pounding the turf after Elise."

"You do what you have to do to stop that psychotic bitch," Donovan told him, "I'll cover for you with the city council. Do you need more people?"

"No," Mike said with a sigh, "A full manhunt isn't going to do it. It's just going to get people killed."

"I agree on that one," Chris nodded, "Don't let this go outside the department until she's either caught or dead."

"So what do you need?" Robert asked him, "You need something cause this shit sure as hell isn't working."

"Clean up crews and body bags," Mason said evenly, "That's all we need now. Unless we can find a lever on Elise, of course."

"We need to go see Chavis as well," Mason nodded, "We don't have any clue where she's been since November 2000."

"Well do it quick and get your lever," Robert said, knowing that Miller's crew was in an impossible situation, "I'll give you Charlie Roberts and his squad since you work well with him. Put him on the cleanup detail and use who you have left to try to track this insane woman."

"I might have an idea on the lever," Karen told them as she walked up and nodded at Robert Donovan, "Good afternoon, Robert. Nick has calmed down a little. Marcus is with him. Do we have any clues to her true identity?"

"None," Mike said, "You know about all I do, Karen."

"You said something the other day about someone who might know," Karen said, "Stockton I think it was?"

"John Stockton," Mike nodded, "He was Pena's right hand man. As high or higher than Elise was."

"And you left him alive?" Mason asked, surprised, "Isn't he the one who tortured Tracy?"

"I went after Pena, or Bronson or whoever he was," Miller shrugged, "They arrested Stockton and got him out of the building before I could kill him. I killed Howard Bronson. That was enough."

"What happened to him after that?" Karen asked him.

"They made a deal," Mike said, scowling at the thought, "He pulled apart the remains of the Pena organization's corpse in return for a lighter sentence. Bastard got off easy as far as I'm concerned."

"Can you arrange for me to meet Stockton?" Karen asked him.

"I can," Robert said, "If it will help you, I'll call the governor. He owes us big time to keep the Creighton affair from blowing up in his face."

"We can do that after we meet Chavis," Mike said, "I don't want to play the Stockton card unless I have to."

"Actually," Chris said, "You might want to skip that meeting with Chavis and go with Karen to see Stockton."

"Why?" Miller asked.

"We can lean on Spike Chavis more than you can," Chris said, "Mason and I talked about that last night. This is going beyond what can be done officially. He may tell us more because we're not official than he would say if you were there."

"All right," Mike said, seeing the logic of this, "I'll go with Karen to see John Stockton. Can you let them know we're coming, Robert?"

"Sure," Donovan nodded, "I'll pull some strings. They'll be expecting you by the time you can drive up there."

"Those are our best leads," Mason nodded, "Chris and I will pay a visit to our federal friend. We'll see what we can find."

"Think Nick and Marcus are up to going over the tapes?" Karen asked, "Someone needs to do that, preferably someone who didn't go through it."

"Marcus will manage," Mike sighed, "Nick might have to sit it out to stay with Corrie."

"Keep Marcus with him," Karen suggested, "If he can't work on the tapes to get his mind off it, save them for when we finish with Stockton."

"I'll go talk to him," Mike said, "Good luck, guys."

"You too," Chris said, "Robert? Could you drop us off at the station to pick up my car? I don't think Mason's is going to be driving anytime soon."

They all looked over and saw that a little Geo had been blown over on top of Mason's Crown Victoria. Robert shrugged and waved them on. They left the scene quietly, studiously ignoring the press that was already beginning to gather on the outside of the police lines.

Mike walked over to where Nick was still pacing around. Marcus had a look of frustration on his face. Nick looked at Miller for the first time since the explosion and saw a look of complete madness in his eyes. It was a look he recognized. He had seen it in his own eyes nine years before, when he first found out that Tracy Howard had been kidnapped.

"I'm going to kill that bitch, Mike," Nick vowed, "Elise Steele is going to die."

"Everyone dies, Nick," Mike said sternly, "You know her as well as I do. If you go off half cocked and do something stupid she will kill you."

"Not if I kill her first!" Nick shouted.

"Listen to yourself!" Mike said forcefully, but calmly, "Just fucking listen to yourself Nick! Are you out of your mind?"

"It worked for you when they took Tracy!" Nick reminded him.

"Look at what happened to Tracy," Mike said coldly, "She was killed before I even had a chance to get to her. This was despite the fact that I actually had an organization to keep whacking at to get to him. We don't have that this time."

"We sure don't!" Nick agreed, "All we have is a picture, a name and a shortage of body bags!"

"Mike's right," Marcus said, "You go off half cocked you're going to get someone killed. Probably yourself. You won't be able to do any good for Corrie like that."

"What do you want me to do?" Nick asked, "Sit around and jack off until she kills the rest of us?"

"No," Mike said, "I just want you to work with me."

"I'm going to fucking kill her!" Nick shouted again.

"Then do it somewhere else!" Mike shouted at him, startling everyone around, "Because if you can't think straight then you are no use to me here!"

This caught Nick by surprise enough to snap him back to his senses a little. Miller did not yell like that often and had never done so at him. Nick just stared at his friend, not knowing what to do next.

"What do you want me to do?" Nick finally asked him.

"Are you going to keep calm and not go nuts on me?" Mike asked him.

"You aren't pulling me off this," Nick said.

"Answer me," Miller ordered.

"I'll play it your way," Nick said, "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Let Marcus drive you to the hospital to check on Corrie," Mike said, a small smile returning, "Then go back to the station and have Cecelia give you the tapes. Bring them to the audio guys and dissect it. Any audio clue to where she is I want it. I don't think she's moving around much right now, especially if Creighton is still with her."

"Where are you going?" Nick asked.

"Karen Stone and I going to see John Stockton," Mike told him, "He's the last living member of Pena's cadre. If anyone knows about Elise's past, it'll be him."

"Think it will help?" Nick asked.

"One case we worked a few years back," Karen said, answering for Miller, "We were tracking a killer who liked to prey on little girls. We knew who he was, but nothing else. In tracing back his younger days, we found out why he went for the types he did. Gave us something to work with when we cornered him. I knew what buttons to push to get him to release the child and give up. I'm hoping that we might be able to come up with something similar with Elise."

"Do you actually believe that, Karen?" Marcus asked her.

"Not in this case," Karen chuckled, "But you never know. It beats sitting around waiting for her to kill someone else, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," Nick sighed.

"Come on, man," Marcus said, "I'll take you to the hospital."

"Find Jim," Karen suggested, "He's an expert at getting Doctors to talk."

"Let's go," Marcus said.

Nick took a final look at the blast site and followed Marcus to his car. Mike and Karen watched as the two men drove off. She looked at Miller who was still a little red in the face from having to shout at Nick. She smiled and wondered what he was thinking.

"What?" Mike asked her.

"You're worried about him," Karen noted.

"Of course I am," Mike sighed, "He's really in love with Corrie."

"You think he'll do something stupid?" Karen asked him.

"I hope not," Mike said and smiled, "I'm a little scared for him though. I've seen that type of look before."

"The one in his eyes when he said he wanted to kill her?" Karen asked, "Where?"

"In the mirror," Mike said sadly, "That's what I looked like nine years ago when Pena had Tracy taken. I just hope that Corrie does better than Tracy did."

"So do I," Karen nodded, "Let's go get this over with."

"Yeah," Mike sighed, "Let's get up there and hope that I don't lose what's left of my mind and shoot Stockton on the spot."

"No sweat," Karen laughed, "They won't let you take a gun in there. You will have to strangle him."

"True," Mike grinned as they went to the car, "That would take too much effort. I haven't rested enough to do that so I guess we're going to have to let him rot."

"That's probably best," Karen admitted as they got in to the car and headed for the federal prison.
Chapter Forty-Three – 'Paging Elizabeth'

Russell "Spike" Chavis was not the bruiser that Mason had been expecting. He looked more like an accountant than he did one of the top federal cops in the city. Mason was expecting someone quite a bit more buff considering the name. Chris knew better, as he had gone to academy with Chavis years before. The nickname came from when he had bested two Hell's Angels simply by talking them into beating each other senseless.

"It's been a long time, Spike," Chris said as they sat down, "How is Susan?"

"Damned if I know," Chavis shrugged, "She ran off with a used car salesman six months ago. Best thing that's happened to me this year."

"Probably was," Chris agreed, "Take the kids too?"

"Yep," Spike shrugged, "Nothing I could do. So how can I help you today Chris? Still working on that investigation for Miller?"

"That's why we're here," Chris said, "This is Mason Stone. He's working the case as well. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"If I can help, I will," Chavis shrugged and looked at Stone, "You a detective?"

"I'm a freelancer," Stone grinned, "Let's leave it at that."

"I see," Chavis nodded, "How can I help you, Chris?"

"Recognize her?" Chris asked as he passed the security camera picture of Elise across the desk.

Chavis picked up the photograph and studied it for a moment. Russell Chavis was a professional, however, and did not let on too badly that he recognized her. Chris missed the nuance, though Mason did not. Mason had been studying people for too many years to miss the response.

"No," Chavis lied, "Who is she?"

"That's rather odd," Chris said, knowing that he was lying, "You were in Organized crime when I left. I find it difficult to believe that you didn't recognize one of Freddie Pena's closest cohorts."

"Ok," Chavis said, relenting, "I recognize her. I don't see the significance of this."

"That was taken from a security system a few days ago," Chris said.

"Impossible," Chavis said, handing the photograph back, "Elise Steele has been dead for years."

"Really?" Mason asked, "Does that mean your files are more up to date than the local police department's? They don't have a record of her death."

"Neither does the state records bureau," Chris added, "Come on, Spike. Don't bullshit me."

"What are you implying?" Chavis asked them.

"Nothing," Chris said, "We know Elise is back and she's killing people. She killed a cop not an hour ago. I need whatever information you have."

"I can't tell you anything officially," Chavis said, "As far as anything official goes, Elise Steele is dead."

"We're not official," Chris said, "That's why we told Miller to go work on something else. I'm not here to fuck your career, Spike. We just need to find out what happened to this psychotic bitch."

Mason was annoyed, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Chavis looked the two men over and knew that the past was coming back to bite him in the ass. Chavis knew that Chris Gabriel was not crazy or an alarmist. Gabriel also had no reason to lie about Elise being alive.

"I'll tell you what I know," Chavis said finally, "But not here, Chris. Will you give me a while to get some things and meet you somewhere?"

"Sure," Chris said, looking at Mason, who merely nodded, "Where do you want to meet?"

"I've got a little apartment over on tenth," Chavis said and scrawled down an address on a slip of paper, "About three blocks north of the blast this morning. I'll be there by eight tonight."

"We'll see you there," Chris said, "Thanks Spike."

"Yeah," Chavis said, "Thanks."

Mason and Chris walked out to where they parked in silence. Neither one of them particularly liked Chavis's reaction to finding out Elise was alive. Once they were sitting in the car, they looked at each other.

"What do you think?" Chris asked.

"You know him better than I do," Mason said, "But that struck me as very fishy."

"I agree," Chris sighed, "I didn't think he'd do something like this."

"You realize he could be setting a trap for us?" Mason asked his partner.

"I know," Chris nodded, "You armed, Mason?"

"I'm carrying a .45 auto," Mason shrugged, "Hopefully it will be enough."

"Yeah," Chris sighed, "But I don't want to take the chance. We've got some plans to make."

"Let's roll," Mason said, a thin smile forming. It was going to be a bumpy ride.

***

Nick and Marcus paced in the waiting room, hoping for any bit of news from the doctors. Jim was sitting down calmly, reading a medical magazine, getting up to date on the latest medical procedures. He barely remembered being a physician anymore, but he liked to know what was going on in the field still.

"How the hell can you sit there that calmly?" Nick asked Jim.

"Is pacing around the room going to help her?" Jim asked him reasonably, "It's out of our hands. I might as well relax while we wait."

"You don't care, do you?" Nick asked him.

"Of course I do," Jim said, putting the magazine down, "I did what I could to save her life and I hope she makes it. I'm just not going to run around moaning about something I can't control."

"It's in God's hands now," Marcus agreed, "He's right on that point."

"I don't know about God," Jim shrugged, "I've yet to have much faith in him. It depends on how much she wants to live. If the spirit is there, the body will follow."

"If the body will let her," Marcus added.

"That's true," Jim replied, "I've seen a lot of people live and die from injuries like this. It always comes down to the will of the person. Corrie is a strong woman. If anyone can survive this she will."

"She won't be able to do it alone though," Marcus said, "She's going to need help."

"I'll be there for her," Nick promised.

"It won't be easy," Jim said, "She was hurt badly. I just managed to patch up the worst of it."

Dr. Bennie Doran walked out of the operating theatre, his shirt still showing a few splotches of Corrie's blood. Nick was over there in a shot, followed quickly by Marcus and Jim. Doran looked tired, he had been working sixteen hour shifts for a week.

"You were here with the girl this morning?" Doran said.

"Yeah," Nick nodded, "How is Corrie? Is she alive?"

"The thoracic surgeons are still working on her," Doran said as he sat down, "It's still touch and go. It depends on her liver now. If they can save enough to keep her going, then she'll probably live through it."

"She's alive Nick," Marcus smiled, "That means there is hope."

"If she lives through this," Doran said, "She owes her life to whoever patched her up before we got her. I spent six years in the military and I've never seen a better job of battlefield surgery."

"Thank you," Jim said, a thin smile forming on his lips.

"You?" Doran said, impressed, "You're good. Wish I had you here on staff. We could use someone with your skills."

"You'd be disappointed," Jim laughed, "I haven't had a license in years."

"I'm not going to ask," Doran chuckled, "If you can do battle surgery that well, I'm sure I don't want to know."

"How long until she's out of surgery?" Nick asked.

"Probably at least four more hours," Doran said, "Then she'll be in a sterile room for a while. It'll be two days before you can see her at least. That's why I came out, that and the fact I haven't slept in nearly 24 hours."

"No use in waiting around then," Marcus said.

"None," Doran told them.

"Can you call us if anything happens?" Nick asked the doctor, "I'm going to go nuts waiting."

"Sure," Dr. Doran said as he sat down, "I'll make sure the nurses know to call you if you'll leave me a number."

Nick scrawled down his cell number and handed it to the doctor. Doran looked it over and nodded, pocketing it.

"We're doing the best we can for her," Doran promised, "We do that for everyone, but I'll tell you, if there is any way we can save this one, we will."

"Thanks doc," Nick said, a little relieved by this.

"Let's go back to the station," Marcus suggested, "Listen to the tapes like Mike asked us to do. See if we can figure anything out."

"Let's do it," Nick nodded, "Anything to keep from going insane here."

"You got it," Jim said, "Now let's go listen to Elise's bullshit and figure out why she's doing this."

Nick and Marcus merely nodded, and the three of them walked out the door, with Nick doing a quick look back. He could not take his mind off the woman that he had been with only a few hours before, lying on that operating table being sewn back together. He only hoped that the stitches could hold her together and make her whole again.

***

Warden Edgar Fleming looked at Mike Miller and shook his head. Miller grinned and stuck out his hand, which the warden shook. Karen received a smile and a look as the three of them walked down the long concrete corridor. They received the usual shouts as they walked along in front of the prisoners. This was a much more open section than the one that housed Harry Lupo on the other side of the prison.

"I thought Stockton was supposed to be in solitary?" Mike said as they walked.

"He technically is, for his own protection," Fleming said, "He gets the yard alone for one hour a day. The rest of his time is spent reading and writing in his cell. We decided to do it this way because he's not a real risk to us."

"Really?" Mike said, "Who the hell made that decision?"

"Unlike your friend Luponi, Stockton has a chance at walking out of here someday," Fleming said, "He's also a hell of a lot smarter than Lupo and doesn't enjoy pain. He'd rather sit in his cell and read than deal with a pile of shrinks. Every once in a while a fed will come in and ask him a few questions, he'll answer them and the fed will leave."

"How does he react to people?" Karen asked.

"Fairly well," Fleming said, "He's probably the best-behaved prisoner we have. Quite the opposite, in fact, to the lunatic you saw the other day."

"Not surprising," Mike sighed, "Though if he reacts badly to anyone it may be me."

"You put him here too, didn't you?" Fleming asked, "Yeah, he's really going to love you."

"If he doesn't talk to me he voids his deal, right?" Miller asked.

"You got it," Fleming grinned, "He's not stupid, so he'll talk, even if he is antagonistic with you. What do you need out of him?"

"We need to get any information we can about one of his cohorts," Mike told Fleming, "Elise Steele."

"I've heard the name," Fleming shrugged, "I thought Pena's entire cadre was dead except for our buddy John here. Doc Harper had a heart attack here six months ago."

"I'd hoped she was," Miller said, distaste apparent on his face, "But she's still around and may have information we need, so we need a lever on her."

"Great," Fleming said sarcastically, "Do me a favor and just shoot her. Another insane prisoner I don't need."

"It would surprise me greatly if she let us take her alive anyway," Karen said, breaking her silence, "She's in it until the finish."

"Figures," Fleming said, "Stockton is down here at the end. I assume you will want to talk to him in the cell."

"Probably best," Mike nodded.

Fleming left some instructions for the guards and they let Mike and Karen have their way in the place. The guards took two folding chairs and put them out in front of Stockton's cell. Miller nodded his thanks and took a deep breath before they went over there. He was not quite sure what to expect, despite the warden's assurances.

John Stockton was sitting in the bunk of his cell reading a book. Surprisingly, it was one of Chris Gabriel's books; one written many years before on serial killers. Miller thought it was very appropriate reading material for a man responsible for more deaths than most people on death row.

The years had not been too hard on him. His hair was graying, but he kept himself fit by keeping a physical fitness regimen in his cell along with running around the exercise yard continuously during his one hour a day outside the cell. He looked no older than Miller did, despite being in his early fifties.

"You're looking fit, Miller," Stockton said as he took notice of his visitors, "Your friend there is very pretty as well. What is your name?"

"Karen Stone," she said without hesitation, "You weren't quite what I was expecting."

"Considering your companion, I'm sure you expected an ogre," Stockton chuckled, "Mike never really did like me very much."

"I should have shot you the day that Jade died," Mike agreed, "Might have saved Tracy's life if I did."

"That was a particularly stupid move," Stockton agreed, sitting up straight on the bunk and putting the book down, "Freddie was pissed beyond belief that he'd missed a plant as high up as you were."

"I got lucky," Mike agreed, not believing that this was going this simply.

"I don't think I need to ask why you are here," John said and picked up a newspaper, "This is one of the few luxuries I'm allowed, mainly because I'm a low maintenance prisoner. I find it interesting that you didn't publicly identify the girl, considering you know her as well as anyone."

"I have my reasons," Miller shrugged.

"I bet," Stockton chuckled, "You don't want to admit that you were sleeping with Elise Steele, do you?"

"I don't care about that," Mike said, somewhat defensively, "I just don't want to give her what she wants."

"I doubt you even know what she wants," Stockton said, "Nobody could ever figure that out."

"So do you know?" Karen asked him, speaking for the first time.

"She does talk?" Stockton said amiably, "I can only guess at what Elise's game is now. I've had a lot of time and a little information on it. It's an interesting mind game to think about, if nothing else. It's not like I have much else to do inside this infernal place."

"Forgive me if I don't feel sorry for you," Mike said dryly, "I was rather pushing to have you executed myself."

"Not surprising," Stockton shrugged, "I'm sure there are more than a few people who agree with you. Personally, I feel the same way about you, so we're even."

"Back to Elise," Karen said, "What do you know about her?"

"Not that much really," Stockton shrugged, studying his interrogators from behind the bars that he had been staring through for years, "She was very good and very reliable. I haven't seen her since the day of that raid back in November of 2000."

"What about her early life?" Karen asked.

"I wouldn't know," Stockton lied.

"Bullshit," Mike said, knowing better, "Howard would never have used her if he didn't know her past. You were so close with him that you had to have known."

"That's what I liked about you, Miller," Stockton chuckled, "You always knew more than you had any right to."

"I try," Mike said, "Why don't we start with something easy. Elise Steele is obviously an assumed name. There's no official record of her before 1994 or so. What name was she born with and when?"

"Very well," John Stockton grinned, standing up and stretching out, "Elise Steele was born roughly forty years ago. I never did find out her exact birth date, though I'm sure Freddie knew it. Her name was Elizabeth Baltimore. I'm sure you'll find plenty of information from that."

"How?" Karen asked.

"She had a lively record throughout the early 1980's," Stockton replied, noting that Miller was watching him intently, "Her father was an extremely abusive drunk. One day when Elise was fourteen her father brutally raped and beat her senseless. You were sleeping with her for a while, Miller, I'm sure you noticed the extensive scarring on her back."

"Go on," Mike nodded, remembering seeing her back by chance while she changed clothes after sex, many years before.

"I take it she reacted to that," Karen said.

"She killed him for it," Stockton shrugged, "She also put her mother and baby brother out of their misery. Probably the kindest thing she could have done, really. It saved them the pain of seeing what the girl they knew became."

"How did she end up with Howard Bronson?" Karen asked.

"Heh," Stockton scoffed, "It was back when we were still in the police department, wasting our time and risking our lives for too little money."

"You seemed to be making enough on the side," Miller grumbled, "From what I hear you and Howie were dirty as hell long before you were drummed out of the department."

"It was fun while it lasted," Stockton shrugged, "I had a good run. If I'd followed my instincts and shot you back in November of 2000 I'd still be outside too."

"I feel the same way sometimes, John," Miller smiled evilly, "I often regret not shooting you back on that day as well."

"You're as much a murderer as I am," Stockton shrugged, "You just refuse to admit it."

"Only when pushed, John," Mike grinned, "Only when pushed."

"Enough guys," Karen said, "How did she end up with you, John?"

"She was working the streets as a teenager," John said, seeing no reason not to answer, "She'd killed a few of her johns that roughed her up. Freddie saw the girl's potential and intelligence. He covered up her killings and put her in to school."

"Say what?" Mike asked, "School?"

"Military school to be precise," Stockton grinned, "Where do you think she learned to be so effective at this stuff? She thrived on the structure and the training. If it had not been for her earlier record the army would probably have loved to have her. She was a wonderful weapon."

"You created a monster," Mike noted.

"We didn't create her, Miller," Stockton shrugged, "Her father did that. We merely shaped her so that she would have a constructive outlet for it."

"Very constructive," Mike said dryly.

"Mike," Karen said, "Perhaps you should let John and I talk for a few minutes."

"No, what would the fun be in that?" Stockton asked, "He's a gruff soul, but fun to watch. I get so little entertainment around here, you know?"

"You are a sick man, John," Mike said, "Let's go Karen. He probably doesn't know anything useful anyway."

Karen looked at Stockton for a moment and saw that they were going to get nowhere with him. She now knew enough that she would be able to have Jim scour the official records to get better information. She nodded at Miller and they started to walk away. Stockton knew that Miller was likely to try to screw him over, so he figured he had better be a little more cooperative.

"Wait a minute," Stockton said, "Haven't you noticed something about those pictures?"

"What?" Miller asked, turning around.

"The photo you put in the paper," Stockton said, tapping the page he held in his hand.

"What about it?" Karen asked, walking back towards the cell.

"Do you have a better quality one?" Stockton asked.

"Why?" Mike asked.

"If you show me the picture I can be sure," John said.

Mike looked at Karen who simply shrugged. There was no harm in seeing what he had to say, she thought. Mike nodded and pulled out the glossy photo they had taken from the digital video at Cookie's concert. Stockton looked at it and chuckled a little before handing it back.

"I can't believe you didn't see it before," Stockton shrugged, "Do you have one that shows her full body?"

"Yes," Miller said, passing Stockton a copy of the picture of her and the concert victim walking to the place of his execution.

"Look at her in that photo," Stockton said, looking at it and seeing his surmise confirmed, "Doesn't anything strike you as odd?"

"Other than the kid she was about to kill?" Mike asked dryly.

"Forget about that," Stockton said, "She's a killer, always has been. She liked to do that before we got her. I'm talking about her physically."

"What?" Karen asked, "She looks great. For someone that's pushing forty she looks a good ten years younger."

"She's always been stunning," Stockton agreed, "But there's something different. You slept with her for a while, Miller. You should be able to see it."

Mike stared at the picture, something that he had been unable to force himself to do before this. He looked at her eyes, which were heavily made up and then looked at her body. Elise was never small, but her body was a lot thinner than it had been years before. When Mike had been with her she had weighed nearly 170 pounds. It was apparent that she had lost quite a bit of weight since then.

"She's smaller," Mike said, "Her face has been made up to hide the worst of it, but she's lost a lot of weight in the last nine years. If she spent time in prison though that would account for it."

"Not likely," Stockton scoffed, "You don't lose that much weight in prison, especially if you are in 23 hour lockdown. I spend my time running and I'm still up twenty pounds. You think she would have avoided being in lockdown? Knowing Elise and the way she reacted when they dragged her out of the mansion that day she probably would have spent most of the time in solitary."

"What do you think?" Karen asked him, "You obviously suspect something."

"She's ill," Stockton said, "She's wearing a lot of makeup in that photograph. Whatever is wrong with her is beginning to show. My guess is that she wants to have some fun before she goes."

"And settle her score with me," Mike said.

"Probably," Stockton agreed, "Personally, I wish her luck. I hope she kills you."

"I hope the same for you," Miller shrugged, "Watch your back, I might just tell the guards you're a child molester."

"You're no better than I am," Stockton said, a smile forming, "You know how you were able to fool us for so long? It was because you are one of us. You think like one of us, act like one of us, steal like one of us and even kill like one of us. You can sit up on your high horse, but the real reason that you fooled us is that you were Raymond Nester. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

"That may be so," Mike said after a moment, "But look at which one of us is spending the rest of his life in an eight by ten concrete cell."

"Your day will come, Miller," Stockton said, the old maniacal grin coming back, "Your day will most certainly come."

"A pity that you will be in here when it happens," Mike said and turned away. He walked down the hall away from Stockton. Karen took one last look at the imprisoned henchman and sighed, choosing to follow Miller down the corridor. John Stockton shook his head and sat back down on the bunk.

***

Marcus Holbein pressed stop on the recording and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. Nick was pacing around the room, thoroughly annoyed at listening to Elise's words. He could not believe that anyone could be so cavalier about the mass amounts of death that they had caused.

"I can't believe this crap," Nick said gruffly, kicking an unoccupied wooden chair, "She is enjoying this too much."

"Ok," Jim said, "The tape is disturbing, that's true. But let's go over what she actually told us of substance."

"She didn't tell us a damned thing," Nick exclaimed, "She was just baiting us to kill more people!"

"That's not entirely true," Marcus said thoughtfully, "She wanted that, but she also wanted to talk to Mike."

"She wants his head on a stick," Jim grinned, "That much is obvious. I don't think he's the main object of the game, but he's very much a target."

"Mike was probably the only person that got reasonably close to her during those years," Nick said, "She'd done other guys, but she rarely had sex with anyone more than once. It may have meant more to her than anyone, including her, expected."

"She was talking about leaving clues," Jim said, "What did she mean by that?"

"The package at the internet company," Marcus suggested, "That was the biggest one."

"Did they ever identify all the fingers in there?" Nick asked him.

"You know," Marcus said, "I have no idea. We didn't have time to think about it. It was all going on so fast. I don't know if A.J. ever had time to think about it."

"Let's go find out," Jim shrugged, "If they can put a name on it, maybe we'll get an indication on why she included it."

"If nothing else it gives us something to do other than sit around here," Nick agreed, "Let's go."

The three of them left the downtown precinct together, heading for the coroner's office. They drove past the blast site as the fire department worked on the site, still helping people and beginning the safety cleanup as they put the remaining fires out.

"Such a waste," Marcus said as he looked at it.

"You never get used to the destruction," Jim said, "No matter how many times you see scenes like this."

"Thinking about the Trade Center?" Marcus asked him.

"Yeah," Jim nodded, "I spent nearly a week down in the trenches performing first aid before things got under control. Karen played nurse while Mason worked in the recovery efforts. I think we spent a month and a half volunteering in the area, all told."

"Ouch," Marcus nodded as he drove, "That couldn't have been fun."

"It wasn't," Jim agreed, "But I'm glad we were there to do it."

"Right," Nick said, his thoughts still on Corrie.

The rest of the ride was rather silent. They made it to the morgue and managed to dodge the reporters who were trying to pry information out of the staff. A.J. Dupriex and Jake Sanders were sitting at their desks looking very tired.

"Busy day?" Marcus asked as he saw them.

"We got deposed on the Sivetson case today," Dupriex said sourly, "They're still grilling us hard. It appears that Latham will fight this hard."

"Let him," Nick shrugged, "He's guilty as hell. If he's smart he'll cut a deal."

"Whitmore isn't offering," Jake Sanders said with a smile, "He fully intends to send Roger Latham to prison for the rest of his life."

"Good," Marcus said, "Son of a bitch deserves the needle."

"He'll probably get it too," Dupriex grinned, "We put together a good case for Whitmore. Martinez solidified it with the leads he got from you. Roger Latham is going down and hard."

"Guys," Jim said, "I hate to push, but we do have to get moving on this."

"Right," Marcus nodded, "Did you come up with anything new on Sleeping Beauty?"

"Haven't had much time," Sanders admitted, "We're going to have to start on the autopsies for the new batch from the explosion soon too."

"Did you at least identify the pinky finger from the so called hand at the internet site?" Nick asked hopefully.

"Truthfully we haven't had time to run it further," Sanders sighed, "Both the pinky and the base of the hand have us stumped."

"Let's take some time to check it out then," Marcus suggested, "The explosion autopsies can wait. Stopping this bitch takes priority."

"All right," Sanders agreed, "I'll work on that with you for a bit. A.J. can prepare for the invasion."

Dupriex merely nodded and went about his work. Nick, Marcus and Jim followed along with Jake Sanders as he pulled the parts out of the cabinet. It was rather disturbing to look at and Marcus had to turn away. Nick handled it better, not flinching too much. Jim was not fazed by it at all, having seen worse over the years.

"So this is the famous hand," Jim said, "Looks as though someone had way too much time on their hands."

"It's odd," Sanders agreed, "This finger is at least a few years old, but it's been preserved somehow."

"The base of the hand is even worse off," Jim noticed, "It looks almost desiccated."

"I noticed that too," Jake said, "It's female, with a blood type of A. Whoever it belonged to has been dead a long time."

"Embalmed too," Jim said, "See the coloration of the skin? That's the result of embalming fluid."

"I don't even want to know how you know that," Marcus said, "How long would you say the woman had been dead?"

"Minimum of five years," Sanders said, "Possibly as many as ten. Depends on the climate."

"Is there any way to identify it?" Nick asked.

"You'll have better luck with the finger," Jim said, "I'd hit that first."

"I have the prints," Jake shrugged, "Let's do the database."

"Mind if I run some tests on the hand while you do that?" Jim asked, "I may be able to narrow the search down if it comes to the hand."

"Are you trained in this?" Sanders asked.

"I went to school for it," Jim said, "I also know quite a few testing techniques that you probably don't have much use for in this type of operation."

"What do you think?" Jake asked Marcus and Nick.

"He hasn't led us wrong yet," Nick shrugged.

"Works for me," Marcus said, "I don't see how he could muck it up anyway."

"Go for it," Jake said, "I'm going to start running through the databases."

Marcus and Nick sat back in their usual out of the way spots to watch as Jake and Jim began their testing.

***

Elise Steele, the former Elizabeth Baltimore, was not having a good afternoon. She had been expecting more communication to happen in the result of this, but after the initial flood there had been nothing. The day was ending and the phones were silent. She was not thrilled by this fact either.

Jay Creighton was awake, though still under the influence of the morphine. He watched the woman that he had given his whole life to in wonder. The personality change he saw was amazing to him, though he couldn't realize why through the haze of the drugs. He now knew that the name Julie was false, but his love was so blind that he just did not care.

"What are you looking at?" Elise asked Creighton who was staring at her like a teenager with a crush.

"You," he managed to say, though his voice was still flat due to the restraint.

"Stop it," Elise said as she stood up and stretched out, "I have enough on my mind."

"Are you all right?" Jay asked her, noticing that she looked thinner than she did only a few days before, "Have you been eating?"

"Don't worry about it," Elise said gruffly as she picked up her cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it.

"Those can kill you," Jay said, his voice getting a little sing song.

"Not yet," Elise muttered, "Just shut up, Jay. I'm not in the mood."

Elise took in a deep puff from the cigarette and started coughing. It was not her usual smoker's cough, but a much deeper one. Jay looked concerned as her chest shook, and she finally coughed up a large bloody chunk. She growled and put the cigarette out, knowing that she could not finish it.

Then the second round of coughing began. She had been expecting it to happen someday, but it took Creighton completely by surprise. Her thin body shook violently as she could not stop coughing and regain standard breathing. Jay went over to her quickly and was pushed away as she struggled to regain her ability to breathe evenly.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Jay exclaimed, "You're badly sick!"

"A hospital won't help me now," Elise chuckled as she began to regain that control, "It would just get both of us put in jail. They want us both now, you know that don't you?"

Jay nodded, ignoring the harsh tone of her voice. His mind was pretty well gone. He could no longer comprehend what he had thrown away for this sick woman. She knew that as well and was using it to her advantage. She sat down for a moment to let herself get some equilibrium again.

The ringer on the tap device went off after this, the indicator showing that it was Miller receiving a call. She hit the speaker button, not wanting to deal with headphones here. Jay looked at her in wonder. She merely put her finger to her lips and began to listen to the conversation.

"Miller here," Mike's curt voice said over the speaker.

"How did your fishing expedition go?" Chris Gabriel asked him.

"Better than we expected," Mike said, "Elise's real name is Elizabeth Baltimore. We have a little more information as well, but nothing that will lead us to her."

"Stockton," Elise said, "It had to be. He's the only one left alive who knew."

"We've got a little information as well," Chris told him, "Chavis was involved, but we don't know how much yet. We've got a meeting set up with him tonight."

"Good," Mike said, "Karen and I are driving back into town. We'll catch up with Nick and Marcus and plan on what to do next."

"Any word on Corrie?" Chris asked him.

"She's alive," Mike said, "Other than that I don't know."

"Nothing we can do anyway I guess," Chris sighed, "Ok. Mason and I are going to go grab some dinner before we go see Spike."

"Karen and I will probably stop too. I haven't eaten much today," Mike agreed, "Later Chris."

Chris muttered a farewell and turned off the phone. Elise turned off the speaker and looked at Jay Creighton. He was surprised by this, but did not have the presence of mind to question it. Elise smiled wickedly, as she knew her goal was at hand, if only should get to Chavis before the cops did.

"Get dressed," Elise said, her strength coming back with the knowledge, "We've got work to do."

Jay looked at her for a second and then nodded, looking for clothes that were strewn around the room. Elise got dressed herself, in her usual black jumpsuit, pulled tightly with a belt. She was not concerned about looks anymore. It was time to go have some more fun.

***

"That's the last of them," Jake Sanders said dejectedly, "If this corpse was fingerprinted, then it isn't in any database I have access to. Two hours of searching and still nothing."

"Did you have any better luck, Jim?" Marcus asked the man who hadn't left the counter in two hours.

"The tissue is from a woman, probably in her mid to late 20's at death," Jim said, "She's been dead for about ten years, give or take eighteen months. I've also got DNA samples clean enough to run through a database. If this county keeps up with the tissue samples like it's supposed to then we might hit a match."

"We do," Jake said, "Let's run the samples."

"One thing," Jim said as he handed the petri dish over to Sanders, "Did you run the finger through the main indices or only the lists of the dead?"

"It's a finger," Jake shrugged, "I ran it through the death indexes for every state."

"Try running it through the state and federal employee index," Jim suggested.

"Why?" Nick asked, "Do you know something we don't?"

"Just a hunch," Jim said, "But the tissue on that finger is only a few years dead. I don't think Elise stayed in the dark for ten years by choice, so the assumption was that she was held somewhere. She may not have killed the man it belonged to, or that man simply hasn't been found yet."

"You're thinking it might have been one of the guards," Marcus said, "Gotta admit it makes sense."

"All right," Jake said, "Let's run it. The government employee index is small. Should run within ten minutes."

Jake started the computer, and everyone watched in silence as it clicked away. Sanders had underestimated the time however, because two minutes and thirty-six seconds later it had a match.

"Son of a bitch," Sanders said, "Good call, Entragian."

"Lucky," Jim grinned, "Who have we got here?"

"A prison guard," Sanders said, "Name is Emmett Wooten. He's alive all right, though I'm wagering he's missing a chunk of his left hand."

"Great," Nick said, "Got an address?"

"He's local," Jim said as he finished hacking into the state employee's retirement database, "Retired after an unspecified work accident back in '06. Draws a pension and lives here in town."

"Let's go," Nick said, ready for any action at all.

"Hold on," Marcus said, "What about the other corpse?"

"Let me run the samples," Jake said, "I'll start with this county for the past decade. If that does not pull a match I'll run it across the state and federal tissue banks. That'll take time."

"How long for the county bank?" Jim asked, "I don't know what equipment you have here."

"Eliminating the men and anyone that isn't Caucasian should speed it up," Sanders said as he thought, "Five minutes?"

"Run it," Marcus said, "Wooten isn't that high a priority."

Jake started the tests when Nick's cell phone began ringing. Marcus and Jim looked at him and Nick looked at the call indicator on the phone. Seeing that it was the hospital calling he answered quickly, pacing around as he talked quietly. A relieved smile came over his face when he ended the conversation and put the phone in his pocket.

"Corrie is out of surgery," Nick said, "They're keeping her in ICU now. They're giving her a good prognosis, but she's not out of the woods yet."

"If you want to go be with her Jim and I can run down Wooten," Marcus offered.

"They told me that she wouldn't be able to have visitors until tomorrow at least," Nick said, "Dr. Doran just wanted to give me an update. I'll be all right. Let's see if we can nail this bitch before she kills anyone else."

"Score!" Jake Sanders exclaimed as the database hit a match, "I have identification on the corpse."

"Who was she?" Marcus asked.

"A cop killed back at the end of 2000," Sanders said, reading the info, "Case was pled out after one of the suspects was killed."

"Shit," Nick said, "What was her name?"

"You familiar with this case?" Marcus asked.

"The name," Nick said again, more urgently, "I need to know the name."

"Tracy..." Jake said and then was interrupted by Nick.

"Howard," Nick said, "Holy fucking shit!"

"You knew her?" Jim asked.

"I didn't get a chance to meet her," Nick said, "Howard Bronson and John Stockton kidnapped her before I got a chance to. She was the reason Mike and I went vigilante back at the end of 2000."

"Damn," Marcus said, "How the hell did Elise get her hand?"

"Probably grave robbing," Jake said, "The hand was embalmed with the rest of her. In this climate most likely it would have survived."

"I take it that Mike had a thing for her," Jim said softly.

"He was in love with her," Nick said, "Probably more than with anyone else he's ever known."

"Elise would have read the reports," Marcus said, "She would have known about her death and probably about the events that brought it about."

"Most likely," Nick agreed, "She's probably the biggest thing that made Mike decide to toss old Howie over the edge."

"I'd say that she did it mainly to throw Mike off balance," Jim said, "Just like the picture."

"Probably," Marcus agreed.

"Let's go talk to Wooten," Nick said, "Maybe he can shed some light over how Elise ended up where she is now."

"Should we tell Mike about Tracy?" Marcus asked Nick.

"No," Nick said, "No need to cloud the issue more. We already have enough of that now."

"Let's go," Jim said.

"Thanks," Marcus said to Jake, "Good luck on the rest of it."

"We'll need it," Sanders muttered, "A.J. is already up to his ears in corpses. I guess I'd better go join him."

Nick, Marcus and Jim nodded and departed the morgue, leaving the corpses to the professionals.

***

Elise Steele did not even use much subterfuge when she approached Spike Chavis' apartment building. It was one of the last buildings in the city without a real security system, which is why he kept the place so long. He worked under such strict security he did not like dealing with it at home. It was a mistake he was about to pay for.

She approached the apartment number that she had managed to get out of the computer systems and pulled out her pistol. She fired three silenced shots into the door lock, knowing that she no longer had the strength to actually kick it open like she used to. She pushed the door open and walked in, looking for Spike Chavis.

Chavis was sitting in the bedroom when she walked in. He did not look surprised at her entrance, merely poured himself another hit of Stoli and downed it all in one gulp. He was also smoking a cigarette and smiling in an odd manner.

"I knew as soon as Chris Gabriel walked in to my office today and told me that you were alive that I'd get a visit from you," Chavis said as he sat back on the bed and puffed on a cigarette, "They don't get what you're doing yet."

"What do you think I'm doing, Chavis?" Elise asked, curious as to what the fed was thinking.

"You're using them to birddog us," Chavis shrugged, "It's clear as day when you're not so close."

"Very bright man," Elise said and aimed the weapon at him, "Now I will give you a choice. Tell me about the others and I'll kill you quickly. Fuck with me and you'll die slow, and all they will find is a pile of parts."

"I don't think so," Chavis said, "I don't think you're ready for this."

"I think you'd better start talking," Elise said.

Chavis downed the last of his alcohol and dropped the glass. This distracted Elise just enough to allow Spike to reach under the magazine and pull out a colt automatic pistol, which he fired at Elise, managing to hit her in the right shoulder. She yelped and lost her grip on the weapon.

"You lose," Chavis said, "We should have killed you nine years ago."

"I don't think so," Jay Creighton rasped, pointing his pistol at Chavis's head and taking his weapon.

Jay Creighton had followed Elise inside and went around the bathroom. He still had the pistol Elise had given him in the hospital and was touching the end of the silencer to Chavis' temple. Elise smiled, despite the sheer amount of pain coming from her shoulder and stooped down to pick up her pistol. She stemmed the bleeding as best she could and then walked over to the federal agent.

"You lose," Elise smiled and punched the federal agent in the face with her uninjured arm, "Now we do it the hard way."

Elise spent ten long minutes pulling the information she wanted out of the federal agent, finally ending the session with two quick shots to the forehead. They left quickly and drove away before anyone could get there to figure out what the screaming was all about.

"You hurt bad?" Jay asked her when she parked in an alley, a couple miles from Chavis's apartment.

"It's a nasty shoulder wound," Elise said as she probed it, "It'll hurt me for a while, but I'll live for now. We are almost there, Jay. After that it won't matter. We can rest."

Jay didn't even ask what the goal was. He did not care, just so long as she let him come along for the ride. Being near her was the only thing left that he cared about. He would do anything for that woman, no matter who got hurt. Elise was using it to her advantage, knowing that if she couldn't make it to the end that he might be able to finish it for her. She sincerely hoped that it would not become necessary.
Chapter Forty-Four – 'The Conspiracy'

Chris Gabriel and Mason Stone pulled in to the parking lot of Chavis' apartment building at the same time as the black and white unit that had been called to the scene to investigate the reports of screaming and gunshots. Lonnie Delvecchio and Barry Rockwell looked at the other men that they recognized from the Sivetson crime scene.

"What are you two doing here?" Rockwell asked.

"We're supposed to be meeting someone," Gabriel replied, getting a sick feeling in his stomach, "Why are you here?"

"Reports of screaming and gunshots," Rockwell told him, "Third floor."

"Shit!" Stone said, "You don't think?"

"She got here before we did," Chris confirmed.

"What?" Rockwell asked.

"You and your partner go seal the doors," Mason ordered, taking charge, "We'll go up and check the apartment."

"I don't know if we should..." Lonnie said.

"I speak for Miller," Chris said, "Mason is right. If it is what we think it is, better to let Mason face it off. I guarantee you he's better at it than you are."

"Let them go," Barry said, "It's sleeping beauty isn't it?"

"Could be," Chris admitted, "You take the lead, Mason?"

"Yes," Mason nodded, "I'm in better shape. Can you handle the stairs?"

"Enough to cover your back," Chris nodded, "Do you have an extra radio, Barry?"

"Sure," Barry said, "Give him the spare, Lonnie."

Lonnie looked at his partner for a second and nodded, pulling the spare clip radio and handing it to Chris Gabriel. He put the radio in his pocket and clipped the microphone to his collar.

"Let's go, Mason," Chris said, "Barry, take the back. I don't think they are still here, but I want coverage just in case."

"Right," Rockwell nodded, "Any special instructions?"

"If they come out, shoot them," Mason said as he walked towards the door.

"Right," Rockwell grinned, "I'll take that under advisement."

Mason went to the front door and pushed it open. They found the stairs quickly and went directly for the third floor. Neither one really doubted that the reports were about Chavis' apartment. Their suspicions were confirmed when they saw the shattered door locks.

"Elise has been here," Mason said, "I'm going in."

"They're gone," Chris said, "They wouldn't have stayed very long in this location."

"I know it," Mason said and pushed the door open with the barrel of his .45 automatic.

The two men walked in and found the place a mess. Spike Chavis, or more precisely what was left of him, was lying in a pool of his own blood in his bed. He had been tortured, but not excessively. There had not been time for a thorough job. He had died hard though and there was no doubting that the information he had possessed died with him.

"Call Miller," Mason suggested, "We're back to square one."

Chris merely nodded and pulled out his cell phone. He sighed as he punched in the number. It seems that Elise had gotten the better of them again.

***

Elise Steele was behind the wheel of yet another stolen car. Her shoulder made driving difficult, but it was still safer than letting Creighton drive. The information she had extracted from Spike Chavis was good and she wanted to act on it while she still could.

"Are you ready to help me some more, Jay?" Elise asked him, wondering how far she could push him over the edge, "We still have some scores to settle."

Jay merely nodded and smiled a little. He was sipping on a milkshake that she had bought him to make sure that he got a little bit of energy in him. Now that she was injured she would need him a little more.

"Go into my case in the back seat," Elise told him, "There's an equalizer in the back pocket."

Creighton did as he was told, pulling out a large pistol. The .44 Automag was one of the strongest handguns on the market, one that he had never actually seen up close, only heard at the firing range.

"Do you know how to fire it?" Elise asked him, receiving merely a nod.

He checked out the weapon and figured out the safety and firing mechanisms, not a small feat considering how many drugs she kept feeding him. She was frankly amazed that he was still operational. Now it was time to see just how much under her control he remained.

"We're going over to the super center," Elise said as she drove, "It seems that one of our targets is playing Santa Claus as we speak."

"In public?" Jay asked, surprised.

"Hit and Get," Elise told him, "We'll get out of there and ditch this car. I want to get this one while we know where he is."

Jay nodded and cocked the weapon. He knew that he was going to pull the trigger. The fact that there would be another person at the receiving end of it didn't even register to him anymore. She was quickly turning him into a drug-addled version of herself. Elise just hoped he could shoot straight.

They rolled in to the super center and saw their target ringing a bell in that stupid Santa suit, although it was several months too early. Elise rolled in to the parking lot and drove up to the curb, a few feet in front of the Santa Claus.

Richard Blackstock, a thirty-year veteran of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, was playing Santa for his four hours a night, just as he did this time every year. He noticed the gray Ford and its two very strange occupants, but did not recognize the danger in time.

"The guy in the Santa suit is Richard Blackstock," Elise told Jay, "He's part of the reason I'm as sick as I am. I want him to die before I do. Care to take care of him?"

Jay nodded and stepped out of the car. Blackstock looked at him and recognized him from the photos on television. There was no real time for him to react, however, because Jay had the .44 automag pointed at his chest. Jay smiled blankly as his empty eyes bored in to the man in the Santa suit.

"Bye bye, Santa!" Elise yelled from the car, sitting back and enjoying the show.

The crowd took notice as the strange looking man pulled the trigger, and the loud blasts from the large weapon shook the parking lot. Most of them ran screaming as Richard Blackstock's body was pushed back against the blue wall behind him. He was dead before he hit the ground.

A security guard, probably older than the town itself, tried to stop Creighton and received two additional bullets in the chest as Jay retreated to the car. Elise waited for him to get inside, but just barely. She floored it as he was closing the door and hit two of the running people who couldn't get out of the way at the time.

"Very nice," Elise smiled as she floored the getaway.

She could hear the sirens approaching, so she got off the main streets straight away. She found a parking garage and drove into it, breaking the automated gate and parking just inside.

"Let's go," Elise ordered Creighton who dutifully followed like a dog.

Elise put the Automag in her case and closed it tight. The two of them walked over to a guy who was bent over the trunk of his car. She pulled out the silenced pistol, and using her left hand crept up behind him and double tapped him in the head. Creighton helped her push the body into the trunk, and they got into the car, driving away quietly as the police still rushed around looking for the Santa Claus shooters.

***

Mike Miller and Karen Stone were the last two to make it to the Chavis apartment. They rushed up the stairs and found the rest of the team standing around looking at the mess Elise had left behind. Mike was livid when he saw this.

"What the hell is going on here?" Mike asked them, "How did she find out about him?"

"I wish I knew," Chris said, "We stopped to get some dinner and then came over. Rockwell and Delvecchio were pulling up when we were. We found what you're seeing here."

"There only one thing I don't get," Mason said as he walked around the room, "Is where the hell the blood stain here on the wall came from."

"The initial report claimed there was a gunshot," Chris said, "Maybe Chavis scored with one of them?"

"I don't think it could be good enough," Mike growled, "She's not dead yet."

"If Chavis scored why didn't he kill her?" Nick asked, "I would have."

"Creighton," Chris said, "What do you want to bet he's actively helping her now?"

"Score one for our side then," Mike grumbled, "He's just incompetent enough to fuck her over."

"I wouldn't count on that," Chris said sourly.

"Ok," Mike said, "We've got to have another leak. There's no other way she could have found out so quick."

"Who?" Nick said, "Think about that for a minute, Mike? Who's left? Those of us in this room?"

"Hell," Marcus said, "Not even all of us, really. Nick and I didn't even know about Chavis until we got the call from Chris."

"You were with me the whole time," Karen said, "I highly doubt Mason or Chris tipped off the woman."

"There is another possibility," Jim said.

"What's that?" Mike asked him, "I'm up for any possibilities. This has to stop."

"Did you mention Chavis on the phone?" Jim asked them.

"Not that I can..." Mike said and then remembered, "Shit. When you called right before we stopped for dinner!"

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "Probably."

"You think Elise is tapping our phones?" Nick asked, "How the hell could she be getting away with that?"

"Tapping a phone is easy nowadays," Mason said, "All you need is the right piece of equipment. You don't even need a hard line tap, just need to switch into the telephone company routers."

"They make tapping devices called Stingrays," Jim added, "I've used them before. It works over the wireless networks and can even spoof them to do a pass through. About the size of a portable stereo, it can keep track of up to five different telephones, record the conversations and let her listen live if she wants to."

"Do they leave any traces?" Mike asked him.

"Sure," Jim nodded, "It'll be all over the raw records for the line."

"Go down and hack in to find out," Mason instructed him, "No need to wonder."

Jim nodded and went down to the van to find out the information. Mike looked around to everyone in the room, all of whom were rather sullen at the moment. Miller knew that no one there had betrayed them to Elise.

"Do any of you doubt that he's right?" Mike asked them.

"I doubt Jim's judgment often," Mason said, "But I don't second guess him on technical issues."

"It makes sense," Marcus admitted.

"It also answers some other questions as well," Nick said, "Remember what happened with the Sivetson scene? Anyone want to bet the bullets from our tires match the ones from other crime scenes that we know Elise was involved in?"

"No bet," Mike grumbled, "So if that's the case, what do we do next?"

"Well," Karen said, "If she went after Chavis I think we have an indication of what she's looking for."

"What?" Mike asked him, "I thought she wanted exposure."

"Maybe not," Karen shrugged, "Especially not if Stockton was right."

"What did Stockton say?" Nick asked, "I didn't think he'd have much."

"We know what her real name is," Mike said, "Other than that I didn't think he gave us that much."

"Remember what he said at the end," Karen reminded Mike, "About her appearance?"

"What about her appearance?" Chris asked them.

"Stockton said that she had lost a lot of weight," Mike said, "That she was probably very sick. I still think she would have lost it in jail."

"People like her don't lose weight in jail," Chris said, "They tend to gain it. Starchy food and very little exercise. Especially people kept in lockdown."

"You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you Chris?" Karen said.

Chris nodded, "Yeah. If she's ill that would explain why she's gone on a public course. She wants to take down the world before it takes her the rest of the way."

"Not to mention taking down the people who put her away," Karen said, "She was using you."

"How do you mean?" Nick demanded, "Using us?"

"Hook, line and sinker," Mike said as he realized what happened, "Bait and switch."

"I don't get it," Nick said.

"Me either," Marcus agreed, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She's got the right personality type to go public," Chris said, "But if she's sick somehow that may explain why she's striking now."

"She also is using us to bird dog the feds," Mike said, "Chavis pretty well confirmed that something shady is going on there. She's trying to find them as well as torment us."

"Exactly," Karen nodded, "She created a public stink, enough to get you on the ball and working. She knew that you would find out who she was eventually. She was keeping watch and knew exactly where you were in the investigation. She must have cultivated Jay Creighton for months before she started."

"Jesus," Nick said, "She didn't go to the station for the picture. She did it to get our phone list!"

"She's played us like a fiddle," Marcus agreed, "Giving us clues and pushed us in the right direction. We led her right to Chavis."

"Any bets on whether she got the rest of them out of him?" Mike asked the room.

There were none. There was silence until Jim Entragian came back in to the room and tossed down a couple papers.

"She's been tapping your phones since before the DiTonno killings," Jim said, "It's a registered unit too, probably one from the phone company that they sign out to the feds when they get a warrant."

"Figures," Mike said, "Great. So what the hell do we do now? She's ahead of us again and she's about to get what she wants."

"Not entirely," Chris said, "There's another facet to this. She chose a really public way to do this."

"Which means we can't keep it quiet much longer," Nick said, "I'm amazed we've kept it quiet this long. The press has been busting a nut trying to get a lead on this."

"She's ahead," Chris said, "But she hasn't won yet. We still hold a few cards."

"I'd like to know what," Mike said, "She murdered our last lead."

"Not exactly," Nick smiled, "We found another one. A guard that she injured a couple years ago."

"Is he still alive?" Chris asked.

"As far as we know," Nick said.

"Go talk to him," Mike said, "I'll stay here and deal with this mess."

"What do we say if asked?" Nick asked.

"Elise Steele doesn't exist," Mike said, "I'm not going to fan the flames. She will not be recognized officially unless I have no choice."

"Who's going?" Nick asked.

"I've got to go see the kids," Marcus said, "I'll bow out for now."

"Karen," Mason said, "Can you go with Nick to see Wooten? I want to take Jim and see if we can figure out a little trap for her."

"You got it," Karen nodded.

"Lieutenant Miller?" Lonnie Delvecchio said as he poked his head into the room, "There are some reports on the radio that you'd probably want to hear about."

"What is it?" Miller asked him.

"Shooting at the supercenter," Lonnie said, "They took down an off duty fed by the name of Blackstock while he was ringing the bell as Santa."

"About time some good news came in," Nick mumbled.

"Why do I need to hear it?" Mike asked him, "I've got enough to worry about as it is."

"They identified the shooter as Randall Jay Creighton," Delvecchio said, "Security cameras got a good shot of him as well."

"Shit," Mike said, "Want to bet that Blackstock was one of the conspirators?"

"No bet," Chris said, "Let's get moving then. Karen, Nick and I will go see Wooten. Mason and Jim can go do whatever the hell is it that they do."

"I'll take care of clean up for now," Mike said, "No more communication by cell phone for the duration."

"I can deactivate the device if you like," Jim said.

"Not yet," Mason told him, "We may be able to turn that into an advantage."

"Exactly," Mike said, "I'll work from the police net and probably go pick up a second cell. Jim, was Chris's cell affected?"

"No," Jim said, "Yours, Nick's and Marcus's. There were also tags on Colby Chandler and Jay Creighton's service phones. Evidently she had never gotten around to tapping ours or Corrie's."

"I still have Corrie's phone," Nick said, "Use that to get a hold of us."

"Get moving," Mike said, "We still have half a chance to get her. We need to do it before she kills anyone else."

"Too late," Delvecchio said, "Another report over the network. Man and a woman killed a federal officer while he was mowing the lawn about five minutes ago. Hit and get job. Woman was giving the orders and favoring her right arm. Man fits Jay Creighton's description."

"Get to Wooten!" Mike said, "Quickly!"

They did not waste any time in arguing. It appeared that they were running out of time. Miller looked at the carnage as everyone else left. He knew it would be a long night.

***

Special Agent Ronny Quade looked at the other two men in the room with great worry. In the last ninety minutes three of their friends had been brutally murdered in public. There was little doubt for any of the three men who was responsible for it. As soon as they had checked on the status of the prisoners and found that Elise Steele was missing they knew she was behind it.

"How the hell did she find them?" former agent Tony Currey asked Quade.

"Fuck that!" Harland "Harlie" Broaddus exclaimed, "I want to know who the damned fool was that let her out! We buried that bitch in the federal penitentiary for a reason!"

"She escaped with the Yarborough seven," Quade explained, "The prison had no legal record of her so they didn't release that it was actually eight."

"Christ," Currey said, "I can't believe this. What the hell do we do now?"

"Hide," Broaddus said simply, "She'll burn out eventually."

"The warden up there said that Elise was sick," Quade said, "Cancer, really bad. The pictures the police have support that. She's starting to look worse."

"Have the cops identified her?" Currey asked.

"Not publicly," Broaddus said, "I just talked to someone downtown. They couldn't identify the girl. Just that rogue cop with her, Creighton."

"Mike Miller is probably clamping down on it," Quade shrugged, "He was neck deep involved in the syndicate. If he didn't recognize her from the pictures then he's an idiot."

"What the hell did you get me involved in, Harlie?" Curry asked his former partner.

"How was I to know that they'd let the psychotic bitch out!" Broaddus asked testily, "We got a bunch of major league lunatics off the streets. We did nothing wrong."

"Let's hope that the cops lock down on her quick," Ronny Quade said as he pulled out a .45 automatic pistol and pulled back the slide, "And hope they never figure out where she came from. We may not think we did anything wrong, but the law says differently. I have no real urge to spend my retirement in jail along with the people we put away."

They all nodded in agreement, sighing at the predicament that their long ago illegal acts had gotten them in to.
Chapter Forty-Five – 'Wooten'

Emmett Wooten sat on an old plastic covered recliner on his dilapidated porch smoking a cigar as Chris Gabriel parked his borrowed unmarked cruiser in the mud-filled line that served as his driveway. The house looked as though it had not seen paint since the early 1950s and was only slightly less the worse for wear than its owner.

Nick lit a cigarette as he stepped out of the car and looked over the place. He liked it so far, but he had an affinity for run down locations. It reminded him of his childhood.

Wooten looked over the newcomers carefully as they approached and saw the car for the unmarked cruiser it was. He decided not to raise the shotgun that was lying cleaned and fully loaded next to him. He had been listening to the details of the killing spree on the radio. It did not surprise him that he was getting a visit from the police. He had been expecting it ever since one of his buddies still on staff at the prison tipped him to the fact that Elise Steele had escaped.

"Mr. Wooten?" Chris asked as he approached.

"I haven't been Mr. Wooten since I retired from the prison," Wooten scoffed, "Name's Emmett. Who are you?"

Chris smiled and noticed the missing pinky finger on Wooten's right hand, confirming that they had the right man. Wooten looked Gabriel over and knew right away that he either was or had been a fed. Despite the rough outside Emmett Wooten was a shrewd judge of character. You had to be to survive 35 years as a guard at a hardcore federal institution, 20 of those years working with the worst of the worst.

"Name's Gabriel," Chris said as he approached, "We're working on the murder investigations in the city."

"I figured as much," Wooten said, "I knew someone would be showing up here once I saw Elise's picture in the paper."

"If you knew who she was why didn't you come to us?" Nick asked him, the pain showing in his voice.

Wooten looked Nick over and knew that he was a city cop. The younger man just did not have the sophistication to have been any higher than that.

"It wasn't my place to come to you, son," Wooten shrugged as he blew out a line of smoke, "In fact, my pension is at risk just talking to you boys."

"How much of the story do you know?" Karen asked him, speaking for the first time, "There's some of it that we put together ten years ago, but we're missing a few parts."

Karen actually managed to impress the wily old guard. He could see the intelligence in her eyes. He also knew instinctively that she was neither a cop nor a fed.

"I know more than I probably have any right to," Wooten said, his twang failing to hide the intelligence in his voice, "Tell me what you know and I'll try to fill in the holes."

"The last thing we know for sure is that Elise Steele left city custody November 1st, 2000," Chris said, "We know that a woman from the undercover division contacted Russell Chavis in order to set up the exchange. Elise was turned over to the feds at that time and hadn't been seen since until she showed up back in the city as Sleeping Beauty."

"You're closer than you know," Wooten said with a laugh and a wheeze, "There's one thing you're leaving out. How did you find me before Elise did?"

"You have Elise to thank for that," Nick said, "She decided to return your missing finger."

"So that bitch did manage to hold on to that, eh?" Wooten chuckled, "Figures. That day was a bitch."

"What happened?" Karen asked, "I'm sure that if you spent any time with her you knew what she was like."

"Of course I did," Wooten nodded, "And unlike some of my co-workers I chose not to tempt fate most of the time."

"What do you mean by that?" Karen asked, hushing Nick as he started to get impatient.

"Elise was the only female prisoner we had," Wooten said, "Some of my less inhibited co-workers started giving her privileges in return for sexual favors."

"And they survived?" Nick asked, surprised by this.

"It wasn't the brightest thing that they ever did," Wooten agreed, "I didn't find out about it for a long time and tried to put a stop to it when I did. That's how I lost the finger. I found one of my guards in the cell with her. I went in there to tear him off."

"Bad move," Karen suspected.

"You got it," Wooten nodded, "She attacked the both of us at that point. Killed Joey and tore me up pretty good. She had even managed to take my finger. We never found the damned thing. Guess she managed to keep it somehow."

"It's in the morgue if you want it," Nick said, "Though I doubt it's good for much anymore."

"I get along just fine without it," Wooten said.

"So how did she end up with you anyway?" Karen asked.

"You really want me to lose my pension don't you?" Wooten asked them.

"I'd be worried about losing more than that," Chris suggested, "She's killing anyone involved with the conspiracy now. You have to see that."

"I guess I do," Wooten nodded, "All right. It started out rather innocently. A few federal agents wanted to get some major league undesirables off the streets..."

Wooten spent the next twenty minutes explaining the scheme to them. It was simple really. Low profile, high-risk lunatics were simply lost into the prison system. A few rogue agents as well as some accomplices in the prisons made this happen. Emmett Wooten knew the players simply because they visited said prisoners often, mainly to extract information out of them, which was the reason they were not disposed of in a more permanent manner.

"That was all there was to it?" Karen asked, "No lawyers, no judges, no juries? You just locked up these people?"

"Scum," Wooten corrected, "And I didn't have a thing to do with it. I only puzzled this together years after they stopped it. The warden pushed me in to working with them only because I knew how bad they were. I let it lie because they were right. The world is better off without these people."

"How many are left in custody?" Chris asked the former guard.

"Two that I know of," Wooten said, "I have a feeling they won't last long now that Elise is about to become known. They'll probably want them out of the picture."

"Who's left out of the feds involved?" Nick asked, "They are probably Elise's next targets."

"Unless Elise has struck again while I was talking to you there's only Tony Currey, Harlie Broaddus and Ronny Quade left," Wooten shrugged.

"What positions did they hold?" Karen asked.

"Ronny Quade was the ring leader," Wooten said, "Was FBI station chief in this area for fifteen years until they pushed him into retiring about four years ago. Tony and Harlie were always coming up to talk to Elise to pull information about the syndicates out of her. Those visits stopped after the last of the trials ended, though. I heard that Tony left and is now a teacher of some sort. Harlie is probably still trudging through the bureau."

"Know where to find them?" Chris asked hopefully.

"They still live in the city last I knew," Wooten said, "I'm not exactly on their Christmas Card list, but they're probably holed up somewhere. The Most likely place is Harlie's cabin out on the lake. Easiest place to defend."

"Thank you for talking to us," Karen said and offered her hand, which was shaken by the tobacco stained one of Wooten's.

"Just be sure to remember that I didn't say a word," Wooten said, "If you ever try to bring this to trial I'll deny I said a word of it."

"Somehow I doubt it will get that far," Nick said, the anger evident in his voice, "Elise will die before she stands trial."

"Be careful son," Wooten said as he saw that look in Nick's eye, "That anger may keep you warm, but it will burn you up if you don't learn to control it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Nick said and headed over towards the car.

"Keep an eye on him," Wooten suggested, "He will not hesitate if he gets a chance to shoot her."

"As much damage as she did to you," Chris said, "And you can still manage to care if he shoots her?"

"I could care less about that," Wooten shrugged, "The bitch can rot in hell as far as I'm concerned. I'm more worried about what it will do to him. He may never recover if he goes that far."

"Will any of us recover after this?" Chris asked him.

Wooten merely shrugged and lit up another one of his cheap cigars. Chris and Karen said their goodbyes and joined Nick in the car again. Just as they were settling in the cell phone in Nick's pocket went off. He pulled out Corrie's beaten up cell phone and pressed the answer button.

"Jones here," Nick said.

"Its Mason Stone," Mason said, "The line is clean. Jim is keeping it clean."

"What's up, Mason?" Nick asked him.

"Did you get anything good out of Wooten?" Mason asked first off.

"A lowdown on the whole mess," Nick confirmed, "What's the next step?"

"Jim and I have a plan," Mason said, "I need any names you got though to find out if it's feasible."

"Sure," Nick said and then read off the names, "We might want to put a black and white on Wooten as well."

"No need," Mason said, "I have a feeling that she won't get back to him."

"Where do we meet?" Nick asked him.

"King's Arms apartments," Mason said, "Apartment 102. No reporters or anything else to get in the way. Mike will be here when you make it back."

"Right," Nick said, "We're on our way."

"Let me guess," Karen said, "Mason has a plan."

"Should we be scared?" Nick asked.

"Not if it works," Chris grinned, "Unless his average has gotten worse over the years."

"We'll see," Karen said, "Let's go find out."

Nick nodded and shifted the car into drive. Emmett Wooten cocked his shotgun and got himself ready with another shot of whiskey in case Elise decided to pay him a visit.
Chapter Forty-Six – 'The Trap'

Elise Steele aimlessly drove around listening to the police scanners. She had given Jay Creighton another hit of morphine and he was sleeping peacefully in the back, giving her a needed respite from his presence.

Her arm was throbbing from the earlier gunshot, and pain was something she was finding it more and more difficult to overcome. Her chest was throbbing as well. She knew that her cancer was getting towards the final stages. She had hoped to finish off her task tonight, but it was looking more and more like the others were holing up somewhere.

She went through the motions of lighting another cigarette, despite the fact that she knew she could no longer hold the smoke in her lungs. It was a gesture of defiance, more than anything else. She hated the fact that she could not control something that was happening to her body. Control had been a fact of life for her for most of the forty years she had lived.

Elise Steele knew the end was coming soon for her. She had recently seen her fortieth birthday pass by. She knew from the way she felt that there was no way, even if she had calmed down and let the doctors work on her, that she would see her forty-first. She was nearly ready to go, but she intended to go out with a bang, not a whimper.

"It's almost over," Elise told herself as she coughed, "I just have to make it a bit longer."

***

"Have you heard from Mason?" Mike asked Chris as they drove along the highway, "He's the one who put this plan in motion."

"Not a peep," Chris said, "He took Karen and Jim an hour ago and said he had some things to work out. Told me to go ahead and put the plan in motion without him."

"Are Nick and Marcus in place?" Mike asked him.

"They should be pulling up outside Quade's country home in a few minutes," Chris nodded, "How far away do we need to be when we make the call?"

"Jim said that we need to be at least six miles away," Mike said, "We put Nick's cell in the police station. Jim changed the routing in the phone company's system to send any calls to Corrie's phone but to show the locator for his. As far as the indicators on Elise's box will read, you and I will be moving from cell to cell and Nick will still be in the Station house."

"You think she'll take the bait?" Chris asked.

"You're the expert," Mike shrugged, "You tell me."

"Probably," Chris said, "It depends on how desperate she is. The way she's rushing things along she's probably ready to end it."

"Let's hope so," Mike said as he continued to drive, "We're running out of options."

***

Nick Jones dropped his cigarette on the ground and waited for Marcus to park the car behind some trees. He patted the weight of his shoulder holster idly as he waited. He was hoping that he would get the chance to use it to make sure that Elise Steele could no longer hurt anyone else.

Marcus walked out and sighed. He felt like he was getting too old for this type of operation, but he was in it too far, just like the rest of them. He looked at Nick and Nick nodded. They walked towards the cabin that was sitting secluded in a clearing, about two miles from town.

"Think Wooten was right?" Marcus asked Nick.

"Probably," Nick shrugged, "The one in the window pretty closely matches the description of Harlie Broaddus."

Inside the cabin the unholy trio was sitting around the kitchen table in the cabin. They were in war mode. Another federal agent had died; one only peripherally connected to the conspiracy. They were petrified now.

"Think she will find us here?" Tony Currey asked, his voice still quivering.

"Eventually," Quade said, "That's why we're out here. We can dispose of the bitch quietly. Then things go back to normal."

"So we're going to become killers now?" Currey asked them.

"We should have done it years ago," Broaddus shrugged, "No big deal."

"No big deal?" Currey exclaimed, "Like hell! We are supposed to protect people! We aren't supposed to kill them!"

"So you're going to let her come up and kill you?" Quade snapped, "Get over it. She's a murderer. According to Jack up at the prison she'll be dead soon anyway. We're just going to hasten the process."

Nick kept looking in the window from outside when the phone started vibrating in his pocket. He walked back into the woods and pulled out the small cell phone and pulled the antenna with his teeth before pressing the talk button.

"Jones," he said, knowing damned well who it was.

"We're still running down some stuff on east side," Mike said, just like planned earlier, "Have you run down those names yet?"

"Sure," Nick said, "Let me go over to the computer and pull it up again."

Nick paused a few seconds and then pulled out a piece of paper that he had written down the names on.

"I've got locations and the patrolmen say they're negative," Nick said, "But a neighbor came through for Marcus. Quade is heading out to his friend Harland Broaddus' cabin."

"Good," Mike said, taking this to mean that Nick had confirmed their presence, "I'll head out that way in a bit. Give me the address."

"I have some paperwork to finish," Nick tossed off before giving the address to Mike, "Marcus is coming to pick me up and we'll head out that way. We'll meet you there."

"Roger," Mike said and rang off the line.

"Ready?" Marcus asked Nick.

"Let's hope Elise was listening," Nick grinned, "Think it's time to clue in the targets?"

"Might not be a bad idea," Marcus nodded, "It's about to get a little hairy around here."

Nick slid the phone into his pocket and smirked as they walked towards the cabin.

***

Elise Steele smiled after the phone call. She now had a location on the remaining three involved with putting her away in that hellhole. She checked the location finders on the cell phones and noted that she could get there long before they did. She smiled and pulled Creighton's leg to get him to wake up.

"Wake up, Jay," Elise said, "It's time to finish this up."

"What?" Jay said, still drowsy from the dose of the drug she gave him earlier.

"I know where the last of the ones who hurt me are," Elise told him, "Then we get to have your revenge."

"Miller?" Jay asked.

"You got it," Elise said with a smile, "You and I will find him and take him apart piece by piece. I promise you that one."

Jay smiled at that and sat back. Revenge would be his, or so he thought. What Jay did not know was that Elise fully planned on killing him too once this was done. She just wanted him around to use as aid until then.

Elise did a u-turn around and started breaking speed laws to ensure that she would get out to the place first. Creighton merely held on and watched the world pass by, not knowing what was in store but letting the mixed feelings of love, hate and revenge sustain his drugged and damaged mind.

***

Nick Jones walked up to the door of the cabin and knocked hard. Marcus had his weapon out and ready while he stayed in the trees. Harlie Broaddus opened the door cautiously, his hidden hand holding a Colt .45 pistol.

"Who are you?" Broaddus asked Nick.

"I'm Detective Jones from the police department," Nick said, "I need to talk to you, Quade and Currey. I'm assuming all three of you are here?"

Broaddus was shook by this but not trusting Nick either. He looked inside at Quade, who had heard the exchange. Quade shrugged and let Broaddus make the call.

"Do you have any ID?" Broaddus asked him.

Nick showed his official ID and looked Harland Broaddus square in the eyes.

"What do you want?" Broaddus asked, though he really did not need to.

"Let's cut the shit," Nick said, "If you really need me to answer that question then you're dumber than you look."

"Let him in," Ronny Quade said, knowing that they could do little else.

Broaddus let the door swing open and Nick walked in. Marcus sat down by a tree and watched through the picture window as Nick stood among the federal conspirators. He had a bad feeling about this, but he knew that it was the only chance they had left to stop Elise before she killed anyone else.

"How did you find us?" Quade asked Nick.

"Does it matter now?" Nick asked him, "The question is what you are going to do now."

"What do you mean?" Currey said.

"She's killed four of you already today," Nick said, "She's looking for a clean sweep."

"If she finds us here we'll take care of it," Quade said.

"You mean you'll finish the job you started nine years ago," Nick said.

"So you've put that much together, huh?" Broaddus said.

"How could we not?" Nick asked him, "It doesn't matter at this point though. I estimate you have probably about five to ten minutes before she shows up here."

"Say what?" Tony Currey said, the blood draining from his face.

"Start making sense Jones," Ronny Quade said quickly.

"You see," Nick said, "You are responsible for us having to deal with this mess, so we decided to use it to our advantage. Elise has been tapping our phones and we just happened to leak your location a few minutes ago. I expect her to show up here to get you any minute."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Broaddus exclaimed as he aimed his pistol at Nick.

"You'd better start explaining yourself," Quade said.

"It's time for her to start dancing to our tune," Nick said with a smile, "I've got people around. You will be the bait."

"Then why are you here?" Quade asked him.

"Because I understand why you did what you did, even if I don't like your methods," Nick said simply, "I thought you should know. I also wanted to warn you that we are watching you. She is traveling with that rogue cop Creighton. If you shoot at anyone other than her or him, we will take all three of you down."

"Why are you doing this?" Currey asked, "You sent her right to us!"

"Elise damn near killed the woman I love this afternoon," Nick said coldly, "She's still fighting for her life in an intensive care ward. I have no compunction in using you three as bait, since you're the reason she's on the loose in the first place."

"Now wait a minute!" Quade said.

"You wait a minute!" Nick said, raising his voice but not quite shouting, "You went outside the law. As a result, nobody was notified when she escaped. Over twenty people are dead because of you!"

That stopped Quade cold. The three men looked at each other. They had not thought about this. Back when they set the whole thing up they thought that they were doing the world a favor by putting these people out of circulation. They never thought about the consequences of something like this. The last thing they had expected when they woke up this morning was to look in the mirror and see the face of a murderer.

"Why did I let you talk me in to this?" Currey asked, "Why did you start this Quade?"

"You all went along with it!" Quade said, still in denial about his culpability.

Nick smiled as he slipped out of the room. He had achieved what he had desired in getting them bickering. He quickly slipped out of the room and went outside. Hopefully, Elise would show up soon and they could end this. Nick flashed thumbs up at Marcus and took a position hidden in the back.

***

Elise Steele pulled up about a block away from the cabin and put their latest stolen car in park. She had to stop for a second and get her wind back before trying to get out of the car. The blood loss and the deteriorating state of her lungs were making it harder for her to move.

"It's time to go," Elise told Creighton as she loaded a machine pistol and put spare clips in the pockets of her jump suit, "I'm going in first. You come up behind and bail me out if it's a trap."

"Dangerous," Jay rasped.

"No choice," Elise said, "I'm running out of time."

"Careful," He said.

"Follow me in," Elise said and gave him the automag again, "Don't shoot me."

Jay nodded and sat there. Elise shook her head and did not really expect much out of him. She started jogging towards the house through the trees and slowed down as soon as she started sputtering a bit. She knew that she wanted to have fun with these last people.

As she approached the cabin she managed to slip up in the area that was not covered by either Marcus or Nick. It was not hard to tell that Quade, Broaddus and Currey were arguing very loudly. She moved closer and did her best to keep quiet, and saw that they were all armed. She smiled and thought that this could be a fun way to go.

Elise pulled the slide back on her assault rifle and smiled evilly. She took aim and slid the selector on the weapon to full automatic. She wondered if she could get more than one of them before they hit the floor and started firing back. Deciding to play the odds she pulled the trigger, starting a loud stream of bullets going in to the cabin, shattering both the picture window and Harland Broaddus' chest.

"Shit!" The others yelled and hit the floor, pulling their weapons.

Tony Currey was on the floor quivering. He had left the service several years before to get away from things like this and here he was, cowering on the floor. He could do little but watch as Harlie's blood flowed towards him. He was having a hard time deciding who he should be shooting at, Elise or Ronny Quade.

Marcus was up like a shot and trying to move towards the source of the shooting. Unfortunately for him he did not hear Jay Creighton's fast approach behind him. Creighton recognized Marcus and smiled as he attempted to aim the large weapon. It was lucky for Marcus that Jay Creighton was so drug addled that the shot that he fired blew apart a tree next to him, merely showering him with wood chips and alerting the older cop to his presence.

"Son of a bitch!" Marcus yelled as he rolled away and fired a few shots at Creighton.

Creighton tried to fire a few more shots at Marcus, but he couldn't hold on to the powerful weapon. Giving up on the weapon and forgetting for a minute about Elise he launched himself at Marcus. Marcus fired two shots, both managing to do little more than nick Creighton. Creighton went full force into Marcus, causing Marcus to lose his weapon.

As the two men fought hand to hand Nick Jones was trying to figure out what to do next. He had not expected Elise to take this route, but he was trying to find her anyway. He still only had Corrie on his mind, and he wanted Elise's head on a stick. Arrest did not even occur to him. He wanted her dead.

Ronny Quade was not even considering anything else. He fired his pistol blindly out the window trying to get a reprieve from the rifle fire. He scrambled out of the kitchen and tried to get to the door. Tony Currey fired blindly as well, not particularly caring where his bullets went anymore.

Elise rolled behind a tree and still fired into the house. When she ran out of ammunition, she hid long enough to change the clip and try to catch her breath. Nick was not about to give her that much of a respite though, and started shooting at her position.

"Who the hell is that?" Elise asked herself as she fired in the direction.

Nick took cover behind an old stone well and fired at Elise a few times. Quade took the opportunity to fire from the other position as well, but Elise was not buying it. She was not stupid enough to stay put long enough to become a target. She pulled out a flash grenade from her pack and tossed it towards the house. When it went off she sprinted off in another direction and fired a few shots to confuse the issue.

Marcus and Creighton were still squaring off man to man despite the gunplay going off on the other side of the house. Creighton was younger and in better shape than Marcus was, but Marcus had the advantage in being uninjured and not being drugged. Creighton got a few shots in against Marcus, but when Marcus punched him in his shattered jaw Jay fell down and screamed, almost immediately losing consciousness.

Mike and Chris saw the flash from half a block away as they drove towards the location of the gunfire. They knew without a doubt that Elise had taken the bait. Now, they just had to end her reign of terror.

"Get moving!" Chris said as he saw that, "It doesn't look good!"

"No kidding," Mike muttered as he floored the accelerator.

Marcus headed back to the action again now that Creighton was apparently out of the picture. Ronny Quade saw him and fired at him, not caring about target control anymore. Marcus was lucky and dodged the shots, retreating into the woods a little more.

Nick was still firing at Elise and forgot one major thing. He had limited ammunition and was using it up exceedingly fast. Elise knew that one of them would run out soon, and she wanted to get her real targets before the rest of Miller's people showed up, if they were not here already.

"It's time for a little fun," Elise shouted as she broke cover and dove through the window she had shattered.

Tony Currey was unprepared for the dark vision that came hurtling through the window at him. He tried to fire at her, but like everyone else in the confusion he had lost track of how many rounds he had fired. The slide on his weapon was out and it simply clicked when he pulled the trigger.

"You're lucky," Elise said, "I don't have time to kill you now."

She simply kicked him in the head and knocked him aside. Nick was up and reloading his pistol with the last clip in his pocket as she moved further into the house. He followed through the window, ready to take Elise down. He fired several rounds after her as she left the room.

Marcus had bigger problems. Ronny Quade was still firing at anything that moved and was still between him and the house, where the real action was. Marcus circled around the house and picked up a stray 2x4 to use as a weapon. He did not like bringing a club to a gunfight, but it beat having nothing at all.

While Elise went through the house dodging Nick and looking for Ronny Quade, Marcus found Quade outside. Quade was still hypersensitive and firing randomly, which was stupid because it made noise that allowed Marcus to get up behind him. When Quade finally ran out of bullets and started to pull up another clip Marcus approached the scared federal agent and tapped him on the shoulder.

Ronny Quade turned around and looked at Marcus, just as Marcus brought the 2x4 down over his head. Quade crumpled down on the ground, still alive but decidedly out of the game. Marcus smiled and dropped the 2x4 on the ground as he bent down to retrieve the weapon from Quade's inert form.

"Fucking idiot," Marcus said as picked it up and inserted a clip into the pistol.

Nick continued to pursue Elise through the cabin until the bedroom. Nick entered the room and dodged a few shots that Elise fired in his direction, taking cover behind the bed. Elise ducked into the bathroom and emptied the last of her assault rifle rounds, jamming the last one in the slide.

"Figures," she said and tossed the weapon, "Are you having fun out there, Nick? I'm assuming it's you. Miller wouldn't have been as brash as you are."

"It's over, Elise," Nick shouted, "You can't win."

"I have won," Elise shouted back, "You can't take that away from me now."

"I can kill you!" Nick said, "I guess that will have to do."

"You can try," Elise smiled, "But I'm dead already!"

Elise withdrew the last of her Beretta silenced pistols and fired a shot out towards Nick's voice. Nick fired a few shots at her as she came out of the bathroom and jumped over the bed. She saw that he had fired his last shot and approached him. He pulled on the trigger frantically and tried to duck out of the way. She was on him in a minute and had a gun to his head.

"Go ahead," Nick said, "Pull the trigger."

"You're not why I came here," Elise said, "You're just a side benefit. I don't give a damn about you. I came for Quade."

"You're going to leave in a box," Marcus Holbein said as he entered the room.

Elise stood behind Nick and kept the pistol pointed at his head. The situation had degenerated into a standard hostage situation. She could tell that Marcus was less of a hothead than his partner, and that his weapon was loaded. She was hoping she could bargain her way out to just put that final bullet in to Ronny Quade. Then, she would force them to pull the trigger and solidify her reputation as the Sleeping Beauty killer.

"You're done, Elise," Marcus said, "Killing another cop won't make it easier."

"I've killed dozens of cops," Elise shrugged, "What's one more?"

"Hasn't there been enough killing?" Marcus asked her, his hand not wavering with the weapon at all.

"Not yet," Elise smiled as she began to tighten her finger on the trigger of the pistol aimed at Nick's head, "Where's Quade?"

"Outside," Marcus said, "I cracked him over the head with a 2x4. We know what they did to you. They won't get away with it."

"Thank you, Marcus," Elise said with a sugary smile, "But it's a bit late for that. Go get him. I'll make you a trade. Your friend here for that slime Quade."

"Don't do it, Marcus," Nick said, "Shoot her. Kill her now."

"I'm dead already," Elise shrugged, "But if you pull the trigger, so do I. Nick dies too."

It was a genuine standoff, but Elise was holding the cards. Marcus knew that all of them were dead if she got her way. He was still standing there when he noticed her shaking.

"Not now," she muttered, "Not fucking now!"

Nick saw it as well. The exertion that she had expended in the gunfight was coming back to haunt her damaged body. The advanced cancer had badly riddled her lungs and other organs, to the point that she could no longer recover from physical activity as she used to. She started coughing and lost her concentration enough for Nick to take advantage of the situation.

Nick performed a perfect circle kick that landed on her already cancer-ridden torso, sending her thin body slamming into the wall. She screamed and dropped her weapon. Marcus was about to fire at her when Jay Creighton came barreling into the room, throwing all his weight at Marcus yet again.

"Stay out of this you idiot!" Elise rasped. She knew that her time was running out. Her body was giving out on her. She felt it in her bones. She knew that it was time to end it.

"Julie!" Creighton shouted as he tangled with Marcus.

Nick punched Elise in the stomach, doubling her over and causing her to vomit repeatedly. She looked around and saw her pistol. Nick was about to go over and help Marcus when he saw her crawling towards the pistol. She managed to get up all the strength she had to get to it first, but Nick jumped at her and fought with her for control of it.

Marcus was losing his fight with Creighton this time. He couldn't get a shot at Creighton's jaw as he did earlier. Jay wrestled the gun away from Marcus and was about to shoot him when he saw Elise losing her fight with Nick Jones.

"Get off her!" Jay shouted as he fired a shot just above their heads.

Nick backed up, knowing that Creighton could and would kill him at this point. She managed to pick herself up off the floor and spat out some of the bile that had come up earlier. She picked up the weapon and looked at Jay, amazed that he had done so well. Unfortunately, he had done too well. She had not intended to survive this last confrontation. She picked up the pistol and checked that it still had rounds left.

Miller was the one person living that knew her well enough to ensure that her legend lived on, which was why she had timed it to ensure that he would get the cases. It was not much, but joining the ranks of Gacy, Bundy and Dahmer would give her a form of immortality, one that she had been craving. It would give her life after the cancer had finished with her. She had never intended to kill Miller. He was more valuable to her alive.

"Julie!" Creighton said as he looked at her, "What do we do now?"

"Not your problem," she said coldly as she leveled her weapon at him and shot him three times in the chest.

Randall Jay Creighton screamed in horror and dropped the pistol on the ground. He wobbled a few steps before collapsing against Marcus Holbein. The lucidity that Creighton lost in his love for the she-devil returned momentarily before his death. He looked up at Marcus and the knowledge of death was plain on his face.

"I'm sorry," Creighton rasped with his last breaths, "I'm so sorry."

Nick looked at the self-satisfied expression on Elise's face and was consumed with rage. He imagined that it was the same expression that she'd had when she blew up the building that had nearly killed Corrie. She had just cold bloodedly murdered the one human being who had ever loved her unconditionally. Nick had no particular love for Jay Creighton, but he saw that she had duped him and betrayed him. He could take no more.

Nick plain punched her in the face, something she did not quite see coming in time. He took her weapon away and kept beating on her, pummeling the torso until she was coughing up blood again. After Nick calmed down and stepped back she found that she couldn't fight anymore. Elise merely collapsed against the wall and smiled her bloodied evil smile up at him. He got the weapon he'd taken in his right hand and aimed it at her head.

"Go on!" Elise exclaimed, "Pull the trigger! Kill me! Send me into Immortality!"

"Immortality?" Nick asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't do it, Nick," Mike Miller said as he walked in to the room, followed closely by Chris Gabriel, "That's what she wants."

"Miller," Elise said between coughs, "I was wondering when you were going to join the party. It was rather dull here without you."

"Put the gun down, Nick," Mike said, "We've won. She won't kill anyone else."

"You're damned right she's not!" Nick exclaimed, "The dead can't kill anyone else!"

"That's right Nick!" Elise exclaimed, "Go ahead! Kill me! Pull that fucking trigger!"

"Listen to her, Nick," Chris Gabriel said as he walked further into the room, "This is what she wanted all along. She wanted to not have to die in a jail cell, rotting from within. She wants you to pull the trigger and end it in a flash, making her the infamous Sleeping Beauty killer who died in a hail of gunfire."

"Stay out of this!" Elise exclaimed, "Come on Nick, pull that trigger. Make your little bitch happy! Tell me, is she going to be anything other than a vegetable? Is she..."

"Shut up!" Nick shouted and hit her upside the head with the pistol.

"Don't give in to her," Mike said, "Don't let Elise win. If you shoot her she's won."

"But Corrie..." Nick said, tears forming in his eyes.

"Corrie wouldn't want her to win either," Chris said, "Think about that, Nick. If she dies here, she wins. If you want to make it hurt, let her rot from the cancer in her chest."

Nick wavered for a few more moments and looked over at Mike again. Mike was standing there holding out his hand. Nick thought of Corrie and looked at Elise. She was merely looking at him, almost pleading for him to shoot her. He saw just how pitiful a creature she was and couldn't find it in himself to pull the trigger. Nick handed the weapon to Mike and then collapsed against his friend.

"No!" Elise shouted, "You can't do this!"

She got up and tried to pull the weapon from out of their hands but never really got the chance to do it. Chris Gabriel stepped over and gave Elise Steele a solid right hook to the jaw, sending the dying serial killer slumping against the wall, unconscious.

"Good hit," Mike observed.

"That felt good," Chris admitted as he rubbed the knuckles on his hand.

"What now?" Marcus asked them.

"Call Mason," Chris said, "Let's see if his plan is set and ready."

Mike nodded and sent Nick over with Marcus as he pulled out his Cell phone. He dialed the number that Mason had given him to use. Mason picked up on the second ring.

"This is Stone," Mason said.

"It's Miller," Mike said, "We've got the bitch. Are you ready?"

"Is Creighton there?" Mason asked.

"Dead," Mike said, "She shot him, it seems."

"Served him right," Mason shrugged, "We can work around that. I'll be there in ten minutes. We just got the last pieces in place."

"See you in a few," Miller said and turned off the phone.

Mike and Marcus just looked at each other and wondered what the hell had been planned around them. All they could do was wait, however, because neither Miller nor Gabriel were talking.
Chapter Forty-Seven – 'Sleeping Beauty'

Mason Stone walked around the building and looked at the damage caused by the gunplay. The fact that only Jay Creighton and Harland Broaddus died from it simply amazed him. Karen shook her head as she saw the condition of the place and the people inside. Jim shrugged and followed along with his hands in his pockets, careful to touch little.

"I see it didn't quite go according to plan," Mason noted as he walked into the bedroom and heard the crunch of shattered glass under his boots.

"Not quite," Chris agreed, "But we were successful."

"Only if Elise doesn't get credit," Mason reminded them, "Did she survive it?"

"She's out cold in the corner," Mike told him.

"Good," Mason said, "See that she stays that way."

"What are you going to do?" Nick asked.

"Elise wanted to be known as Sleeping Beauty," Mason said, "I'm going to see that she doesn't get her wish."

"How the hell are you going to do that?" Marcus asked him, "This is going to be rather hard to cover up."

"Covering up is a messy business," Karen smiled, "I prefer to think that we're just going to adjust the truth a bit."

"Ollie North said it best," Mason shrugged, "I was provided with additional input that was radically different from the truth. I merely assisted in furthering that version."

"So if Elise isn't sleeping beauty," Nick said, "Then who the hell is?"

"Randall Jay Creighton," Mason said simply, "Who else is there, really?"

"Creighton?" Nick and Marcus exclaimed, "How the hell do you intend to pull that off?"

"Simple really," Karen said, "He was there for most of it."

"What about his time in the hospital?" Nick asked.

"Only one killing there," Mike said, buying it, "There's no proof that it's even related other than the pictures of Elise. I already covered it in the press by laying it on Latham. They will never prosecute on it, but he'll be blamed in the court of public opinion."

"Elise Steele doesn't exist," Mason reminded them, "She never did. The feds have her listed as dying in custody nine years ago."

"Then who the hell is that?" Marcus asked, pointing at Elise's inert form.

"Elizabeth Baltimore," Mason said, "A simple bystander to the whole thing who's unfortunate enough to be dying of terminal lung cancer. A spot is waiting for her in the hospital where she'll be guarded and drugged until the day she dies."

"So how do we explain this?" Nick asked, pointing to the destruction, "Quade and Currey know better as well."

"The feds were merely helping with the investigation," Mike said, "Ronny Quade will be quietly charged with illegal imprisonment in the other cases that Wooten spelled out for you. I bet Tony Currey will cut a deal and testify against him too if he's still alive. I saw what was left of Harland Broaddus when I walked in."

"None of them will mention Elise," Mason said, "No gain for it. Without her, they only have a minor imprisonment issue that will be pled down. With her in the picture they could be liable for some of the people she killed. They won't say a word and neither will we."

"So who killed Creighton?" Marcus asked, "The bullets came from her gun."

"Nick did," Mason said, "At the end of the shootout. Nobody will ever know what gun killed him. Jake Sanders will see to that. He and Jim had a nice little talk an hour ago. The fact that Creighton is dead already makes it much easier."

"It doesn't hurt that Creighton was seen shooting the feds in public," Chris nodded, "If we spin it right Elise can be a simple patsy, doing Creighton's bidding."

"Exactly," Mason said, "You started that fact when you released Elise's photo. We leave her unidentified and bury her as Elizabeth Baltimore. She'll be quietly forgotten."

"Where do you fit in with all of this?" Nick asked Mason.

"I don't exist," Mason grinned, "Neither do Jim or Karen. We'll stay in town long enough for Elizabeth here to croak and then we'll fade off into the sunset again."

Surprisingly enough, it went down that way. The earlier indications to the press that Creighton was Sleeping Beauty were merely confirmed over the next few hours. Mason arranged the removal of Elise Steele from the scene and before she could wake up again she was placed in the same bed that Jay Creighton had occupied before.

Dr. Doran attended her personally, intentionally forgoing the cancer drugs and keeping the painkillers to a minimum. He did not feel any conflict of interest with his Hippocratic Oath, as it applied only to people, a category that Elise had long since removed herself from.

She was lucid within hours of her hospitalization, but did little but stare at the television, which was kept tuned to the cable news channel so she could watch the coverage of the Sleeping Beauty killer. As more details emerged about Randall Jay Creighton, the more the media snapped up on the idea of him being the killer.

Once Mason had done his walkthrough of the scene and set it up so that there was no sign of Elise anymore he left quietly, with Karen and Jim loading into the van and waving. Chris, Nick, Marcus and Mike stood outside and simply watched as the cleanup crew continued to go over the cabin where the sleeping beauty menace ended.

"I guess this is it," Mike said, "We won."

"Nobody won," Chris sighed as he sipped on his coffee, "Nobody ever wins in a situation like this."

"I'm supposed to be on Leave," Marcus said sourly as he probed his bruises, "I think I'm going to go home and drink a few beers while I watch a bad movie with my kids."

"Take it easy," Chris said, "Nice working with you."

"You too," Marcus said, "I'll see all of you later on. Call me if there's any change on Corrie."

"You got it," Nick nodded.

"What do we do now?" Mike asked.

"You recover," Chris said, "Go home and get very drunk, probably."

"Is that what you do?" Mike asked him.

"Not anymore," Chris admitted, "I had to lay off the sauce years ago. Now I just plain go home. I think I'm going to book a morning flight and go have dinner with my wife and kids for the first time in a week or so."

"It's been good working with you, Chris," Mike said and held out his hand, "And please take no offense if I say that I hope I never have to work with you again."

Chris laughed, "Don't worry. I hope to hell I never have to work on one of these ever again."

"You will," Nick said, "Won't you?"

"Always do," Chris admitted, "But not this year. I think I've had enough excitement for a while."

"We all have," Miller nodded and started to go towards the car.

"Absolutely," Nick agreed and followed along, needing a ride back after Marcus took his car home.

They all left the clean up to other crews and let them believe the story that they had constructed with Mason. It did not matter anymore anyway, though the final chapter was yet to be written for them all.
Chapter Forty-Eight – 'Homecoming'

Chris Gabriel was met at the airport by Carrie and the kids. He saw them and smiled, getting especially knowing looks from Jason who had been following the case on the television. He knew it was really over when he was able to see their smiling faces again.

"Was it bad?" Carrie asked him as they walked back to the car.

"It always is," Chris told her, "But we won this time."

"Good," Carrie smiled, "Maybe it will be the last for a while."

"I certainly hope so," Chris agreed and kissed his wife, "I most certainly hope so."

Chris drove home and talked with his kids about what happened, telling them a few of the tamer stories and heaping praise on the people he worked with. It was already becoming a memory for him and the healing process had begun. It continued through the day and evening as he simply enjoyed the company of his family.

It did not come home to roost for him again until he was sitting alone in his study after the kids had gone to bed. He stood up and did something he had not done in many years, poured himself a drink, albeit a light one. He did this and walked over to one of the crowded shelves in his study and pulled an old dilapidated box out from it.

He opened it up and pulled out some pictures, some of the few remaining ones of his original family. One of him, his parents and his brother dropped out of his hand and he picked it up, studying the smiling faces carefully. The picture had been taken a year before Jerry had gone off the deep end, so the smile might even have been genuine.

Carrie walked in to the room and saw the box. She had seen this ritual on and off for twenty years with him, especially after he had closed a case like this. She sat down next to him and looked at the pictures of the people she had known but could barely remember anymore.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" Carrie asked him again, expecting a more solid answer this time.

"Yes," Chris nodded, "It was bad. They didn't get worse than this one."

"A dirty cop," Carrie said, "I saw it on the news."

"You don't even know the half of it," Chris grinned and told her the true story.

"I can't believe you're getting away with this," Carrie said, impressed, "I take it Creighton wasn't innocent anyway."

"Not innocent," Chris agreed, "Merely stupid."

"He made his choice and died for it," Carrie shrugged, "Just like your brother. And mine for that matter."

"Too many people," Chris sighed, "Too much blood. I don't know if I'll ever get it off my hands."

"I love you anyway," Carrie smiled, "Even if your hands have a pinkish tint. Now come on to bed."

Chris nodded and followed instructions well, going to bed and making love with his wife, taking the good in his life and pushing the bad away, almost successfully.

***

Corrie Albiston was recovering nicely and was actually allowed to move around in a wheelchair after a month of medical treatment. She was missing about ten percent of her liver and her spleen as well as having massive scarring on her right arm and back, but she was expected to recover enough to go back to work eventually, a day she could not wait for because hospital life was driving her nuts.

To help combat her boredom Nick had spent most of his time with her and had taken to wheeling her around the hospital grounds in the afternoons. He had long since told her the story about what happened in the hours after her injury, but she needed more. She had some emotional scars as well and those needed to heal.

"I want to see her," Corrie said one afternoon as Nick wheeled her around.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked her, "She's not a pleasant sight."

"I don't expect her to be," Corrie told him, "But I need to see her before she dies. I just have to know."

"All right," Nick said.

Nick wordlessly wheeled Corrie back into the building and past the guard that had been posted outside of Elise's room. The guard, having learned from the Creighton incident to question everyone, followed them in to the room and looked at the emaciated woman that he'd been guarding.

"They have me guarding that?" the cop asked in wonder, "She couldn't hurt a fly!"

"She's killed over two-dozen people," Nick said, "As long as she's breathing, she's a threat."

Elise Steele did not look anything like her old pictures anymore. Her six-foot two-inch frame had withered down to less than ninety pounds. Doran had told Nick earlier that she was probably less than 48 hours from death. She had lapsed in to a coma days before and was on her last legs. They were just waiting to be able to pronounce her and have her cremated for burial.

"That's all she is," Corrie said, "Not the boogeyman I expected."

"Not anymore," Nick agreed, "Nothing more than a decaying piece of meat."

"That's all any of us are," Karen Stone reminded them as she walked in to the room, "Remember that."

Mason and Karen had stayed around for a while to ensure that the story held. Jim had long since altered some records to ensure that Elise's identity would never come out that way. After nearly six weeks the evidence of Elise was fairly well gone. Once Elise finally died they planned on departing the city and taking that vacation Mason had promised them.

"I can't believe that pitiful thing there was responsible for it all," Corrie said, "I just can't comprehend it."

"Don't try," Karen said, "She was a small woman in a large frame. Given the history I dug up on her, I'm not surprised she turned out the way she did either. The system failed for her, as did everything else. She belonged in prison, but not the way she ended up there."

"Don't try to blame anyone for her," Nick said, "It's not worth it. She created herself. She may have had influences, but she was responsible. Don't let there be any doubt about it. She did what she did because she wanted to, not because she was programmed to."

They did not get a chance to argue about it anymore, as Elise's body started heaving violently. Karen rushed over and looked and knew what was going on. The cancer had progressed to the point that it was causing seizures. Elise was lucky to have been unconscious. She was also on the last throes of life.

"It won't be long now," Karen said.

It was not. Elise Steele's life ended not with the bang she had wanted, but with the whimper she had dreaded. Dr. Bennie Doran pronounced her dead and pulled the sheet up over her head, covering up her black hair and dead eyes for the last time.

"Good riddance," Dr. Doran said quietly.

"Amen to that," Nick said and looked at Corrie.

Corrie merely looked at the covered corpse for a few seconds and then had Nick wheel her out of the room. She did not get the answers that she had been hoping for, but she got the closure she had needed. That would have to do.

Karen Stone nodded at Dr. Doran with satisfaction and picked up the telephone. She punched the ten numbers and nodded at Dr. Doran who left the room to make final preparations. He had arranged with an undertaker friend of his to have her processed cheaply and finally. She would be cremated immediately, and a death certificate filed under the name Elizabeth Baltimore. Karen smiled grimly and looked at the corpse, glad that it was finally over.

***

Mike Miller put down the phone and looked at Claudia Benson, who was sitting on the couch next to him watching yet another movie from his DVD collection. She looked at him and wondered what was going on.

"Elise died a few minutes ago," Mike told her, "Just in the way she dreaded most."

"Natural causes?" Claudia asked him.

"You got it," Mike smiled.

"I'm glad it's over," she said, "You were beginning to become most disagreeable sometimes."

"It wasn't my fault that I didn't sleep for several weeks," Mike protested.

"I know that," she smiled, "I'm only teasing. We do need to talk though."

"Uh oh," Mike said, "What's up?"

"I've got some news for you," Claudia said, "I don't know how you're going to like it though."

"Try me," Mike said, "I've already got my good news for tonight anyway."

"Maybe not," Claudia said, "It depends on how you feel about some things."

"Such as?" Mike asked, suspicious now.

"Well," she asked him, looking in to his eyes, "How did you enjoy fatherhood the first time?"

"I liked it a lot," Mike said, remembering how it felt when Bobby was born, "Despite what happened later, I wouldn't trade the experience for the world. Why do you ask?"

"Well," she said timidly, "It appears that you may have the opportunity again."

"Say what?" he asked.

"That's right," She nodded, "I'm very late. Nearly two months now."

"Mine right?" Mike asked, having been burned once before.

"There's been no one else for two years," she nodded, understanding the question from him and not begrudging it.

"Whoa," Mike said, "But our ages?"

"You're only forty-one," Claudia said, "I'm not even Forty yet. There's no reason why the baby wouldn't be healthy and happy. I just want to know how you want to handle it."

"I'll stick with you," Mike said, "You know that."

"How close do you want to 'stick'?" she asked him.

"It depends on how much you can tolerate," Mike grinned, "You know me, Claudia. I still spend most of my time working. That probably won't change."

"I wouldn't expect it to," Claudia grinned, "I'd be shocked if it did. Do you think I'm any different?"

"Well," Mike said, "Why don't we try it for a while then? See how much we actually like it."

"I can live with that," Claudia said, relieved that he was smart enough not to ask her to marry him right then and there, "We've got time. Let's see how it goes."

He kissed her softly and then pulled her close to him. They turned on the movie again and watched with relief now that the important decisions were made and the old baggage was gone. It was going to be a good time for all of them.

***

Marcus had been reading a story to Laurie when the call came about Elise's death. She recognized that her Daddy had just heard some news that affected him deeply and left him alone for a bit to go get her brother.

"Dad?" Jason Holbein asked as he came into the room, "You ok?"

"Yeah," Marcus grinned, "I'm fine. It was good news actually. Closure."

Jason nodded. He had heard enough rumors to put together what must have happened. He was just glad to have his father back more of the time. He sat down and looked at Marcus and smiled.

"Good," Jason said, "I'm glad to hear it."

"Listen buddy," Marcus said, "Can you take your sister to a movie this afternoon?"

"Sure," Jason said, "Why?"

"I just need some time," Marcus said, "Ok?"

Jason nodded. Marcus gave him twenty bucks and sent them off. Marcus went into what had once been Margie's sitting room and sat down on the new couch that he had bought to replace the one that Margie had died on. He picked up the remote control and turned on the television, changing to the video music channel and waiting a few minutes for the concert to start.

While he was waiting he went over to the small fridge he'd put in there for his beer and pulled out one, popping the top. He took a long pull of it and sat down as he heard the applause that signaled the beginning of the concert.

"Here, here," Marcus said as he raised his beer to the television, "To you, Cookie."

Cookie Morris stepped out onto the stage and began her set as she always did. Marcus knew that nothing lasting could ever have happened with her, but he still liked to reminisce about that single night he had spent with her. Watching the concert was one of the few ways he had to hold on to that. He smiled at the songs which he was beginning to learn by heart.

When the camera went in for a close up he looked at her face and her eyes and let himself dream about what could never be. It was not the healthiest thing in the world, but it beat the sorrow and hatred he still felt whenever he thought about his late wife. Though by about halfway through the concert he was having second thoughts about that sentiment.

He finally went over to a shelf on the wall and pulled out a picture book. He brought it to the couch and opened it up, finally pulling out a picture of Margie taken many years before when she had still been young, beautiful, and pleasant. He realized that what Margie became was not the Margie he had loved. The one he was holding in his hand was the Margie he missed.

Eventually, he turned off the television and held the beer up to the picture of Margie that he put in a frame and put on top of the television.

"Here's to you, Margie," Marcus said and drained the last of his beer, "May you have your looks back and be happy where you are."
Chapter Forty-Nine – 'Elizabeth Baltimore'

One week after Elise Steele's death Mason Stone was standing outside a church in Eastern Pennsylvania holding the urn that carried her ashes. He was bargaining with a drunken groundkeeper, finally getting him to accept the papers for Elizabeth Baltimore's burial.

"All I need is a shovel," Mason said, "We'll do it ourselves. We have the permits."

"George has to do it," the groundkeeper finally said, "Fifty dollars burial fee though."

"Fine," an exasperated Mason said and shoved the money at the man, "Here."

The groundkeeper ordered George to get a shovel and follow them out to the gravesite. Mike Miller and Chris Gabriel were waiting for them there. Mike was standing there holding an extremely ugly urn and looking at the stone. Chris was closer to it, looking at it a little closer.

"I think this is it," Chris said, "It looks like that whoever set this up was expecting her to join them sooner rather than later."

"Too bad she didn't join them sooner," Mike said sourly.

They were looking at a medium size gravestone, about three feet high. The name Baltimore was chiseled prominently in the front along with a highly inappropriate Bible quotation. In smaller letters below were the other names and birth and death dates.

"Charles M. Baltimore," Mike said, "The man who created the monster."

"Sounds like he got what he deserved," Chris agreed, "So this is where it ends?"

"Can you think of a more fitting place for her to spend eternity?" Mason asked them with a satisfied smile.

"I can't," Mike said, "Let's do this. I've got a long drive home and I need to get things ready to move. Claudia found a good place that's big enough and we're grabbing it while we have the chance."

The groundkeeper instructed George on where to start digging. George started tearing into the ground with his spade while the groundkeeper sat down on a nearby gravestone and drank down a little more of his whiskey.

"Charlie Baltimore," The groundkeeper said, "Rotten son of a bitch he was."

"You knew him?" Mason asked.

"Yeah," the groundkeeper nodded, "I buried him too. All three of them. Elizabeth shot them all. Real big scandal around here for a while. Elizabeth disappeared though. Nobody's ever heard hide nor hair about her. Figured she turned out bad though."

"Not really," Mason lied, "She was a schoolteacher. Passed away of cancer a few weeks ago. She wanted to be buried with her mother and brother. Guilt of that act haunted her all her life."

"I'm sure it did," the groundkeeper nodded, "Sounds like she turned out boring. Never would have thought it. Well, I've got to get back to the office. George will fill in the grave for you when you're ready."

"Thanks," Mason said and waited until the groundkeeper left.

"Leave the shovel," Mike instructed George, "We'll fill it in. Take a break."

George nodded and handed the shovel to Chris who was closest and walked away. When George was gone Mason handed the sealed metal urn over to Mike, the man who had suffered the most from Elise Steele over the years.

"All yours, Mike," Mason said.

"I hope you're enjoying hell, Elise," Mike said as he unceremoniously dropped the metal urn into the hole, "I'm sure I'll see you there someday."

"Amen to that," Chris nodded, "Let's cover the bitch over and get out of here and have a drink."

The three men again took turns covering over the urn until the land was leveled out again. They took one final look at the grave and walked away together to enjoy one final drink as they toasted the victims of a woman who never was, and God willing would never be again.

THE END

##

## Other Titles by Rodney Mountain

Immortal Universe Novels

The Healy Murders

The Accidental Immortal

Undercover

Anoki's Revenge

The Immortal Progression

Corporate Immortality

Not With A Whisper

The Mullinix: Ascension

The Mullinix: Redemption

The Mullinix: Resolution

Other Works

Durell's Insurrection

Night Strike (Short Story Anthology)

The Black Fossil

