

Signature

by

Theodore M. Draper Sr.

Published by Theodore Draper Sr. at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Theodore M Draper Sr.
Acknowledgements

This book wouldn't have been possible without the love and support of my fiancé', Helen Wodka. From the very beginning of the creative process, she has been my rock. Without her by my side, I wouldn't have had the drive or motivation to compete it. She is my light.

I'd also like to thank my favorite author, Stephen King. I have read and listened to several of his books over the years and I'm always amazed at the quantity and quality of the body of work he produces time and time again. His book, "On Writing" was a valuable tool in helping me understand the creative process, and how to go about getting this book published. Thank you Mr. King for producing such a wonderful writing resource.

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.

Cover art by David H. Soderbom

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Spencer Coleman arrived at The Victory Diner at 6:55 on a beautiful spring morning. The sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky. The temperature was already approaching eighty. It was only mid-April, but it seemed like summer had arrived months ago. In fact, the whole country had experienced an early thaw. March saw average temperatures of sixty degrees, thirty degrees higher than normal. Was this global warming? If it wasn't, he didn't know what it could be. The apple and cherry trees had already blossomed. The maple trees were already alive. Their leaves acting like sails, capturing the warm summer-like breezes. All the foliage displayed was in full summer bloom. If Spencer were to look at the calendar without knowing which month it was, he would guess it was early June. Summers in upstate New York were always pleasant; they just didn't last too long. Spencer looked around, surveying the scene before turning the handle of the door and entering the diner.

The Victory Diner was an old place. On the outside, it had been meticulously maintained. The diner was built after the Korean War, 1957 to be exact. Jim Baker, "Jimbo" to his friends, was a war veteran who decided to come back to his hometown and gave starting his own restaurant a go of it. He was a grunt for four years in the army, cooking meals for hundreds of GI's each day. He figured it couldn't be too tough to cook for twenty or thirty people each day. He was right. His diner flourished and Jim lived comfortably. Jim not only ran the diner but he was the master carpenter, plumber and mason. He figured, why pay someone to do something he could do himself? Hard work never scared old Jimbo.

Looking at The Victory Diner was like looking back in time. While other stores and restaurants came and went, The Victory Diner traversed time itself. It looked exactly as it did when Jim first had it built. The face of the town had changed many times over the years, but the diner was a constant. It had the feeling of home to its patrons.

The Victory Diner resided in a small town called Medina, population ten thousand. It sat just off of Main Street but it was in a great location. Medina was a small town with a couple traffic lights, but with a lot of specialty stores. Many of the small store's lights had dimmed with the arrival of the big box store. People weren't happy to see the new store come to town. Many warned of the dangers of letting them come in. "They'll suck all the life out of our town!" and "What about the little guy? How is he supposed to survive?" These questions were asked of the town committee but what the town's folks didn't know was that many on the town board were already in the back pocket of the big box store. They had planted their evil seed money several months before anyone even knew they were coming.

Spencer entered the diner; his senses were immediately overwhelmed by the smells of breakfast: pancakes and sausage, eggs and bacon. His stomach growled in anticipation.

"Easy tiger," Spencer said, "you'll be filled soon enough."

He closed his eyes, putting his nose to work. Ahh, he sighed. _Time to find a seat_ , he thought.

The diner was like a time machine. History hung on the walls. There were pictures of famous battles of Korea. There were pictures of Jim and his platoon. Many of the boys that he had feed and fought beside in the war were probably dead.

Spencer chose a booth, sat down and immediately sunk into the booth's seat.

"Gee, I think these benches have been around since the fifties," Spencer said, trying to find a comfortable place where his ass wasn't hitting a board.

The table had a lot of character. The Formica top was worn through in several spots. There were countless cigarette burns and scratches: some accidental, some intentional. He learned that Craig loved Judy in 1964. TL4 ever was carved under their names. Their love was immortalized in the worn tabletop. He wondered to himself if Craig and Judy were still together or like other young love, it had burned brightly and fizzled away just as fast as it begun? There was a mini jukebox located at each booth. Upon further inspection, Spencer was surprised to see the one in his booth still worked.

_I'll be dammed, only a dime for a song_? _This place really is living history_ , Spencer thought, digging some change from his pockets. "Let's see what we've got," Spencer said as he leaned closer to read the artist names in the play list.

"Hi, my name is Patti and I'm going to take care of you today," the waitress said, flashing him a quick thin smile. She placed a paper placemat in front of him along with a set of silverware. "What can I get you, hun," she asked, but her mind didn't seem to be on the task at hand.

Her hand was poised, ready to write down his order, but her eyes were focused on the booth next to him. The booth was empty but the way her eyes had glazed over, it was almost as if she were replaying a scene in her mind. She was watching a movie that only she could see. Her foot tapped, as if the mental movie she watched had an upbeat soundtrack attached to it. Spencer took her moment of distraction to study her features. Patti was tall as women go. He figured she had to be at least 5'9." She had an athletic build, flat stomach, thin but muscular legs. Her hair was hidden by a silly paper, triangular hat that said, "The Victory Diner". Her brunette hair was in a bun but the bun was big. He guessed her hair had to be shoulder length but Spencer thought it was much longer than that. His eyes wandered from her hair to her breasts. They were standing at attention, poking slightly out of the top of low cut blouse.

_I bet she makes some good tips showing those_ , Spencer thought. A smile unconsciously began spreading across his face.

As if on cue, Patti's eyes flashed back to Spencer, the distraction was gone from her mind. Spencer felt like a deer in the headlights. He had been caught staring directly at Patti's cleavage. Beads of sweat immediately popped out on Spencer's forehead. He remembered a scene from an old comedy named Seinfeld. One of the characters, George Costanza was caught by the father of a young woman whose cleavage he had been staring directly into.

"Get a good look Costanza?" the father said threateningly. As the father stormed off, Jerry spoke up and said, "You're not suppose to look directly at the cleavage, you peak, you never stare!"

Spencer knew exactly how George felt at that moment.

"Umm...I'll start with a cup of coffee please. Two eggs over easy and two slices of sour dough toast with sausage links," he said.

She scribbled down his order and said, "You got it," putting the pad in her apron and walked toward the kitchen.

Spencer's attention returned to the mini jukebox on his table. He read the play list. It read like a who's who of the 50's. Many of the stars who filled the jukebox may have gotten their start in the 50's but their music was timeless: Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Dean Martin and Sammie Davis Jr. No Frank Sinatra though, the rat pack was incomplete.

_Ahh_ , Spencer thought, _here is a classic I hadn't heard in years, La Bamba by the late Richie Valens_. Spencer reached into his pocket, felt for change and placed it on the table. He saw that he had a couple dimes, grabbed one and started to put the dime in the coin slot.

Spencer paused, _is it too early for La Bamba_? he thought, _Is it ever too early for La Bamba_?? He decided it wasn't and slid a dime into the slot.

At first nothing happened but then, after 15 seconds, he could hear the machine coming to life.

_How long had it been since anyone used one of these jukeboxes_? he thought to himself.

The gears were turning inside. The lights on the front of the machine began to blink. It was like a miniature robot coming back to life after years of neglect. A small metal arm grabbed a 45 and placed it on the spindle, an arm lowered. How many years had it been since the last 45 vinyl record was pressed by a music company? Twenty years? The compact disc made vinyl records obsolete but don't tell that to the true audiophiles. Many experts agree that vinyl produced the most authentic sound. Although compact discs are easier to manufacture and produce, they could never reproduce the sound quality of the vinyl record. As the needle of the jukebox settled into the grooves of the record, the first hints of static scratched out of the little speaker. La La La La La Bamba Richie Valens busted out, the song filling Spencer's booth. His feet began tapping in perfect rhythm to the song.

Spencer shifted his gaze from the mini jukebox to his booth's window. There were a few cars driving past the diner, but it certainly wasn't the bustle of a city. It was now 7:30 and already the sky was a vibrant rainbow of colors.

"A beautiful day for some, but not everyone," he said quietly to himself, his words disappearing in the air.

Across the street he could see someone, a man for sure, but it was hard to tell how tall he was from the distance. The man's features were obscured by the sunlight shining in his window. The windows didn't have blinds so Spencer put his hand up to block the sun. The man was leaning against a light post, staring intently into the diner.

_Is he looking at me_? Spencer thought.

As if on cue, the man directed his gaze away from the diner and down to his feet. Spencer's brow furled as he tried to get a better look at the man. Could this be the man he was here to stop? He wasn't sure. His gut told him there was something wrong with the man. Something about the man gave Spencer the creeps. His arms were covered in goose-flesh. It was in that moment Spencer knew why he was the diner for breakfast. He knew now what he must do. He had to act before it was too late. Spencer began to get up when Patti returned.

Patti placed the coffee on the table beside him. Steam was rising from the porcelain cup.

"Your eggs will be up in a minute. Do you need cream for your coffee?" she said, her gaze going from Spencer to the window beside him.

Spencer looked at her and said, "Patti you have to," his words trailing off.

The thin smile on Patti's face had disappeared. It was replaced by a look of horror. Her eyes were thrown open wide, looking like small cup saucers.

Her voice trembled, "What's he doing here? Oh no...NO NO NO!!" Patti screamed.

Spencer turned his head to see what had alarmed the woman. The man he had seen across the street only moments ago was now standing directly outside the window. In his hand, he held a very gun large. The gun was silver and gleamed like a razor in the bright sunlight. The man's eyes were squinted and focused directly on Patti. The look on the man's face was filled with hatred and what else, rage? Yes, his face was full of rage. His lips were pulled back in a snarl. His jaw was clenched and his body appeared to be vibrating. His eyes had the look of someone who had completely lost their mind.

_It's him_ , Spencer thought and before he could utter a sound, the world slowed to a ridiculous slow-motioned pace. A scene erupted that Spencer would remember his entire life.

Richie Valens, who was still happily belting out the biggest hit of his career, sounding like someone had set him from 45 to 33 1/3. La Bamba became Laaaa Baambaaaa...Spencer turned his head to Patti with the intent of telling her to get down. Before Patti could turn, run or dive for cover, the window erupted in shards of glass. Spencer instinctively sought shelter. He lay on the bench seat, the smell of the faux leather assaulting his nose. Patti disappeared for a moment from his sight as the table blocked his vision. Once his head was on the bench seat, she was back in full view. The first shot, which shattered the glass, went into Patti's left shoulder. The shot sounded like an explosion in his left ear. The force of the first shot pushed her back against the counter. If it had knocked her down, her life may have been saved, but Patti hit the counter hard enough to force the breath from her lungs, bending her over backwards. She reached out to her left shoulder with her right hand. Blood pulsed through the fingers with each beat of her heart. Her face was full of pain, shock and surprise. Spencer's reached out to her, but she might as well have been a mile away. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Her green eyes, which reminded him of jade pools, were already losing their brightness. Now, they were glazing over. Another shot rang out, followed by another and another. Each bullet ripped into Patti's body: chest, neck and face. She didn't have time to scream or cry. The shot that hit her in the chest blew straight through her, creating a large exit wound out her back, painting the mirror behind the countertop with goblets of blood and pieces of her lung. Part of her neck disappeared; a large gaping hole replaced the flesh just above the collarbone. Her hand, which had been covering the hole made from the first shot, slide down the front of her blouse, leaving a red swatch. It looked like a painting by a three year old with finger-paints. The last shot hit Patti in the bottom of her jaw. Bone and teeth flew from her mouth in jagged, red pieces. The back half of her head lay open, exposing part of her brain. She was dead before her body fell to the floor. Blood was flowing freely out of Patti's gunshot wounds. Her brunette hair, which was shiny and full, was now streaked with red blotches and gray matter. The paper hat, which looked so silly on her head, was laying on the floor beside her, soaking up the blood that was pooling there. Her eyes were now blank, open and haunted. Her green eyes were now the color of eternal sleep.

Tears filled Spencer's eyes, "I couldn't stop it," he began to cry; "I couldn't stop it."

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Chapter Two

The morning, which had started with so much promise, was melting away in the howling of sirens and screams of other diner patrons. Spencer sat up and stared out the hole where the window had been only moments before. The shooter was gone. He could see some spent shell casings lying on the sidewalk. What caught him by surprise was how quiet it was. Besides the warble of the approaching police sirens, the world was just as it was before the shooting started. The sun was still shining; he could hear the song of a robin somewhere in a nearby maple tree. This particular moment of time was just that, a fleeting moment. As Patti's life was being taken by some lunatic and Spencer lay down fearing for his own life, the world had moved on. It continued to turn as if nothing had happened. As if to accent the point, Spencer noticed his coffee was still steaming with heat. The events of a moment ago, which had felt like a lifetime to him, had happened so quickly that his coffee didn't have a chance to cool.

The left side of Spencer's face burned like he had been stung by a swarm of bees. He knew he had bits of broken glass in his face.

He started to get up and go check Patti for a pulse but he thought, _what's the use_? _There is no way she can be alive after that_. The coldness of his own thought caused him to shiver.

Two village police officers had entered the scene and were creating a parameter around the front of the diner. They wouldn't enter the diner. A crime of this magnitude would be handled by the county Sheriffs or the State Police. Spencer knew because he had been a resident of Medina for most of his life. It was where he grew up and went to school. In all that time, he couldn't remember any violent crimes ever happening in town. Oh, there was the occasional drug bust or burglary, but nothing involving guns. It just didn't happen here. What exactly was going on? Was this a domestic disturbance? Maybe the man who had taken Patti's life was an ex-boyfriend or husband?

Patti had recognized the assailant was when she yelled out, "What's he doing here?!"

_Was the guy across the street stalking her_? Spencer thought, already knowing that was partially true. He didn't know it immediately, but he did have a feeling. If only he had reacted a second earlier, Patti might still be alive. Spencer's gaze returned to Patti's lifeless body. The blood which had been pouring out of her wounds with the beating of her heart was already clotting.

"Jesus Christ all mighty," a voice said from behind Spencer.

It was the cook, the mason, the master carpenter, the owner of The Victory Diner. Jim Baker stood staring down at Patti's lifeless body. He had seen plenty of death while serving his country in Korea, but that seems like a lifetime ago. He had seen friends and enemies alike lying dead in trenches and burned out buildings. He saw bodies with missing limbs, disemboweled corpses and smelled the stench of death. The stench was the worst. Death has its own scent. That scent, which Jim had hoped to never smell again, was creeping into his nostrils like an unwelcomed guest. It assaulted his nose, making his eyes water.

"Christ all mighty," Jim repeated, making the sign of the cross. "Oh Patti, what have they done to you? What have they," his words trailed off, lost in sobs.

He removed the small, white beanie from his head and began to wring it between his huge hands. Spencer didn't know what shock looked like but it had to resemble the expression on the Jim's face. He was a pale balding man, had to be early 80's? The man was heavyset, but tall. He wasn't fat but husky. Even at his advanced age, he was in excellent shape. Jim never spent his time on a computer, sitting in a cozy office. He was old school. He worked with his hands and used the tools that God gave him very well. Spencer guessed he was at least 6'6" tall. He had the look and toughness of a NFL lineman, but right now, he could have been pushed over with a feather. He continued to wring the hat, tears streaming down his face.

"Are you alright son, were you hurt?"Jimbo said his eyes turned to Spencer.

"I'm alright," Spencer said.

Spencer slid out from behind the booth's table. He was careful to avoid the broken glass and the blood that was seeping toward him. He grabbed Jim by the arm, turning him away from Patti and led him back toward the front of the diner. He tried to comfort Jim but it was obvious he was pretty shaken up.

"Here, sit down," Spencer said, directing Jim onto a bar stool near the end of the counter. Jim sat down with a thud, the bar stool shifted under his weight.

Jim looked up at Spencer and said, "Buddy, are you alright? Christ, did you see what happened to poor Patti?"

Spencer nodded his head to answer both questions. He still couldn't believe what had happened himself.

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Chapter Three

A day earlier, Spencer entered the diner around 1pm for a late lunch. As he was leaving, a man brushed against him, muttering to himself and rushed out the door, slamming it violently into the wall. He noticed two waitresses standing in the back corner talking softly. A brunette was crying and the blonde was trying to console her.

"Don't worry about him, he's a jerk. He won't have the balls to show his face in here again," the blonde said, gripping the brunette around the shoulders.

Obviously, Spencer had just missed some sort of excitement. He stood waiting by the sign reading, 'Please wait to be seated', figuring he'd be waiting all day at this pace. He walked down the aisle, looking down to see a broken cup and a puddle of coffee on the floor, still hot by the looks of it. He chose a booth and sat down. At first, his only thought was to avoid the coffee pooled on the floor but as he slid over toward the middle of the booth's bench seat, the waitresses' voices disappeared and his mind was filled with frustration, confusion and then rage. He closed his eyes, letting the feelings take him over. He had grown use to the gift or curse God had given him. He opened his eyes and the brunette was standing before him. He couldn't see her name tag because it was covered by her hair.

He thought her name was... "Come on Shelly," the voice inside his head said, "Just one more time, I promise it'll be different this time."

Was the voice in his head her boyfriend or lover? He wasn't sure but he could feel panic rising up in his stomach. He was fully erect too. As the man in the booth reached out for Shelly, Spencer's own hand and arm extended.

"Don't touch me; you shouldn't be here. For Christ sakes this is where I work. Now get lost," Shelly turned her head, looking around the diner.

Was she looking for help, or to see if anyone was listening? He couldn't tell but the voice in his head was quiet except for the man sitting in the booth. He thought he was alone in the diner, he felt alone.

"Listen bitch..." and before the man could finish his sentence, Shelly threw the hot cup of coffee she had been holding in her hand, directly into the man's face.

The man's hands, along with Spencer's went directly to his face.

"Ugh... you fucking bitch, you'll pay for that," the man said, jumping out of the booth. When the man got up, the vision Spencer had disappeared. He lowered his hands and noticed the two waitresses were still standing in the corner. Neither of them seemed to recognize his actions. Before the man left the booth, one last thought flashed across Spencer's mind, "I'm going to kill that bitch".

Spencer stood up and left the diner, unnoticed by either of the two waitresses.

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Chapter Four

Spencer's hearing was returning when the first state police officer arrived on the scene.

"Sir, are you alright? Are you injured? Did you see what happened?" Trooper Robert Benson asked, looking Spencer over for any apparent injuries.

"Yes, I'm fine," Spencer said, "except for some ringing in my ear. I have some glass in my face. I saw the whole thing happen."

Benson had eighteen years of experience in law enforcement; ten years with the Medina PD and eight years with the NYS troopers. In the ten years he served the small community, he had only seen one shooting and experienced another. Before the shooting, the most action Benson had seen in his days on the force was a joint task with the sheriffs and local PD. There had been a drug ring operating out of an abandoned, broken down, condemned house just on the outskirts of town. His job was to close off all roads leading in and out of the area where the house stood. The bust was huge. The estimated cost of the haul was seventy thousand dollars in marijuana and over a half million dollars in cocaine. Of course, the local PD and sheriff's department fought over who had the rights to the bust. It seemed like neither branch of law enforcement cared that the drugs were off the street; all they looked for were headlines.

The officer pulled out his note pad and pen in rather quick fashion. He looked like a veteran of the force, gray around the temples and he looked tired.

_I'm sure he has seen a lot of bad things in his time on the force_ , Spencer thought.

"I'll get EMS to take a look the cuts on your face," the officer said, jotting down a note.

"Let's start off by getting your name sir, and where you live," Benson said.

"My name is Spencer Coleman. I live at 509 West Center Street--right here in Medina," Spencer said.

"And what is it that you do Mr. Coleman?" Benson asked.

"I'm retired," Spencer said.

"Excuse me for saying so sir, but you don't look old enough to be retired," Benson stated.

"I've been very fortunate in my life Trooper Benson," Spencer said.

"Ok, let's get on with it shall we Mr. Coleman? What brought you into the diner this morning? Did you notice anything suspicious?" Benson asked, looking up from his notepad.

"Breakfast, I was here for breakfast. No, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary," Spencer answered, "Until I noticed a guy standing across the street staring into the diner. I thought he was staring at me at first but then he seemed to lose interest. Next thing I know, the guy is standing right outside the window and just starts shooting."

Spencer began to play the scene over again in his mind. He jumped and then winced at the sound of the gun reverberating in his ear.

"Can you describe the man? What was he wearing?" Benson asked, pen at the ready.

Spencer thought for a moment and said, "It all happened so fast--he was normal height and average build. He was white, must have been left handed because that's the hand in which he held the gun. He was wearing a gray, short sleeved shirt and beige shorts; the kind shorts with lots of pockets. I didn't get a good look at his face; all I noticed was him pointing the gun," Spencer trailed off, recalling how big the gun was. "The gun was big and silver--I don't remember much more than that," Spencer said.

"Trust me Mr. Coleman," Benson said, "you've recalled more information than most witness do. Most witnesses will either clam up or say they don't remember because they don't want to get involved. Sometimes the shock of the moment won't allow them to remember. You've been a great help sir. I got your statement and your contact information so if there are any questions, we'll be in touch," Trooper Benson said. He put his note pad back in his breast pocket and handed Spencer his card.

"Give me a call if you remember anything else. Now, go get yourself checked out by EMS before you take off," Benson added, turning his back and returning to his colleagues.

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Chapter Five

Spencer enjoyed his time in college. He enrolled as an Electrical Engineering major with a minor in mechanical design. He found that math and science came naturally to him. Spencer didn't want to work his entire life busting his ass so he could make other men rich. He had an idea and if he could put his idea to work for him, he would be a very wealthy and independent man.

He was very interested in the automobile industry, mainly electric car technology. He saw the electric car as the future of the automobile.

He faced some challenges, but after he finished his second year of school, the idea of running a car on a battery made more and more sense. There were times he struggled but he pressed on. Spencer's ideas were cutting edge technology. He was very weary of showing his ideas to anyone because he feared they would be stolen.

One time while working in the garage of a house he was renting, he wired this power supply and a bank of batteries up backwards and it started a fire. Spencer was ready for anything and beside his work bench, he kept a bag of children's play sand. It was one of the safest ways to put out a battery fire of that type. He reacted quickly enough to save his experiment but the batteries he used were toast. He needed to replace the batteries lost in the fire, so he called upon his biggest investor for a financial favor.

"Mom, I think I've done it," Spencer said, "I think I've come up with a new idea to revolutionize the automobile industry."

"Slow down Spencer, you're talking to fast," his mother said, "Let's start with a simple hello, shall we?"

"I'm sorry mom," Spencer laughed, "How are you, is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine. I've been a little tired lately but that comes with old age. Ok, so you said you're going to reinvent the car? Is that what I heard you say?" Spencer's mom said.

"Not the car per say but a way to improve the way the batteries are charged in an electric car and extend the battery life. Right now, an electrical car can travel about one-hundred miles on a charge and when the battery power runs low, a small gasoline engine engages and recharges the battery. One hundred mile range is alright for the everyday person who doesn't do more than stay local, running around town. As long as they remember to charge their cars at night, then everything is fine. Those types of people will hardly ever pay for gasoline again," he said.

"Well, wouldn't that be lovely. Where can I get a car like that Spencer?" his mom asked.

"Electric cars are a rare commodity right now Mom, unless you have $150,000 and want to be put on a waiting list that is over a year long. Only the rich can afford them and there aren't many charging stations in the country to accommodate them. California is leading the way toward electric cars but until the production cost comes down, and they can find a way to increase the mileage from the cars batteries, the electric car will be more of a novelty than a reality. What I've discovered mom, is a way to increase that mileage from one hundred miles on a charge to six hundred miles. It's going to revolutionize the industry," Spencer said, his voice full of excitement.

"That sounds amazing Spencer. You don't own a car company though. How are you going to implement your idea? Do you plan on going to work for one of the three big automotive companies? I'm sure you can make a very nice living working as an electrical engineer for one of the big three," she said.

"Working for someone else has never been my plan, mom. The only thing my idea will do is put more money in the pockets of the fat cats. If I worked for one of the car companies, they would say that I was working for them, my idea would be their intellectual property and I wouldn't get a dime for it. Oh, I would get a nice bonus, maybe a plaque or something, but Mom, this idea is worth millions. I am so close to completing my design. I have a prototype but it caught on fire today while I was testing," he laughed. "What I really could use mom is a temporary loan. Not a lot, but like ten-thousand dollars so I can get some new parts and batteries. I promise to pay you back mom. I plan on patenting this idea and sell it to the highest bidder. I'll never have to work again."

Spencer's mom thought about it and said, "Ok, Spencer, I'll give you the money because I've always believed in you and your dreams. I will transfer the money into your account but you have to promise me one thing, and this is show stopper. If you don't agree, I won't send you the money."

"And what is that condition?" Spencer asked.

"That you never pay me back. You keep that money and if your invention sells, you go on a nice vacation, take a nice girl with you and make me some grandbabies," she laughed. "Those are my terms. You know I'm getting old and what I want most right now is to look into my grandson's or granddaughter's eyes. Make me that promise, and you can have the money."

Spencer debated it. He was still young and he valued his freedom. If he was able to sell his invention, he would live a charmed life. He could go anywhere he wanted, date anyone he met and enjoy his life. He didn't want to be tied down with a wife and kids right now, but he needed the money. "It's a deal Mom. What color eyes do you want your grandchildren to be?" He laughed and said, "I love you Mom. I plan on stopping out next month for a visit. School is almost over and I'd like to get away for a while. How does the second week of March sound? Will you be ready for a visitor by then?"

"I'll have your room ready and stock the fridge," she said. "I can't wait to see you again baby. The money is on its way. Good luck and let me know how everything is going. I'm tired. I'll let you go and we'll talk soon."

"Good night Mom and thank you," Spencer said. He heard the phone click in his ear. Two hours later, he checked his bank account and as expected, his mother had wired his money. She always looked out for him.

Spencer never saw his mother alive again. It was in his final semester of college that his mother had passed away. He took her death very hard. His mother had always been there for him and when she died, it was sudden and alone. It was how she lived her life. His mother died in the house where he was born so many years ago.

The next door neighbor had found her when she came over to see if she wanted to go to the farmer's market with her. The coroner said she died of a massive heart attack. She didn't suffer. She was doing dishes at the time. Her body was found in the kitchen, with a dish rag in her hand and a sink full of dirty dishes. Spencer left school for a week and buried his mother. He tried to read her Signature when he got back home, but her energy was long gone. He never knew his mother's last thoughts. He'd give anything to talk to her again.

His mother had left him plenty of money when she had passed away. He had more than enough to finish school and put the final touches on his invention.

In the summer after his graduation, he took the money his mother had left him and applied for a patent. It was accepted and he immediately began shopping his idea around to all the automakers. He sent out a boilerplate letter thinking his inbox would be full of excited engineers and executive to get their hand on such an idea. It was revolutionary and would change the electric car design forever.

His idea was quite simple actually. By improving the motor design that drove all the wheels of the car, he was able to harness the energy back into the battery cells. The feedback made the batteries 97.3% efficient. It drastically increased the cars range. It was so simple he was surprised no one had come up with the idea long before he did.

He was invited to Detroit to visit the big three. He pitched his idea and showed how his prototype worked. It was a very interesting meeting. All of the top executives representing the three big American automobile companies were present in the same conference room at one time. Spencer had expected three separate meetings but this did save time, even though he found it odd.

"Mr. Coleman, we are intrigued by your idea. As you know, we have been struggling as to how to make the electric car more efficient. You have come up with a design that hundreds of engineers have worked on for ten years without much success. You should be very proud of what you accomplished," Executive #1 said.

"Thank you sir; I've worked very hard at making this a reality. I only hope that I we can put this technology to work and start cutting back on the US oil addiction," Spencer said.

Executive #2 started clapping his hands and said, "Nice speech Mr. Coleman. And I thought you were here to make a shit load of money? "

This brought a chuckle from the other two Executives.

"Mr. Coleman," said Executive #3, "We have an offer for you. It's a simple one, it's a very large one but it's also a onetime offer. So please, listen up. We are going to offer you $25 million dollars for your patent and you're going to accept it. You will sign over all rights to your idea, your patient and sign a binding nondisclosure agreement to never discuss this with anyone outside of this room again. If you do so, we will sue you for every penny you've ever made in your life. Freeze all your assets and make your life a living hell. All your work will be for nothing. You'll never be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. If you don't sell this idea to us now, I can promise you no one else will make an offer like this and we will bury you in litigation for the rest of your life. You'll never see a dime. Now, what do you say?"

Spencer was shocked, angry and frightened. He wanted to stand up and tell them all to go fuck themselves but $25 million dollars was much more than he had every hope to get for his idea. He knew it was revolutionary and he was really hoping to make a difference in the way people drove cars.

"I need time please to consider your offer. Would you please give me five minutes alone," Spencer said.

"Yes, we can do that but after five minutes you better have made your decision. The offer is off the table after that," Executive #3 said.

All three men stood up and exited the room. Spencer didn't hesitate one second. As soon as the room was clear, he ran and sat in the chair previously occupied by Executive #3. Spencer closed his eyes and concentrated.

_Look at him, he is shocked_. _He doesn't know what to do_ , the executive thought. _We got this bastard right where we want him_. _$25 million is a drop in the bucket from the kick backs we'll get from the major oil companies for burying this technology_. _If this son of a bitch doesn't take the agreement, we won't bury him in litigation, we'll bury him with Jimmy Hoffa_.

Spencer's eyes flew open, _Holy shit_ he thought. _What have I gotten myself into_? He was considering his options. _Screw it_ Spencer thought, _it was always about the money, wasn't it? I never wanted to work my entire life for someone else. Just take the money and live your life_.

He got up out of the chair and returned to his own. A few seconds later, all three executives returned to the table. "Well, what do you think of our offer Mr. Coleman?" Executive #3 said, "Do we have a deal?"

Spencer nodded, "it's a very fair deal. Send the paperwork to my lawyer and I'll sign."

"Nonsense Mr. Coleman, we have the agreement all ready for you to sign. Let's get this done right now. It's very simple and in laymen terms," Executive #3 said and slid the paperwork down to Spencer.

Spencer picked it up. The executive was right. It was very simple and in plain English. As if on cue, three well-dressed men stepped into the room. He assumed these were lawyers of the car companies. He signed the agreement, slid it back down the table. One of the lawyers picked it up, looked at Executive #2 and nodded. Executive #2 reached into his pocket, got up and walked around the table to Spencer.

"Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Coleman," he shook Spencer's hand and all the men left the table.

Spencer sat alone in the room; staring a check for $25 million dollars.

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Chapter Six

Spencer walked to the EMS ambulance to get the small shards of glass removed from his face. He was given the all clear by the EMS crew.

He couldn't tell the officer why he was at the diner today. Hell, he really didn't know why he was there until the shots were fired. It then became all too clear and too late. He only had fading images and knew something bad was going to happen in the diner today. If he told the officer why he was there, it would have caused him many more problems.

The images and emotions he got from sitting on the diner bench the previous day was enough to make him return today. The events didn't turn out as he had seen. Signatures weren't always clear. They were thoughts and emotions, which change within a person constantly. Just because a person thinks of doing harm to another person one minute, doesn't mean they are sincere enough to follow through with their thoughts. This one was different though. This one felt cold, calculated and planned out. It wasn't a heat of the moment reaction to something that was bothering someone. This person was pissed, but the rage was controlled, harnessed. Spencer could feel the rage the moment he sat on the bench. It took his breath away, like jumping into cold water.

He could see the plan coming to fruition in the killers mind... _I'll catch her first thing in the morning at work; the bitch will never know what hit her_ , the killer thought.

The killer's emotions were raw, like an exposed nerve in a long neglected rotted tooth. His plan was to come into the diner early, before anyone else arrived and stab the woman to death. He didn't think a single stab wound would be enough. _Oh no_ , he thought, _I want to stab her until her flesh no longer resisted the blade_. He was imagining turning her into a pile of goo, lifeless on the floor. The images had been so strong that Spencer almost became sick. He got up and left the diner; his appetite had disappeared.

Spencer stood in the street about to enter his car when he paused and shut the door. The police had put yellow crime scene tape across the façade of the diner as well as what had to be Patti's car. He stood looking at the gaping hole of the broken window. He could see the police standing in the doorway. The Trooper who had taken his statement went to his car and picked up the microphone for the radio.

_He's probably calling this in, getting out a description of the shooter_. _I hope they get the bastard_! Spencer thought.

The street was otherwise vacant. Barricades were place at each intersection before the diner, closing off the street.

"Maybe, just maybe," Spencer said to himself and approached the street lamp where he had first noticed the killer. "Right about here is where he stood." Spencer stood where the killer had been before the shooting began.

Spencer leaned against the lamppost and a feeling of confusion and anger crossed his mind. The feeling was strong, it radiated through his body. Spencer closed his eyes and let the feeling take him over.

"There she is, that bitch, looks pretty today. I'll fix that!" the voice said. "Who the fuck is that she's talking too? Is that guy hitting on her?? Shit, he saw me--act nonchalant." Spencer realized his eyes were open and he was staring at his shoes.

Spencer felt different emotions radiating from the signature. The man inside his head was very agitated. His emotions were all over the place. Spencer shook off what he was feeling and crossed the road, standing in front of the yellow crime scene tape. I might not have been able to stop this guy, but maybe I can figure out who he is. Spencer looked up and down the street, making sure the coast was clear and stepped under the tape and onto the spot where the killer stood.

"HEY, get out of there!" Trooper Benson yelled at Spencer, "That is a crime scene." Spencer ignored the shouts, closed his eyes and saw Patti through the glass. He couldn't see her clearly though because of the writing on the glass. She hadn't noticed him standing there yet, she was focused on the guy in the booth.

_She really likes that guy_ the voice in his head thought, _I can tell, look at her--looking him up and down. She'll probably take the guy in the back room and fuck him on her break. God damn that bitch. Bitch bitch bitch..._ Spencer took a deep breath, feeling the rage filling him up to the core.

"Die bitch," the killer's voice exploded inside Spencer's head. Spencer brought his arm up, aiming deliberately and pulled the trigger of the huge gun. He saw the horror on Patti's face, her cries muffled by the glass.

_Yeah, now what bitch? Now what?? Time to die_! the killer thought.

Spencer felt his fingers pulling the trigger on the imaginary gun, a smile crossed his face. The glass disappeared in front of him, he saw a red splotch appear on Patti's shoulder, and his hand recoiled from the discharge of the pistol. Blam, Blam Blam... three more shots rang out, his heart felt like a jackhammer thumping in his chest. Spencer saw Patti's body slip to the floor, blood flowing out of all her wounds. He didn't think a body had that much blood inside it.

"That's what you get bitch. Die in hell mother fucker," the killers mind screamed inside of Spencer's head.

Just when Spencer thought it was over, he saw the gun move from Patti's lifeless body to his own cowering body on the bench seat by the table. The killer took aim and then he was gone. Spencer's eye's snapped open; his arm was aimed where he was sitting. The killer had spared his life; but why?

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Chapter Seven

Spencer was a typical 8 year old boy. One of his favorite things to do in the summer was ride his bike from sun up to sundown with a transistor radio taped to his handlebars. The small radio cranked out Rock 102 as he rode through the streets of Medina. He had never heard of FM radio before until one of his friends turned him on to it. Until then, AM was all he knew or vinyl records. Rock 102 transmitted out of Buffalo and was his favorite station. He particularly liked it when Steely Dan or Boz Scaggs took over the airwaves. In 1971, before the big box stores, before cell phones and Nintendo, before reality TV, there wasn't much to do in a small town. The streets still had exposed iron tracks from the old trolley cars that used to ride through town. That was long before his time. It was typical to see kids playing in their yards, riding bikes on the street or doing something in the parks. Life was simpler and less dramatic.

The summer of '71 was a hot summer with very little rain. Tar bubbles rose up on the roadside like pimples on a teenager's greasy forehead. On occasion, he and his friend Kaitlin would venture out to the side of the road and pop the bubbles for fun. They tried to do it in secret so they wouldn't get in trouble for playing in the road, but it wasn't easy explaining away the tar on their hands. Besides, Jake the family toy poodle would often follow them out to the road just to see what they were up too. Jake was a puppy with no fear. He would trounce into the house with flecks of tar in his fur from the kids grabbing him to keep him out of the road.

Kaitlin Taylor attended the same school as Spencer and they quickly became friends after he saved her from the local bully, Craig Fearson. One day on the playground he was pushing Kaitlin around because he wanted the swing she was playing on, even though there were three other swings available. She lost her grip on the swing's chain and fell on the ground crying.

Craig's laughter filled the playground. When Spencer saw her lying on the ground crying, he ran to her aid. Craig was no longer interested in the swing but on Spencer for coming to Kaitlin's aid. Craig was big for his age and like all bullies, he thought that made him tougher than the smaller kids. Spencer reached for Kaitlin's hand to help her get up when Craig shoved him from behind.

"What's the matter loser, did I make your little girlfriend cry?" Craig said, laughing loudly. Spencer didn't hesitate; he spun around and punched Craig so hard in the stomach, all the air escaped from his body. A loud 'whooshing' sound escaped Craig's lips as he fell to the ground. He wriggled around like a fish out of water.

"Come on," Spencer said, pulling Kaitlin to her feet.

Craig never bothered either of them again.

Kaitlin and Spencer had been best friends every since that day.

Spencer recalled one morning when Kaitlin had slept over; they got up early to watch cartoons. It was Saturday morning and back when he was a kid, cartoons were on all day. Bugs Bunny, Wile E. Coyote and the Pink Panther were just a few of his favorites.

He approached Kaitlin who sat on the floor, laughing at another Bugs Bunny rerun when Kaitlin asked, "So what do you want to do today?"

Spencer took only a minute to think about it and said, "I'm not sure; it looks like another nice day. We could ride our bikes down to the store and get some candy!? Mom owes me 50 cents for my allowance. I'll split it with you."

Kaitlin smiled, "That sounds like fun. If we leave now, we can get back before the next bunch of cartoons start!"

"Mom," Spencer yelled from the living room, "Can I get my allowance?? Kaitlin and I want to ride our bikes down to the store and get some candy."

Spencer's mom appeared around the corner, "Is your room clean?" she asked, fishing in her pocket for some change.

"Yup, Kaitlin and I did it as soon as we woke up," he said, flashing a wide smile.

His mom returned the smile, "OK, go ahead but don't take too long. Lunch will be ready when you get back. Oh and before you go, please take this out for me would you kiddo?" His mom handed him a garbage bag.

"Sure, and thanks Mom!" Spencer said, running toward the door, Kaitlin hot on his heels. What Spencer didn't notice in his hurry to put out the trash and beat Kaitlin to the bikes, was that Jake had rushed to the door as well, getting through the opening before it closed.

Spencer could feel the change jingling in his pocket as he ran toward his bike. "Come on slowpoke!" he yelled to Kaitlin, looking over his shoulder to see where she was.

She was right on his heels but over her shoulder, Spencer saw Jake sitting in the yard watching them running. Spencer froze in his tracks.

_Jake shouldn't be out. He's never been outside alone_ , he thought and turned to go after Jake but Kaitlin barreled into him.

"Ouch; why did you stop?" Kaitlin yelled, rubbing her elbow that she used to break her fall.

"It's Jake, he's out," Spencer said, kneeling, calling to get Jake's attention. "Jake, come on Jake, come on boy," he tried to coax the dog to him.

Jake must have thought Spencer was playing because he started bouncing around the yard, barking and running in circles. Spencer could have sworn he saw the dog smiling.

"I'll get him," Kaitlin said as she shot past him.

"NO!" yelled Spencer, "don't chase him."

He knew from playing with Jake hundreds of times in the house that chasing him would only cause him to run.

"Come on Jake," Kaitlin called, whistling as she ran.

For a minute, Spencer thought Jake was going to stay and let Kaitlin grab him but the minute it looked like she was about to reach him, he bolted.

"Kaitlin stop, don't chase him. Hang on a minute," he yelled, getting up and running for the front door.

Spencer had an idea. If he could grab one of Jake's favorite squeaker toys, he would come back, Spencer knew he would. He disappeared into the house.

"Where is it? Where is it??" Spencer yelled, looking frantically for the rubber clown. It was Jake's favorite and it always got his attention. _Ahh, there it is_. Spencer thought, reaching under the end table to retrieve the toy.

"JAKE!!!!" Kaitlin screamed.

He never heard her scream so loud. The next sound he heard was the squealing of tires on pavement and a dull thump. Spencer was frozen to the floor in the living room. The living room door, which was only a couple feet away, now seemed like a mile. His heart sank, imagining what that horrible thump could have been. Kaitlin's screams brought him back to the life. Spencer sprang from the spot and ran hard for the door; his mother right behind him. His eyes were already filling with tears knowing something terribly wrong had happened.

Kaitlin ran past him, sobbing uncontrollably toward the front porch, into his mother's arms.

"Oh my God," Spencer's mom said, as she wrapped her arms around Kaitlin.

She reached out for Spencer but he avoided her grasp and walked slowly toward the road. Sitting in the road was a big, brown truck. UPS stenciled on its side. Beneath the truck, lay Jake, his body motionless except for a slight movement of his tail.

"I'm sorry kid, I didn't even see him. He came out of nowhere," the driver said, visibly shaken.

The driver looked at Spencer's mother on the porch and mouthed the same words. His apology didn't mean anything, he had killed his dog. That stupid driver was the reason Jake was laying on the road.

_No Spencer, it's not his fault. You're the one who let him out. You couldn't catch him, it's entirely your fault_ , the voice inside Spencer's head said accusingly. The driver hung his head and carefully moved the truck so Spencer could get to his lifeless dog.

When Spencer touched Jake to pick him up, Jake's head turned slightly, his tongue came out of his mouth. He was trying to give Spencer a kiss but it proved to be too much for the little guy. His side rose once, and then never rose again. Jake was gone.

Spencer picked up Jake's lifeless body. It was still warm; there was very little blood. There were only small rivulets of blood running out of Jake's nostrils. Spencer sat down on the road, putting the dog in his lap. The brown truck that had taken the life of his dog was still parked in the road beside him. He didn't have to worry about becoming a casualty like Jake had. He put his arm across his eyes to wipe his tears and then he put his hand on the road where Jake lay moments before.

Spencer wasn't sure what was going on but in his mind, he could see Jake and Kaitlin running for the door. He knew if he hurried, he could squeeze between the door and the frame before it latched. He made it; he was outside looking at the kids running for their bikes. Suddenly they spotted him and he saw the girl running toward him. Oh good, we are going to play chase and Jake bolted from the girls reach. She was hot on his tail when she stopped quickly and yelled his name. He looked around and saw the big brown truck approaching him fast down the road. He tried to run but he was terrified; his legs refused to work. He heard the tires squealing on the road, fighting for traction. The driver jerking the wheel to the right but it was too late. The front tire ran him over and for a moment he felt incredible pain, but then the pain was gone. There was a loud shriek, but it wasn't him. It was the girl screaming.

Spencer could hear a voice saying, "I shouldn't have run; why did I run? I'm sorry Spencer; I love you."

He could then see himself, blurry and out of focus and then the voice was gone. Spencer sat in silence, not understanding what had just happened.

"Jake??" Spencer said and looked down at the poor dog in his lap.

That was the first time Spencer Coleman experienced a Signature and the last time he saw Kaitlin as a friend.

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Chapter Eight

Trooper Robert Benson was a local police officer at the Medina PD for ten years before joining the state police. He was far too familiar with violent crimes. In fact when he was still Officer Benson, he himself had had been a victim of a violent crime. He knew the experience from both sides; as a victim and as an investigating officer. He never wanted to be the victim again.

He and his partner at the time responded to a domestic violence call in a seedy part of town. His normal partner, Craig Fox, had called in sick. Benson was stuck with a rookie as back up.

It was a place they had both responded to before. The husband, Bill Kennedy got drunk, came home and then started beating on his wife, Ann Kennedy. They would drag him off for processing but it never went any further than that because the wife refused to press charges.

When asked why she said, "Because I love him and I don't want to be alone."

To Benson, it didn't make any sense but here they were again, about to intervene in another one of her beatings. _Maybe this time she'll do the right thing_ , he thought. When they parked the car, the first thing they noticed was the front door was kicked in.

"This doesn't look good," Benson said to his new partner. When they were exiting the car, the situation became a lot worst.

A single gunshot echoed from inside the house. Benson and his partner immediately drew their guns and approached the front door. Benson's partner reached the door first. He stuck his head inside to take a quick look. He didn't have time to react as the unseen assailant shot him in the forehead. He fell to the ground, dead. Benson immediately called for backup and announced an officer was down. He entered the house; his gun aimed at where the shot must have come from that took his partner's life. The room was empty except for the sound of creaking floorboards down the hall way. Adrenaline was pumping through Benson's veins like a freight train. His breathing was rapid and shallow; his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had never seen a dead body before tonight. It wouldn't be the last one either. The hallway was dark except for a room at the end. There were two other darkened rooms along the way that he searched and found nothing. The creaking sound he heard when he entered the home had grown eerily quiet.

_He's hiding, waiting for me to make a mistake_ , Benson thought as he entered the room with the light turned on.

The room was a mess. There was broken glass, a table had been turned over and there was a gurgling sound coming from the other side of the bed. Benson approached the sound, his heart pounding, his finger tense on the trigger of his service revolver. Ann Kennedy lay on the floor, a neat little hole in her throat, just below her Adams-apple. Her clothes were torn and her arms were cut and bruised. It was obvious she tried to fight back but she lost. She looked at Officer Benson; her eyes were full of fright. She knew she was dying.

"Hang on Mrs. Kennedy! Help is on the wa..." but before he could finish his sentence, a shot rang out behind him.

Intense fire and pain erupted in Benson's right side. He whirled around to see that Bill Kennedy had gotten the drop on him. Benson forgot all about him when he found Ann. Another shot rang out and hit him square in the chest. If not for his bulletproof vest, he would be lying dead on the floor. Instead, the impact of the bullet lifted him off his feet, smashing him to the floor. He was dazed. He had lost his gun when he fell. Mr. Kennedy stood over top of Benson, his eyes full of tears.

"Oh my God, what have I done?" They were the last words Bill Kennedy would ever utter.

He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. His brains exited the left side of his head. He went down in a heap. The gurgling sound from beside the bed and stopped. Benson lay bleeding on the floor from the shot in his back where the bulletproof vest couldn't protect. He heard the sirens getting louder as they drew closer. His mind turned inward to his friend and partner Craig Fox. _This wouldn't have happened if Fox had my back_ , he thought and then his world went dark.

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Chapter Nine

Robert Benson and Craig Fox had been classmates all through school. They formed their bond in first grade when they were paired up for a class project. It was a simple project; making rings for decorating the class Christmas tree. All the kids had a different task and the teacher proposed that whichever team made the best looking decorations, a prize would be given.

Craig came up with a simple design for the rings and Robert handled the glue and glitter. They won and it created a friendship that would endure a lot of hurdles.

When Benson and Fox entered high school, they tried out for, and made the football team. Both men were natural athletes. Fox tried out for quarterback and easily won the job over a senior. Benson tried out for wide receiver, but he couldn't catch to save his life. He earned the nick name, 'Concrete Hands'. Benson was strong and quick for a big man. The coach had him try out for offensive lineman.

"Coach, come on man, can't you put me at running back or a more glorious position?" Benson said.

"Listen Concrete, if you're a running back, you still have to catch passes out of the back field once in a while. Besides, don't you want to protect your girlfriend?" Coach said, pointing to Fox. "Listen, you play offensive left tackle. Try that position out and let me know how you like it. It is one of the most important jobs on the field. A good left tackle protects his quarterback's blind side. You do your job right and you'll get noticed. You'll also face some of the most talented pass rushers from the opposing squads. Trust me, you play that position well, you'll get noticed alright."

Benson learned he was a natural at playing left tackle. He found he loved playing the position and protecting his friend made it more meaningful. There was one time however in a particular game where Benson was consistently getting beaten by the opposing linebacker and Fox was getting crushed. He drew Fox's ire.

"Dude, what the hell is going on with you today? You are making that linebacker look like a star. We both know he sucks and you should be cleaning his clock, what gives?" Fox asked Benson in the huddle.

"Quit flirting with my girlfriend," Benson said, smiling at Fox.

Fox smiled coyly back at Benson, "Done." They shook hands and Fox wasn't touched the rest of the game.

The football team went to three state finals, winning two of them. Benson and Fox were both heralded as high college prospects but Benson had different vision for the future beyond football.

Benson found he liked to protect people so he decided he wanted to join the police academy. Fox on the other hand thought football might be the way to go.

"I don't know man, what the hell do you want to be a cop for? Those guys work long hours, the pay is lousy, and people shoot at them!" Fox said.

"That's true man but football is also a dangerous profession. One wrong hit and you could be dead or paralyzed. Like everything in life, there is always someone who is faster, stronger and in your case Fox, definitely better looking," Benson said, chiding his friend. "You put twenty years in as a cop and you're set for life. Not to mention you can run red lights, speed and talk on your cell phone while driving; dude, the perks rock!"

"We do this, we do this together. You hear me? We enroll, we serve the same district, and we watch each other's backs. Just like always," Fox said.

"I wouldn't have it any other way brother," Benson smiled, and extended his hand. "Let's do this."

The two men did. They enlisted, graduated and joined the same police department. Each had the other backs through it all except for one night. Fox had gotten a case of food poisoning and couldn't make it to work.

It was the night of the Kennedy shooting. Fox didn't have Benson's back and Benson's partner that night was fatally shot.

It created a riff between the two men. Benson knew in his heart that Fox wasn't to blame for his getting shot or the death of his partner that night, but it still took a precious piece of their friendship. Shortly after the shooting, Benson applied for and was accepted to a State Trooper position. Fox had all the excitement he could handle with the village police force.

"I can't do it man. The wife would kill me, Benson. She already worries about me enough working here. Not to mention I'd be away more often and for longer hours. Look, we have ten years in, another ten and we can retire together. Just stick it out here with your old buddy; what do you say?" Fox said.

"I need something more. Not to mention I could use the extra money. Look, I've been accepted for the job and I'm going to take it. I wish you'd change your mind and come with me," Benson said, looking at his friend. He knew what the look on Fox's face meant. He wouldn't change his mind.

"Take care my friend; we'll keep in touch. Call me when you get settled and let me know how things are going," Fox said the Benson.

"You bet and take care of yourself Fox. I won't be there to watch your back anymore," it panged Benson to say that. "We'll get together soon, I promise."

It was years before either man saw or talked to each other again. Their paths once again crossed years later in Patti Page's garage.

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Chapter Ten

Trooper Benson stood watching Spencer Coleman walk to his car and pull away. He shook his head thinking about how Coleman was reacting, standing in front of the shattered window. It looked like he was recreating the crime. Why would he do something like that and why didn't he react when he had yelled at him get out of the crime scene?

Benson took a quick look around, "At least the dumb ass didn't disturb any of the evidence, although, there wasn't much evidence to be disturbed," Benson said.

Four spent shell casings were laying on the ground in a very tight circle. The casings looked larger than a Glock 9mm; he guessed they were from a.357 and gun, but that couldn't be determined until they ran ballistics.

Benson saw that the brass had arrived on the scene. For a crime of this magnitude, he expected a few more cops to show up, if only to get a peek at the carnage.

"What have we got? Did the witness provide us with any useful information?" asked Benson's commanding officer, Captain Benjamin Taggart.

Captain Taggart was a short stocky man with a double chin and a pale complexion. He smelled of cheap cigars and his suit coat was wrinkled. Benson didn't have to be a top notch cop to know that Taggart never saw the outside of his office unless it was called for.

Getting his notepad out of his breast pocket, Trooper Benson shared what little leads they had. "Yes sir," Benson began, "this is what our eye witness told us about the shooter; white male, average build and height, left-handed, wearing a gray shirt and beige shorts. That's about it. Mr. Coleman hit the floor when the shooting started. He does remember the gun, big and silver."

"All guns look big when you're looking down barrel of one," Captain Taggart remarked. "It's a start; let's get an APB out with a description of the suspect. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch this bastard?" Taggart said, nodding at Benson.

Benson headed for his squad car to put out the call. He passed the medical examiner as she walked toward the diner.

"Hi Mary, it's a mess in there," Benson said, thumbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Homicides are rarely clean," she said with a hint of irritation in her voice, opening the door to the diner.

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Chapter Eleven

Mary Springs worked in the Medical Examiner's department for eight years. She was a lovely, single woman with blonde hair and blue eyes thanks to her Scandinavian roots. Both her parents, Jack and Kelli Springs attended medical school, so she decided to follow in the family footsteps and attend medical school as well. Mary's ultimate goal was to finish school and join the family practice.

Her Mom and dad ran a family pediatric center in Manhattan. Their practice was wildly successful and busy. Their hard work and devotion to their craft had made them rich many times over. The money wasn't the underlining reason they practiced medicine. Oh, it might have been in the beginning but as the couple aged and the numbers of zeros in their bank accounts grew, they felt they wanted to move their lives in different directions. Jack and Kelli Springs decided to open a free clinic in the Bronx. The practice in the Bronx was just as successful as the office in Manhattan had been. It didn't make any money but it brought them more joy than the Manhattan clinic ever had. The smiles on both the kid's and parent's faces were payment enough. Mary's dad once told her that if she ever had the chance to follow in their footsteps, he would be so proud of her. Her parents were her inspiration. After her enrollment in medical school, she got news that her parents would be receiving an award from the medical community for their humanitarian efforts. Mary took the train to the hall where the awards would be presented. Her dad looked dapper in his tuxedo. Her mother wore a little black dress which still highlighted her curves after all these years. As her parents' names were called, and they approached the podium, her dad stumbled and fell. He never got his award, nor did he ever wake up. Jack Springs had a massive heart attack and died on his way to the hospital in the ambulance. Kelli was crushed and died three months later. Her cause of death was pronounced as natural causes. Mary thought it was caused by a broken heart. The medical clinic they ran so successfully in the Bronx closed its doors and never reopened. Mary vowed she would graduate from medical school and reopen the clinic in the Bronx. She would rename the clinic the Jack and Kelli Health Care Center. Her goal was to become the best pediatric doctor and surgeon in the country and continue the work her parents had started years before, but that dream ended one night at the skating rink in Rockefeller Center in the heart of Manhattan.

On New Year's Eve 1997, Mary and her close friend Jenna decided to go skating instead of fighting the crowds for a good spot to watch the ball drop in Times Square. The crowds weren't much smaller at the rink. There were lines of people waiting to rent skates for their turn on the ice, but for as many people who were making their way onto the ice, just as many people exited the rink. Mary and Jenna had stopped by the rink bar for a quick bite to eat and to indulge in a couple of adult beverages. A couple was all they could afford. Six glasses of wine cost them seventy-eight dollars. Quite expensive, but it was NYC on New Year's Eve. They walked to the skating rink; the air was crisp and cool but not overly cold. She always believed the city never got cold because there was just too much body heat to allow it to cool. Not to mention thousands and thousands of cabs belching exhaust into the city air. Her friend Jenna, whom shared Mary's goals, also commented on the weather that night and how she was sure the alcohol made it feel warmer than it was.

Neither of the women were accomplished skaters but they held their own against the crowds. The crowd was filled with people of all ages, races and ethnicities. NYC is a cauldron of diversity. As they walked onto the ice, they were immediately bumped and pushed aside by the waves of humanity.

"Oh my God, can you believe the size of the crowd here tonight?" Jenna asked Mary, as they made their first pass around the rink.

"its nuts but I'm sure it's much crazier downtown for the ball drop. Would you rather be down there right now?" Mary said, almost tripping over a boy who had fallen on the ice.

"I think I rather be back at that bar paying outrageous money for drinks than getting bumps and bruises doing something I'm not," Jenna trailed off then said, "HEY ASSHOLE!!" Jenna was yelling at a guy, who looked like he was in his forties skating away from them quickly. "That guy just grabbed my ass! She flew off after him, chasing him through the crowd, weaving in and out of traffic.

Mary was taken aback by the skill and grace that Jenna showed catching the man. She really did have some ice skating skills after all.

"Kick his ass Jenna," she said as she rounded a corner, looking over her shoulder watching Jenna screaming at the guy, their noses almost touching. _Wow, she looks totally pissed_ , Mary thought, and at that moment, she flipped over a young girl who had fallen in front of her.

If she wasn't so busy watching Jenna give the guy the business, she could have easily avoided the fall, but the combination of alcohol and drama had been too much of a distraction to Mary. She realized the moment she hit the girl that she was going down, so she braced herself for the inevitable. Upon hitting the ice, she turned her head to see if the little girl was alright. The girl was already up and skating away from her.

_Great_ , thought Mary, _I'm sure she didn't feel a thing; meanwhile I sit here on my ass unable to get up_. "Jenna," Mary yelled out, hoping her friend could hear her. She felt so embarrassed. "What was I thinking?" Mary said, "We need to get out of here, go find something safer to do".

Mary saw Jenna appear out of the crowd. Jenna saw Mary and began to laugh at her uncontrollably.

"I leave you for one minute and you're lying on your ass helpless. Look at me," Jenna said, waving her arms about frantically, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" Jenna howled and laughed in delight at her own sense of humor.

"I'll show you helpless. Come on, help me up and let's blow this place. I'm tired of this already," Mary told her, trying to get to her feet.

Jenna saw the frustration on her friends face and started to skate to her. Just as she reached Mary, a man bumped into her. The man lost his balance and step across the top of Mary's right hand. Mary yelled out, her hand in excruciating pain. She instinctively clutched the injured hand to her chest. Blood was seeping through the nylon glove. Mary's world was slowing fading away; she could see her friends face and then everything went black. The last thing she recalled was Jenna yelling for someone to call 911. X-rays at the hospital later that evening would indicate that Mary suffered from three broken metacarpal bones and a severed ulnar nerve. Surgery was required to repair the damaged hand. She regained the use of her hand, but the injury had left numbness and tingling in her pinky and ring finger. Her dreams of becoming a pediatric surgeon were over.

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Chapter Twelve

Mary had arrived at the diner and was examining Patti's body when out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She turned her head, looking out the broken window and saw a man standing in the opening pointing his arm in her direction.

"GUN!!" Mary screamed at the top of her lungs, diving for cover before the man could get off a shot at her.

The shot never came. Mary slowly and carefully raised her head to see if the man was still there. He was but he wasn't moving. It looked like he was in a trance, his arm lock in the firing position like a statue. Trooper Benson was rushing toward the guy yelling.

"Hey, get out of there," Officer Benson said.

The man didn't move; he just stood in the same position

"Mr. Coleman, what are you doing? Do you know you're contaminating a crime scene, not to mention giving poor Miss Spring's a heart attack?" Benson said.

Spencer shook his head, coming out of the trance, "I thought I could remember some more details if I reenacted the scene."

Benson said, "You gave your statement. We have an APB out on the suspect. The only thing you're going to do is hinder our investigation by stomping all over our crime scene. Now, go home and relax. You've had a hard day."

Benson grabbed Spencer by his arm, "Do not cross this tape again, do you hear me? I will arrest you for hindering our investigation," Benson said, his finger close to poking Spencer in the chest.

"Yes sir," Spencer said and with that, he got into his car and drove off.

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Chapter Thirteen

Spencer pulled into the driveway of his modest two-story, split level ranch. He turned off the engine of his 2010 BMW. He sat in the driveway for what seemed like hours before removing the keys from the ignition and opening the car door. Spencer tried to console himself about the shooting. The morning had been like a dream. He might have convinced himself that it was a dream if it weren't for the stinging feeling in the side of his face. He walked down the brick laden sidewalk which was lined with a variety of perennials and opened the door to the front of his house. He stepped into the foyer and took off his shoes. He continued through his living room, tossing his keys on the coffee table and entered the bathroom. He could see by his reflection in the mirror that his face was still bleeding. Light blotches of red stained the outer shell of the gauze band-aid the EMT's had administered. He counted his blessings. It was his fault he was in the middle of that situation this morning. He knew something was going to happen but instead of calling the cops, he decided to act on his own and intervene.

"And what good did that do? Damn it!" he yelled, pounding his fist on the bathroom vanity top.

Spencer removed the bandages to examine the cuts. They were minor and wouldn't leave a scar.

Spencer continued, "If I would have called the police and told them what I thought was going to happen, would they even have believed me? Would it have made me look suspicious?" Suspicious or not, Patti might still be alive.

He didn't want to face the facts that his actions, or lack thereof, might have cost Patti her life. He had wanted to tell Trooper Benson about his gift, what he saw through the killer's eyes and more importantly how the killer was feeling: the raw emotion, the hatred and his jealousy for Patti. This was certainly a crime of passion but passion for what? Was the killer a scorned ex-boyfriend? He didn't get the feeling he was attached to her. There wasn't a feeling of love or remorse when he fired the shots, only satisfaction. As though he was dealing out the justice she deserved. That was a clue in itself. Spencer turned on the water and splashed it on his face.

_What should I do? Should I give Benson a call_? _I thought I could handle this in the first place but I made a grave mistake that cost a woman her life. How can I risk taking that chance again_? Spencer thought and fished in his pocket for the card Benson had given to him.

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Chapter Fourteen

"Jesus, what was that all about?" Mary asked.

Her face was flushed from what she thought was a man with a gun.

"I'm not quite sure. The man, who was standing outside the diner looking through the broken window, was the witness to the shooting this morning. He was sitting right there when the waitress was shot," Benson said, pointing to the bench where Spencer sat.

"He scared the hell out of me. Do you think he's in shock?" Mary said, looking for any kind of rational explanation to the man's actions.

"He checked out fine with the EMT's earlier, but the check-up was limited to the cuts on his face. He caught some glass from the window," Benson shrugged his shoulders. "Other than that, he seemed fine, so I sent him home."

"So what can you tell me doc, what's the story?" Benson asked, kneeling down beside Mary.

Mary looked over the body; she could see four apparent gunshot wounds. It was hard to tell which shot killed her. The shot to the shoulder wouldn't have killed her.

"She died from either the neck wound which led to massive blood loss or from the shot through her face. See, the bullet nearly severed the spine at the base of her neck," Mary said and as if to make her point, moved Patti's head slightly and it bent at an awkward angle. "There's not much holding it in place. Either of those two shots would have killed her. Poor girl, do we know why she was shot?" Mary asked.

"No, we don't have anything solid yet. We got a good description of the assailant, but nothing for motive. He just walked up to the window and started shooting. Hopefully the APB we posted will turn up something," Benson said but his voice wasn't full of confidence.

"Do we know who she is?" Mary asked, she had looked for identification, but couldn't find anything on the body.

"Her name is Patti Page, lives over on Chestnut Street. The owner said she was single. She always showed up to work on time and was friendly with all the customers. We got a car rolling over there now to check out her residence. We don't have any more info than that right now," Benson said, flipping his note pad closed.

"Chestnut Street is a pretty swanky part of town," Mary said, thinking about the neighborhood and all those lovely houses.

"The Chestnut neighborhood is one of the most sought after areas in town. I'm no cop but how could a waitress afford to live in a neighborhood like that? I bet the average price for a house goes at least $200,000 dollars and that's for an inexpensive one. I have been keeping an eye on that neighborhood for years and I can't find anything I can afford on a medical examiner's salary. Did she come from money?" asked Mary.

"We really don't know much right now, only where she lived. I'm headed over there right after you wrap things up here," Benson said.

"Ok," Mary said, "I can't really give you any more details until I get the body back to the lab. Can the body be moved?"

"It's all yours doc. I'll clear the way for your cart," Benson said, heading for the door.

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Chapter Fifteen

The gurney was rolling by Officer Benson when his cell phone began to ring.

"This is Benson... Where? How long ago? Ok, I'm on it," Benson said. He saw Captain Taggart standing in the doorway talking with the medical examiner. "Captain, we may have caught a break. A report came in that a woman was the victim of a carjacking about eight blocks from here. The description of the guy matches our shooter. I'm going to go and talk to the woman and see if she can give us a better description. In the meantime, I'm putting out an APB on the car. It's a '97 Blue Saturn, plate number AWR 129," Benson said, he could feel his adrenaline rising.

Even after all these years on the force, he still got excited from the thrill of the chase. They might catch this bastard in record time.

It only took Benson two minutes to reach the next crime scene. He could see a woman standing on the corner talking with an officer. She was visibly shaken.

"It happened so fast. I was sitting at the corner waiting for the light to change, and all of a sudden my door flew open and the next thing I know, I'm laying on the ground. I've never been so frightened in my life," Teresa McCaw said, bursting into tears before she could say anything else.

Benson approached the other officer on the scene; He pulled him aside and said, "Did she get a good look at the guy?"

"Not really," he said. All she saw was the guy's arm coming into the door and then she was lying in the road watching her car drive away. She did however say that she saw a tattoo on the back of the guy's hand. She described it as circle with a plus sign inside it. In a town of this size, it shouldn't be hard to spot the stolen Saturn or the suspect with the tattoo on his hand. Trooper Benson picked up his car's microphone and called the local PD dispatch.

"Dispatch, over," said the voice over the car's speaker.

"Dispatch, this is Trooper Benson, over."

"Bobby, is that you? It has been a long time since I've had the pleasure. How are you? What can I do for my favorite Trooper?" Agnes Crutchfield said.

"Agnes, don't tell me they still got you manning dispatch. You must be in someone's doghouse," Benson said, smiling as he thought of Agnes.

Agnes Crutchfield had been at the dispatch desk when Officer Benson became Trooper Benson ten years ago.

"Are you kidding me, the pay is good and the work is easy. Where else can I find a job that lets me sit at a desk and play Angry Birds between calls?" Agnes laughed, "In two more years I'll retire to a condo in Port St. Lucie Florida, soaking up the sun while playing shuffle board with the rest of the geriatric crowd. What can I do for you today Bobby, over."

"Agnes, I'm investigating the shooting that happened this morning over at The Victory Diner. The suspect we believe was also involved in a carjacking about forty-five minutes ago. The victim is Teresa McCaw. She," but before Benson could finish his sentence, Agnes interrupted him with what sounded like total surprise in her voice.

"Oh no Bobby, Teresa was shot! She was killed in the restaurant this morning? I just spoke with her last night; we were going to meet for coffee at the diner but she cancel," Agnes fell silent.

"No, Teresa is fine but she's a little bruised. She was the carjacking victim," Benson said, but before he could continue, Agnes cut him off again.

"Oh thank God, praise Jesus!!" She said, sounding relieved.

"Agnes, listen to me, this is important," Benson said, "The state police are going to need local PD help on this. Put out the word over the radio to be on the lookout for a 1997 Blue Saturn, license plate AWR 129. We assume the man who carjacked the Saturn is the same man who killed the woman at the diner this morning. He was last seen heading north on Main Street. Please have officers set up road blocks at the Prospect Street Bridge, Salt Road and on West Avenue. Have any other available cars patrol inside the blocked off area. He couldn't have gotten far."

Benson reached into his shirt pocket for his note pad, "He is a white male, average build and height. He's wearing a gray, short sleeved shirt with beige shorts. Tell your officers to be very caution. The suspect should be considered armed and dangerous, over," Benson finished, placing the notepad back into his shirt pocket.

"Will do Bobby; be careful out there, over."

Trooper Benson looked at his watch, it was already late afternoon. _Where has the day gone_? He thought and headed toward his patrol car.

He was tired. His shift would be over soon and then he would go home, have a beer and hopefully catch the start of the Yankee/Red sox's game on Fox. He opened the door of his car, about to enter it when his cell phone rang.

"This is Benson."

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Chapter Sixteen

"Officer Benson, it's me Spencer Coleman. I witnessed the shooting this morning at The Victory Diner."

"Yes Mr. Coleman, I remember who you are," Benson said, thinking, _Christ, it was only this morning, I think I'd remember who you are_. Benson shook his head.

Spencer thought he detected irritation in Benson's voice but went on, "I'd like to talk to you about some details of the case that I left out. If you have a few minutes, I'd like you to stop by my house and we can discuss it."

Benson was irritated. His shift officially ended in twenty minutes and he wanted to get home, off his feet.

"Can't this wait until morning Mr. Coleman? It's been a long day and my shift is just about over," Benson said.

"No, I'm sorry it can't. The details I neglected to mention could help with the case immensely," Spencer said, waited for Benson to reply.

When he didn't, he was just about to ask Officer Benson if he was still there when Benson's voice appeared on the other end of the line.

Benson gave a sigh, "Alright Mr. Coleman, give me fifteen minutes and I'll be right over," Benson said. He flipped the phone shut and climbed behind the wheel of his cruiser.

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Chapter Seventeen

Benson turned down Maple Ridge Road to stop at the local coffee shop for a cup of coffee. If he was going to work past his shift tonight, he needed a coffee as a pick me up. Coleman could wait a couple extra minutes. Benson pulled into the drive thru lane and ordered a large coffee with a double double, which meant two creams and two sugars. He thought about it and added a vanilla cream donut to his order. _Might as well keep the stereo type alive_ , he laughed to himself.

Benson double checked his note pad for Coleman's address and headed out of the parking lot. Benson pulled into Coleman's driveway ten minutes later. The first thing he noticed was how affluent the neighborhood was. Not a clunker sitting in any of the neighbors driveways. Every house had a manicured lawn and Spencer Coleman's house was no exception. Not only was the yard meticulous, but so weren't the floor beds and the shrubs along the front of the house. It didn't look real.

"Where are the pod people?" Benson said, "Let's get this shit over with so I can get home."

Spencer answered the door before Benson could knock. "Officer Benson, please come in," Spencer said, stepping aside to give Benson room to enter the foyer.

"Trooper, its Trooper Benson," he said, irritated that Coleman didn't use the proper title. "Yes, I'm sorry Trooper," Spencer corrected himself, "Please come in."

Benson removed his hat and stepped through the door.

The house was nicely furnished but the furniture was sparse. From the first look of it, Benson assumed Coleman was single. There was an attempt at decorating, but it didn't have the feel of a woman's touch. It was sterile, lacking style.

"Please have a seat Trooper," Spencer said, his hand extended to an oversized chair.

"I'll stand if that's alright with you; let's just get on with the details. Tell me what you remember," Benson said.

Spencer could tell he was tired and irritated. "Humor me, please," Spencer insisted, "What I have to tell you, you'll want to be seated to hear.

Benson sat down in the chair and Spencer paced back and forth. He looked like a man who was in pain.

"Ok, I really don't know how to begin," Spencer hesitated and then went on, "I wasn't in the diner today by accident. I was there because I had a feeling something bad was going to happen," Spencer said, staring off into the distance, seeing the pain again on Patti's face, the blood seeping from her wounds, the life going out of her eyes.

"What do you mean you knew something bad was going to happen? What kind of shit is this? If you knew that girl was in danger, why didn't you call the police?" Benson said to Spencer.

"I didn't say I knew something bad was going to happen today, I said I had a feeling," Spencer said, stressing the word feeling. "A feeling isn't exactly proof that a crime is going to happen is it Benson? If I had called the police out of the blue and told them I had a bad feeling something was going to go terribly wrong in that diner today, what do you think they would have done? Even good policemen don't react to strong hunches and we aren't talking about a top notch city police department here either. We are talking about a small town department who never sees much more action than busting a group of teens for smoking pot in the park, or spraying graffiti on some blank wall. If I said I think someone was going to be murdered today, they might have taken me in as a suspect and Patti would still be dead."

Benson considered what Spencer just said, "Go on, I'm listening but you better start making sense. Are you some sort of psychic? Did you have a vision while smoking your peace pipe?"

Spencer glared at Benson and shook his head, "I should have known better and try to tell you what I felt today. Do me a favor and let me sit down in that chair for a minute," Spencer said, moving toward Benson.

"Look Mr. Coleman, it's been a very long day and I'd like to get home. If you're going to waste any more of my time, then I rather you did it when I was fully refreshed with eight hours of sleep under my belt and on a full stomach," Benson said getting up, "Have a nice evening sir." He tipped his hat and started to walk out of the living room toward the foyer.

Spencer didn't hesitate and sat in the chair Benson had been sitting in only moments before, "Wait!" He called out, "Humor me one more moment."

Benson turned around to tell Coleman a thing or two about police work when his thoughts stopped in mid thought. Spencer was sitting in the chair that he had just been sitting in. On his face, he wore the same expression he had at the diner when he staring at the hole in the shattered window.

"God, I hope this lunatic makes his point soon. How many innings have I missed: three or four? I'm sure I'm wasting my time here while the Yankees are throttling the Red Sox. I've had enough of this shit. I'm cutting this guy off and headed home," Spencer said. The vacant look on his face disappeared.

His eyes turned up and looked into Benson's. Benson couldn't believe what he just heard. Those were the exact things he was thinking when Spencer was rattling on about his feelings and the cops.

"What? How did do that? Is this some sort of trick?" Benson said; his face twisted in suspicion. He had heard of psychics who help police departments solve crimes but never to this level. "Tell me how you did that. How did you know what I was thinking?"

"Have a seat Mr. Benson," Spencer said, getting out of the chair. This time, there was no argument from Benson. His beloved Yankees were far from his mind.

Spencer told Benson of how when he was a boy, he had actually heard, felt and seen the last thoughts of his beloved dog Jake. He hadn't thought about that for a long time. It still gave him pangs to think of his dog lying in his arms, dead.

Benson interrupted, "So you're telling me that since you were a small boy, you had this power, this..." Benson trailed off, looking for the right word to describe what he was trying to say.

"This ability to read someone's Signature," Spencer said, "That's what I call it."

"So how does it work? Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?" Benson's mind flashed to a movie called 'Signs' where the kids thought the aliens were reading their minds. They made aluminum foil hats that looked like dunce caps to protect themselves from the aliens. How he longed for one of those hats right now.

"No," Spencer said, "I can't read your mind, but I can read your heat signature. Before you ask me what that is, let me explain. Imagine you're lying in bed and you have to get up to go to the bathroom. You go do your necessary and when you come back, you find the nice warm spot you left behind and snuggle into it. That spot is what I call your Signature. If I were to lie in that spot in your bed while you were in the bathroom, I could see what you were dreaming or what your thoughts were before you went to sleep."

Benson looked puzzled and then asked, "So how long can you read someone's Signature? Can you, let's say sit in a chair of someone from last week and read what they were thinking?"

"No, I've never been able to see anyone's thoughts or feeling that long after they vacated a spot. And besides, how many other people may have sat in that spot over the past week. I could never figure out just how long after someone is in an area that I can read them. I guess it's like tossing pebble into the water. The pebble creates waves that you can see for a while, but in a short time after, the waves are no longer visible to your naked eye, but that doesn't mean the waves aren't still there. Sooner or later the waves do dissipate and the pebble effect on the water subsided. I also think everyone runs a little hotter or colder, for lack of a better explanation and some peoples thoughts hang around longer than others."

"This is just crazy," Benson said. He was having a hard time believing Spencer's tale but he couldn't deny the fact that a half hour ago, Spencer had told him exactly word for word the thoughts that were running through his mind. "So you're saying that you saw the guy who shot the waitress today committing the crime before it ever happened?"

Spencer took in a deep breath, "No, I didn't see him committing the crime. It was actually dumb luck that I came across his thoughts in the first place. I just happened to be hungry and felt like stopping in for a bite to eat. As I entered the diner, some man bumped into me as we were walking down the aisle. I was going in, he was storming out. I didn't get a look at his face. I did notice two waitresses having a discussion when I sat down and that's when I saw what he was thinking and feeling."

"And what was he feeling and thinking," Benson said, reaching for the notepad inside his shirt pocket.

"He was very angry but he was also scared. Not scared like scared for his life, but like he was afraid to lose someone in his life. He had an argument recently with a woman in the diner. I think she broke his heart and he was both sad and very angry over it. I saw the two waitresses talking in the back of the diner. I didn't know if he was angry with them, or someone else that had already left before I arrived. All I knew was that there was an underlining feeling beneath the sadness and anger."

"And what was that Mr. Coleman," Benson said, no longer scribbling in his notepad.

Spencer looked at Benson and said, "Rage: pure and simple rage. Even though I didn't know if anything was going to happen for sure, I felt very strongly that I had to come back to the diner the next day and try to stop the unknown. Doesn't that sound crazy? How can you stop something that you can't even imagine? I didn't know what I could do, but I thought I could make a difference there today. I felt like I had to be there and I failed. I failed Patti," Spencer put his hands to his face; he could feel the sting of tears welling up in his eyes.

Benson stood up and said, "From what you told me, you did a very brave thing just being in that diner today. Incredibly stupid but brave all the same. I can't blame you for not going to the police Mr. Coleman. If you would have told me the story you would have told my fellow police officers, I would have thrown you out of the department myself. It does sound crazy but from what you've shown me of your abilities, I have no reason to doubt all that you say is true."

Benson closed his notepad once more and started for the door but then turned back toward Spencer, "Mr. Coleman, if I was in need of your ability again in the course of this investigation, would you be willing to use your gift to help catch this son of a bitch?" Benson knew the answer before Spencer said the words.

"Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help you catch this bastard would be my pleasure. I owe that much to Patti," Spencer said.

Benson nodded and opened the front door, "I'll be in touch."

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Chapter Eighteen

By the time Benson sat on his couch and turned the TV on, ESPN was reporting that the Yankees had blown a five run lead in the bottom of the ninth and lost the ball game six to five.

"It was a classic Yankee-Red Sox match up, take a look at these highlights," the announcer said with a huge grin on his face.

"Fucking closet Sox fan is what he is. What a day," Benson said, turning off the TV, putting his head back on the couch cushion, falling immediately to sleep.

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Chapter Nineteen

Spencer was too wired for sleep. There were very few people who actually knew about his ability to read people's Signatures. His mother had been one and he suspected his eight-grade teacher Mr. Johnson must have has his suspicions.

Mr. Johnson taught eighth grade math class. Spencer always amazed Mr. Johnson with getting a perfect score on every one of his tests. Well, except for one. Mr. Johnson thought he had figured out Spencer's trick because the one day when Spencer's best friend Gus Matte was absent, Spencer scored a forty-seven on an exam. Gus was in second period and Spencer in the third period. They both used the same desk. Mr. Johnson thought they had to be either leaving notes taped to the underside of the desk on exam day or using some other trick to pass the answers to Spencer during the next period. Mr. Johnson looked and looked after classes for some sort of tell that would give the boys away. He couldn't find it though. He didn't realize that when Spencer sat in Gus's chair the next period, he could read his thoughts and see every answer to every question on the test. Gus knew of Spencer's gift and never gave away his secret. Mr. Johnson never figured out how he did it, but he was certain something wasn't quite right in Denmark.

_Ahh, those were the good old days_ , he thought and grabbed his jacket out of the front hall closet.

"No use trying to sleep tonight, I might as well go see check out this bar my buddy Kevin has been raving about," Spencer said, grabbing his car keys.

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Chapter Twenty

The Hole in the Wall wasn't a trendy uptown nightclub. It was just the opposite. It was a run down, dirty and smelly place. It smelled of old beer and cigarettes. The bar had many names over the years, among them: Orleans Lunch, The Silver Dollar and his favorite, The Maui Inn. In its heyday, it never resembled Maui. Not even in the mind of the drunkest patron. Spencer pulled up in front of the bar and noticed the street was empty except for a couple making out on the corner.

He smiled to himself and said, "Good evening, very pleasant night."

He was hoping to break their concentration. He was feeling left out. He was surprised to see two men's face turned to him, smiling.

They said, "Good evening indeed," resuming their make out session.

Spencer shuttered inside and walked briskly to the front door of the bar. He had never been inside the bar but his friend Kevin had told him he had to check out the bar. It could become one of his favorite haunts. He doubted it.

Spencer opened the door. The odor was the first thing that assaulted his senses. The place was sparsely lit. There was one working bulb over the bar; two others on either side were out. A pool table stood in the middle of the room but it looked like no one had used it in years. There was along tear in the green felt. Spencer guessed it was made long ago by a drunk who probably couldn't stand on his own two feet. The bar had the feel of a place where the dregs of society went to die. The bar itself was the color of old worn shoe leather; it had numerous cigarette burns and a multitude of stains were littered across its surface. The bar stools weren't much better. They looked original to the place and as with everything else in the bar, they looked worn and dated. The prices were right. The sign behind the bar said that drafts were a $1.00 and mixed drinks and shots were $3.50.With prices like that, Spencer was surprised that every kid in town with a fake ID wouldn't be hanging out in here just for the prices. Spencer hadn't seen prices like this since the '70's.

The bartender appeared from a door down the hall. He looked like the typical biker type. His hair was long and greasy; cut in a mullet. He stood at least 6'5" tall. He wore a skull cap that read 'fuck you' on it.

_Nice_ , Spencer thought, _no wonder this place isn't booming. The bartender is a scary son of a bitch_.

"What do you want?" The bartender said, looking Spencer up and down, sizing him up with his eyes.

Spencer asked, "What do you have on tap?"

"What the fuck do you think we have on tap: beer," the bartender's eyes burned a hole in Spencer's. It was all he could do to maintain eye contact when the bartender said, "Dude, I'm sorry man; I was just fucking with ya! You should have seen your face. I thought you were going to shit yourself," He cackled, wrinkling his nose like he was sniffing the air, "Nope, your good," and he let out a howl. "My name is Butch," he said, sticking out his hand to shake with Spencer.

"Spencer Coleman," he said, impressed with the man's handshake. Not like a fish, and not over powering like he had something to prove but strong and confident. A man could tell a lot about how another man shook hands. Spencer relaxed a little.

"Spencer, no shit; you look like a Spencer. So what brings you down here tonight Spence? You don't mind if I call you Spence do you?" Butch asked but didn't wait for Spencer to answer. "So what do you think of the place? First time here right?"

Spencer nodded, "Is it obvious?"

Butch looked at him, gauging his remark. "You're alright Spence; let me get you something on the house. We got Genesee, Coors Light, eh--fuck that shit right? What about you and I have a real man's drink?" Butch said reaching for the top shelf. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses.

"I don't normally drink whiskey," Spencer said, but his words were lost on either deaf ears or in Butch's words, 'he just didn't give a shit.'

Butch filled both glasses up to the top and said, "Down the hatch my friend." Butch downed his in a second, slamming the shot glass hard on the bar. Spencer drank his and felt the liquid burn his mouth, down his throat and warm his stomach.

"Again," Butch said, refilling the glasses to the brim. Again, Butch finished the glass and slammed the glass on the bar. Spencer drank his, the burning not as bad the second time around.

"That's the spirit Spence, tell ya what, I can do this all-night and we will until you can finish one before I can. Again," Butch's voice filled the almost empty bar.

His cry caused the only other person in the bar to stir. He raised his head and shouted, "Last call my ass; you'll have to throw my ass out!" The guy's head fell back onto the bar.

Spencer could have sworn he heard the guy snoring. Spencer didn't wish to play this game all night. As soon as Butch filled his glass again, he didn't hesitate. Before Butch could finish filling his own glass, Spencer grabbed his glass and pounded the contents. Butch stood looking at Spencer, his face was dumbfounded.

"I win," Spencer said, a smile crossing his face.

Anger momentarily crossed Butch's face and then he erupted in laughter. He was still laughing when a voice came out from behind a door down the hall calling out to Butch.

"Hey Butch, can you come here and give me a hand with these cases of beer? The fridge isn't going to fill itself." There was a hint of irritation in the voice.

Butch smiled, "Be right back Spence. Here," He said, reaching for a glass and pulling a pint from the draft tap. He slid the glass down to Spencer with perfect speed. It stopped right in front of him. Butch had a much practiced hand. "On my way," he said and disappeared behind the door.

The bar was dark, dirty and it stunk but it had a 'homey' feeling. Butch was certainly scary but he seemed to be a good enough guy. Spencer brought the frothy glass to his lips and drank. He already had a slight buzz on from the shots he and Butch shared.

"Son of a bitch, are you kidding me? That guy is a fucking fucktard! I'll be back, mind the store for a while," Butch said from behind the door.

There was a large banging noise from behind the bar and then it was quiet. The noise startled the drunk at the end of the bar.

"Hey?? HEY!! What's a guy got to do to get some drinks around here?" He said, his voice slurring every word.

"Last call Harry, time to cut you off. I'll be closing up in about a half hour. Why don't you take a nap and I'll call you a cab?" The voice that had been hidden behind the door appeared a second later.

Spencer heard the voice say last call and he fumbled in his wallet for some money. He figured he drank maybe a Lincoln's worth of booze, but the experience was worth at least a Jackson. The bar had taken his mind off the events earlier in the day. He was about to vacate his stool when Sonya came out from behind the door.

Spencer didn't know if he was seeing things, but he could have sworn she was approaching the bar in slow motion. Her long black hair moved from side to side as she walked. She wore a leather vest that exposed her cleavage. Her skin was slightly tanned that glowed, even in the dimness of the bar. She had big, brown eyes you could get lost in if you stared into them long enough. She was heading Spencer's way when Harry called her back over. She turned around and headed back the way she came and that's when his eyes feasted on the rest of her. She had on tight Levi jeans which accented her ass quite nicely. He quietly thanked Harry after all for letting him get a show. She looked out of place here.

_I'm sure her beauty could take her places_ , Spencer thought. She glanced down the bar at Spencer and flashed a 'Hi, how are you' smile. _Very nice_ , he thought, motioned to her by lifting his beer, indicating he was ready for a refill.

She sauntered back to his end of the bar. This time, Harry on the other end didn't interrupt the show.

"I've never seen you in here before. I know all the guys that stop by. Most are like Butch," Sonya said, leaning on the bar.

"I've never been here before, but it could become my new watering hole," Spencer said.

She didn't seem to be impressed and walked back down the bar. He followed her with his eyes. She was short, she was dark, and pure beauty.

"Hey Harry, come on. It's time to get going. It's almost closing time and I got things to do before I go," Sonya said.

Harry popped his head up from his arms and he almost fell off the barstool. "Ok, I hear ya, I hear ya! Christ, give me a minute Sonya," Harry said as he disappeared into the men's room.

Sonya looked down at Spencer and said, "You going to nurse that beer all night or what? It's almost closing time and I got shit to do before I close up."

The men's room door opened and Harry came tumbling out. "You going to be alright Harry or do I have to get you a cab?" She asked him.

"Cab, forget the fucking cab, I'll walk," he said as he stumbled toward the door. "Night night Sonya, tell Butch I'll see him tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel," he laughed hard, as if he just made up the funniest line in the world.

Harry disappeared into the night.

"Will he be alright, he's pretty hammered," Spencer asked her.

Sonya looked toward the door and said, "He'll be ok. I've worked here for two years and Harry returns every night and every night I chase him out. The poor guy has had it pretty rough. His wife was killed in a car accident and he started to hit the bottle pretty hard. To make things worse, the kids blame him for the accident and haven't spoken to him since. Drinking is the only way he can cope and the kids have turned him away. It's a catch 22 for him. Know what I mean?" She stared at the door.

_Poor Harry_ , Spencer thought. He had been thinking what kind of loser gets sloshed and passes out at a bar. He had no idea of the circumstances and felt bad for him. As his mind was wandering about Harry, Sonya had worked her way back down the bar.

"Hello?" Sonya's voice brought him out of my trance. "So are you going to have one more before I have to close shop or what?" She asked. Spencer glanced over at the clock; it was approaching two a.m.

_Wow, where has the time gone_? He thought, "Nah, I've had my limit."

"You said that you had to do something's before you left?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah," she said, "Butch ran out of here before we could finish loading the cases of beer into the cooler. The vendor screwed him over on the delivery, so he was trying to catch him before he left the office for the day."

"Why didn't he just call the vendor to straighten it out? It seems like that would have been easier," Spencer said. Unless he didn't have a cell phone but who didn't own one these days?

"Butch can be a little scattered brained. He runs himself ragged keeping this place afloat. He's been basically running this place since his dad died. He busts his ass here all day and I try to help out the best I can. I go to school and study most of the day and work here for a few hours at night. It's not much, but I do what I can to help. Butch has a rough exterior, but his heart is made of gold. The guy does what it takes. I couldn't have gone to college without him," Sonya said.

"He pays for your schooling? Are you two a couple or is he like your big brother?" Spencer asked.

"Like I said, the guy has a heart of gold. When I first started working here, I told him my dreams of going to school to make something of myself. I wanted to be the first in my family to go to college. He gave me a bump in pay and said he would chip in for my tuition but I had to buy my own books. I asked him why he would do something like that. He just smiled and said it's what his dad would have done," Sonya said, a smile lighting up her face, "I'll pay him back for all he's done for me someday. Maybe buy him the Harley he's always wanted once I get my career started."

Spencer was moved by Butch's generosity. "Well, maybe I can help out to by stopping in here a couple times a week to contribute to your cause, through bar receipts of course," Spencer smile and then said, "Lead the way to the cooler."

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Chapter Twenty-One

There were twenty cases of beer still stacked beside the entrance of the cooler. Spencer carried two cases at a time into the cooler and finished stacking them in ten minutes.

"Wow, you did that pretty quickly! Are you just as fast at everything you do?" Sonya said, winking at Spencer. Her remark caught Spencer totally off guard. It must have shown on his face because Sonya smiled and started laughing. "Come on big boy," Sonya said, squeezing Spencer's bicep, "I have to close this place up and get home."

"Do I have time to play a song on that jukebox over there?" Spencer asked, hoping to find a reason to stick for just a around few minutes longer.

"Sure, but just one, it's been a long day and I need to get some sleep," she told him as she went to change the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed'.

Spencer walked over to the jukebox and started to thumb through the selections. "Man, I don't think they added any new music since the Nixon administration! There were some great songs on it though. There are lots of my favorite oldies in here." He said and then saw that Richie Valens "La Bamba" was among the records.

Spencer froze for a moment recalling the events of the day. Sonya, now standing beside Spencer, touched his elbow and asked him if he had found anything he liked. Her touch startled Spencer back to reality; his mind vacating the shooting at the diner.

"Yeah, you've got quite the collection here. I love this stuff," he told her.

"Butch's dad loved this stuff too and never wanted it changed. There were these guys who used to come in a bitch about how there never was anything new in the jukebox. His father always told them, "This isn't a disco-tech. If you want to listen to the new shit, get to hell out and go find another bar," she said laughing as she remembering Butch telling her the story when she asked the same question about the jukebox. "He didn't care, he figured it was his place and he always said it was the ambience that brought the people in, not the music."

Spencer laughed when she mentioned ambience; this place is a dump, but it is beginning to feel like home.

"Here, this is one of my favorite," she said as she pointed to a selection.

The song was "Unchained Melody". He loved that song too. She pushed the buttons and the song began to fill the room. Sonya began to sway back and forth, her eyes closed, getting lost in the music. She looked so beautiful.

Spencer reached out and grabbed her hand. Sonya's eyes opened. "Care to share a dance before you kick me out?" He asked hoping just to hold her for a few minutes.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Why not?"

He led her to the middle of the room, locked hands and danced. How come a song seems to really come alive when you're dancing with a beautiful woman? Songs have a way of bringing back memories. They are like keys to unlock a page in a locked scrapbook, recalling vivid memories. _This is going to be one of those moments_ , Spencer thought, _if this song were to play on the radio, it would bring me back to this dingy hole in the ground and the dance I shared with an angel in the fading night_.

He looked into her eyes and for a moment, his mind flashed that he had seen her somewhere before, but then it was gone in an instant.

The music played on and Spencer pulled her close. Her head came to rest against his chest. She was such a tiny little thing. It felt so good having her next to him.

"God, I haven't danced in such a long time. Between school and this bar, I never have any time for myself. I feel like I've missed out on so much stuff in my life," she said as their eyes met once more.

_Holy shit_ , Spencer thought, _she is digging me! Don't screw this up_.

Spencer said, "I moved back to Medina a few months ago for a new start. It's been great but life outside of work has sucked. I've made a few friends. In fact, a friend told me about this place. I had second thoughts after seeing it."

"So is he the reason you're here tonight?" she asked.

"Yes. He said to come in for a couple hours and I wouldn't regret it. I guess he thought you were reason enough to stop in and he was right," He said. Now it was Sonya's turn to blush. "Actually I just needed to get out of the house to clear my head. I was witness to a shooting today," he said and she backed away from him.

"What? Here in Medina?" She asked. Sonya was stunned to think of something like that happening in this town.

"Yes, I was in The Victory Diner this morning for breakfast and a man with a crazed look on his face, walks up to the window and shot a waitress in cold blood. It was horrible," Spencer said.

Sonya could see the horror on his face. "Did they catch the guy? Who was shot, do you know?" she asked, waiting for answers.

"No, the guy got away. I gave the trooper a description of the shooter but I couldn't see his face. The woman who died was named Patti. I didn't catch her last name but," Spencer trailed off.

The look on Sonya's face had changed from questioning to shock and then pain. Sonya was obviously moved by the shooting.

_Did she know the victim_? Spencer thought.

Just then, the door behind the bar opened and in walked Butch.

"Christ, if you want something done right, blah blah blah," Butch said. "Hey Spence, what are you still doing here? Dude, we got to close up shop and blow this joint. Why don't you stop back tomorrow and we can shoot the shit some more," Butch said.

"Gotcha Butch, I'll see you tomorrow. It is late," he said heading toward the door. He opened the door and came face to face with a police officer.

"Mr. Coleman, please come with me," the officer said, clearing a path for Spencer.

"What's this about officer? I haven't done anything wrong have I?" Spencer said, waiting for an answer.

"No sir but Trooper Benson has requested your presence downtown. They recovered the stolen car used in the get away from the shooting this afternoon. That's all I can say, please come with me. We have to hurry," the officer said, grabbing Spencer's elbow as to make the point.

"Are you alright?" Sonya asked Spencer, her face seemed dazed from the events of the last ten minutes.

"I'm fine, I'll be back tomorrow," he said as he started to walk out the door.

"Come on Kate, we still have some work to do before we leave," Butch said. They both exited through the door behind the bar.

"Watch your head sir" the policeman said, loading Spencer into the back of the cruiser. "Can't I ride in the front with you officer?" Spencer said, feeling like a criminal setting in the back of the cruiser.

"Sorry sir, regulations don't allow anyone but officers to ride in the front seat. We'll be there in a few minutes," he said, crawling behind the wheel of the cruiser and starting the engine.

_Kate? Why did Butch call Sonya, Kate?_ Spencer thought and then a bright light flashed in Spencer's mind. A key had opened a scrapbook in Spencer's mind. He turned his face quickly to look out the car window. The bar was already dark and disappearing from his vision.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Spencer arrived at the scene of the accident five minutes after they left the bar. The blue and red flashing lights lit up the surrounding houses. Spencer's mind wasn't on the accident scene. His mind was still reeling over Butch calling Sonya, Kate. Could Kate be Kaitlin from his childhood? For a moment when they danced, an image flashed in his mind but it was gone in an instant.

It had been at least thirty years since he had seen her. She came over his house a couple times after his dog Jake was killed by the UPS truck; he had always blamed her for Jake's death. Whenever he saw her on the street or in the hallways at school, he ignored her. As he grew older, he knew it wasn't her fault but the damage to their friendship had been done. When Spencer entered junior high school, he made the decision to tell her he was sorry for how he treated her. He wanted to tell her he didn't blame her for Jake's death but it was too late. He found out that her family moved away. Left the state in fact and he never heard from her again. Years later, with the advent of the internet and social media, he began to search for her but with no luck. It was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Of course she could have gotten married and changed her name, or God forbid, she could have died in an accident. Life is so uncertain and the time he spent away from her only made him ache to see her again. Is it possible that fate had intervened tonight to bring them back together after all these years? Perhaps, Spencer thought, but I'll never know standing here at this crime scene. He didn't have any idea why Trooper Benson would have requested him to be here.

"Spencer, get over here! Hurry it up; I need to talk to you!" It was Benson who called to him. Spencer approached Benson who left the other crowd of officers and pulled him to the side. "You know that thing you did in your living room tonight? Do you think you can do it here in the driver side of that Saturn?" Benson said.

Spencer looked at Benson, "Do we know how long the seat has been empty? The longer it's been empty, the longer it's had to cool off so the information gets spottier and spottier as time goes on."

"Well," Benson began, "the driver was just pulled from the car. It hasn't been more than twenty-five minutes but when we took him out, he was dead."

"I'll give it a shot but I'm not promising anything," Spencer said, looking back at the crime scene.

Spencer and Benson turned and walked back toward the car. The Saturn rammed head first into a huge maple tree. The tree was located in a fork which split Main Street into Park and West Avenue. He wasn't a trained officer but it seemed the car didn't attempt to stop before it hit the tree. There weren't any skid marks and the damage to the front of the car was minimal.

Spencer was about to open the door and sit in the drive seat when Benson stopped him and handed him a pair of latex gloves saying, "Can't have you contaminating the crime scene with your finger prints."

Spencer took the gloves, slipped them on and entered the car. The airbag had deployed so he guessed the driver had to be going at least five miles per hour when the accident occurred.

Benson asked Spencer a question, but he could no longer hear Benson nor see him. He was in tune with the guy who stole the car.

He could see himself running down the road, he could feel his heartbeat racing, his lungs burning. Whoever the guy was, he wasn't in great shape. Out of the right side of vision, he saw a blue Saturn waiting at a red light.

Fuck this running shit. Why not add grand theft auto to my crimes today. Besides, I've never driven a Saturn before. A cackle escaped from Spencer's mouth, he was smiling.

"What was that?" Benson said and when he saw the look on Spencer's face, he knew Spencer was in was in la la land. Spencer's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. He could hear the sirens in the background but they weren't even close. In fact, they sounded like they were going the opposite direction.

Yeah, fuck you pigs!! Dumb as a box of rocks. Spencer could see he was approaching one of the many lift bridges in town that crossed the Erie Canal.

He couldn't quite make out which one it was in particular, but it was on a high-crested hill. That limited the possibility to two bridges. Spencer took his hand off the steering wheel and reached into his belt. He could see the shiny chrome of the hand cannon the killer had used to shoot Patti. He brought the gun to his mouth, kissed the side of the barrel and tossed the gun out the window. He watched it splash into the canal and then drove off.

"Now that I've completed that task, it's time to get paid!" The driver said and stomped on the accelerator, continuing across the bridge onto the street ahead.

It was now night and the killer pulled up to a curb. He could see someone standing in the shadow but couldn't make out his face. He was tall, Spencer could tell that much.

The man climbed into the car and said, "Fuck, could you steal a smaller car? Christ!!" Spencer looked over and the man's knees were against the dash and the top of his head was almost touching the roof of the car. Spencer started laughing at the comical site.

"Get moving," the man in the passenger seat said. We've have to get to the safe house and then you can get paid."

"I tell you what, nobody better try to pull any shit with me. I want the whole ten grand or there's going to be hell to pay," the killer said.

"Don't worry, you'll get it all. I'll see to that. I got your back brotha," the passenger said, "Take the next right."

The killer turned the wheel heading for the split between Park and West Avenue. "Dude, which way at the fork?" asked the killer.

"Why?" the passenger said. There was an audible 'click'. Spencer turned his head toward the sound. In the split second before the shot from the gun took the killer's life, spraying his blood and brains against the driver side window, the light of a street lamp briefly illuminated the passenger's face.

Spencer's head moved rapidly and violently to his left shoulder. The sudden jerking movement broke him from the trance. He turned to look at Benson, who was standing beside him yelling for a medic. Spencer looked dazed but he told Benson he was alright, even though his neck hurt like hell.

"You're not alright; I heard your neck pop from here. Just humor me and let the EMT take a quick look at you. Come on, move your ass!" Benson said, moving out of the way for the EMT. The EMT took a look at Spencer's eyes and then asked him to follow the flashlight with his eyes.

"Gee, I don't have a concussion. I wasn't in the car accident," Spencer said and moved his head instead of just his eyes. A sharp pain radiated from Spencer's neck down through his shoulder blade.

The EMT looked at Benson, felt Spencer's neck and said, "There's some tightness. He just pulled a muscle." The EMT reached into his bag and pulled out an ice pack. "Here," he said, handing the icepack to Spencer, "Keep this on your neck for a while. It'll help with the swelling. It should feel better by tomorrow."

The EMT gave a nod to Benson who nodded back and walked back to his ambulance. "Ok Coleman, please step out of the car. Let the forensic team finish up their work," Benson said, reaching in car to help Spencer out of the car. Spencer was in obvious pain. "So what did you see? What made you react like that?" Benson asked when Spencer cleared the inside of the car.

"Give me a minute to process it all. It comes in flashes sometime and I have to slow it down in my head to remember exactly what I saw." Spencer said, closing his eyes and relaxing.

He remembered everything perfectly; he was trying to delay from telling Benson what he saw. He was fighting within himself as to whether he should tell him the whole truth or just parts of his vision. His actions earlier had gotten a young woman killed. He didn't want to make that same mistake again. He decided to tell Benson everything; well, almost everything. Right up to the point where the passenger shot the killer. He didn't want to reveal the detail that he knew who the passenger was.

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Chapter Twenty-Three

Shelly Page sat the bar of the only gentleman's club within a hundred miles of Medina. Of course, Shelly wasn't her real name, it her stage name. She had learned long ago to use a nom de plume. When she had first started in the business, she had been working independently, using her real name. One of her customers, Harold Philips, had tracked her down on the internet and began stalking her. Shelly had to issue a restraining order against the creep but that didn't stop him from harassing her. He had finally been stopped when he tried to break into her house one night when she wasn't home. Her security system alerted the police and that was the end of the line for her stalker friend. The police had caught him red handed with a Smith and Wesson .38 caliper snub-nosed revolver. Given he had already served time because of a previous hand gun charge, her stalker was sentenced to ten years in Sing Sing penitentiary, north of Albany, NY. She wouldn't have to worry about him for a long time.

Shelly glanced down the bar at short, thin, balding man sitting alone in a corner booth. She pulled a cigarette out from her small leopard colored handbag, lit it and walked to the booth where the stranger sat. "Hi, how are you? You look lonely, would you like some company?" Shelly said, smiling widely. Her smile lit up her face. She had a knack for looking very genuine to any of the men she approached. How else was she going to get their hard earned money if she couldn't charm it out of them? The balding little man returned the smile and motioned for Patti to sit down.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"No," Shelly said, leaning in closer to Baldy, exposing her ample cleavage, "why don't you ask me what you really want to? Don't be shy, I don't bite," Shelly flashed another smile.

At first, Baldy didn't seem to understand what she was getting at, but then he returned the smile and said, "Ok, but can I whisper it to you? I'm not comfortable saying things like that out loud."

"Hold on a minute, I have to ask you a question. Are you a cop or any sort of law enforcement?" she said.

Baldy looked confused by the question. "No, I'm an accountant. Run my own business. I've been at it for 25 years now. I'm quite successful," Baldy said.

Shelly smiled and purred, "So tell me what you want big boy." This brought a huge smile to Baldy's face.

He leaned in toward Shelly's ear and whispered what he desired. He leaned back in his seat. Shelly took a drag off her cigarette, blowing the smoke slowly out of her mouth. "That will cost you extra big boy, but I think you'll find the money well spent." Her smile widened when the little bald man agreed almost at once. He didn't ask how much more. He seemed very anxious to get started. Shelly stood up, ground out her cigarette and walked slowly away from the table. Her hips flipped back and forth like the pendulum of a finely tuned German clock. She looked over her shoulder; Baldy's eyes were locked on her shifting hips. "Well, are you coming or do you want to do it right there in the booth?" She smiled again and continued walking. Each step was calculated to give the best show. Shelly could hear the man exit the booth, it sounded like he had almost fallen. She shot a quick, nonchalant glace at the bartender who in return gave a small imperceptible nod. Shelly walked to a door labeled "VIP lounge". She opened the door, stepped through and pulled Baldy in by his tie. She shut the door behind them.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Kaitlin Taylor was desperate for a normal life. From her earliest recollections, it was always something. It seemed to start when she was eight years old. She remembered losing a very close friend of hers at the time because of an accident. Her friend, Spencer Coleman's dog had run out into the road and was hit by a UPS truck. She would never forget the look on his face, or the hurtful words he yelled at her afterwards.

Spencer's eyes were full of tears; his arms held his lifeless dog. He stared blankly as he moved forward toward the porch. Kaitlin was standing by Spencer's mother's side. She was holding her tightly, offering support.

"It's ok Katie, it wasn't your fault," Spencer's mother had repeated over and over. Her words weren't comforting because her heart was breaking for the boy walking up the sidewalk toward them.

"Spencer, I'm sorry," she said. Spencer's eye rose off the body of his best friend Jake lying in his arms and they focused on her. Kate could see the pain in his eyes. His lips were trembling; his chest was rising and falling with deep breaths. She reached out to touch Jake's body.

"Don't you touch him," Spencer yelled, his lips pulled back in a snarl, "You killed my dog! Why couldn't you listen to me?! I told you not to chase him! If you wouldn't have chased him, he'd still be alive. If you weren't my friend he'd still be alive! I hate you Kaitlin and I never want to see you again!!" Spencer ran away from them toward the back yard, the sounds of his sobs disappearing with each step.

Kaitlin was shocked by the ferocity in his voice. At that moment in time, he hated her. She could feel it. The tears that had momentarily dried up were again a rushing falls. She broke the grip of Spencer's mom's hands and ran as fast as she could back toward her house. In the days that followed, she walked past Spencer's house looking for him in the yard. She wanted to apologize, to regain the friendship of the boy who had selflessly saved her on the playground that day when the bully pushed her out of the swing. She didn't know what love was, but she did feel something for Spencer that she didn't quite understand. Kaitlin only saw Spencer outside once in all the time she walked by. He was in the side yard, grabbing his bike.

She yelled to him, "Hey Spencer, wanna play?"

He looked at her; distain filled his face, "Go away Kaitlin."

That was it. It was the last time she ever uttered a word to Spencer. She saw him in school but he had ignored him. As she grew older, her own heart hardened toward him. When they had entered junior high school, she saw him once and he looked at her for a long time. She was standing at her locker between classes; Spencer's locker was across the hall but close enough so they could see each other. He looked at her and the expression on his face seemed to change. She couldn't tell what it was, but it looked like her wanted to talk to her. Her heart rose to her throat.

He did start to speak, "Kaitlin, can I," his words were cut off by the bell announcing third period.

A hoard of kids, loud and rushing past came between them like a fast moving river. Kaitlin stood against the tide but when the hoard disappeared, Spencer was nowhere to be seen. The next day, Kaitlin's mother said her dad has found a new job and they would be moving away immediately. On the day of the move, Kaitlin could no longer contain herself. She had a deep desire to see Spencer and tell him that she loved him. She ran the two blocks imagining how they would see each other, he would come to her, and she would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. She's always wanted to do that and it had to be today. When she got to Spencer's house, the car was gone and along with that, her chance of ever seeing him again.

Kaitlin graduated high school and married her boyfriend Billy Smith. It wasn't exactly a match made in heaven but a match none the less. What does a nineteen year old girl or boy as a matter of fact really know about love? Almost immediately right after the wedding, she gave birth to their first child; an eight pound, ten ounce boy whom they named Christopher. A year later the birth of their daughter Amanda followed. Things were pretty good in the beginning. Her husband worked two jobs to keep the house afloat. She did her part by clipping coupons and cutting corners as best she could but when Amanda came along, it was another mouth to feed. Another box of diapers each week to buy and her husband wages couldn't keep up. She offered to help but she'd be working for minimum wage. Her check would go toward daycare for the kids. They would be no further ahead and the kids would suffer being separated from their parents all day long. Billy began to spiral from the pressure of holding the family together. He started drinking and became abusive.

"It's all your fucking fault we are in this predicament!" He told her, "If you would have learned to keep your God dammed legs closed or take your fucking birth control pills, we wouldn't be in this mess!" he said and back-handed Kaitlin across the face.

She lay on the floor more shocked than hurt. It was the first time Billy ever laid a hand on her, but it wouldn't be the last. As things got worse, so did the abuse. Kaitlin still loved her husband but the beatings were becoming more and more violent. She knew she had to leave before he killed her.

One night when he came home after working a twelve-hour shift and stinking of booze, she told him she wanted out. "I want a divorce. I can't take this shit anymore. I love you with all my heart but this isn't good for either of us, not to mention the children".

His eyes were full of hurt, like she had just slapped his face. Before she could say another word, Billy punched her across the face. The lights in the house went dim, the stars which shined in her eyes were bright and she went down. The coffee table broke her fall but the noise woke the children.

"You stupid bitch, what are you going to do without me here? I work hard for this family. I bust my ass every day and what thanks do I get for all my efforts?? I want a divorce! Well get one thing straight you dumb cunt, I bring in all the money. You are a useless piece of shit that I've grown bored of. You're boring as hell in bed too," he said, and stepped over top of her, his fist raised to strike her again.

She covered up but when she opened her eyes, he was gone. Kaitlin looked around the room for a second; her thoughts still jumbled from the blow to her face. She reached out to touch the place where he had hit her; blood. He reappeared a few seconds later, a child in each hand.

"Where do you think you are you going you bastard?! You're not taking the kids, they are all I have," she said. Tears were beginning to stream down her face.

"I work for these kids; I deserve them more than you do. You sit on your ass all day and watch TV," Billy said, walking toward the door.

She went to get up and go after him but the room spun and the lights in Kaitlin's eyes went out. She never heard his truck pulling out of the driveway, tires squealing. It would be the last time she saw any of them alive.

Kaitlin knew there was only one place her husband would go and that was his mother's house. She looked at the clock on the wall. She had been out for a half hour? She decided to call his mother's house before heading over there. It would give him a chance to cool off and maybe his mother could talk some sense into him. She highly doubted that; his mother hated her. Against her better judgment, she picked up the phone and called his mother.

Billy's mother answered the phone, "Yeah."

Kaitlin thought, " _Who answers the phone 'yeah'_?"

Her tone was something like " This better be fucking good because I'm busy and blah blah blah, yada yada" His mother never liked her one bit. She didn't know why. She thought it was because she already had her son lined up with some other woman that SHE liked.

_Move to the Middle East you old fart! Here in the West, were allowed to make our own choices_! Kaitlin had thought.

"What the hell do YOU want?" His mother said, "Huh, can't you see he doesn't want your sorry ass anymore?"

She could feel the waves of smugness and absolute joy hitting her through the phone lines. "Could you please just put him on?" She asked. She couldn't believe she actually said please to the old bitch.

"I'd love to accommodate you girl, but he isn't here. When he does get here, I'll be sure to hug him and tell him how much I love him for leaving your sorry fucking ass. I'll take care of those kids as if they were my own. I always thought you were a loser and I'll be glad when you're out of his life forever"

Kaitlin hung the phone up before she really said something stupid. She had visions of driving over there and beating that old bitch to a pulp, but what good would that do? "Do me a fucking world of good right now, I'll tell you that!" She said to herself.

She grabbed her coat and headed over to his mother's place. By the time she got off the phone with her, about an hour had passed. They should have arrived by now.

She drove the only route he would have used to get to his parent's home.

Kaitlin couldn't remember too much after that. All she could remember was the flashing lights and the flares in the road. Ambulances and fire trucks had part of the road blocked off.

_Great_ , she thought, _another obstacle to slow me down. I'll never catch up with him now_. What she thought was someone having a heart attack or a house fire, was a truck in the ditch. It was lying on its side; it looked like it had been on fire. EMT's were pulling gurneys down the road to the awaiting ambulances. It was just then that she realized it was her husband's truck.

She slammed on the brakes and stared in horror as the fireman told her to move along. Kaitlin threw open the door to the fireman's protest and darted for the truck.

"Christopher, Amanda!!" She screamed frantically as the police held her back from getting too close to the wreckage.

"Hang on, who are you?" The policeman asked.

"That's my husband's truck and my kids are in there too!" She yelled out, trying to break the grip he had on her.

"I'm sorry miss, they're all gone," he said.

"You mean they made it out!!" Kaitlin yelled; her eyes filled with hope.

"No miss, I'm sorry, they're gone. I'm so sorry," he said. The policeman's face disappeared in her tears.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Spencer's drive home was surreal. The events of the day had his mind in a tempest. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in a twelve hour period. He had witnessed a horrific murder, met what he thought was his childhood friend and sweetheart and also saw the face of a killer. He couldn't remember the officer driving him back to his car or the drive home. His mind was on auto-pilot. The last thing Spencer Coleman's mind registered was dropping the keys on the stand by the door, and his head hitting the pillow.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

The blond sitting at the bar was stunning. If Spencer learned anything from his gift, it was confidence. This was the type of place he liked to frequent when he was hungry, on the prowl for something other than food. He liked to sit quietly at a table by himself and observe. If he saw someone he thought looked interesting, he would change his seat so he could easily be seen by someone he thought was attractive. He was always amazed at the game between the sexes. What it really came down to was animal magnetism. Well, at least when one was looking for something quick and easy. This bar was no stranger to him.

There had been nights when he came to the bar only to go home alone. It was always his choice. If he found someone he was interested in, he would observe carefully, and then when they disappeared into the bathroom to tinkle or freshen up, he would approach the bar and order a drink. He would sit down in their seat for just a few seconds to get a feeling for what exactly had brought them to the bar that evening. On this particular night, he hit the jackpot.

The blond he was observing made a trip to the ladies room and he saw him chance. As he approached the bar, he called the bartender over and ordered another rum and coke. He always paced himself. If the chance arose, he didn't want to be too drunk to perform.

Spencer sat down in the seat previously occupied by the deliciously hot blonde he had his eye on the whole night. He could feel her warmth and desire radiating from the bar stool. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and relaxed.

"Are you kidding me?" a voice filled Spencer's head. He opened his eyes and saw a very short man occupying the stool next to him. The man couldn't have been more than five foot tall, his hair was receding badly and he looked like he was at least sixty.

"Hey sweetie, come here often" the old man said with a wink.

Spencer could feel his eye's rolling back in his head.

"You're kidding me right?" the blond said, "Why don't you go find someone your old age Pops."

"I just want to talk, that's all," the old man said.

"Well, talking is the last thing on my mind tonight old man," she said, "Now get lost. Honestly, do you think I would find someone like you attractive?"

From the look on the older gentleman's face, Spencer could tell he was deeply hurt, but the feeling that was filling Spencer was one of what? Joy? The woman relished her power over men. She knew that she was very desirable. She didn't mind hurting those she deemed not worthy.

The older gentleman left the barstool like a dog that had his nose smacked with a newspaper. The feeling of joy grew stronger. Spencer really started to dislike this woman, but she was so hot. His thoughts turned away from the old guy, to something new and interesting.

_How the hell can Jerry leave me for his secretary? God, Jerry is a walking cliché. He thinks he can cheat with her without me having a clue? Tell you what asshole, next time don't go cheating at home on my lunch hour_ , she thought.

She had come home for lunch; she only lived five minutes away. She had forgotten her purse and didn't want to be without it. When she pulled in the driveway, Jerry's car was there. It wasn't unusual because he worked from home several times a week. However, today he said he had a golf date with some clients at the club, so she thought he would be in the middle of a round. Oh, he was in the middle of something alright, but it wasn't a fairway. It was his younger secretary's legs!

She grabbed her purse, was just about to leave when she heard Jerry's voice coming from the back of the house. It's where his office was but when she went back there, he was nowhere to be found. She had almost dismissed it as her hearing things when she heard his voice again. A pit formed in her stomach as she not only heard the sound of her husband's voice, but that of a woman's as well.

She approached the bedroom, her legs feeling like lead. She felt sick to her stomach as she got closer. There was no mistaking the sounds coming from the bedroom. She started to open the door, to confront her husband and his secretary but she thought better of it. Jerry might be a cheating bastard, but he was a rich, cheating bastard. As much as she wanted to kick his cheating ass, she loved driving the BMW parked in the driveway of their million-dollar home.

She turned around thinking; _two can play at this game_.

So here she sat, waiting for someone to help her enact her revenge on her cheating husband. At that moment, Spencer saw that her eye had caught him in her sights.

_Hmm, there is someone who might fill the bill--yes, fill the bill very nicely_ , she thought. A smile crossed Spencer's face.

Spencer got up and took the seat next to where the woman had been sitting. The bartender returned with his drink order at the same time the blond returned to her seat. The blond sat down, carefully eyeing Spencer.

"Why don't you let me get that for you--she trailed off, waiting for him to tell her his name. "It's Spencer," he said.

"Well Spencer, let's get me another Manhattan and we'll have a toast?" she said.

"Another Manhattan barkeep," Spencer said.

The bartender arrived with the drink. Spencer handed it to the blond and asked, "Well, what are we toasting too."

"Why, things that go bump in the night sweetie" she said and sipped her drink, the whole while her eye's never leaving Spencer.

"I'll drink to that," he said, a wicked grin crossing his face.

The drive to her place took ten minutes; they were naked and in bed in five.

"Oh God, please don't stop. Right there; don't stop, right there," she said thorough breathless moans.

Spencer could feel his own passion rising inside him. It wouldn't be long before he would have to give in to his lustful feelings and satisfy his own deep urges. Their lovemaking increased. Their hips rocked in unison, approaching a fever pitch. He was just about to release when a loud, booming voice filled the bedroom behind them.

"What the fuck is going on here Gloria?" A man, who Spencer assumed was the woman's husband shouted out in anger and disgust.

Spencer rolled off the man's wife. Gloria jumped out of bed and began screaming at the man who had to be her husband. "You cheating son of a bitch. I heard you earlier in here with another woman. You sicken me. I found this guy in a bar and I fucked his brains out to get back at your sorry ass. How do you like it? Huh? How do you like being cheated on?"

From out of nowhere, the husband produced a bat and before his wife Gloria could utter a sound, he swung the bat caving the side of her head in. She lay on the floor, convulsing in a pool of her own blood.

"Now as for you buddy, you think you can just fuck anyone's wife and get away with it?" he asked, a murderous grin crossed his face. The grin became a grimace, then a snarl. I'm about to punch your clock for the last time bitch" and he raised the bat, looking directly into Spencer's eyes. His forearms were tense, his arms extended; Spencer froze like a deer in the headlights. The bat began a slow arc, headed straight for Spencer's head. He tried to put his arms up to block the blow.

Spencer thought, _He might break my arms, but maybe I can still make it out of here alive by jumping out the window_. Spencer didn't have time to finish his thought. The bat, which had been moving in slow motion, was now a blur. The only thing slowing it down was the right side of Spencer's head.

Spencer sat upright in his bed, his body covered in sweat. His hands immediately went to the right side of his head. It wasn't caved it, there was no blood and he was still very much alive.

"Fucking nightmares," Spencer said and fell back asleep.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Trooper Benson awoke with a headache. He had fallen asleep with his head at an awkward angle and his neck felt stiff. _Great, a perfect way to begin my day_ , he thought. He felt stiff all over from falling asleep on the couch. Glancing quickly at his watch, it read ten minutes of six. He had enough time to take a quick shower, grab a cup of coffee, and whip up something for breakfast. His shift wasn't scheduled to begin until seven a.m. but he knew the first thing on the agenda today was to get a forensic team together and sweep Patti Page's place for any signs of clues as to why she was murdered. The crime scene at The Victory Diner didn't present any clues as to the crime. The next logical step was to check the residence.

He also wanted to check to see if the fingerprints they lifted from the Saturn matched anything in the criminal database. "Well, let me get to the business at hand first," Benson said and headed toward the bathroom.

"Hello, this is Trooper Robert Benson. I sent some prints to the FBI crime lab yesterday and was wondering if the result came back yet?" Benson said.

"Hold for one moment please while I connect you to that extension," the secretary said.

"Hello, you're speaking with David Nash, how may I help you?" a very professional voice on the other end of the line said.

"Mr. Nash, my name is Robert Benson; I'm a state trooper with the New York State police department. I sent in some fingerprints yesterday and was hoping you had some results for me. It was case number 11A3999. They were taken off a victim in an automobile crash. We believe he was a suspect in a local murder case.

"Give me a minute Mr. Benson," David said. Benson could hear Nash's fingers typing on a keyboard.

"Mr. Benson, I have the results. Would you like the name of the person now? I can also send the results to your local police department if you like?" Nash said.

"Yes, please give the name now, but I would also like the results faxed to the Medina Police Department. The fax number is 555-789-8181," Benson said, reaching for his note pad.

"The person's name is Harold Philips. He was recently released from Sing Sing Prison in upstate NY about a month ago. He was serving ten years for breaking and entering with a firearm. He served the entire sentence. He also had an order of protection placed against him. It was filed by a Shelly Page. Hers is the house he broke into. It appears he was stalking her and it was about to get violent," Nash said.

_Shelly Page_ , thought Benson. _I wonder if there is a connection to Patti Page? Could it have been Patti's sister or some other relative_?

"Mr. Benson, are you still there?" Nash asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry Mr. Nash. Is there anything else? I have a murder victim here whose last name is also Page. Does the file say if Shelly had any siblings?" Benson asked.

"It doesn't indicate that she had any siblings although it doesn't indicate otherwise either. Is there anything else I can help you with Mr. Benson?" Nash asked.

"No, that's all Mr. Nash. Thank you for the information and quick turnaround time," Benson said, hanging up the cell phone.

_So we have two victims with the last name. Both have a history with a man named Harold Philips. What's the connection_? Benson thought.

Benson shrugged off the questions for now and called Agnes at Medina PD. He requested that she send a forensic team to the Page residence.

Trooper Benson arrived at Patti Page's residence about an hour later. The team he had requested was already on the job, collecting evidence and looking for clues. He had considered calling Spencer Coleman to come check out the place with him but he thought it might be a dead end. Spencer himself said that he didn't know how long someone's Signature would be present on any given item, and he was sure no one had been in the place for a couple of days.

As Benson drove his cruiser onto Chestnut Street, he had the feeling he was entering a very affluent neighborhood.

_This just doesn't make sense to me. She is a waitress for God's sake. Unless she has a sugar daddy we don't know about. That would make for an interesting suspect and interview_. Benson thought.

The squad cars and the extra police presence drew some attention from Patti's neighbors. Well, they weren't her neighbors anymore. Patti's new neighbor's resided in the county morgue, in duplicate stainless steel containers. That's where she would remain until someone claimed the body, or the state decided to cremate her remains. Benson wasn't sure if the neighborhood knew exactly what had happened to Patti, but in a town of this size, news traveled faster than a raging forest fire. He was sure everyone in the neighborhood knew by now.

He pulled his cruiser to the side of the street and parked it. When Benson exited his car, he was approached by a stately looking gentleman. He looked about fifty years old, wore a cardigan and tweed pants. In his hand, he held a notepad very similar to Trooper Benson's. Benson had seen the same man at the diner on the morning of the murder, and at the accident where Harold Philips was found dead. He was lingering around asking questions, but the man never approached him. It looked like that was about to change.

"Excuse me Sir, I represent the Medina Sun and Journal, may I have a minute of your time please? My name is Charles Ott," Ott said.

The Medina Sun and Journal was the local newspaper. It has been a staple in the town since the 40's but with the advent of online news, sales had steadily dwindled over the years. Within another ten years, Benson could imagine the doors to the Journal being closed for good.

Normally, Benson wouldn't cater to reporters but this one seemed different. He wasn't pushy and he was polite. It was a mixture rarely found in reporter.

"What can I do for you Mr. Ott? Let me just say that I've always been a fan of the Medina Journal. I've always thought the reporting was solid and unbiased," Benson said, hoping to butter the guy up a bit so his questions would be easier.

"Why thank you trooper. I have some questions about the crazy events of the past twenty-four hours. Medina hasn't seen this much excitement in quite a long time," Ott said, a smile slowly creeping across his face

_Great_ , Benson thought, he really is like all the others. I wouldn't call two murders excitement but I guess it is a great headline for a small town like Medina. I'm sure it'll sell some papers as long as the story is played out right. "I take it you have some question for me Mr. Ott but let me fist start by saying that this is an open investigation and I can't divulge too many details regarding either murder. My name is Trooper Robert Benson."

"Is Trooper your first name or just a title?" Ott said, cackling at his own joke. "I'm sorry Trooper Benson, just a little joke to break the ice. I'm aware of your reputation. I was at the Journal when you were shot answering the call to the domestic violence case about ten years back. I was very sorry to hear about your partner. What a tragedy, a real tragedy," Ott said, shaking his head as if in disgust.

"Please Mr. Ott, get on with your questions. I have a case to investigate." Benson said. He was already beginning to grow tired of Mr. Ott with his cardigan and his tweed pants.

Ott could feel the tension in Benson's voice. "Right on Trooper Benson, right on. Straight and to the point, I can respect that. Do we know why the victim," Ott paused, opening his note pad, "Patti Page was murdered yesterday in the diner? Are there any suspects or motive?"

"As of this time, we don't have any idea why the victim was shot in the diner. All we know is that a man, whom we have a good description of, walked in front of the diner, pulled out a handgun and shot Miss Page several times before fleeing the scene. There was one witness to the crime but we aren't releasing his name as he is an integral part in our investigation," Benson said.

"Can you tell me what you're hoping to find by searching Miss Page's residence?" Ott asked.

"We have to look at every angle and can't overlook anything at this point. We will continue to dig and investigate every angle until all the clues are found," Benson said. "Now, if that's all your questions Mr. Ott, I really do have to get inside to see if the forensic crew turned up anything."

Benson started to walk away. He thought he was going to make a clean escape when Ott's voice crossed over his shoulder.

"Trooper Benson, one more question please and then I'll let you get to your investigation," Ott pleaded. Things at The Journal were tough. Ott thought if he could write a great story, he might be able to keep the paper afloat a little while longer. It had been his home for the past twelve years and he didn't want to see if disappear just yet.

"One more question Mr. Ott but then I really do need to go," Benson said, his voice rising with irritation.

"Yes sir, just one more. Are the two crimes related?" Ott said.

"I'd really like to give you an answer Mr. Ott but to tell you the truth, we just don't know yet. It's only been twenty-four hours since both crimes were committed. We just don't have enough information. Now, if you'll excuse me," Benson said, heading toward the Page residence.

Mr. Ott ran to catch up with Trooper Benson. He only uttered one phrase, "my card," and he walked away.

Benson stopped for a second, watched Mr. Ott climb into his old Audi and drive away. "Alright, let's get busy, shall we?" Benson said, and entered the Page residence.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

When he entered the residence, Benson was taken aback by its beauty. The inside of the house was exquisitely decorated. There were gold and red tapestries on the walls. Throughout the house, old hardwood floors that had been resurfaced; sparkling with a mirror finish. There was a large staircase to the right, dark oak which looked like it had been there a hundred years. There were vases full of fresh flowers decorated all throughout the place. The air was filled with jasmine and lavender. He certainly wouldn't have guessed he had walked into the house of a waitress who was probably lucky enough, with tips, to pull down twenty-five thousand dollar a year.

Before proceeding to find the officer in charge to ask for an update, Benson continued to show himself around the place. Stepping down into the main living area, He walked toward side doors which lead to the garage. The garage was huge and suited for more than one car. Benson thought the garage could fit at least three cars comfortably. Parked inside one of the bays was a silver Mercedes 270SL. Benson whistled, "Wow, now that is one fine automobile."

"It sure is sir," said an officer who walked through the living room door. "It's not only the 270SL but it's the C63 AMG. It's a car lover's wet dream; 6.2-liter, 24 Valve V8 engine, 480HP. It can go from 0 to 60 in 4.4 seconds. It has a seven-speed transmission and retails fully loaded for about $90,000."

"You know your cars son. How do you know so much about this particular model?" Benson asked. He could almost see the young officer drooling.

"Mercedes Benz has been a passion of mine since I was a kid, sir. I have seen this car on the internet but never in person. Isn't she a beauty? I've always dreamed of owning one but I can't afford it on a cop's salary. No sir, this is a dream. It'll never be a reality," the officer said.

Benson's eyebrow's rose, "Well let me ask you this son, if you can't afford this car on a cops salary, then how do you suppose a waitress working in a small town like Medina could afford such a fine car--Officer Diggs," Benson asked, reading the officer's name tag.

Diggs stopped talking for a minute and pondered the question, "That's a very good question sir. Maybe she came from money, or she had a sugar daddy. Have you looked inside the house yet?"

Benson said he hadn't and Diggs continued, "The house is huge but the downstairs basement bedroom has everyone talking. I could tell you sir, but you have to see if for yourself. It has to be seen to believed."

"Diggs, has this car been cleared by the forensic group?" Benson asked.

"Yes sir, they swept the garage and the car," Diggs said. "I think they are just about to wrap it up."

"Why don't you go find out and send the local officer whose in charge to me? I need to know what they've found so far," Benson said.

"Yes sir," Diggs said and disappeared back through the door Benson had entered earlier.

Benson opened the door to the Mercedes and his nose was filled with the same jasmine and lavender scents he experienced when he first entered the home. The car was immaculate. He didn't think there would be much evidence to be found here. Benson closed the car door. Walking in through the door to the garage was Sergeant Craig Fox.

Fox stuck out his hand to Benson and said, "Robert, how are you? It's been awhile my friend."

Benson and Fox had been in police academy together. Both were talented and good officers but Fox didn't have the drive that Benson did. He was happy to serve his hometown community but Benson wanted more. He always wanted more. There was a competitive streak between the two men, but not when it came to law enforcement. Each respected the other man, and nothing came between then when it came to the law.

"I have been great Craig, how are you? How is your family?" Benson asked with a genuine smile across his face.

"The family is fine. Jennifer graduates this year. Jennie can't wait for me to retire so we can get away from this small town and start some new adventures. Enough of the small talk Robert. Can you believe the events of the past twenty-four hours?" Fox asked

"I know what you mean. This town hasn't seen anything like this in--forever. I've been to both crime scenes and I haven't seen you once. What gives?" Benson asked.

"It's Captain Taggart. With a crime this big, he wants to be top dog on everything. He had me off on some wild goose chase so his mug would be in front of the camera. Funny though, the only camera owned in this town is by that reporter Ott, and he didn't snap one picture of Taggart. Talk about pissing the old man off," Craig laughed. "So since he didn't see any publicity coming out of this, he let me take lead on the local side of it."

"So Craig, let me ask you what you make out of this whole thing. You have a waitress who can't be making more than $25k a year living in this big house and driving this very expensive car. Do you think she has a rich man on the side, a sugar daddy? Is there any evidence that she may have inherited money? Bring me up to speed please," Benson said.

"To tell you the truth, there are a few things here that set off warning bells inside my head. First of all, like you said, all these luxury items. We found a paystub from the diner inside a bureau in the dining room. You're right, from what we could figure, she is only making about $26k a year. The mortgage payment alone on a house like this has to be at least $3k a month. Not to mention this car; the payment has to be at least $900 a month and that depends on whether she leased the car or is buying it. So just in house and car payments alone she has to be paying close to $50k a year. Toss in utilities, car insurance and living expenses, I figured she have to make at least $125k a year just to be get by. So where is all that extra money coming from?" Fox said.

"Those are some damn good questions. Have you found anything that can give you some answers?" Benson asked.

"Not yet, but the boys have sifted through a lot of papers. Tagged and bagged everything that looked like it was relevant. We are taking it back to the station for analysis. We did find a cell phone in the car. We got a couple names off it that we are checking out," Craig said.

"Hold on," Benson said, pulling out his note pad. "What are the names," but before he could finish his question, he stopped because Fox was laughing at him.

"Gee Robert, move into the 21 century would you? Even local police use tablets and our phones to take notes," Fox said, continuing to laugh at Benson.

"Ok smart-ass, the names please" Benson said with a hint of irritation in his voice. He knew Fox was right though, but he liked old fashion. He felt like an old detective in a 40's police drama; he liked the old pen and paper.

"I'm sorry. Just a minute," Fox said, pulling out his tablet. Fox pushed the power button and nothing happened. "Hang on a second," he said, pushing the power button again.

Benson erupted in laughter, "Oh yeah Mr. Electronic. How's that piece of crap working out for you now? I've never had to deal with a dead battery in a pen or pencil.

A brief momentary flash of anger and embarrassment crossed Fox's face and then it was gone. "Fucking piece of shit," he said and banged the tablet against the palm of his hand. The display on the tablet came to life. "Don't say a fucking word Benson!"

Benson held back laughter and made a zipping motion across his lips. He burst out laughing and Fox laughed right along with him.

"Alright, here's what we got; there were three people listed by name, a bar and a bank, drugstore and that was about it. The names of the people were Sonya Jennings, Kate Taylor and Harold Philips. The bar is called The Hole in the Wall. That's about it," Fox finished. Benson's face held a look of curiosity.

"Did you say Harold Philips? Benson asked, his pen hovering over his notepad.

"Yeah, Harold Philips," Fox said. "We are in the process of running all the names through the database, looking for some sort of connection. We need to rule out people one by one. You know the drill Robert."

"Don't bother running Harold Philips through the system. He's the victim of the accident scene last night over at Park and Main. He was shot in the head with a small caliber revolver. Ballistics is trying for a match now. I also got a hit on Philips when I ran his name through the FBI database. He just got out of prison about a month ago. He was serving ten years for breaking and entering with a weapon. The story is he was stalking a woman named Shelly Page. She even had a restraining order against him," Benson said, looking for a reaction from Fox.

"Jesus Christ, so what's his story?" Fox said. "Did the report saying anything about Shelly having a sister or some relative named Patti? I mean, what are the chances that he would stalk one Page, and kill another. Certainly is a farfetched coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"I thought the same thing but that doesn't mean the report wasn't wrong. For now, we have to assume that Shelly and Patti are connected somehow. How did they both know Philips?" Benson said. "I hope that your crime lab turns up something useful.

Fox shut off his tablet, put his hand on Benson's shoulder and said, "Come with me, there is something you need to see."

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

The two men walked through the living room, passed the dining room to a door just off the kitchen.

"I still can believe how beautiful this house is. I don't think I've even been in a house this well decorated. It feels very homey," Benson said.

"You haven't seen anything yet my friend," Fox said, and opened the door to the basement.

The basement was dark. It was hard to see anything. Benson could make out shadows of shapes hidden in the darkness. "Hold on one second," Fox said and flicked the light switch.

"Holy shit," was all Benson could muster. His eyes overloaded his brain with the colors and shapes of the room.

The room was beautiful. It looked like something straight out of a Las Vegas penthouse. It was the type of room a high roller would get when they visited town. The bed was HUGE. It was covered in deep blue satin sheets, and pillowcases. The rugs were deep shag and had so much cushioning underneath, it felt like walking on a bounce house floor. Other than the bed, there wasn't much more furniture in the room. There was a small chair that looked very comfortable. The bedposts were well worn. There were scratches up and down each post.

"This is a very nice room but rather sparsely decorated when compared to the rest of the house, don't you think Fox?" Benson asked.

"Oh my friend, you haven't seen the best part yet," Fox said, and pulled a curtain that lined one of the walls.

There were all kinds of adult toys on the wall. There were strap-on types, dildos of all different shapes and sizes. Leather garments, masks and whips. Handcuffs, both steel and leather, lined with fleece. There were liquids and lotions. "Holy shit," Benson said again, "I'm getting a woody just looking at all this stuff.

Fox said chuckling, "Hey, I don't roll that way partner."

"Man, this room must get pretty loud huh?" Benson said, still looking at amazement at the assortment of toys.

"Yeah, but no one else in the place would ever hear what's going on down here. This room is sealed and virtually sound proof. I had a hunch and sent an officer upstairs. I yelled as loud as I could for him to come back. He came back a couple minutes later asking if I was alright. He didn't hear anything I screamed. I can get pretty loud; just ask my wife," Fox said laughing, his face growing red.

"So we have a woman with a house and car she couldn't afford, living in a very affluent neighborhood and a basement full of sex toys. What do you think; a high price call girl? I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? Benson asked.

"That theory makes sense to me too. Nothing else does. I need to get back to the station and see how the techs are making out with the evidence we collected. If I find anything interesting, I'll give you a call," Fox said.

Benson nodded. They both headed up the stairs and out of the house.

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Chapter Thirty

Spencer had been up for hours. The clock on the wall read 11:30. He was anxious to return to The Hole in the Wall and see Sonya. Butch had called her Kate though--he was sure of it. He kept closing his eyes, trying to see Kate as a young girl so long ago. His mind could see bits and pieces but nothing really came into focus. He knew the bar opened at noon. It was Sunday and the bars were always open in Medina at noon, no matter what day it was. Even the Sabbath wasn't sacred.

"Oh screw this. I'm not waiting around all day. By the time I drive there, it'll be almost noon. Maybe I can catch Sonya before she gets to the bar," Spencer said, grabbing his keys off the table.

The drive to the bar only took ten minutes. Spencer posted up across the street. That was the best view of the whole street and if she showed up early, he would catch her before she entered the bar and have a talk with her. His heart was racing at the thought of talking to Kate again. Technically, if Sonya was Kate, then he had already talked to her for several hours last night.

Spencer didn't have any idea what he would say to her. He had wasted over 25 years of his life without her. If anything, he wanted another chance. She didn't wear a wedding ring but that didn't matter, right? Lots of married couples don't wear their wedding rings.

The clock in Spencer's car dash read 12:05. _Maybe she's running late_ , he thought. _I'll give it 5 more minutes and then I'll head inside_.

Five minutes went by and still no Sonya. Spencer took a deep breath and opened the car door. He walked across to The Hole in the Wall and pulled the door. It didn't move; it was still locked. He looked up and down the street once more but it was deserted. He was just about to leave when Butch showed up and unlocked the door.

"Dude, what's up; high five man," Butch said, his hand outstretched. Spencer flinched and looked at him.

"Oh come on man, don't leave me hanging," Butch said and Spencer slapped his open palm.

"That's more like it man. You're early. We don't open up for another half hour. The door still says noon but I haven't opened at noon in years. I hate getting up early, especially on Sundays. Come on in; let me pour you a cold one. You're here to get your drink on, right dude? I'll turn the boob tube on for you but that doesn't mean I'm putting on the nudie station," Butch said, howling with laughter.

Spencer almost turned and left the bar but he really wanted to see Sonya. He hated the idea of being in the empty bar alone with a stone cold killer.

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Chapter Thirty-One

Spencer approached the bar with an air of caution. He didn't want to give away Butch's secret; not yet anyway. He needed to talk to Sonya first and see if she really was Kate from his long ago. Of course Butch didn't have a clue that Spencer saw him in the passenger seat of the blue Saturn, or that he saw him pull the trigger that took the life of Harold Philips.

"Dude, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," Butch said, "here, let me hook you up."

Butch poured a shot of rum which Spencer gladly accepted. He needed something to ease his nerves; not only by Butch's presence, but the thought of speaking with Kate again.

"Thanks Butch, I really needed that," Spencer said, reaching for his wallet.

"Are you alright? What brings you to the bar so early anyways? I wouldn't take you for an early morning drinker. Hell, I've never seen you around here before until last night. Are you thinking of making our fine establishment home?" Butch asked, his arms spreading wide open as to show Spencer all the wonders of the bar had to offer.

All Spencer could imagine was Butch in a white suit from the 70's saying, "Welcome to Fantasy Island." The thought of that image made Spencer laugh out loud. "I love this place man. You are the host with the most. You have a smoking hot bartender. To tell you the truth Butch, I was hoping Sonya was here. I'd like to talk to her a bit. She was really nice to me last night before I left. She made this place feel like home and I'm a bit embarrassed to say but I stiffed her on a tip last night. Do you know when she'll be in?" Spencer said.

"Sonya? Yeah, she's in the back cleaning up the stock area getting ready for tonight. We usually start getting people rolling in for the football game around noon but the game isn't on locally until 4pm. So she'll work for another half hour or so and then come back later when it gets busy. You want me to call her?" Butch asked.

"That would be great, Butch. I really felt bad about not leaving a generous tip. The cops came and pulled me out of the bar and I never got a chance to see her again," Spencer said. He could see Butch tense up for just a second and then relax again.

"So what did the fuzz want with you anyways? Are you some big time criminal?" Butch asked.

"No, there was a murder earlier at The Victory Diner. Did you hear about it?" Spencer said.

"Hell yeah I did. Christ, this isn't the big city dude. Some waitress got wasted right? Shot in broad fucking daylight," Butch said, pointing an imaginary gun at Spencer's head.

Spencer flinched hard. He could see Butch's face flash in the light of the Saturn and he could hear the shot going off that took Harold's life.

"What the hell dude; you're white as a fucking ghost again. Here, have another drink," Butch said, handing Spencer a shot glass.

"Sorry Butch, but I saw the killer shoot the waitress right through the window. She was at my booth bringing me coffee when she started shouting and then the window disappeared and all I could hear were gunshot," Spencer said, "I'm still a bit shaken up over it."

"Bro, that's some heavy shit. So what does that have to do with the cops coming for you last night? Did they have to ask you more questions?" Butch asked.

Spencer paused for a moment. He was trying to act as naturally as possible so not to alert Butch that he knew anything at all. He decided to tell the truth. There's no way Butch would know about his abilities.

"The officer was sent by the lead trooper performing the investigation. They found a crash site of a blue Saturn around midnight. The driver was dead but they believed him to be the same guy who shot the waitress in the diner," Spencer said. Butch's eyes filled with suspicion. Spencer continued, "When I got there, the Trooper asked me to look at the face of the guy behind the wheel. He wanted to know if he looked like the man I saw at The Victory Diner earlier that morning. I took a careful look and told him I didn't know. All I saw was a large, silver gun pointing through the shattered window. I ducked as fast as I could but I never saw the killer's face," Spencer said. He omitted the part where he saw Butch murder Philips.

Butch's face, which wore an air of suspicion only moments ago--relaxed. "Dude, so you couldn't help the cops out at all huh?" Butch asked.

Spencer just shook his head. He was afraid to say anything else. "No, they said thanks for your help and brought me back here to my car. I tried the door but it was locked and the lights were out. I tell ya Butch, I sure could have used a drink after see that," Spencer said.

"I bet man, I bet," Butch said. "Let me see if Sonya is about done. She can leave if she's ready. Are you going to be back later man? Will I see you for some pigskin?" Butch asked, but before Spencer could answer, Butch disappeared in the back room.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

Sonya stepped out from behind the bar. Gone were the tight blue jeans and the leather tank top. She looked like an ordinary woman today. Baggy T-Shirt that read, 'The Police rule'. Not the cops you mind, but the popular band from the 80's. She also wore pink sweatpants that didn't do anything to accent her figure.

"Hey Speck. It is Speck right? Forgive me if I'm wrong. I had a couple drinks last night and the night is fuzzy. I do remember dancing with you in front of the jukebox; that was nice," A smile spread across Sonya's face. Spencer's heart melted. "What brings you in so early? You left in a rush last night with the cops. Was everything alright?" Sonya said.

"Yeah, everything is fine Ka.., I mean Sonya. I told you I was witness to the shooting yesterday and they think the same guy who shot the waitress was involved in a car accident. They wanted me to identify him but I couldn't. I never saw the killer's face," Spencer said. He didn't know if Sonya picked up in his almost calling her Kate or not. She didn't seem to so he continued, "What brought me back here this morning was I forgot to tip you last night. You were such a gracious host. You not only poured all my drinks without spilling a drop, but you let me dance with you. It's been a long time since I danced with anyone," Spencer said, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

"Well, aren't you the sweetest thing. We don't get many guys like you coming into the bar. Tell you what...hang on a second," Sonya said and then yelled out, "Hey Butch, everything is ready for tonight. Can I take off now and come back later?"

"Yeah, you're good to go. Be back here by 4. I'm sure the regular crowds of drunks will be ready to hand out their money. Make sure you wear your tight ass jeans if you want some awesome tips tonight!" Butch said, laughing. His laughter filled the bar.

"You got it boss. I'm taking off. Catch ya later," Sonya said. "Alright Speck, tell you what. It was a late night for me and my ass is dragging. There is a coffee house about two blocks down the street. Why don't you keep your very generous tip and buy me some coffee?"

Spencer smiled, "Sounds great! Lead the way my dear"

Sonya stepped through the door and headed down the street toward the coffee house. "So tell me what brought you back to the bar today so early?" Sonya said.

"As I told you, I felt bad last night because you were such a gracious hostess and I never got a chance to leave you a tip. There aren't many places where one can go meet a beautiful woman, get a work out and in the same night, a memorable dance," Spencer said.

"Here we are," Sonya said. I told you it was just up the block. "I don't' know what to make of you. Not many guys would come back to the bar to leave a tip. Shit, most of the guys that come into the bar don't tip at all. I get lots of stares and a few ass grabs but never a tip for services. You certainly are different," She said, approaching the counter. "I'll have a double espresso with two sugars and two creams." she smiled and turned to Spencer saying, "I like my coffee strong and sweet, like my men."

Spencer's mind was racing. He was trying to think of a way to approach Sonya. He had to know why Butch called her Kate. He had a momentary flash of recognition when they were dancing and then it was gone. He thought for sure that Sonya was his Kate from the past. He didn't think it; he had a very strong feel that she was. His gut was speaking to him and he always trusted his gut.

"I'll have a large plain coffee, black. Not how I like my women," Spencer said.

Sonya laughed at that. Spencer thought it was a good laugh. His gut was right. He felt 100% sure but he had to find a way to broach the subject.

Their orders were completed and they chose a seat close to the window. Spencer's mind was reeling. How was he going to ask her the questions filling his mind? Should he ask her about Jake, about why Butch called her Kate? He had no idea.

"You were so helpful last night. Helping me fill the cooler and then dancing with me to one of my favorite songs, but through all that, I never got your name. I asked Butch after you left but I could have sworn he said your name was Speck. Knowing Butch's friends, I thought it could mean anything. You know, like he has a friend called Tiny, but he's at least 375 pounds and stands 6'6. I started thinking that Speck doesn't make sense. You don't wear glasses and I've never seen you around the bar. Not even once, so tell me, what is your name?" She said, waiting for an answer.

_This is it_ , Spencer thought, _the moment of truth_. His mouth was dry. His tongue refused to work and then all of a sudden, it was out, "Spencer Coleman." My name is Spencer Coleman and your name is Kaitlin Taylor." From the look on her face, he knew he was right about who she was. Her face had grown very pale; a single tear ran down her right cheek.

"Spencer? Is it really you?" Her hand went to her face, covering her mouth. Her face which moments ago was full of shock and surprise, brightened up immediately. "SPENCER, oh my God is it really you?" She stood up so quickly that she almost overturned the table, the coffee teetering on the brink of going over, but it remained upright. She shot around the side of the table and before Spencer could get up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh my God, I can't believe it, I just can't believe it."

Spencer stood up and wrapped his arm around her waist. He lifted her into the air. He hugged her like a man who would never let go another human being. Her face was buried in his neck. He could feel her warm tears running down her neck. Her sighs were soft, her sobs were imperceptible. Spencer closed his eyes, taking in this moment he had waited thirty years for. He had finally found Kate.

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Chapter Thirty-Three

Shelly opened the door to the VIP room and out stepped Baldy with an extremely large smile plastered on his face. Shelly made a pretty penny off of Baldy. What he ask for didn't require an extra charge, but she could tell from his mannerisms that he had never frequented a place like this before. He was a rookie and she had just popped his cherry.

She walked to the bartender and handed over her night's tally.

"Nice work tonight Shelly. You're one of my best girls," he said and as if to accent the point, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a huge wad of cash and gave her three one hundred dollar bills. "Here, go get a sexy new outfit. You deserve it."

"Thanks darling. That last one was a riot. You could tell he was a virgin when it comes to clubs like this. He was so turned on; he only lasted a couple minutes. God, it was the most boring two minutes I've ever experienced in my life," she laughed.

The bartender poured her a drink and himself one. "To a very profitable future; you and I are going to make a lot of money together. I just found a new one for the flock. I'd like you to show her the ropes. I have a feeling she will be a very good earner. With any luck at all, we'll all be rolling in the dough in no time at all," he said.

"I don't know. I've been doing this a long time and I'm just about tired as hell of it all. I am very comfortable right now. I don't think this is something I want to do much longer. It might be time to retire honey. I'd like to see the world from some other position besides on my back," Shelly said, downing her drink.

The look on the bartender's face was one of disbelief. "After all I've done for you, you would just quit on me? Just like that? I pulled you off the street with nothing. You were penniless and homeless without a thing to your name. I made you what you are today. Do you think you would have that nice house and nice car if it weren't for me? Shit, you'd probably be dead of a drug overdose or dying of AIDS. I picked you up out of the gutter and gave you a future. Now you say you want to retire, to leave me in the lurch when I have a new girl coming in. What kind of shit is that?" he said and pounded his fist so hard into the bar, it made Shelly flinch. He pointed a finger in Shelly's face, "You're done when I say you're done, you got me? You feel me? As far as I'm concerned, your debt to me isn't repaid until I say it is. You better plan on lying on your back and taking the money from your clients for a long time to come Shelly. Now, go check your station. You have another client waiting. Chop chop sweetie, time is money."

The grin that crossed the bartenders face wasn't friendly, it was one of danger.

Shelly didn't touch her drink. The thoughts she had moments ago that she might finally get out of this way of life left her suddenly. She was numb. She pushed the drink back toward the bartender and headed toward her station.

"Hello Shelly, do you remember me?" Harold Philips said. He wore a smile that looked welcoming and dangerous at the same time.

Shelly stopped dead in her tracks. Her mind was racing. She felt like a trapped animal. She couldn't move; her legs refused to ignore her mind's cry to run. _What was Harold Philips doing here and why was he out of prison_? She thought. She turned to the bartender to warn him about who was at her station. From the look on the bartender's face, he already knew the answers to her questions.

"Just do your job," the bartender said, "just do your job," he smiled at Harold, and Harold returned the smile.

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Chapter Thirty-Four

Harold Philips was never much of a man. In his life, he had only held a handful of jobs. He was never lucky with the ladies. His life was a montage of getting drunk and working dead end jobs.

Harold was the kid in school that everyone picked on. He came from a poor family. His father would drink and take his nightly frustrations out on his only son. More than once Harold came to school with bruises on his body that the school nurse questioned but Harold always gave the nurse the same answer, no matter how she asked the questions. He said he was clumsy. He fell down stairs or would trip and fall down a lot. The nurse never believed any of the answers Harold gave her, but she couldn't move forward if he wasn't willing to cooperate.

Harold was also an easy target in school. He never wore new clothes and kids picked on him constantly. He never stood up for himself. All through school he endured the beatings, the ridicule and the suffering of never fitting in. It wasn't until Harold was finally out of school and moved out of his parent's house that he finally found some self-respect. Discovering self-respect didn't equate to making a living so Harold turned to a life of crime. He would work dead end jobs by day and rob stores by night. It was the only way to supplement his income.

One night as Harold was robbing the local liquor store, a patron whom he didn't see, rushed him from the back of the store catching him off guard. The gun Harold was carrying went off, but no one was hurt. The police arrived and linked Harold to a couple other crimes in the area. Given his propensity to use guns in his robberies, Harold was given a sentence of 5 years for his first offense. His lawyer had argued for a lighter sentence, maybe probation but the judge wanted nothing of it. Given Harold's 'stellar' work for the community and his violent outbreaks, the judge threw the book at him.

Prison didn't do anything but teach Harold how to become a better criminal. When he was released from prison after his 5 year stint, he took up where he left off, robbing stores. What he had learned in prison was how to avoid getting caught. Harold listened intently to the prisoners, even took notes but what Harold failed to notice was the irony that the guys giving him the advice were indeed incarcerated. It didn't stop Harold though. He thought it was easier to make money and a lot more of it, if he continued his life of crime. When he was released from prison, that's exactly what he did.

It was during his crime spree that he met Shelly Page. Harold had just knocked off a small convenience store across town and he wanted to put his hard earned cash to work for him. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman so he thought he could search Craigslist for a date. He found one. She advertised she charged $80 for a good time, no time limit. Harold placed the call, and the rest was history.

He met Shelly Page in a small, seedy hotel room. _She was very attractive for a whore_ , Harold thought, _but she was suppose do be, right_? Why would he want to give his money to an ugly tramp? Because he was horny, that's why.

After Harold and Shelly were done, he left promptly but her scent never left his mind. He knocked off several more stores and made more appointments with Shelly. She really seemed to like him. One time, he called her because he really wanted to be with her. However, he didn't have the money to spend a night with her. He called her up, plead his case and she told him to come on over. She thought he was a good guy even though he earned his money illegally. Who was she to judge? It wasn't like she was an angel either.

Harold showed up right on time and she let him in. They both took their time and Harold felt it was like the first time he ever made love to a woman; not just sex. Even afterwards, she didn't rush him out. They both sat on the bed, sharing a cigarette talking about life. It was a moment he never forgot.

When Harold called Shelly the next week to arrange a time to meet, she asked if he had the money and he said no. He had expected her to tell him to come on over, but what he heard on the other end of the phone was silence. She had hung up. Harold was devastated. That one night, he thought they had a connection. It seemed to him like they really understood one another but apparently that wasn't the case. The whore was nice enough to give him a freebie, to continue his addiction, but she wouldn't go any further with him unless he had the cash.

Harold went out and knocked over a gas station and immediately called Shelly. Nothing, her line was disconnected. His heart sank but his anger grew.

He searched for her and finally found that she lived in a small town in upstate NY. Through the wonder of the internet, he found her home address and where she worked.

He hopped in his car and drove to her place. He was surprised at how nice it was. Damn, the thought, being a whore sure pays the bills.

He walked around to the back of the house and broke in a window. He helped himself inside, hoping she was there. He really missed her and wanted to tell her how much he loved her. She was nice to him and he wanted to make her his girlfriend, or even his wife. He was digging her place, it was decorated very nicely. Yes indeed Harold thought, I could see myself living here a long time. He smiled but his smile quickly faded when the cops found him in her apartment, with a loaded gun. Given Harold's past and his history with guns, the judge sentenced him to ten years in jail.

He thought he would never see Shelly again, until today.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

Kaitlin finally released her grip from around Spencer's neck. She took a step back and took a look at him, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She stood shaking her head. Her eyes were puffy from crying. "I can't believe it's you Spencer. How long has it been? Thirty years?" she said, returning to her seat. Her eyes never left him. She was afraid if she turned away for a moment, he would disappear in a cloud of smoke, like a dream.

"It's been too long Kate, much too long. I've been searching for you for years. I came to your house to apologize for how I over reacted for Jake's death, but you and your parents had moved. When the internet took off, I plugged your name into every search engine I could find; nothing. I had given up hope but last night in the bar while we were both dancing, I had a momentary flash of remembrance; it was your eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as it had come. It wasn't until I heard Butch call you Kate that my soul surged and I started to wish against all hope that it was you. Now, here we are and it really is you Kate," Spencer said, his voice wavering in his emotions.

"This is like an unbelievable dream Spencer. I always blamed myself for Jake's death. I still believe if I didn't chase him that day that he wouldn't have run in the road and," Kate said, she could finish her sentence. Her hands went to her eyes.

Spencer could see tears running down her face and got up to comfort her. "That's what I've come to realize Kate. I don't think it was either of our faults what happened to Jake. It was an accident, just a terrible accident," he said, reaching for her hand. She responded by taking his. "So tell me what happened to you. Where have you been? Did you ever get married or have any kids?" he asked, the questions flowing from him mouth like water.

"Slow down Spencer. Thirty years is a lot to cover. We don't have that much time right now. I have to be back at the bar in a couple hours and I'll be working until well past midnight," she said, grabbing a napkin and dabbing the tears from her eyes.

"Well maybe I can come by the bar tonight and we can catch up then? He said.

"No," Kate said very loudly. "I mean, I will be busy cleaning up the place after the football crowd clears out. They always leave such a mess. Tell you what, why don't you come by my place tomorrow around 7pm? I have school in the afternoon but I'm free after that and I don't have to work the next day, so we can sit up late and chat, catch up. What do you say Spencer?" she said, a smile returning to her face.

_Oh my God,_ Spencer thought, _she so beautiful. How can I say no to her_? "Ok, that sounds great. Do you like wine? I'll bring a bottle and we can toast to reunions," Spencer said, returning Kate's smile.

Kate grabbed a clean napkin and wrote her address on it. "Make sure it's white, the red shit gives me a headache. Look, I have to get a couple things done before I return to work tonight," she said and stood up. Spencer began to get up when Kate pushed him gently back down and put her finger to his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, don't be late," she said, removed her finger from Spencer's lips, replacing it with her own lips.

She left. Spencer turned to say he wouldn't dream of it but she was already gone.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

Spencer had spent the day doing small menial tasks. He tried calling Trooper Benson to see if there were any updates regarding the diner murder or the murder in the blue Saturn but all he got was Benson's voicemail.

No matter what he did, his mind kept returning to Kate. He went home and turned on the TV. It was an AFC double header on CBS. His beloved Miami Dolphins were destroying the hapless Buffalo Bills. The score at halftime was 27-3. There was nothing to indicate that there would be a miraculous comeback that day for the Bills fans. Spencer smirked at that thought. Even though he was in Bills country, he never felt like he was a member of the Bills nation. His hatred for the Bills stemmed from long ago in his childhood. Even as a kid, Spencer could see how much the community either rose or fell with the Bill's season. If they had a good season, which hadn't happened in 13 years, the community would thrive. Everyone had a hitch in their step. When they faulted however, it seemed like everyone became depressed. "There'll be no joy in Mudville tonight," Spencer said, laughing quietly to himself.

Spencer got up, and headed to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He didn't have a lot in his cupboards. He was a bachelor who hardly ever entertained, so he didn't feel the need to keep a stocked kitchen; most of the time he ate at restaurants. He didn't feel like going anywhere tonight though and his stomach was growling. Spencer found a loaf of bread still in the cupboard. He inspected it, "Nope, no penicillin growing" so he took out two slices of bread. He found a can of tuna fish and some Miracle Whip in the fridge. "Perfect," he said and opened the can of tuna and emptied its content into a bowl. He mixed in the Miracle Whip and made himself a sandwich.

Spencer sat back down at the couch and finished his sandwich. "Come on Dolphins, lets roll the score up." He would have fun ragging on Kevin tomorrow about how the Bills sucked today. Kevin was a big Bills fan. Spencer immediately began to have second thoughts about it. He was going to call Kevin right now. Why postpone the fun another day. He picked up his phone and called Kevin.

At first, Spencer didn't think he was going to answer. The phone rang ten times but on the eleventh ring, Kevin picked up.

"Yeah Spencer, what do you want. As if I didn't already know," Kevin said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Kevin old buddy, you wouldn't happen to have the game turned on now would you?" Spencer said. He could hear the TV at Kevin's house echoing his own TV set.

"Come on Spencer, please don't break my balls. I feel bad enough as it is," Kevin said.

Spencer opened his mouth to begin a tirade of trash talk when he changed his mind in an instant. "Nope, not today Kevin, I have something else to talk about. The line on the other end was quiet; he thought Kevin hung up the phone.

Kevin's voice came back on the line, "I'm listening. What's up buddy? Do you have a good story to tell me?" Kevin said.

"Yes, I do indeed," Spencer said. "Remember that bar you told me about, The Hole in the Wall? I stayed there the other night and waited just like you said. Kate, I mean Sonya walked out and my jaw hit the floor. She is stunning. I stayed past closing and helped her with some work in the back and then," but before Spencer could finish, Kevin cut him off.

"On man, do tell," Kevin said. "Dude don't' leave out any details. Did you get your money's worth or what? I heard she's a firecracker but I've never had the pleasure but it's on my bucket list."

"What the hell are you talking about Kevin?" Spencer said. He could feel his face growing hot. "What I was about to say was we went to the jukebox, listened to a song and then danced. What are you carrying on about?" Spencer was about to tell Kevin that Sonya wasn't her real name, that it was Kate and she was the girl he had told her about from his childhood. He felt if he told that to Kevin now, he would clam up and he would never get the truth. Spencer felt a pit growing in his stomach. He didn't like where this conversation was going but he had to ask, he couldn't not know the answers. Morbid curiosity set in. "Well, I don't want to give away all of the details," Spencer said, trying to chuckle and then held his breath.

"I fucking knew it man. Tell me, how good is the hottest piece of paid tail in this city? Was she really worth a grand an hour? Hell, she's so hot, how can anyone last an hour with her? I know I'd blow my load like a teenager," Kevin said, howling in laughter. "Come on man, don't hold back any details. Tell me everything," Kevin said. "Spencer, hey Spencer, are you still there?" The dial tone replaced Spencer's voice.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Spencer sat on his couch for a long time. His mind was numb. _Could it be true_? He thought. Could Kate really be a high priced call girl? He shook his head, trying to clear out the thoughts and visions entering his mind. He hadn't seen her in over thirty years and he supposed anything was possible. His mind kept returning to his childhood friend. _How did this happen_?

The TV was still on, but it might have well been set to mute. He couldn't hear a word from the announcer's mouth. Spencer laid down, his mind racing. He felt like someone had ripped his heart from his chest. His stomach was full of lead. He felt physically sick. "God Kate, what happened?" he said. Kevin's voice echoed over and over in his head.

"The heck with this, I can't wait until tomorrow to see her. I have to go right now. I don't care how tired she is. We have to have a talk," Spencer said, once again grabbing his keys and heading for his car. Spencer stopped in his tracks thinking, _what does Kevin know? He's said he's never been with her. As far as he knows it's just a vicious rumor made up by some ex-boyfriend who's trying to keep guys away_. Come on Spencer, think. How can something like that be true?" Spencer was trying his best to convince himself what Kevin said was a lie, but the feeling in his gut wouldn't leave. There was only one way to find out the truth. I'll have to go to the bar and then read her, he thought. Using his ability was sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse. In this particular moment, it was a curse from hell. _Why don't you just ask her? Yeah right_. Spencer he thought. _You're going to go up to a woman you haven't seen in thirty years and say what? Kate, it's so great to see you, how much? Kate, is it true you charge a grand for an hour of your time? You must be pretty good in the sack_. Spencer felt sick. No, God damn it. You have to just talk to her Spencer. Find out if this is just a vicious rumor or is a horrible truth.

Spencer kept hearing Kevin's voice inside his head "Did you get your money's worth or what?" Spencer couldn't get rid of it. Come on, that's not the Kate you know. There is no way that awful rumor could be true. It's probably just some water cooler talk some guy made up to sound more macho that he really is. I bet the guy has a two inch pecker. Spencer laughed at the thought of that.

I heard she's a firecracker in the sack. I've never had the pleasure but it's on my bucket list. Kevin's voice once again screamed out in Spencer's head, wiping the smile off his face. Spencer closed his eyes for a second, trying hard to remove the image from his mind that was forming there. He could see Kate, standing before a man, naked as she counted a pile of hundred dollar bills.

"Stop it, just stop it Spencer. Don't jump to conclusions," he said. The feeling in his gut wouldn't go away. He noticed too late that he was quickly approaching a stop sign. He slammed on the brake and he slide right through the intersection. The front end of his car just missed another passing motorist. The other car stopped. Spencer waved, telling the guy he was sorry. The driver flipped him the finger and drove off. "Holy shit that was close," he said, looking at his watch. "It's getting late. If I'm going to catch her tonight, I better get going."

He was just about to take off when red and blue lights started flashing in his rear view mirror. Spencer's head sunk to his chest. "Christ, not now," he said, pulling through the intersection and up to the curb.

The cruiser pulled in behind him. Spencer reached into his glove compartment for his insurance and registration card. The officer approached the car and said, "Sir, you know why I pulled you over right? You almost t-boned that other car when you blew through that intersection," the officer said, taking Spencer's information.

"I'm sorry officer, I have a lot on my mind and I saw the sign too late," Spencer said, pulling his license out of his wallet.

"You're lucky I'm not calling the morgue. We could be pulling your head out of your windshield right now. You do know sir that it is the law in New York State to wear your seatbelt," the officer said, heading back to his cruiser.

Spencer shook his head and thought, _Could this night get any better. I just want to get out of here and get some answers_.

The officer returned, "Coleman. Are you the same Coleman who was at The Victory Diner when he waitress was gunned down?"

"Yes officer, that was me. Look, I'm really sorry about running through that stop sign and the seatbelt. I've had a very hard couple of days," Spencer said.

"Tell you what Mr. Coleman. I'm going to let you off on the failure to yield violation but I can't let you go on the seatbelt violation. I have to look out for your safety sir. That's just my job," the officer said.

"I appreciate it officer," Spencer said, and then thought to himself, _if you were really sorry you'd have cut me some slack and dropped both violations_.

"Here's your information back. This is your ticket. The time and place of the court date are here. You can of course plead not guilty and have a trial, that's up to you. If you plead guilty, you can avoid court altogether and pay the fine in person or online. Do you understand?" the officer asked.

"Yes officer, I understand," Spencer said, putting his registration and insurance cards back in his glove compartment.

"Where are you headed tonight Mr. Coleman?" The officer said.

"I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd head over to The Hole in the Wall for a night cap. See what Butch is up too," Spencer smiled.

Spencer's smile wasn't returned. "I'll be keeping an eye on you tonight Mr. Coleman. Do not be out too late. Do not have too much to drink. I will pull you over and give you a breathalyzer test if your tire so much as touches the center line," the officer said curtly. Have a good evening," he said walking away.

"Asshole," Spencer said and pulled away from the curb. Two minutes later he was parked outside the bar. The bar lights were still on, but there didn't seem to be anyone inside. At least, not that he could see from his vantage point.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Benson's phone rang, startling him out of a sound sleep. "And the final score, Boston Red Sox 6, New York Yankees 1. That'll do it tonight from Yankee Stadium. Good night folks," the announcer said.

"Damn, I slept through the whole game?" Benson said. "I guess I didn't miss much anyways. The Yanks have been yanking it alright. Keep this shit up and you'll be sitting at the bottom of the American League in last place with the highest payroll." He reached for the remote, shutting off the TV.

He caught the phone on the last ring, "This is Trooper Benson," he said.

"Robert, its Craig Fox. I have some news for you on your double murder case. It seems like Shelly Page and Patti Page weren't sisters, they were the same person. After sifting through the evidence, we found two driver's licenses and two cell phones. The licenses shared the same photo, but different social security numbers. Both also had the same birth dates. There were a couple phone numbers on both the phones that matched. Both numbers were called quite frequently. One number belonged to Butch Nelson and the other to a Sonya Jennings. We ran a back ground check on them both. Mr. Nelson has a couple priors but nothing major. Miss Jennings doesn't have a record. She's as clean as a whistle," Fox said.

"So what is the connection between them? What were you able to find out?" Benson inquired further.

"Not much but they both work at the same place in town, The Hole in the Wall bar. Do you know of it? It's that run down place over on State Street," Fox said.

"Yeah, I know of it. Benson said. "When I was a kid, my dad used to go there on Sundays and watch the football games. The owners name was Bill Nelson. His son Tim and I used to play pool and hang out while my dad had a couple brews. Tim would be Butch. After Tim's father died, Tim started going by the name Butch. He went for the biker look and took over the bar from his dad. It was his legacy he said. Tim was a smart kid and could have done anything with his life he wanted but he chose to stay and keep his dad's memory alive in that bar. I haven't seen Tim for a while now. I used to stop in every once in a while just to see how he was doing when I used to walked the beat, but you know how times goes, you blink and it's gone."

"What do you say Robert? Do you want to go over there tonight and see if we can get some answers? Fox said. He sounded awful chipper for the lateness of the hour.

"Nah, let's wait until the morning and head over. Give me a few hours to digest this news. I'll give you a call tomorrow morning when I'm ready to talk to Tim, I mean Butch," Benson said yawning.

"Ok, I'll be waiting for your call then. See you tomorrow Robert. Have a good one," Fox said and hung up the phone.

Benson jotted down the notes in his notepad. "We have a two dead people, two different identities belonging to the same woman and two people whose names just happened to be called over and over, on two different cell phones, who work at the same bar. Both having some sort of ties to the woman. We are going to get to the bottom of his shit tomorrow," Benson said, "Someone knows something. That can wait until tomorrow, I'm beat," Benson said, heading into the bedroom and turning off the light.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine

Spencer got out of his car and walked through the doors of the bar. The TV was still blaring but there wasn't anyone in the bar.

The door slammed hard behind him. He was startled, turned to look at the source of the noise and when he turned to face the bar again, Butch was standing behind it.

"Spence my man, what brings you out again tonight? You missed all the action Bro; it was a hell of a game. I'm not sure if you know this or not but I run a little side business in here on Sundays regarding all the football games. Not high roller shit, but I always come out a few bucks ahead. Some of the guys couldn't pick a winner if their lives depended on it. I like those guys. They are good for my bottom line," Butch smiled. "Can I get you something? Did you just pop in to say hi to old Butchie or do you want to toss back a few?"

"A little bit of both Butchie," Spencer said. Butches face broke wide with a smile.

"Fuckin A, Spence. I really like you. I think my dad would have liked you too. People used to think my dad was a real hard ass. He had a tough exterior but he was a marshmallow. If he heard me say that today, he would kick my ass out of spite. I really miss the old man. This bar has so many good memories growing up," Butch said, pouring them both a draft beer. Here ya go Bro. To new friends."

"To your dad," Spencer said. Butch raised his glass and they both toasted. "I was hoping to catch Sonya here tonight before she left. Did I miss her? I took her out for coffee earlier and I think we hit it off," Spencer said.

"Dude, you're not hitting on my girlfriend are you? Fucking please tell me you're not after my girlfriend because I don't want to have to fuck you up Spencer. I go crazy when guys at the bar look at her. She is so freaking hot. You haven't touched her have you? I'll find you. I'll find where you live and I'll fucking end you brother," Butch said unflinching

Spencer was frozen to the barstool. His mind was racing a mile a minute. He has seen Butch's face in the Saturn only moments before he pulled the trigger killing Harold Philips. He tried to speak but the words were stuck in his throat. He nervously reached for his beer. His hand was shaking so hard the thought he was going to drop the glass.

Butch raised his hand from behind the bar, he brought it up and slapped Spencer so hard against the side of his shoulder, he almost flew off the barstool. "Jesus fucking Christ Spence, lighten up dude! I think you did shit yourself this time," Butch said, erupting in laughter. "Nah man, there isn't anything going on between me and Sonya. She just works here, my man. She's not my type; our relationship is strictly professional. I'm into blonds and to tell you the truth, I don't think she's that hot, do you?" Butch asked.

_Oh I think she's hot Butch, plenty hot_ , Spencer thought, but he didn't want to let Butch know he was interested in Kate. He didn't want to reveal their history. "How did you both meet?" Spencer asked.

Butch gave Spencer as sideways glance. "Man, you really are into her aren't you? I can see it in your face. I can hook you two up if you want." Butch smiled, and went on, "To tell you the truth, I think she's hot for you too. When she came back to work this afternoon, she seemed distracted. Normally she is very flirty with the guys. It gets her bigger tips you know. Not to mention she can fill out a pair of jeans. When I asked her what was up, she said nothing; she was a little preoccupied. I wasn't quite sure what was going on but when you showed up here tonight asking about her, I made the connection. You ever meet her anywhere before? You both have that look," Butch said, waiting for an answer.

"No man, the first time I saw here was the other night when I first stopped in. I have to admit it Butch, she might not be your type, but she sure is mine. Hell, she's the reason I would make this bar my second home. If it wasn't for my buddy Kevin, I never would have found this place," Spencer said.

"Kevin? Are you talking about a guy who's about 5'4, wears sunglasses even at night and has an 80's mullet, that Kevin?" Butch said.

"Yeah, I keep telling him to clean up his act, lose the sunglasses and the mullet. That look went out in the 80's. He thinks he is God's gift to women," Spencer said.

"That mother fucker has been barred from this place for a couple years. He came in here one night, drunk off his ass looking for Sonya. He was flashing money around. Saying he wanted a taste of the sweetest piece of ass this town had to offer. Fucking guy was full of 'liquid courage'. I tried to be nice to him. Told him to hit the road and go find some other bar to haunt. The little runt gets up in my face and tells me if I don't get him what he wants, he's going to kick my ass up one side of this street and down the next. Dude, fucking look at me! You think a little pussy like him could take me? Even on his best night, stone cold sober he couldn't hurt me. So I told him, hey buddy, do yourself a favor and get lost. Sonya came out from the back room to see what all the noise was about and he starts shouting, "there she is gents, the hottest piece of ass you'll ever see. Come here baby, let me get a taste, I've got a grand right here. I am ready to party!" I looked over at Sonya and her face was full of fury. She was so mad she started crying. I told the guy that's enough and he took a swing at me; caught me totally by surprise too. Hit me square on the jaw. Now that guy did shit himself when I just laughed at him and picked him up like a ragdoll, carried his dumbass to the doors and tossed him out like yesterday's trash. He rolled around a couple times, got back up and made another run at me. I kicked him square in the chest with my size 14 shoes and he went down. He was gasping for air, he couldn't catch his breath. Christ man, I thought the fucking asshole was going to die right there in the street. I called to Sonya to call for an ambulance. She came out beside me and said, let the fucking creep die in the street like a dog. He got up, staggered down the street yelling out obscenities and then disappeared into the night. That guy is your friend Spence?" Butch asked.

"No man, not a friend, more of an acquaintance. I knew him growing up in school but I really wasn't friends with him. Our parents were friends, so when they would go over there, we would hang out. I kept in touch with him on and off throughout the years, but we aren't really friends. So what was he going on about with Sonya? Why did he say he had a grand for the sweetest ass in town? God, he didn't think she was a call girl or something like that did he? He sounded like he was off his medication that night," Spencer said, recalling his conversation earlier that night with Kevin.

Kevin really believed Sonya was a high priced call girl. He was most certain of it. There was only one way to find out however, and that was to talk to Sonya about it. Actually, he knew a better way than to talk to her; he wanted to read her Signature.

"It was some weird shit dude. Sonya isn't like that. When I met her about 5 years ago, she had it really rough. She had lost her husband and both kids in a car accident. I don't know all the details and I never push her for them, but she was pretty fucked up by the whole situation. So I gave her a job. She needed something to occupy her time. She was distant at first but she warmed up to the place. She told me about her dream to go to college and to turn her life around. I felt sorry for her. She was so sweet. Everyone in the bar loved her and she became an important piece of the machinery. Hell, you are sweet on her Spence, she brings the guys in. Who doesn't love a hot bartender? As the night gets later and later, her tips get larger and larger. She's made some good money for this bar so I decided to help her out. Dad left me with a nice chuck of change when he died. Not a shitload mind you, but enough for me to run this place and some extra pocket money. So one day I offered to help Sonya out. I told her I would put her through college, but she had to pay for books. You know how much fucking college books go for? They aren't cheap, let me tell ya. She enrolled in a local community college to keep tuition cost down and she's been there ever since. She does well too. I think she graduates next year," Butch said, taking a sip of his warming beer. "Blah, I hate warm beer." He tossed the beer in the sink and refilled his glass. "Another drink for you Spence, you're running empty."

"Some other time Butch, rain check?" Spencer said. "It's getting late and I really do need to get some sleep. Spencer didn't know how well he would sleep tonight given all he had learned.

"Suit yourself, Bro. It's about closing time anyway. Tell ya what, I'll tell Sonya you were here tonight looking for her. I think that'll tickle her fancy," Butch smiled. He opened the door for Spencer.

Spencer turned toward Butch, "Tell you what Butch, don't tell her I was in tonight. Know what I mean big guy," Spencer said. What he really wanted was to give himself some time before confronting Kate. He was more confused now than before he came into the bar. The answers he needed only raised more questions.

"Sure thing man, drive safe. I'll talk to you later Bro," Butch said, closing the door and locking it.

Spencer drove back to his house, careful to stop at every sign, and obey every traffic rule.

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Chapter Forty

Benson woke up feeling sluggish and tired. "What I need is a good shower and something solid in my stomach." He thought _when was it I had something solid to eat? That donut before I head over to Coleman's house? Yes, that was the last time and there was no way a donut was considered a food group, unless the FDA had reclassified the food pyramid_. "Wouldn't that just be something" Benson said. "We'd have burgers at the top, followed by fries, milkshakes, soda and then donuts. Christ, no wonder America is in the sad shape it's in." Benson looked at his own waist line, "Hmm, I could stand to do a couple sit up's each night and lay off the fast food as well." As if to accent this point, he laughed and his stomach kept jiggling after the laughter ceased. Benson rolled his eyes and said, "Note to self, get your fat ass back in the gym."

He picked up his cell phone and dialed Medina PD. Agnes Crutchfield picked up on the first ring, "Hello, switchboard. How may I direct your call? She said in a practiced and professional tone.

"Agnes, it's me Robert Benson. I'm looking for Sergeant Fox, is he around? Could you connect me with his office please?" Benson said.

"Hi Robert, how are you? Any break thru on the murder case?" Agnes said, as if she didn't hear his question. He knew better though. Agnes was very good at her job; sharp as a tack, but she tended to be a bit of a 'busy body'.

"Now Agnes, you know I can't divulge any details about the case. I will tell you that is why I wanted to speak to the Sergeant. He called me last night with some information and we were going to discuss it further. Now, is he in?" Benson asked more forcefully. Agnes's voice slipped back into her professional speaking tone, "He is here but he's busy at the moment with Teresa McCaw. She was my friend who was involved in the carjacking."

"I remember who Mrs. McCaw is Agnes. Do me a favor and have the Sergeant give me a call when he's free," Benson said, hanging up before Agnes could reply.

He would have to remember to ask Craig when he called, if Mrs. McCaw remembered anything else beyond getting tossed out of the car and seeing the carjacker's tattoo. He had no doubt that Harold Phillips was the carjacker. Benson had checked his hand at the scene of the accident and sure enough, he had the tattoo that Mrs. McCaw described.

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Chapter Forty-One

Spencer stood outside the flower shop with the napkin Kate had given him at the coffee shop. The address on the flower shop indicated that he was at the right place, but he didn't think Kate resided in the store. _Maybe it's another place_? He thought. He looked around; there weren't many other options on the street. A noise came from above Spencer's head; it was a window opening.

"Hey Spencer, there you are. You're late!" Kate said, smiling as she hung halfway out the open window.

"I'm not late," he said, "I was here right on time. I just need to figure out how to get to your apartment.

"Go into the alley around the corner and you'll see the door. Come on up, it's unlocked," Kate said, pulling herself back into the window, closing it behind her.

Spencer entered the alley way and there was the doorway he sought, as plain as day. Spencer opened the door and started up the stairs to Kate's apartment.

The stairway opened up into Kate's kitchen. It was well decorated. It had the feeling of home. There was a pot on the stove, steam escaping from the lid on top of it.

"I figured I'd make us some dinner. Do you like spaghetti, Spencer? I seem to recall your mother making it for us when I used to come over on Saturdays. Do you remember? Remember we sat in front of the TV at 6 p.m. and watched the Bugs Bunny/Road Runner hour? Those were some good memories for me Spencer that I'll never forget. Isn't it funny how it's the small things which stay with us our whole lives?" she said. "How is your mom by the way? I haven't seen her since our family moved out of the neighborhood."

"Mom passed a while ago," Spencer said. "She never stopped talking about you, Kate. She kept telling me I should call you but I was stubborn. Time passed so quickly; it's far too easy to lose touch with those we love."

"I'm sorry to hear that Spencer. I really liked your mother. A smile crossed Kate's face. "I totally agree with you Spencer; it's so easy to lose track of time. One day you're eight years old, riding bikes without a care in the world, the next day you're forty, and life has passed by in the wink of an eye." She looked directly into Spencer's eyes. "I've missed you Spencer, it's been far too long. The time between the last days I saw you and the other night in the bar seemed like an eternity, but only yesterday. Does that make any sense?"

Spencer knew exactly how Kate felt. He remembered Kate as a slight young girl; her hair flying behind her in the breeze when they rode their bikes. Sometimes, when they raced, he would let her get ahead of him so he could watch her from behind. Even as a young boy, there was something magical about her. From the first day he saved her from the bully on the swings, they shared a very personal connection, at least in his mind.

"Remember that bully? The one you saved me from?" Kate said.

"Yes, that's funny because I was just thinking of that. It was the first time you and I met. We were best friends right up to the moment," Spencer didn't' finish his sentence.

"Right up to the moment Jake died," Kate said. "That was one of the worst days of my life Spencer. I know how much you loved him and I felt like I took him away from you. I am so sorry Spencer." A tear ran down Kate's face. She brushed it away, embarrassed to cry over something that happened so long ago.

Spencer got up and went to her. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it was alright, that he forgave her. He forgave her long ago but he never had a chance to speak the words. Now the moment was here. It was time to lay it all on the line. He wanted to tell her how much he had missed her. He had been with other women through the years but none of them shared the connection he and Kate had. He didn't know if she felt the same way. He had to find out. His mind flashed back to the bar, the dance they had shared and how he felt at that moment. He should have known at that very moment who she was, but his mind was fixed on the beauty in front of him, not the beauty of the moment they shared. He approached Kate.

Kate turned her head in shame. Not because she was crying, but because of the pain she felt for missing all the years in between her youth, and this particular moment. The guilt of Jake's death still weighed heavy on her soul. After all these years, her heart still ached.

Spencer gently grabbed her face between his two hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears. She turned to look at him. She had missed him so much. She couldn't explain it.

"Oh Kate," Spencer said, and gently kissed her lips. Her lips were moist and responsive. She opened her mouth, accepting his tongue as a lover would. The kiss was deep and long. A fire was building in Spencer that no amount of water could put out. He wrapped his arms around her, she responded by doing the same. His hands slipped from the small of her back, to the rise of her ass. She responded by pulling him in closer, kissing him more deeply, more passionately.

Kate pulled back, "Spencer," she began to say, but his lips were locked on hers once more. She didn't fight it but surrendered to him. She began to walk backwards, leading him to her bedroom. He followed her, their lips still locked in love's embrace. He thought he would follow her to the ends of the earth. He didn't want to lose her again; never again.

The pair crossed over the threshold of the bedroom and finally they parted. Kate took Spencer's hand and led him to the foot of the bed. Her hand slipped down the front of Spencer's shirt to the bulge of his pants. She gripped him hard for a second and he responded with a gasp. Kate smiled. She knew Spencer wanted the same thing she did. The night they had both dreamed of had finally arrived.

Kate unbuckled Spencer's pants. They fell to the floor in a heap. He stepped out of them, fussing with the button on Kate's shorts. She unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time. Teasing herself from the desire she's held on to for so long. Spencer finally got the button loose and her shorts fell to the floor. She stood before him, her t-shirt still on, but almost naked below the waist. Her panties were pink with black ruffles. She reached down to the taper of her t-shirt and pulled the shirt over her head in one fluid motion. She didn't wear a bra. Her breasts were firm and perky, the nipples, small and round. Perfect was the only word Spencer could think of to describe them. She removed Spencer's shirt, her hands rubbing his chest. Spencer turned her around and pulled her in close to him. He deeply inhaled her scent. How he had longed to smell her, to taste her. He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. Her arm rose, reaching around Spencer's neck, pulling him in closer. He licked and sucked at the base of her neck.

Kate spun around, her thumbs slipped into the waistband of Spencer's underwear. They fell to the floor; Spencer performed the same action. The results were the same.

"Take me Spencer, I need you," Kate said, pulling him on top of her on the bed.

"I've waited so long for this Kate. I have always loved you," he said.

The water inside the pot on the stove burned hot but it still couldn't match the intensity of the heat inside the bedroom.

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Chapter Forty-Two

At Benson's request, Fox met him at the Page home. Benson told him he wanted to revisit the house to get a better feeling for the case. He didn't know what it was, but his instincts were telling him they missed something. Fox pulled into the driveway and then they both entered the house and began talking in the living room.

"Alright Fox, let's go over what you found one more time. I just want to make sure I've have all my ducks in a row before we continue," Benson said, pulling out his notepad.

Fox pulled out a manila envelope full of papers.

"What happened to the fancy tablet you had Fox? Aren't you Mr. twenty-first century?" Benson laughed.

Fox looked at Benson without smiling and said, "The damn thing died. I couldn't get it to turn on this morning. I gave it to the techs at the station to see if they could do anything with it." Fox looked at Benson, expecting some smart ass remark, but Benson just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"These things happen or at least so I'm told," Benson said, glancing sideways at Fox, but sparing him the sharp tongued witted he was famous for. "Come on, let's compare notes. I think we are missing something."

"Well, we know that Patti and Shelly shared the same Social Security number and birth date. Both licenses, even though they had two different identification numbers, shared the same information," Fox said.

"So how does one go about getting a license, let alone two licenses with the same information? One of them has to be a fake. That kind of shit would set off all kinds of bells and whistles in Albany. The people who run Albany are dumb as rocks, but you can't trick computers. Do we know which one is the fake?" Benson asked.

"There are a couple things that make us believe Patti Page's license was the fake. First of all, the address she had listed on the license is a vacant lot that has not been occupied for more than 25 years. The address is an old building that used to reside on the four corners of Main Street. It took some digging but we found out there was an apartment over top of the meat market that was housed in that block of stores. A fire in 1974 took out that building along with a shoe store, a drug store and a toy store," Fox said.

"I remember that just like it was yesterday. My dad and I went to watch them tear down the building. It was the coolest thing in the world at the time to watch that wrecking ball tear into that stone. Huge parts of the building came down in monster chunks. It took them a month to clear all the rubble," Benson said.

"Yes, that was one clue," Fox said, continuing with what they found. "After we found that tidbit, one of our techs got out a RDIF reader. You know why they put those licenses in those foil sleeves? Because thieves can stand right beside you with a portable hand-held reader and steal your information. It doesn't take long either. Just a couple of seconds and they have enough information to steal your identity. After scanning the license, it didn't emit any information. It was an exact duplicate of a NYS driver's license, but no RFID signature. It was a very good fake. Who ever made it knew exactly what they were doing. As long as 'Patti' kept her nose clean and didn't get pulled over by the local PD, we never would have known the license wasn't real," Fox said.

"So what you're telling me is that if we find out who made the driver's license, we could be on our way to unraveling this mystery," Benson said. "Nice work Craig. Tell your guys in the crime lab I owe them a beer."

"It gets better old buddy," Fox said, "I think we might have a suspect who crafted the forgery. Remember I told you there were a couple numbers that matched on those two cell phones? It turns out that Butch Nelson, the bartender and owner of The Hole in the Wall Bar got in trouble when he was a kid for making phony ID's for some college kids. Word has it he was only 17. He got off with a slap on the wrist because of his age. Instead of facing five years upstate, he was given three years probation. The kid kept his nose clean and the phony ID's dried up. I can't say for sure that he's the one who crafted this phony license, but it's a good starting point wouldn't you say Trooper Benson?"

Benson felt a smile crossing his face. It was the first real break they had since the shooting.

"There's one more thing Robert. Another interesting name that showed up was Sonya Taylor. She's never been in any kind of trouble but she works in that bar too. I wonder if she knows anything. She's been a waitress and bartender there for a couple years. Maybe good old Butch has confided some his secrets with her? I suggest we bring both them in for questioning. I know you personally know Butch so how about I go talk to him and you go talk with Sonya?"

"I like it! Come on, let's go question some suspects," Benson said. "Nice work Craig, very solid work indeed."

"If you're going to kiss my ass, make sure you use your tongue. I'll see you back at the station," Fox said. Both he and Benson got in their respective cars and headed in separate directions.

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Chapter Forty-Three

Spencer lay on his back, Kate resting her head upon his chest. His arms were wrapped around her, pulling her body in close to his. She responded by snuggling up even closer and tossing her leg over Spencer's.

"Oh my God that was incredible. I haven't felt this satisfied in years," Kate said, kissing Spencer's chest.

Spencer smiled. Their lovemaking had been like an animalistic dance. Both tried to dominate the other throughout the whole act. At one point, they almost fell off the bed but they didn't miss a beat. Spencer could feel the heat on his back where Kate raked her nails at the peak of their lovemaking. It hurt, but it still felt good at the same time.

Spencer sighed, "That was just as good as I've always dreamt it would be. You were amazing Kate. Where did you learn that 'twisty trick'?

Kate smiled, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red, "Forget my tricks Mr. Where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?! Oh my God, you were driving me insane! I thought I was going to pull your hair out," She laughed.

"We both have gained experience over the years Kate. Let's just leave it at that. How about instead of talking about tricks, we perform them again?" Spencer said, turning his body to face Kate's, immediately kissing her deeply.

Kate didn't resist at first but then she pulled back. "As much as I'd like a repeat performance Spencer, I have to get up and get ready to go to work. Let's save it until next time, shall we?" Kate got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. "I need to clean up. I can't go into work smelling like Spencer." She turned, blowing him a kiss and then closed the bathroom door. The sound of the shower escaped the bathroom.

Spencer turned and looked at Kate's side of the bed. He wasn't sure if he could do it or not. He knew he could read her Signature, but did he really want too? There were somethings that should remain a secret. What if Kevin was right? What if he and Kate ended up in a relationship, how would he handle that news down the road if and when it came up? Spencer fought to make the right choice. He could be selfish and find out everything about her in just a couple minutes, or he could trust that she would tell him the whole truth on her own before they became too involved. He already knew he loved her and wanted to be with her. If he learned the truth, how would that affect him and his feelings for her? "No, I won't do it. I can't. I have to trust her," Spencer said, bringing his hands to his eyes. "I have to learn to draw the line with my abilities. I will talk to Kate when she gets out of the bathroom." Spencer felt very good about his decision. He took his hands off his eyes. "I need to get up too and get dressed," Spencer said, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, Kate's side. Immediately his face went blank and his head filled with Kate's thoughts.

Spencer took in a quick breath, he immediately knew of his mistake when he could see Kate looking at him. She was thinking how nice this was, to finally be with a man she had long for, for so long.

He had made the connection. He could break it, but he was too weak to stop it.

_God, I really wonder if he feels the same way about me_. _It has been a very long time and neither of us are the same people we were when we were eight_. Kate thought. He still has the same kind eyes though. If his eyes were the window to his soul, she had a very good feeling about Mr. Spencer Coleman. How much do I tell him? I don't want any secrets between us. Secrets will ruin us even before we get started. No, I have to tell him the truth. If it's meant to be, then it doesn't matter; we can make this work. Damn it, we have too! I think I love--Spencer was kissing her again. Oh my God he feels so good. I want him inside me again. NO, get up before this goes too far. You need to talk to him first Kate. You need to tell him about Sonya.

The thoughts ceased as Kate got up out of bed and walked to the bathroom. He didn't like the feeling that was creeping into his gut. Perhaps Kevin was right after all. "Damm you Kevin and all your bullshit," Spencer said.

"What's bullshit? That I got up and left you with your dick in your hand?" Kate said, laughing.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder at Kate, "What do you need to tell me about Sonya? What's the story behind her persona?" Spencer said. His voice, which was normally strong, was wavering.

The cocky smile which had been on Kate's face only moments before was replaced by a look of shame, confusion and hurt.

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Chapter Forty-Four

Fox pulled up to The Hole in the Wall bar 15 minutes after leaving Benson at the Page residence. He was feeling pretty proud of his crew. It wasn't FBI worthy, but for a small town PD, with no experience in this kind of crime, he thought they shined. He was planning on taking them all out for beers and steaks once this was all over.

He started to exit the car but before he did, he figured he better get Captain Taggart in the loop. If he made a huge bust without the captain present, there would be hell to pay.

"Hi Agnes, it's Craig Fox; could you please put me through to the captain? I have some important news to tell him."

"Right away Sergeant," Agnes said. There was a brief pause and then the captain was on the line.

"Sergeant Fox, how are you? Do you have any updates for me on the Page case? I thought I would have gotten an update before now. Better late than never I suppose," Taggart said with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Fox wanted to tell him to fuck off but he thought better of it. "Trooper Benson and I are investigating a connection of two people we think might have some information regarding the case, they are Sonya Taylor and Butch Nelson. Both work at a bar in town called The Hole in the Wall. Nelson had a history of creating fake ID's when he was 17. We found two licenses belonging to Patti and Shelly Page. Only one of them was real, but we believe the two women were actually the same person living a double life. That's where Nelson comes in. His phone number was found on the dead woman's phone and with his history, we figured he is a person of interest."

There is another person who works at the bar named Sonya Taylor. Benson is going over to speak with her now. She's worked at the bar for the past two years. She might know something. We figured it was worth a shot," Fox said.

"Good work Sergeant, please keep me informed. I will speak with your tech team. It sounds like they did a fine job. Let's hope this leads to a break in the case," Taggart said and hung up.

Fox hung up his cell phone and headed for the bar. He had never been inside. From the outside, it looked like a cave. He opened the door and walked in. There wasn't much light to be found inside the interior.

It appeared the bar was empty. There wasn't anyone behind the bar but the TV was on.

"One second, I'm just using the can," Butch said as he stepped out of the bathroom. Whoa, one of our finest here in my bar. We don't get many cops. Most of you guys go down the street. From what I hear, this place isn't good enough for you cop types."

Fox didn't like Butch's tone. In fact, his tone said he didn't care much for cops. "You're Mr. Nelson, Butch Nelson?"

"Yup, that's me alright, in the flesh. What can I get you?" Butch said, stepping behind the bar. "Not only do I have a real live cop in my bar, but a sergeant at that."

Fox felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. His instincts were in high gear. He didn't like the feel of the place or Butch's attitude, but he was here to ask questions. He wanted to avoid confrontation. If he needed too, he would call in backup. "Yes Mr. Nelson, I'm a sergeant, have been for the past five years. I like being a cop, helping out my fellow citizens in my hometown. Thank you for the offer, but I can't drink while I'm on duty. Maybe when I'm off one night I will stop by and we shoot the shit. What do you say?"

Butch's mood lightened up a bit. Nelson could tell by his body language. He had to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. It was obvious that Butch had no love for law enforcement.

"I'm only here to ask you a couple questions Mr. Nelson," Fox said, taking a seat on one of the stools.

"Go ahead, shoot. But don't shoot, you know what I mean?" Butch said, tossing his hands up in front of him in a defensive gesture. He laughed, putting his hands back down. "If you're not going to have a drink, do you mind if I do? Cops and guns make me nervous."

Before Fox could answer, Butch took a bottle off the top shelf of the counter behind the bar and poured his self a shot. He downed it in a flash, refilling the glass again. "Are you sure you don't want one, on the house. I won't tell if you don't," Butch smiled and quickly downed more alcohol.

"No Mr. Nelson. Thank you. I'm here to talk about the shooting the other day at The Victory Diner. You must have heard that a young waitress was killed?" Fox looked for any signs of tension, nervousness or a change of expression on Butch's face, but he saw none. _Either this guy hadn't heard about the crime, or he just didn't give a shit_. Fox thought.

"Yeah, I heard about it. Shit like that doesn't happen every day in small town Americana. I knew the waitress. Her name was Patti Page. Good kid, what a tragedy. She was a fine piece of ass," Butch smiled.

"So you knew the victim personally? What was your connection? How long did you know her? Fox asked.

"She came in here one time looking for a job. This was before she started working at the diner. She was desperate, just rolled into town. She didn't have a penny to her name. I told her if she needed work, she could fill in here a couple nights a week. She had to share the workload with my other waitress and bartender Sonya Jennings. She said she needed the work. She was broke and didn't have any place to go. She hadn't eaten in days. She was in pretty bad shape but behind all the tragedy was one hot bitch. Shit, still gives me wood thinking about her. She stayed at my place for a while; I fed her and gave her a job. She took care of my needs, if you know what I mean," Butch said, laughing like a maniac. "That chick was grateful man, I mean really grateful!"

_What a piece of shit_ Fox thought. _I should drag this lowlife in just for being an asshole. Being an asshole wasn't against the law though but I'd sure like to make this jerk sweat a little. Maybe if I drag his ass downtown into a holding cell for questioning, it might remove that layer of arrogance he wears like cheap cologne_. That thought brought a smile to his face. "Mr. Nelson, I'm afraid we are going to have to carry on this conversation downtown. I think you know more about Patti Page than you let on," Fox said.

"What the fuck do you mean I know more than I let on? I just told you the fucking truth. You cops are all arrogant assholes. Fuck you, fuck going downtown and remove your sorry fucking ass from my bar. I'd done talking to your sorry ass," Butch said, his eyes were now full of fury. "Come back with a warrant bitch if you want to talk to me again. My lawyer will eat your Barney Fife ass up."

Fox was now the one whose temperature was rising. I can't believe the total arrogance of this prick. Who does he think he is to tell me to get my ass out of his sorry bar? We'll see who's laughing when his ass is in cuffs. He started to reach for his mic to call in for back up. When his hand reached his shoulder, his hand stopped. Fox didn't know where the gun came from that Butch was aiming at him, but it didn't matter at the moment. This biker looking bartender had gotten the drop on him when he lost his cool.

"Take it easy Mr. Nelson. Put the gun down and we can talk about this. There is no need for violence. Don't make this any worse than it is. I only want to continue this conversation downtown. Just talk. No one is charging you with anything Mr. Nelson, we are just having a discussion," Fox said, swallowing hard. The gun that Butch held was a small caliber; Fox guessed it was a .38 special. What was most alarming was how calmly he held the gun. There wasn't a moment of unsteadiness. It was like the gun was an extension of his arm. This wasn't the first time Mr. Nelson held a gun. He appeared to be a seasoned pro. Fox thought about his wife and daughter and how he wanted to see them again. The day which had started with so much promise was turning into a nightmare.

"You know what Sergeant? I don't even know your name," Butch said. His facial expression unchanged. "Tell you what, have a drink with me. Let's you and me talk. Let's have a conversation. Butch took out an extra shot glass, put it on the bar and poured. "You know what, fuck talking. Let's play a game. If you win, you live. I win--well, you lose. Here's the deal. I am going to count to three. On three and not before, we'll grab a shot glass, drink it and slam the glass on the bar. First one to slam the glass down wins."

Fox's mind was racing. In all his years on the force, he had never been so terrified in his life. He had been caught with his pants down and now that mistake would more than likely cost him his life. He had two choices. Play the game with Mr. Nelson, win and hope he was a man of his word. Fox thought, _not fucking likely_ or he could wait for Nelson to start his countdown and then he would pull his service revolver hoping to catch Nelson off guard before he could get a shot off. He might be wounded but wounded was better than dead.

"Ready, Sergeant? By the way, what is your name anyways?" Butch asked.

"Fox," he said. "I have a wife and a daughter who is graduating this year."

"Why isn't that sweet Foxy boy? I guess you better try really fucking hard to win this game or the next time they see you, they'll be identifying your corpse at the morgue. Butch said, grabbing his glass. "One--"

Fox put his hand on his glass. His hands, which were typically very steady, were shaking like a man with the onset of Parkinson's.

"Two--" Butch said. He stared into Fox's eyes. He could see the terror hiding behind those brown irises. Butch had killed many men over the years. One thing that always gave away a desperate man was his eyes. They either bulged, or in Fox's case, his pupils became so large, they looked like anime' eyes. _So that is Fox's tell, huh_? Butch thought, _I bet he's going to try to get to his gun before I reach three_.

Fox's reflexes were very fast but how do you beat someone who already has a gun on you? Adrenaline. At least that's what Fox hoped as Butch reached three.

"Three--" Butch said. While Butch continued to play the game, taking his shot glass off the bar, bringing it to his mouth, Fox made his move. If Fox would have waited a half second longer when Butch's head went completely back to swallow the liquid, he may have gotten the jump on him. He however went for his gun to quickly and Butch shot him twice in the chest at point blank range. Fox's gun flew from his hand as he fell backwards over the barstool. His chest hurt from the bullets that slammed into his bullet proof vest. The concussion took his breath away. As he lay on his back, he reached for his radio. "Code Three, officer needs urgent assistance. Code Three at the Hole in the Wall bar," Fox yelled into his radio.

Butch walked around from behind the bar as calmly as if he was taking a walk in the park. "Fuck Dude, you are—correction, were pretty fast. I almost thought for a second you actually were going to get the jump on me. Almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades." He said, putting a bullet in Fox's forehead. He calmly walked around behind the bar, finished his drink and then walked out the back door of the bar.

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Chapter Forty-Five

Kate took a short shower because she had reconsidered Spencer's offer that he hadn't asked with words, but with a deep passionate kiss. They had lost so much time, so what was the harm of getting back into bed with him and reliving that passion again. It was wonderful. She had never had such deep, long orgasms in her life. She couldn't wait to learn more about him; where he had been all these years or had he ever been married? Questions like that filled her mind as she washed away their cardinal sins. "Ok," she said, "That's clean enough. I'm only going to get 'dirty' again. Maybe the next time Spencer will join me and we can have some shower sex." She smiled at that thought. The shower stall was small but they would make it work.

Kate stood by the bathroom doorway, water dripping from her freshly washed hair. Spencer's question caught her totally by surprise. It wasn't what she expected. She saw herself stepping out of the bathroom wearing only the towel and a smile. She would approach him still lying on the bed and have an opps moment where the towel that hugged her body slipped to the floor. She'd toss back the sheet, pin his arms down and crawl on top of him. Those wonderful, erotic thoughts that flashed through her mind were gone in an instant. Only one thought filled her mind; Spencer's question, "Tell me about your Sonya persona."

She walked to the bed and sat down beside Spencer. She looked at him; his face was filled with questions. Which would she be willing to share? She was afraid that the answers would chase him away. After all this time of being apart from Spencer, the thought of telling him everything made her feel sick to the stomach. Why now? _Why at this moment did this have to come up_? She thought. She sat in the shower dreaming of a future with him. She wondered how their lives would have been if they would have gotten together years ago. None of that mattered. She couldn't worry about that now. Fate had either come into their lives as a cruel joke; only to bring them together so it could tear them apart again, or it had brought them together because this is how their lives were always supposed to be. Kate took a deep breath, looked at Spencer and began her tale.

She told him about how she felt the day their family moved. She told him about how she had run to his house. She wanted to see him, tell him she loved him and to put all the hurt and anger aside. That moment never happened because when she got to Spencer's house, he was gone.

Kate explained how she had fumbled through school. She had met a boy named Billy Smith. They dated for a couple years and then when he spoke of moving out of town to find some better place for work, she thought she was going to lose him. She didn't have a future in town. Her parents had gotten a divorce shortly after they had moved. "My dad met someone in the new company he worked for" She said. "My mom was crushed. She started looking for any reason to explain why he didn't love her anymore. I think she even blamed me at one point. She became very bitter and lonely. Living with her was a nightmare. I wanted out so I asked Billy to take me with him when he left."

A couple weeks after graduation, Billy stopped by the house to pick me up. He had found a new job in a town working with a mason. The guy promised to take Billy under his wing and teach him the trade if he worked hard and stuck with him for at least five years. Billy promised he would, they shook on it and off we went. I told my mom I was leaving. I told her I couldn't live like this anymore but what does an eighteen year old girl know? I thought my life was over if I stuck any longer. My mom said, "Go then, abandon me just like your father did. Don't you ever come back! Do you hear me? Never come back again!" My mom has never called me or returned my calls.

Billy and I were doing alright in the beginning. He wasn't making a lot of money but we lived comfortably. We didn't need much though. We rented a small little place which was already furnished. We only had one car which Billy took for work but we lived close enough to town so I could walk if I needed anything.

Shortly after we moved and got established, I became pregnant. It wasn't a big deal until we sat down and figured out how much it was going to cost to have a child. Billy didn't have any insurance. The hospital cost, along with the daily added cost of having an extra mouth to feed was going to put a strain on our finances. Billy said, "no sweat, I'll just get an extra job if I have to." He did and we socked away enough money to pay for the hospital, get some baby clothes and diapers. Everything was looking good until I got pregnant again. Billy got a second job, but I think the strain of having to work two jobs was really getting to him. When Christopher came, it brought another level of love to Billy's life and we were growing into a tight-knit family. At least, I thought we were. Three months later I was pregnant again. That was our downfall. I couldn't work. I had to take care of Christopher and my second pregnancy was tough. I was told by the doctor that I had to rest. No unnecessary work. Billy blamed me for everything. After Amanda came, he started to become abusive. He started drinking really heavily. Some nights he wouldn't come home at all. When I asked him where he was, he'd go off into a fit of rage and punch a wall if I was lucky; punch me if I wasn't so lucky. I walked on eggshells whenever he was around. I stayed with him for a couple years until I decided it was time to leave. One night, I asked for a divorce and he kicked the shit out of me. He lost it, took the kids and that's where my whole life went to shit.

While he was driving to his mom's house, he must have blacked out or something and wrecked his truck. The cops never did find out exactly what happened but he lost control of the truck, it rolled over and caught on fire. Billy, Christopher and Amanda were all killed in the accident.

Kate stopped talking. She was crying uncontrollably. Spencer's heart went out to her. He moved down the side of the bed and held her tightly.

"Oh my God Kate, I am so sorry," Spencer said, his heart breaking for her. "Shh... it's alright, I've got you."

Kate's held onto Spencer, being in his arms was comforting. Her eyes looked up at him and she said, "There's more. You asked me about Sonya. This will be very hard to talk to you about Spencer but I love you and I think you should know."

Spencer took a deep breath. He regretted ever bringing up the question in the first place. "Kate, it's alright. You can tell me whenever you're ready."

Kate said, "It has to be now Spencer while I still have courage to continue."

There was a knock at the door. Kate would have to wait before she continued her tale with Spencer.

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Chapter Forty-Six

Benson waited at the door of Sonya Jennings's apartment for a minute and then knocked again.

"Who is it?" asked the voice from within.

"My name is Robert Benson; I'm with the New York State Police. Please open the door," Benson said.

"One second," Kate said. "What the hell do the police want with me, especially a State Trooper?" She said out loud.

"What did he say his name was?" Spencer asked. "Did I hear him right? Did he say his name was Benson?"

"Yeah," Kate said, putting on her shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "Do you know him?"

"I don't know his personally, but he's the lead investigator on the Patti Page murder. You know, the woman who was killed in The Victory Diner," Spencer said.

_Shit_ , Kate thought. She turned away from Spencer. She didn't want him to see the look on her face. She headed for the door and let the trooper in.

"Yes Trooper Benson, how can I help you? What's this all about?" Kate asked.

"May I come in, this shouldn't take long. I just have some questions to ask and I'll be on my way," Benson said. Depending on the answers he got from Miss Jennings, he might not be on his way out the door alone.

"Of course, please come in," Kate said, stepping aside letting the trooper pass.

"Thank you Miss Jennings. I'm not sure if you know it or not but there was a shooting at The Victory Diner yesterday. A waitress was killed, a Miss Patti Page." Benson said.

"Oh God, how could I have not?" Kate said. "How many murders have happened in this town over the years? Heck, over its history? I bet there can't be many. Have you Googled it?"

Benson felt tension in the air. Sonya was rambling, which mean she was nervous or trying to hide something. He liked the sound of that because it meant that he and Fox were finally on to something. Their hunches were paying off.

"Yes Miss Jennings, I'm sure we can find out the history of the town if we Googled it. I have to ask you..." Benson began, but he was distracted by a noise behind a closed door. "Are we here alone Miss Jennings?" His hand instinctively went to his service revolver.

"No, a friend of mine is using the bathroom. He should be out in a minute," she said.

"Would that friend be Butch Nelson by any chance?" Benson asked. He was hoping to catch the two separate. Fox hadn't checked in yet. Maybe it was because he went to the bar and it was a dead end. Fox still should have checked in and let him in on his status. If they were going to coordinate their investigation, then they had to work together as a close knit team.

Kate was about to tell Benson who the mystery man was when he stepped out through the closed bedroom door. "Spencer Coleman," Benson said, "What brings you here? Are you doing a reading?"

Kate looked at Benson and then at Spencer. "Spencer, what's he talking about, a reading? And what took you so long in there?"

"Sorry Kate, nature called. By the way, don't go in there for a while. "Spencer said, waving his hand back and forth like a fan. "Not good, not good at all."

"You jerk!" Kate said, punching Spencer in the arm.

"I just stopped by to catch up with an old friend Trooper Benson. I haven't seen Kate in over 25 years," Spencer said.

Benson looked toward the bedroom and saw that there were still some clothes on the floor. The bed was in shambles and both of them looked like they had been 'wrestling'. "Twenty-five years is a long time Mr. Coleman. How did you two happen to reconnect?"

"It was dumb luck really, Benson. I was at The Hole in the Wall bar the other night. Kate, umm, Sonya was bartending," Spencer said.

"I find that very interesting," Benson said, turning to Kate. "Which is it, Kate Taylor or Sonya Jennings? I'm confused. Why do you go by two names?"

"It's Kate, but Sonya is the name I use at the bar. Do you know how many guys I get in the bar that asks for my number or my name Trooper Benson? I could tell them to go fuck off but as a waitress and a bartender, I have to be friendly if I want to earn decent tips. So I give them my Sonya name with a fake number. I get good tips and they think they are going to get lucky," Kate smiled.

"That's smart Miss Taylor. What I'm here for is to ask you what your connection is to Patti Page. During our investigation, we found some evidence linking you and the victim," Benson said.

"What kind of evidence?" It was Spencer who asked the question.

Benson's head snapped to address Spencer, "Mr. Coleman, I am in charge here, I am asking the questions. Would you please leave while I question Miss Taylor?

"It was just a question Benson, lighten up," Spencer said, smiling but Benson's coldness wiped the smile off his face.

"Actually, that wasn't a request Mr. Coleman. It was an order. Either remove yourself from the apartment, or I'll cuff you and place you in my cruiser in the alley," Benson said. If one thing drove him crazy, it was his authority being questioned.

"Kate, I'll check in on you later," Spencer said, eyeballing Benson before he opened the door and exited the apartment.

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Chapter Forty-Seven

Spencer felt like a child who had been scolded for talking back to a parent. He paced back and forth in the alley way waiting for Benson to finish questioning Kate. He didn't have to wait long. Benson came running down the stairs.

"Coleman, you're with me. Move your ass-- now!" Benson said, running and jumping in the cruiser.

Spencer didn't have a minute to think but he obeyed and tried to get into the back seat but the door was locked.

"The front seat Coleman," Benson yelled, "Hurry, a man's life is at stake."

Spencer hopped into the front seat. He barely had the door closed when Benson jammed the transmission in drive and slammed on the gas pedal. Spencer was caught off guard by the power of the car. His head snapped back, causing the pain from the pulled muscle which occurred in the Saturn the other night to rear its ugly head.

"This is Trooper Robert Benson. I am responding to the Code Three at The Hole in the Wall bar, ETA, 2 minutes." Benson shouted into the microphone over the wailing sirens.

"What's a Code 3?" Spencer said. His question went unanswered. Benson navigated the cruiser through the streets at break neck speed. He blew through stop signs and a red light. _He certainly is in a hurry_ , thought Spencer. A Code three must be pretty bad. Why was he riding along though?

Benson pulled up in front of The Hole in the Wall and skidded to a halt. He knew Fox must have run into some trouble with Nelson if he called in a Code 3. He was the first officer to respond.

"Stay here, do not leave this car. Is that clear?" Benson said to Spencer.

"Yeah, I understand," Spencer said. The bar looked as it always did. From the outside, everything looked fine. Spencer watched Benson exit the car, pull his gun and cautiously approach the front door of the bar. Benson looked in the window and went inside.

Upon entering the bar, he noticed the body of his friend and colleague Craig Fox lying on the floor. There was a lot of blood. Adrenaline coursed through Benson's body. If it weren't for his training, along with all his years of experience on the force, he may have lost his composure. Instead, he walked over to his fiend's body, his eyes and gun scanning the room for Nelson. He felt for a pulse on the side of Fox's neck. There wasn't one; Fox was dead. "Officer down, I repeat, officer down! I need an ambulance and assistance at The Hole in the Wall bar. Issue an APB for Butch Nelson. The suspect is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution." Benson proceeded to search the rest of the bar. It was just how he thought he would find it, empty.

Benson returned to his falling colleague. "Shit Craig, I'm so sorry. We'll catch this son of a bitch, I promise you." He had a good idea who shot his friend. There was only one way to be completely sure though. Benson went to the door and motioned for Spencer to come in.

Everything looked fine to Spencer. Benson was waving him in. He thought if the situation was dangerous, Benson would never let him into the bar. When Spencer entered the bar, he saw a body lying on the floor. "Oh my God, not another body—is that a police officer?" Spencer asked.

"Yes," Benson said. He was a very good friend of mine and I need you to tell me who killed him. I have a pretty good idea, but I want you to use your 'gift' to verify it. He hasn't been dead very long, his body is still warm." Benson pulled out his cell phone, took a picture of the crime scene and then picked up the barstool. He imagined his friend sitting on the barstool before he died. "Have a seat, tell me what you see," Benson said.

Spencer walked carefully around the dead body. He had seen enough dead bodies in the past couple days to last him a lifetime. "Benson, are you sure? This isn't a science you know," Spencer said.

"Just do it Coleman—please," Benson asked. Benson's eyes were watery but he maintained his composure.

Spencer looked at the stool. He was about to sit down when Benson spoke again.

"I want every God dammed detail, you hear me. Don't leave out a single thing. Every freaking detail that you see, I want to know," Benson said.

Spencer nodded and sat on the stool.

Spencer saw it all. He saw how Butch had gotten the drop on the sergeant, how they played 'the game' and the end results; Butch walking around the bar and aiming the pistol at Fox's head. He explained the whole scene to Benson.

"We have to find this son of a bitch. He's dangerous Spencer," Benson said.

"I know," Spencer said. "There was one detail I left out on the night you brought me to the Saturn accident site. The image Harold Phillips saw moments before the shot that took his life. For an instant, I thought I saw Butch's face in a flash of a streetlight. It was there for a second and then it was gone.

Benson instantly became angry. "Are you saying that you KNEW Butch Nelson killed Harold Phillips and you neglected to mention that fact to me? God damn it Spencer, do you realize you have been letting a killer walk the streets all this time? If you would have told me about him earlier, my friend and colleague Sergeant Craig Fox might still be alive."

Spencer tried to explain how he didn't say anything because he wasn't absolutely sure. How he didn't know if Sonya was involved and that he had to find out first before he mentioned anything about Butch, but before he could say anything, Benson punched him straight across the face.

Spencer went reeling toward the bar. The lights in the bar seemed brighter than they ever had been. His mind was fuzzy and he felt like he was falling in slow motion. He crashed on the floor; both dazed and confused. Benson was on him like a cat. His fist was raised high in the air, ready to pummel Spencer. The anger he felt toward Spencer right now justified beating Coleman to a pulp.

Spencer put up his arms in a defensive posture. "Wait, hang on! I can still help you catch him. Give me a minute to explain." For a second, he didn't think Benson could hear any of the words he spoke. Benson's lips were pulled back; his mouth was snarled. Then, as quickly as the anger had exploded out of Benson, his face went calm.

"Make it good Coleman. I'll give you thirty seconds to explain before I cuff you and arrest you as an accessory to murder. In my mind, you're just as guilty as Nelson for my friend's death," he said, stepping back away from Spencer.

"I saw him shoot me, I mean the Sergeant. I can stand where Butch was and tell you exactly what he was thinking. It might reveal his next move. I promise you Benson, no more secrets. It's worth a shot right?" Spencer said, trying to get to his feet.

Benson extended an arm, pulling Spencer to his feet. "I don't apologize for hitting you Coleman. You deserved that, but if you can offer up some clues as to where this son of a bitch has gone," Benson trailed off. "Get to work, let's find a killer."

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Chapter Forty-Eight

Kate stood in her kitchen dumbfounded. Trooper Benson had started asking her questions about Patti Page when his radio sounded off. Whatever a Code Three was, it caused the trooper's face to go pale and then he turned, running down the stairs.

Her mind was racing thinking of Patti. How would she explain her connection to Patti without ruining everything with Spencer? She knew she couldn't lie to the police but she didn't want to tell the truth with Spencer around either. She would tell Spencer everything but when she thought the time was right. She certainly didn't want him asking her probing questions when the police were here. She was happy that the Trooper dismissed Spencer and sent him away. She got a reprieve when the Code 3 call came in. It would give her time to gather her wits.

"My God, what a day this has been," Kate said. She turned toward the door. She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. "Spencer, is that you?"

"Spencer, you mean that dude from the bar? What the fuck would he be doing here?" Butch asked, stepping into the apartment. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him and kissed her.

"Christ Butch, what the fuck? You smell like a bottle of booze. What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the bar getting ready for the day?" Kate asked. She used the questions to gain a little distance between her and Butch. She hated when he got drunk; he became all hands.

"I'm not going to ask you again--what was Spencer doing here? Were you working? If you were, you better have some money for me. No fucking freebies. We need the money now more than ever," Butch said.

"It wasn't like that Butch. Spencer is a friend. We have been friends since childhood but it's been years since we've seen each other. We were just catching up. That's all it was. That's the truth Butch I swear," Kate said. The tone of her voice didn't convince Butch.

"Really? Just catching up? Is that right?" Butch said. "That guy is quite interested in you. He was in the bar the other night. We both shot the shit for a while and he started asking where you were. It wasn't hard to tell the guy was really into you. He seemed really anxious to see you. Said he had to talk to you about forgetting to tip you. I thought, what a crock of shit but if he's a paying customer, then why the hell should I care, right?" Butch moved toward the bedroom door. He pushed it open and took a look inside. "Hmm--what do we have here? These look like a pair of your panties Kate. He picked them up. Holy shit, they are soaked. Did you have an accident or did pretty boy Spencer melt your butter? Oh and what is this? This looks like a man's watch on your dresser. It's not mine, so whose is it?" He turned to look at Kate.

Kate swallowed hard. Her mind went blank. "It's no one's Butch. It was just a guy who must have left it behind the other night. You know, sometimes the guys get what they want and then rush out. They often leave little things behind." Kate was growing more confident in her lie. "Shit, I have a whole box of stuff like that in my closet. I was going to take to the pawn shop to make some extra cash. Of course I was going to share the proceeds with you," she smiled.

"Bullshit, I'm not buying it. I think pretty boy was here and I think you fucked him for free. Are you sweet on him to Kate? What's the real fucking deal between you two? You're not thinking of leaving with pretty boy and starting a normal life are you? Your ass belongs to me. The only way you're leaving me is in pieces. I'll bury each piece in its own location. They'll never find your ass, whore. Maybe for shits and giggles, I'll cut up your boy Spencer too? Or I'll just let him wonder where you've disappeared to." Butch smiled when he saw the horror on Kate's face. _That's right bitch, that's what power is all about_. Butch thought. "Patti was going to leave my ass and look what happened to her. If you'd like, I can arrange the same treatment for you. Since you're so special to me though Kate, I'll do you myself. That's what true love is all about."

"Come on Butch, this is crazy. I told you that we are just friends. We were just catching up," Kate said. She didn't think anything she said to Butch would change his mind about her and Spencer, so she played along with him. "Ok Butch, I'm sorry. Have a seat and I'll tell you everything.

Butch sat down in the kitchen chair. "This had better be fucking good Kate--that's all I got to say to you. I've had enough bullshit for one day. If I think you're lying, I'll put a bullet right between those two perfect 34C's." He pulled the .38 special from his waistband and put it on the table as if to accent the point.

"You are right. I hate you, you know that? I can't put anything past you," Kate said, shaking her head, trying to look like a fool. "You have always been so good to me; giving me a job and helping me through school. School has been a real bitch lately. When I saw Spencer for the first time in the bar after 25 years, I didn't see an old friend, but a sucker. I knew he always had the hots for me, even when we were in jr. high school I think he undressed me more with his eyes than I ever undressed myself. I needed extra money Butch and I didn't want to ask you for it."

"What do you mean you needed extra money? Christ, how much cash you roping in a week turning tricks? Hell, you must be pulling down ten grand a week. Where the hell is all that money going? You kicked your drug problem so I know it's not going up your nose," Butch asked.

"Patti screwed me. I trusted her with all my money. I thought she and I were pretty tight but when I went to see her last week for some of my cash, she said it was all gone. I just about fucking lost it! How could it all be gone? Between the two of us, we must have banked a hundred thousand dollars. She said she was so sorry, but she was using it to escape. She was tired of living a double life. She didn't want to earn her living on her back. Patti knew she couldn't tell you. She said you scared her," Kate said. Most of the story was true. She did find out that Patti was going to leave and never come back. Kate still had every penny of her money though. Her intention was to spin a story that would protect Spencer. She didn't need him getting dragged into her drama.

"She didn't think I knew that she was planning on leaving," Butch said. "She has a tendency to run her mouth with some of her clients, the one's she considers 'friends'. She told this one john when he tried to make an appointment to see her the next week that she didn't know if she would be available. She said she was going on vacation. He asked where she was going and she just clammed up. So the guy comes to me asking what was up with Shelly. He tells me what she said and I tell the guy, 'the girls don't earn vacation pay' and we both cracked up about that," Butch said chuckling. So I ask her about it. 'Why did you tell one of your best clients you wouldn't be available, when I knew if fact you would be'? She went pale. Said she only said that because she didn't want to see the guy anymore. So I tell her you'll see him next week or I'll have to make you see the light. She got my meaning and said she would call the guy up, apologize and set up the meet."

"And did she?" Kate asked.

"No, I called the guy up just to make sure everything was cool. She never called but she told me it was all set. I knew something was fishy. I checked her bank accounts. She wiped them out and I found out she booked a flight to NYC." I figured she was jumping ship and that kind of disloyalty can't go unpunished," Butch said.

"So you killed her? Christ Butch, couldn't you just put a scare into her, take all her money and send her back out penniless the same way she came to you in the first place?" Kate said.

Butch picked the gun up off the table. "Are you judging me? Please don't tell me a world class whore is judging me. If my father taught me anything it was loyalty. You never bite the hand that feeds you. This bitch not only took a bite, she tried to make a seven course meal out of me. I couldn't let her just walk away Kate. She would have blabbed to anyone who would have listened. She would have blown the lid off our operation. So I did some digging into her background. Man, gotta love the internet Kate. I found out about this guy she had arrested about ten years ago. Some stalker named Phillips. She had his ass put away when he tried to break into her house. The psycho had a loaded gun. So anyways, I figured she was about to leave and I found out this guy Phillips was scheduled to get out of prison soon. So I took a drive to Sing Sing and had a talk with the guy. Come to find out, the guy still has a heart on for the bitch. He wants some serious revenge. I tell him my proposition. I'd hook him up with ten large if he took care of my problem for me. He agrees and I tell him my plan."

"And what was your plan? Are you going to have that same psycho come after me Butch?" Kate asked.

"Why, are you thinking of flying the coop too Kate?" Butch asked. Kate shook her head. "I didn't think so. I gave him her address, gave him a number to call and told him to tell her he had two grand for her. I said, 'tell her it's been a while since you've had your knob polished and you'd pay her double for a nights work.' She agreed. So I told him about the house, and the fun room in the basement. I said, have all the fun you want with her but when you're done, shoot that bitch twice in the head and call me when it's done. I told him not to worry about anyone hearing, that room is soundproof."

Kate listened to all this in horror. _What the hell had she gotten herself into_? She thought.

"So it turns out that this Phillips is a fucking retard. He can't follow simple instructions. What does the idiot do? He goes to The Victory Diner the day before because he 'just wants to talk'. He ends up losing it in the restaurant and she throws hot coffee in the guys face. He leaves all pissed off, rambling like a loon and the next day the shooting happens. Like I said, the guy was a fucking retard," Butch said. "If he would have just stuck to the plan, he could have had some fun, killed her in that basement and no one would have ever found her. But no, that ass has to go and ruin everything and caused a shit storm."

"So that guy who had the accident over at Park Street. They found the guy dead in his car but he didn't die from the accident. He was shot. That was you?" Kate felt a sinking feeling deep inside her stomach. She knew too much. There wasn't any way Butch was going to let her live after giving her all these details. She saw too many crime dramas to know the killer always reveals the details before he kills the one he's talking to.

Butch picked up the .38 off the kitchen table. "Yup, that was me Kate. I'm just trying to clean up all the loose ends before I head out of town. You're not clean, but you are a loose end. Just so you know Kate, you were special to me. I always favored you over Patti. If I see your boyfriend Spencer before I leave town. I'll tell him you said 'hi' and then I'll send him to meet you. Good bye Kate," Butch said, leveling the gun.

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Chapter Forty-Nine

Benson called in the crime scene. More police arrived and the search for Nelson intensified. Mary Springs arrived to examine the body. "Benson, what is going on? This town hasn't seen a murder in like forever and now we have 3 bodies within 72 hours. I am running out of table space," she said, nodding to the EMT's to take the body and put it in the ambulance.

"It's crazy Mary, I know. Today we lost one of Medina's finest and I lost a very good friend," Benson said. "We think this crime and the Harold Phillips shooting are related. We can't say for sure until we get back ballistics. Can you make this a priority please? This one is personal. You don't kill cops and think you're untouchable."

"I'll start working on it as soon as I'm back to the office Benson. I'm so sorry for your loss. Please accept my deepest condolences," Mary said, giving Benson a brief hug. She turned and went out the door.

"Alright Spencer go, do your thing now that the bar is clear," Benson said

Spencer went around and prepared himself to stand in Butch's Signature. A Signature cannot be wiped, washed, or brushed away. Once someone's energy pattern has been left behind, it's there until it dissipates. They had only lost a little over an hour between the first time they found the body and the moment the medical examiner left the bar. They had worked quickly to wrap up the crime scene so they could track down the killer. One thing Spencer knew for certain was Butch Nelson wouldn't get far. The town was just too damn small. Road blocks were already set up on the few roads heading out of town. Butch's days were numbered.

"Here we go," Spencer said, stepping in the exact spot he saw from Sergeant Fox's memory.

"What the hell is a cop doing in my bar?" Butch said. Spencer felt total hatred filling him up quickly. The guy looks like Barney fucking Fife. Jesus Christ these fucking local cops were all the same. They walked around like their shit doesn't stink, going where ever the hell they felt like. Respect the law my ass. _These guys are all jokes. They are all dicks with badges._ Butch thought.

The sergeants demeanor seemed pleasant enough but Butch didn't like it one bit. He saw the cop as smug. Look at him, does he think he's going to come into my bar and throw his weight around. I can't believe the arrogant prick is actually taking a seat. I should tell him to get fucking lost. _I need to play it cool though for now, see what he's here for._ Butch thought. "What brings you into my bar Sergeant? You cops normally go down the street." Butch asked but didn't care what answer the cop gave him. He had a bad feeling about this guy. Were they on to him about Phillips? Shit. No, this guy was asking about Patti Page. Butch laughed, "Maybe this guy was one of her customers? Maybe he's just looking for answers about why she was killed. Looking for a little payback?" Fuck yeah Mr. Copper, come get some. Let's play a game. Butch's hand had been on the .38 special tucked away in his waistband the moment he exited the bathroom and saw that his visitor was a cop. When the cop started getting an attitude, Butch figured it was time to show this fucker who was really in control. He pulled the gun catching the cop off guard. Look at him, babbling like a little bitch. Butch could tell by the look on the cops face that he was about to shit his pants.

"We can work this out, let's just have a discussion," Fox said.

_Why the fuck would I want to talk to a pig bastard_? Butch thought.

Spencer could feel complete satisfaction at catching the cop of guard. It also gave him complete power. He could feel that being in complete control was an absolute rush for Butch. He felt his erection growing. Spencer's hand reached for two shot glasses. Butch explained the rules of the game to Fox. Butch thought, _of course the rules don't apply to me. I don't give a shit if this little weasel beats me or not, I'm just going to shoot the fucker right where he's sitting_. Spencer could feel Butch's eyes studying Fox. _Why, would you look at that_ , Butch thought? His eyes look like black saucer plates. This asshole thinks he's going to draw on me. Nobody is that fast. Butch started his countdown. Butch was surprised though because when he got to three, deputy dog almost got the jump on him. On three Spencer saw Fox's hand go for his gun. He was very quick. Spencer's hand which had an imaginary gun in it pulled the trigger twice. He watched Fox's face contort as he fell backwards over his stool.

Spencer could hear the panic in Fox's voice as he called out for help. The fear in his voice gave Spencer chills.

Butch thought, _call for all the help you want bitch; you won't be alive to see it_. He raised his hand and shot Fox once in the head. Look at that bitch bleed. Oh my God I am so fucking turned on right now. I need to go rip one off with Sonya. I'm going to tear her shit up!

Spencer shouted out, "Kate!"

Benson confirmed his fear. He had gotten a call when Spencer was zoned out. "They found Nelson's Jeep parked outside of Kate Taylor's apartment, Spencer. Let's roll."

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Chapter Fifty

Benson pulled the cruiser up behind Butch's Jeep. The other end of the alley was a dead end so if Butch made it out of the apartment, he couldn't use his car to make a getaway. He wouldn't be able to escape on foot. All the exits were covered by both local and state police.

Spencer jumped out of the car and headed for the stairways that lead to Kate's apartment. Benson was hot on his tail and grabbed his shoulder, bringing him to a halt.

"Christ Spencer, just what the hell do you think you're doing? You can't just rush up there. The guy just killed a cop. Do you seriously think he wouldn't shoot you?" Benson said.

"I can't stand back and do nothing Benson. I haven't looked for over 25 years for someone I love just to lose them when I finally find them again," Spencer said, his eyes pleading for Benson's permission.

Benson's heart went out to him. "It's too risky Spencer. I can't let you do it. I already have three dead bodies. I can't let you and Kate become numbers four and five."

"Benson, I don't want to live any longer without her, do you understand?" Spencer said. "For some reason, Butch likes me. I really think that he thinks we are friends. I can just walk up there and act like I don't know anything. He doesn't know that you or I have talked. As far as he's concerned, I'm just a guy who's got a crush on his waitress. He doesn't know anymore beyond that. Let me at least get the lowdown. If it looks like trouble, I'll just play the coward and leave. I promise no heroics," Spencer said, making the scout's sign.

"If anything, anything even looks like it's remotely going wrong, you get the hell out of there. You got it?" Benson said.

Spencer took a deep breath; his heart was in his throat. His hearing was impaired by the steadying pounding of his pulse. I have to remain calm for Kate. Knowing Butch's background, he knew he had to stay calm if he was going to save Kate's life. He walked up the stairs, not trying to hide the sounds of his approaching footsteps. He wanted them both to know he was coming. "Kate, it's me Spencer. I forgot to tell you," Spencer said, pushing open the door that went to the kitchen.

"And what did you forget to tell her Spence?" Butch said.

Spencer could see Butch had a gun aimed at Kate. There were tears in her eyes, but she seemed unharmed.

He looked at Kate. "That I love her, I've always loved her. I have loved her from the first moment I laid eyes on her at the playground, the day I saved her from that bully. What was his name, Craig Fearson?" Kate nodded, Spencer continued, "I even loved her on the day that my dog Jake died. I was hurt but no matter how much pain I felt inside, love eventually washed it all away. That's the reason I never gave up looking for you Kate. Love; pure and simple. I know everything about you. From your marriage, your years afterwards, where you drifted from place to place being homeless. You even turned to prostitution to survive," Spencer turned his head and looked at Butch. "That's how you got wrapped involved with this scumbag. He took advantage of you when you were at your lowest. He does that with all the girls he finds. He helps them, offers them a way out and then asks them to work for him. It's not just waiting tables though, or tending a bar. It's far darker. Butch is a cancer on society and he needs to be irradiated."

Butch looked at Kate. "You told him about your past? Why the fuck would you bring my name up in your story?" Butch said and looked at Spencer, "And who the hell are you to judge me or the way I do business? Kate had nothing, absolutely nothing when I found her. Look at her now, she has a job and I'm putting her through college. So what if she sells her ass on the side. It's her way of paying me back for all the ways I help her. Tell him Kate, set pretty boy straight."

Kate couldn't say anything. The tears were streaming down her face; her words were stuck in her throat. She looked at her feet in shame. Finally she said, "How did you know Spencer? I never told you anything past my family dying in the accident. Kate wore every emotion on her face, fear, pain, hate and curiosity. Were you lying to me all along? You knew my history and what? You planned on using it against me someday?" She had thought Spencer was better than any other man she ever met. Most men used her and tossed her aside like trash. She really felt a connection to Spencer and now it felt like that bond is broken. She didn't care if Butch had a gun pointed at her; she wanted to claw Spencer's eyes out. Her anger overrode any fear she had at the moment. She lunged at Spencer.

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Chapter Fifty-One

Spencer knew that exposing the truth would be like tossing rocks at a hornet's nest. Kate had many years of pented anger against men. That was one of the strongest feeling he got from her Signature when she went to answer the door to let Trooper Benson inside. He wasn't in the bathroom when she left. He shut the door and moved over to the place on the bed where she was sitting.

He saw it all. She was thinking about all that had happened to her up to this moment. He saw the accident and felt her deep throbbing pain. He saw her get on a bus. She didn't care where it went, as long as it took her away from all her troubles. Distance didn't solve her problems. Like ghosts, they followed her around, haunting her dreams. The money she had quickly disappeared. She worked a few dead end jobs, shacked up with a couple guys along the way that she thought were nice, but they turned out to be cruel and abusive.

She began to no longer trust men. As her situation became more and more desperate, she realized she had some very nice assets that could make her enough money to stay alive. She took the little money that she had left and got a cheap hotel room. She went to the local coffee shop, got online and put an ad on Craigslist advertising for a good time, come to room 27 at the Blue Moon Hotel, bring cash: $100. As soon as she returned to her hotel room, she noticed the light was flashing on her phone that she had a message. She checked the message, returned the call and set up an appointment to meet her first john. After the first one, she felt dirty and sick to her stomach. The encounter had only lasted 30 minutes but it was the easiest money she made in a long time. A few more people called and the money was piling up. This went on until she had a wad of cash, big enough to choke the proverbial horse. She took her money and hopped back on a bus. She was Las Vegas bound.

Things went well in Vegas. She quickly gained in popularity and earned a reputation as the 'sweetest piece of ass on the strip'. All was going well until out of the blue, she got a phone call from her mother. She didn't know how her mother got her number. Her mother told her she wanted to see her. She had cancer and she didn't have long to live; two week or less by the doctor's prognosis. She felt torn by the lights of the big city, the money and her growing popularity or go back and see her mother she hadn't seen in 20 years. She chose to hop back on a bus. It was a 23 hr bus drive back to Medina. When she got there, she found out her mother had passed, but she left this note:

My darling Katie, it's been far too long, too long indeed. I have missed you so.

The years have passed so quickly and I regret every moment that you and I have

been apart. I am so sorry for how I chased you away. I know you only left be

cause things in the house got crazy after your dad left. I just wasn't the able to

cope Katie and I'm sorry I took it out on you. I found out a couple years ago that

I developed breast cancer. It was far to advanced for surgery. I went through hell

in chemo, lost my hair and everything. In the end, the cancer is going to win, no

matter how hard I fight. I am getting so tired Katie and what would make me

happy would be to see your face again, but if you are reading this letter, it means

that I have lost my fight. I want you to know that I held on as long as I could. I guess

I just wasn't strong enough. Please forgive me for chasing you away. I have missed

you every day you have been gone. I think of you often and I tried to find you on

the internet, but how do the kids today say it?; my skills are beat LOL that means

laughing out loud. I hope you have had a good life my sweet, sweet daughter. I did

hear about the tragic accident with your family and I am so deeply sorry for your loss

If I make it to heaven, I'll will find your kids and look out for them until you can come to

look after them yourself. I love you Katie.

always...Mom

Kate was devastated by the letter. She once again stayed at a cheap hotel, but this time she didn't post any ads for sex. She was set for money for a little while and she didn't want to degrade herself in the eyes of her mother. On one particular night though, when she was feeling exceptionally lonely and blue, she found a place called The Hole in the Wall bar. She stopped in for a drink. Her life from that point forward changed dramatically.

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Chapter Fifty-Two

Butch Nelson had a knack for finding talent. He was working the bar alone the night Kate walked into his place. She was stunning. His first thought was he could ask her if she needed a job. He was down a waitress and needed a replacement. He needed someone who could bring in good tips and some new customers. No, what Butch Nelson saw was fresh meat; an opportunity.

"Hey, we don't get many in here that look like you. May I say you are quite the gorgeous one? What's your name sweetheart? My name is Butch, I own this place. Have a seat. What can I get you?" he said.

"My name isn't sweetheart. You can call me Sonya." Kate had developed the name when she started working in Vegas. Some of the girls told her you never give the johns your real name because next thing you know, they are Googling your ass and showing up on your doorstep. So the first thing she did was change her name to Sonya. She liked that, it sounded much sexier than Kate or Kaitlin.

"Sonya, welcome to The Hole in the Wall." Butch said, "I know it's not much, but it is my bar. I inherited it from my dad a few years back. I haven't changed anything in the place. Even the jukebox music is older than dirt. Just like my dad was. I tell you what Sonya; the first drink is on me. He pulled down a bottle of whiskey and filled up a glass. You know what they say, bottoms up sweetheart. Excuse me, Sonya. What brings you into my establishment tonight?"

"I lost my mom recently. She died from cancer. I never got a chance to say good bye," Kate said. "I am just feeling bummed."

"No fucking way dude, me too! My dad died from cancer too, horrible fucking disease." Butch said. It was a lie though. His dad died of liver failure. An alcoholic shouldn't own a bar. He didn't think a small lie like that would hurt anyone. Besides, he was looking for a connection and he thought he found it. Butch, was a vulture at heart; feeding on the misery of society.

Sonya raised her glass, "To fucking misery shared." She tossed her head back, relishing the burning the whiskey made on its way down her throat to her belly. "So tell me Butch, what's up with this place? Jesus, don't you make enough money to replace the two burned out bulbs behind the bar?"

"Shit. That's called ambience my lady," he said and bowed toward her."

"You're corny, I like that," Sonya said. "Is this place always so dead?"

"Dead, this is happy hour bitch!" Butch said, tossing his head back in a roar of laughter. He poured Sonya another drink.

"Dude you are so crazy, cheers!" Sonya said, toasting her host.

Butch knew he had her. He drank his shot, poured another round and said, "To new beginnings."

"I'll drink to that," Sonya said, throwing back her head. The burn from the liquid was much more tolerable this time. "You seem to be one cool dude Butch. I am looking for work. I know the bar seems kind of empty, but are you looking for a waitress or bartender? "

"It just so happens I need a bartender. A hot chick like you could bring in some new people. This bar needs an infusion of new peeps. How would you like an interview right now?" Butch said.

"You mean right now?" Sonya said.

"Yeah, right fucking now; let me see what you got." Butch said, stepping from behind the bar and sat down beside her. "Well, are you going to just sit there or are going to show me what you've got? Get your ass behind that bar and make me a Long Island Ice Tea. You do know what's in one, right?"

"Butch, I am going to make you the best Long Island Ice Tea you've ever tasted," she said, taking her place behind the bar. God, it had been a while since she had to make a mixed drink.

Sonya whipped up the drink from memory: Vodka, tequila, spiced rum, dry gin and Grand Mariner. She tossed in a splash of sweet and sour mix. She started to hand the glass to Butch for his inspection, "I almost forgot," she said and added a splash of coke. "Now it's complete. Try that bad boy on for size." She hoped she remembered all the ingredients.

Butch tasted it. "Holy shit, that's good. Nice job Sonya. I think that's one of the hardest drinks to mix. If you can mix like that, I want you behind my bar."

"Are you serious?" Sonya said.

"When can you start? I need someone who could start immediately," Butch said, but he wasn't looking for any immediate help for the bar. Despite the bars appearance, it did just fine. The over head was low, and the Sunday football crowd made up for the shitty weekdays. He needed someone who would fill in for the 'after hours crowd' the bar was so famous for. Sonya would fit in nicely.

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Chapter Fifty-Three

Kate slapped Spencer hard across the face. She didn't know how he knew her history but she felt violated and deeply wounded. All the pain of her past, the death of her mother and the way she was forced to live the past couple years all came to the surface. The surface was an angry shade of red, with long nails and eyes filled with hate. She slapped at him and pounded on his body. She wanted to inflict the pain she was feeling inside on him.

Spencer caught her hand before he could slap him again. He pulled her to him, whispered in her ear, "I love you Kate," and pushed her through the open kitchen door. She tumbled down the stairs. At the moment, Spencer couldn't worry if she was injured or not. If she would have stood in front of Butch any longer with the gun pointed at her, he was sure Butch would shoot her right in front of him. He couldn't risk it. If she only got through this whole nightmare with just some bruises or scratches, it was a blessing. He could hear her crying at the bottom of the stairs. At least she wasn't dead.

Butch was caught off guard by Spencer's move. "Holy shit Bro, you just tossed the love of your life down the fucking stairs. Man, you are one cold-blooded son of a bitch. You just saved me a bullet. Now, close that door and have a seat. You and I have some things to talk about."

Spencer sat in the chair where Butch had been seated when he walked into the place. He could have chose the closer chair but he wanted see what Butch was thinking. Was he really going to shoot Kate?

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment and he knew the whole truth. Butch didn't intend on coming here and kill Kate. He really did want to take her to bed and work off the excitement of killing the cop. Murder was Butch's greatest aphrodisiac. Instead, when he came in, he noticed how messy the bedroom was. Upon further inspection, he put two and two together and figured out that Kate and Spencer had shared the bed only hours before. Kate confessed and it pushed Butch over the edge. Spencer couldn't make out if Butch was mad because they slept together or because she didn't charge him. She gave him a 'freebie' in Butch's own words. Butch was a very dangerous man. He didn't have to read his Signature to know that. He had an air about him; the air stunk of danger and death.

"How does it feel Butch?" Spencer asked, "How does it feel to take a man's life?

Butch shrugged his shoulders, "It feels pretty fucking sweet to tell you the truth. There is nothing like watching the life disappear out of someone's eyes as they are dying. Get's me hard just thinking about it. I was just about to bone the shit out of your girlfriend before you showed up."

"Who said she was my girlfriend, I never said that. Kate told you about us, but she didn't tell you we were a couple. She didn't want to admit it to you that we had sex. Dirty, nasty sex Butch and it was great. She told me I was the best lover she ever had. It was the best freebie I ever had," Spencer said.

Butch could have been a master poker player because his facial expressions barely changed when Spencer told him about Kate and himself. He was pissed but he wasn't going to give pretty boy the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper, especially over a whore," Butch smiled, "Shit Spencer, Kate has made more money for me in the past two years than that bar has in ten. That chick was built for sex. She has hundreds of customers. Many are repeats too. They tell me she is a freak in the bedroom. She'll do anything for a dollar."

Spencer wasn't the poker player Butch was. Butch could see Spencer's face turning red, his hand gripped on the arms of the chair so hard, his knuckles were white. Butch knew it wouldn't be much longer before Spencer made his move. He would shoot him just for the fun of it, go find Sonya and fuck her good before he put a bullet in the back of her brain. He'd then leave town and go start over someplace new. _Maybe the West Coast_ , he thought.

Spencer was close to the edge. Even though he knew the truth about Kate, it sounded so much worst coming from Butch's mouth. Kate did what she had to do to survive. Whether Spencer accepted it or not, it was the truth. It was also true that Butch prayed on helpless, down on their luck women, and that infuriated Spencer. Spencer searched for one of Butch's memories. "You were such a disappointment to your father, do you know that Butch?" Spencer said.

Butch was caught off guard by the change in conversation. "What? What the fuck are you talking about dude? What do you know about my father? My father loved me, he was very proud of me. He gave me that bar you know."

"That's not completely true is it Butch? Remember the time when a man came in to rob the bar. What were you, about twelve? That was the first day you saw a dead body. In fact, you may have saved your father's life that day when you got so nervous over the sight of that man with his gun aimed at your father chest that you puked. You puked so much, the robber turned to you and laughed his ass off. It was the distraction your dad needed to pull his own gun. Before the robber realized what was happening, your father shot him in the throat. The guy laid on the floor right in front of you. He reached out, grabbed your pant leg. Your father handed you the gun, told you to finish that low life off but what did you do Butch, you pissed your pants. He laughed at you, called you a little pussy and shot the guy again. You never forgave him for that."

Butch was as gray as concrete. His lips trembled.

Spencer continued, "I'm not sure how many years later but you planned out your revenge on your father. You figured he drank like a fish anyways, and sooner or later the booze was going to kill him so why not speed it up a bit? He always sat in front of the TV, every night like clockwork. You were his 'little bitch' as he liked to call you. "Hey little bitch, go make me a drink. Hey little bitch, go get me a beer." His words grated on you. You started spiking his drinks with antifreeze. He didn't know the difference. His taste buds were just about as dead as his liver. After a while, you looked forward to TV time and serving your father drinks. He grew weaker and sicker. You just keep feeding him that poison until one night, he never woke up. You forged his will, leaving you the bar. The M.E listed the cause of death as alcohol poisoning. No one questioned it because everyone knew what a lush he was."

"There is no way anyone knew about that. Kate couldn't have told you. It's a secret I was going to take to my grave," Butch said, lowering his gun.

_This is it Spencer, now or never_ , he thought and charged Butch.

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Chapter Fifty-Four

Benson was telling everyone to be ready on his command. He double checked everyone's position and waited. He heard a noise coming from the stairway. He pulled his service revolver, turned the corner and saw Kate Taylor lying at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up the stairway and saw the door shut. Kate was shaken up, but not seriously hurt. "Miss Taylor, are you alright? What the hell is going on up there?" Benson asked.

"I'm not sure but I think Spencer just saved my life, but he might be sacrificing his own," she said.

She looked groggy. Benson thought she might have a concussion. "Hey," he said, waving to another officer. Come here and take her to your car. Call in an ambulance but tell them to run silent. No sirens, we have to keep this scene quiet. This situation is going bad fast. "You," he said, motioning to another officer near the corner of the building. Get over her and cover my position." Benson started up the stairway of Kate's apartment. He got to the door, weapon drawn when he heard the two men talking. He thought he heard something about Butch killing his father? It sure sounded that way. Actually, it was Spencer accusing him and Butch confessing to it. He took a deep breath, ready to burst through the door.

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Chapter Fifty-Five

Spencer leaped from the chair. All he could think about was getting the gun out of Butch's hand. Under normal circumstances, he didn't think he could take Butch. Butch had at least fifty pounds on him and he was six inches taller. Fear, desperation and adrenaline can do amazing things. Today, it wasn't enough.

Butch's arm and hand moved with amazing grace and speed. He had suckered Spencer into making a move on him. He didn't know how he knew all that shit about him and his father but he wouldn't be alive to tell anyone the tale. The look in Spencer's eyes was priceless when he realized he couldn't reach Butch in time before he pulled the trigger. Butch winked and pulled the trigger. A bright bloom of red appeared on Spencer's shirt just above his left nipple. The force of the blow stopped Spencer in his tracks.

Spencer felt a burning in his chest; he fell to his knees. A second shot rang out; Spencer Coleman's world went dark.

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Chapter Fifty-Six

Benson burst through the door and saw Butch shoot Spencer. He fell to the floor in a heap. His shirt was turning bright red. Butch was smiling, looking down at Spencer. He was prepared to put another bullet into him but he never got the chance. Benson's aim was straight and true. His bullet ripped into Butch's forehead and exploded out the back of his head.

Benson shouted into this microphone, "I need a medic up here now. The scene is clear. Move your asses! Spencer, hang on Spencer, you're going to be alright."

"Kate," Spencer said weakly.

"Kate's fine man, she's downstairs waiting for you. Don't talk, save your strength buddy. You're going to be fine," Benson said. Spencer didn't look fine. His breathing was labored and all the color was running out of his face. "God damn it, MEDIC!" Benson yelled again, "Hang on Spencer and don't let Kate down. Hang on for her." He put his hand over the bullet wound, trying to suppress the blood. Spencer's life leaked out between his fingers.

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Chapter Fifty-Seven

Spencer woke up lying on some of the greenest grass he had ever seen in his life. He sat up and was amazed to see he was lying in the yard of his childhood home. Everything looked exactly the same as he had remembered it. The house looked brand new, covered in brilliant white paint. He got up, walked around beside the house. There they were! The bikes he and Kaitlin had ridden as kids. "Mom," he yelled out. "Kaitlin, where are you?" He then remembered that Kaitlin and he weren't friends anymore. He had turned her away after the death of Jake, his beloved toy poodle. Spencer walked back around to the front of the house.

"Hello Spencer," a voice said from behind him. The front door of the house opened and out walked his mother and his father. His mother looked like she hadn't aged a day since he saw her as an eight year old boy. She was holding his father's hand.

"Oh my God," Spencer said, bolting from the yard, leaping on the front of the porch and hugged them both fiercely.

"You've grown into a fine young man, son. I'm so sorry I wasn't around to take care of you but I always looked out for you," his father said.

"I've got so many questions for you two. I've missed you both so much," Spencer said.

"What about your buddy Jake, Spencer; did you forget about him?" his mother said.

He looked around, "Jake—come on boy, Jake are you here?" The sky was a vibrant blue. The sun was warm on his face. He looked toward the road, and there stood Jake. No UPS truck, no traffic at all, just his beloved dog, wagging his tail. Spencer knelt down, his arms outstretched. "Come on Jake!! Come on boy!!" Jake ran to him. He ran faster than Spencer could remember. When Jake was close enough, he leapt into Spencer's arm. Jake covered Spencer's face with kisses. "I've missed you too boy. I have missed you so much." Spencer returned Jake's kisses, tears running from his eyes. From behind him he heard a noise. He turned his head to listen. It wasn't just a noise, it was a voice. It was a sweet and lovely voice he hadn't heard in what seemed like a lifetime.

"Go Spencer. Your father and I will be here waiting for you when it's your time, but that time isn't just yet. Go to her and be happy. Keep your promise and make those grandbabies for me," his mother said.

"Spencer, come back. Please come back to me."

He didn't know who it was but he couldn't resist the voice. It called to him, pulled him; not only at his heart but his soul. He put Jake down. "I love you boy, I'll be back, I promise." Jake looked up at Spencer, his tongue hanging out of his mouth to the side. He sat up, wagged his tale and then sat down. "I know boy, I love you too."

"Mom, Dad, I promise I'll be back," he said.

Spencer looked up at the sun, which was now getting larger and brighter, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Kate was looking down at him.

"You came back to me Spencer," Kate said, her eyes full of tear. "You came back."

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Epilogue

In a dark room, a phone began to ring.

"Is it done?" said a man's voice on the other end of the line.

A voice on the other end answered, "No, Kaitlin Taylor is still alive and we might have another problem as well."

"How's that?" said the man in the dark room.

"She now has an ally, a man named Spencer Coleman. From what we can gather, they have been friends for a very long time," said the voice on the other end of the line, "What do we do about him?"

"Butch was an idiot. He deserved what he got. I need this taken care of quickly and quietly; can you take care of both of them? We can't have them start digging; who knows what they will find," said the man in the dark room.

"No problem, consider it done," said the voice on the phone.

The line went silent.

Kate and Spencer's adventures were just beginning.

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I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my book. It was the first of what I hope to be many more in the future. If you liked this book, please give me your feedback on my Facebook page.

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