

### Murder!

### Too Close to Home

The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic

By

J.T. Lewis

******

Copyright 2009-2016 by J.T. Lewis

Smashwords Edition

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This book is a work of fiction. The

names, characters, places, and incidents are products of

the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and

are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to

persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or

organizations is entirely coincidental.

******

Prologue

February 15, 1997

The rain was coming down in sheets as the man pulled the car over to the side of the semi-deserted road and turned on the emergency flashers. Sitting back anxiously to wait, he wondered how long it would take on a night with this much rain. He didn't have long to linger, however, when an old pickup pulled off the road in front of him. His right eye started twitching quickly, as it always did when he got excited or nervous.

Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he opened the door and entered the storm, running quickly up to the driver's door of the truck. Rolling the window down, the driver asked if he needed a ride somewhere. Opening his mouth to accept the offer, the man caught a glimpse of a shotgun in the back window. Uncertainty quickly enveloped him as he glanced back towards his car...an armed man may be a greater challenge then he was prepared for.

As he mulled over his options, another car pulled in behind the one he had been driving, the shadows created by a passing motorist revealing two occupants in the front seat.

Quickly making a decision, he thanked the first driver and told him his friends had just arrived. The truck's driver shrugged his shoulders as he shifted into gear and drove off. The man now ran back to the newly arrived auto as the driver was rolling down his window.

"Need a lift?" this new driver questioned as the hooded man reached the door.

"I could sure make use of a phone if you have one," replied the now soaking-wet man.

"Sure, hop in the back out of this rain," the driver grinned as he reached back to un-latch the door.

Sliding in behind the driver, the hooded man pulled the door closed and sat back in the warm seat of the car. "I really appreciate this," the man exclaimed as he took the offered phone. Looking back through the rear window to check on any approaching traffic, he then dialed the memorized number, the other party picking up after one ring.

"Yes?" the person on the other end of the call answered in a raspy whisper, "Are you in position?"

The man replied that he was, stating that a lovely couple had allowed him to use their phone as well as giving him shelter in their back seat.

"Well then," the person on the other end of the call stated, "Show me what you got."

Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a gun. Casually, he first shot the husband, followed by the screaming woman a moment later, a shiver of exhilaration running down his spine as he watched the bodies slump forward into the dash.

Chapter 1

April 17, 1997

My name is Gabriel Celtic, an investigator for the county prosecutor, and currently living a hell like none I've ever faced. Although I have been to war, shot three times and stabbed once, I thought of these last few months as being worse than any of that. But even as bad as that time had been, that little bit of hell had wound itself up in a gigantic ball of crap and spewed itself out, intertwining my wife and I in its clutches.

I had apparently dozed off, awakening to the now familiar beep, beep of the life support system, the machine now keeping my wife alive. Worry racked my heart as I looked upon my beautiful bride of nine years.

" _She should not be here, this is a mistake,"_ I thought momentarily. My rational mind then interjected its own line of reasoning. It had been her decision I reminded myself, there was nothing to be done to change that now.

This had been my home day and night for two weeks, watching over my love, praying to anyone that would listen to bring her back to me. She had been shot, and while those wounds had been repaired, the outcome of the act was still less than certain.

Swelling in the brain had left her in a coma, the result of the fall down into the basement of the old house after the shooting. I sighed in despair and got up to go to the bathroom and get some more coffee.

It was after midnight and the cafeteria was mostly empty. Celia was there at the cash register, as usual. It seemed like she must work here every night. She smiled her sad smile that I thought she reserved just for me and asked me about the status of Betty.

"No change," I mumbled for the hundredth time as I filled my new cup with the hospital-grade brew, a recipe I'm now certain that included old dish rags and used coffee grounds.

"I'm so sorry," she replied in her now familiar British accent, not knowing what else to say I suppose. "I just know in my heart Betty will make it, she's always been so strong," she added with a hopeful look.

I walked up to pay and Celia stated that the dark liquid in question was the end of the pot and that I should just take it. She would get busy making a new pot straight away.

I smiled at Celia's excuse for keeping me in coffee, thanked her, and headed back to the room.

Walking slowly from a combination of exhaustion and worry, I once again mentally clicked through the facts that had led to my soul mate lying in a hospital bed. This inevitably led to thinking back on our life together, and to my life as a whole that had brought me to experience this painful point in my existence. If I could have changed any one of a thousand things, I might have been able to keep my love out of danger.

I put on my game face before I entered the room, convinced that Betty knew when I was there and could probably pick up on my mood. She had always been able to read my mind.

I checked on her condition, leaned over and kissed her forehead, then sat back in the chair they would probably have to replace when I was done with it. Laying my head back against the cushion, I once again went over the case that Betty and I had helped to solve, the case that had put her in this place by her throwing herself in harm's way to save another.

Yet she wouldn't be here now if I hadn't had a theory, a theory that had led us to the old farm house where she had met her fate. I would give anything to have been wrong. I would give _everything_ ...

My eyes grew heavy and soon I was drifting off, now reliving in my mind life's events leading to this moment. Even as one nightmare was over, another had taken its place, leaving me feeling helpless and alone.

Being Gabriel Celtic on this day meant being powerless...useless. It was not a good feeling.

***

Fully asleep, I found myself in the now familiar room: fire blazing in the fireplace, a steaming cup of coffee, and a chess board with a game in process.

I sat down in the comfortable chair, and then hefted the coffee while looking over the board. I smiled at the most recent move of my opponent. Obviously he had been brushing up on his game.

I heard a creak in the floor behind me, knowing there would be no one there but turning to look anyway. As before the room was empty, but the feeling that someone was coming grew stronger with every visit to the room. I was hopeful that someday someone would reveal to me the mystery of the strange but comfortable room.

That's the story of my life, always another mystery to sort out.

Chapter 2

February 15, 1997

Reaching into his other pocket, the man pulled out a card with a single word on it. His mentor would not be happy about leaving evidence, but he couldn't help himself; he had to let them know he was the one responsible.

Blood spattered the now shattered windshield, the holes evident where the bullets had exited the car. Both bodies were now slumped forward, looking like rag dolls, waiting their turn on the shelf for the next kid to choose them to play with. Another shiver ran down the man's spine...he had done it! And it had been so easy. He couldn't believe he had been nervous about it.

The man dropped the card to the floor as he pocketed the revolver with his gloved hand. Exiting the car on the passenger side and running up to his own vehicle, he quickly slid into it. Turning off the flashers, he pulled into the road and casually accelerated to the speed limit.

After five miles, he pulled off of the road again, turning onto a one-lane gravel road. Traveling for a hundred yards he then stopped, exiting the car before entering a black SUV. Driving this out to the highway once again, he turned back the way he had come, soon approaching the scene he had so recently left.

A patrol car had just pulled up behind the couple's car and had turned on its beacons.

"I'd love to see his face when he sees what's in there," the man beamed. Looking forward again, he moved on past the police car and continued toward his destination.

Pulling into the deserted city park, he eased the SUV into a dark corner of the parking lot, throwing the keys into some bushes as he exited the vehicle. With his hoody already up, he stuck his hands into his pockets and started the long walk home. His instructions were to lay low for a couple of weeks and not do anything out of the ordinary; he would be contacted when the time was right.

Barely able to contain his excitement, the man desperately wanted to stop at his favorite bar to celebrate. Thinking again of his mentor's warning, he decided against that plan, opting instead to continue home and start on that twelve-pack he had stored in the refrigerator.

He knew if he went to the bar he would want to spout off after a few drinks, and he also realized that he could not afford to do that. He would wait, knowing someday he would be able to share his exploits. People would listen and admire his courage; the "Ghost" would be famous.

***

The lights of the patrol car were flashing off of the windshield of the darkened truck, mixing with the water droplets as they ran down the glass in an eerie display of shimmering color.

The Mentor was observing the cop as he discovered the carnage within the car. Since the dark truck the Mentor was using blended easily into the shadows of the stormy night, the hooded figure felt safe from observation even as the excitement built from deep within.

Finally seeing enough and not wanting to be accidentally discovered, the person known only as the Mentor slowly did a u-turn on the otherwise deserted road, turning on the lights only when out of sight of the flashing beacons.

Smiling at how beautifully the plan had come together, the Mentor mentally started working on details of the next step. Rolling down the window as the truck entered the city limits; the Mentor threw the cell phone out the window when the truck crossed the bridge into town.

The man had done as he promised; he had executed the plan... _and_ the driver! The added bonus of an extra victim was just icing on the cake.

"That should get the ball rolling," the Mentor mumbled as the truck continued on through the town, heading towards home to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.

Chapter 3

February 15, 1997

" _All hell is breaking loose,"_ thought Tucker as he observed the seemingly hundreds of strobing lights surrounding the site. First on the scene, Deputy Tucker Vance had been unprepared for what he had found.

Walking up to the car, he had initially knocked on the window and waited for the window to be lowered, the beating rain drowning out any noise. Getting no reaction, he shifted his flashlight into the car, at first not understanding what he was looking at.

When the realization came, it had hit like a sledge hammer to his gut. Suddenly he found himself on his knees, expelling seemingly everything he had eaten for the last three days. When he finally felt some control return, he ran to the other side of the car and checked on the passenger.

"27 to base," he spat out quickly into the mic of his radio.

"Base," the dispatcher replied dully.

"10-54, three miles west of town on US 50, I repeat, 10-54, I need all units immediately."

Silence followed for a few seconds before the dispatcher returned, the voice now clipped with excitement.

"27, go to channel 2."

Switching his radio, he heard "Tucker? What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Tucker then described what he had found and reiterated that he needed help...now!

"Roger, Tucker, help is en-route."

He had started hearing the mournful wails within moments, and it seemed not to have stopped since. This was not something that happened in this county, and everybody was going to want to be involved.

Sheriff McHenry was already here, and he _never_ came out at night. Barking orders like he was still the army sergeant he used to be, the sheriff took control of the scene as soon as he arrived. Tucker was glad to be relieved of _that_ duty; this was way above his pay grade.

The sheriff called Tucker over when he had the scene secured to his satisfaction. "Tucker, did you see anybody around when you pulled up, see another car leaving or anything of that nature?"

"No sheriff, just the taillights of the car; I thought they were in need of assistance. When I saw what was inside, I'm sorry, but I lost it for a minute. I've never seen anything like it."

"Don't worry about that son, you did great considering. You did everything you were supposed to do. No one can know how they will handle their first murder scene."

Sheriff Austin "Lean" McHenry had been around it plenty.

Long ago losing the thinness leading to his nickname, he had first put in his twenty with the US Army, doing three tours of duty in Vietnam.

Afterwards he had moved home and joined the state police, staying there for fourteen years until his election to sheriff last year. Being sheriff of the quiet county had, up to that point in time anyway, been a lot like retirement. But he had quickly reverted back on his extensive training when the call had come in this night.

This was what he had trained for, and his heart was pumping strong in his chest. He hadn't felt that excitement for awhile; it felt good.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the ever-present pack of cigarettes. Remembering his promise to his wife to quit, he nevertheless took out a fag and stuck it in his mouth, leaving his old Zippo lighter in his pocket.

Glancing back at the sound of additional sirens approaching, he grabbed the nearest deputy's arm and yelled, "Keep those God-damned fire trucks back; there's no reason for them to be here."

" _It's like a damned circus,"_ he thought to himself.

"How long on the crime scene guys?" he growled at another deputy, who said he would check.

"Tucker," the sheriff yelled, "see if you can get the K9 unit from Allenville PD here, ASAP."

"Yes sir," Tucker answered, heading toward his cruiser to get in touch with dispatch.

A single red bubble-light on the dash of an approaching car caught his eye. He groaned inwardly at the sight, murmuring under his breath

" _What the hell is he doing here?"_

Allen Vanguard was going to grace them with his presence, and the sheriff had little patience with the young prosecutor. Although acknowledging that he was good at what he did, the sheriff bristled at his attempts to be involved in things he had no business being involved in.

Walking up and standing beside the sheriff, Allen waited for an opening before he spoke.

"Sheriff," he mumbled in greeting.

"Allen," Sheriff McHenry acknowledged stiffly, "Mighty early for the prosecutor ain't it?"

Allen Vanguard took in the grisly scene for a long moment before speaking.

"Well Lean, just trying to get a feel for probably the most brutal crime this county has seen since the horse and buggy days. The people in that car deserve justice, and it's never too early to start on that."

"Do we know the identity of the murdered couple?" he continued.

The sheriff grunted, putting his cigarette behind his ear as he reached into his shirt pocket, grabbing his notebook and flipping it open in a huff.

"Abby and Tyler Lettermen, drivers' licenses say they are from Cairo, Illinois. They were shot execution style, back of the head for both. We are doing a background check to make sure they have no criminal involvement in anything that might lead to this kind of a retaliation, but it would seem to be just a crime of opportunity; wrong place at the wrong time."

"We don't know if they had a passenger before they stopped... maybe the guy in the back seat just went berserk. Maybe they just stopped to help someone with a broken down vehicle, getting shot for their trouble. Either way, we got a real crazy on our hands. I don't have to tell you how scary that would be for the folks of our little county."

"The K9 unit is on its way," the sheriff continued with a grumble as he put away his notebook. "They may be able to tell us which way the perp went from here, if the rain doesn't wash away the scent before then."

"If the second scenario proves to be the case, this was planned out," the sheriff continued with a look of concern on his face. "Whoever did this would have gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to stage a trap for someone."

Sheriff McHenry again reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small evidence bag with a business card inside.

"Found this on the floor in the back. We assume the doer left it, but we haven't tested it yet. Forensics is on the way. We should know more soon."

Taking the bag, the prosecutor eyed the simple white business card. There appeared to be no identifying marks, save for the one word spelled out in plain block letters: "Ghost".

Chapter 4

February 16, 1997

Allen had immediately called Frank and me into his office the next morning. We had by that time of course both heard what had happened and were chomping at the bit to get working on the murders. Allen had apparently been up all night, exhibiting pronounced bags under his eyes even as he exuded the substantial energy typical of his term as prosecutor.

"I'm sure you guys have heard about the murders last night," he started. "I've had Ellen compile a list of the clues collected by the Sheriff's department up to this point, which are few."

Handing us both a single sheet of paper each, I was taken aback by just how little in the way of information was listed.

"Last night," he summarized, "one Abby and Tyler Lettermen, man and wife, were shot in their own car west of town. Background checks on the couple reveal no previous criminal activity or trouble. It looks like it could be some sort of pre-planned, execution style murder. We are going on the assumption for now that the victims were random."

"We think the perp used a stolen car as a decoy to lure the couple into helping a broken down motorist. He or she apparently got in the back seat, pulled out a gun, and shot them point blank in the back of the head. With the rain we had last night, we were lucky the K9 unit could find anything at all, but they did pick up the scent of someone starting at the vivtims'car and going about thirty feet west."

"We also found an abandoned car this morning about five miles away on Langdon Creek Road. The K9 units returned and they again found a scent, once again tracking another thirty or forty feet where the scent again disappeared. Apparently another vehicle was stashed there, although we have no idea what it was. The gravel road yielded no tire treads."

"We're at a dead end on that for now," Allen continued, "And there were no hair, fibers or prints left in the car. The doer must have been wearing gloves and a hat of some sort. Also, there were no shell casings to test, either he policed the brass or a revolver was used. The size of the holes indicates that it was probably a .357, we'll know more when we find the slugs."

"There were only two real clues of any merit, but they aren't much. There was a minute amount of soil in the back of the victims' car, which was otherwise spotless, and we have sent that off to the state to analyze."

Turning to the evidence list in the back of the file, he handed us another sheet of paper.

"The other piece of evidence is copied there."

Looking at the second sheet, I found what appeared to be a copy of a business card. The single word in block letters in my mind immediately indicated an amateur's attempt at attention. A professional wouldn't be bragging about his identity.

"Ghost," I read out loud, not liking the direction the investigation was already taking. A perp throwing out a name to us like this showed bravado...or stupidity. Neither one were a good thing where peoples lives were at stake.

"What will be our part in the investigation?" I asked, knowing the Sheriff's department usually took the lead. Allen rose from his chair, walking a few steps to stand in front of the window with his back now toward us.

"I'll be activating the new Major Crimes Taskforce for this case. As you know, we've been working out the logistics of it for the last six months. We're ready now, and this is exactly the type of case we have set this up for. We'll have the best of the available talent working together as one unit, an impressive amount of talent. Gabriel, you'll be taking the lead with the unit, handle the day to day decisions."

_Thanks_ I thought, but kept my thoughts to myself.

The Major crimes taskforce had been one of the hallmark points of action for Allen Vanguard's second run for office. The main strength of the idea was having people from both of the policing agencies in the county as well as investigators from the prosecutor's office working together on larger or more serious crimes, all overseen by Allen himself.

Negotiating with the other agencies had turned out to be the major hindrance to completing the task force, as each in turn dug in their heels at what they saw as an intrusion on their turf. Allen being no slouch when it comes to digging in when he thinks something is right, finally overcame their objections with sound reasoning and assurances that he wasn't trying to replace their authority.

"We are of course hoping something breaks soon," Allen continued as he turned from the window. "We are concerned with the public's reaction to these murders, so we have opted to keep the facts close to our vest for now. So far we have been able to keep this out of the news, releasing it as a two-car crash with fatalities from out of town. As of now that story is holding. I'm concerned that this may be the start of something, although maybe I'm just being paranoid."

"It definitely has the earmarks of someone with a plan," I said, "It seems too exact for someone on a lark. Dropping that card in the car like that...someone is trying to make a name for himself. Maybe we should check other departments in the tri-state, see if the word "Ghost" has ever come up in another murder, or any crime for that matter?"

Allen walked back to his desk, making a note on his ever-present file card. Looking up at Frank, he asked if he could get on that right away. Frank nodded, always ready to dig into a clue.

We disbanded and headed toward our individual desks to get a start on the case.

Although murder is never a good thing to have on the table, I did not like the sound of this particular one at all.

Chapter 5

February 16, 1997

Morning came and the man reported for work as usual. He knew he had to keep to his ordinary schedule to avoid any kind of suspicion, but he was bursting at the seams, wanting to tell of his exploits.

Being a stock boy at the local Save-A-Bunch was a good cover for the "Ghost", he thought to himself. No one would be looking here for the most famous killer to come along since Jeffrey Dahmer.

He could feel his heart rate increasing, a film of sweat forming on his upper lip as his eye slowly started to twitch. He looked around himself quickly to make sure no one was looking; then slowly reached into his pocket. Finding the item with his fingers, he started rubbing it, instantly calming his racing heart. His mentor would certainly not approve of his actions; "leave and take nothing," he heard repeated in his head over and over again.

He couldn't help himself though. All the great ones took mementos as reminders of their feats, and he would be the greatest of them all.

Chapter 6

February 17, 1997

Sheriff McHenry had been at it for thirty six hours straight, and he was ready to drop. Whoever had perpetrated this murder had been good, very good. Scant clues had been discovered by either his deputies or forensics. The strange card had yielded no clues to date either. He had people trying to track the printer of the cards; somebody undoubtedly should remember printing a card like that.

There was no sign of prints, hair or fibers. Even if he had access to DNA testing, there was no trace of any body fluids or skin cells. There were no shell casings at the scene, so he probably had used a revolver.

So far they had been able to keep the murder out of the media, releasing a story of a two-car crash with fatalities. He had decided to use the offered help of the fire department, using the firemen to direct traffic and the big trucks to block the view of the crime scene from prying eyes. He had personally sworn each man to secrecy himself, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable leak.

The get-away vehicle, recently reported as stolen, had been found down on Langdon Creek the next morning. Hidden from view by the overgrown conditions, he or she had apparently had another car stashed there.

The K9 units had also been a bust, only finding the short trail between cars at both locations.

The sheriff finished his cup of coffee. He had long ago lost track of how many he had consumed since this whole thing had started. The cold liquid drained from his cup left him with a sour taste in his mouth that would probably follow him to the grave. Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he looked around for somebody to yell at.

His tired eyes met only the fourteen men who had been up as long as he, each one looking worse than the next. There was no doubt about it, they had hit a wall. He had to get some of these men home for a few hours of shuteye or they might all keel over from exhaustion.

Calling over his chief deputy, they worked out a scheduled rotation to get the men rested but back for their regular shifts.

"OK, listen up," the sheriff yelled, "We need to get you men some sleep and home time. Jason has the rotation and will let you know the schedule. We've hit it hard boys, but there is no use killing ourselves with the small quantity of clues we have on hand. We need some fresh eyes looking at this; we'll catch a break tomorrow."

"Dismissed," the sheriff barked as he turned from his men, ending any discussion as he crushed his unlit cigarette between his fingers before pulling out a fresh one from the pack as he walked.

He made his way to his office and sat down with a grunt. One more thing to finish before he too could head to the house. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number, rolling back in his chair to wait for someone to pick up while he fondled the cigarette between his fingers.

" _Pain in the ass,"_ he mumbled under his breath as the other party picked up, announcing themselves in an overly professional manner.

"Prosecutors office."

Chapter 7

February 17, 1997

Frank and I had taken up station in the conference room, going over and organizing our clues. Frank Luther was an enigma in these parts: part detective, part bulldog, but a man you would want on your side in an investigation. He would dig to the bottom of the file, a crime scene, or even a dumpster to get to the information needed.

Betty jokingly called him my sidekick, although that would imply something comedic, and there was _nothing_ funny about Frank.

A bachelor as well as a veteran of thirty years in law enforcement, Frank had salt and pepper hair that he wore high and tight. At 5'9" he was built like a spark plug, having a barrel chest that made it hard for him to get into some of the close spaces we sometimes had to venture into.

He loved interrogating a suspect, dancing masterfully in and out through the facts, playing the good cop part, as well as the bad. Putting them at ease in one moment, making them squirm the next. I have witnessed many times the gathering of information from a suspect that no one else could crack, opening his arms like Moses leading his children home.

Although we had been partners for at least six years, Frank is by nature a loner, and I sometimes felt I had not cracked that barrier that puts us on par to being true friends. Still, I consider myself lucky to be his partner and would do anything for him.

We had been going over the facts and throwing around theories all morning, coming to some conclusions, throwing out some others. Frank had been on the phone with other departments asking about cases involving the word "Ghost" or any other similarities with no luck.

All of the accumulated information was laid out in front of us, but at this point it was too sparse to draw any concrete profiles from. The vics were clean, with no legal problems in their past. We had surmised from this that it was a planned killing, and the perp liked calling himself 'Ghost'. Other then that small bit of knowledge, everything else was conjecture for now.

The accumulated evidence tied with our experience did inevitably lead us to a few assumptions however.

We believed the murderer to be male, probably not over mid-twenty's due to his need for attention.

We also assumed this to be his first murder, although other crimes in his past seemed likely considering the demonstrated organization of the crime.

We were at a loss as to how to proceed from here. Frank was antsy, wanting to get busy on something but not knowing which way to move forward.

"Has the Coroner turned in a report yet?" I asked.

Frank said he would check and left the room quickly. Knowing Frank, he wouldn't be back until he had the report, even if he had to stand over the Doc, pushing him on until he finished.

I continued mulling over the list for several more minutes until a rumbling in my stomach let me know I was overdue for lunch. Pulling together the file and leaving it on the table, I grabbed my notebook and headed out into the sunshine to find a quick meal, planning to walk for a while during lunch to get the cobwebs out.

Walking through reception on the way out of the office, Ellen gave me a wink as I passed, saying "Have a good walk."

My normal day very seldom included a walk at lunch, and I marveled once more at her uncanny ability to read minds. Being in her mid-forties but looking twenty years younger, reading minds was just one of her amazing attributes for which she was well known.

Grabbing a pastrami sandwich at Lenny's down the block, I started walking a several block course while I ate. The sun was bright and warm for February, the heat feeling good through my parka. I was definitely feeling better by the time I got to Taylor Park about half way through my walk, and I was enjoying my time outside. Being cooped up inside all winter tended to make me grumpy and irritable. I decided to have a seat in the sun for a few minutes, letting the warmth creep into my whole body.

Leaning my head back into the sun, I eventually dozed off.

***

Never knowing how I got there, I was once again in the room; that beautiful, comfortable room. I sat down in the chair, lifting the coffee cup that never emptied or got cold. Taking a few minutes to look over the chess board, I discovered that my opponent was using a new line of attack.

"Very devious," I uttered out loud, turning my full attention to the board for a few minutes more.

I have enjoyed the challenge and tactics of chess since learning from and playing with my grandfather when I was young. He would certainly enjoy this ongoing game I was involved with immensely, and I thought of him quite often while in the room, working out strategy against my unseen opponent.

When I had lined out my response to his attack, I moved my bishop to block his progress, then sat back to enjoy my coffee. I just sat there enjoying the warmth and comfort of the room for a long while, my mind relaxed, not thinking of anything. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes.

Opening my eyes once more, I was no longer in the room, but walking down a dark road, the skies dumping water on me in buckets. I found myself walking up behind a parked car, surprised by bright flashes with loud retorts coming from the inside. A thin man wearing a hooded sweatshirt swiftly got out of the car and ran to another one parked in front. Getting in, he then slowly accelerated down the road, the taillights disappearing when he rounded the bend.

Walking up to the original vehicle, I look into it and see the grisly scene before me. I can't open the door for some reason, so I just took in what I could through the window, trying to get as much into my head as possible.

Something nagging in my mind told me that this was very important for some reason.

Walking to the other side of the car, I again tried the door with no success. It seemed as if I had no strength, like my arms wouldn't work right. Leaning down, I stared into the window again. Looking closely at the woman, I notice something on her neck, putting my nose to the glass as I try to comprehend what I was seeing.

Unexpectedly a lightning flash lit up my dark surroundings for a split second, temporarily illuminating the scene before my eyes. Time slowed, and I was suddenly face to face with the ghostly figure staring hauntingly back at me.

I jerked back in shock; my feet tangling together as I tried to escape the grisly scene. I felt myself falling, falling back into the flooded ditch behind me.

I threw up my arms, trying to grab at anything to catch my fall, but found nothing and continued to drop, the ditch having disappeared as I plunged into nothingness.

***

I jerked awake on the park bench; my heart pounding in my chest. The warm sun seemed suddenly out of place as I shielded my eyes to the brightness.

I stayed there for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the scene as it played itself out in my head. I grabbed my notebook and recorded all of the facts that I could remember. On the last item I stopped, pen over paper, trying to remember. Something about the woman's neck, but I couldn't pull it out...it was buried too deep. Hesitantly, I wrote the word ' _neck_ ....' at the end of the page, hoping it would come to me later.

Closing the notebook, I stood and started the walk back to the office. Having witnessed the crime in my head, the sun now didn't seem quite so warm. A chill ran down to the core of my being, and I decided I would need several more cups of coffee when I got back.

Chapter 8

February 17, 1997

Arriving home after another dreary day at work, the man grabbed a beer and started pacing his ratty apartment, too excited to sit.

Two weeks wait for the next "project" was _such_ a long time. Now that he had a taste, it was a _very_ long time. He walked back to the refrigerator to find something to eat, then decided he wasn't hungry and continued his pacing.

Reaching into his pocket, he touched it for the thousandth time that day.

He was again calmed by the feel of his prize.

Taking it out, he gazed at it as he sat down on the couch, taking in every detail. He noticed it was of an unusual design, a cross with a circle around the middle, probably some kind of religious symbol or something.

He again thought of how his mentor would feel about his award, quickly depositing it back into his pocket, as if she were watching.

He would be good; he already couldn't believe his luck at finding Jasmine and wouldn't screw it up. She had helped him get organized, given him the chance to actually do what he had always dreamed of. They were a team, but he would be the famous one of course, "The Ghost."

His mentor was smart, even finding him was genius, tracking him down just from rumors and snippets of conversations overheard by others, conversations spoken by him mostly when he was drunk of course. He always talked too much when he drank, but he would talk of famous murders and murderers, leaving little doubt as to his admiration of the men he idolized.

Although he had never seen her, she had probably scouted him in person at some point, listening in with awe as his stories unfolded he suspected. He had decided that she was probably some plain looking housewife in real life.

You really gotta watch out for those quiet, mousey ones.

He thought back to the day of first contact. Picking up the seldom used phone that night, he mentally prepared himself for the usual rapid-fire banter of a telemarketer. Although he mostly enjoyed giving grief to the idiots that called him several times a week, he actually thought there ought to be a law against this type of intrusion.

The raspy voice on the other end of the line was a surprise as the person asked him to confirm his identity. Hesitating only momentarily, the man thought _'what the hell'_ as he told the caller his full name.

Silence followed, long enough for the man to consider hanging up on the raspy-voiced caller, but intrigued enough to hang on and wait.

"I hear you might have a secret desire," the mysterious voice finally continued, "My sources tell me you are very intrigued with, shall we say, situations with a certain...definitive ending."

The man was instantly on guard, his eye jerking in its insane dance of nerves. He would have to watch what he said; this could be some sort of trap. Could the police arrest you for what you thought...what you said?

"Who is this?" the man demanded into the receiver; thinking this might be one of the guys from the bar. Although he wouldn't consider himself friends with the people he drank with, he wouldn't put it past one of them to try something like this in an inebriated state.

A few more seconds passed before the voice returned, "Just consider me someone who might be able to facilitate your dreams. I have a couple of projects in mind, they would need someone with your... let's say _interest_ to complete. Would that be of any significance to you?"

The man's heart skipped a beat. Could this strange voice be asking what he thought was being asked?

"Can you be a little more specific," The man asked nervously, "Just so I know we are talking about the same thing?"

A short silence followed again before the voice continued. "I have a couple of people in mind that need to be eliminated, permanently, does _that_ scenario interest you?"

"Yes!" the man blurted out quickly, "I mean sure it sounds intriguing, what would I need to do, and who is this anyway?"

"As to whom I am, my name is... _Jasmine,_ but for our purposes, why don't you just call me _Mentor_ , or teacher if you prefer. I have much to teach you, opportunities will be presented that you may never get otherwise, if you are willing to learn."

"You will receive instructions," she continued without waiting for an answer. "I will let you know where and when. You must agree to follow them to the letter, along with a few other requirements as well. You must do everything I ask or the deal is off. But, if you agree to all of the conditions, I will put you in a position to carry out your wildest dreams; you will be talked about for years to come. Interested?"

He was in heaven; he had to restrain his emotions so as not to blurt out his answer as he readily agreed to all of the conditions. One of the big ones it turned out was to stay out of bars until the projects were over; after all, that is how she found him in the first place.

"Never talk if you can _do_ ," she had finished with finality before hanging up the phone.

Well he could definitely _do_ , he had proven that...and it was only the beginning.

Chapter 9

February 18, 1997

The next morning had dawned for the sheriff with more information, but little more. A recovered slug revealed that the caliber had been a .357. No other clues were garnered from the bodies save that they hadn't suffered much.

The victims had been the veritable 'perfect' couple: high school sweethearts, college educated, good jobs. They had actually been traveling home from volunteering at a hurricane _Fran_ cleanup project.

Reading this information from a report now laying in front of him, Sheriff McHenry could only utter a sad _"damn shame."_

It had also been determined that a call had definitely been made from the couple's cellular phone at about the time of the murders. The recipient of the call was also a cell but was so far untraceable. It was not certain if the couple or the perp had made the call, but it was a local number. If it was the murderer that made the call, it could indicate that there was more than one person involved in the plan. The Sheriff wasn't quite ready to speculate on that thought yet though.

Physical evidence now seemed played out; everything had been gone over at least three times with no additional results. The soil sample was also being held up at the state lab; it could take up to three weeks to get the data back on that.

The sheriff sat back and pondered his next move, knowing another angle of attack was needed. Sitting up suddenly, the others around the conference table leaned back in surprise. Without preamble, McHenry started issuing orders right and left.

"Jason," he said speaking to his Chief Deputy, "get someone in touch with the police department involved in the car theft, see if there were any witnesses or clues left at the scene. Check to see if they canvassed the area for any security cameras that might have been recording the crime by accident, if not ask them damn nicely if they could check on that."

Jason nodded and got up, leaving the room in a hurry to assign people to the tasks.

"And tell Jane I need another cup of coffee," the sheriff added as an afterthought, pushing the cup of cold coffee away with a disgusted look on his face.

The sheriff rubbed his eyes before glancing over at the two deputies left at the table, appearing to size them up for their tasks.

He had hand picked these men for this duty months ago, both good men, both picked for completely different reasons.

Tucker Vance was a tireless worker, and was wise to the ways of the street. His other choice was Larry London; a very smart man that interacted well with others. One of his main jobs would be interacting with the other departments. He would be the sheriff's liaison officer, keeping the sheriff in the loop as the case progressed.

"The prosecutor, in all his eminent wisdom," the sheriff started, "Has deemed it a wise move to activate the Major Crimes Taskforce for this case."

"I don't agree with him. I think it shows a general lack of confidence in our department."

The sheriff sighed in resignation. "Be that as it may, I have already chosen the two of you to be our representatives, even though I had thought at the time it was mostly a publicity stunt. You know, photo ops and such."

"As you know there are two officers from Allenville, as well as the two investigators from the prosecutor's office. Your new unit will take the lead in the investigation, and report directly to the prosecutor. This will be your full-time job until we get this guy, our department will act as _support_."

McHenry spit out the last word as if it had a sour taste.

"I expect you two to do your best work on this, and let me know if there is anything you need. You're dismissed, good luck."

Both men replied "Yes sir," then got up and filed out of the room. As they opened the door they were met by Jane in the doorway carrying a steaming cup of coffee. The men yielded to her respectfully as she passed before they exited the room.

Jane McHenry was the sheriff's assistant, a smart looking woman in her early thirties with shoulder length, dark hair. It was very hard to ignore how well Jane filled out the uniform, but she had long ago earned the respect of every man on the force with her efficiency and work ethic.

Graduating college with a degree in law enforcement, as well as having graduated from the police academy, she was highly qualified... even over qualified for her current position. There was of course one other reason why the deputies respected her to such a degree.

She was the sheriff's daughter.

Listed on the rolls as a deputy, Lean McHenry considered his daughter much more then that. She was actually his secret weapon, as he depended on her to handle everything that he couldn't or wouldn't do. Catching the movement of her approach out of the corner of his eye, he rolled back in his seat and placed his dangling cigarette behind his ear, relaxing instantly at the sight of his favorite deputy.

Setting the cup down in front the sheriff, she took an empty chair across the table and sat down.

"That's your fifth cup since you got here this morning," she stated with a firm tone. "Your pending heart attack is not going to help this investigation."

Smiling at the rebuke, he assured her that he would try to control his intake the rest of the day.

"Tucker and Larry have been assigned to the prosecutor's task force until we can crack this case open." The sheriff remarked with a grim smile. "Make sure that the paperwork gets filed, and get with Jason to re-arrange the schedule to cover their shifts, please," the sheriff asked.

Jane was the only one in the office that could get a please out of the sheriff.

"Sure thing, sheriff," Jane said with a smile, "Anything else I can do... Dad?" Her face grew more serious as she spoke.

She knew he hadn't been the same since her mother had died about six months before...complications of a long bout with Lupus. She knew her dad had a rough exterior, but he was probably hurting inside from the loss of his wife of thirty five years.

Waving away her concerns, he said he was fine, just wanting to get to the bottom of this business.

"Tell you what," he continued, "When this is over, lets go up to Michigan to fish, like we did when you were little. A vacation," he finished with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan," she smiled back, standing up and heading back to her desk. "I expect to be seeing maps and plans in the next couple of weeks," she called over her shoulder as she exited through the door.

Sheriff McHenry hoped like hell he would be able to keep that schedule.

Chapter 10

February 18, 1997

I had arrived at the office the next morning, determined to get to the bottom of something... _anything_ for that matter. As I set out my work on the conference table, Frank walked in with two steaming cups of coffee, setting one in front of me. Sitting back, we both took a moment to enjoy the brew before getting down to business.

I had had a lousy night, waking up repeatedly to showings of my dream from yesterday, the bags under my eyes a testament to my sleeplessness. Although my strange dreams involving the mysterious room had usually panned out in the past, I was still skeptical.

Thinking about the last part of the dream, I asked Frank if he had heard anything from the Coroner yet.

"Doc Elliot has assured me he would have something for us this morning," Frank stated while looking down at his notes. Looking back up quickly he added, "The old cuss literally threw me out of his office yesterday; said he would have the report when he had the report, and not a moment sooner."

Doc Elliot was a local retired physician, having practiced in the community for over fifty years. Now in his eighties, he had run for the Coroner's position just to have something to do.

That, and the Republican Party couldn't find anyone else that wanted it.

Of course, being a Coroner in southern Indiana is usually more title than action, the Doc spending most of his time holding court at the Legion.

"Let's take a walk, I'd like visit the good Doctor," I said as I stood up. "I have a couple of questions to ask him."

Walking the three blocks to the Coroner's lab, a concrete-block room in the basement of the old city clinic, we walked right in and helped ourselves to the ever-present pot of coffee.

Having heard us in the office, Doc Elliot leaned in through the swinging doors of the lab to see who was interrupting his quiet.

"Well if it ain't Frick and Frack, the prosecutor's red-headed step sons. You boys are on the wrong side of town; I just sent the report over to the powers that be."

I held out my hand, smiling at my old friend as I clasped his still-strong grip in mine. As the Doctor on hand when I entered this world, a fact that is repeatedly brought to light in his presence, I had known Doc Elliot almost longer than my own mother.

Giving him the once over, it amazed me how little he had changed in all of these years. Always in suspenders with glasses pushed up on his forehead, his bushy mustache and eyebrows had not altered in the last thirty years.

"You got a copy we can peruse for a moment?" I asked, "There is something I need to check."

Shuffling slightly, he walked over to an old file cabinet, opening the top drawer and pulling out a file.

"Didn't find much you don't already know. Shot from the rear, bullet in and out," he added with finality. "Anything in particular you looking for?" he asked, eyebrows rising questioningly.

"Did you come across anything on the woman's neck, a red mark or scrape?"

Doc Elliot cocked his head slightly while giving me a funny squint. Pulling his glasses down on his nose, he opened the file, looking for a detail on the body diagram.

Setting the folder down on the examining table, he pulled off his glasses, using them for a pointer while indicating the notation next to the neck on the diagram.

"Small red abrasion on the right side of her neck, barely a quarter inch long. Now tell me, Kreskin, how did you even know to ask that, and what's your interest?"

Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, I told him it was just a hunch. As to what it meant, I had no idea.

He grunted while closing the file, asking if I was done with it. I replied that I was and thanked him for his time.

"You know where I'll be if you need me," he replied as he gathered his jacket and headed for the door. "Chicken wings, three for a dollar at the Legion," he said smiling, holding his hand up in a wave as he left.

"What was that all about?" Frank asked as we left the clinic. "You getting a little psychic in your old age?"

"I told you it was just a hunch," I answered a little too brusquely, "Let's just try and figure out what it means, shall we?"

The walk back to the office was quiet as we pondered this new evidence. This may be the best clue we have in this case so far, at least it might have been if we knew what it meant.

Chapter 11

February 18, 1997

Answering the phone, the man heard the familiar raspy whisper hiss, "You idiot, you left a calling card. Have you learned nothing?"

Immediately on the defensive, the man raised a shaky hand to calm his eye as he went into his rehearsed reply.

"I needed to give them a name to focus on, and since it has never been used in another crime, I thought it might throw them off."

Silence followed for a few minutes before his mentor continued, "Can it be traced?"

"No, no," the man spat out quickly. "I printed it on my own computer, and I never touched it without having gloves on; I was very careful."

After a few more moments of silence, the mentor sighed.

"Alright! The damage is done anyway. From now on leave a card at every scene, if you can do it without jeopardizing your escape. It may help throw them off as you said."

"Are there any other surprises that I need to know about?" she continued quickly.

The man waited but a moment before spitting out, "I did take a necklace from the woman..."

An ominous silence followed before the mentor literally screamed into the phone, the raspy whisper forgotten in the ensuing tirade. "Get rid of it, immediately!" Jasmine started. "That can be directly traced if they ever bring you in for questioning. Leave now and go dump it in the river, this could ruin everything!"

The man quickly agreed to this as Jasmine hung up. Nervous perspiration had appeared on his hands and he quickly wiped them on his pants. He got his keys and left the house, driving towards the boat ramp in an effort to appease his mentor, just in case he was being watched.

He had already decided against getting rid of the prize, he had grown too attached to the odd shaped cross. He would try to restrain himself from doing it again, but this was his first, he would keep it forever to remind him of his start.

It was indeed a night of surprises. The mentor finding out about the card he knew would happen eventually, but the level of anger the mentor had displayed about the necklace was more than surprising. He could understand it however; it was a risk that could end up defeating them in the end.

He had never heard _anyone_ that angry before. He wondered aloud what made Jasmine click, what was she trying to prove with the _tasks_ he had agreed to?

Shrugging his shoulders, he continued on with his feigned trip to the boat ramp.

"That's one woman I wouldn't want mad at me," he said with admiration.

***

Her hands were clenched in fists as she hung up the phone, her ranting having left her angry and frustrated. Correction, the _IDIOT'S_ ineptitude had _made_ her angry and frustrated.

She was lost in thought, her body trembling in resentment toward the man. How easily he could ruin everything with his unprofessional antics.

From the other room she heard, "Darlin?...You ok in there sugar?"

The voice instantly calmed her as she finished her preparations for the man. Not that they were extremely involved, as Tex insisted on only two things: Cowboy Boots, and a Stetson.

Traveling here only every three months or so, Tex always had a lot of pent up desires that she was more than willing and able to satisfy. He was also more than willing and able to pay for her ministrations.

Setting the hat gently on her head, she took a moment to admire her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her perfectly coifed, shoulder-length blonde hair complimented the jet-black Stetson like it was made for her...which as a matter of fact it was.

The perky breasts and flat stomach that helped define her sensuous body had always been as much of a turn-on to her as it was to her "friends". She moved a hand to her breast, and then slowly caressed her belly as the hand made its way slowly to its target.

The sensation that ensued had her closing her eyes as a tremble ran its way up to her throat, escaping as a moan as she found the spot.

Clearing her head finally, she finished the final touches to her light makeup, and then turned toward the adjoining room for a long night of ecstasy that would last until the sun came up.

Stopping suddenly, she turned back as she remembered the coup de gras that she had purchased just for the occasion. Finding it in a drawer, she lifted the belt and cinched it up, letting it fall to rest on her small, sexy hips as she reached in for the final piece; a dildo in the shape of a gun.

Inserting it in the holster, she turned once more, calling out to the man in the next room. "I have something special for you tonight, Tex."

As she walked through the doorway, the apartment exploded in noise as the man on the bed boomed out, "Yeeee Hawww."

Chapter 12

February 18, 1997

Arriving home that night I was greeted by the heavenly smell of Betty's chicken and dumplings. While Betty was a wonderful cook, she very seldom had time to make a regular meal, much less my favorite winter fare.

I quickly hung up my parka and took off my shoes, letting the aroma carry me into the kitchen. Having entered somewhat quietly, I was treated to the scene of my beautiful wife toiling over the pot on the stove.

Still in her black police uniform which she filled out better than anyone ever had, I unabashedly stared at the love of my life. A strand of her long brown hair had released itself from the pony tail she wore for work, hanging down sensually on her face as she busied herself stirring the pot. I momentarily fantasized about her cooking with something a little skimpier on until she somehow got wind of my presence.

"If you don't stop thinking like that you'll lose your appetite for the dumplings," she said with a smile, having somehow read my mind again without even looking up. I eased up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist as she leaned back into me, her body seeming to blend into mine.

"I think we should have time before the night is over for both of my appetites to be satisfied," I said with a stupid grin, burying my face into her neck and inhaling her perfume like it was a life giving force. Betty moaned, leaning her head back on my shoulder for a moment before shooing me away so she could finish the meal.

The sound of clicking on hardwood flooring announced the arrival of Lucy, our border collie/mixed breed dog, our only child. Actually, Lucy was Betty's dog through and through, having moved with her into my old house when we had gotten married.

While she was not as close to me, she more than tolerated me, letting me lavish affection on her when she felt like it. Nuzzling my hand when she got to us in the kitchen, I reached down and gave her a good rub behind the ears, her favorite spot for affection.

She continued to grace me with her presence as I wandered towards the living room, picking up the paper on the dining room table as I glanced through the day's mail.

I heard the clinking of plates and silverware as I sat down in my recliner to browse through the paper, an update on page three saying that the Sheriff was still looking into the one-car accident that had caused the death of the out of town couple. At least the cover story was still holding, although I personally was undecided if this was the right tack to follow.

Shouldn't the good people of the county know that there was a murderer about?

Reaching down, I gave Lucy a few pats on the head as if to assure her everything would be all right, like she was the one that needed it.

"Come and get it detective," I heard Betty call from the kitchen. I walked back into in the kitchen with my canine buddy in tow, observing my goddess scooping out two heaping portions of her magnificent smelling meal. Using a nod at the silverware I was to pick up, she then led me to the dining room where she gracefully deposited the plates at their assigned places. I laid out the eating tools then sat down, grabbing the fork and shoveling down a mouthful before Betty knew what was happening.

"Hey mister, we say grace first, and then we eat." We bowed our heads as she said grace, crossing herself at the end of the prayer.

Betty had been raised Catholic and was devout in the rituals taught to her years ago by the nuns. I was a believer, but had long ago had a falling out with organized religion, or should I say the organizations of religion. We had both recognized and come to terms with each other's personal beliefs, neither of us having any desire to change the other's persuasion in the matter.

She looked up, giving me a glimpse of her dazzling smile as she picked up her fork and took a bite. I was right behind her, totally enjoying the taste and texture of her specialty.

"How does this keep getting better every time that you make it?" I asked between bites. "You using some new secret spice?"

She gave a small giggle, saying that my taste was probably just getting less selective.

I held my tongue at the rebuke of my palate, being too busy enjoying my meal. She asked about my day and I told her of our meeting with Doc Elliot, and the clue coming out of another one of my dreams. Betty had always been amazed at the inner workings of my mind, especially the strange dreams and the relative consistency of their accurate outcomes.

"You should really have your own TV show," she said with a grin as I got up to get us a second helping. I would need another walk tomorrow to make up for my gluttony tonight.

We talked of the case some more, then on to other more mundane topics as I immersed myself in the fabulous food and conversation. Finally getting up to clean the table, we walked into the kitchen to do the dishes as I gave my nightly thanks to whoever had invented the dishwasher. Getting it loaded and turned on, I stood up to be greeted by the sight of Betty staring at me with a serious look on her face. Instantly concerned and being very familiar with that look, I asked what was the matter.

"You know of course that I'm assigned to the taskforce," she stated matter-of-factly. "And I just want to get the ground rules straight from the get go."

I sat down at the yard-sale kitchen table that Betty adored, knowing that when she was this serious about something there was no use making plans to do anything else until she was ready.

"I've been in this business for a long time Gabe, and even though you are a dear sweet man, you have a tendency to try to be overly protective of me...or do things _for_ me when we work together. I will be pulling my weight on this assignment as usual, and I just want to make sure that we are on the same page on this issue."

I knew that she had hit the nail on the head with her comment; I did tend to be overprotective of her. She was a very able and accomplished cop in her own right, having reached the rank of Detective Sergeant in a very male-dominated force. I also knew that we would need all hands going full throttle to get this case concluded quickly, hopefully before anyone else got hurt.

I looked up at her sheepishly, agreeing to be as professional as possible, and to not show any favoritism while working together.

Just as long as she remembered that she _was_ my favorite.

Her smile returned quickly as she sat down on my lap, putting her arms around my neck.

"That's all I can ask for," she said as she snuggled into me, the smell of her perfume instantly enveloping me.

"Now, about that other appetite of yours," she whispered in my ear, instantly bringing me to attention.

Putting my free arm under her knees, I stood up almost effortlessly, carrying my bride to the bedroom, the sound of her half-hearted screams of protest ringing through the house. Lucy, for her part, seeming to know that no more attention would be forthcoming this night, padded off to her bed by the fireplace.

***

Later that night, as we snuggled together in our bed she mumbled something in my ear that I couldn't quite make out. Asking her to repeat it, she sleepily said "You need to find out about the necklace."

"What necklace?" I asked, at this point thinking she was half dreaming.

"The necklace the woman was probably wearing," she said a little less groggily.

"The perp probably pulled off the woman's necklace, that's more than likely what caused the mark on her neck."

It took a moment for the information to sink into my thick skull before I slapped the palm of my hand against my forehead, finally comprehending that the doer had taken a necklace from the woman victim.

He had taken his first souvenir!

Chapter 13

February 19, 1997

The raspy whisper had returned as he listened to his new orders.

"The new instructions are at the drop. You need to go _now_ and get them."

The man happily responded that he was getting his coat on as they spoke. The thought of proceeding onto the next project was already making his heart rate rise as his eye fluttered in excitement.

"Follow the directions word for word, no more cowboy antics or you're out," the mentor threatened authoritatively.

The man assured Jasmine that he had learned his lesson. Picking up his keys as he hung up the phone, he walked out of the dingy apartment and jumped into his car.

Heading over to Taylor Park, he angled the car into a dark slot and started walking as normal as he could muster towards the assigned spot. He covered the hundred yards to the designated park bench in about three minutes, sitting down casually like he was just enjoying the night.

He nonchalantly reached into his pocket and got out a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling the pungent flavor of the non-filtered cigarettes that he preferred. After making sure no one else was around, he reached down under the bench, finding the brown paper sack exactly where it was supposed to be. Finishing his cigarette a few minutes later, he put the sack in his coat pocket and stood up, returning to his car by a different route through the playground.

Upon returning home, he got out the sack and opened it.

Finding the usual storage container inside, he lifted the lid and took out the crumbled wax paper. She had designed this to look like someone had just left their lunch container in case anyone had ever found it.

At the bottom, he found the tightly folded piece of paper within a plastic sandwich bag, opening it to reveal the cryptic lettering inside. Taking the paper to his messy desk and brushing off enough room to lay the paper out, he opened a drawer and pulled out a notebook.

Mastering the code book given to him by the mentor had been hard for him, reading having never been his strong point. But he had done it, and felt a huge amount of pride in his accomplishment.

Another skill useful to fulfill his dream!

Checking the top set of characters that told him what page to work off of, he turned the book to that page and started decoding the instructions.

When he had finished the decoding, he lifted the paper and sat back in his chair to study the writing, reading it through several times and committing it to memory. He then folded the message and stuck it in the back of the book, replacing the book back into the drawer.

The new preparations would take some time to accomplish, but at least he had something to do. And of course, the reward at the end would make all of his time worth it.

Having lifted his spirits with the thought of his mentor's new instructions, he decided to celebrate with a few beers.

Celebrate the inevitable return of the Ghost!

Chapter 14

February 19, 1997

The first full meeting of the Major Crimes Taskforce was scheduled for 9:00 AM, but a short meeting of the minds between Frank, Betty and I to discuss the necklace had occurred at 8:30. Frank went off to contact the family to see if they could shed any light on the subject, and I walked Betty to the meeting room.

All in all I think I definitely got the better of the assignments.

All of us on the task force were of course very familiar with each other, all having worked together on more than one occasion. There was Frank and me, of course, Tucker and Larry from the Sheriff's department, and Betty along with Harry Clausing from the Allenville police department.

Harry was an unimpressive specimen physically, easily being around a hundred pounds overweight. A lieutenant in rank, he had long ago been removed from any type of daily patrolling, the resultant desk duty having culminated in a massive girth.

Harry was not a man to be dismissed easily though, having thirty years on the force under his massive belt. He had seen a little of everything over the years, and had been involved with solving many of the city's cases.

Overall I felt pretty good about the makeup of our group. If we couldn't solve this crime, I felt no one could.

We all busied ourselves with getting coffee, a number of the group bagging one or more of the bagels sitting on a tray as we waited for our leader to arrive.

The door suddenly exploded open as Allen Vanguard entered the room like a whirlwind, carrying with him an arm-load of folders.

Setting down the folders at his favored spot at the head of the table, he worked the room like the politician that he was, greeting everyone individually before heading to the side board to claim his own cup of coffee.

Frank was the last to arrive, showing me a note as he filled his own coffee cup and grabbed a bite out of a bagel before we sat down.

We all took our seats, and I spread my accumulated files and information out in front of me for easy access.

Allen had confided in me a few weeks ago that he was really excited about getting his new taskforce off the ground, a project that he had dreamt of for years. Getting the best of this county's investigators working together as a unit was a no-brainer, and he had been working tirelessly for months to get approval and funding for his dream.

When Allen had seated himself, he thanked all of us as a group for agreeing to work on the taskforce. He then started handing out the file folders to each member of the group.

"Ok people, whatawegot?" Allen started, "Does anyone know anything new on the murder of Abby and Tyler Letterman before we get to these files?"

I nudged Frank, who gave me a pissy look before speaking up.

"A few of us were working on the mark on the neck of Mrs. Letterman, trying to figure out what might have caused it. Betty came up with the idea that maybe she was wearing a necklace that the perp forcibly removed, so I contacted the family this morning to ask if that was a possibility."

"The mother confirmed that Abby always wore the same necklace," Frank continued, "A Celtic cross, given to her by her grandmother when she graduated high school. I asked if they had access to a fax machine and she agreed to find and send a picture of Abby that showed the cross. We should have it in a few hours."

"Ok, good work," Allen stated excitedly, "Anything else new?"

When no one spoke, he continued, "Let's go over the case file once, and then I will leave you guys to your labors. From here on out we will meet every two or three days as the case warrants. Otherwise, consider this your fulltime job for the duration... at least until we find the perpetrator of this crime."

"Ok, let's get started."

We spent the next hour going through the too-thin information, rehashing the evidence, trying for a new angle. Everyone was getting pretty frustrated when there was a knock on the door and Allen's assistant Ellen immediately walked in. Taking a thin file around the table, she leaned over and whispered a few words to the prosecutor before taking her leave.

Allen anxiously opened the file, reading it with a serious expression for what seemed like ten minutes before looking up.

"I have a report on the ballistics of the gun. They have matched it to a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver, previously used in a robbery in Allenville in December 1994. It was entered into evidence April 1995, and the last known location of the piece since then has been the Sheriff department's evidence locker."

He looked up with disbelief showing on his face, "People, this murder was committed using one of our own guns!"

Chapter 15

February 19, 1997

Sheriff Lean McHenry was fit to be tied.

"Where's that paperwork?" he shouted at the room, waiting for the evidence log to be brought to him. He took the cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth. In his distracted state it dangled precariously, barely catching his upper lip in a display that would have done James Dean proud.

He stood up and paced back and forth behind the desk, wondering how this could have happened, knowing it must be some kind of mistake. Finally tired of waiting, he quickly strode off toward the evidence lock-up, mumbling under his breath at the incompetence of his deputies.

Half way down the stairs he met Jane and Jason walking up, clutching an armload of binders each.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" the sheriff asked, frustration mounting in his voice.

The Chief Deputy looked down at his shoes, but Jane stood her ground, being used to the blustery disposition of her dad when he was stressed out.

"We were just making sure that we had all the relevant files that might in any way have to do with the missing gun. Would you like to take them back into your office, or look at them here?"

The sheriff looked at his daughter for several long seconds with a look that said, _"Who the hell are you?"_

He then turned on his heel and headed back up the stairs. Grabbing the cigarette out of his mouth in frustration, he crushed it like an insect between his fingers before throwing the remnants in a garbage can as he passed.

Entering his office, he went straight to his desk and pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping out a fresh smoke and sticking it in his mouth.

"Speak," he uttered as he sat down heavily in his chair, sitting forward rigidly like a statue in the park. Jane and Jason sat across the desk and spread out the binders in no particular order, then dug through them to find the ones to show the sheriff first.

"The revolver was entered into evidence on April 4th, 1995" Jane stated matter-of-factly as she studied the first page of the chosen binder intently. "It sat there until June 28th, when it was moved to Superior Court for the trial."

Taking the second binder from Jason, she thumbed through some pages until she found what she was looking for. "On July 6th it was returned to our possession, re-sealed in an evidence bag and stored in box 116-48 with the rest of the evidence from the B&G Quick Mart robbery."

Quickly checking back and forth between the original binder and a second one to confirm her facts before continuing, her brown eyes intently scanned the pages as if they might disappear if she blinked.

"Deputy Bill Maddux signed the evidence in and out on all occasions, but he retired in August of 1996. He has since moved to a Florida retirement village with his wife."

Pulling out a third binder from the pile and studying it quickly, she continued, "He had an exemplary service record while at the department, the evidence lock-up being his last assignment before retiring."

Jane sat down the binders and leaned back into her chair. Sheriff McHenry sat stiffly in place for half a minute before he too sat back in his chair, slowly pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and sliding it behind his ear.

"Jason, you know Bill Maddux fairly well, don't you?" the sheriff asked while looking down at his desk, idly rolling an ink pen back and forth between his thumb and second finger.

"Sure do Lean, Bill and his wife are my parents' oldest friends," the deputy answered lightly.

After a short hesitation, the sheriff looked up at Jason.

"How about you give him a call and have a short but friendly conversation. See if he remembers the case, and if he can remember anything unusual that might have happened to the gun. Maybe you can nicely ask him if it was possible, of course with no threat of prosecution, if the gun may have left with him, maybe he sold it to someone for a little extra cash."

Mulling over his words before he continued, "Make sure he knows that if that is the case we just need a handle on where it went is all. Let him know that it was involved in a murder if you need to, but I would keep that under your hat unless you really need it."

"Will do, Sheriff," Jason said as he stood up and headed out to his desk to make the call.

Looking up at Jane sitting across the desk from him, the sheriff gave her a small, tired smile.

"Not one of my better days, JJ," he started, reverting to the nickname they used when she was a girl.

"I just don't know how this happened."

"It may have happened before you even took office," Jane said as she leaned forward with a determined look. "We'll keep investigating the gun of course, because people will want answers, but we need to stay on point with the murders as well."

Stopping the conversation abruptly, a sudden notion seemed to enter her thoughts as her eyes lit up before continuing.

"This is actually a possible break; we now have at least a possible back door into identifying the perp. If we can find who took the weapon, it may lead us to the murderer."

Sheriff McHenry straightened in his chair, identifying with this new line of logic, hope returning for the first time that day.

"I don't know what I would do without you Jane, but it proves once again what I've always said...I picked the right man for your job."

Smiling, he extricated himself from the chair and started walking out of the office.

"Come on; let's start looking for that back door."

Chapter 16

February 21, 1997

"How is your progress on the preparations?" the raspy whisper asked the man as soon as he lifted the phone's receiver to his ear. Having not been expecting the call so soon, he was momentarily taken aback, but he recovered within seconds and verbally checked off his list from memory.

"I have everything except the last item, but it will be tough to get, at least one that looks like the real deal."

A moaning sound traveled to his ears over the phone line. "That item has been taken care of," Jasmine whispered quickly.

"You can pick it up at the second drop-off. Look for a black garbage bag, the package will have everything you need."

Upon finishing the statement, the mentor abruptly hung up, leaving the man staring at the receiver.

Hanging up the phone, the man grabbed his coat and keys and headed for the door. He had been tired when Jasmine had called, even thinking about going to bed early. Now he was recharged and ready for action. Starting his car, he headed for the drop-off within a minute of hanging up the phone, in a hurry to see what she had for him.

The second location was along the levy walk that surrounded the town. Parking in the public lot, the man got out of the car and pulled up the collar of his coat. The wind was strong here, and there was snow in the air. He could smell the water of the river from where he stood, the scent growing stronger as he mounted the steps that would take him to the path on top of the levy.

As he approached the third light post from the flood gate, he realized that the package would probably be off the path, the light level being too high up on the path.

Arriving at the light, he walked a few feet toward the river, looking intently for the garbage bag. Seeing what he thought was his target about thirty feet farther downhill, he started walking down the embankment.

After a few feet his foot slipped on the snow and he tumbled on down past the garbage bag. Letting out a string of cuss words, he got himself stopped and crawled his way back to the package.

Untying the bag, he stuck his hand in blindly, feeling what felt like crumbled newspaper. Working his way past that, his hand found a paper bundle, appearing to be neatly taped and folded.

Removing his hand, he retied the bag and limped back to the path, having bruised and scraped his leg badly on a rock during his fall. Looking both directions to make sure he was alone, he slowly proceeded back to his car, the trip taking twice as long as he limped along like an old man on his way to the store.

His teeth were chattering by the time he approached his vehicle, his fingers so numb that he dropped his keys twice before finally finding the hole and unlatching his door.

Once inside, he threw the bag into the back seat and started the car, turning the heat up full blast as he waited for the warmth to seep into his body. After a few minutes, he felt warm enough to start home and backed out of the slot, taking his time on the drive so as not to draw any unwanted attention.

Arriving back at his apartment, he immediately went to the couch and extracted the package from the garbage bag. Tearing open the paper, he was surprised to see what was inside, the detail of the items marking them as the real thing.

"How did she get a hold of these?" he thought to himself as he let his fingers caress the fabric. The thought of this next project brought a thrill to his racing mind. As his heartbeat increased in his chest, his eye started to flutter as a film of sweat formed on his lip and forehead.

Pulling out the necklace and stroking it with his fingers, he finally calmed himself down, gathering up the package and taking it to his old footlocker. Grabbing the key for the lock from under the yellow ceramic ashtray he had made while in grade school, he gingerly opened the faded green trunk he had obtained from a surplus store a few years before.

Religiously placing the contents of the package on top of other of his treasures, he closed the lid and relocked the padlock, eyes lingering on the pink flowers on the ashtray as he replaced the key.

He had made the ceramic for his mother while in the fifth grade, and although a smoker, she had merely grunted at the sight of his gift, shoving it to the back of one of the kitchen cabinets, out of sight. She had been killed later that year by one of the _'uncles'_ she entertained nearly nightly.

After her death, he had been passed around to a few of her distant relatives, but eventually had ended up spending his youth in a string of foster homes.

After attaining adulthood, he had visited his mom's killer in his prison home, not letting on his true identity to the convicted felon.

The jailed man's name was Mark Jason Lee, and he had actually been convicted of three murders, the man's mother having been the second. After an initial awkward period, the man had finally drawn out the killer by telling him that he admired his talent and would like to write a book about his exploits.

After that the Ghost had visited often under the pretext of gathering information for the "book", learning both how the man had committed the three murders...as well as two more that the authorities didn't know about.

Since Mr. Lee didn't want anything published until after his death by lethal injection the next year, the _author's_ inability to actually write a book was never brought to question. And of course, the subject of royalties being sent to his family after the book was sold, well that just wouldn't happen, would it?

At the end of his last visit with Mark Jason Lee, the man leaned forward and told the convicted murderer his real identity. After the initial confusion cleared from his head, Lee looked scared for a few seconds, then angry. Leaning forward quickly and banging his fists on the Plexiglas window, he let fly a stream of expletives that would have embarrassed a sailor.

The future Ghost waited out the anger, calmly sitting there with a small smile on his face.

After the prisoner had calmed down, the man finally spoke.

"I'm sorry for the deception, but I needed to know what made you tick. I needed to know why you killed my mother, not because she was my mother, but just because I needed to know. Thinking about it now, I probably would have killed her myself at some point. I did what I did because I admire you and wanted to learn from you."

Confused, the prisoner stared at the man for a minute, and then called the guard to take him back to his cell. Mr. Lee was executed two weeks later, taking his secrets, and the man's, to the grave with him.

The man had learned a lot from Mark Jason Lee. He had learned almost everything he needed.

The executed murderer had been the master for his greatest student, the "Ghost".

***

Jasmine had taken the opportunity to call her student as Wong was getting ready. Although he was small in _every_ way, Wong had two things that Jasmine absolutely craved, money and an amazing sexual stamina.

"How is the progress on the preparations?" she'd asked her minion in the whisper she always used with the idiot. As she listened to his rambling, yet amazingly complete listing, she felt the small but strong hands of her lover move around her chest.

Coming to rest on her breasts, Wong proceeded to manipulate her nipples through the thin silk cloth of her lingerie. They in turn responded rapidly as he pulled his body close and she felt the bulge of his erection.

Leaning her blonde head back into his, she let herself go, releasing a low moan that rumbled up from the center of her being. Suddenly remembering her phone call, she quickly rattled off the information to her student before clicking off the phone.

Dropping the cell to the floor, she turned rapidly and kissed Wong with full tongue as her hands expertly worked his manhood.

" _This will be a night for him to remember,"_ she thought to herself as another moan rumbled in her throat.

" _And I believe a bonus will be in order,"_ she happily contemplated as she pushed him down on the bed and, starting at his toes, flicked her skilled tongue up his hairless skin as she worked her way along his body on her hands and knees.

" _Definitely a bonus night!"_

Chapter 17

March 9, 1997

Entering the room again from who knows where, I headed to my chair and parked it, grabbing my coffee and taking a large swallow of the hot brew. It was very hot, yet it didn't burn, rolling instead down my throat like a life-giving elixir.

Refreshed, I leaned forward and fixed my eyes on at the chess board, determined to win the ongoing game with my unseen opponent.

Something seemingly was not as it should be however. There was something about the placement of the pieces that was tugging at my meager brain.

Finally I saw it!

A series of moves had happened that would have me in check in three turns if I don't alter course.

Excitedly, I mulled over the alternatives and finally settled on a strategy that got me out of the dog house...for the moment.

The overconfidence that had enveloped me earlier had been trimmed down a bit. The whole process seemed to have taken about a half an hour, although time was different in the room. The fact that I had not taken a sip of coffee the whole time had left me feeling slightly deficient.

Sitting back and taking a long draw of the heavenly brew, I had the sudden feeling I was being watched, by whom and from where I could not determine. I tried to ignore my paranoid reaction and continued sipping from my cup, savoring the magnificent taste that I never seemed to tire of.

Bringing the cup to my lips once more, I was halted by a slight noise seeming to come from behind me. Staying stock still as I listened intently, I heard no other sound except the crackling of the fire in the fire place.

Setting the cup down, I leaned my head back into the chair, letting out a long breath as I closed my eyes to relax. The slightest of sounds reached my ears once again, sounding much like what I would guess a mouse might sound like crossing the floor.

I opened my eyes, leaning forward slightly and turning my head slowly to see what the source of the noise was.

I jerked awake in my bed, the sound of soft breathing next to me the only noise apparent. Rolling over and squinting at the alarm clock revealed the time to be 5:30 AM...as usual. My body has been on the same schedule for years, jolting awake at this early hour whether it was a weekend, workday or vacation.

Rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling, I thought back to my dreams, wondering for the thousandth time what they meant and why I had them. Yielding no new revelations this time, it had made me wonder if I had just missed something.

Of course having always been alone in the room on previous occasions, the feeling that I was in the presence of someone this time certainly put a new spin on things.

Thinking on this for a few more minutes and coming to no good explanation, I quietly rolled out of bed so as not to wake Betty. At least she could sleep in on the weekends.

As I made my way downstairs I was met by Lucy. The sound of my footsteps had always sent her into her morning dance of rising up off of her front legs and doing circles around me until I opened the back door and let her out. She pushed through the partially open door and took off on her rounds, smelling the corners of the yard and taking care of her bodily functions.

I crossed the kitchen and got the coffee going, then headed to the front porch to look for the paper. Being a detective had never seemed to help me in my morning search for the news that my paper boy delivered. He seemed to take pride in finding new places to throw it each day. Finally finding it under one of the boxwoods off the side of the porch, I headed back to the door, shaking my head in wonderment at the consistency of the boy's inconsistency.

After entering the house, I headed to the back door where Lucy was anxiously waiting to be let back in, her patrol done for the morning. She scampered in and headed to her bed where she would catch some more shuteye before the day got rolling. I filled a mug and walked over to the table to enjoy my first cup and peruse the paper.

Unfolding the newsprint, my eyes landed on the article that I knew would be the day's headline.

The word had gotten out!

The cover story about the "accidental death" of the couple had been revealed to be a murder.

News of the leak of the details of the murder had reached us yesterday, and the people of our normally quiet community had come to life in response.

Sales of plywood, lumber, and locks were up, as well as the sales and applications for firearms. Betty had informed me last night that they had responded to multiple calls of fights breaking out in stores that had run out of these items. People were frantic in an effort to protect themselves from the unknown assailant.

Citizens quoted in the article described their feelings over the murders as anywhere from ' _scared to death'_ to _'slightly concerned'_ , with one brave fellow saying he would start patrolling the road himself with his shotgun.

A lot of blame was being heaped on the " _incompetent"_ Sheriff, with many calling for his resignation or firing.

Allen Vanguard, who was also quoted for the article, stated that he had the utmost confidence in Sheriff McHenry, and that covering up the murders was believed to be the best option at the time. Multiple other politicians had also chimed in their opinions, most having the uncanny ability to say a lot without saying anything.

Reading quickly through the article and finding nothing new, I moved on to the rest of the paper. Scanning hastily and not expecting to find much worth reading, I unexpectedly screeched to a halt as I eyed a familiar name in the wedding announcements.

Raven Hartman-Wills was to wed Calvin Forester of the Randal Hill Forester's. I thought back to the attractive goddess that I had thought sure was the ultimate love of my life during my college years.

Known as simply Raven Hartman when we had dated, she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I had ever known, at least in the terms of what society describes as beautiful.

Aptly named with raven-black hair, alabaster skin with nary a blemish, and piercing blue eyes, she would (and probably still does) turn heads everywhere she went.

I had always thought that she enjoyed the attention a little too much. It was always a bone of contention in our relationship. She saw nothing wrong with it, but I didn't like it one bit.

For all of the tension that issue caused during our time together, it was my apparent lack of ambition that finally did us in. Raven's definition of ambition involved having the foresight to bring in the big bucks after I graduated.

She had secretly started dating a guy who had graduated the year before, and was by then a working accountant. I was then summarily told that he would be getting his CPA in a few months. That's when the dough would _really_ start rolling in.

I was devastated for a time, but eventually realized that she had done me a favor. I had finally come to understand that I could have never trusted her, and would have ended up a nervous wimp...constantly looking over _her_ shoulder to see who she was currently stringing along.

Ted Wills, the lucky accountant who later married Raven in a large, elaborate wedding ceremony covered by all the society pages, was not so lucky. He had ended up the wimp of the story two years later when she divorced him in favor of another man. The new man was of course richer and even _more_ powerful.

It was said that Ted had sat in the middle of the sidewalk, crying his eyes out the day she made him move out of "her" home.

A few more marriages followed over the years, with Raven moving up in societal status with each move. Her current impending marriage to Calvin Forester would indeed be her crowning achievement, as there was nobody higher up the totem pole for her to snag, unless of course she wanted to look elsewhere in the world.

My lips ratcheted up a notch as I read. I was feeling pretty good about how I had ended up, having finally found Betty and never looking back since.

I realized that she was probably about ready to get up and decided to surprise her with a cup of coffee in bed.

I quietly entered the room with two steaming cups only to find her sitting up against her pillows, reading plant catalogues. A slinky blue, satiny thing enveloped her luscious body and perfectly accentuated her wonderfully small breasts.

She looked up and smiled at the sight of me, me _or_ the hot coffee I was carrying. I wasn't sure which.

Either way, her glowing smile always made my heart skip a beat, and this time was no exception.

I sat on the edge of the bed, placing the cups on the night stand as I leaned in and gently kissed the luscious lips of my wife, a low moan of pleasure escaping from deep within her throat. Pulling back a few inches, I whispered while looking adoringly into her eyes.

"Do you still want the coffee?"

My answer was a smile, followed by the coffee cup appearing magically in her hand, her having reached under my arm while we kissed.

"You betcha." she voiced as she took a sip from the steaming brew, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the cup.

"But keep those lips warm, they may come in handy later."

We laughed as I took the hint and removed myself to the chair by the side of the bed, grabbing my own cup to enjoy while we talked.

"What are you reading honey?" I asked as she picked up one of the catalogues again.

"I don't know if you realize it," I said then, "But it's only February, and not one of those plants you are looking at will grow right now."

She effectively ignored me for a few seconds until she found the page she was looking for. Taking another sip, she continued to stare at the page before her for a few seconds before glancing at me with a serious face.

"You _know_ I've been looking for a specific lily for the back corner of the yard, and they have to be planted early if they are expected to bloom this year."

Betty's skill and fascination with landscaping had been a surprise to me when I found it out early in our relationship. The association between police work and landscape design did not make a logical connection in my mind.

She had explained that designing the landscape helped fill the creative side of her personality; something that police work mostly did not. Also, the physical work of planting and weeding was therapy for her, helping keep her sane after a day of dealing with criminal types and their unhappy relatives.

She totally enjoyed being one of the hosts for the annual flower and garden walking tour that the town sponsored, accepting compliments and handing out advice like a professional landscaper.

I was of course relegated to the watering as my summer contribution, not knowing the difference between a weed and a flower in most instances. She stated flatly that she deemed me a hazard to handle anything of more importance, and I humbly accepted my role without regret.

She continued to talk about various flowers and planting locations, showing me pictures of the ones she was the most interested in. I mostly just sat and smiled, enjoying listening to the passion in her voice and the taste of the coffee in my cup.

Eventually however, a funny look came over her face.

"I think I'm hungry Jeeves," she stated matter-of-factly, "I believe I'll have breakfast on the veranda."

"Would madam prefer the usual?" I chimed in, not missing a beat as I stood in preparation of leaving the room.

"The usual will do nicely," she continued, "but don't skimp on the eggs this week you brat."

I laughed and turned to head toward the kitchen. On Saturday morning we would throw caution to the wind and fill up on a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast; cholesterol be damned.

The rest of the week we tried to be good, semi-following the food pyramid or whatever they called it these days. Big greasy breakfasts were something we were both raised on, and we totally enjoyed our weekend morning excursions back in time.

I started on the bacon, getting out the big black iron skillet, no pansy microwave bacon for us. When that was done I poured out the grease (most of it) and started the eggs and toast. As I was getting ready to call up to Betty, I heard the tap, tap, tap, of Lucy heading for the stairs, her keen hearing having detected Betty's approach. I looked up to the beautiful site of my wife descending the stairs, wrapped in a white fluffy robe, her hair a muss in a totally sexy way.

She glided up to me, put her arms around my neck and lifted her face to mine in a lingering kiss. As she pulled away she was smiling, asking what a girl had to do to get fed around here.

I led her to her chair and stated that payment would be extensive, but she did not have to pay up until after breakfast. I returned to the stove to turn the eggs as the first batch of toast popped up out of the toaster. Setting it on a plate, I inserted two more slices and took the first batch to my wife.

"Eggs will be ready in a moment." I called over my shoulder as I headed back to the stove to finish the preparations. As I was finishing up I refilled our mugs with steaming coffee, then went back to retrieve the eggs and the new batch of toast.

We dug into the decadent treat and ate until we had our fill, finishing up with another cup of coffee while we sat around the table and talked. The case was at an impasse so we decided to take full advantage of our day off for some fun. Betty had the day planned out and she ticked off her schedule for my approval. Her whole day was full of things she loved to do, and I approved wholeheartedly of the plan, not having occasion to spend days like this together often.

After cleaning up the kitchen we got dressed and started the day off by hitching up Lucy and heading out on a several-block walk. Upon our return we started getting ready for the main part of the day, with a slight interruption while we took care of my breakfast payment. Fully satiated now, we got showered and dressed and headed out to Betty's Jeep for a long day of antiquing and snacking at some favorite culinary haunts of ours.

Starting with lunch at Lenny's, we would enjoy a piece of pie at Mona's bakery in the afternoon and supper at the Black Olive for some Italian, finishing up at the Dairy Mart for an ice cream dessert. In between the gluttony we would visit every Antique shop in the county, Betty being an avid collector of old furniture and knick-knacks.

We had decided to forgo a day ending visit to the pub in favor of a romantic evening of drinks in front of the fireplace. This was my only personal contribution to the day's schedule, and one that Betty readily agreed to when I had mentioned it.

It was indeed a wonderful day, following a schedule but having no schedule. I believe we must have looked at everything over fifty years old that the county had to offer, at the same time enjoying each others company like we were still dating.

Arriving back home at about seven o'clock, we were plenty tired but looking forward to our time together in front of the fire. I pulled together some old newspaper and kindling and started on the fire, then went off and took a quick shower, returning just in time to put some bigger logs on and get a good blaze going.

Betty said she would be back in a little while, as she was going to take a bubble bath and soak for a little while. Leaning over and kissing me gently, she moved her lips to my ear and whispered, "Don't worry; it will be worth the wait." Smiling alluringly, she sashayed off to her date with our claw foot tub.

"I love you." I called out after her as she disappeared around the corner.

"Back at cha buddy," she called out from the hall, her typical response whenever I told her I loved her.

When we had first started dating, she had just finished with a nasty divorce. Determined not to ever fall in love again, she was nonetheless taken aback by her growing feelings for me. To hold up her end of the bargain with herself, she started using the response whenever I told her I loved her. After awhile it seemed quite a normal response and I had determined to let it ride for as long as we were together.

I went to the sideboard and made Betty a drink, taking it over to the couch before sitting down in front of the now blazing logs to enjoy the warmth. Leaning my head back on the cushions, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the heat on my face.

I was surprised when I found myself back in my mysterious room, the warmth of that fire also feeling good on my skin. I took my usual place at the chair and picked up my coffee, inhaling the aroma before greedily taking a long draw of the liquid.

Glancing over at the chess board, I saw that my defensive move of earlier had held up and effectively detained the hordes for now.

Instantly seeing my next move, I moved my knight to the position I had laid out in my head earlier in the day. Feeling pretty proud of myself, I again leaned back in the chair and savored both the quiet and the coffee.

Leaning my head back into the pillow of the chair and closing my eyes, when I reopened I found that I was suddenly transported to a quiet country road.

As I looked around, the subtle odor of cigar smoke nudged for my attention. I was trying to discover the source of the scent when I noticed a house to my left. An older house, it had a large front porch that was draped with an American flag. Back in the shadows there appeared a small orange-red glow, growing brighter for a few seconds before it diminished until it was barely noticeable.

A noise caught my attention on the opposite side of the road. It sounded like a door closing, but no one was visible at the house sitting directly across from the first. A rustling noise then came from the side of the house as I made out a person walking. Head down, they were headed toward the road carrying something wrapped in what looked like a garbage bag. The dark hood of a coat or sweatshirt masked their identity from me.

Making it to the road, he or she turned away from me and made their way down the road a hundred feet before they got into a dark-colored compact and started the motor. Driving off down the road slowly, the person left the headlights off on the vehicle. I listened to the car retreat away from me, wondering at the sanity of someone driving with no lights on these dark roads.

***

I jerked awake, groggy. I found myself in the dark, and then noticed the fire before me that was partially blocked by a vision of beauty.

There was a gorgeous woman before me in a white negligee, the fire backlighting the gown leaving nothing to my imagination. I reached up and grabbed her hand, gently pulling this goddess toward me.

No words were exchanged as we curled into each other in a dance of love.

Caressing each other starting at the lips, we progressed to other regions, exploring each other with the passion of newlyweds while demonstrating the practiced motions of a couple long in love.

The lovemaking was gentle at first, gradually building in crescendo as we each strove to satisfy the hunger of the other, the heat building in intensity as we hurled headlong into the point of no return.

Striving for the peak with our whole being, the climax came amid a noisy discharge of ecstatic emotions, the room full of heartfelt moans of joy and release.

Happily covered in a film of moisture from the exertion, I reached up on the couch and pulled a blanket down to where we laid on the shaggy carpet in front of the fireplace.

Covering up my bride, we then intertwined our bodies as we basked in the glow of our lovemaking. Still using no words, we nonetheless communicated perfectly with each other. Looking into her eyes for what seemed like hours, we fell asleep in each other's arms, the perfect end to a perfect day.

We were still like that when a loud and penetrating noise invaded our reverie, both of us slowly awakening, groggy and confused. Betty was the first to realize it was the phone as she quickly stood, taking the blanket with her.

I groped around for another blanket. Finding one on a chair, I wrapped it around me before groggily following the sound of Betty's voice.

I could hear the distress in her tone as I heard her say we would be right there. When she turned to me, her face was completely drained of color and she immediately grabbed my waist in a hug.

Returning her embrace I asked her what was going on. She held tight for a few moments longer, looking down with the right side of her face against my chest.

When finally she moved her eyes up to meet mine, she had regained her composure, pulling her shoulders back while releasing her grasp, finally revealing the topic of the phone call.

"They found a hand."

Chapter 18

March 10, 1997

Betty was explaining to me that they had found a hand on the front steps of the courthouse.

I was fuddling with consciousness as I tried to wrap my head around what she was telling me. She then told me we needed to get dressed so we could meet the task force at the Sheriff's department.

Great.

We were both quiet on the trip, each of us trying to make sense of the late night phone call's revelation. Arriving at the Sheriff's office, we found the place swarming with various vehicles, most adorned with a star on the door.

Entering the building we were immediately thrown into a swarm of activity with people running everywhere. Allen Vanguard caught Betty's attention and she grabbed my sleeve to lead me into the conference room he had indicated. Seeing we were the last to arrive, I grabbed a couple cups of coffee and sat down next to Betty and Frank.

Frank had bags under his eyes, as did most of the people in the room. The hum of conversation around us sounded like a beehive ready to attack.

Allen closed the door and got everyone's attention with a shrill whistle using his thumb and second finger in a circle shoved under his tongue.

"Everybody settle down, we need some focus here," he said in a loud voice. Heading toward his seat, he flopped down with a loud grunt, laying his notebook on the table but leaning back in the chair without glancing at it.

"As you probably know, a passerby found a severed human hand on the courthouse steps about an hour ago. Finger prints have been taken and we should know if the potential victim is in the system in a few minutes."

As if on cue, a deputy entered the room in a hurry, heading directly toward Allen. The sounds of sirens started up in the background as the deputy turned to leave. From the sound of it, most of the Sheriff's department appeared to be leaving.

Allen looked over the information before giving us a name and address. Telling us to meet there in a few minutes, he immediately rose from the table and left the room. Betty mentioned that the address was only a mile away as we got up to leave. Frank opted to ride with us for the short trip.

As we drove we discussed the victim, Harold Longstreet was a name none of us were familiar with. Wolf Run was also unknown to me, but Betty and Frank had both patrolled it over the course of their duties.

Arriving at the scene, I was flabbergasted to realize that this was the house I had stood in front of earlier in the evening, stood in front of in my dream. As Betty and Frank were getting out of the Jeep, Betty noticed that I had made no attempt to get out. I had an uncomprehending look on my face.

"Gabe," Betty said with concern, "is everything ok?"

Coming out of my trance, I quickly got out of the car, mumbling that I would tell her later.

***

Two deputies first on the scene had tried to rouse someone using the standard knock and announce. When they received no response, they rounded the house, checking windows and doors as they went. Finding the back door open, they drew weapons and entered slowly, clearing one room before entering another. Arriving in the living room, they had found what they were afraid that they would find.

Mr. Longstreet was lying in a pool of his own blood.

***

The deputies got busy securing the scene as the road outside filled with strobes of red and blue. By the time we had arrived, it was so congested at the scene that we had to park a hundred yards from the house and walk the rest of the way. Already cordoned off with crime scene tape, we were immediately let in while most of the deputies were held back in the yard.

Inside we found Allen huddling with Sheriff McHenry while the rest of the task force was gloving up to start the investigation. Glancing around, I observed a relatively clean room with well-worn furniture and few lights. Neat stacks of magazines and newspapers filled most of the nooks around the room, making it look more like he was a collector rather than a hoarder. I grabbed a pair of gloves myself and eased over to the body for a preliminary look, taking care where I stepped.

The body was lying on its back about six feet inside the door, the knife still sticking from the bloody chest wound. The right hand was loosely wrapped around the knife, as if he had tried to pull it out before he had expired.

The left arm was laying straight out from the body, ending abruptly in a bloody stump, a gory meat cleaver lying nearby. Bent metal-rimmed glasses lay on the floor three feet above his prone body.

Lying in the pool of blood surrounding the arm was a card with the word _'GHOST'_ beaming up at us. Blood had soaked into the edges of the paper, creating a macabre veined look to it that sent an involuntary chill up my spine.

Betty was beside me while Frank took up position on the other side of the body, crouching down to get a better look. Mr. Longstreet was wearing pajamas under a threadbare robe that appeared to have been dark blue at one time. There were no apparent footprints left by the murderer. He would have had to be extremely careful to have avoided blood on his shoes in _this_ room.

"Knife and cleaver appear to be standard kitchen hardware," Frank stated from his crouched position. "I'll go check to see if I can confirm that," he said as he bounced up like his legs were made of springs. He then headed to the kitchen to compare the knives there with the murder weapons.

Betty tugged at my sleeve and pointed toward the door, "the front door hasn't been compromised, and the lock and handle are intact. Has anyone checked the back door for signs of a break-in?"

"Back door was closed but unlocked when we got here," Tucker Vance piped in as he entered the room from the bedroom. "No sign of a break-in there, and the front door was locked." A flashback of the mysterious perp coming from the back of the house gave me a chill as I was reminded once again of the vision.

"You think he knew his attacker?" Betty questioned with a surprised look on her face.

I looked down at the late Mr. Longstreet, wondering just how many acquaintances our apparent hermit had, and how many of those would be visiting in the middle of the night. Another thought entered my head, so I threw it out for discussion.

"Maybe it wasn't someone he knew, maybe it was someone he thought he could trust," I offered, having no idea what or who that would be.

"Who could get the old man to open his door and invite in this late at night?" No one commented on the thought, but their looks told me they were thinking about it.

I moved to the outside of the room looking for any additional clues. I noticed some display cabinets that I hadn't detected earlier, a closer look revealing that these held maybe a hundred or more pocket watches of every conceivable size and design, all of them looked to be antique. I could guess that their value would be easily in the thousands or more. Frank appeared beside me and a "wow" escaped his lips as his eyes landed on the accumulated time pieces.

"I do believe robbery is out as a motive," I stated flatly, not having seriously considered that as a motivation for the perp until now anyway.

Moving on, I noticed that some of the periodicals stacked ubiquitously in the house were quite old, but as I made my way further around the room it became quite apparent that _none_ of them were recent editions. I hadn't seen any that were newer than five years old, further evidence that old Harold didn't get out much and probably didn't do a lot of entertaining.

Moving to the kitchen and looking into the trash bin revealed it to be full of containers used by the local charity that brought meals to shut-ins; this guy hadn't had much of any contact with the public for quite awhile.

Having another thought, I made a note to check on the people working at the charity that regularly delivered meals to Harold. It was a long shot, but they _would_ be somebody that he trusted and would let in his house at night.

Walking back into the living room, my eyes wandered to the window where I was greeted by a sight that caused me to blink my eyes in disbelief...an American flag.

An old front porch, draped with an American flag.

Chapter 19

March 10, 1997

I pulled Betty aside, telling her I would be right back; I had a hunch to follow. Looking at me quizzically, she nodded then turned back to the investigation. I left through the front door, pulling up on the crime-scene tape as I walked under it and continued across the road.

The house seemed to be a weather-beaten yellow with what must have once been white trim. Tidy in appearance and well maintained overall, the owner would seem to be someone that took pride in his home, and the flag draped on the porch also attested to the owner's patriotism.

The lingering scent of cigar smoke as I padded up the steps brought back yet another memory from my dream, as an eerie feeling of déjà-vu crawled up my spine. I hated to bother people when they were sleeping, but if what I saw earlier was true at all, this man may have been an inadvertent witness to this murder.

I tapped on the door three times and waited, getting no response. I was preparing to again knock on the door when I noticed the reflection of a light on the ground beside the house, the shape of window panes clearly outlined in the shadows. Presently the light on the other side of the door switched on and I heard someone fumbling with the lock. The door creaked slightly as it slowly opened a crack, and then continued on its arc as the owner stepped forward.

"Well hello, Gabriel, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Before me stood a short African-American man, slight of build but with the bearing of a one who had worked hard for a living and was proud of what he had accomplished.

"Hello, Zeke, I had no idea that you lived out this way," I said, taken aback a little at knowing the owner.

"You mind if I come in for a moment? I'm afraid I need to ask you a couple of questions."

Motioning to follow him, he turned and led me into a small but tidy living room with two upholstered chairs and a couch. These were arranged in a semicircle around the old TV set. He held out his hand palm up at a chair as an offering to sit down, which I did, observing pictures of his wife and kids spread out throughout the room.

Ezekiel Green was a fixture around town, having started life in what was called New Town in the old days, always considered at that time _"the wrong side of the tracks."_

Graduating high school in the late thirties, he had enlisted in the Marines to see the world. When the Japanese started World War Two, he was stationed in the Philippines and was eventually captured with the rest of his command at Bataan. Forced on the Bataan Death March with his fellow soldiers, he and his buddies survived the ordeal by sheer willpower and propping each other up when the other faltered.

For the rest of the war he existed as a prisoner in numerous Japanese internment camps. Upon his release and subsequent discharge he came back to town and got busy, the pent-up energy of his confinement pushing him relentlessly.

He courted and married his high school girl friend and found a job in construction. After a few years he went out on his own and made a good name for himself as an excellent carpenter. After his wife died six years ago, he abruptly quit working and entered retirement, a good portion of which he spent at the Legion with old Doc Elliot.

"I guess you're involved with the circus across the road eh? What'd old man Longstreet do to get all you out of bed in the middle of the night?"

Looking him straight in the eye, I broke the news to him that Mr. Longstreet had been murdered.

"You don't say," Zeke stated, suddenly very serious. "Loony as a bird that one, but still, you don't wish that on anybody."

"Did you see anyone over there tonight, or see or hear anything strange?" I asked, almost knowing what he was going to say.

"Yes sir, I did notice that he had a visitor earlier in the evening. Fellow didn't stay very long though, so I didn't pay him too much attention. Thinkin' back on it now though, fellow left out the back door wearing different clothes when he come out, left in a car he parked down the road if I recollect correctly. But that can't be the guy you're looking for."

In answer to the confusion showing on my face he continued, "That guy was one of yours."

"I'm sorry, Zeke, I'm still confused, what do you mean he is one of mine?" I questioned, almost dreading the answer.

With a serious look on his face he leaned forward, as if trying to teach a dense child a tidbit of knowledge.

"The guy I saw tonight was one of yours Gabriel, he was wearing a uniform, same as some of them fellows across the road is wearing right this very moment."

"The man I saw was a sheriff's deputy."

Chapter 20

March 10, 1997

The man was ecstatic!

He had already called off work; there is no way he could pretend to do his menial job at the Save-A-Bunch today...no, not today. The well laid out plan had worked like a charm. It had only taken three trips past the house before he had confirmed that the neighbor was sitting on his porch, a witness the mentor had insisted on for some reason.

Parking just out of sight down the road and traveling on foot to the small house, he had easily gained entry posing as a deputy with a dead cruiser.

The witless old man had shown him to the phone in the kitchen, leaving him alone to make the call. Spotting the knives on the counter, he had silently grabbed one with his gloved hand as he waited for the call to go through. The answering machine picked up, telling him that no one was there at the moment, and to please leave a message.

"The Ghost strikes again," he whispered into the phone. "Thanks for making it so easy," he finished with a smile before hanging up the receiver. Slipping the knife up his left sleeve and holding the hilt in place with his cupped hand, the man then turned back toward the living room.

"Find someone to help?" the old man asked when he had exited the kitchen.

"Oh, they will get the message all right," the man said with a smile, enjoying his play on words, enjoying himself immensely truth be known.

The old man stood up from his chair as the visitor passed by him on the way to the front door. Pulling the knife out of his sleeve with his right hand, he waited for the old man to get close enough on his way to open the door. When he sensed him in the right location, he swiftly turned on his heel, bringing the knife up in an arc and finding its mark just below the sternum.

"Thank you for your help," the stranger said clearly as first surprise, then fear entered the old man's eyes.

The orgasmic rush gave the stranger shivers as he happily watched his victim's life ebb out of his eyes. The old man was reaching up feebly and grabbing at the knife in a last ditch effort to pull it out, his last breath escaping his body in a rattle as small red bubbles formed on his mouth.

Realizing that he was now holding up the dead weight of the body, the man pushed it away and watched it land on the floor like a felled tree. Taking a few moments, he closed his eyes to enjoy the feelings streaming through his body; the intensity of emotions almost overwhelming.

Coming back down to earth, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling out 2 garbage bags he had earlier wrapped around his stomach.

Heading into the kitchen, he picked up the meat cleaver he had spotted with the knives and returned to the body. The cleaver was sharpened to a fine honed edge, making the removal of the hand easier than he had expected. Opening one of the bags, he placed the hand inside of it and then carefully sealed it with the built-in pull-strings.

Removing his outer gloves revealed the latex coverings underneath as he opened the second bag, depositing in it the bloody gloves, followed by the deputy's jacket he had worn into the house. Pulling the hood up on the sweatshirt he had worn under the jacket, he worked for a moment folding the bags into as small of a package as he could muster. Heading to the kitchen again, he exited out the back door and worked his way quietly around the house to the road. Continuing on to the car he had obtained for this project, he got in and started down the road, straining to see the road ahead as he left the lights off for the first mile.

***

Approaching court house square, he carefully parked a block away, waiting in the car for a few minutes before exiting the vehicle with one of his packages. He then got out and made his way to the front entrance of the building, the one he knew would be in the shadows due to lack of maintenance and a burned out bulb. Taking a last quick look to confirm his being alone on the street, he climbed the first two steps, undoing the ties on the garbage bag and then turning the bag upside down to deposit the hand.

Quickly retreating down the steps while folding the bag, he headed back to the car, getting in and starting the vehicle before traveling toward the bridge at the edge of town.

Pulling off the side of the deserted bridge, he got out of the car and threw the bags into the river. Re-entering the vehicle, he then drove to the nearest empty fast food parking lot, turned around and headed back to town.

Crossing the bridge again, he turned at the first right and parked the car on the deserted street. Finally leaving the car with the keys in the ignition, he walked the fifteen blocks back to his apartment.

A grin formed on his lips as, just before entering his apartment, he heard sirens in the distance.

"Maybe they have found the hand already," he thought to himself as he unlocked his door and entered the living room.

Once inside, the man stood quietly in the dark, reliving the night's events in his head over and over. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his newest token, feeling the ring with his fingers. It was fate that drew his eyes to the mantle and the ring upon it, the light reflecting brightly off of it seemingly a sign to the man that it was his reward. His mentor would be angry if she found out, but he would cross that bridge if it came up later.

He had celebrated the rest of the night with various forms of alcohol, which was also a contributing factor in his calling off work this day. Taking the ring once again out of his pocket, he took in some of the details through his bloodshot eyes.

Smiling at his prize, he deposited it back into his pocket and clasped his hands behind his head. It was a good day to be the Ghost, a very good day indeed.

Chapter 21

March 10, 1997

Zeke's revelation had left me speechless and confused.

I sat back in the chair and went over the facts in my mind while Zeke looked on quietly. Whether he fully understood the implications of what he had just told me were doubtful, but it appeared he realized that something had rung a bell in my head at the very least.

"Zeke, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to get dressed and come down and make a statement."

Shrugging his shoulders, having apparently resigned himself to the reality of not sleeping again anytime soon, he rose from his chair. He then started off to his bedroom to change.

"I'll be right back," I called after him as he made his way down the hall. He raised a hand over his shoulder in recognition that I had indeed said something and that he was listening.

Pulling open the front door, the icy stab of the winter cold hit my face like a thrown rock. I shook off the shock and headed across the road toward the yellow police tape.

Spotting a deputy, I was about to recruit him to take Ezekiel in for his statement when, catching a glimpse of his uniform, I thought better of it and just gave him a wave as I passed.

Inside the house, the preliminary was wrapping up and they were clearing out to let the forensic guys have a go at it. I swept through the living room, coming up on Frank and Betty in the kitchen. Grabbing Betty's elbow and looking Frank in the eyes I mouthed 'follow me' as I led them out the back door, not stopping until we were thirty feet from the house in the overgrown back yard.

Grabbing both of my befuddled friends by the shoulder, I pulled them close for a huddle as I started repeating the conversation I'd had moments ago.

A look of confusion crossed both of their faces as I treaded my way through the earlier conversation, soon to be replaced by looks of both shock and alarm as the ramification of what I was telling them sunk in.

"What's our next step?" Frank asked almost timidly, knowing we needed to attack but not knowing a direction to take.

"Zeke's getting ready to go down and give us a statement. I thought I would ride with him; you two follow close behind and keep an eye out. If on some off chance there is an actual deputy involved, I don't want to risk leaving Zeke unprotected. We'll meet at our offices in the courthouse; I'll call Allen and let him in on it when we get there."

Both quickly agreed to my plan. We walked across the road and let ourselves into the house, calling out for Zeke when I had the door shut again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he half shouted as he slowly made his way down the hall, inserting an open box of 'I-Bolds' into his jacket pocket as he walked in. Everyone in town knew Zeke, and he greeted Betty and Frank like they were supposed to be there.

"Can we take your car?" I started, trying to sound as normal as possible. "I could ride with you, and they will follow us downtown."

"You can ride with me, sure," he started, a sly look in his eye, "but I ain't got a car."

I mentally started working on plan 'B' as Zeke slowly made his way toward the front door. Turning with a grin, he finally said, "Got a truck though, will that work?"

Smiling, I patted him on the back and told him that would work just fine.

***

After getting the truck started and backing down the dark driveway with no working backup lights, we started on our long, slow, and very cold journey toward town. Directing him to the courthouse, I turned to take a comforting look at Betty following us in the Jeep.

Arriving at the courthouse, I unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm, a recent addition to the building. After we all got inside, I again relocked the door and reset the alarm before leading our guest to my office for his statement.

I asked Frank to get him started on the statement, and he led Zeke into the conference room as Betty got some coffee started. I headed to my office to make the phone call that I was dreading, bringing Allen up to speed on our newest and most disturbing information.

I was not looking forward to this at all.

Chapter 22

March 10, 1997

"Is he a credible witness?" Allen asked, maybe the twentieth question he had asked since the start of the conversation.

"I've known Zeke for years Allen; he's a good man, keeps to himself most of the time. He has no reason to lie that I can see. Point of fact, when I went to question him, he was sleeping."

The phone was silent for several seconds as Allen mulled over how all of the scenarios that this new information conveyed could play out.

"I'll be there directly, keep your witness under wraps until I get there." The phone clicked in my ear as he terminated the connection.

Hanging up the receiver, I walked over and stuck my head into the conference room, asking Ezekiel how he took his coffee. Moving on to the break room, I made four cups of coffee: black for Betty and I, light cream for Frank, and four sugars for Zeke.

Carrying the cups back to the conference room, I distributed them to their respective drinkers. Frank was going over the testimony with Zeke as Betty was writing it down, a tape recorder also running for backup. We would have him read over the written transcript and sign it if it met his approval.

No new information came to light on this retelling of the story; Zeke being very precise in his recollection of the events. I again marveled to myself at the similarities of his memories versus mine experienced while in the dream.

As we were finishing up, I heard the far off sound of the door closing down the hall, followed by a series of beeps as Allen worked the security system. Meeting Allen at the door of our suite, I took him back and introduced him to Zeke.

Plopping down in the chair next to our witness, Allen offered his hand while looking Zeke in the eye, a technique always used by our prosecutor to gauge the cut of a man. Satisfied, he asked the witness to go over his testimony one more time.

At the conclusion of the account, Allen thanked him and got out of the chair, asking me to follow him to his office.

"Close the door," he said distractedly as we entered the room. He sat in his chair and put the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to rub the exhaustion out of his body as I took the seat opposite his desk and waited.

Finally looking up, his eyes red from rubbing, he leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest.

"This is a disaster," he started gloomily. "Between the gun and the uniform sighting there is overwhelming evidence of possible involvement by someone in the sheriff's department. The whole unit has effectively been compromised by these revelations, at the very least in perception, if not in actual fact."

Leaning forward again, he looked me in the eye. "I see no other option than to call in the State Police to take over the sheriff's operations and investigate the whole department. This is unprecedented, beyond anything in my wildest nightmares."

I was forced by the overwhelming facts to agree with his decision, and would not relish the role he would have to play as his decision played itself out. Public outcry when this got out would be loud and long, truly a nightmare for any publicly elected official.

Allen was seeing his whole career potentially melt away before his eyes, not to mention that of Lean McHenry's.

He picked up the phone and made the call both of us saw as the only real option. Allen apologized to the commander for waking him up from a sound sleep, but quickly got to the point of the call, the commander coming full awake as the facts were revealed to him. The State Police would mobilize and be there en-force by nine o'clock. They would meet Allen in the parking lot, entering the sheriff's department together in a blitzkrieg, the need for surprise paramount.

Ticking off the main points of the plan to me when he got off of the phone, I was somewhat surprised at the swiftness of it all. Knowing that it was what needed to be done however, I asked Allen what we should do with Zeke in the mean time. If there was actual sheriff's department involvement, there could be a danger to him if someone found out what he had seen.

"I don't want to do anything official until this plays out in the morning," Allen stated, deep in thought as to a solution. "Is there any place we can stash him for a few hours, keep him out of sight but safe until after the shit hits the fan?"

I thought but for a few seconds, my lips curling into a smile as I realized the perfect solution for our dilemma.

"I'll take care of it right away," I told my boss as I turned to leave the room.

"Make sure the Task Force is in place at the parking lot at nine, minus the sheriff's contingent of course," Allen called after me as I left the room. I waved my acknowledgement as I made my way to the conference room.

Questioning eyes followed me in the room as I made my way to the table, taking the seat next to Zeke.

"Zeke, we need to take you somewhere for awhile, we just want to make sure you are safe for a few more hours."

A surprised look crossed every face in the room, Ezekiel asking, "Am I in danger?"

"We don't think so, but we don't want to take any chances," I tried to reassure him.

I felt Betty's hand on my thigh, squeezing it as if to ask ' _what was going on?'_

I glanced at her and squeezed her hand with mine, conveying with a look that I would fill her in soon. Having been together for years, she understood me like no one ever had, her abilities to read my mind always amazing me.

I asked Frank if we could take his car so that we could all ride together. He agreed and started digging the keys out of his pocket while also giving me a questioning look. I told Zeke that his truck would be safe here, and that he would get it back later that day.

We all filed out of the room, exiting the courthouse and piling into Frank's sedan. I gave Frank the address when he started the car, the trip taking only about ten minutes through the deserted streets.

Arriving at our destination, I asked everyone to wait until I could awaken someone in the house. Exiting the car, I was hoping that he would be in a good mood after I knocked on his door in the middle of the night.

Really, really hoping.

Chapter 23

March 10, 1997

I walked up the three steps onto the very dark front porch, and then advanced to the front door. Holding my breath, I knocked loudly on the door and waited for a response.

I could hear nothing from inside the house and was getting ready to knock again, when I detected the telltale metallic click of a gun being cocked from the other side of the door.

"I already been saved," the gravely voice coming from inside the house started, "and my vacuum sweeper is a peach, so you better have a damn good reason for being on my porch in the middle of the night."

I stepped to the side of the door, just in case, before replying to his challenge.

"Doc, it's me, Gabe Celtic, open the door, will ya?"

Soon the clink of the dead bolt reached my ears, the door opening a crack; the barrel of a twelve gauge peeking out through the slit. The door then swung open the rest of the way, Doc Elliot pocketing the large gun in the crook of his arm as he looked upon me from his dark entry.

"Didn't your dear sweet departed mother ever teach you not to go around waking up old men in the middle of the night?"

I smiled in spite of myself, and then got down to describing the reason for my transgression. Telling him as much as I could, I finished with the request to stash Zeke here for a few hours.

Doc listened intently, then insisted on getting Ezekiel into the house ASAP. I went back to the car, helping Zeke out of the back seat and following him up the sidewalk.

"What are you doing up this time of night you old fart?" Zeke started in on Doc,

"You look like you might need a few more hours of beauty sleep. If I'd known I was coming here, I would have brought my checkerboard so I could whip your ass as usual."

"I got a checkerboard you cantankerous old fool, and an unopened bottle of scotch to boot. We'll see how you make out on my home turf, without all that damn smoke at the legion blocking my vision."

I turned to go, but Doc grabbed my shoulder and I turned back to face the old practitioner.

"I don't really know what this is all about, but you got nothing to worry about on this end, you go take care of your stuff, I'll take care of old Zeke here."

I thanked him, saying I would call when I had anything I could reveal. Leaving the house, I headed back to the car, finally able to tell my partners about the impending storm coming at us from over the horizon. It had already been a long day, and it was only just beginning.

Chapter 24

March 10, 1997

Sheriff McHenry's day had already been one of his worst ever, and it was only eight thirty in the morning. Pulling the cigarette out from behind his ear and throwing it into his mouth, he started searching for a lighter, stopping not because of his vow to quit, but because he remembered he had stopped carrying it a week ago.

Throwing the now half chewed cigarette into the waste can with a string of profanity, he pulled out another from his pack and stuck it into his mouth, vowing to obtain a lighter before the hour was out.

The forensic guys had finished the second murder scene and had found scant evidence, further testing might yet reveal something more but he was not hopeful. His men had gone over the grounds and also found nothing, the task force having had sole authority of the actual crime scene and of going over the interior of the home.

Tucker came in and had told him first thing this morning that the Task Force had actually started to develop a couple of workable theories when Gabriel, Betty and Frank Luther had disappeared from the crime scene.

Pissed off at the lack of professionalism and professional courtesy, the sheriff had tried to put a call in to Allen Vanguard to give him a piece of his mind. Trying all of the numbers that he had for the man, he soon discovered that the prosecutor was also missing.

What the hell was going on in this county? The whole place was going to hell in a hand basket.

He yelled out the door for someone to bring him a cup of coffee, pronto. Three deputies scrambled out of their seats to fulfill the request, but were waved off by Jane as she filled a cup and headed into the lion's den.

"You need to take a few deep breaths, Sheriff," she stated sternly as she entered his office. "You strutting around and yelling at the top of your lungs is not going to solve anything, much less these murders."

She set the cup down on his desk and took a seat opposite him. He looked like hell, he had let his blood pressure get out of hand, his face redder than usual. He was probably not taking his pills with any regularity.

"I'm sure the evidence will give us a direction soon, you just need to calm down and trust the forensics, and your men. Getting mad is just a reaction, an emotion; it doesn't do anything to move the investigation forward."

The sheriff seemed to relax slightly, tentatively leaning back in his chair and planting the cigarette back behind his ear.

"I know you're right, JJ, but Vanguard and his people are off to who knows where doing who knows what without a word to me or the men. How the hell are we supposed to run an investigation when half the players are missing or going in a different direction?

"For all I know they all got thirsty and traipsed off to Starbucks for a God damned latte."

Jane smiled at the sheriff's visualization of the prosecutor; knowing her dad had never thought too much of Allen Vanguard and the way he ran his department. It was however a little disturbing the way that they had disappeared from the crime scene like that, like they had found something they couldn't or wouldn't share; odd.

The sheriff seemed less stressed now, so she rose to get back to her duties.

"Anything else you need before I go?" she asked before turning to leave the room.

"No, thanks," Sheriff McHenry said as he leaned forward and started going through the reports from the murder.

"Yes," he said suddenly, looking up and catching Jane just before she was out of sight. "Get me a lighter, pronto," he said before looking back down at the papers.

Jane just shook her head as she continued on to her desk.

***

Lean McHenry's concentration on his reports was interrupted by a commotion in the outer office. Getting up out of his chair, he quickly went to the door, the scene before him bringing a fire to his eyes as anger welled in his heart.

"What the hell is going on here?" he shouted as he watched first the prosecutor, then a progression of other men enter his office wearing the uniform of the state highway patrol.

The uniformed men surrounded the perimeter of the office as Allen Vanguard and a vaguely familiar gray-haired man strode directly toward the sheriff.

"Lean, I'm sure you know Commander Wilson of the ISP," the prosecutor intoned in a low voice when he got closer to the sheriff.

"I'm sorry to say that he is here with his men because of a potentially serious situation that was discovered involving the murder last night. Please order your men to stop what they are doing and to sit tight. No phone calls or other communications are to be permitted. Your deputies are also required to carefully unload their weapons and give them up to the troopers in a professional manner. After that is accomplished, we need to see you in your office."

Sheriff McHenry's face was a mask of invulnerability as he stood stiffly in place for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening in front of him. As his mind worked quickly to determine whether or not to make a stand against this uncalled-for invasion, he was simultaneously calculating the odds of a successful counter-attack.

Finally relenting to the overwhelming odds before him however, the sheriff gave the orders as instructed, then stood aside as the two men entered his office ahead of him.

Closing the door behind him with his left hand, he let the right come to rest on the butt of his service piece as he turned around. He was primed to tear into the two men now standing in his office, but what he faced instead was the head of the state police with his weapon leveled, the barrel of a Glock 22 pointing at his chest.

"What the hell is going on here?" the sheriff literally screamed, "What the hell is this all about?"

Allen Vanguard put his hand on the commander's weapon, saying "That won't be necessary commander, the sheriff is a professional."

Moving his eyes back to Lean, "Sheriff, we need you to relinquish your weapon."

As the head trooper holstered his gun, Lean McHenry considered again drawing his own in retaliation, but eventually thought better of it. Unsnapping his revolver and removing it from the holster, he then handed it butt first to the commander.

The sheriff felt naked, confused, and powerless. He had never felt this way before and his heart dropped in his chest at the realization.

"Lean, sit down please," Allen said as he and the commander took the seats on the far side of the desk, leaving the sheriff his own seat.

This seemed to comfort him slightly, enough that he let loose with, "What the blazes is this all about?"

Allen sat back and started his explanation. "Last night we found a witness that saw someone in a sheriff deputy's uniform go into the house right before the murder."

The Sheriff's jaw dropped at the news, a dread filling his soul as he realized the implications of the revelation.

"Add to that the murder weapon from the original murders coming from the sheriff's lockup and you have a pretty telling tale that, at the very least, your department has been compromised, at worst it is one of your own people doing the killing."

"You can see where we are going with this; where we _have_ to go," Allen continued. "We need to isolate everyone in the department, from each other as well as from anyone on the outside. We also need to interview everyone, as well as run them through a lie detector test. The state guys will conduct the interviews as well as cover the duties of your department until this gets straightened out. Now that you know the problem we're confronted with, I think you will understand the need to comply with what we've discussed here this morning."

The sheriff reluctantly shook his head in the affirmative.

"We will need someone from your department to call in all of your off-duties, without letting them know what is going on. One of the commander's men will be monitoring these calls also."

Staring straight ahead as if in a trance, Lean McHenry snapped out of it and quickly rose from his chair.

"Let's get this crap over with," he mumbled as he headed toward the door and called in Jane. Commander Wilson also called one of his guys in over the radio. Both the trooper and a confused looking Jane arrived at the same time.

"Jane, I guess this is your escort. Call in all of the guys that are off, tell them we have a bit of an emergency. If they ask, just tell them it came straight from me and you don't know any of the particulars."

She nodded and turned to leave, her tail man following close behind.

"We'll get everyone back to status as soon as we can clear them Lean," Allen continued reassuringly, "But everyone will have to go through the process, even you." he finished with finality.

Remembering the cigarette behind his ear, the sheriff pulled it down and stuck it in his mouth, chewing the end in aggravation. This was definitely his worst day ever, and where the hell was that lighter?

Chapter 25

March 10, 1997

Allen had us wait outside until it was over; the total castration of the sheriff's department. After about ten minutes, our boss reappeared in the parking lot and came over to our location, a look I can only describe as distaste showing on his face.

"Ok, the process is started. I promised Lean it would be as quick as possible. Gabe, can you go on in and get everything that Tucker and Larry have on the case and get it over to our office? Please assure them that they are supposed to be among the first to go through the process to be cleared. As soon as that happens, have them come over to work on the case from there for now."

"Betty, get in touch with Harry Clausing and have him meet at our offices also. When everyone is there, I would like to go back to the Wolf Creek crime scene and go over it again. Any questions?"

No one did, so Betty pulled out her cell to call Harry as I caught up with Allen on his way back in.

"How'd it go in there?" I asked as I finally caught up with the fast walking prosecutor.

"About what you would expect if the Gestapo had entered your office with guns leveled and made you strip naked in front of everybody. It was totally humiliating, for everybody. It was the worst idea I ever had, and the only legally sound one that I felt I had available. I feel like crap."

I had nothing to add to the conversation, so the rest of the walk was silent as we made our way into the sheriff's office. I found Tucker sitting at his desk, more or less looking at ease, sitting quietly, awaiting his turn. Turning his witness chair around backwards, I plopped down beside his desk like I did it every day, looking much more gallant than I felt. Leaning forward conspiratorially and in a low tone I told him how sorry I was for how this went down.

He shrugged his shoulders and said he understood, from what he had heard, it sounded like a reasonable play considering the circumstances.

I reached over and squeezed his shoulder, then told him what my mission entailed; reassuring him the he and Larry were supposed to be cleared as soon as possible so that they could get back to work on the case.

He opened a drawer and pulled out some files, grabbing a rubber band and binding them together before handing them to me. Saying he would go grab Larry's stuff, he got up and headed across the room.

While I was waiting, I looked around the room, taking in the activity. Lean was in the corner at Jane's desk, looking over her shoulder, pointing here and there at different papers on the desk as she took notes in response. Probably scheduling deputies for interviews and lie detector testing, I thought absently.

A commotion across the room caught my attention, hearing a loud "Hell No!" as my eyes rested on the scene of Tucker leaning over Larry's desk. Apparently Larry was not as forgiving as Tucker was to my request. I couldn't blame him one bit for his feelings.

Tucker kept at it though, and eventually Larry relented, handing his files to the other deputy. Tucker nodded in appreciation.

Walking back over, he handed me the files. "I'll be glad when this is over," he mumbled tiredly.

"You and me both," I agreed, offering my hand which he took immediately into his.

"I'll see you in a bit," I said before turning and heading out of the office.

I have not been so glad to leave a place in a long, long time.

Chapter 26

March 10, 1997

There was a hint of spring in the air as I walked to our office from the Sheriff's department. I couldn't wait for this case to be over. Betty would want to get to her garden soon and I was feeling truly helpful this year. Carrying the accumulated info from the deputies, I took the steps of the courthouse two at a time, the hallway inside now very busy as I entered.

Opening the door to our suite, I spied Betty and Frank huddled around the desk we were currently using for the hotline recorder we had recently set up for anyone with info on the original murder.

Betty glanced back and caught sight of me, motioning with her hand excitedly to come over there. As I arrived she looked up again with excitement in her eyes, saying "Listen to this!" Nodding at Frank, he played a message on the answering machine we use when no one is manning the station.

When I heard the message, chills ran down my spine.

" _The Ghost strikes again, thanks for making it so easy."_

Their eyes met mine, the surprise evident on my face.

"It's him," I said, dumbfounded. I had them replay it several times, trying to catch any clue in the voice that would help us in identifying the murderer. The only thing I could garner was that the whispered voice seemed young, maybe someone in their twenties, but definitely male.

"We should send this to the state for voiceprint analysis," I said, trying to wrap my head around the situation. "Then we have something to compare to on future communications, or when we catch him for that matter."

"Caller ID confirms that the call came from the Longstreet residence," Frank stated in his professional policeman voice. "Timestamp shows it came in at 11:36 PM."

"This is great, and a ballsy move by the murderer, but it's not exactly the break in the case I was hoping for," I said somewhat dejectedly.

"Maybe not," Betty started, excitement still showing in her eyes, "but this might be."

Again nodding to Frank, she was smiling as a second voice spilled from the machine; this one much older, with more of a southern drawl.

" _Hello... Hello...anyone there? Well anyways, I saw on the TV about the people being murdered on that highway awhile back. When I realized what night that was, well...to tell you the truth, I got a might scared. But when they advertized this number asking for help, I figured I oughta call."_

" _I think I mighta seen that feller that night, I pulled over to help some guy, but he decided at the last minute to go to a car that pulled in behind me. The thing is, what I keep thinking about the most is....well...I coulda been the first one murdered!"_

Chapter 27

March 10, 1997

I was dumbfounded, a smile spreading across my face at the realization that we at last had a lead. The rest of my crew was also smiling, excitement _finally_ in the air.

"Well, you guys found him, see if you can meet this man and take his statement."

That seemed to please them greatly, and they got busy making arrangements. I was antsy to get back to the crime scene, so I found Harry and asked him to meet me at the scene. I then left a message with Ellen, asking the deputies to meet us there as soon as possible when they arrived at our office. I also wrote a note to Allen, letting him know we had a couple of leads, and that I would fill him in later.

My step was a little lighter as I left the courthouse; the first real break had fallen in our lap out of the blue. Someone living had possibly talked to, and maybe even seen the murderer. This day that had started off so bad was starting to look up.

I had to show my badge and ID to the muscular trooper guarding the Longstreet house since he didn't know me from Adam. Harry pulled in right behind me in his city cruiser. It took him several seconds to unfold himself from behind the wheel.

We gloved up as the trooper unlocked the door and stood aside. Entering the house, I prepared myself for the long haul, expecting to have to spend several hours here this time around.

We started at the front door, each of us slowly working around the room in opposite directions. Everything had been recorded in picture and drawing, so we could more readily move things and dig deeper this time around. I passed several stacks of newspapers and magazines, doing but a cursory inspection of these items for now, only checking to make sure there was nothing important stuck in between any of the issues.

I came upon the fireplace mantle and took a few minutes to take it in, noticing four framed objects that stuck out at me.

Two were deep frames with individual pocket watches, more than likely the most valuable of his collection. Another frame contained a Bachelors' Degree from Purdue in engineering; the date on the document was 1939. The final frame contained a certificate from the Governor of Kentucky, declaring Mr. Longstreet a Kentucky Colonel in good standing.

An old mantle clock stood guard at the center of the fireplace, the thickness of the dust indicating it hadn't been wound in quite a while. Paying more attention to the thick dust covering the whole mantle, it also occurred to me that there was no fingerprint dust anywhere on the wooden structure. My best guess would be that the techs didn't see the need, since any prints would have been quite apparent.

Noticing some knickknacks on an upper shelf, I pulled a chair over and stood up to take a look. There were various pieces of mostly uninteresting items, most of these being shoved to the back of the shelf. A few were prominent toward the front of the shelf however, another pocket watch hanging from a hook in a small glass globe, a small model of a World War I biplane, and a small frame holding an old tintype of a couple that I can only guess were his parents.

As I was getting ready to get down off the chair, something caught my eye on the dusty shelf. Actually it was the _lack_ of dust that gave me pause. Standing straight up in the chair once again, I took a closer look at the area in question.

Leaning my head to get a better angle on the area, I determined that I was looking at a small, dust free circle. A small mark in the dust was also evident from when, I assumed, the item had been removed.

"Harry," I called to my current partner, "Does Harold Longstreet have any family?"

"An older sister in South Bend; just talked to her earlier for the notification. She's eighty five years old and hard of hearing, but she seemed pretty on the ball. Took Harold's death as well as could be expected."

"You still have her number?" I asked while getting down off of the chair.

"Got his file in the car," Harry came back, "You need to talk to her?"

I walked over and told him what I had found, and that I wanted to see if she might know what he might have kept there. He headed out to the car and returned carrying a file. I looked up her number and pulled out my cellular, not surprised at having no signal showing on my screen. Going into the kitchen, I grabbed the house phone and dialed the number.

The file indicated that her name was Irene, which is who I asked for when someone answered the phone.

" _May I ask what this is about?"_ the woman on the other end of the call asked, definitely someone younger than eighty five screening Irene's call.

I told her who I was, and indicated that I just had a couple of questions for her if she felt up to it.

"This is probably not the best time for any questions Mr. Celtic; she is grieving a lot over the loss of her brother. We had to ask her Dr. for a sedative to calm her down, she's actually sleeping now."

She agreed to write down my question and ask her grandmother the first chance she got. I gave her my contact numbers and thanked her for her time.

Our two deputy partners arrived after about an hour and a half.

Larry looked much calmer now that he had been cleared.

Having the extra help got us through the house much quicker than I had expected, heading back to the office after only three hours of searching. But we had come up with nothing else that looked promising in the house

***

A vision of loveliness was waiting for me on the front steps when I arrived at the courthouse. Betty was pacing anxiously in front of the building and offered me a beautiful smile when our eyes met. I brushed my hand across hers as we grew near, thinking she was there waiting for me, quickly finding this line of thought to be in error.

"Mr. Folke, the man on the recording is on his way. He has agreed to come in and give a statement. I was so excited I decided to come out and meet him personally."

My minor disappointment at her not being here for me was replaced with excitement at still being able to meet our witness. I leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, earning another smile for my efforts, even though I had violated rule number three (always be professional with each other in public).

Our short lived reverie was interrupted by a voice saying "Sergeant Celtic?"

Standing at the base of the steps stood a man I would guess to be in his mid-sixties. "My name is Fred Folke. I think you are waiting for me?"

Chapter 28

March 10, 1997

The man before us was dressed in bib overalls and a flannel shirt, and couldn't have looked more the part of the farmer he was if he had tried.

Getting him seated in the conference room, we soon discovered that he lived in the next county. He described himself as a bachelor, his only family being his dog and his cows.

Setting down a cup of coffee in front of him and making sure he was comfortable, I took a seat next to him, letting him tell his story when he was ready.

Frank and Betty were also seated, anxiously waiting with paper and recorder as he started his tale.

"I just came into town that night mainly to go to the farm store, picked up a watering trough, some mineral supplement, and a couple of tires for the Massey."

"Well sir... And ma'am...it was still a little early and I hadn't been to town for awhile so I stopped at a bar to have a couple of beers. It's because of that is the reason I was going home that late."

"Anyways, I'm driving along and I see this car on the side of the road with its flashers on. It was pourin down in buckets, and I felt sorry for whoever was in that car so I pulled off in front of it."

"I was waitin out the rain when all of a sudden someone gets out of the car and runs up to my door real quick like. I roll down my window and ask this young feller if he needs a ride."

"Now the strange part is he looks like he wants to get in real bad, but I think he got a good look at the shotgun I carry behind my seat. Looked to me like he got a might confused right about then."

"Along comes another car about then, pulls in behind us, and he says that there was his friends. He says 'Thanks for stopping,' then he runs off back to the other car. Guy had to be soaking wet by then."

"I gotta tell ya, when I think of what coulda happened, I get chills up my backbone."

"Mr. Folke," Betty jumped in when he was finished, "I know it was dark, but can you give us any kind of a description of the man?"

"Well, he came up to just over my mirror, so that would make him about five feet six or so. He appeared like he was really thin, wore a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Like I said before, he looked young, in his twenties maybe."

"Ok, that's great Mr. Folke" Betty said while going over her notes. "Is there anything else that you can remember about the man?"

"No, I don't think so. Well, hold on a minute, lightning flashed real bright for a second there. I ain't for sure, but I thought I saw a mark on his face. You know, like a birthmark or something."

Betty was excited, asking if he could describe the mark.

"Well, like I said, I'm not sure about this, but seems to me it looked kinda like a line, under his eye, I guess it would be his right eye. Bigger on one end than the other, kinda like a baseball bat."

Chapter 29

March 10, 1997

Betty convinced Mr. Folke to agree to work with a sketch artist. The problem was, there was no one in this county that did anything like that.

Frank got on the horn to a couple of other counties that had access to one, finally finding one in Jackson County. It was going to take an hour and a half for him to get here though, and you could tell that Fred was uncomfortable waiting that long. Frank offered to take him to lunch, on the county tab, and Mr. Folke warmed up to the idea quickly.

As they were heading out the door, I tugged at Frank's sleeve, mouthing "no place with beer," cocking my elbow in my best pantomime of someone taking a drink.

Frank grunted before saying the circus was in town next week and that I should consider applying. Laughing in spite of myself, I turned and almost ran into Betty.

Asking why I was laughing, I replayed the scene with Frank until I had her laughing as well. Making her smile had always been a real treat for me, but it was especially significant today with all that had transpired.

"Can I see you in your office for a sec?" she asked. Nodding, I led the way in and turned to close the door as she passed. When I again turned, she grabbed me around the waist and laid the side of her head on my chest, holding on tightly.

Somewhat confused but enjoying the closeness, I asked if she was ok while I wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

"It's just been a long, stressful day, and I appreciate the fact that we are working together on it. And I just really needed a hug."

Increasing my pressure on her shoulders slightly, I told her there was no one else I would rather work a murder with. This struck us both funny and we giggled in each other's arms.

I reached down with my hand and brought her chin up, kissing her tenderly on the lips. She responded in kind, the kiss lasting several seconds. Looking into her eyes, I kissed her again, this time the seesawing emotions of the day expressed themselves in the increased passion of the kiss. She responded immediately, her pent-up stress also spilling out with fervor.

We were heading down a road in a car with no steering wheel, neither of us having control of the outcome, but both of us welcoming the ride and saying 'What the hell'.

She kissed my neck passionately, whispering "lock the door." As I turned to quickly turn the lock, she headed to the desk, starting to unbutton her uniform shirt as she turned and sat on the front edge. I quickly slid out of my jacket, throwing it in the chair as I hurried forward while tugging at my tie. Sliding my arms through hers, we again found each other's lips, each of us starting to paw at the other's clothes.

Beeeep!

The noise scared the crap out of both of us, until I figured out it was the interoffice intercom. "Yes?" I answered somewhat out of breath, our system not requiring me pushing a button to answer...unfortunately.

"There is a call for you Gabriel, a Mrs. Irene Works returning your call. Would you like me to tell her you will call her back in say... three minutes?"

Damn Ellen, how the hell did she do that?

"Just tell her I'll be with her in a minute."

"My, aren't we talented," Ellen said nonchalantly before I heard the tone indicating that she had hung up.

Betty and I looked at each other for a second before cracking up at getting caught like a couple of teenagers.

"Saved by the bell," she said as she started buttoning up, her eyes dancing as they looked at me with excitement.

As Betty finished getting dressed and left the room, I quickly went to my phone, punching the button with the blinking line.

"Gabriel Celtic."

***

" _Mr. Celtic, this is Irene Works, Harold Longstreet's sister. I'm sorry I wasn't available for you earlier."_

I assured her that it was no problem, and that I was sorry for her loss. She thanked me and asked me about the question I had, saying she could not understand what her granddaughter had written down.

"My main question was, are you aware of any of the small items Harold might have kept on his fireplace mantle, something on the top shelf in particular?"

" _It might help if you told me what was there when you looked,"_ Irene questioned after a pause. I ticked off the items from memory, starting with the model plane and ending with the tintype.

" _That's our mom and dad in the picture, and our grandfather's watch is in the globe, Harold's first pocket watch. The model plane he made in high school. He always wanted to fly but his eyesight wasn't good enough."_

There was silence as she thought for a moment, coming back with, _"The only thing I can think of is that he kept his college ring up there most of the time when he wasn't wearing it. Did he have his ring on when you found him?"_

I answered that no ring was found of any kind, asking her if he usually wore it.

" _Heavens no, he only wore it on special occasions, said it was dangerous to wear it at work. He worked as an engineer at the distillery for forty years, and I think he would wear it to the Christmas parties, when he went._ "

" _He dated a woman named Becky for over twenty years, going to visit her whenever he had vacation. He would wear it then also. She died about five years ago at her home in Indianapolis, and I don't think he's even left his house much since then."_

"Is it possible he might have given it to someone as a gift, or maybe sold it?" I questioned, trying to think of other reasons it would be gone.

" _Oh my, I have to keep reminding myself that you didn't know him Mr. Celtic, but most everything that Harold owned was a treasure to him. He didn't buy frivolous items, everything had meaning."_

" _His watches, his newspapers, and his treasures; except for those twenty years with Becky, that pretty much sums up his life. I know he sounds a little crazy, but he was a good man at heart, he just liked his life the way it was is all."_

I thanked her for her time, and again expressed my regret at her loss. I also promised to keep her updated on our progress.

Hanging up the phone, I regretted never having had the chance to get to know Mr. Longstreet, knowing him now only through death. That happened too much in this life; too many times we flew through life without getting to know the characters that make life interesting. I would try to keep that in mind in the future, after this investigation was over anyway.

I picked up the phone and called information to try to find a number. I was hoping the Alumni Association at Purdue might have a picture of what a 1939 engineering degree's ring might look like. A ring that might help lead us to a murderer.

The "Ghost" may yet regret taking his trophies, at least if I had anything to say about it.

Chapter 30

March 10, 1997

The sketch artist arrived at the same time as Frank and Mr. Folke. Fred looked happy; having apparently enjoyed the free lunch by the looks of the toothpick moving up and down happily in his mouth. Betty took the two men into the conference room to work on the sketch; she couldn't wait to get a picture of the murderer in her hands so that she could get it out to the media.

A wrung-out Allen suddenly appeared in the office, having overseen the entire interview process so far at the Sheriff's department. He waved Frank and I into his office as he passed, snapping up his messages from Ellen's outstretched hand on the fly.

Once inside I asked if anything had turned up with anyone in the department.

Tossing the messages on the desk, he slid out of his overcoat and hung it on the antique hall tree that he kept in the corner of his office. Walking back to his chair, he fell into it with exhaustion; rubbing his face with both hands as we took seats across the desk from him.

"Nothing yet, the Sheriff and most of the deputies have been cleared, and they have started on the jailers. Jane is running them through the process like clockwork. It shouldn't take long to finish at this rate."

He asked if anything new had developed while he was away, and for once I had some good news to tell him. His interest was piqued when I told him of the recording from the murderer, but his eyes really lit up when I mentioned our star witness. He had a multitude of questions and I had answers for all of them for a change. I marveled at what a difference a few hours could make.

I finished with the new information on the ring, Frank also showing surprise at that revelation as I had not had time to let him in on it yet.

The alumni association at the university had said they should have a picture or maybe a drawing of all of the class rings Purdue had ever issued, and they would fax something as soon as they found it.

Allen sat back in his chair, markedly relaxed. "I guess I should leave more often." he said with satisfaction and relief.

"By the way, Zeke is still in hiding, you think it's ok to let him go home now?"

Allen thought for a moment before replying, "I don't think there would be any problem with that now at all. I'm glad to say my hopes seem to have been redeemed with the Sheriff and his boys. We still have no idea how the department's evidence and equipment is leaving the building, but at least it doesn't appear to be any one of the deputies. Lean called in a security specialist to start beefing up the building's cameras and recording equipment. It will be a lot harder to get away with anything from now on."

A knock on the door startled us, Allen yelling, "Come," as he leaned forward in his chair.

Betty came in the door, carrying a drawing pad in her hand.

"The sketch artist has finished drawing up Mr. Folke's description of the perp, and Fred is pretty happy with the results, says it's dead on. I thought you guys might like the first look at our murder suspect."

Laying the pad on the desk in front of us, we all stared intently at the drawing of the man responsible for our nightmare. What we saw though almost looked more like a bad drawing in a comic strip, with shadows covering most of his face.

The man's hood contributed to the darkness of the image, but part of his mouth showed in the light, surprisingly revealing a small smile that one could almost describe as shy. The nose was sharp and prominent, being slightly large in proportion to the rest of the face. The one eye showing in the picture drew your attention eerily to it, being what I would call...dead.

I closed my eyes and rubbed them for a few seconds before looking at his face once again. For the second time I was drawn to the eye, the gleam of death again being my interpretation. A shiver ran down my spine as I considered asking Betty how Fred had described the eye to the sketch artist to bring such a detail out in the drawing.

Shivering again I noticed the final detail exposed in the drawing, the birthmark. It was indeed shaped like a baseball bat, or maybe a club. Very small, less than an inch in length; it was nevertheless a prominent and easily identifiable feature. It shouldn't take long for someone to identify this man once we got this out to the news hounds. I sighed in relief, realizing that everyone in the room had done the same thing simultaneously.

Chapter 31

March 10, 1997

The man sat naked on the bed, smoking and staring at the butterfly tattoo on Gina's butt. Unlike Gina, the butterfly was beautiful. The girl was just a washed-out drug addict.

He had called Gina when he decided that he needed to take his celebration to the next level. She was always looking for a good time, especially when she could make some money to feed her habit. Unlike some of the other girls he had been with, this girl actually enjoyed sex, especially when she was high.

Plus, she was cheap.

He had called her about eleven in the morning, waking her from a dead sleep. He had been so intent on getting her there that he had even agreed to an extra $25 to get her out of bed.

It had been worth it. Coupled with his own high from his adventure of last night, it had actually been the best sex he had ever experienced. Both were now worn out, resting up for what he hoped was the next round.

He turned on the TV while he waited; hoping to catch news of his exploits, hoping to hear mentioned the name 'Ghost'. He had even made Gina call him ' _Mr. G_ ' to honor his alter ego.

The girl started stirring as the TV came to life, letting her hand roam pleasurably over his body as it responded in kind. He concluded this must be the best day ever.

As expected, the murder was big news with various reporters putting their own spin on the information that was available to them. The camera cut to one reporter who was at the scene, as he started pointing out this and that while trying to convince the audience that he knew what he was talking about.

A fantasy edged its way into his head where he again had sex while they were talking about his exploits on the TV, his body reacting to the scene playing out in his mind.

Reaching over, he pulled Gina on top of him so that he could still see the TV, the girl responding immediately with pleasure at the man's already hard state.

"Wow, are you happy to see me or what?" she exclaimed with pleasure, wiggling her hips easily into position as she started a slow rhythmic motion.

" _Someone close to the investigation has said that they now think that this heinous crime was committed by the same person who cold-bloodedly murdered the couple on US 50 a few weeks ago."_

The man's excitement was indeed building, as he now added his thrusts to the girl's efforts.

" _This same source, who wishes to remain anonymous, has also let us in on a little-known fact concerning the identity of the murderer, or at least the name that the murderer apparently likes to call himself."_

The man started arching his back in rhythm with his thrusts, excitement building beyond belief, his heart pounding in his chest.

" _News 7 is your first source with the information that the murderer apparently calls himself 'The Ghost'. Our source has indicated that this information was left in some form at least one of the crime scenes."_

The man's loud moans now filled the air of the bedroom, his fantasy coming to fruition; his name and reputation now known to everybody.

The newsman quickly held his hand to his ear for a few seconds, listening intently as someone passed on some additional information through his earpiece.

" _I have just been alerted to a breaking event in this story."_

The newsman again held his ear in rapt attention, nodding periodically as he was fed the information.

" _This was just released to the News 7 studios by the Major Crimes Taskforce; it should be coming on your screen now."_

The man, now in a heightened state of ecstasy as he busied himself mentally for his climax, opened his eyes to glance once again at the TV.

As his eyes finally focused on the screen, his heart suddenly stopped. He abruptly let out a yell and pushed Gina off of him with an unbelievable strength, causing her to land on the floor at the foot of the bed with a loud thump.

"You ass!... What the hell!..." she started before looking up at the man and seeing the wild-eyed look on his face.

" _What you are seeing is a sketch-artist's rendition of an eye-witness description of the man we now know as the 'Ghost',"_ the newsman droned on.

The eye twitch started before his mind even recognized what he was looking at. As his brain again started functioning, he was suddenly beside himself with fear.

This was not supposed to happen...how did this happen?

The picture on the screen was hardly what he would call an accurate likeness of himself, with one blaring exception, the birthmark. Anyone that had ever met him could identify him with one look at this sketch.

"You have to leave," the man blurted out as he lunged for the remote and turned off the television, grabbing the money and shoving it into her face.

"Right now!" he shouted as he gathered up her clothes and herded her out of the room and through the front door, slamming it behind her.

Gina just stood there, unsure as to what had just happened. Nevertheless happy to see the money wadded in her hand, she starting off down the sidewalk before she abruptly realized that she wasn't wearing any clothes!

The realization caused her to let out a scream as she dove behind the hedge and hastily pulled on some of her clothing. Exiting the bushes, she spent a few seconds angrily swatting at some twigs and leaves that had stuck to the cloth.

"That's the last time that bastard will see _this_ ass," she huffed as she stalked down the sidewalk, the red on her face matching the bra she was now carrying in her hand.

Chapter 32

March 10, 1997

The level of tension in our office seemed greatly reduced since the release of the suspect's sketch to the media. The general feeling was that someone would see this and immediately be able to identify the man just by the birthmark alone.

Ellen walked into my office carrying a single sheet of paper, setting it down on my desk with a smile before turning to leave. Glancing at it quickly and not knowing what I was looking at, I asked "What's this?"

"Soil report from the state, from the first murders, just came in on the Fax," she reported.

I had almost forgotten that piece of evidence as it had taken so long to get back. Picking it up and looking over the scientific gibberish, I was at a loss as to what it meant.

AvA- Avonburg Silt Loam 78%

FcB- Fincastle Silt Loam 19%

Omz- Orthents, Earthen Loam 3%

Grabbing the phone I called the number on the bottom of the page, asking for the man whose signature was listed.

"Boris Yang," the man announced hastily as he picked up on his end. I quickly identified myself and my problem, saying I was having trouble interpreting the data on the report.

A sigh was followed by several seconds of silence, then, "Just a minute," as I was suddenly put on hold. I was at least able to enjoy a somewhat scratchy performance of the Beach Boy's 'Good Vibrations' playing on the hold music. I was half way through 'Light My Fire' by the Doors when Boris came back on the line.

"Ok, I have a copy of your report, what's the problem?"

I sighed inwardly at the realization that this guy thought I should know what was before me; all detectives of course having taken classes in the science of soil.

I pushed down my aggravation and admitted that I had always failed my science classes, but that I needed any information he as a professional scientist could give me that may help solve the murder I was working on.

"Oh, ok," he said with renewed vigor. "Well, it is 78% Avonburg Silt Loam, which is real common in your section of the state and probably won't help you much. Orthents is used on earthen dams, but is also widespread for that application, being used all over the state. Fincastle...let me check on something here, hold on."

'Hey Jude' was half way through when I entered the state's phone system again, but before it finished Boris was back on the line.

"Ok, I might have something you can use here. There is absolutely no single location in your county that has Fincastle loam. It _is_ rather prevalent in Franklin County, however; they have about 13,000 acres of it over there, about 5% of the county. I can send you a map if you like, showing the areas where it is concentrated."

I replied that I would indeed be interested in a map, asking if he could overnight it to us. He happily agreed, his transition from annoyed state worker to extremely helpful partner in our investigation now complete. I thanked him for his scientific expertise, and assured him that this may help greatly in finding a murderer.

Although I knew this may help find our perp, 13,000 acres equates to over 20 square miles, still a huge area to find a single man in. Plus we didn't know what the connection to the neighboring county really was, he may work there, live there, or maybe he just visited on the day of the murder.

Maybe our best bet would be to plaster posters with the suspect's sketch on it everywhere in the area, when we figured out where that was. I would put in a call to the Franklin County Sheriff when we got the information, hopefully he could distribute the posters around the area for us.

I had always assumed that we were dealing with someone more local, but the next county's mysterious possible involvement in our case probably wouldn't hinder us greatly.

I felt suddenly groggy, looking at the clock and realizing that it was almost 5:00. I had been up for almost 36 hours at this point, but I also knew I had a couple more to go before leaving for the night. I got up in preparation of doing what I always did when stress was high and long hours prevailed in my work.

"Time for coffee," I said as I grabbed my cup and headed for the coffee maker. _"I hope someone has made a new pot,"_ I thought hopefully to myself, knowing though that I would take any manner of black liquid that was already there. As tired as I was feeling, anything would help, anything at all.

Chapter 33

March 10, 1997

Having hurriedly gotten dressed, the man had grabbed his keys off the dented nightstand and swiftly moved into the living room, snatching the key for the footlocker from under the ashtray.

Opening the trunk, he then grabbed the gun from the first murder as well as the few extra bullets he had on hand. He let the lid slam closed, no longer worrying about locking up his treasures.

He slid the gun into the pocket of his sweatshirt, grabbed a coat and a ball cap and headed to the car, pulling the ball cap low on his head. He would have to head to the hideout set up by Jasmine for just such an occasion.

To say he was disappointed that his identity had been revealed so early in his run would be an understatement. Ultimately it didn't matter though; he could now immerse himself in his real identity from the new location. His old life was over, having never added up to much of anything anyway.

After all, all children grow up and eventually move on. The Ghost had been born inside of him, entering puberty with the first murders, finally coming into adulthood with the death of the old man. The realization of his dream sent an electric shock through his body, his confidence building with every mile. He was the 'Ghost', and he had never been prouder of anything in his life.

Chapter 34

March 10, 1997

When I finally got to leave it was 7:00. I realized then that Betty had probably left for home hours earlier.

When I walked through the door, I heard the sound of scratching coming from the kitchen. Recognizing it as Lucy's sign that she was done with the outside, I went to the back door and let her in. I then went on a search to find my wife; the house was much too quiet for her to be here.

I found her on my chair in the living room with the newspaper lying on her chest. She was fast asleep. She normally found my chair uncomfortable and was probably only intending to sit there for a few minutes, reading the paper while waiting for the too-long pent-up Lucy to finish her business outside.

I gently tapped her shoulder to awaken her only to get a low mumble and her moving slightly to get more comfortable. I gently picked her up and trudged up the stairs, using the last of my available energy to perform the task.

Laying her gently on the bed and removing her shoes, I grabbed a quilt from across the room and laid it over her. Pushing my own shoes off with my toes and dropping my coat on the floor where I stood, I crawled into bed and snuggled up next to the lovely creature laying there.

As my heavy eyelids started to fall, I began to worry if I had left the front door unlocked when I had come into the house. I quickly decided however, that I didn't really care if somebody came in and stole everything we owned...as long as they let us sleep.

My last thoughts were a quick run-through of the day in my head. I decided that this was probably one of the longest days of my life before finally succumbing to the sandy feeling in my eyes.

A _very_ long day.

Chapter 35

March 11, 1997

Padding into the room in stocking feet, I was met by the sight and feel of the warm fire blazing in the fireplace. Sitting down at my chair, the aroma of the coffee wafted over me, mentally lifting my spirits. I grabbed the handle and lifted the cup to my nose, inhaling deeply the intoxicating aroma before letting the warm, black liquid roll down my throat.

I looked over at the chess board and saw that another move had been executed. As usual, the move was what I would expect from my opponent while maintaining a defensive posture. Currently he was scrambling to counter my latest tack, the thought bringing a smile to my lips. I moved my next piece and sat back to continue my worship of the coffee, enjoying it more every time I visited, if that were even possible.

Taking in the room once again, I continued to marvel at the perfectness of it all. Whoever had set up this living space was definitely an interior designer extraordinaire, at least in my eyes.

Leaning my head back on the chair I closed my eyes to rest but was unexpectedly transported to a dark, old room when I again reopened them. Wallpaper was evident in spots throughout the room, but old bare plaster was the norm. At some places, even this was missing, with holes showing wood lath spaced randomly throughout the room.

Looking like it had once been a dining room; it sported a built-in glass-door china cabinet on one of the walls.

The thin man entered the room carrying an armload of cans. It was the man from the other dreams...the 'Ghost'.

His hooded sweatshirt was, as usual, hiding his features from view as he stacked the cans on an empty shelf in the room. Looking closer, I noticed that the cans were bean soup...every single one of them. I could make out the label on the cans and read 'Johnson Brothers' 'Bean Soup'.

As I was observing him stack the cans, one of them fell toward the floor. Watching it head toward its inevitable destination, it seemed to slow down, going in slow motion.

Seconds seem to pass as the can made its way downward, my anxiousness increasing with each inch traveled. My focus on the fall intensified to the point that I was longing for the moment that it made contact, cheering it on in my head like one would for his favorite football team.

As it finally connected with the aged wood, I jumped up in excitement...right out of my own bed and onto the carpet of the bedroom. Quickly glancing at the clock, I was not surprised to see 5:30 registered on the digital face. I looked over at the bed and made out the form of Betty, still under the quilt and breathing steadily.

Moving to a chair, I sat down, going over details of the dream, trying to burn the bits of information into my head so that they didn't evaporate into the ether.

A thought came to me suddenly, and I smiled as I got up to get the coffee going and let Lucy out. I needed to get the day started as usual, although I had a feeling that this would not be a usual day at all.

Chapter 36

March 11, 1997

The man pulled up to the old house, the hideout. He had been here often; the old shed on the property had been a fine place to hide the stolen cars used in his work.

Getting out of the vehicle, he went to the outbuilding and opened the swinging doors, backing the car in before quickly closing it up again.

Going out the small door in the back of the garage and slinking behind the house, the man entered the room that had once been the kitchen. Electricity was a long lost memory to this building, the utility no longer even having overhead wires to the property. He would have to use a candle or a lantern to see at night. Not that reading was a high priority, but he would miss the TV.

He had risked discovery by stopping at a little hardware store on his way here, picking up a few screws and a screwdriver to accomplish his next task. Pulling out a number of old and musty-smelling wool blankets from a beat up chest-of-drawers, he set about covering the windows and doors in the old dining room, creating in effect a blackout room.

Heading back out to the shed, he found a camp stove that he had been told would be there, as well as a pot. Taking these items into his new home, he returned once again and picked up a case of soup and one of several bottles of water also stored there.

Back in the dining room, he busied himself setting up the stove and stacking the cans on a shelf. When one of the cans slipped from his hand and landed hard on the floor, he jumped back and quickly looked around, suddenly having the eerie feeling that someone was watching him.

Seeing no one of course, he nonetheless carefully peeked out all of the windows before returning to his labors.

"Probably just spooked by this old house," he thought to himself as he set up the stove in preparation of his first meal.

"Damn good thing I like beans."

Chapter 37

March 11, 1997

There was a spring in my step as I walked into the office that day, not sure if it was the promise of finding our perp from the sketch we released the day before, or from the potential clue I had had in my dream. Maybe it was just the good night's sleep.

I had no good understanding of why I was having the recurring imaginings, but I could no longer ignore the fact that there was, more times than not, a relevant meaning to them.

Heading into my office, I was quickly followed by Frank holding two steaming cups of coffee. Setting one of the welcome mugs on my desk, he took a seat across from me and crossed his legs, taking a sheet of paper out of his jacket and laying it in front of me.

Picking up the document, I saw that it was a copy of one of the county dispatcher's log sheets.

"Our first lead came in about an hour ago. The caller said he was sure that the guy in the drawing is someone he works with at the Save-A-Bunch. Guy by the name of Jacob John Wesley. A couple of deputies are on their way over to the store to interview the employees, but the caller said Wesley hadn't been to work in two days...said he didn't even call in today."

I took in all of the information Frank was giving me in silence, trying to absorb the facts. Why was it that serial murderers always used all three of their names?

"He probably went underground when he saw himself on TV," I finally said out loud, thinking of the old house of my mind's eye.

"Probably so," Frank mused, sipping from his cup.

"Drink up Gabe," Frank continued suddenly, "We're heading to the suspect's apartment in ten minutes. Allen's working on a search warrant, and the state guys are watching it from the street in an unmarked car. He's probably not there, but you never know about these crazy types."

"He's gone," I stated with a little too much confidence, adding quickly "At least that's what I'm thinking."

I thought again of the details of my dream, and wrote down the name of the soup on my pad.

"Can you get someone to look into this for me?" I asked Frank as I ripped the sheet off and handed it to him. "We need to find out if this is sold in this area, and where. I have never noticed this brand before, but I have a feeling someone around here sells it."

Frank looked over what I had written, getting one of his baffled looks he always gets when something doesn't immediately make sense to him.

"What, are you hungry or is this another one of your mysterious hunches?"

"Just a hunch." I stated as nonchalantly as I could.

"Hmmff." he uttered while shaking his head as he walked out of the office to find someone to work on the task. Although Frank many times thought I was a little quirky when I came up with these ideas, he nevertheless knew that more times than not it would lead to an answer. Whether the answer would make sense to us was of course a completely different animal.

I called Betty, who was checking in at the police station. She had heard the news and she and Harry were getting ready to head out to the apartment. Saying I would meet her there, I put my coat back on and grabbed the coffee as I headed out of the office to find Frank, sucking down as much of the hot liquid as I could before we left.

I was excited to see what we would find at the apartment, but I still needed my coffee to function properly. I guess everyone has a crutch they used to get through the day; mine seemed minor compared to some I could have. Convincing myself of the need, I grabbed a Styrofoam cup at the coffee maker, pouring myself a large one for the road before I continued out of the office.

***

We stood around for almost an hour at the small duplex before Allen showed up with the warrant. By then we had informally investigated the small yard surrounding the building, and found nothing of note, save for some toys and bicycles from the other tenant.

We had temporarily moved the single mother and her small children until we could determine whether our guy was home. We didn't need any stray bullets going through those walls.

The landlord had been contacted and was on hand to unlock the door so we wouldn't have to destroy the door of her property. You could tell she was pretty shaken up by the knowledge that a murderer had been living on her property, worriedly wanting assurances that she wouldn't be prosecuted for harboring a fugitive.

Gloving up, we entered the apartment behind the two deputies of the task force as they went through the apartment with guns drawn to clear the scene. After being given the all clear by the deputies, the rest of us entered slowly and spread out.

"He's definitely our guy," Betty said from across the room. "Take a look at this, gentlemen."

Making my way across the living room, I joined the others who were looking down at an old Army footlocker. Sitting on top in plain view was a Sheriff's uniform, the shiny badge gleaming in the sunlight coming through the grimy window.

Working carefully so as not to disturb the evidence until the crime scene guys could go through it, Betty lifted the uniform to see what was below it. Finding a small brown paper bag folded underneath, she gingerly unfolded it and peered inside.

"It looks like the missing necklace from the Letterman murders," she said, showing it to Frank for confirmation before carefully refolding it and placing it back below the uniform.

Something caught her eye in the bottom corner of the box. Reaching down with one hand she retrieved a bullet casing...a .357 bullet casing. She smiled at the additional discovery and gently replaced it where it had been found.

Harry was investigating a cluttered desk and motioned me over. Making my way to the desk, he handed me a small spiral notebook, asking, "What do you make of this?"

I opened it up and found page after page of letters written in neat script and arranged in groups of five. Recognizing the arrangement from a previous life, I told him it looked like a code book, probably a keyword cipher.

Knowing it probably wouldn't do us any good without a message to decode, I started to replace it on the shelf when I caught sight of a single folded sheet sticking out from between the pages. Carefully pulling the sheet out, I found it to be what looked like some sort of letter written in the strange code.

As I studied the book and letter closer, I noticed the very neat handwriting on both.

"Has anyone seen anywhere where he has written something, a list or a phone number?" I asked the room.

"On the fridge" Larry piped in, "There is a grocery list I think."

Taking the notebook over, I compared the handwriting on the note on the fridge to that of the code book.

The grocery list was filled with a chicken scratch that more resembled Egyptian hieroglyphics than the English language. An idea was forming in my head, the consequences of which were disturbing if it could indeed be proven as fact.

The handwritten letter and code book, written in a different hand than the list, could indicate another's involvement. At least it would if the book had any connection to the murders.

"We should get this handwriting analyzed by an expert, and the letter decoded," I told Harry, "The person who composed the codebook is not our perp."

Harry sported a confused look for a moment before asking, "You suspect another's involvement?"

Thinking back to the early days of the investigation, we had originally surmised that the ghost may have had help, but had not actively pursued that line of thought.

"We originally thought it could be a possibility, now we should definitely look into it. If this book was used to pass along information for the murders, there is someone else that, at the very least, might have knowledge of them."

Harry spread his arms wide as he moved his head around the room.

"From what I've seen so far, there is no evidence that this jackass liked using his brain anywhere near that hard, unless you count mentally undressing ladies in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions stacked over there in the corner."

I nodded in agreement and replaced the book where we had found it, making a mental note to have the techs bag and process the volume ASAP.

We had definitely found the home of our perp, that much we knew, but where was he now, and did he have help with these crimes?

I had hoped that finding the identity of the "Ghost" would lead in short order to solving the murders. Now I was no longer so confident. We could have a long road ahead of us before we got to the bottom of this case, and it was looking more like the road had even more curves than we had expected.

Chapter 38

March 11, 1997

The man had made one last trip to the shed to retrieve a bag from his car. Spreading the contents out on the table, he found an old wash basin and filled it with water. Spending over an hour working on his task, he was nonetheless satisfied when he looked in the broken mirror at his handiwork.

His usually dark brown hair had been transformed to blonde using the hair dye he had purchased weeks ago for just this purpose. Next he picked up a large sewing needle, taking three deep breaths before forcing it through the left side of his lip. A string of cuss words escaped loudly into the room as he forced the steel through flesh, a cold sweat having formed on his face by the time he was finished.

He stared at himself with the needle sticking through his skin as he panted like a sprinter. After calming himself down again, he removed the needle, replacing it quickly with a lip ring he had purchased.

"One more detail to take care of," he mumbled to himself, returning to the table and grabbing the last item. Heading back to the mirror, he applied a concealing makeup cream to the prevalent birthmark on his face. Standing back, he admired his handiwork with a smile.

"The transformation is complete."

He now looked more like a seventeen year old skateboarder than a murder suspect, the mark on his face effectively gone, and a lip ring on the opposite side of his face to draw others' attention there. He could now easily go back into public without immediately arousing suspicion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke to no one but the spirits that may be living inside the house. Bowing theatrically to his invisible fans while spreading out his arms with much ado, he continued in a circus ringmaster's booming voice, "I bring you the new and improved, much feared and respected, the bane of all law enforcement's existence, the _'Ghost'_!"

Imaginary applause streamed into the room as he blew kisses to his adoring fans. He had never felt more loved and accepted in his life.
Chapter 39

March 11, 1997

We found but a couple other clues at the trashy apartment that marked our suspect as the man who had committed three vicious murders in our county, but we already had more than enough for a warrant for the man's arrest.

One glaring exception was the ring from Harold Longstreet's fireplace; it was nowhere to be found. The general consensus was that he still had it on his person, so that would be another nail in Wesley's coffin when we finally found him.

The evidence guys arrived and I remembered to show them the notebook I wanted tested for prints and handwriting analysis. The tech nodded as he put the book in an evidence bag, making notes on the outside with a marker.

Frank and I headed back to the office at about 11:00. On the way back Frank wanted to talk about baseball. It seemed he gave the Reds a fighting chance this year of going all of the way.

For my part, I had long ago distanced myself from professional baseball and had no clue what any of the teams looked like, nor did I care. But for Frank to bring it up was the strange part, and I saw it as his first real foray into an interpersonal exchange with me, a form of communication I definitely wasn't used to with him.

It brought a smile to my face.

This conversation had taken years of working together to achieve and I relished the fact that he reached out with it today.

Back at the office I was going over my notes when I noticed an overnight package on my desk. Opening it up, I was pleasantly surprised to find the map that Boris Yang from the state lab had promised. Unfolding it farther, I discovered that it was a large wall map showing the area of Fincastle Silt Loam overlaid onto a road map. I was very pleased to have something showing the large area of Fincastle, as well as showing the way to get to it.

I took the map into the conference room, tacking it up on the board and hoping it would come in handy soon. Frank entered with a small stack of papers, handing them to me saying, "Your soup information, Gabriel."

Flipping through the papers, I realized that they were copies of invoices from a wholesaler to various stores, each with a listing for 'John Bros Bean' among the various other sundries..

"Johnson Brothers is a small company in Indianapolis," Frank started in explanation, "and their area of distribution is mostly north of us. There are two stores in the north part of the county that carry their products, as well as about twenty in Franklin County."

Franklin County again.

That place just kept popping up...which was one hell of a coincidence.

I didn't believe in coincidences.

Asking Frank to give me a hand, I took the invoices over to my newly acquired map, pulling a box of red map pins out of a drawer as I passed. As I read off the addresses, Frank located and marked the location with one of the pins before we moved on to the next address. After ten minutes, we had all of the Franklin County addresses pinned and stood back to see what they revealed.

My heart dropped when I realized that most of the locations were in the northeast part of the neighboring county, while the area of Fincastle was mostly in the southwest.

Mulling this over, I noticed that a small portion of the north end of our own county was also shown on the map. I found the invoices for the stores in our county which to this point we had ignored. Reading off those addresses, Frank also placed pins at those locations which revealed both of the stores to be in the northwest part of our county.

Someone leaving our county and traveling north would surely pass one or both of these stores on the way to Franklin, depending on which way they went. I was feeling pretty good about myself when I looked over and noticed Frank frowning at me, a look of dismay plainly showing on his face.

Chapter 40

March 11, 1997

"Come with me," Frank finally uttered after glancing around the room for a few moments as if he was looking for something.

I followed my partner out of the conference room, and then out of the building.

Heading directly to his car, he entered the driver's side, reaching over and unlocking the passenger door for me. We drove in silence for a few minutes until we reached our apparent destination...the parking lot at the Legion.

Exiting the car, I again followed him as he led me into the dark, paneled bar, both of us waving a greeting to the two men at the bar as we claimed a table in a dark corner. When the bartender came over for our order, Frank ordered a beer and looked expectantly at me. I declined anything, but my partner quickly chimed in with, "He'll have the same."

We sat there silently until the bartender brought our order and left. Frank took a big swig before replacing the bottle on the table.

"I truly believe some of the most important conversations in history have been had over a bottle of beer," he stated matter-of-factly, looking down at the table and playing with his bottle cap. Looking up seriously, he blurted out, "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Where is this soup thing going?" he continued with exasperation. "For that matter, where the hell did it even come from? I don't remember any evidence coming up involving soup. And what about the mark on the neck of Mrs. Letterman, how did you know to look there when no one else had caught it? You had never even seen the body before that! _Still haven't_ as far as I know."

"I thought we were partners, Gabriel. I don't warm up to people quickly, you know that. But I thought we had built up a pretty good partnership over these last few years."

"Now you are apparently getting info from another party and you don't think it's important to let me in on it? I gotta tell you Gabe, I don't appreciate it."

I sat there quietly for a few moments, my emotions flipping between being ashamed in not trusting Frank and being apprehensive to admitting the truth. After all, he may try to have me committed when he found out the truth. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for the big reveal.

"I'm sorry, Frank, I _have_ been holding out on you just a little, but it's not what you think. You're probably going to have a hard time believing me when I tell you."

"Try me," was all he said, but he said it hopefully. I had seen the beginnings of real friendship from him lately, and knowing how hard that was for him, I know he wanted this to work, as did I.

"Just keep an open mind as I explain, that's all I ask."

He nodded his assent and leaned up in his chair to listen. I knew that meant that I now had his undivided attention.

"For a long while now, I occasionally have these dreams. Really strange ones...more like visions really. Most of the time in these visions I visit a very comfortable room. I play chess with some unseen opponent, drink the best coffee I've ever had, and enjoy the fire in the fireplace. It's a wonderfully relaxing place and I really enjoy myself when I go there."

"Periodically though," I continued, committed now, "I will be suddenly transported to a crime scene, or some other setting and I will be pointed somehow to notice a clue. Those are the clues that you were talking about. I can't explain why or how it happens, it just happens."

"I saw the guy get out of the car right after he shot the first victims. While I was trying to get in the car, a flash of lightning revealed to me a mark on the woman's neck. I had no idea what it meant; I never know what it means."

Frank leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Reaching up, he grabbed his beer and took another big swig before setting it down again. Leaning forward again, he asked if anything happened about the Longstreet murder.

"I was on the road in front of the house, although this was before we knew about it and I had no idea where I was, or what was going on. I saw someone sitting on the porch across the road, smoking a cigar. And I saw someone, the killer, leave from the back door of the Longstreet house and walk to a car parked down the road."

"So that's why you went over to Zeke's house, you knew he had probably witnessed something?"

"I didn't know for sure, but I was hopeful."

"Ok, then what about the soup?" he asked expectantly. I guess crazy explanations were better than no explanation at all.

"Last night I was in the room drinking coffee, and then I was in an old house, a very old house, looked abandoned to me. But Wesley was there, at least I think it was him, he was wearing a hood and I didn't see his face."

"Anyway, he was busy organizing stuff in this old house. I'm pretty certain after today that it was the location he is hiding out in. One of the things he did while I was watching was stack can after can of this soup on a shelf, like he had a whole case of it. I noticed the brand name, so I asked you to look it up. I wasn't familiar with the brand; in fact I wasn't sure it even existed."

"I have to tell you I was pretty excited when we found a possible link between my mysterious soup and the area where our soil came from in the first crime scene."

Frank again sat back and grabbed his beer, taking a long draw before staring thoughtfully down the neck of the bottle for a few moments. I had been in front of a judge before, and this felt much like that.

"Ok, it's a stretch, but however weird it appears, the information is spot on. We can't argue with that."

To say I was relieved was an understatement. Up to this point, only Betty knew of my visions and their resultant clues. She had been disbelieving at first as well, but had been swayed by the evidence. Keeping things from people you care about, even crazy sounding things, was not something I like to do. Having both of these guys in on the story was definitely liberating.

"But how do we get evidence entered into the case if it doesn't exist?" Frank asked with a look of concern on his face.

"We can't really," I replied, having given this particular problem a lot of thought. "It is more or less a hunch, and we usually have to do some footwork to prove or disprove a hunch. I have been giving a thought to driving around the area in question after work, but looking at that part of Franklin County on the map...well it's huge. I was also planning on running by the stores that sell the soup and see if they have sold any cases of the bean soup lately."

"Ok, let's do that then," Frank replied decidedly as he rose from his chair, pulling out some bills to pay for our drinks.

"I can't ask you to do that Frank, I can handle it. You've surely got better things to do than ride around with me all night."

"We're partners, we work it together," he came back matter-of-factly. "Two heads are better than one. Besides, there's nothing on TV this time of year anyway," he finished with a smile and a wink.

For the second time that day I followed Frank out of a building and got into his car. This time, however, we stood on a more solid footing. I was getting excited to investigate my hunch with Frank. With him solidly in my camp, the odds of success had definitely just improved.

Chapter 41

March 11, 1997

Arriving back at the office in good spirits, Ellen handed me a note as I walked in the door. Reading it quickly, I was surprised by what it revealed. Reading it again to make sure I had read it right, I tugged Frank's sleeve and relayed that they had some info for us at the lab.

We walked out the building once again and walked across the courtyard separating the courthouse from the building the lab was in. The sun was at its hottest now, the heat on my skin renewing me slightly after the long, dark winter.

The light level dropped dramatically as we entered the lab, the main room being almost unlit with little pools of light over each of the tables interspersed throughout the room. Letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I finally spotted a little white lab coat gliding around the room as if it were a ghost, floating through the space on its way to a haunting.

As my eyes eventually became better attuned to the dimness, I could finally make out the form of the small, balding man that occupied the garment, his black pants and shoes essentially making his legs disappear in the low light.

In my eyes Percy Vogel was a prime example of the concept that the naming of a child will influence his or her outcome and personality. I can only guess that when Percy's mother named him, she had, at least subconsciously, hoped for a studious and intelligent child as her contribution to this world.

Well done, Mrs. Vogel, well done.

The man standing before me was indeed the smartest guy I knew, exemplified by an office wall filled with diplomas from all over the country.

It was a well-known fact that the only reason he stuck around here in this normally quiet county was to care for his mother. She had been ill for years, and it had always been just him and her, together against the world. She had gladly worked two jobs to send him to college, and in spite of how it might affect his career, he felt the overwhelming need to take care of her now that their roles had been reversed.

So he deftly practiced his craft within the confines of a small lab with a limited budget, while still outshining others in his field with much larger resources.

One glaring exception to what one might expect of the man is that he did exceptionally well with the ladies.

Betty and I would see him out often with one of many eligible women, each one seeming more than pleased to be in his company.

"Percy, I hear you have something for me," I said as I walked over to the table that held his current interest. Surprise shown on his face as he looked up at me through his round metal glasses, but it quickly turned to a smile as he held out his hand, shaking both Frank's and mine with gusto.

"Indeed I do, indeed I do," he stated as he walked to another brightly lit table, repeating his phrases as was his custom.

"I have been looking into the code book you found at the apartment of the suspect. As far as fingerprints go, the only ones evident were of your man Wesley. I have also decoded the paper that was stuck between the pages of said book," he said as he handed me a copy of his work sheet.

As I began to read what Percy has garnered from the paper, I suddenly looked up in surprise, exclaiming, "Instructions for the Longstreet murder!"

"Indeed they are, indeed they are," Percy repeated before looking down once more to his workspace.

"This book was quite interesting for another reason also, however. I compared the handwriting with that of your suspect and it was definitely not written by him, not by him."

"I suspected as much. Can we send this to someone to get a handwriting analysis, maybe get a profile on the author?"

"Already done," Percy said with a grin, handing me a report on single-spaced typed paper. "Already done."

"I didn't know you knew how to do that kind of hocus pocus Percy, you are always surprising me with your skills."

"I had a few classes in handwriting analysis, even had a refresher course at a forensics conference last month."

"How about giving us the high points so I don't have to try to read this in this darkness you surround yourself in" I said as I squinted at the paper.

"I can do better than that, better than that," Percy said as he laid the open book on the table.

"We can actually tell quite a bit about a person from their handwriting. Our author has extremely good script, and meticulous detail was paid to the lettering; both the spacing and conformity are nearly perfect. By the stability in the lines, I would say we are looking at someone in their late twenties or maybe into their early thirties, no older than that."

"Also, knowing the general attitude in the public schools concerning the lost art of handwriting prevalent for the last twenty years, I would surmise that this person attended a parochial school, or possibly a private one. My guess is that she was at the top of her class, top of her class."

It took a few seconds for my mind to process what he had just told me. When it finally hit me I was, to say the least, flabbergasted!

"You're telling me that the person that made this book, the possible accomplice to a string of murders, is...a woman?"

"Indeed she is Gabriel, indeed she is."

Chapter 42

March 11, 1997

The surprising disclosure of the possibility of a woman's involvement in these murders left us mute on our walk back to the office.

We hadn't even pursued the clues we already had that indicated a potential second person, but the additional revelation of a female in the mix didn't settle with my gut well at all.

Percentage wise, women were much less likely to murder, and female serial killers were almost unheard of. Sure, there had been a few notorious exceptions through the ages: Mary Ann Cotton, Nannie Doss and Ruby Lynn Martin to name a few. They were famous for their cold and calculating demeanors while they murdered friends, family, and neighbors. But as appalling as these female executioners were, they still only accounted for a small percentage of our history's serial killings.

Entering the office once again, I grabbed Tucker and asked him to get the group together and meet Frank and me in the conference room. He nodded in reply and went off to find the others while we went to grab a cup of coffee.

"Quite a kick in the pants," Frank mumbled as he poured his cup.

I had to agree, but was unsure what to do with the information as yet. I went over to the copier and made copies of the forensic reports on the code book and the decoded letter to distribute to the other Task Force members.

We then made our way to the conference room and found seats as the rest of the crew trickled in, Harry being the last in as he closed the door before slowly ambling to his seat.

"We have some new info we wanted to share with everybody on the code book and the letter we found in it," I said as I passed out copies to everyone. "The report explains it better than I can so take a few minutes to go over it."

I sat back down and sipped on my coffee as I watched the reactions of the others.

Satisfied that everyone had had their surprise for the day, I asked, "Does anyone have any thoughts?"

"This could be a woman? Do we have a motive yet as to why this woman would want to kill these people...or Wesley's reasons for that matter?" Tucker asked the room.

"No reasoning has yet been determined for _any_ of the murders," I answered glumly. "But that's just _one_ of the unanswered questions we have, and the whole case just got more complicated in my eyes. We don't yet know the relationship between the two perps...whether she might be a relative, lover, or he is someone she hired. I'm at least fairly certain that Jacob Wesley is not the mastermind behind these murders however."

"You know, there is still very little to go on, no prints, no easy way to identify the handwriting," Frank stated as he looked up from the report. "Maybe we should ignore her, concentrate on Wesley for now; at least we have some leads on him."

The room was quiet for several moments as everyone settled into the assessment whether to ignore the new evidence for now.

"However," Betty tentatively started, "as a rule, statistically speaking anyway, a woman is generally more organized than a man. Don't take this the wrong way guys, but a woman can be more task oriented than a man."

"One thing has been bothering me since we learned some things about Jacob John Wesley and his life to this point," she continued. "You guys saw that apartment, it was cluttered and un-kept. The interviews from the store where he worked revealed him to be a menial worker, somewhat dependable but not a self starter by any means. I agree with Gabe, how does a guy like that pull off two almost perfect murders? The only reason we know anything about him at all is from a witness that by chance caught a glimpse of his face during a lightning flash."

Second thoughts seemed to be evident on most of the men's faces as Betty continued her assessment.

"Add to that the Sheriff's uniform, the gun from evidence, how does this guy get his hands on those kinds of items?"

"In my estimation, this woman is pulling the strings. I don't think we can afford to ignore this new evidence, I think she may be the key to the whole investigation."

Betty had totally convinced me at this point, and I couldn't believe I had wanted to take the woman's role so lightly without giving it more thought. She looked over at me when she had finished and I beamed back my approval of her theory. The other men of the group also seemed swayed.

"Seems like a very viable theory to me, anyone got any ideas how we can approach this evidence to find this other person?"

Everyone sat silent, the theory was sound, but all we had as a lead was a codebook and one de-coded message. Additionally the book itself was a standard looking spiral notebook, probably sold by the millions all over the country.

"I could get with Percy and see if there is anything else to glean out of the book," Betty offered. "I could also get with the manufacturer of the notebook and see who sells that style in this area; it's probably a long shot though."

Everyone seemed agreeable to this; Betty would concentrate on the woman's angle of the investigation while everybody else would continue to concentrate on finding Wesley as soon as possible.

"Larry and Tucker....can you guys take a second look at Wesley's personal relationships? Dig a little deeper into his family if there is any; ask people who worked with him, neighbors, and friends if he had any. Also see if he was ever seen with a woman, such as a girlfriend, sister, anything like that."

The meeting broke up and everyone went back to their part of the investigation. Betty stayed in her seat and I moved over to the seat next to her as the room cleared.

"Nice work Celtic," I said with pride evident in my voice. She grabbed my hand under the table as she smiled at my compliment.

"Why thank you kind sir," she responded with a fake southern accent, her eyes gleaming. "Seriously though, it will be hard to discover anything out of the evidence we have on hand so far," she said with a little less enthusiasm.

"No, but if anyone can do it it's you," I came back. "Just follow the leads, add a little of that woman's intuition you use so well and we'll see what comes up."

I squeezed her hand before rising from my chair. "I love you," I said as I exited the room.

"Back at cha buddy."

Chapter 43

March 16, 1997

The ring of the cell phone surprised the man when it went off at 4:56. He had turned it on every day between 4:00 PM and 5:00 PM as instructed. This was the first time it had gone off since he had been at the hideout.

"You will find new instructions in the culvert at the end of the driveway," the raspy whisper instructed him. "Make damn sure you don't retrieve it until after dark," his mentor finished, the connection clicking off immediately after the command.

_At last, something to do_ , the man thought. Boredom had taken a stranglehold on him in the old house, and he was anxious to get on to his next project.

Still having a couple of hours until it was completely dark, he decided to go ahead and fix his supper. He would start on any of the preparations tonight after dark if he could. He hoped that any traveling needed would take him past a store; he desperately wanted to pick up something to eat besides the bean soup he was limited to now.

As the smell of the heating beans started to fill the room, he sighed as he picked up the bowl and spoon and dished out a helping for supper.

"Beans again," he said dejectedly as he scooped the first spoonful into his mouth.

Chapter 44

March 16, 1997

Lean McHenry needed twenty additional cameras to more or less completely cover the department and the jail **.** County Council had only approved money for three at this time.

Nevertheless he felt relieved, those three cameras having now been installed in the area of the evidence room. There would be no more instances of anyone sneaking into this area without being seen...and recorded.

Two of his deputies had been taking inventory of the stored evidence, finding but a few other items missing so far.

" _A few too many,"_ he thought to himself dejectedly. A list had been distributed detailing the additional missing items, and he desperately hoped that they were discovered soon, before the items found _him_ like the others had.

Pulling the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and sticking it behind his ear, he sat back in his chair and let out a much-deserved sigh of relief.

This was the first moment he had not had his stomach in knots since the second murder. His department had been cleared of any wrongdoing, the Task Force had come up with a few leads, the cameras had been installed, and the state boys had all gone home.

Although there were still the murders to be solved, at least the magnifying glass of scrutiny on him and his department was gone, and he could get back to doing what he was hired to do: police work.

He looked down at the Zippo lighter he was rolling around in his hand. He had actually lit and smoked a few fags in the last week, the stress of the investigation into his department more than he could handle without them. He was hoping that was again a thing of the past.

Sticking the lighter into his pocket, he leaned forward and pushed a button on his phone.

"Jane, could you come in here a minute and bring the road patrol schedule with you?"

She said she would be right in and clicked off. He smiled at the realization that he had used the intercom instead of yelling, he really _must_ be relaxed.

Jane entered the room carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee, which she set down in front of her dad before taking a seat opposite him. He smiled as he looked at her, the spitting image of her mother at that age...but smarter by a mile than the both of them put together.

"What do you want with the patrol schedule?" Jane asked, handing the clipboard across the desk.

"The commissioners have finally agreed that we should increase road patrols until this danger has passed. I've been on their ass for weeks, but they couldn't see the need to pay overtime until now. I can't believe those bunch of mamby pamby idiots are in charge of this county."

Flipping between the first and second page of the clipboard for a few moments, the sheriff handed the clipboard back to his daughter, giving up trying to figure the schedule on his own.

"You take care of it, JJ," the sheriff said as he leaned back in his chair. "Just make it as fair as you can, but everyone will need to pitch in on the overtime, even Larry and Tucker."

"Ok, Sheriff," Jane replied as she made a few notes on the border of the list. "You look like you're feeling a little better, Dad," she said with a small smile. "Things are looking up on the murder investigation, I hear."

"Yes, they seem to be," he said with some confidence. "Knowing the identity of the perp is a major plus, even if we don't know where he is. But we'll find him; you can mark my words on that score."

Jane nodded as she rose to leave.

"Thanks for your help, JJ," the sheriff called after her. Jane stopped in her tracks at the unexpected compliment from her dad, something she was not used to hearing.

"You're welcome, Dad," she said at last as she continued on her way out of the room, her face devoid of emotion.

Returning to her desk, she found herself conflicted and antsy. Working for her dad had come somewhat natural, even though he had assumed that she would take the position when offered, going through the motions of asking her almost as an afterthought. She was used to it in a way, having taken care of her mom and him for years when her mom was sick.

After accepting her fate, she dove into the role with gusto, becoming almost indispensible to the department with her vast knowledge of the ins and outs of the whole system. She even found she liked the job and the power it wielded. No one questioned anything that she did, which she realized actually gave her an independence that she had always craved, an independence that now defined her.

For him to suddenly go out of character and start throwing around compliments was almost...insulting. She wasn't doing this job to please him, at least not any longer. She was doing this job for her, to fulfill her plans and dreams. And she had plans, for the first time in her life, she had plans.

Jane suddenly realized that her hands were balled up in fists under her desk, her neck muscles aching from being taut for several minutes. She immediately forced herself to relax, rolling her head in a circle above her shoulders.

Taking up the patrol schedule, she set to work making the changes needed to reflect the increased patrols.

"Settle down, Jane," she mumbled to herself, "You're taking yourself much too seriously."

Chapter 45

March 17, 1997

Our nighttime investigations were not going as well as planned.

Franklin county roads were, for the most part, divvied up with one every mile, following the section lines of the county. With over twenty square miles to investigate and with backtracking and unfamiliarity we estimated that we would have more than eighty miles of road to cover.

With a thirty minute trip to the neighboring county each way, having to drive slow to look at houses, a limited amount of daylight, and the extra roads that were stuck in on the half mile here or there, our task had become quite daunting.

Having had no luck in five days of searching, we had decided to take a few days off from our search. I was wrung out both mentally and physically and was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with my lovely wife.

Unfortunately, I was now sitting at my desk paying bills, the quiet night having taken a turn for the worst during supper, when Betty had reminded me of her plans to attend a baby shower for one of her friends.

' _That will still work'_ I thought to myself. I would still be able to relax, just without her keeping me company.

After supper however, she had quietly grabbed my hand and started to walk me into the other room, visions of unexpected intimacy suddenly filling my head.

She was so sweet!

Another letdown reared its ugly head though when she stopped in front of my desk, turning me around and setting me down in my chair.

"I'm sorry honey, but with everything that has been going on we have gotten behind on the bills. There was a disconnect notice from the electric company on the doorknob when I got home today, and there are others I'm sure we're late on."

Turning to go and get ready, she called back over her shoulder, "You wouldn't want to see me without electricity for my curling iron and blow-dryer."

I was disappointed on so many levels, but mostly with myself. I usually tried to stay on top of these things, which can be a real challenge sometimes considering both of us work for local governments, who it turned out never had enough money either.

Neither one of us was in it for the money, but I wouldn't complain if they offered us a little more moolah now and again.

I plugged along, going through bill after bill, writing checks, licking envelopes and stamps. The one positive of the night was when I got to the mortgage book and realized that we only had a couple more payments to make before the house was ours...again.

We had to take out a mortgage soon after we were married to do some repairs that were needed as well as some improvements that Betty had asked for. I had lived in the house for years before we were married, not requiring nor expecting much out of my abode.

Betty was easy to please, but liked having a few more niceties than I was used to. My favorite of these was the dishwasher, I loved my dishwasher. Add a roof in need of repair and upgrading the plumbing and electric and the numbers added up quickly.

Our bank was more than willing to give us the money, making it easy for us the join the large club of homeowners with mortgages.

There would definitely be a night out to celebrate when we made that last payment!

At 10:00 Betty arrived to find me asleep at my desk, paid invoices and stamped envelopes surrounding me on the floor. She gently woke me and helped me into bed, easily averting my mumbled sexual advances as she undressed me and tucked me in.

As I slipped easily back into slumber, I was very thankful for my lovely, beautiful and intelligent wife. I was determined to tell her that more often, after I woke up again.

***

I was sitting in my chair, which was strange. I was already in the room and sitting, with no recollection as to how I had gotten there.

The room was also a bit brighter than on my previous visits. I noticed there was a new light fixture, a floor lamp. The new lamp was situated over the chess board.

Did my unseen opponent need more light?

Noticing the way it lit up the board, I suddenly realized that it _was_ much easier to see now. I had been toying with the idea of getting reading glasses lately, and this seemed to help confirm the need to look into that.

As I was trying to make out the style of the fixture, I heard a noise off to my right, behind me.

Looking back, I saw nothing, just like the last time.

I grabbed my coffee and took a few sips, waiting for the noise again while silence ensued. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax, working on a plan in my mind to try to catch the unseen source of the noise.

When I again heard the slight squeak of the floorboard, I sprang into action, standing up quickly and turning in the direction of the sound, ready to run.

My feet however refused to move. Seemingly glued to the floor, I could not raise either of them. Having thrown myself up quickly while twisting in anticipation of a speedy takeoff, I now found that I had no control of the destination of my body as it continued forward...and down.

I was falling to the floor as if in slow motion. Suddenly, it was dark as I continued to feel the fall of my body being pulled by gravity. Abruptly the fall was halted amid a loud noise and pain...so much pain. I was flailing my arms and trying to save myself from the dark abyss that surrounded me.

"Gabriel?" I heard as the room suddenly filled with light...my bedroom.

I quickly turned toward the voice to see Betty sitting up in bed, her hand on the table lamp beside her. Looking over at the clock, it is again showing 5:30 on its illuminated face. I could swear that it was sneering at me.

"Are you ok dear?" Betty asked with concern, "Are you hurt?"

"You stood straight up out of bed and then fell flat on your face. You yelled like it hurt a lot."

I rolled on my back and laid my head on the floor, probing my sore nose with my hand.

"Yeah, I'm ok," I replied through my hand, embarrassed more than hurt, "Just another stupid dream. I was ...oh never mind, it's not important."

I got up and went to the other side of the bed, giving Betty a kiss while taking care to keep my nose out of it.

"Lay back down for awhile, I'll get the coffee going."

Padding down the stairs and on to the back door to let Lucy out, I thought of the dream, going over the details in my head to see if I could glean any pertinent information out of them.

Useful information eluded me, except for one thing. Finding a note pad I wrote a reminder to myself and taped it to my coffee cup. The note read simply, "reading glasses."

Chapter 46

March 20, 1997

We were back on the road and had decided to check out the two stores that sold the bean soup in our county. Frank pulled into the first one, aptly named, 'The Gas Mart'. I got out of the car and went in to see if I could find a manager or owner, not liking my chances of finding anyone that would remember the transaction I was looking for.

I was met instead by a greasy looking teenager halfheartedly sweeping the floor, a single earring in his left ear.

Both of his ears had wires hanging out of them, connecting to a Walkman on his belt. Asking for the manager, he reluctantly removed one of the earphones before asking me why I wanted to see him. Not liking to do it but needing to speed this up, I pulled out my badge, flipping it quickly open and closed before announcing, "Police business."

That got his attention. He moved off quickly, mumbling something about him being in back. In a couple of minutes another kid maybe two years older than the first presented himself in front of me, his dirty blonde hair hanging to his shoulders.

"Can I help you, officer?"

"We are investigating a crime, and we need to see if anyone bought a case or more of Johnson Brothers' bean soup in the last week to ten days from your store."

The manager, whose nametag identified him as 'Dale' stood there unmoving for several seconds, his face a mask, revealing nothing.

"What?"

"What what?" I answered in return, losing my patience rapidly, "What part is it you're not clear on...Dale?"

"Well...I mean...soup?...You serious dude?"

This wasn't working, but taking in the kid that was before me I hit on another idea.

"Can I let you in on a secret?" I asked him while moving closer, changing my tack and trying to convince him to look at this as if he was more of a partner.

He looked me in the eye then shook his head in the affirmative.

"Come with me outside for a minute, I don't want these other people hearing this."

Walking outside, I led him to the rear of our car, waving Frank out of the vehicle as I passed.

"This is my partner Frank, and my name is Gabriel. Frank, this is Dale."

Frank nodded slightly at me before offering his hand to the young manager. He knew when to play along with a situation until he caught on to it. Leaning in close to make sure he understood me this time, I spoke slow and steady.

"This is a murder investigation, Dale; three people are dead, cut down in the prime of their lives. We are investigators for the prosecutor, working with the task force investigating these murders, and we could use your help with a couple of the clues."

Dale's eye grew wide at the revelation, squaring his shoulders a bit before asking, "What can I do to help?"

Smiling slightly at the transformation, I continued.

"We have it on good authority that someone involved in these murders bought at least a full case of Johnson Brothers' bean soup in the last week or so. It would have been in this area, right around the county line. Anybody that saw this person might help us identify a murderer. It's a _very_ important part of our investigation."

A thoughtful look crossed Dale's face, mentally making the transition from assistant manager to detective. I was so proud.

After a few moments he looked up. "Personally, I don't remember anyone buying anything like that, but I could check around. There are sixteen people that work here, different days of the week, different shifts, like that. Might take me a day or so du....I mean sir; you know, until I can see everybody."

Smiling, I reached into my jacket and pulled out one of my cards.

"Call me Gabriel, Dale" I said as I handed him the card.

Dale pulled out his wallet and inserted the card, taking care to make sure the badge imprinted on my card peeked out of the leather pocket so others might chance to see it.

"If that soup was sold here, I'll find it for you...Gabriel." Dale gushed as he held out his hand to shake mine and then Frank's hand in turn.

As he turned to re-enter the store purposely, I heard a 'humph' come out of Frank's mouth. Looking at my partner with a questioning look, I saw him shaking his head back and forth as he got back into our car.

"You just changed that boy's life," Frank bantered, "he may just be after our jobs one of these days if you don't watch it."

Smiling and looking over at my partner, I added, "If he finds who bought that soup, and if it turns out that someone actually _did_ buy the soup, I may just give him mine!"

Chapter 47

March 20, 1997

The other store was too far out of our way and we decided to catch it on another night. Following the now well-worn map, we found our last stopping point and continued working our grid: left one mile, right one mile, right another mile, finishing with backtracking over the first road to get to the next section.

Back and forth in a maddening cycle that seemed to be getting us nowhere. It was an extreme hunch we were following, based almost solely on a vision I had in my head while sleeping. Adding to our difficulties in possibly identifying the murderer's hideout was the fact that I had never seen the outside of the building, only the inside of the one room.

"Don't look so discouraged, Gabe," Frank said after glancing over at me. "It may take awhile, but we'll find it."

"I appreciate the pep talk, Frank," I said, grimacing. "And I know you're right, but the odds aren't good that it will happen anytime soon without some additional leads."

"They will come," Frank continued matter-of-factly, "they will come."

"Like that one there," I said as I pointed off to our left, indicating an old two-story farm house 200 feet off of the road. "I would jump on that one: secluded, no power to it, not even a mail box. Then I look at it closer. The grass is mowed, the house looks newly painted...there is no way the inside of this house looks like my dream."

Frank reached over and grabbed my shoulder, "If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that..."

I busted out laughing at Frank's statement as he followed suit and laughed along. Immediately relaxing, I realized that I had been taking myself too seriously once again.

The rest of the night passed with no new leads, but with a much more relaxed attitude. Friendship, it seemed, helped overcome many things.

Chapter 48

March 20, 1997

The man had continued to watch from behind the old blanket on the window until the taillights disappeared down the road. The road the house was on had very little traffic, so any noise of a car on the road gave the man cause for concern.

The last three days had been busy with preparations for his next 'project'. Jasmine it seemed had stepped up the schedule lately, giving him but a few days to get everything ready this time around.

Fine with him, he was anxious to get on with his work. The Ghost was ready to be released once again.

His eye started twitching furiously when he started feeling anxious, so he rubbed the ring that he now wore on his right hand with the fingers of his left. Calming almost immediately, he looked down to admire his prize as he continued to rub it.

He regretted that he had had to walk away from the necklace, but this gold ring was even better than the strange looking cross of his first trophy.

A college ring. Who would have ever thought that he would end up with a college ring for any reason? He actually thought it a fitting reward; after all he had just recently graduated from his former life, graduated with honors.

Jacob John Wesley was no more, the Ghost was now all consuming and in control. He was a master at his art, and the ring signified this very nicely for the man.

As an added plus, he could wear this in public without too much difficulty. Showing off to the unsuspecting idiots around him held a special place in his heart, which had in fact started beating wildly in his chest just thinking about it.

He again started rubbing the ring to calm down. It took longer this time to bring his rapidly beating pulse under control.

Pacing back and forth, he knew he needed to get out of the house again before he went crazy. Pulling the curtain back slightly once again, he saw that it was almost dark, safe for the Ghost to escape his confines.

Going to the old sideboard, he picked up the car keys, and then stopped for a moment before deciding to also bring the gun.

' _What the hell,'_ he mused to himself. The world's most famous murderer should carry a weapon with him at all times! After all, it would be expected!

He was in high spirits as he exited the old house, blowing out the ancient oil lamp on his way to the shed to retrieve his car. He took in a lungful of the spring air as he pulled open the doors. _'It would indeed be a good night'_ he thought to himself as he entered his ride, _'a good night indeed'_.

Chapter 49

March 21, 1997

We knew so much, and yet we knew so little. It was maddening.

It had been ten days since we had positively identified our perpetrator, and yet we had not been able to pick up his trail yet.

Frustration was again entering the investigation, like a mother-in-law living in the back bedroom who wouldn't go home. You know she is leaving eventually, you're just not sure if you'll live that long.

Everything had lined itself up as it was supposed to in an investigation:

-We had positive proof of the identity of the murderer; confirmed by eyewitness testimony and recovered items in his apartment.

-We assumed that he still had the ring from the Longstreet murder, a sketch of which had been circulated to all law enforcement. This could help in confirming identity if he somehow changed his looks.

-We assumed from the soil sample from the first murders that there was some connection to our neighboring county to the north. The sketch of the murderer and an ID photo from his work had been sent to the Sheriff's department in that county, as well as the State Police.

Other clues were not as concrete. Unfortunately, I was counting on these the most.

The code book indicated that there was a second person involved, and that that person was a woman. Betty was working with Percy to try and find a local connection to the notebook.

And of course, the clues garnered from my visions figured heavily into my _unofficial_ investigation. I felt like a fool for putting so much credence into what amounted to unconfirmed hunches, but the other dream revelations had eventually panned out. I guess I just needed to have faith and plod along like I had been doing, hoping that sooner or later everything would work its way to the surface.

I was sitting at my desk, going over the known information and trying to come up with a new tack to follow. My door was closed as I tested out a new tool, reading glasses picked up that morning at a local pharmacy.

I had finally broken down, bowing to the inevitability of age and time. The Ben Franklin looking spectacles were, in my estimation, about as ugly as a pair of glasses could be. But the now amazingly clear pages of type lying in front of me confirmed the need and the wisdom of my decision.

I was still not willing to share my infirmity with others however; a fact that became clear as I quickly jerked them off of my face at the sound of knocking at my door. In my haste to preserve my vanity, the glasses flew across the room, landing under the bookcase to my right.

I was looking that direction as Betty entered the office. "What's wrong?" she uttered in response to the confused look on my face.

"Nothing," I responded, instantly feeling guilty at even the hint of a secret with my wife. I would need to let her in on it soon, but it was still too raw of a subject.

Sitting down in the chair opposite me, Betty gave me one of her smiles that she reserved just for me, a hint of concern showing in her eyes nonetheless.

"You're looking very tired lately, these long nighttime jaunts aren't doing you any good physically," she said.

"We need a vacation. How about you and me and a beach when this is over?" I asked her, suddenly animated. Her eyes sparkled at the thought.

"Count me in" she said as she opened the file on her lap.

"Ok, down to business. I have some good news and some bad news, which one do you want first?" she asked, getting quickly to the point.

"Bad will do nicely, and then we can finish up with the good news, maybe make my day!"

"The notebook was made by Columbus Press in St. Louis. They distribute this particular notebook all over the country, any big box or chain store is going to handle it, literally any one of hundreds of people could have purchased it locally."

"That's depressing," I said in response, "but more or less what we expected. What else?"

"Well, that would fall under the heading of good news, or at least not a dead end. Percy has analyzed the ink of the book, and found something quite interesting. According to the color and chemical makeup, he has isolated the manufacturer of the ink."

"Upon calling them, we found that it is a special formula developed for one particular customer, a company in Florida that sells high-end stationary and pens through a nationally distributed catalogue, as well as an internet site that they just started last year."

I sat up straighter, the revelation and its potential ramifications clicking immediately in my head. "That's great," I exclaimed," That could really lead to something!"

"Already in the works," Betty added with a smile, "They are faxing us a list of customers they have had in our county in the last year, as well as those from Franklin County. We should have it in an hour or so. It comes out to about thirty names."

I let out a long whistle. "That's still a pretty big list," I said with a lack of enthusiasm.

"In addition to that," Betty continued again with a smile, "I have been in contact with the private and parochial schools in both counties, and they are compiling a list of all female students they have had in the time period Percy recommended. A thirty-five year old would have started school in 1968, and a twenty-five year old would have graduated in 1990. Add a couple of years on each end and you are looking at a range from 1966 to 1992."

"That's probably still a lot of people," I stated. It didn't deem to be the great lead I was hoping for.

"Not really, the non-public schools in the area are all pretty small, some as small as two to three new people a year. Plus if we cross the students' names with the names from the stationary company..."

"It would probably be a pretty short list!" I cut in, excitement again building. "Betty, you're a genius!"

"No promises Gabriel," she said with a smile, "but I've got to believe that this will lead to something we can use."

I wholeheartedly agreed, the pride in my girl showing on my face. "Can we just hang around the house tonight?" I asked, "Not do anything?"

"I think that could be arranged, if you could bring something special home to eat. How about Mexican...or Chinese?"

"Perfect," I exclaimed, probably the most excited I've ever been at the thought of doing nothing. I called Frank and begged off our nightly mobile investigation. He sounded relieved when he said that was ok with him.

Betty had left and I was wrapping up when my phone rang. I picked it up without thinking, not knowing it would immediately change my plans within minutes of making them.

"Mr. Celtic...err...Gabriel, this is Dale, from 'The Gas Mart'. I think I may have something for you."

Chapter 50

March 21, 1997

Our buddy Dale may have come through with some information, thinking he had found the ' _Great Soup Transaction'_ we had asked him to look into. He asked if we could come up right away, as the cashier that made the sale was leaving after her shift to go on vacation with her family.

I quickly called Frank back and arranged to head north in five minutes. I then called Betty to fill her in, telling her I would bring supper home as soon as I could.

Our boy Dale came out to meet us when he saw our car pull into the lot. Although his hair was still long, it had been washed and it was neatly combed this time around, an indicator of his new status as an investigator, no doubt.

"Hi Gabriel, hi Frank," he said with a smile, extending his hand to shake ours like we were his oldest friends.

"One of our cashiers, Jena, remembers selling the soup you were wondering about. Come on in and you can talk to her."

We followed Dale into the un-crowded convenience store and over to a cute little girl of about seventeen sporting curly brown hair and deep brown eyes.

"Guys, this is Jena. Jena, would you tell these detectives what you told me about the sale?"

"Sure!" she said perkily.

"There was like this old lady that like lugged this big-as...this big box full of soup over to my counter and I was like man you must really like this stuff and she was like giving me the silent treatment so I like know when to shut-it and I rang her out and she like, you know, left...out the door."

"How old do you think she was?" I asked after recovering from her tirade and the confirmation that it was a woman that had bought the soup.

"I don't know; it's like she had on like these big old-lady sunglasses, probably like thirty?"

"What did she look like; fat, thin, hair color?"

"She was pretty well preserved, you know like still had her figure and all. Her hair? It was like, blonde I think."

"Do you remember the day this happened?" I asked, feeling now like I would have to pull every little detail out of her one at a time.

"We determined that it was March third," Dale joined in, "Jena remembered it was real busy that day, a lot of old people. Social Security checks, you know?"

"Do either one of you know how she paid, was it with a credit card or cash?" I asked hopefully.

"Cash, definitely," Jena piped in. "She handed me a five and like didn't wait for change, I had to like turn it in though cause, you know, they won't let me keep tips or nothin."

Frank tapped me on the shoulder, pointing up with his finger. "Do you guys keep tapes for that security camera?" he asked Dale. Dale looked up, a smile spreading across his face.

"We sure do! We keep them for a month; insurance company makes us do it since we were robbed last time."

Following our intrepid junior detective to the office in the back, he pulled down the tape for March 3rd and stuck it in the machine. "Jena said it was about dark when this happened, so I'll run it up to about 5:00."

We gathered around the black and white monitor, watching a grainy high speed picture of customers coming in and out.

"There she is!" Dale shouted as he stopped the tape and reversed it in slow motion. Stopping it again, he again put the tape in slow-motion, this time in forward.

It was immediately evident that the woman was aware of the camera, keeping her face averted from it. We watched as she threw the money on the counter, then turned to the right and proceeded to leave the store away from the camera. Just before she got to the door I reached up and hit the pause button, 5:36 PM showing as the time on the screen.

The back of the woman in the picture did indeed reveal her to have a good figure, quite evident even with the hooded sweatshirt she was wearing. With shoulder length blonde hair that looked thick and well kept, I would guess this woman to be a step above your typical murdering mastermind, if that was indeed what she was.

"There she is, Frank," I said, still staring at the grainy image in front of me. "The best picture we have of the supplier of our murderer; and possibly the brains behind the string of murders."

Frank silently continued to stare at the picture on the screen. "Betty was right," he finally uttered, as the ramifications of what he was seeing finally settled in.

"Dale, can we get a copy of this?" I asked as I continued to size up the woman on the screen.

"Sure thing," Dale exclaimed with a smile as he hurried out of the office. Arriving back in the office after only a minute, the smile was no longer evident and had been replaced with a worried frown.

"I hate to ask, but can one of you guys fork over $4.95 for the tape? My manager won't let me give you one."

Reaching into my pocket and pulling out a $5 bill, I handed it to Dale, returning my eyes to stare at the screen once more until he returned.

"You know," Frank started hesitation heavy in his voice. "This is great evidence, but we can't use it, not officially. It proves that this lady purchased soup, but we still can't prove that the perp actually has the soup, or where he is even located to corroborate that he has the soup."

Frank was right and I knew it, but had no idea what to do about it. The stars were aligning on my psychic event, but I still couldn't prove I wasn't full of it concerning my visions.

I had never asked for one of the dreams that came upon me in my sleep, but I was at that point now. If I could just have one more dream...

Chapter 51

March 21, 1997

We thanked Dale for his help, promising we would keep in touch before we headed back to town. We were both quiet on the drive back, lost in thought over our discovery.

Betty was not going to believe it, we had proven a lot of her theory about the second person, and that that person was a woman. At least the theory was proven in mine and Frank's minds, we were just not able to make if official yet.

About half way back to town, we passed the Guilford Covered Bridge Park. I could still make out the bridge as we drove by, noticing the new paint and roof on the recently burned out bridge. I remembered reading in the paper that they were going to fix the outside facade, even though the inside repairs were not complete. Their theory was that by fixing the shell, it would protect the inside from any further degradation, as well as giving shelter to anyone working on the old structure.

I continued thinking about the old bridge for the next few miles, not only because it was easier than thinking about our case, but also because I used to play around on it when I was a kid. In fact, I could remember way deep down in my memory banks actually driving across it with my mom and dad while it was still in service. That had been more years ago than I cared to think about.

A couple of other childhood memories floated through my brain, thinking mostly about my mom and dad, happy memories of childhood and love I suppose. Eventually my thoughts turned back to the bridge, again thinking about repairing the roof, the siding. You would do this to protect...

"DAMN!"

Frank, who had himself been lost in thought while driving, swerved slightly at my outburst, getting the car quickly back in control before looking at me with a puzzled look.

"What the hell was that about?" he questioned, surprise still in his voice.

"I'm an idiot, that's what. I was discounting old houses that looked fixed up in our search because they looked too good to have a room like I saw in my dream. Any sane person _would_ fix up the outside first, so that you could then work on the inside...I'm an idiot."

"You know, that's true, but I didn't think of it either," Frank said in regard to my mistake. "We did this on the spur of the moment, probably just didn't think it through well enough."

"I know, but I can think of at least three houses we passed up because of that, and I don't remember where they were."

"Well then, we've got a choice to make my friend. Either we keep going and then start over when we are done, or we start over now, using our new outlook to investigate more of the buildings. I don't see any shortcut way out of this though...not if we want to be thorough."

Frank was right as usual, about everything. We had jumped the gun and wasted time; and we would have to do it again.

"I think we should start over," I said with regret. "Our search pattern started in the south and worked north. If we make the assumption that our man is hiding as close as he can to our county, then we might theorize that we've already passed it."

"Sounds right to me." Frank chimed in with conviction. "We just need to do it, no regrets, starting tomorrow. It's Saturday, so we could start early, say 8:00?"

We finalized our plans as we pulled into the lot. Waving goodbye, I unlocked my car and got in. As I sat down in the driver's seat, I marveled again at Frank's unwavering devotion to doing things the right way, and his ability to defuse an emotional situation with his logic. No pity party allowed. He had made me feel better immediately over my screw-up, and I thanked whoever was up there once again for his friendship.

Right now, however, I had to prepare myself for the final, most important decision of the day.

Mexican or Chinese?

Chapter 52

March 22, 1997

"Larry Loudon, deputy extraordinaire, driving around back country roads at three in the morning," The man mumbled to himself.

"What the hell am I doing here?"

Feeling sorry for himself was not like him, but the unexpected overtime after putting in extra time with the task force was wearing on him.

"Nothing out here but deer and raccoons," he mumbled in continued frustration as he slowed for a small herd of the former. The least they could've done was to give him a patrol area that had some action to help keep him awake. Relegated to a series of mostly gravel roads in the middle of the county, the most exciting thing he had seen all night was a train riding slowly past as he was pulled off the road to take a leak...seventy six hopper cars heading south, probably taking corn to the distillery.

"That's so sad," he thought out loud at the overly involved thought process he had used on the train. He should be so lucky to solve the murders as easily.

Sliding slightly on his seat to get into a more comfortable position, he was looking forward to 5:00 when he could grab three hours sleep before his regular shift started.

Rolling down his window, he pulled out the old chew in his mouth with a crooked finger, flinging it out the open window before taking a new dip from his can and packing it in next to his gum.

"Thank God for chew," he intoned as he started feeling the rush that a new dip sometimes gave him.

Rounding the next corner continued the rush however as he became instantly alert at what he saw ahead of him. A car was pulled off to the side of the deserted road, the driver half in and half out of the car; lying face up in the road.

Regs demanded that he call in a situation like this before leaving the car, but he wanted to look it over a little more before doing so. Turning on the vehicle spotlight, he first brightly lit the man in the road, then his surroundings to make sure he was alone.

Moving the light back to the man, he slowly got out of the car, pulling out his weapon as he moved around the front of his cruiser.

Reaching for his mic, he said,"14 to base."

"Base."

"I have a 10-42 on Bonnell Road, 5 miles north of Guilford."

"Roger, Larry, keep me apprised."

Moving forward carefully and checking his surroundings as he went, he stopped at the back of the car, noticing that it was an older Taurus.

Taking one last look around, he moved forward toward the body, reaching down and checking for a pulse at the carotid. He felt relieved to feel the beat under his fingers, having seen enough dead bodies in the last few weeks to last him a lifetime.

Pulling the metal flashlight off of his belt, he looked the guy over to determine his condition. A knot on the man's forehead easily explained his present condition, probably had a fight with a drunken buddy.

Reaching to his mic to call in the Life squad, Larry felt a prick on his leg. Thinking he was leaning against a thorn bush, he attempted to move sideways to get away from it.

It was the last thing that he would remember.

Chapter 53

March 22, 1997

The Ghost left his hiding place and walked up to the scene beside the car, both men now lying on the ground. Reaching down, he pulled the tranquilizer dart out of the deputy's leg with his gloved hand and deposited it into his sweatshirt pocket, "Fast actin' shit," he mused as he stood and admired his handiwork.

The old disabled car ploy had again easily gotten him another victim, although he had had to wait over an hour for a passerby to even show up on the deserted back road.

Once the old man had stopped, a tire iron had handily disabled him as he attempted to get out of the car, drunk as a skunk.

Getting back into his own car, he drove up about a mile before turning onto the railroad right-of-way at a crossing, doubling back using the old road bed from the second track they had removed years ago.

Stopping again parallel to the old man's car, he had grabbed the tranquilizer gun before having to quickly hide from a sudden and unexpected freight train that announced itself with its loud, mournful horn and bright light from around the curve behind him.

Hiding in the weeds between the tracks and the road, he let his heart calm, his eye twitching like a rabbit's nose from the surprising appearance of the train. He estimated that he was about thirty yards away from the road at this point.

" _Should be an easy shot,"_ he had thought to himself as he settled himself into the grass.

Another hour passed before the deputy showed up, being careful and taking his time before getting out of the car. The spotlight had surprised the now blonde man when it had come on suddenly, panning the area with its piercing beam. He had to flatten out in the sparse weeds to avoid being seen, readying the gun in the off chance he would be spotted.

The light finally settled on the car in front of the cruiser as the deputy slowly advanced forward, using extreme caution and calling in his situation to his dispatcher as his training demanded.

" _Unfortunately for him,"_ thought the Ghost, _"caution will do him no good this night."_

Taking aim through the sights of the gun, he squeezed off the shot as the deputy squatted by the disabled man. Hitting the deputy in the thigh, the distracted officer seemed barely to notice before dropping to the ground seconds later.

The Ghost could only smile at the way this had all come together. Sure, his mentor had given him the tentative schedule, but it had taken his skills and tenacity to accomplish the result lying before him now.

"Now for the piece de resistance," the man said as he lifted the deputy's hand, the gun still in its grip. Threading his gloved finger over that of the patrolman, he took aim at the center of the old man's chest, the body jumping as the slug entered the rib cage amid the amazingly loud retort of the discharging weapon.

The Ghost leaped up quickly, not because he was surprised or scared, but because he was ecstatic!

He wanted to shout to the world his accomplishments, but settled for a little jig around the participants in his melodramatic play. Looking, if anyone had been there to watch, like a leprechaun dancing around his pot of gold.

Common sense finally settled in and he headed back to his car, picking up the tranquilizer gun on his way. Jumping back into his car, he moved slowly away from the murder with the lights off. He would follow the tracks for about four miles before exiting the railroad right-of-way onto the highway.

It was way too late to buy any liquor on the way to his hideout. That was one detail that had gotten away from him.

Should've picked something up on my way to 'work'.

He would need to get out tomorrow and get some to celebrate, in fact that was all he had planned for tomorrow, celebrating the continued success of the Ghost.

### Chapter 54

### March 22, 1997

" _14...to...Base."_

"Base."

(Several seconds pass.)

"This is Base, go ahead Larry."

" _Something...something has happened."_

" _I need...I need help."_

"Are you ok? Are you injured?"

" _No...yes...I don't know. A man is dead. I need help."_

"What? Where? Are you at your last reported location Larry?"

" _I'm...I don't know...Bonnell Road...I think."_

"Hang tight Larry, I'm sending help to your last location."

" _Hurry...please hurry...I need help."_

Chapter 55

March 22, 1997

Sheriff Lean McHenry was dressed in two minutes and out the door, the power of the police V8 emanating throughout the car as he shoved his foot to the floorboard.

His pulse rate matched that of the speedometer on his cruiser as he made his way down the curvy hill toward Bonnell Road. His house was only about three miles from where Larry had called in from, and he was certain he would be first on the scene.

He had never heard his dispatcher Joan so shook up. She had said that Larry sounded very confused...she was afraid he was injured.

The sheriff put that thought out of his mind as he concentrated on getting to the crime scene in one piece.

Pulling quickly left onto the gravel road, his tires threw a hail of rocks as he powered through the corner, barely noticing as the car fishtailed back and forth a few times. He hoped the wailing siren and flashing lights would keep any deer out of his way, but he would plow through any brave enough to challenge him tonight.

Pulling up to the scene was like entering a nightmare vision right out of _Dante's Inferno_ , the strobe effect of the light bars on the cruisers lighting the area in a bizarre array of reds and blues. The spotlight on Larry's car immediately focused Lean's attention to the macabre scene of the bloody man lying on the road as it pierced the darkness, the strobing lights lost in its intensity.

The sheriff's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Larry, almost lost from view in the relative darkness of his position. Slumped over beside his car with his chin to his chest, Lean's first thought was that he too was dead.

As the sheriff exited his car, he detected movement in his deputy and rushed over to his position, grabbing the younger man's shoulder with one hand and lifting his chin carefully with the other. Tears were running down Larry's cheeks as he started a rapid-fire babble at the sight of his boss, the words coming out as mostly slurred and unintelligible.

"Calm down, Larry, calm down! Take some deep breaths. That's it, take a couple more. Now, slowly, tell me what happened."

Larry swallowed hard and slowly started to describe what happened, at least what he knew.

He described how he had found the man lying on the road, how he had first checked his surroundings before approaching, and of checking the man's pulse to find him alive.

He stopped there, hesitating with a confused look on his face.

"What happened then, Larry?" the sheriff questioned after a few moments of silence.

"I don't know," Larry answered quietly. "The next thing I remember I was lying on the road with my face in the gravel. I remember that I felt groggy..."

He stared off into nothingness for a few moments before the sheriff nudged him, urging him on as to what happened next.

"When I realized where I was, I got up and checked on the injured guy...he had been shot!"

"I checked his pulse, but he was dead. I grabbed my gun and looked around but couldn't see anyone else. I looked down on the road and found a 9mm shell casing lying there...and then I checked my weapon..."

Looking up at his boss, the tears started coming again as he held up his Glock with two fingers as if in an offering for the sheriff. Continuing on in a sorrowful voice, Larry finished his tale.

"My gun has been fired...I think I shot that man."

Chapter 56

March 22, 1997

Sirens wailed in the distance as the sheriff rose from the ground, holding Larry's gun with two fingers. He stood there a few seconds, still digesting what his deputy had just told him before heading to his trunk for an evidence bag.

Taking a whiff of the barrel before inserting the gun into the bag confirmed that it had indeed been recently fired.

"Damn it," was all that his overloaded mind would let him say as he sealed the bag, writing the pertinent information on the outside of it with a marker.

Taking out a cigarette and popping it into his mouth, he quickly dug his Zippo out of his pocket to light it.

Play smoking wouldn't suffice tonight.

Keying his mic, he raised dispatch to make sure that forensics and the coroner had been called, and to tell everyone that Larry was ok, at least physically.

He hoped that there was enough evidence to help clear his deputy; otherwise it looked like he might have at the very least an accidental shooting on his hands. He had known Larry for years, there was no way, even in his wildest imagination that he could conceive of the deputy doing this on purpose.

Lean had another problem scratching at his soul however, one that had even more dire consequences for him personally. This would be the third strike on his department in a little over a month. Voters wouldn't be lining up to reelect someone with a string of screw-ups like he was piling up. That is, of course, if they didn't try to run him out of town before the election.

Thank God they didn't tar and feather people anymore.

Police cars were everywhere now, the sheriff quickly falling into the more comfortable role of barking orders and overseeing details. He spotted the life squad as it weaved its way through the parked police cars. Sheriff McHenry directed it personally to Larry's position.

Squatting down to talk to Larry once again, he gently shook the now almost comatose deputy.

"Larry, look at me son."

Larry slowly looked up, his reddened eyes finally coming into focus.

"Larry, the EMT'S are here to look you over. I'm going to advise you as a friend not to talk to anyone about this until you talk to your union's attorney. I'll make sure someone calls him for you. Do you understand everything I'm saying?"

Larry nodded imperceptibly just as an EMT hurried over to check him out.

"Thanks boss," Larry added softly as the sheriff rose again.

Standing now in the center of the road, Sheriff McHenry watched as his people did what his people did. Normally he would be extremely proud, but tonight his heart was filled with dread and uncertainty.

"What the hell is going on in this county?" he asked himself, seemingly a daily question as of late.

Pulling another cigarette out of his pack and lighting it, he inhaled deeply, letting the smoke slowly depart his body through his nose before turning back to his car.

"Damn it!"

Chapter 57

March 22, 1997

A white-frame, two-story house with a new paint smell stood prominently before me in the moonlight. It appeared to be old but well built, and it appeared to be deserted at the moment.

It was pitch-black inside.

Suddenly I noticed a small sliver of light at the edge of one of the windows, a silhouette peeking out quickly before disappearing again.

I carefully walked toward the window, seeing that it was covered from the inside with some kind of heavy curtain or blanket. Small amounts of dim light were showing in places along the edge of the window covering.

A phone started ringing loudly just on the other side of the window. I was not expecting this and turned to hide before someone noticed me. As I started to turn, I backed into a short stump, losing my balance and falling back, my arms flailing at the air. The ringing continued to blare in my ear.

I continued to fall for what seemed like ten seconds; the young buds and branches of the spring canopy of a tree in the yard watching me from above as I fell. I finally landed with a THUD...onto the floor of my dark bedroom, the phone beside my bed yelling for me to pick it up.

Allen Vanguard was on the other end of the line, his voice full of worried energy. It appeared that our 'unofficial' investigation scheduled for this morning would have to wait.

We were to interview Larry from the Sheriff's department instead.

Giving me the short version of what he knew of the incident, I was at a loss to believe what I was hearing. Larry was one of the good guys, solid as a rock. He could be a little hard headed, but sometimes that was a good thing in a cop.

Allen explained that he didn't want there to be any possibility of public perception deeming this a cover-up by the Sheriff's department. Bringing Frank and I into the investigation may help alleviate that sensitivity; at least that was the hope.

Hanging up the phone, I noticed the time was 4:30 AM.

Doesn't anything ever happen during the day anymore?

Looking over at Betty, I saw she was still sleeping. I got dressed and headed downstairs to make coffee, mulling over what I had been told about the case.

He had come upon a man in the road, determined he was injured; apparently blacked out, and woke up to the man being shot through the chest, probably by his own gun.

The disparity of the man and this story were just too...too...weird, bizarre really. I would bet good money that if this information were anywhere close to being true, that someone would have had to force Larry to do it, under duress.

My mind then started going through scenarios of what might force the deputy into doing something like this. Someone could have something on him, someone could have something on someone he cared about, or someone could _have_ someone he cared about.

I made a quick call to Allen, hurriedly outlining the possible scenario of someone holding or threatening one or more of Larry's family. I told him it was a long shot, but considering the possible alternative, I thought it would be worth tracking down his family and checking on them.

Allen said he would get someone right on it; then impressed on me again to get my ass down to the Emergency room to interview the deputy... soon.

Pouring my coffee as I talked, I assured him I was walking out the door as we spoke. Hanging up, I grabbed my keys and locked up behind me, then headed to the car for the short drive to the hospital.

***

Frank was waiting for me in the parking lot, sipping on a coffee while leaning against his car. As I approached the hospital, he fell in beside me for the short walk to the sliding emergency room doors.

"Strange story," I said quietly as I looked straight ahead.

"Yep," Frank answered in return.

"You believe it?" I continued, almost to the door now.

"Not on your life," Frank uttered as the door slid open with a 'whoosh'.

Walking up a ramp, we entered another sliding door and into the lobby. Getting directions from the middle-aged bottle-blonde woman sitting at the desk, we entered the ER proper and found the room number she had given us.

A tall dark-haired deputy stood outside the room, asking for our IDs before letting us pass into the room. I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me once inside.

Larry was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, but you could tell he wasn't asleep, his pasty white face a stark contrast to the normally robust man we knew.

Opening his eyelids when he heard us enter, his eyes seemed wild as they telegraphed a whole range of emotions at once: fear, confusion, and shame being foremost.

Sitting down on each side of the bed, I started by asking him if everyone in his family was ok, if there was anything wrong at home.

Confusion was the initial emotion he showed, and it continued as he told me no. "Why would you ask that?" he questioned. "Do you know something I don't? Do _you_ know if they are ok?"

I assured him that as far as I knew, they were indeed ok. I averted any more questioning on his part by telling him it was just a test to check his mental alertness. That seemed to satisfy him for the moment; and he seemed to relax slightly as it had at least gotten him thinking of something else.

"Larry," Frank started, "Are you ok talking to us without your legal representative here?"

Looking up at both of us before responding, he finally shrugged.

"Yeah, I trust you guys."

"We need to go over what happened, at least as you remember it," Frank continued. "I know you've already done this multiple times, but we need to hear it again, slowly. Try not to leave any detail out, even if it seems minor."

He described to us how he had found the man lying on the road, how he had first checked his surroundings before calling it in and approaching, then checking the man's pulse to find him alive.

"Like I told the sheriff, the next thing I remember was laying on the road with my face in the gravel, that and that I felt groggy, like my head was spinning and I couldn't wake up."

"When I finally realized where I was, I got up and looked at the guy in the road, he had a hole in his chest. I checked his pulse, but he was dead. I got up and looked around with my gun, but didn't see anyone. Looking down I found a 9mm shell casing lying on the ground, then realized that my gun had been fired. Then I called it in."

I had been writing this all down as he talked, and now spent a few minutes going over it while Frank asked him if he needed anything. Larry shook his head while staring at his toes at the foot of the bed.

"Larry," I started after going over the notes, "I know this is a pain, but I would like you to try to get a few more details, for instance, did you immediately jump out of your car when you got there, or did you wait for awhile?"

Closing his eyes to think, he answered slowly and deliberately. "I did not get out immediately; I lit up the spotlight and checked the area first. Then I put the spotlight on the man in the road before getting out, calling it in, and advancing on the car. I continued to check the area as I moved toward the car, I had my weapon drawn."

"Good," I said, "What happened next? As much detail as possible."

"I noticed it was a Taurus, red I think. I remember thinking that I should call in the plates; I don't remember what the plate numbers were though."

"I kneeled down and felt for a pulse," he continued. "He had one, he was alive.

He had a big knot on his forehead, and I remember thinking that he probably got in a fight...you could smell alcohol, pretty much of it."

"I got ready to call it in and to ask for a bus. I remember getting tangled in a thorn bush. I moved over a little and then grabbed the mic... That's all I remember before I woke up."

"You know the rest; it's still pretty fuzzy."

I finished writing it all down, then leaned back in the chair to think. Frank was ramrod straight across the bed. He had once told me he did his best thinking when he was more or less in an uncomfortable position. I could see he was mulling over something, and I knew from past experience that it was best to leave him be when he looked like that.

"Larry, how far off the road had the car been parked would you say?" Frank asked suddenly.

Larry gave it some thought before answering. "Actually, it was more like on the side of the road, not off of it...more or less looked like he just stopped where he was."

The wheels were really spinning in Frank's head now, and I had no idea where they were heading. Pointing a finger at Larry's legs, he said, "Right leg, correct? The thorns?"

Larry nodded and Frank made his way around the bed and pulled up the sheet, as well as the part of the gown covering Larry's thigh. He found a single stick mark, like a large red chigger bite on his leg.

"Unless I miss my guess, I don't believe you were into a thorn bush. Not likely to be thorns in the middle of the road, you being on the left side of the car especially."

Things were starting to clear up in my head now too, but Larry still looked confused.

I think Frank was about to fix that.

"I believe you were drugged, Larry my boy, and since you had checked the area pretty well on the way to the car, I think you were darted. If we get the Doctor to give you a blood test, I bet we'll find some sort of tranquilizer in your system. Unless I miss my guess, I don't think you did anything at all. Someone else shot you, probably then used your gun to shoot the guy on the road. This smells to me like the "Ghost" has struck again...at least that's what I'm thinking."

It took a few seconds for the information to sink in before relief flooded Larry's eyes.

And that wasn't the only thing that started flooding his eyes.

Frank and I quickly excused ourselves from the room, saying we would get the Doctor to run the blood test. The sound of sobbing followed us out of the room, the relief felt at not being responsible for killing a man escaping Larry's body any way it could.

"Good catch!" I told Frank with a slap on his shoulder as we walked to the nurse's station. "That may never have come to the fore if that steel trap of a mind of yours hadn't worked it out so quickly."

"Humph," was all my friend would say.

Chapter 58

March 22, 1997

Frank and I decided to stop at Tim's Truck Stop for some breakfast...and at least a pot of coffee. The hospital had called my cell on our way to tell me that there were indeed barbiturates in Larry's system. They were going to give him additional saline to help flush it out of his system. I thanked them and gave my partner the news.

"Now who's physic?" I asked Frank with a smile.

"That was just good old fashioned police work, along with a bit of luck," he offered, clearly embarrassed.

I gave Allen a call with the results of our interview and the discovery of the drugs in Larry's system. Relief was evident in his voice as he thanked us and said he would have the rest of the taskforce oversee the now-expanded crime scene. After hanging up, I gave Betty a quick call to forewarn her.

The sexy voice that answered told me she was still in bed. I would give a thousand dollars to be there with her at that moment. I quickly outlined what had transpired so far in the investigation, and of the impending call from Allen.

"That must be who is beeping in now," she replied before we said quick goodbyes and I clicked off.

"I owe that lady a good vacation when this is all over," I said to Frank, who nodded over his menu as he worked up his order.

We flagged down our waitress and ordered our breakfast. Frank ordered eggs over easy, bacon and toast. I ordered the same, along with a big order of biscuits and gravy.

We also told Ann, our waitress, that her tip got bigger the more coffee we drank, and she readily agreed to come by often with the pot.

Nothing tasted better in the middle of the night than a good old greasy breakfast, and we dug into the cholesterol riddled food with gusto. I would need to walk the dog a few more times in the next few days to make up for it, but for now, I was in heaven.

As we sat drinking coffee after devouring the huge pile of food, I let Frank in on my latest dream, and how it had confirmed to me anyway that the house was newly painted.

He asked a few pertinent questions, which I answered to the best of my knowledge. I also told him of hearing the ring of the phone while I was in my dream. Although the phone in my house had actually been ringing, it got me to thinking that Wesley probably had a cellular phone with him, and maybe we would be able to track cell phone usage in some way.

Frank gave that some thought while he drank his coffee.

"Since we assume he doesn't have any electric, he more than likely doesn't leave it on much. That may be tough to track if he is indeed only using it as few minutes a day, or maybe even less."

His logic made sense to me immediately and I told him as much. We decided to keep the notion on the list to explore at a later date.

Paying our bill and leaving a generous tip for Ann, we then headed to the office to fill out some reports and other paperwork needed on the case. Frank's theory that our serial killer was also involved in this case was born out when the taskforce finished with the crime scene and started trickling into the office later that morning.

We all assembled in the conference room to go over the facts of both facets of the investigation. Allen stormed in like a whirlwind.

"Ok people, whatawegot?"

Frank and I went over our interview with Larry in the hospital, and the subsequent determination that he has indeed been drugged. We had of course then theorized that there was another person in the area, and that after drugging the deputy, had then taken Larry's weapon and shot the injured man where he lay. Finally, we again made the assumption that the deed was most likely done by Jacob John Wesley, the 'Ghost'.

"We have proof of that," Tucker Vance added excitedly. "He made a little memento for us and left it in the weeds about thirty feet from the scene of the shooting. It was a makeshift grave marker made out of one of his cards and stuck in the dirt. Under the name _'GHOST'_ was written _'RIP OLD MAN'_. He also made a little doll out of the dead stalks of the weeds in the area. The doll was in the shape of a man, and was lying next to the grave marker."

"Sounds like his level of taunting us has been ratcheted up a notch," Allen said as he looked over to the others in the group. "What else did you guys find at the scene?"

Harry Clausing volunteered next. "The victim was one Jefferson Moore, went by the nickname _'Gimme'_. He was killed only a mile from his house in old Bonnell Town. Heavy drinker, lost his license years ago, if he had just stayed home..."

Harry went silent for a few moments before continuing. "The weeds were bent from the perp's traveling back and forth between the railroad tracks and the road, the little gravestone we found in an approximately six by three foot area of matted down grass where it looks like he had lain for quite awhile."

"We found one good footprint," Tucker Vance added now, "Size and depth are consistent with what we know of the build of Jacob Wesley. The crime scene guys are making a cast and we will try to match the shoes with a style and manufacturer."

"OK," Allen started again, "We now know something else about our perp. Anyone know how he got there and how he got away?"

It was Betty's turn now, and she stood and went over to a chalk board on the side wall of the room. First making a few lines on the board, she filled in the scene as she described the theory.

"We are pretty sure that he hid his car up here on the tracks. They removed a second track a few years ago, which left an empty roadway that one can easily drive on."

"Our best guess at this moment is that he probably again used the ploy of having a disabled car on Bonnell road. Once someone came by, the perp more than likely disabled this driver by knocking him out with a blow from something heavy; a baseball bat or tire iron maybe. Doc Elliot will be able to tell us more once he examines the body."

"After disabling the driver that stopped to help him, we think the perp drove up to the nearest railroad crossing, about a mile away; and then worked his way back down the abandoned roadbed. A car parked in that area would have been unseen from the county road; a perfect position for an ambush. After the murder, Wesley or whoever would only need to continue on the railroad right of way. He could go for miles and exit off of it at any railroad crossing."

She set the chalk on the tray under the board and sat down. The room was quiet as we sat there digesting the information we had gleaned from all of the sources.

"We have a good bit of information, and we seem to have a viable theory of the events as they happened. Any chance anyone saw the car? I would assume he wouldn't use his own for this."

Silence followed again, as we all tried to come up with a way of identifying the car.

"We could check with the railroad company." I offered, "See if any trains ran through there last night and if the engineer noticed anything."

"Good, you and Frank stay on that, anybody else?" No one else could come up with anything right then.

I had little hope that the quest we were on with the railroad would pan out, but at least we had something to do.

***

We headed across town to the rail switchyard. Hopefully they would be able to tell us something.

The switch office was at the top of a tower-like building that reminded me of a control tower at the airport. The only way up was a series of metal stairs that zigzagged back and forth on the way up.

Huffing a little by the time I got to the top, I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath. Frank seemed a little better off than I, but he didn't complain about the short break either.

Entering the too-hot room, I was met by a sight that probably hadn't changed since the 1940's. The twenty by twenty room had windows on all four walls, allowing one to see 360 degrees around the whole of the yard. On one wall there was what I would describe as a control panel, handles or levers were everywhere. Two rows of handles, top and bottom, and no more than six inches between any of them.

A man dressed in striped overalls was pulling down a lever on the far left, then slid quickly to the far right and moved another lever up. Watching out the window for several seconds to make sure everything was moving where it was supposed to go, he then looked over his shoulder with a questioning look before spitting a brown stream into a spittoon.

"Help you fellers?" he said slowly as he looked up again, keeping one eye on us and the other on the yard.

We flashed our badges and I said that we had a couple of questions if he could spare a minute.

"I had you guys pegged as lawmen," he said before sending another brown stream of liquid to the brass-colored urn. "Names Cleat, what can I do you for?"

"We were wondering if you had any trains running last night, specifically along Bonnell Road, we're looking at the time period around 3:00 AM?"

Cleat took a quick look at the yard before crossing the room and pulling an old clipboard off the wall. "Just checking to make sure we ran last night, but we have one coming back to town from the Honda plant most every night about that time, goes right through there, between 3:00 and 4:00 every morning."

"Any chance we could talk to the engineer on that run?" I asked while trying to hold back my excitement. "We want to question him on something he might have been witness to in that area last night."

Cleat nodded and went to the control panel, picking up the mic on an ancient two-way radio and playing with the knobs for a second before yelling into it.

"Tower to Little John, comeback?"

Several seconds passed with no response. Cleat was getting ready to yell again when a tired sounding "Yeah?" came over the speaker.

"Got some police fellers here to see ya, make your way over here, will ya?"

Another ten seconds passed before we again heard "Yeah" coming across the speaker as Cleat hung up the mic.

"Might take him a bit to get here," Cleat said before sending another liquid missile cleanly into the target. "Little John's been here since 9:00 last night. They work twelve hour shifts, but he had to take an extra run this morning when someone didn't show up."

"He'd probably like it if you fellers could meet him at the bottom of the steps, he don't like cumin' up here too much."

We agreed to meet him at the bottom, both of us offering our hands to Cleat for helping us.

"No problem fellers...come back anytime. Maybe next time I'll let cha play with the handles."

He let out a laugh that reminded me of a mule, and then happily went back to his work as we turned to go.

We retraced our steps back down the outside of the building, but our progress was blocked at the bottom by a mountain...A mountain by the name of "Little" John.

The man before me could easily be a professional wrestler, being at least six foot five and three hundred fifty pounds of mostly muscle. He was someone you definitely wouldn't want mad at you.

"John, I'm Gabriel and this is Frank...we work for the prosecutor and have a couple of questions if you don't mind."

You could tell he was confused, but nodded his consent.

"We were told you had a run through Bonnell early this morning, around 3:00 am? Do you remember seeing any vehicles on the empty roadbed along through there this morning?"

Reaching into the top pocket on his bib overalls, he slowly dug out a dog-eared notebook, his sausage like fingers fumbling with the tiny pages as he opened it to the last page with writing.

"Boss said to keep track of anyone trespassing on the right-of-way. I usually give him my list once a week. There was only the one last night, right there where you were talking about."

Ripping the page out of the book, he handed me the paper.

"That all you need?"

I assured him it was for now, but we might need to touch base later if we needed more information.

"Ok, but don't call me today, I'm tired."

With that he turned and lumbered off toward the exit gate of the yard without another word.

"Friendly sort." Frank uttered dryly, "Wouldn't want to get between him and his bed though."

Frank's graphic image stuck in my head for some reason, and I sputtered out a short laugh at the thought. Frank looked at me like I was some kind of crazy until the image apparently played out in his head too, when he also let out a laugh at the thought.

We walked to the exit and our car with our new evidence in hand, both of us watching for approaching train cars as they whizzed passed on their way to make up a train to who knows where.

It kind of reminded me of this case, bits and pieces of information, forming up in a row, but no one knew the final destination of our case, and no one knew who was forming up the train.

Who the hell was _our_ Cleat?

Chapter 59

March 22, 1997

The piece of paper given to us by "Little" John had quite a bit of detail listed on it, with an estimated year (1994), Brand and model (Honda Accord) color and license number listed. I asked Harry to trace the license number when we got back to the office, then Frank and I headed into the conference room.

We assumed the car was stolen, but maybe the time and place of the theft would give us a new angle to explore.

One inescapable fact confirmed this morning with certainty was that the sheriff's department was definitely being targeted. The feeling was there before, but this more or less capped it for us.

The gun in the first murder, the deputy's uniform in the second and the attempted frame of Larry this time, all seeming to point to Wesley trying to involve the sheriff's office in some perverted game.

"The public's going to be all over this when it gets out. They are going to be pointing fingers, mostly at Lean McHenry," Frank pointed out, shaking his head in frustration.

"What do you suppose his or her game plan in all of this is?" he asked me, mystified.

"Not a clue," I said truthfully, "not a clue."

"Ok," I started, surprising Frank as a new idea hit me. "We know that Jacob Wesley has no previous record, but maybe this woman does. We could look at all of the women arrested in the last...say two years. Go through them, look for anyone that may have a beef with the sheriff, see if anyone fits the profile that we have of the woman. Maybe bring some in for interviews, let you do your thing, see what develops."

"Best plan I've heard all day," Frank injected with some excitement, " _Only_ plan I've heard all day actually."

"Let's call the others in, get some help on this," I offered.

Nodding his head, Frank got up to go get the rest of the crew.

"I'll grab some coffee," I said to the back of my friend as he exited the doorway.

"Thank God for coffee," I uttered to myself as I grabbed the cups and started out the door for a refill.

Chapter 60

March 22, 1997

When I got back with the coffee, Betty met me with a loving smile, a vision of loveliness indeed for these tired eyes. You could tell she was worried about me, thinking I was wearing myself out, but we all were overworked on this case and a vacation was probably on the minds of each and every one of us.

Squeezing her hand quickly, we took our seats as the others trickled in. Harry started the meeting by confirming that the plates spotted by the train engineer matched the car they were on, and that the car was registered to Wesley.

He had used his own car!

The fact that our perp was getting bolder was not lost on me, knowing the bolder he got the easier it would be to catch him when he tripped up.

I also realized that an emboldened murderer was more likely to pick up his pace, the lust for more becoming all encompassing in their life.

Frank and I were next. We explained how the targeting of the Sheriff's department had led us to the notion that if the mysterious woman was leading the charge, maybe it was someone that had been previously arrested...maybe wrongly in her estimation.

We next laid out our plan to investigate women arrested in the last two years and see if we could find a correlation. In other words, someone that may have it in for the sheriff and that matched the physical build of the woman on the security footage.

"I've been thinking about the two year thing Gabe." Frank offered. "I think we should extend it to maybe five years. Many repeat offenders could have been incarcerated from three to five years and may have just gotten out in the last few months."

Although this would increase our work load tremendously, we all agreed with the logic and included it in the plan. Harry and Tucker volunteered to weed through the files and come up with a list of suspects, relief probably showing on my face as the thought of getting out of days of mundane file searching reached my brain.

"I've got some information that may help," Betty piped in suddenly. "I've received the list from the stationary company of customers they've sold their pens to in the two counties, actually thirty two names of women in all. Crossing this with the lists from the parochial and private schools in the area, we broke that down to six names. I propose we run these names through our files first to see if any of them show up in our arrests."

Could it be this easy?

I was cautiously hopeful, but knew it was probably a long shot. Betty gave Harry and Tucker her list and they went off to cross reference the names.

"Good work Celtic!" I schmoozed, "That must have taken a lot of time."

"You know how much I enjoy a puzzle," she replied. "Just another day on the job," she finished with a shy smile.

"My hero," I added, "I knew marrying you was a smart move, makes me look like a genius."

"I wish I had a dollar for every time I've heard that." she replied as she stood to leave, her face nonetheless showing the color of embarrassment. "See you later."

My heart skipped a beat as I watched her and her uniform leave the room, reminding myself once more what a lucky man I was.

Chapter 61

March 25, 1997

"What's this all about anyways?" Christine Mattox uttered irritably, smoke darting out of her mouth in little puffs as she spoke. The cigarette held between her slightly trembling fingers created a cloud that hung eerily in the room, her eyes darting around quickly like a rodent.

Ms. Mattox was the winner of our suspect lottery, the one person that fit all of the parameters that we had set to find the mastermind of the recent murder spree. Having now met the lady in person, however, I had a hard time believing this emaciated redhead was capable of pulling together a good party, much less an ingenious string of murders.

Nevertheless we needed to eliminate her as a suspect, a job Frank and I, having volunteered for the duty in haste, were now trying to muddle through.

"We just need to ask you a few questions in relation to a case we are working on," Frank said in his best professional detective voice. "You were incarcerated for over a year for assault and battery, the particulars involving a black iron skillet and your now ex-husband Hank, is that correct?"

Taking a long drag on her cigarette while giving Frank a look of concern, she blew the smoke out slowly before answering. "Yeah, so...?"

"You were released approximately six months ago, is that also correct?"

This time she didn't take a drag, but gave Frank a long stare before uttering another, "Yeah."

"What have you been doing with yourself since your release, Christine?"

She inhaled deeply on the cigarette again, followed that with an amazing display of holding the smoke in her lungs, and finally executed the longest smoky exhale I have ever witnessed.

"I sell Mary-Kay, can't you tell by my gorgeous skin? Pretty successful at it too, throw in free sex if you buy the deluxe kit."

She pounded her cigarette butt into the ashtray, taking the time to grind it thoroughly before continuing.

"What the fuck is it to you anyway?"

"Need I remind you of your duty to readily submit to an interview at any time as part of the terms of your parole?"

"Of course I know that, my PO reminded me. I'm here ain't I? Doesn't say anything about liking it though...or answering dumb questions."

"To tell you the truth, Christine, you fit the profile of someone we are looking for. We really don't think it is you we are looking for however, so if you will cooperate freely we should be out of here shortly. Sound good to you?"

"Let's go then, gotta important appointment I gotta get to," Christine replied with resignation.

"Did you order a 'Writer's Nirvana' ink pen from Florida Stationers? Our records indicate you received it at your current address about a week after you got out of the penitentiary."

A look of confusion crossed Christina's face before her eyes lit up in recognition. "That fancy pen my crazy ma bought for me?"

A loud cackle escaped from her lips, followed by a coughing fit that lasted half a minute or more. When she had composed herself again, she smiled conspiratorially.

"That crazy old woman thought I could write a book about my time in the big house, like anyone would be interested in that. I told her right to her face she was crazy."

"Do you have the pen with you?" Frank asked hopefully.

"Sure do, it _is_ a nice pen. Hand me my purse."

I reached behind me and snatched the purse off of the table, handing her the heavy bag with two hands. She dug through the crowded purse for several seconds, finally giving up and dumping the contents on the table in front of her.

"There you are!" she said, picking up the green and black writing instrument from the pile and handing it to Frank. She immediately started grabbing the other pieces and stuffing them back in her purse.

"That's definitely a nice pen, Christine, you use it much?" Frank asked.

"Nope...never have. Just carry it around to impress my beau's."

I snickered at her response, earning myself a sly smile for my efforts.

"We need you to fill out this form for us, just standard policy, you understand," Frank said as he laid a form in front of her.

The form Christine was filling out was one we had quickly put together for our interview, contrived to force her to unknowingly write out certain key letters we would later compare to the handwriting in the code book.

When she had finished with the form, we told her she could go. Taking up the form, I compared it to the book. The style of the lettering was the same, indicating the parochial school training I suppose, but it was also no surprise to me that the quality of the lettering was not to the same standard as the author of the book.

Before she had left the room, I had nonchalantly praised her writing skills, asking her what kind of grades she had gotten for it in school.

"B's and C's mostly. I remember 'cause that really pissed off my ma. She used to say 'Good handwriting is the mark of a real lady,' I guess she was right about that."

Thinking of the code book sitting next to me, and the implications of the regally drawn letters within it, I thought I might have to disagree with Christine's mom wholeheartedly on that matter.

Chapter 62

March 25, 1997

We were pretty sure of Christine's innocence, in this matter anyway. We asked her to keep the subject of the interview under her hat for now, and she readily agreed when we cut her loose.

Meeting Betty in the conference room after the interview, Frank and I gave her a point by point breakdown of the meeting. You could see the letdown in her face as the realization hit that her theory had been blown to hell.

"I really thought this would pan out, all of the points were met with Christine Mattox, now I'm not sure which way to go."

"She was at the top of the list, sure," I stated, trying to reassure the lovely but fretting girl of my dreams.

"But there are others on the list; we have the people that bought the pen and went to private schools but weren't arrested. Let's interview them, and if that doesn't pan out, we look at the others that bought the pen only. That still leaves quite a few suspects to look at."

"Look," I continued, "We know the ink was involved, we are pretty sure the lettering indicated private schooling, but the previous arrest was just a theory. We haven't lost anything. It's just going to take longer to follow the clues is all."

"Ok," Betty stated, her shoulders back again. "I'll set up some more interviews." Getting up then, she left the conference room to make the calls.

"Want to get back to our Franklin County excursion tonight?" Frank asked, seemingly with some excitement in his eyes. "After all, you've seen the house now, kinda."

I was getting anxious to get back to it, the look and smell of the house still fresh in my mind.

"Sounds good to me, I was thinking that we could start in the southwest instead of the southeast to give us a different perspective."

That seemed acceptable to him and we made plans to leave right after work. I found Betty and let her in on our plans. She acted reluctant to agree, but I knew she had other plans anyway. Reminding her of her previous engagement, she grinned brightly.

"Aw, I didn't think you remembered!"

Her conveniently forgotten plan, a sales party given by one of her friends, was an evening of sexy lingerie and toys to liven up one's bedroom. I must admit, I was more then a little anxious to see what she bought.

We were holding hands for a moment in the file room when a look of concern crossed her face.

"You be careful tonight, I've got a funny feeling about it."

"Maybe it will be a _good_ funny feeling," I said nonchalantly, also having a strange feeling of our night's travels ahead. Kissing her on the cheek and giving her hand a quick squeeze, I left her to her labors as I went to get ready to leave.

The strange feeling stayed with me throughout my preparations...what was it that was bothering me about tonight's investigation?

Being able to come up with no good reason, I tried shrugging it off as I left the building to meet Frank in the lot, determined to ignore the feelings as we got down to the business at hand.

If I'd known what this night was to bring however, I might have approached it a little differently.

Chapter 63

March 25, 1997

We started our night on the southwest corner of the area we were searching. I had brought a blue pen to mark the progress of our new search to differentiate it from the first search's red markings. Road after road passed as we followed the grid-like layout of the roads. One mile straight, right one mile, right once more, then traveling over the original road again to get to the next mile. It was a maddening course, but we buckled down and attacked each road in turn as we got to them.

Since we had been on the roads before and we knew a little more of what we were looking for, the search progressed much faster than our first efforts. By the time it was almost dark, we had covered ten sections. We were a little dejected as we had found nothing of interest the whole night, but decided to do one more round before we called it quits.

We were reliving the earlier interview with Christine Mattox, laughing about the now-absurd notion of her being a mastermind. It was a fine way of passing the time, keeping the mood light while we continued on our monotonous search. Road after road passed by in a blur as we looked at every house we passed, marking our never ending progress on the map as we went.

My jaw suddenly became slack at the sight before me. Finally regaining function I yelled "STOP!" Frank hit the brakes rapidly, centrifugal force pressing us into our shoulder harnesses.

"Is that it?" Frank asked as he stared at the house to our left. Setting back from the road, the newly painted two-story farm house seemed to match the vision in my dream perfectly.

My heart was pounding as I clicked off the details in my head. With no electric going to the building and no lights showing from it in the twilight, it fit all of the clues I had been given in the dream.

"Damn, I think it is!" I said with unabashed excitement. "Back up a little and pull off the road," I told Frank, who was already doing just that. Shutting off the car, we sat there gazing at our target.

"This is _your_ storyline," Frank exclaimed, excitement also in his voice. "What's our next move?"

I was still dumbfounded at the notion that we might have found our house, so it took a few seconds for my mind to kick into the present and formulate a plan.

"It's almost dark, I say we exit the car and work our way quietly to the side of the house, see if we can see anything through the window. See what happens from there I guess."

Frank nodded his approval as we pulled out our weapons, each chambering a round before putting the safety on. As quietly as we could, we exited the vehicle and crossed the deep roadside ditch, slowly approaching the house from the other side of the gully. We made our way to the side of an old shed with two large hinged doors on the front. The shed was well kept, with no cracks evident to ascertain if there was a vehicle inside.

We stayed there a few moments, intently listening for any sound or movement. Hearing none, we came around the corner of the shed and slowly made our way to the side of the house. Crouching down under the window, we again waited and listened before I slowly rose to the bottom corner of the window and took a peak inside.

It was very dark, but I could just barely make out an old plaster wall with wood lath showing in spots. It definitely was not the room I saw in my dream, but the fit was there as far as the condition.

Using hand signals, we decided that Frank would work his way to the back of the house, while I worked my way around the front.

As I made my way low to the ground, I noticed the scent of fresh paint. Reminding me of the dream, I thought of another clue from the vision and stopped where I was, looking up and confirming the canopy of the big tree above me with new spring growth on it.

Lifting myself up slowly to a window, I could see no light escaping from around the edge of the window, but by squinting my eyes, I could just make out the material covering the inside of the window. My heart skipped a beat as I finally confirmed that this was the house in my mind.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that I only had forty seconds before the pre-arranged time that Frank would be entering the building. Making my way now to the front door, I watched the watch as it counted down the seconds...8...7... 6...

" _Rrr rrr rrr."_

The noise now coming from my left scared the hell out of me as I stopped to listen. Deciding to check it out, I made my way back along the front of the house. As I rounded the corner, my ears were met with a " _Vroom_ " as I finally recognized the sound of a car, turning over and finally starting. It was coming from the shed!

I released the safety on my Glock and started on a run toward the shed, seeing Frank doing the same out of the corner of my eye.

Suddenly there was an explosion as the two wooden doors of the shed flew off their hinges, sending splinters and pieces of broken board everywhere. Emerging out of the melee of wood shrapnel, a small car rocketed around us and started careening out the driveway.

Wesley's car!

We watched the car make a hard right at the road, fishtailing as it sped past Frank's car. We took off on a run to get to our car. Getting in, Frank gunned the engine and immediately shoved it in gear to turn around, having to pull up and into the driveway to accomplish the task as the road was so narrow.

As we pulled back into the road and took off, we could just make out the taillights of the car in the distance. Frank put the pedal to the floorboard in an attempt to catch up with our perp.

Ahead of us the lights disappeared. He must have either shut them off or made a turn ahead.

My heart sank at the thought of losing him after coming so close. Frank still had his foot buried in the floorboard as we made our way to his last location. We had to catch him... we _had_ to catch him.

Chapter 64

March 25, 1997

The Ghost stood stock still, the sound echoing in his ears sending shivers up his spine. His eye was fluttering like a thousand butterflies as he quickly doused the lantern, making his way to the blanketed window to look out.

The screech of tires had apparently come from the car sitting in the road in front of the house. As he watched, the car backed up and pulled to the side of the road, the occupants still sitting inside.

Not waiting another moment, the Ghost grabbed his gun off of the counter and made his way through the kitchen to the back door. Carefully looking out and seeing nothing, he made his way to the corner of the house and looked around it carefully.

The car was still there, the occupants now exiting and making their way across the ditch. When the men were temporarily out of sight, he quickly covered the distance between the house and the shed, carefully opening the sometimes creaky door.

Once inside, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, holding the gun up at the ready. He heard movement and whispering at the far side of the shed, and then heard them move off toward the house. Finding a knot in a board, he spied them moving across the yard before crouching down below a window, the blonde guy sneaking a look into the old house.

He watched as they continued to crouch there for several moments more before splitting up and making their way around both the front and the back of the building.

" _It's now or never,"_ the Ghost said to himself as he made his way to the car and slowly opened the door before getting in. Trying the key, the car started turning over before his hand slipped off of the key, his hands now wet with nervous sweat.

"Shit," he said under his breath as he gripped the key again, the car now roaring to life with vigor. Immediately putting it in drive, he floored the accelerator and drove right through the old wooden doors. He caught a glimpse of the men running after him as he fishtailed out the driveway, making a right turn at the road, knowing that turning around on the old road would eat up their time.

Turning on his headlights on the now-dark road, he kept the accelerator on the floor as the little car screamed down the straight and level country road. Noticing their headlights behind him after traveling about a mile, he got his bearings and turned off his own lights.

He was very familiar with the straight county road he was on, and trusted his senses to keep him straight until the next cross road. As he approached the turn and shifted the transmission to decelerate, slowing for the maneuver while trying to keep his foot off the brakes to keep the brake lights from showing.

Cranking the wheel quickly right, he skidded around the turn, almost losing his car as he hit the gravel by the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Hitting the pedal once again, he powered through the intersection, fishtailing two or three times before straightening out once more.

Traveling as fast as he dared in the dark, he saw his pursuer's headlights pass the intersection behind him. A smile appeared on his face as he watched the headlights disappear from sight. Giving himself a few more seconds, he then flipped his lights back on, putting the pedal to the floor in an effort to put as much space between him and his hunters as possible.

The realization that he had nowhere to go didn't seem to matter to the man at the moment. He was living in the now, enjoying the adrenaline rush of the chase.

"The "Ghost" strikes again!" he screamed, bouncing up and down in his seat as the rush of the chase hit him full tilt.

"Try and catch me now, you bastards!"

Chapter 65

March 25, 1997

"Go straight!" I had yelled, assuming that making the turn in the dark would be impossible. I was second guessing myself now as we flew over the old county road. Having not caught up to him yet, my eyes started scanning the countryside.

When we had started our pursuit, I had gotten on the horn and alerted dispatch to our location. After telling Frank to go straight, I had again touched base with them, telling them the three routes available, adding that we had taken the southern route in pursuit of the suspect. Dispatch had alerted all cars and had then made the call to Franklin County dispatch to bring them up to speed and to enlist their help.

As we came over a small rise I looked around behind us. The area was almost completely flat in this part of the country, and with it still being early spring the fields were all clear of any crops, leaving one with a view for miles. As we were starting to descend from the small rise in the road, I chanced to glimpse what looked like taillights behind us to the right, and they hadn't been there a second ago.

"Take the next right," I told Frank as I tried to see the lights again. Feeling the deceleration of the car I turned and caught a glimpse of the road sign as we made the turn. Picking up the radio once again, I called in our new heading as traveling west on East County Road 267 North.

Even after nearly two weeks of traveling these roads, I was still unable to discern the logic of their numbering system.

Catching a glimpse once again of taillights to our front right, I pointed them out to Frank as I grabbed the map to try to come up with a position to radio in. Catching the name of the next cross road, I discerned that he was approximately one mile ahead of us and one mile to the north. Calling in this guess as the suspect's location, I was surprised to be pushed back in the seat as Frank found some additional speed from somewhere.

The radio was now alive with conversation as cars from two counties joined the hunt. I saw strobing red and blue off to our far right, seemingly heading to intercept the other car. The far-off taillights suddenly made a left, now heading south on an intercepting course with ours. I broke in and relayed the course change of the car, making an educated guess as to what road he was now on.

"If this isn't Wesley," I shouted to Frank, "this guy sure has a lot of explaining to do!"

The Honda whizzed past in front of us when we were fifty yards from the intersection. Frank downshifted quickly and maneuvered the car expertly so that we were actually sideways as we entered the intersection. I watched in horror as the ditch on the other side of the road approached me at blinding speed. At the last moment the tires found a purchase on the road and we started moving forward again. I wiped the sweat that had formed on my hands on my pant legs, thankful that was the only bodily fluid escaping at the moment.

We were now within fifty yards of the Honda, flashing red and blue approaching us from all sides. Traveling now at over one hundred miles per hour, I was both excited and nervous. The roads were straight and level, but with deep ditches on one or both sides of the road in most places.

Something else was bothering me though. Something else about this road I thought, but I couldn't put a finger on it.

Grabbing the map and using the glove box light so as not to affect Franks driving, I tried to find our current location using the last cross road we had just passed. Finding the crossroad on the map, I followed it to the road we were on now, then turned my finger south to follow the route..."FRANK LOOK OUT!"

That was all I could get out before looking up and watching the car directly in front of us suddenly hit the berm of the ditch where the road made a sudden ninety degree turn.

I sat fascinated as I watched in slow motion the Honda ramp into the air and do a barrel roll before landing and rolling multiple times through the empty field.

I was also aware of Frank shoving both feet on the brake pedal and pulling back on the wheel as he vainly attempted to stop the car in time...which he didn't.

We entered the curve sideways with my side skidding toward the berm; it was always my side for some reason. When we hit the berm the car literally jumped up fifteen feet off the ground, rolling and rolling in what seemed to be a never-ending slow-motion carnival ride from hell.

As I watched the ground approach us, I could only think of Betty...Betty and Fincastle Silt Loam. It was not lost on me that the strangely named dirt, that had been such a revelation in our investigation, would now possibly be the final thing I felt in this life.

How I ever had enough time to think this all through was another thought I had before contact with the earth...strange.

As the final few inches disappeared between the rolling car and the ground, I called out to my love one last time.

"Betty! ..."

Chapter 66

March 25, 1997

Blackness ensued...luxurious, silent blackness.

It enveloped me in its rich, cushy warmth, and I could only describe it as what it must feel like to be in the womb. I surely had a smile on my face, if indeed that is possible where I was at right now.

Where was I at right now?

I think I'm floating.

I try to open my eyes, to move my arms or legs but nothing works.

I also don't care.

It's a joyous feeling, I'm just there and happy and comfortable. I could learn to live like this.

Did something just touch my shoulder?

No, not really a touch, maybe a caress...it seemed to be doing something, pulling me along maybe. I don't care, I love it here! Take me where you want.

The sense of movement stopped...are we there?

_Where_ are we?

Do you have coffee here?

I sensed movement again, but different. Down? Am I going down?

I was kinda hoping for the other direction just so you know, but I really don't care.

Did I mention I was really happy?

What's that?

Ow!

What is that, some kind of pressure? On my back, it feels like...gravity? It feels like I'm laying _on_ something all of a sudden. Aw, come on, I thought we were so over that!

Something is poking me in the back, feels a rock? Can you do something about that? It's really uncomfortable.

I see flashes now, just every once in awhile, kinda red...maybe blue too. I really liked the darkness, but I can live with this I guess. But seriously, can you do something about the rock?

" _Whoop!"_

Ahhhh...the noise...what the hell! I mean...what in heaven's name _was_ that? That really hurt my ears! Look, I'll make you a deal, take me back to where we were a few minutes ago and I'll shut up. Quiet as a mouse, I promise.

More noise...damn, they didn't go for it. Sounds like people talking...maybe yelling...but real far away...

" _Gerbil...Gerbil!"_

Gerbil? Where have you taken me, a pet shop? Not a big fan of rodents I gotta tell ya. Oh wait...I get it...you got confused by what I said. Being quiet as a mouse _doesn't_ mean I want to be a rodent. It just means...

Whoa! That's a lot of light. Everything is real bright...and blurry.

" _Gabriel...Gabriel!"_

I can see a shadowy form in front of me now. Do my eyes work now? Maybe if I blink my eyes, let's see if I remember this...ok, that's better. Hey, it's Frank! What are you doing here Frank?

"Frrnk."

Did that just come out of my mouth? What does it mean?

" _Yeah, it's me buddy, you ok?"_

Opening my eyes all the way, I saw a worried looking Frank looking down on me. The side of his face had a carnival look of flashing red and blue from a police cruiser.

"Where are we?" I asked as I started to rise on my elbow. The pressure on my back lessoned somewhat, so I reached behind me and pulled out a dirt clod.

"We're in a field in Franklin County. Do you remember we were in pursuit, the curve came upon us, and we flipped? Apparently we were thrown clear, the plowed soil must have broken our fall. At least I don't have a scratch on me. How do you feel?"

I moved things around a bit before standing up; taking stock of my body. "I guess I feel great, not even a rip in my clothes."

"They want us to ride the squad to the hospital, check us out. You ok to walk?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute." I said as I tried to clear my head a little more.

"What about Wesley?" I asked as my memory returned. "He flipped too didn't he?"

"Sounds like he's pretty broke up, but alive. They're getting him ready to transport, we'll be riding in the same squad."

Nodding my head, we set off to the life squad sitting along the road. Wonder how it got here so quick?

"Gabe," Frank half whispered when we got away from the others.

"Yeah, Frank?" I replied back.

"About getting out of the wreck, without getting hurt I mean. When I got to you, you were just lying on your back, like you were sleeping. They said I was the same way when they found me. But we were over a hundred feet from our car, just lying there, like we were sleeping. How do you explain that?"

We continued walking slowly toward the squad, both of us puzzling over the situation.

"I think," I started, continuing to walk as I spoke, "I think we may have just witnessed a miracle, Frank."

Walking along further, I thought about the words that had just escaped my lips.

"It's the only explanation...that we had help getting out of that car. Guardian angel, hand of God, I don't know how it happened, but I'm not sure there _is_ a rational explanation Frank. We were saved for some unknown reason...seems we were saved by a miracle."

We hadn't lost a step during the whole of the conversation and were just about to the ditch when I grabbed Frank's shoulder and stopped him midstride.

"Tell me what you think, Frank. Can you think of another option?"

Frank looked at me then, a look of serenity showing on his face like none I've ever seen before. Nodding then, he just turned and continued on to the ambulance.

We arrived at the squad, getting in to wait for them to bring Wesley there. We were both quiet, in awe, neither of us saying much until we got to the hospital later that night.

A symptom of being in the presence of a higher power?

Maybe...

Chapter 67

March 25, 1997

The EMT'S finally hustled Wesley into the back of the life squad, a flurry of activity ensued as they fought to keep the perp alive from his injuries. Frank and I were looked at summarily, deeming us ok to ride in the front as they needed the room in the back.

I took the opportunity to call Betty from the driver's cell phone, telling her I was fine and would be home after they looked me over at the hospital. She had of course been getting regular updates from dispatch on the chase and subsequent crash and had been ready to hop in the car when I called. Assuring her again that I was fine, she finally agreed to wait at the house until she heard from me.

The ride to the hospital was crazy. In the back of the squad, the patient coded twice on the drive. In the front, we quietly watched the passing barren fields of Franklin County evolve into the wooded hills of home as we approached our destination. A wailing police cruiser led the way on our trek.

I did not know it was possible to have so little empathy for the life of a fellow human being as I was now experiencing about the man in the back. Allen Vanguard would push for the death penalty anyway, let's save the tax payers some cash and just not try so hard back there. Considering our recent experiences though, maybe I should be a little more forgiving. I would have to give that some more thought I guessed.

Arriving at the emergency room, we were met by a basketball team of doctors and nurses waiting to swarm over the accident victim, taking control of the situation immediately and wheeling him into the building.

One of the EMT's and the deputy followed the horde into the building, as the other emergency workers took the opportunity to start cleaning up the squad. Frank and I were left standing on the sidewalk, temporarily forgotten in the bustle.

I noticed a park bench nearby and caught Frank's eye. Cocking my head toward the seat, we made our way to the bench and sat down; both of us seeming to enjoy the chance take a load off on this fine, spring night. The bench was a hard looking piece of city functionality, one of those concrete-based jobs with the wood slats sticking through holes in the concrete.

I don't quite remember ever feeling a bench as comfortable as this one. My body seemed to mold to the slats like it was made for me. Frank also seemed to greatly relax after a few seconds of sitting on the amazing bench.

We had both been reflective on the trip here. I was slightly shaken but accepting of the facts of the wreck and our subsequent miraculous survival. Frank also seemed resigned to the night's events, a look of contentment evident on his face.

"You know," I started, "with everything else that has happened I almost forgot the best part. We got him, partner. We got him! We followed some weird-ass clues and solid investigative techniques, and we got him, we got the 'Ghost'!"

Holding out my hand, my partner, my friend took it in his with a smile on his face.

"We did indeed," was all he said, but that said it all.

"Let's go on in," I said after awhile, "get checked out, get an update on the prisoner, and a ride home."

"Yeah," Frank answered thoughtfully, "That sounds like a plan."

***

Entering the emergency room, we were met by the same bottle-blonde woman we had met the other night.

"Are you the guys that rode in with the life squad?"

Saying we were, she started herding us into the exam room.

"Where the hell have you guys been? I've been looking all over for you!"

She stuck us each in a room, saying the doctor would be in soon before leaving us to wait. Soon of course being a relative term, it was another hour and a half before the doctor actually walked into the room, reading a clipboard as he walked.

Asking me a few questions and if anything hurt, then he pushed and pulled on a few appendages before announcing me fit. He then told me to take it easy for a couple of days and to come back if anything showed up.

Exiting the room, I found Frank standing in the hallway, having passed his exam also with flying colors. We made our way to Intensive Care to check on the prisoner, getting lost only once on our way there.

The glassed-in room had a deputy on guard outside and four medical personnel within. Flashing our badges, we asked the deputy a few questions about the prisoner, but he didn't really know anything of importance, save that the doctors had been working nonstop since the man had gotten there.

Getting one of the doctor's attention as he exited the room, we asked him straight out if he thought Wesley would make it.

"Touch and go right now," the doctor said as he kept walking. "Prepping him for surgery, internal injuries, won't really know anything for a couple of days."

He rounded the corner out of sight as he finished his report. Frank and I stood there for a few seconds, deciding then to head for home. We could do our paperwork in the morning, and all of the sudden I was bone tired.

We asked the deputy to get someone to take us home. He got on the horn and said a patrol deputy would be out front in ten minutes.

Arriving out front as the sheriff's deputy pulled up, we got in and gave him the addresses for the short ride to our homes.

Sitting there quietly, I once again went over the night's events. The dreams had helped lead us to the murderer, someone or something had saved us from injury in the wreck, and now I had more questions than ever.

Getting to my house first, I got out of the car, saying goodnight to Frank and thanking the deputy for the ride. I was dead tired, but desperately needed the comforting feel of my wife in my arms before I slept.

Describing the night's events once more to a relieved Betty before closing my eyes for the night, I determined it had been a somewhat eventful night after all.

Chapter 68

March 26, 1997

This room was bright yellow, hurt-your-eyes bright yellow.

There was a metal folding chair in the middle of the brightly lit space. Since it was the only place to sit I did so. Looking around the room, I realized there are no doors, only walls and ceiling and floor, a linoleum floor of black and white squares.

I was mesmerized for a few moments by the alternating pattern of the floor, and I realized that it was completely quiet in the room.

I continued to enjoy the floor. Then I realized it is more or less crazy to stare at the floor and started to investigate the walls more closely. Shuffling my feet, I pivoted around in the chair looking at all the walls as I went, looking for...what? When my leg hit the back of the folding chair, I stopped. Since my progress was halted, and the walls were still yellow, I took that moment to look up.

The ceiling was...bright. In fact, I couldn't really see the ceiling.

The top of the room was all light, but there are no fixtures. It was like the ceiling _was_ the source of light, a beautiful light. I stared at it for a long time before I was suddenly aware I had a goofy smile on my face. I was being crazy again, so I went back to the wall...staring, shuffling my feet the other way as I pivoted to the right.

As my right leg hit the back of the chair, I noticed something on the wall. A window or opening, about six feet up, three feet wide by two feet tall. Odd that I hadn't noticed it before, but there it was.

I stood up, deciding it is time to leave. Logic dictated that I move the chair over against the wall, stand up on it, pull myself up and wiggle through.

I jumped instead.

Jumping up into the air, I found that I was kind of flying/floating toward the window. I was somewhat amazed, but not as much as one would think. It seemed natural here for some reason.

Heading toward the window, I was off course a little. Flying/floating could take a little practice, it appeared. I easily corrected my trajectory with my arms as I approached the frame of the opening before pulling myself into the deep cavity.

On the other side of the hole, there was what appears to be a mall. People were milling about everywhere, but nobody seemed to notice I was there.

They'd notice me in a moment I bet as I prepared to fly/float down amongst the horde. Setting my feet against the frame of the opening, I pushed off in what I could only imagine would look like a graceful bird taking flight.

A Dodo was more likely what they thought however, at least if they saw me flailing out of the hole.

Apparently, the part where you bring your feet down in front of you for a landing is one of those much practice things I hadn't practiced on yet. My flailing did indeed draw attention as I tried in vain to manipulate the landing, failing miserably.

While not traveling fast, I nonetheless covered my head when the inevitable became clear. I was going to crash and burn.

Just as the floor made its way toward my nose...I woke up in my room.

The bright spring sunlight was flooding in the open windows of the bedroom, curtains flowing in on the breeze. Betty must have let me sleep in this morning, what a sweetheart!

Thinking again on my dream, I fondly relived in my head the flying/floating sensation.

It was so real!

The feeling I got while in the air, it was...it was still there. I could still feel it in me...I was _sure_ of it.

Looking up and around to make sure I was alone, I stood up on the edge of the mattress. Squatting quickly, I extend the tensed muscles and...I was flying again!

"I'm flying!" I exclaimed in excitement... before I dropped summarily to the floor in a clash of furniture and noise.

Opening my eyes, it was completely dark save for eerie glowing red letters in front of my face spelling OE: S.

Suddenly blinded by light...and unabashed laughter, I found myself again on the floor of my bedroom. My upturned LED alarm clock was reading 5:30 as usual. Leaning up on my elbow and looking behind me, I was treated to the sight of my wife sitting up in bed, her hand over her mouth trying to stem the flow of laughter demanding to escape from her lips.

Pulling myself together, I got up and put the furniture back in its place. I then got back in bed and covered up, suddenly chilled.

"Are you ok?" Betty asked with concern, before a snicker sneaked out of her throat.

I answered gloomily that I was ok.

"Good." she said with relief. It was then that a certain light creeped into her eyes before she asked, "Fly much?"

The dam burst then, with unabashed laughter flowing from my wife's body in volumes, tears running down her face in buckets of salty joy. I held out as long as I could, about three seconds, before I succumbed and joined my wife in the celebration of the funniness of the human condition...mine at least.

We were unable to control ourselves for what seemed like ten minutes before we regained some power over ourselves. Laying on our backs and holding hands, we contentedly lounged in the bed, just enjoying each other's presence and the happiness permeating the room.

There was calmness now within us, the stress of the last month having melted away in a good belly laugh.

The initial shock of my fall and the resulting embarrassment had me initially labeling my last dream as just a useless series of fantasy-based events. It was definitely not the glimpses of past or future events that have ultimately proved so useful during our investigation.

But eventually, I had to change my mind on that assessment.

Whether it was by design, or just dumb luck, my resultant actions had turned into a blessing for us. A break in the action of the investigation that had been ruling our lives for so long...a much needed break.

We were both late for work this day as laughter turned to contentment, contentment turned to making sweet love, which garnered more contentment, and a long breakfast. We didn't want to leave, but knew we must, holding each other long before finally separating for the commute to work.

On the drive to work, I resolved to pay attention to any and all dreams that I might have from here on out. Maybe everyone's dreams contain insights into their lives that we are either too busy or too out of touch with ourselves to notice. From now on, for me, every dream had a message. After all, they have served me well so far.

Chapter 69

March 26, 1997

Frank and I had apparently been declared small town heroes for a time that morning, clasps of the hand and slaps on the back leaving me slightly sore by lunch. Allen was out of the office, but had left word with Ellen that he would like to meet Frank and me after lunch.

We took the opportunity to start lunch a little early and head over to Lenny's for a Stromboli. The walk there was relaxing, the warm spring sun feeling good on our bodies.

Although there were still hints of winter in the air periodically, spring was definitely coming, with jackets instead of coats now being the norm.

A sandwich had never tasted as good to me as it appeared that one did to me that day, like my taste buds had seemingly been reborn.

For his part, Frank also seemed to be enjoying his with great gusto. Having finished our order, we decided to get another and split it, the second sandwich tasting as good as the first, if not better.

We finished our drinks and purchased some coffee as we continued to sit at the table and enjoy each other's company. I really thought we might hash through the night's events again during lunch, but we both seemed content to leave that at the office. We talked instead of current events, the coming baseball season, almost everything else...except murder.

Refilling our cups, we decided to take the long way back, walking several blocks to the park and walking the length of that before heading back. It felt great.

Entering the office just in time for our meeting, we headed straight to Allen's office for our 'debriefing'. Allen was there and immediately stood, moving around his desk to grasp Frank's and then my hand in congratulations. The stress that had been displayed like a billboard on Allen's face the last few weeks had disappeared, replaced nonetheless by a few more facial lines and gray hairs.

"Sit, sit!" Allen exclaimed as he held out a hand to indicate the padded leather chairs off to the side of the office. These chairs were normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, my pants having never touched them before.

"Great job last night!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Finding the murderer's hideout was genius! The wrecks were unfortunate, but at least you two escaped unscathed."

"I checked on Wesley's status a few minutes ago, the doctor was cautious in his assessment, but believes there is still hope that our suspect will survive. Either way, we also found the final nail in his coffin," he finished with a smile, handing an evidence bag over to me to see.

The bag contained a man's ring, which I immediately recognized as the ring belonging to Harold Longstreet. "They found it in his pocket when they cut off his clothes, has Harold's name engraved on the inside," Allen beamed. "The crime scene guys didn't find too much of note in the car or the abandoned house, but we've got an airtight case with what we have now. This guy's in line for a death sentence, one way or the other."

Handing the ring to Frank, I nodded at Allen's assessment. Frank took a few moments to look over the ring before handing it back to Allen. A few more moments of silence followed, and I had more than an inkling of what was coming next.

"I understand you two were looking into the Franklin County connection on your own, after hours. May I ask what prompted you to do it off the books, so to speak?"

I had decided on my way to work this morning to go ahead and admit to the dreams as the basis of our investigation when asked, figuring that with my newfound acceptance of the visions that more people needed to be aware of the phenomenon, and to not be ashamed of using them.

"I..." I started in explanation, only to be interrupted quickly by Frank.

"We didn't have enough to go on for a full-fledged investigation, mostly just hunches. The one bit of evidence that we had was the soil sample from the first murder, Gabriel discovered that a certain area in Franklin County was the only place anywhere close to us that had that type of soil. We limited our search grid to that area, reasoning he may be using an abandoned building to hide out in since he had no family or friends that we could find in his background. We got lucky is all."

The explanation seemed to satisfy Allen, who was interrupted by a knock on his door. Excusing himself, he went to answer the knock. I started to say something to Frank about excluding my dreams from the description, but he stopped me with a crossing guard's hand indicating 'Stop'.

"That's good enough for now," was all he said in a low whisper, finality expressing itself in his voice.

The conversation was quickly forgotten however as we caught sight of the look on Allen's face as he returned to our area, plopping heavily into the chair, the weight of the world appearing to weigh on his shoulders once again.

We silently waited for Allen to fill us in as he sat there staring at a note in his hand.

Finally he looked up at us with a stress ridden face, a time warp apparently having taken us back in time. Four words escaped his mouth, four words that again would change our lives forever; the last four words I would have expected to hear this day.

"There's been another murder."

Chapter 70

March 26, 1997

3:00 AM, and Jasmine was not happy, not happy at all. The carefully scripted murder she had been planning for weeks had been foiled...screwed up by that idiot. Still not sure how they had found him, she was nonetheless sure that Wesley had given himself away with some inattention to a detail along the way.

She realized that her hands were clamped to the steering wheel of her dark truck like the talons of a hawk on its prey. Taking her hands off of the wheel, she then shook them up and down rapidly in front of her to try to release the tension.

"Calm down," she told herself, "You knew this could happen."

Taking some slow deep breaths, she felt the calm start to return to her body.

" _Time for Plan B is all,"_ she mumbled to herself with determination. Getting out of the truck, she went to the back and dropped the tailgate, pulling a shotgun out from under a tarp and loading a shell into the breech.

The gun was another piece of stolen evidence from the incompetent sheriff's department, taken months ago with the rest of the lot. She smiled at the additional repercussions the sheriff would have to face after tonight.

Moving up the timetable for her 'Plan B' had taken but a few moments thought once she had gotten over the rage of her minion's capture. After all, with the capture of Wesley, all of the extra patrols would surely be cancelled now, maybe even the normal ones considering the excitement of the night. This might actually be the _most_ perfect night to do what she now had to do.

She saw headlights approaching in the distance; her heart rate inching up with every yard closer the vehicle got. Setting down the gun momentarily, she pulled up the hood of her skintight black costume, finding the black eye mask on the tailgate where she had laid it and installing this final touch onto her face.

Earlier in the evening she had admired herself in the mirror after donning the whole of her outfit, one of the many such in her closet. The sexy comic-book-heroine looking back at her had brought a smile to her face and a stirring between her legs. The smoothly chiseled features of her jaw line and her long beautiful neck were accentuated by the black outfit with stunning effect.

Shaking off the image, she quickly picked up the shotgun and closed the tailgate, jogging the fifty feet around the curve needed to assure that her victim would not see her truck, just in case.

Attention to detail...that was her credo.

Finding her spot in the road, she immediately took a superhero-like stance she had practiced in the mirror. Feet spread wide with the left foot slightly forward, she leaned her shoulders back slightly, allowing her hips to project forward a bit.

Hanging the shotgun down in her right hand, it is easily hidden from the approaching car by her finely-shaped leg. She held up her left hand in front of her, palm forward in a stop signal. She had no real worries about immediately stopping any man coming around the corner, or woman for that matter.

The approaching auto was in sight now, traveling about thirty-five around the curve. She could see the car fishtail slightly when the driver finely noticed her and crammed on his brakes. Standing there with the headlights fully on her, the woman smiled, and the true joy projecting from her face would be unmistakable to anyone, even through the mask and hood.

***

Tony Finney was half asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open as he followed the old, winding road that led to his house. Having just started his new job the day before, his body was nowhere near used to the 6:00 PM to 2:30 AM shift he had just finished.

Yesterday, he had been unable to sleep when he had arrived home, giving up around 8:00 AM and watching TV instead.

Having been out of work for eight months, he could hardly refuse the offer to work when this job had come open. Normally he would turn down anything involving late night work. Nights were for sleeping. He would sleep tonight though, of that he was sure.

At least he would if he could make it to his house before running off of the road.

Opening his eyes slowly now from another micro-snooze, he was confronted by someone standing in the road!

Trying to push the pedal through the floor to avoid hitting the person, he finally brought the car to a full stop.

As he looked ahead through the windshield, he was convinced that he must be seeing things, the image now standing ten foot in front of his vehicle.

Shaking his head to clear the image from his mind, she was nevertheless still standing there when his eyes reopened.

"Wow!" was all he can think to say when he realized that the sexy woman was still there, a smile now forming on her beautiful face.

"My Lord," he whispered to himself as he stared at the stunning apparition. A woman had not been in his life for quite awhile, and the form of the woman now standing before him made his groggy mind reel with possibilities.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them momentarily to try to burn the image of the beauty into his brain.

He never got the chance to open them again.

***

The woman easily swung the shotgun up from behind her leg, going a little past level before letting the stock fall comfortably into her left hand. Taking only a moment to let everything settle, she pulled the trigger, releasing into the air the noise and confusion of certain death. The loud retort of the gun was only exceeded by the orgasm that was now working its way up her lean body, her body shaking in joyous release.

Finally shaking off the effects, she threw the gun to the ground and turned back toward her truck, walking on shaky legs as her body recovered from the orgasmic flush that now enveloped her.

Climbing into the dark vehicle, she ignited the engine and routinely accelerated around the now-damaged car. The driver was slumped back against the seat, a massive hole now claiming the space that used to be his chest.

An aftershock stirred things up inside her once again, followed by the afterglow typical of such things.

"I could use a cigarette!" the non-smoker exclaimed with a laugh.

As she continued her ride home, she was beside herself with joy over the results of her work.

"I should have done this myself from the get go," she determined, having regretted involving the little idiot from the beginning.

"Let it go, lady," she told herself then, "Now that you know, there'll be no stopping you."

She was quiet then, a smile resting comfortably on her face. Ideas popped into her head rapidly, quicker than they ever had. She was ready for what came next, and anxious to get started on the next phase of her plan.

Nervous energy overcame her caution, and she pushed the pedal a little further into the floor. She was on top of the world, and had plans to stay there.

"He'll regret it now," she said, totally enjoying the moment.

"Yes, he'll regret it now."

Chapter 71

March 26, 1997

"Out on Lancaster Drive," Allen started, dejected. "A fuel oil truck making a delivery just found the man. The plates on the car belong to one Tony Finney, who also owns the last house on that particular dead-end road. We assume it is him; deputies are on their way."

"Could he tell how it happened?" Frank asked.

"Guy said shot through the windshield with a shotgun," was all Allen would add, getting up and heading toward his desk. "You two get out there and check it out."

Picking up his phone to make a call, he noticed us still standing there and impatiently waved us out of the office before punching the buttons for the unknown recipient.

"How is this possible?" I asked Frank as we exited the office.

He answered by shrugging his shoulders before digging into his pocket for the car keys. Confusion came across his face, then resignation before he announced, "We need to take your car this time, mine's in the shop."

Giving a quick laugh in spite of myself, I dug my keys out of my pocket and we started for the door. Passing Ellen working the phone, she suddenly stood and raised her voice, saying, "Are you sure?"

"OK, thanks," she said and hung up. Starting a note on her desk, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked her if there was something wrong.

"Not exactly," she said, finishing her note for Allen. Looking up at me, she said simply, "The victim is alive."

"Deputy just got to the site, found the guy still had a pulse. He called the ambulance, they're on the way."

With that she turned toward Allen's door, knocking briefly before letting herself in.

Frank and I looked at each other quickly before turning and heading swiftly toward the door. Maybe the day had started looking up a little again.

Chapter 72

March 26, 1997

A thought sprang into my head as we drove toward the scene of the shooting.

"What kind of person are we dealing with, if it _is_ this woman and she jumped into the action this quickly?"

"Damned determined," Frank immediately interjected. Thinking on it more, he added another thought.

"She must be very dedicated to her cause, whatever that is. If it is indeed her, she would have had to gear up very quickly. It also means she would have had a backup plan ready in the wings, _very_ organized."

"Ask me, I think it _is_ our woman," he continued, "and she has some deep-seated issues of some sort. She had the guts to jump in and take care of business when her original plan went awry, but there again, there is no blatant indication that she has actively killed before. It's like she just dropped in from another planet."

"A closet sociopath, hiding within herself maybe, but now she's developing psychopathic tendencies," I said, realizing that Frank had gotten me thinking.

"If she has been under the radar this long, something may have happened in her recent past to trigger her escalation, her sudden activation of this plan."

We both digested on this line of logic for the rest of the ride, which wasn't long. Pulling up at the scene, we sat in the car while the EMT's worked on the victim. They got him to the point they needed to and then loaded him up in the squad, hitting lights and sirens as they took off rapidly down the road.

Exiting the car, we moved toward the victim's auto. There were pieces of glass and coagulated blood splattered everywhere on the vehicle. We saw a deputy squatting in the road in front of the car so we headed that way. He was looking over a shotgun that was lying on the road, apparently dropped there after the shooting.

It was a Twelve Gauge pump action, well worn and scratched.

"Looks like it's been around awhile," I stated, mouthing the words of the obvious but actually lost in thought. I had noticed a string around the stock; a brass grommet attached to it with minute pieces of paper showing around its circumference.

"Evidence tag," I said as I pointed to the string, "Another tie to the sheriff's department?"

"Humph," Frank uttered, the one word phrase expressing it all.

"It's one of the items that came up on our missing inventory," the deputy interjected, "I figured it would show up like this."

"Any tracks or other evidence so far, Dean?" Frank asked the deputy, a sergeant unknown to me.

"Looks like the perp pulled off the road about fifty feet around the curve, no tracks though as far as I can tell. I've taped it off for now, we've got the crime scene guys on the way, and one of the dogs can waste some time sniffing around. Who knows, maybe the perp took a piss or something for the dog to find."

His disgust at another situation with no evidence showed in his face as he turned and walked off.

I didn't blame him.

We walked around the corner and looked around where the vehicle had supposedly been parked.

"Middle of the night, she would have been able to see the approaching headlights for a mile, guy in the car would have never seen her vehicle though."

I was talking out loud at this point, though nothing earth-shattering was coming out of my mouth. I was just trying to kick start something in my brain that might help.

We stayed around long enough for the techs to show up before leaving the scene, gleaning nothing of import for our troubles. The ride back was quiet, each of us lost in his own thoughts.

Something was bothering me about the stolen evidence that kept showing up. How did it get out of the lockup in the first place?

The state supposedly cleared everyone in the department. Is the person responsible now gone from the department?

Could just anyone walk in and remove evidence?

I was thinking we needed to dig a little deeper into the evidence locker. In my mind, we had left some stones unturned in this area of the investigation.

I shared my thoughts with Frank, and he agreed that should be our next focus in the investigation, with one possible addition.

"We should double check the state police's findings, something smells fishy to me."

Totally trusting Frank's investigative nose, I agreed that it wouldn't hurt to check on our state brothers. In my mind, we have to be missing something blatant; we just couldn't see it for the trees this investigation had thrown in our way.

I let my mind wander for the few minutes that remained of our drive, watching the new spring showing itself off as we passed. Daffodils and Tulips were finally bringing some color to our drab winter world.

I hoped we would have time to enjoy the spring this year, but right now, we seemed to be lost in a world of gray...a very drab and ugly gray.

Chapter 73

March 26, 1997

"The woman," Betty stated when we walked in the door.

Frank and I looked at each other before I answered.

"That's our thinking," I replied, "What's _your_ take on her?"

Looking thoughtful for a moment, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts.

"She wants control, losing that power just because her hired hand was captured is not in her nature. It seems a little out of character that she acted so quickly though, as everything up to this point indicated she had all of her T's crossed before she made a move."

"We were figuring that she may have had this as a backup plan all along, holding it back until she needed it, maybe planned months ago," I added my contribution.

Sounded like we were all on the same page, whether that page was the right one remained to be seen. Betty told us she had some information on the hunt for the woman's identity, so we followed her into the conference room to go over the results of her investigation.

"OK, I quickly got through the women who bought the pens _and_ went to parochial school, mostly soccer moms, a few grandmothers, and some professionals. None of the handwriting matched according to Percy, and as a whole, none of their personalities seemed to match the woman we are looking for."

"Following up with the other women that bought the pen only, we came to much the same result. Most are mothers or grandmothers, no arrests save for a DUI, and two have moved out of the area. One is a writer, and four are teachers, six have been divorced but have adjusted well."

"Again, their personalities or history didn't seem to indicate a deep-seated hatred or sociopathic tendencies. Percy has also cleared this group of handwriting samples."

The room was silent. My heart fell, Betty had put so much energy into this part of the investigation with no results.

"I'm sorry, Betty," I said sympathetically, "Sometimes these things just don't pan out."

A small smile appeared on her face.

"Oh, but I do have a potential suspect," she replied, her smile widening as she spoke. "We just put it together this morning."

"One Jasmine Delarue purchased a pen in January, had it mailed to her PO Box. Her mailing address is listed as PO Box 1124, here in Allenville.

Oh, and one more thing...until six months ago, she didn't exist."

Chapter 74

March 26, 1997

Jasmine Delarue...a mysterious name for a mysterious woman. Could this really be the identity for the woman responsible for a series of vicious murders?

"Do we know anything about her?" I asked hopefully, getting too used to being behind the eight ball lately.

"I went to the post office this morning, found the worker that rented the box to her, one Ben Hurst, a _very_ willing witness by the way. He remembered her immediately as she apparently made quite an impression on him."

"He gave a description of a woman in her early thirties, blonde hair, and sunglasses. She wore a baggy tee-shirt, but very tight jeans which Ben described in way too much detail. She also spoke with a very pronounced southern accent."

"Mr. Hurst also informed me that he had only seen her a couple times after that and that he attempted to make conversation each time but with little success. Seems she was much 'colder' on her subsequent visits, appearing to just want to get in and out as quickly as possible. He also volunteered that since she was one of _his_ customers, he noticed that most of her pickups were at night when no one was around."

"She hasn't picked anything up for about two weeks," Betty continued this with a devious smile, "Even though there is something in her box right now."

My ears picked up on this, "Can we get a look at it?"

"Not without a warrant, which I am waiting on right now," Betty said with some excitement. "Shouldn't take long, as I expressed the gravity of the situation, possible involvement in the murders and that the package could get picked up at any time. AP Courtney ran it over to the Judge personally."

We were all smiles when she finished. Seemed Betty has been pretty busy lately, handling most of this end of the investigation almost totally on her own.

When we had been together lately, we were either too tired physically or too tired mentally to talk of the investigation, preferring happier topics.

Pretty much anything that didn't concern death was high on our list.

I reminded myself once more to make arrangements for a long trip as soon as we'd cleared this case off the board, a result that I was long past being ready for.

As if on cue, AP Rand Courtney busted into the room, slightly red faced and out of breath. He smiled broadly at Betty as he walked the warrant over to her, until he saw me sitting at the table.

Although ten years her junior, Rand has had a little crush on Betty for quite awhile now; semi-ignoring the fact that she is happily married.

Betty for her part found it cute, telling him several times he was wasting his time, but with no apparent effect on Rand's feelings. I have offered to take him out back for a lesson in manners, to which Betty just laughed. She reminded me that I have nothing to fear, as long as I kept behaving myself that is.

"I got that warrant for you Betty," he gushed as he handed the paper to her. "Judge Miller signed it immediately once I explained the circumstances."

"Thanks Rand; you've really helped the investigation."

Grabbing up her stuff, she looked around before announcing, "Anyone wanna come?"

Frank and I got up to follow while Rand held up his hand like he was volunteering to go as we filed out of the room, leaving him standing there...poor kid.

Chapter 75

March 26, 1997

The postmaster had gone over the legal document with a fine-toothed comb.

"Can't be too careful with our customers' privacy, ya know?"

Tall and lanky with metal glasses and gray creeping up the side of his dark hair, he wore his thirty-year pin above his name tag like a badge of honor. After another minute he seemed satisfied, leading us to the back side of the box in question.

"Thar she is," he stated matter-of-factly, stepping aside but watching us like a hawk to make sure we didn't overstep our bounds.

Betty pulled on gloves before reaching in and grabbing the package, a small box, one inch deep by six inches long and four wide.

"Should we open it here?" Betty asked while holding it as gently as one might a bird's egg.

"We should probably take it back to the lab, let Percy open it with us, make sure we don't miss anything."

I got out an evidence bag and Betty gingerly placed the box inside. I then sealed it up, handing it to Betty for the trip back.

On the drive to the lab, we all speculated as to the contents of the box, dismissing every guess shortly after it came out of our mouths. We finally gave up, deciding finally to wait until we arrived at Percy's dark abode for the answer.

We all stopped in our tracks when we entered the lab, forced to halt until our eyes adjusted to the darkness. When they did, we were stunned at what we saw before us.

In one of the pools of light in the middle of the lab stood Percy, dressed in full surgery regalia. Scalpel in hand, he was lowering it to the table to make the initial cut on...a turkey.

A beautifully baked turkey, juicy looking and browned to perfection.

"Would you like to be alone?" Betty said with a smile, getting Percy's attention, a confused look showing briefly on his face.

"Well, hello!" he said with gusto, setting down the scalpel and pulling off his gloves and mask before coming around the table and shaking hands all around.

"To what do I owe this honor?" he asked with an owl-like inquisitive look.

"If you don't mind my asking Percy," I started, curiosity getting the best of me, "What exactly are you up to over there?"

"Oh, my turkey," he answered matter-of-factly as he glanced back at the bird. "I'm practicing carving it, carving it."

"My mom's sister and her family are coming over for Easter. I've never made a turkey before, or carved one for that matter. I cooked that bird last night, brought it in for lunch, and practice."

A thoughtful look suddenly crossed his face; "Forgot to bring a knife in though, probably easier to slice with a knife instead of the scalpel."

He maintained that thoughtful look until I again interrupted his reverie. "What about the doctor getup?"

"Oh that." he said with a smile, "That's to keep my clothes clean, of course, keep my clothes clean. Wasn't at all sure how messy it might get."

We all laughed at that, taking several more moments to get to the reason for our visit.

"We have evidence that may pertain to the murders," Betty said, holding up the bag. "We thought it might be good to have you open it so we didn't miss anything."

"Of course, of course," he said with excitement, indicating a table off to the side of the lab. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Betty set the evidence bag on the table while Percy donned new gloves before grabbing a clean scalpel, then carefully slitting the shipping tape holding the box closed.

Once done with that, he carefully opened the package, revealing brown wrapping paper wrapped around an object within.

Taking great care, he lifted the wrapped item out of the box and set it on the under-lit table for closer examination. Feeling around before finding an edge of the paper wrapping, he then carefully peeled away the paper around the object until he got to the final layer. Smoothing out the paper already removed to flatten it on the table; he then resumed his task, finally revealing the object within.

We stood there staring at the exposed item, none of us knowing what to say save for Percy's excited exclamation.

"Well, what do you think of that?"

Chapter 76

March 26, 1997

A postcard?

An old postcard lay on the brown wrapping paper extracted from the box. I couldn't imagine the significance of an old piece of mail to our Miss Jasmine. Taking up the card carefully, Percy examined it with the trained eye of a forensic investigator.

"Addressed to a man in Park Ridge, Illinois...mailed in 1980."

Turning it over to examine the other side, he looked it over for several moments before speaking again.

"Whoever sent this is threatening the one it was addressed to; nasty threats, nasty threats."

I saw a slip of paper laying where the card had been earlier, asking Percy to take a look at it. Gingerly setting down the card, he picked up the slip; revealing it to be a receipt.

"A payment slip from a place called _Crime-A-Bilia_ , 'Original postcard threatening his lawyer in his own hand'." Reading further, he looked up before saying, "It's from John Wayne Gacy!"

Why would someone buy a postcard written by a serial killer I wondered, the idea of someone seeking out something like this on purpose being a foreign one to me.

"I know what this is," Betty spoke up, "They call it _'Murderabilia'..._ collecting memorabilia from famous murderers. These sort of things sometimes go for quite a bit of cash."

Percy glanced down again at the receipt, "$3,650...wow!"

A woman who collected murderers' trinkets, who also didn't have a history beyond six months ago, and who we had theorized was actually the mastermind of a string of murders. It fit; it fit extremely well, if only we had some real proof!

This woman was living amongst us, but it could be anybody: The lady that ran the register at the truck stop, or the socialite living on the hill.

It could even be somebody we knew, and she was hiding in plain sight. We needed to flush her out, we needed bait, and this box may be it.

I thought about asking Allen to set up a stakeout on the post office, but was unsure how that would go over with the scant evidence we had on this lead. Add to that the fact that the lobby was open 24 hours a day and I was pretty sure he wouldn't authorize that much overtime.

"Is there anything we can put in the box to track it?" I asked Percy. "Place the package back in the PO Box, see if it moves?"

A smile creeped across his face, "I actually have something like that as a matter of fact...yes I do!"

He moved off to a room in the back of the lab, returning a minute later with a white, nondescript box about a foot square which he set on the table. Opening the box, he pulled out an instrument of some type that filled his hand.

"That's a little big to hide in that small box," I said as I took in the electronic gadget.

Percy laughed loudly as he reached back in the box, pulling out a crystal-clear plastic case about the size of a quarter. Handing that to me, I looked inside to find a small, black speck lying in a relative sea of blue sponge-like material.

"We can easily embed that in the cardboard of the box, but it only has a range of five hundred yards, and the battery only lasts a week. You think you can live within those constraints?"

"I think it's definitely worth a try," I answered, hoping my optimism translated into actual results. Turning to Betty, I asked if she thought her buddy at the post office would be willing to give us a heads up if this Jasmine reappeared or if the package came up missing.

"I think Ben would be more than willing," she answered, her smile indicating she liked the way my thought process was heading.

"Since we don't know when she may pick up the package, and given our workload now, I don't think Allen would authorize a stakeout. If we know she has picked it up, and assuming she lives in the city, we should be able to pick her up with Percy's gizmo."

Everyone agreed that the plan seemed plausible. Percy implanted the bug into the box, re-sealing the package as good as new. Frank offered to drive Betty back to the post office to replace the box, while I stayed on to learn how to run the electronics.

The plan was for naught if she didn't show up within the week, or if she left the city before we got a bead on her location.

I gave some thought to Frank and me covering some of the night shift on our own if she happened to show up then, but I was unsure where we could place the car that we wouldn't stand out in the middle of the night. The plan of depending solely on the tracking bug seemed like a gamble, but one with a good chance of success, if everything came together just right.

Shrugging inwardly, I resigned myself to the thought that sometimes you just needed to keep trying things until you found one that worked. Frustrating as hell, but reality sucked sometimes.

"Ok, Master Percy," I said as I faced the small genius.

"Explain to me how to run this new magic wand of yours. Let's see if we can't get this show on the road."

Chapter 77

March 27, 1997

Sheriff Lean McHenry's life was looking bleak once more, his career going down the drain, and his life going to hell in a hand basket.

Pulling the ever-present cigarette out from behind his ear and flipping it into his mouth, he leaned back in his chair and dug out the now-constant Zippo. Lighting the cig quickly, he inhaled longingly on the paper tube.

Holding the smoke in his lungs longer the usual, he let it out slowly in quickly repeating staccato puffs caused by the nervous tension now wracking his body.

He had spent several hours with various county officials yesterday, trying vainly to explain why his evidence kept showing up at the murder scenes.

County Council demanded an immediate audit to make sure he was not overspending his budget, the potential loss of their money overriding the threat of a continuing murder spree at that moment.

Then the County Commissioners wanted their time with him, the all-powerful elected body that was in charge of everything else besides money. Sitting in on this meeting was Prosecutor Allen Vanguard, as well as Doc Elliot, the coroner. It was not lost on the sheriff the reason for the two men to be sitting in on the meeting.

The prosecutor would be the final authority to determine if any laws had been broken. Doc Elliot was there because of Indiana's antiquated law that stated that the Coroner was the only person that could arrest a sheriff.

That was definitely one of the lowest points in his life.

He had been in law enforcement of some kind his whole career, serving with distinction in every capacity he had ever attempted. The thought of possibly being arrested was beyond anything his mind could rationalize, and he was pretty sure he would end it all before he would let anything like that happen.

It hadn't come to that, thankfully. Allen, for his part, had stood his ground by stating that there was no evidence at all to indicate that the sheriff had done anything criminal. But the consensus of the Commissioners was that at the very least, someone in his department had to be involved. This fact alone seemed to show a general lack of effective and professional leadership.

What, of course, went unsaid was that they needed someone to blame so that it wasn't laid on their doorstep. Mission accomplished.

Now he was basically waiting for their final decision, a wait that they had assured him would be no later than noon today. It was currently 11:05 and the tension was building inside of him, increasing exponentially with every minute that ticked by.

He didn't have long to wait evidently as a knock on his door was immediately followed by Jane entering the room, her face indicating something was up.

"Allen Vanguard is here, wants to speak with you."

Sheriff McHenry exhaled the lungful of smoke he had sucked in upon hearing the knock, stamping out his butt on the gold star of his department imprinted on the bottom of the glass ashtray on his desk. His mind locked on the image created by the smashed butt that obliterated part of the star he wore with so much pride. He was unable to look away as the symbolic implications suddenly struck him, a life built on truth and honor, obliterated in a second. His heart sank further.

"Dad... you ok?" Jane asked in a smaller voice, standing by the door waiting for his order. Lean looked up, a sadness showing in his eyes.

Leaning back in his chair and nodding imperceptibly, he motioned with his hand to let the prosecutor in. Jane pulled the door open, allowing the prosecutor into the room. Starting through the door to leave, she heard, "JJ, please stay."

Stopping mid-stride, she took a step back into the room, closing the door behind her before leaning against it for support. Her emotions were heightened beyond belief, but her face revealed only the mask of a professional law enforcement officer.

"Please sit, Allen, and tell me what the rest of my life looks like."

Chapter 78

April 2, 1997

Frank and I had spent a couple of nights staking out the post office from behind the dumpster at the local McDonald's. From here we could remain fairly well hidden and still watch the parking lot with binoculars.

But it had been to no avail. It had now been a week since we planted the bug in the PO Box, and our gamble had about run its course with no results.

I sat at my desk and let out a long sigh, resigning myself to the failure of this plan, thinking what our next move should be in this game of chess called murder. I had not had a dream since just after the wreck, and was now thinking maybe I depended too much on the paranormal and should just try to use my brain a little more.

The suspension of the sheriff a week ago had come as a shock to all of us, but less so when we realized it was more of a political ass-saving move by the commissioners than anything tangible. Nevertheless the action had sent tremors throughout our little universe. Confidence of _and_ within the sheriff's department was at an all-time low.

At the commissioners request, Allen had contacted the State Police once again, asking for a ranking officer to be sent down to temporarily oversee the department. Not knowing who to trust, the powers-that-be felt it better not to take any chances. Lean had taken the slap in the face stoically, leaving without a word and heading to the house.

He had remained barricaded there ever since, his only interaction with people seeming to be with the liquor store clerk.

Barry Frey had been making clandestine deliveries nightly of the sheriff's preferred Old Turkey whiskey. Poor guy didn't deserve that, but at this point the only solution to it was solving this case, a job we seemed to be monumentally failing at once again.

Tony Finney was recovering from his wounds, although a long stay in the hospital was his fate for the foreseeable future. He has been able to give us little information on his attacker, but it had been enough to confirm our suspicions.

He remembered a shapely woman in black, skin tight black, standing in the middle of the road. He had been dead tired, and didn't remember seeing a gun, only hearing the noise and feeling intense pain before passing out.

Everyone so far that has seen this woman had seemed very enamored over her looks. You would think someone like that would be easier to find.

Betty and Frank arrived for a little meeting we had planned to go over the initial State Police investigation. With the continued tie-in between the sheriff's department and the murders, and considering the current investigation into the department, Allen had removed the deputies from the Task Force for now.

Additionally, Harry had developed health problems, his heart exhibiting palpitations that his Dr. thought serious enough to remove him from active duty until they could figure it out.

Our little group was all that was left, more of a task _group_ than a force. Except for being spread out thinner than we liked, we would handle it ok, a better set of partners I couldn't have asked for.

Up to this point, we had found nothing that indicated anything but good solid police work by the troopers. As to the result of the initial investigation, all deputies and jail workers passed their interviews, background checks and polygraph tests with flying colors. It was starting to look like another dead-end.

"I've found an anomaly in some data," Betty stated matter-of-factly when she had settled into her seat. "The polygraph test actually, the operator's chart is initially hand written during the exam, which he then converted to a formal chart on the computer later on. They keep a copy of both the handwritten chart and the computer generated one in the file, as well as the tape from the machine. Problem is, there were twenty eight charts, but only twenty seven tests done according to the machine's tape."

"Who was the person without the tape?" I asked, intrigued.

"I can't tell. They assigned numbers to their subjects. We were not granted access to this information in the files; we only have a copy of the files they left for Allen. It would be in the original files in Indy."

"Probably just an oversight," I said with some annoyance. Why is it that every step we took required going back two to find an answer?

"We still need to look at it. Allen would need to make that request to the state. Betty, can you get with him on that?"

She nodded and started to get up when Frank added a thought to the conversation.

"I got a crazy feeling about this, maybe we should talk to the polygraph operator himself. Have him bring the files down with him. If nothing else, going straight to the horse's mouth would eliminate a step later."

We all agreed that that would be a smart move, so Betty left to find Allen and deliver our request. I was still thinking it was probably just an oversight, but the continued targeting of the sheriff in the murders meant we really needed to turn over every stone.

Lean McHenry deserved our best effort, and we were all committed to giving it to him.

The intercom buzzed and I grabbed the handset. "The hospital just called," Ellen relayed matter-of-factly, "Mr. Wesley is waking up. I thought you would want to know."

Thanking her, I quickly replaced the phone and grabbed my notebook. "Wesley's awake," I said to Frank, who jumped up like he was on springs.

"Let's go," he said as he led the way out of the room. It looked like we might actually have a break, both of us jumping at the chance to bring something to a conclusion for a change.

Here's hoping for small miracles.

Chapter 79

April 2, 1997

The now-familiar beep of the monitors was relaxing to the man handcuffed to the bed.

Jacob John Wesley, the 'Ghost', had been groggily coming in and out of consciousness for a few hours, feeling agonizing pain throughout his body until the next injection of pain killers.

He had been confused the first few times he had opened his eyes, not knowing where he was or how he gotten there. The chase and the resultant wreck had finally started working its way though the haze that was his memory at that moment. The realization that he was in a hospital and that he had been apprehended had finally sunk in with the glimpse of the deputy guarding him outside his room.

Coming to grips with his current situation, an insight had occurred to him through the pain and the haze.

Yes, he was caught, but he was still famous, people would want to know his thoughts. Books would be written, movies made. The 'Ghost' was still here, and he _was_ the 'Ghost'.

A smile spread on his lips through the pain, true happiness seeming to be achieved in his life.

A nurse entered the room carrying a tray. Through half opened eyes he saw a shapely blonde woman in a short, white nurse's uniform and tortoise shell glasses. She was turned away, filling a syringe from a bottle. He noticed her tight ass in the white dress and wished he could say something snide as she turned around and gave him a big smile.

"Time for your pain shot, Mr. Wesley." she said in a southern drawl. Her nametag revealed her name to be _'Jasmine'_.

"This will fix you right up."

' _Jasmine? It's her!'_ He thought to himself, _'my mentor'_.

Thumping the needle to clear the air, she inserted it in the IV and slowly pushed the contents into the line, taking the empty hypodermic and laying it again on the tray across the room.

Coming back to the side of the bed, she smiled down on him, informing him that, "It shouldn't be long now before the desired effects take hold."

Still smiling, she leaned down close to his face, suddenly talking close to his ear in the now familiar, raspy whisper.

"You should have listened to me, Mr. Wesley; you should have listened to me."

Standing up again and still smiling, she turned to leave the room.

"You all have a nice day now."

Wesley was confused.

" _What did she mean by that?"_ he wondered. The initial confusion was quickly replaced by a searing pain radiating from his arm, then traveling throughout his body. A scream formed in his throat as he tried to open his mouth to release it.

Neither the scream nor the pain would exit his body.

It felt like his veins were burning with acid as his eyes now opened wide. There was a darkness creeping into his vision that seemed alive as it quickly moved around the room.

While he helplessly watched its progress, the darkness moved closer and started to envelop him, like tentacles attaching to his soul. Before the last breath escaped his lungs, he was staring into the face of his fate.

Two red eye-like slits stared at him from inches away as the screams of a thousand souls entered his head.

"Welcome," the apparition said, the tentacles pulling the soul from his body as his screams joined the others in eternal pain.

***

The blonde nurse left the elevator, removing her nametag as she appeared to walk nonchalantly to the locker room to change from her shift. Arriving at her locker, she pulled open the door, taking out her small bag and setting it on the bench. Looking quickly around, she removed her glasses and tossed those and the nametag into the bag.

She then unzipped her Nurse's uniform, actually another one of the naughty costumes from her extensive closet. Letting it drop to the ground, she then placed it with the rest of the contents of the bag.

Looking up, she caught the reflection of her body in a mirror at the end of the isle, enjoying the look of the black panties on her lithe body that she chose especially for this occasion. Sighing loudly, she dismissed her need to admire her sculpted body further, reaching in the bag and pulling out a tee-shirt and sweats, donning these before pulling on the running shoes.

Reaching into her bag one final time, she pulled out the sunglasses that would mark the finish of her look. Seeming to sense someone looking at her, she looked up and around the room before confirming that she was still alone.

Pulling the hood over her head, she zipped the bag closed and left the locker room, exiting the building through the employee entrance.

" _The Devil is in the details,"_ she said happily to herself with a smile on her face.

Chapter 80

April 2, 1997

We walked into the hospital with high hopes, the chance to start getting some answers foremost on our minds. Our hopes were again dashed however when, as the elevator doors opened, we caught sight of the mad rush of people in blue heading into our suspect's room.

Making our way quickly to the window, we looked in on the melee developing within, doctors and nurses with machines fighting to bring life back into the 'Ghost'.

My eyes involuntarily locked onto his which were wide open and slightly bulging. The lifeless eyes appeared to show surprise, even fear. Confused, I turned to the deputy and ask what happened.

His face was white as he started to explain that he didn't really know. The monitors had starting blaring suddenly about four minutes before.

Looking into the window when he had heard the noise, Wesley had already appeared dead. It had been like this since then, he continued, people running in and out and nobody saying anything. The doctors seemed very confused he added as an afterthought, like they couldn't understand what had happened.

Frank tapped my shoulder, pointing my attention back into the room. The activity had suddenly ceased, with the medical personnel either standing around in defeat or shutting down equipment and cleaning up. Jacob John Wesley was still staring hauntingly at me, almost pleading it seemed. I tried to shake off the eerie feeling with little success.

Seeing a dejected-looking doctor leave the room, we cornered him down the hall and asked him what had happened. He looked down at his shoes for several moments, seemingly deciding what to say before looking up at us with his answer.

"I don't know," he said, nervously licking his lips. "I just checked on him an hour ago, he was coming out of his coma. I made sure the deputy called in his status personally as soon as I knew you could talk to him. I suppose we could have missed something though, he was wracked up pretty good when he came in."

Looking at Frank, I suddenly knew that we were both thinking the same thing. The timing and boldness of such an act was right up her alley.

Turning back to the doctor, I asked him to do a tox screen on the body when they did the autopsy. A confused look crossed the doctor's face for a moment before the realization of what we were asking hit him.

"You think someone got in here, passed the guard, and gave him something, like poison or something?"

"It's a possibility," I replied, "we think he was working with someone else on the murders. That person may have thought he was now a threat."

Handing him one of my cards, I asked him to have someone contact me when the results were in. Nodding absently while looking down at the card, he turned to continue on his way down the hallway, stopping after a few feet to turn toward us once more.

"If there was anyone here that wasn't supposed to be, you might catch them on the security cameras. Just had them installed three months ago, they don't cover this hallway, but we have them on all of the exits."

Turning to go once again, Frank and I looked at each other before quickly taking off to catch up with the doctor.

"Show us where your recorders are."

Chapter 81

April 2, 1997

Two hours later, we were still looking at tapes of the various exits throughout the building, with nothing to show for our efforts save for frustration. Our final tape was the employee entrance, which we had saved for last, feeling this was the least likely option a killer would have used.

A string of doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff came and went almost constantly in and out of the picture. We had been watching this tape for about ten minutes when Frank suddenly yelled, "STOP!"

"Rewind it about a minute," he said with excitement. The hospital security guy did as requested, starting it again when he reached the correct time stamp.

"Get ready to stop it quickly when I say to," he told the operator, "run it forward on slow."

After running for another twenty seconds, he said, "THERE!"

The now familiar shape of a woman in sunglasses and hooded sweatshirt appeared fuzzily on our monitor.

"That's her, the woman from the store!" Frank exclaimed.

It was indeed a familiar image, confirmation of our hunch showing blurrily on the screen.

"Think we can go back and find her entering the building?" I asked the security guy.

"No problem," he said, starting to rewind the tape.

"I wouldn't go back more than twenty minutes," Frank said to him. "I doubt she was here any longer then she needed to be."

Frank proved himself correct once again, as the image of her entering the building occurred only eighteen minutes before the time the tape showed her leaving.

I had another thought, asking Frank to wait and get a copy of the tape before I left to make my way back to Wesley's room. Exiting the elevator, I almost ran into the deputy that had been guarding Wesley's room. Pulling him aside, I asked him one last question.

"Who was the last person to enter the room before Wesley died?"

The deputy thought back, and then exclaimed, "There was a nurse that entered the room before it happened. I didn't see her leave, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before all hell broke loose after she did."

"This is very important," I said seriously, "What did she look like?"

"Oh, she was a looker," the deputy started, a small smile spreading across his lips as he recalled her details.

"Really sweet girl, blonde hair, glasses, tight nurse's outfit. Come to think of it, you never see anyone in a nurse's uniform anymore, mostly wear scrubs now. Anyway, I had to turn away when I realized I was staring at her, didn't want her to get the wrong idea, sexual harassment and all that."

"Did she have a name tag or any other identification on her that you saw?" I asked, hoping for any other additional information for our case.

"She certainly did, I memorized it, hoping to maybe make a connection later, you know, after this detail was over." His face was red as he retold his reason for knowing her name, trying to hide his embarrassment by looking down at the floor.

Finally looking up, he sighed dreamily before uttering, "Jasmine, her name was Jasmine."

Chapter 82

April 2, 1997

Jasmine! The mastermind was cleaning up her mess?

I felt good only about the fact that we seemed to be on the right track. Jasmine was behind the murders, and was not only stepping up her activities, but she was also closing up any loopholes that she felt threatened by.

Frank was elated by our discoveries at the hospital, and by elated I mean he had a degree of a smile on his face.

We didn't feel the same level of commitment for victim or family as we usually did in this particular case, but the brazen attack on the 'Ghost' in broad daylight and at a public place gave us another look into the psyche of the brazen woman.

It was incentive enough to find her very quickly, as if we didn't have enough of that already.

Back at the office, we found Betty and updated her as to our findings. She was pleased that it was coming together so quickly now. For her part, she and Allen had made contact with the State Police, who had agreed to send their polygraph operator down with the pertinent records the next day.

We were about to wrap up for the day when Ellen buzzed in on the intercom, looking for Betty to inform her she had a call. Walking across the room, Betty picked up the receiver, asking Ellen to transfer it. She seemed surprised by whoever had called; the surprise turning into seriousness after the caller started talking.

"Really?" she said as she grabbed a note pad and pen.

"How long ago?" she asked, studying her watch for a moment before furiously making more notes on the pad.

"Driving...?"

"Did you see which way...?"

"Ok, thanks a lot, Ben, I really appreciate it. Sure thing, I'll let you know how it turns out; bye now."

Hanging up, she quickly ripped the sheet off the notepad before announcing, "She's picked up the package!"

***

I quickly grabbed the box with the tracking device and we all headed out of the building, Betty indicated she would drive. Getting in, I powered up the device and let it warm up while Betty squealed out of the parking lot, hitting my head on the roof when we went over the speed bumps in our parking lot. I quickly recovered and locked in my seatbelt, amazed I had forgotten it so soon after the wreck.

"Ben said she turned right on US 50 in a small white car after she left the Post Office's lot. That sends her east, right past us if we can get to the highway soon enough."

She hit some switches and the siren started blaring as we quickly made our way through city streets. We made it to the highway in record time as Betty turned off the lights and noise right before entering the intersection so as not to arouse suspicion.

Nothing was showing upon the screen yet, and I was at a loss as to which way to go from here.

"How long ago did she leave the Post Office?" I asked Betty, keeping my eye on the screen as I talked.

She quickly checked her watch, "Six and a half minutes," she stated succinctly. "She's probably ahead of us by now if she hasn't turned off the highway."

"Agreed," I stated, looking up briefly to take in the traffic. "Let's go east and see if we can overtake her."

Betty eased her foot down on the accelerator, jumping into traffic before increasing our speed enough to merge into the flow of traffic in the high-speed lane. We were making good time at this point, but it would be useless if she was also a match for our speed or if she had turned off.

"I'm not picking her up!" I mumbled with discouragement. "Maybe you could try speeding up some more." Betty took charge and punched down on the pedal, weaving in and out of traffic to make up time.

"We're almost to the state line," Frank chimed in from the back seat. "Do we follow over the line if we pick her up by then?"

"If we pick her up before crossing the line, we are in pursuit," Betty stated as she continued to weave in and out of traffic brashly, moves that would have drawn attention if she wasn't piloting a police cruiser.

"Besides, we can always call for backup once we pick up the signal."

"Ping...ping."

Recognizing the noise from my training, I looked down and see the blinking fluorescent green dot at the far edge of the screen.

"Gotter!" I yelled when I saw the indicator, "Straight ahead!"

Betty grabbed her mic off the dash and started calling for backup for our pursuit.

Once again adding power to try to overtake our suspect, the dot continued getting closer by the minute. I was mesmerized, watching the dot getting closer to the center of the screen with each passing second.

"She's right in front of us now!" I yelled as excitement overtook my caution.

"I can't tell which one it is," a frustrated Betty said as we tried to pick out which little white car of the five in sight we should be following. Looking down again I saw the dot...behind us.

"Pull off, pull off, she's behind us."

Instead, Betty whipped it into the grassy median, grass and mud flying in the air behind us as the car fought for traction in the spongy spring turf.

The dot again headed for us, before sliding by us once again. Looking up quickly, I spotted a truck stop to our left.

"She's at the truck stop!" I exclaimed as I excitedly pointed out the location behind us. Betty now slowed the vehicle, crossing sanely at one of the left turn accesses built between the lanes.

"We've got her now," Frank said with satisfaction, pulling his weapon out of the shoulder holster beneath his coat.

Betty pulled into the huge lot, trying to appear as normal as possible as we tried to discern which vehicle was our target.

"Over there, center section," I coaxed as I stared at the screen. I rattled off directions as we navigated between trucks and cars that were scattered throughout the lot, pulling finally behind a white Honda with Ohio plates. The dot was now centered on my readout.

"Bull's-eye," I stated matter-of-factly, dropping the device to the floor and pulling my Glock out of its holster.

We exited the car quietly, leaving the doors open as we approached from the rear.

Betty took the driver's side, with me on the right and Frank covering us from behind.

As Betty got to the driver's door, a man with a big wad of tobacco in his cheek stuck his head out the window, ready to let fly his mouthful of tobacco juice.

The sudden feel of steel behind his ear stopped him in mid pucker, along with the words spoken in that sweet, sexy voice.

"Welcome to Indiana."

Chapter 83

April 2, 1997

The man's face turned white with fear.

He swallowed hard and started to say something, until his face suddenly turned green as the tobacco juice hit his stomach.

Despite his precarious position, he lurched out of the car and threw himself to the ground, literally spilling his guts with a gun to his head.

When he finally dried up, he rolled over onto his butt before pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. A look of fear and confusion appeared on his pale, sweat-covered face as he looked up at Betty.

"M'am, I apologize for that, but I ain't used to having a gun in my face. Ain't used to this damned tobacco I was chewing neither, and I really hope to never have to experience either one of them again. May I ask what I done to get you so damned pissed off at me?"

"Guys, back here," Frank yelled from the rear of the car.

Betty turned her head at Frank's voice, then back to the guy on the ground.

"You, stay there."

"Yes m'am," the man answered, making no move to get up.

We headed back to Frank's location where he was squatting behind the trunk. As we arrived he was pulling out the box that the woman had picked up at the post office, minus the postcard. The bug we had planted was still evident in the bottom of the box.

"The box was crammed in behind the bumper," Frank exclaimed through clenched teeth. "Shit!"

Sirens were now evident in the distance as our backup telegraphed their impending arrival.

"I'll get a statement from this guy, see what his story is," Betty said, turning to head back to the man on the ground, holstering her gun as she walked.

Frank and I had a quick discussion, deciding to enlist the approaching officers in searching the lot.

"Probably laughing her ass off at us about now," Frank called back over his shoulder as he walked over to the arriving cruisers to direct the search.

I took a quick look around the lot, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. There were semi trucks, cars and pickups scattered throughout the huge lot.

We really had no idea as to who we were looking for save a general description garnered from grainy security tapes and gaga-eyed witnesses. My feeling was that she was long gone by now anyway, another dead end shoved in our faces.

Approaching Betty, she was handing the man one of her cards, whose stress laden face had returned to more of a normal color. Two other men were looking on from a few feet away, talking between themselves.

"What's up?" I asked as I came up from behind her.

She turned her head, giving me a smile as she put away the little leather holder she used for her cards.

"Elmer Murray and his two buddies, all went in to pre-pay and get some snacks and chew when they first arrived about ten minutes ago. They all say they didn't see anyone anywhere near their car when they came back out. I gave him my card in case he remembers anything, told him we may be giving him a call."

I nodded in understanding, helping Betty get the box into an evidence bag. We then made our way around the car to check out the restaurant. Looking around at the horde of people in the eatery, I confirmed my suspicions that there were no good-looking blondes with baggy sweatshirts and glasses matching our description...nor where there any wearing a tight nurse's uniform for that matter.

With the sketchy details we had on her, she could have changed her appearance only slightly and been more than able to hide in plain sight from us.

Frank came up shaking his head.

"No security cameras, surprise," he said grumpily. He went on to tell us that the other cops were checking out the lot, but that they had so far come up with a big fat nothing.

We stuck around asking questions and scouring the truck stop for the next two hours to no avail. When we finally left the lot and headed back to the city, the tracking device was still pinging, but before I could get it turned off the bug died. I looked down at the blank screen for a few seconds before turning it off.

Our bug had died, and our investigation seemed not far behind.
Chapter 84

April 2, 1997

Jasmine smiled as the police cruiser pulled into the lot, slowly easing deep into the huge truck stop, completely ignoring her car in the process. She could only imagine the surprise on their faces when they pulled their weapons on some unsuspecting dupe.

She had been truly surprised when, having stopped on a side street to look at her postcard, she had happened to notice the bug at the bottom of the box.

Initially at a loss as to what to do, she had immediately taken off again, at least offering a moving target until she had decided on a plan. Throwing out the box seemed like a bad idea as someone could have seen her on the busy highway and reported it. Finally noticing the truck stop before the state line, she pulled in.

Getting out and making like she was grabbing a squeegee to clean her windows, she found a similar car to hers and stuffed the box behind that car's bumper. Heading back to her auto she then laid the squeegee on her floorboard before she put the car in gear and maneuvered the car toward the exit.

This would put a new wrinkle in her plans though, having heard nothing through the grapevine about them discovering her identity. She would have to hold off on any additions to her collection for now.

It was just a hobby anyway. It affected nothing, her plans were already set.

She had been careful, there should be no way they could trace her any further than they already had, because in all actuality, _she_ was the _Ghost._ In a couple of days, they would hear from her again anyway.

She was suddenly glad there were no appointments scheduled for tonight. Tonight would be spent instead making love to a large meatloaf and all the trimmings, her favorite. She turned left out of the lot and headed west, easily merging into traffic.

Realizing that there was also a new JAG on TV that night, she couldn't help but think, _'This day just keeps getting better!'_

Chapter 85

April 2, 1997

When we got back to the office we decided to call it a night. Frustration had gotten the best of us this day.

Betty wanted Thai food, and offered to get it if I would get the rest of dinner ready. I enthusiastically agreed and headed home to get started.

Arriving at the house, I let Lucy out and got busy preparing drinks, plates and silverware. By the time I had gotten done with that chore, Lucy was scratching to come back in, prancing back to her place by the fireplace like the queen she was.

I heard Betty pull up outside and went to give her a hand. Opening the car door, my olfactory senses were assaulted by the aromatic coriander and turmeric as it escaped from the confines of the car. I pulled the two brown paper grocery bags loaded with treats out of the car and headed into the house with my lovely wife.

We headed directly to the table and spread out the dishes, digging into the feast with gusto. I hadn't realized I was so hungry, scooping up multiple helpings of each dish until I was stuffed. Betty appeared equally ravenous, keeping up with me by the forkful, the complimentary chop sticks having been discarded as too slow.

Twenty minutes later, the containers were empty, and we were uncomfortably full and unable to move. Betty gave me a somewhat pained look, uttering an exasperated "Bleh!" before brightening with, "Wine?...Living room?"

I felt like I was waddling as I got up to open a bottle of Merlot, letting it breathe all of ten seconds as I got the glasses and filled them with the dark red liquid. Turning with the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other, I headed for the living room.

Betty was nowhere in sight, so I set the wine on the end table by the love seat and sat down, finding the remote and flipping through the channels.

Mrs. Celtic arrived moments later looking comfortable in a flannel nightgown, a smile attesting to this fact showing on her beautiful face. Sitting down, she curled up next to me and rested her head on my shoulder, taking the offered wineglass and sampling a quick sip.

"That's just what I needed, what's on TV tonight?"

"JAG at 8:00," I said thoughtfully, trying to remember the current schedule in my head.

"Good, I love that show," she said tiredly as she snuggled even closer to me, giving me a peck on the cheek before laying her head once more on my shoulder.

We both settled in to watch TV, sipping at our wine and enjoying each other's company.

I woke up with a start at 10:30, the steady breathing in my ear telling me my love had also fallen asleep. I gently shook Betty's shoulder, suggesting that we go to bed when her eyes opened a little to look at me. She nodded and started to rise.

Appearing to remember something, she sat back down to looked at me seriously.

"Gabe, I need to tell you something," more awake now.

"Ok dear," I replied, slightly confused as I too settled back down into the couch.

"I just want you to know, I need you to know, how much you mean to me, how much our marriage has changed my life, for the better."

"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, trying to lighten up things a bit.

"Shut up and listen," she shot back, concern on her face. "This is important to me! If something would ever happen to you and I hadn't told you how important you are in my life, I don't know what I would do."

"You were, literally, miraculously saved from death the other night."

"What if you had been killed? I'm not sure I could keep going on without you, especially without you knowing my true feelings."

"Honey, I know you love me, you've changed my life too. Without you I would probably just be some bitter old man. You are an exceptional woman, and I just ride on your coattails most of the time."

She grabbed my jaw in her hand, holding my head to look directly into her eyes.

"We are great for each other," she said, staring into my eyes with love. "I just really, really need you to know how important you are to me and how much you have made my life complete."

I reached out and hugged her, and we sat there for several minutes, she holding on like it was our last night on earth together.

"I love you Betty," I whispered into her ear tenderly.

She giggled slightly, laying her head on my shoulder, mouth to my ear, whispering, "Back at cha buddy."

I gently worked out of our embrace, standing and offering my hand to the woman that had never looked more beautiful to me than at this moment. Leading her up to our room, we made gentle, sweet love before falling asleep in each other's arms.

Before I fell finally asleep, I realized that I was the luckiest man alive, and definitely didn't deserve the wonderful life and woman I had been given. A smile formed on my lips, which I'm sure stayed there the rest of the night.

***

I entered the room, feeling the warmth of the fire on my face as my nose picked up the heavenly aroma of the coffee already poured and waiting. I took a moment to just stand there and enjoy my surroundings before taking my seat, hefting my cup and taking a long draw of the black elixir.

I glanced down at the chessboard and noticed immediately that I was in trouble.

My opponent has shown some initiative and magically pulled a move out of his ass that threatened to have me in check in three moves.

"Damn," is all I could say as I went on the defensive once again, spending maybe the next hour and a half to work up a strategy that would at least slow him down.

Mentally exhausted, I leaned my head back into the cushion of the chair and enjoyed some more of my coffee. Closing my eyes, I was immediately aware of a small creaking sound behind me again.

I sat there quietly and tried to discern direction and distance as the noise repeated itself every few seconds, much quicker than on previous visits. Behind me and to the right, approaching. I'm guessing that whoever is there was less than ten feet behind me now.

Bolder for sure, but are they yet willing to show themselves to me? I had to find out, tensing my body for a spring up out of the chair to catch the intruder in their tracks.

Carefully setting down the cup, I then quickly jumped up and turned to see...nothing, nobody was there. I felt a dizziness coming on quickly so I leaned against the locker next to me...the locker?

Looking around, I found myself in some sort of locker room, empty now, but the sound of someone approaching reached me from the hallway. The doors swung open, pushed by a blonde woman wearing a nurse's uniform, a very tight and shapely nurse's uniform.

She went quickly to her locker and pulled out a bag, glancing around suspiciously before removing her glasses and placing them in the bag, along with her nametag.

The woman was facing away from me, keeping me from identifying her face. I tried to move from my position to get around to the front, but I could not move my feet, they were stuck to the floor as if glued.

She then unzipped her dress, letting it slide to the ground, revealing a very shapely figure...topless and in black underwear. Picking up the dress, she folded it and then put it also into the bag.

Looking up, she saw her reflection in a mirror and stopped to admire herself, rubbing her tight belly before letting out an audible sigh and pulling on sweat clothes.

Before it was covered up, I noticed a tattoo on her shoulder. It was a snake, the tail originating by her backbone before it then slithered up over her shoulder blade. The reptile's head ended two inches from her left shoulder. It seemed familiar to me somehow, but I could not put my finger on where I'd seen it before.

She donned sunglasses and pulled up her hood before turning around and exiting the locker room nonchalantly. Seeing the side of her face with the big glasses, I strained my mind to put a name with the features to no avail. As she exited the room, I felt my feet being released from the floor and I took chase, running at top speed and crashing through the doors into... nothingness!

Chapter 86

April 3, 1997

I felt myself falling...again.

I flung my arms around, trying in vain to gain a grip on anything that would stop the fall.

I suddenly landed, knocking some of the air out of me. Gasping a couple of times before opening my eyes, I saw the inevitable 5:30 glaring at me menacingly from my alarm clock. Its demonic glow told me that I had no choice but to obey and get up.

I looked over, comforted to hear Betty's steady breathing. At least I hadn't wakened her this time.

I got up and sat on the side of the bed, trying to firm up what was revealed to me in the dream.

Shapely, a good looking woman, but I had already deduced this from interviews and evidence. The tattoo was new, and maybe a clue we could run with. I'd check with tattoo parlors in the area later today, as they were not morning businesses.

One other thing was stuck in my groggy mind, we had assumed that mentally she felt superior, but it also appeared that she was quite preoccupied with her physical beauty.

I wasn't sure if this point could help us in our search for the mysterious woman, but I put a big check mark next to it in my head as a fact I needed to mull over.

I got up and headed down the stairs to make the coffee. Having no doubt now that the information revealed to me in the dream was factual, I still wondered at the process that let me know these things that others couldn't know.

What was so damn special about me anyway, besides being able to function with a lack of restful sleep?

The sound of the coffee dripping into the pot was the official indicator of the start of another day. Another day, but one that I was cautiously optimistic about all of a sudden.

If I'd only known...

Chapter 87

April 3. 1997

Arriving at the office, I found a report from Doc Elliot on my desk with the results of the autopsy of Jacob Wesley.

The one important piece of information that interested me, highlighted by the doctor himself, was the results of the tox screen. In the fluorescent yellow box, it indicated what I assumed must be massive amounts (over 200g according to his notes) of Potassium Chloride.

Reading the notes at the end of the report, Doc Elliot explained that this is one of the drugs used for lethal injections in several states. It was usually the last chemical given in a three-chemical cocktail used for the death row inmates when their time came. Without the other two chemicals preceding this one, death would be rapid and extremely painful.

He went on to say that it was readily available for treating potassium deficiencies in animals, and that the cost was minimal, probably hundreds of companies ship this through the mail daily.

With no easy way to track this, I put it in my case folder. We probably could eventually tie this purchase to Jasmine, but we already knew she did it, and there were better things to expend our time on.

Betty entered my office and informed me that Matt Brady, the state's polygraph operator was here and in the conference room. Not having much hope of finding anything pertinent from what I assumed was a clerical error, I sighed and followed her out of the office, saying I would grab some coffees and bring them with me.

I snagged four coffees and some extra sugar and cream for our guest and headed to the conference room. Entering, I sat them down and started to distribute them while Betty made introductions.

"Gabe, this is Sergeant Matt Brady, Matt this is Gabriel Celtic, and of course you already know Frank."

We all shook hands with the good-looking and laidback thirty-something officer. Indicating he liked his coffee black, I slid a cup of the beverage across the table, giving Frank the extra sweetener for his desk.

We talked for a few moments about some cases we had in common, Sergeant Brady exuding the confidence seemingly limited to those under forty in this line of work.

"Matt," Frank started when we had the chitchat out of the way, "We asked you here because we noticed a discrepancy in your report of the sheriff's department."

The sergeant seemed to tense slightly as the words hit him. Not an unusual reaction to someone questioning one's specialty.

"It's probably nothing," Frank continued, "but this case is too long ongoing, and we are taking a second look at _all_ of the information pertinent to the investigation."

"What can I do to help?" the trooper asked, his confidence seeming to return.

"There seems to be one less test than indicated on your machine's tape than shown on your reports," Betty said while looking down at her notes. "Twenty eight reports, both handwritten as well as computer generated, but it would appear that there are only twenty seven tests given according to your machine's output information. Can you help us clear this up?"

Betty had been relaxed while reading off the stats, but became guarded upon looking up, noticing some physical indicators that had changed on the sergeant.

I had also been watching him, and noticed him tense significantly as Betty's question unfolded.

Essentially, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

An audible gulp preceded his reaching for his coffee and taking a quick sip. His hands trembled slightly as he held the cup.

Setting the cup down, he frowned slightly, saying, "I find that hard to believe."

Betty now knew that he was hiding something and pushed harder.

"Can we see your copy of the reports sergeant?"

Matt Brady seemed reluctant to do so before finally sliding the file over to her.

Gingerly he started to open the cover before slapping it closed again quickly. A determined look was now on his face.

"Look, I think I know what may have happened," he started as I noticed a sheen developing on his upper lip.

"Can I ask for your...uh...discretion in this matter? Keep it just between us?"

"How bout we just arrest you right now for hindering our investigation?" Frank snarled at him, exhibiting the foul mood he got whenever a cop wanted special consideration.

Betty held up her hand to calm the room.

"We'll agree to let your superiors handle punishment if any is needed, Mr. Brady," she said, a steely look now in her eyes, "But you had better be straight with us, and I mean right now!"

You could almost see the confidence ebbing away from him, a pained look now crossing his face before he covered it with his hands for a few moments in fear and embarrassment.

"Ok, ok... look, I didn't plan for it to happen, it just did, you know? My last test, this female in uniform entered, sat down at the table and started to talk me up. She was saying how great I looked and that the color of the uniform really brought out my eyes, that kind of thing. "

"She was really built; her uniform fit her like a glove. Before you knew it, she was brushing her fingertips against my arm, saying how strong I looked and then she had her hand on my neck."

" _How long do we have?_ She asked...and then I was kissing her."

"She started unbuttoning everything on me, stopping long enough to go lock the door, and then helped me get her clothes off. She was insatiable, and she knew things I had never even heard of. I bet she got off ten times, her body was unbelievable. I just couldn't help myself. We were in here a good half hour. I was beginning to worry someone would come looking for us before she finally got her fill!"

"When we were done we got dressed, she kissed me, and then she left. I was spent and started picking up my stuff. It was only later when I was entering the test results into the computer that I realized that we had never gotten around to the actual test. At that point, I just made up some results. There would be too many questions if I had asked her to do the test again."

He looked spent again as he finished the story, looking down at the table in apparent shame. Looking up once again, he finished his tale of the encounter.

"I've got no good excuse, except to say she was hot, and she wanted it as much as I did."

"What's her name?" Betty asked anxiously, "Who was this goddess that you may have thrown away your career for?"

"I never did find out," he almost whispered. "The subjects were all numbered; I never took the time to match the number with the name."

Betty pushed the folder over to the trooper. "Do it now, please."

Finding the relevant chart, he made note of the test number, then cross referenced it to the name of the subject.

"Ok, here it is. Her name is Jane...Jane McHenry."

Chapter 88

April 3, 1997

Jane?

"Are you sure it was Jane McHenry?"

"Says so here, long dark hair, well built of course," Matt Brady replied.

"That's Jane," Betty said, her face showing the confusion evident on all of ours.

Looking amongst ourselves, I indicated we should go outside.

"Excuse us a minute, Sergeant," I said as I stood and followed the others out.

Outside in the hall, we were silent for a moment, not knowing which way to go from there. There was another conference room next door and I waved my partners into it.

Frank started with, "What does this mean?"

"Might just mean she was horny and found the trooper attractive," Betty stated as a matter of fact. "We have no motive, no other clue that would lead us to believe this was anything other than what seems; a sexual encounter."

"Unless it's her way of getting out of taking the polygraph," Frank stated; a hound on the scent with blood in the air.

"Awful convenient is all I'm saying."

"Are you trying to say Jane was avoiding the test because she is somehow involved in the murders, Frank? You know as well as I do that Jane is tasked with the Sheriff Department's day to day duties and paperwork. Why would she implicate the department she is essentially in charge of? That just doesn't track," Betty said with certainty.

"OK, ok, let's step back a moment," I interjected, trying to be the levelheaded peacekeeper.

"She didn't take the polygraph, whether by accident or by plan we can't be certain. Sergeant Brady is in the next room, let's get him set up and give her the test right now."

That seemed to appease both of them. I then asked Frank to go have Matt Brady set up his machine, asking Betty to go over to the jail and bring Jane back to the conference room for the test.

They both left the room to get the process started while I continued to sit at the table and think. I rubbed my face with my hands, trying to rub the whole morning off of my being with no success. The sordid tale of Sergeant Brady and its repercussions were just one more thing thrown at us in this investigation. One more hoop to jump, another little mountain to scale.

"Damn it!"

I was sick of it, I couldn't wait for this mess to be over so Betty and I could get out of Dodge for awhile. A warm sandy beach was waiting for us somewhere, and we were sitting back here in Indiana counting grains of sand instead. Even Frank, the man that could latch onto a clue and follow it through hell and high water to its eventual conclusion was getting frustrated.

I sighed in frustration before standing and heading into the other conference room.

"How's it coming?" I asked as I entered.

"It'll be ready in a minute," the sergeant said with apparent determination, covering his embarrassment with over-the-top professionalism.

Betty appeared in the doorway, and I looked over at Matt and asked if he wanted Jane at the end of the table (or maybe _on_ the end of the table)?

Before he could answer, I heard behind me, "She's not here."

Chapter 89

April 3, 1997

"Now what does that mean?" a frustrated Frank asked in exasperation.

"She's gone, went home sick, about forty five minutes ago."

"That's around the time that I saw her."

We all turned around to look at the source of the statement. Matt Brady stood there with a questioning look on his face.

"Well, it's probably been more like an hour by now. I saw her walking across the courtyard as I was walking in. Of course, like I said, I didn't know her name then. I kind of looked down and pretended I hadn't seen her, seemed kind of awkward at the time."

I stood silent for a moment before saying, "I'll be right back."

I left the room and the building. Crossing the courtyard, I entered the sheriff's offices and headed for friendly territory. I was probably closer to Tucker than anyone in his department. More to the point, I trusted him. Pulling up at his desk, I flipped his perp chair and sat with my arms folded on the back of the piece of aluminum furniture.

Glancing up at me, he leaned back in his chair with a smile before announcing, "Gabriel, to what do I owe the honor?"

"I need to find your girl Jane."

Glancing over at her empty desk, he turned back saying, "She went home sick, probably about an hour ago."

"She seem that way all day?" I asked.

"No, she seemed fine this morning when she got here. She left for a little while, and when she came back she was white as a ghost. Saw her making a phone call, then she said she had to go, figured it was the flu."

I sat still for a few seconds, mulling over the story. There was a lot of the flu going around, or could it be the sight of the trooper triggering the 'sickness' she was now exhibiting? This wasn't making any sense at all.

"Listen," I started again, "Can you get in touch with her? I need to talk to her about something."

"Sure thing," Tucker responded, picking up his phone and punching in some numbers before leaning back comfortably in his chair to wait. After a few seconds his face showed slight confusion as he leaned back up and clicked off the phone.

"Answering machine," he said as he punched in another series of numbers, again leaning back in his chair, this time not so comfortably. Another wait, another confused look, again clicking off, "No answer on her cell either," he muttered.

"Can you have someone run by her place and check on her?" I asked, more than a little concerned by her disappearance...in more ways than one.

"I really need to see her today."

"Sure," Tucker replied, getting on the phone once again to arrange things with dispatch.

"What's this all about anyway?"

Thinking quickly, I mentioned that we had some records we needed to go over with her on the investigation. Not _too_ far from the truth I was thinking.

That seemed to satisfy him, and he said he would get in touch with me when he found out anything.

I headed back to my office, my mind awash with conflicting thoughts. As I entered the conference room, Betty and Frank looked at me questioningly. I gave a little shrug and looked over at the sergeant.

"If you've finished your statement, you're free to pack up your equipment and go, however, keep this conversation under your hat for now."

He seemed relieved as he nodded and quickly started packing his gear. I indicated to the others to follow me to the other conference room, sitting down at the table once we arrived.

"Tucker indicated that she seemed fine until an hour ago. He also said she made one phone call before she left. Betty, can you see if you can track that call?"

"Yep," she said determinedly before getting up from the table and leaving the room.

"Are we all thinking what I'm thinking here?" asked Frank, disbelief written all over his face.

"We only have the barest of circumstantial evidence right now, Frank...hardly enough to jump to any kind of rational conclusion."

"There _are_ plenty of inconsistencies if you think about it," Frank rationalized.

"Our 'Jasmine' has blonde hair for one, and Jane doesn't seem the type at all. She _is_ a very efficient manager in the sheriff's department. Why would she have it out for the department she manages so well, as Jasmine seems to have?"

"Might help explain how all of that evidence got out of there though," I brought up, voicing the thought as it hit my brain.

While Frank was thinking about that, the conference room phone rang. "Celtic," I answered upon picking it up.

" _Gabe!_ " Betty said as her excitement came through over the line, " _the call was made to Ellen...our Ellen!"_

" _I called her to ask about the call; she said that Jane just asked why the polygraph operator was here. Ellen told her we were questioning him over some discrepancies about the test. Ellen also stated that it was very strange that she then just hung up, no goodbye, very out of character according to Ellen."_

"Thanks," I replied, suddenly very concerned, "Get back here as soon as you can, will ya?"

As I hung up the receiver my mind started to race, and I did not like the implications of everything I now knew. A sudden epiphany crowded its way into my head, _the vision_.

I ran out of the conference room, crashing in through the doorway of the other conference room.

Empty.

I turned again and ran down the hallway and exited the building where I saw the state cruiser starting out of the parking lot. I ran full tilt on an intercepting course, trying to stop the sergeant before he exited the property, my street shoes sliding dangerously on the leftover winter road sand.

I arrived at the exit of the lot only seconds before the trooper. His tires screeched to a halt as I threw my hands on his hood to keep him from hitting my legs.

A much surprised Sergeant Brady looked at me out of the windshield, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. I slowly stood up, but waited to catch my breath before approaching the driver's window. He stared at me for a few more moments before rolling the window down.

"Just one more question, Sergeant," I wheezed, hands on knees while I caught my breath before speaking again. "Did Jane have any tattoos that you noticed?"

"Oh," he said, seemingly relieved it was nothing more serious, "You mean the snake?"

Chapter 90

April 3, 1997

I was surprised at the revelation, yet not surprised at all.

"Describe it for me please."

"Starts in the middle of her back and curves up to the back of her shoulder." The state trooper then looked around him as if to confirm we were alone.

"Very sexy, if you don't mind me saying."

I kind of _did_ mind. That was the last thing I wanted to hear about the woman at that moment. I let it go though, and thanked the sergeant for the information as I turned to walk back to the office.

I entered the conference room a few minutes later to find Frank and Betty sitting at the table awaiting my return, their faces anxious for answers. I slumped down in a chair, folded my hands on the table and looked upon my partners.

"There is another story you guys need to hear, a story from one of my dreams."

I then revealed the contents of my latest dream, how this woman seemed quite taken with her body, and would it seemed not be above using it for personal gain.

I then revealed the tattoo I had noticed on her back, a tattoo that Sergeant Brady had just described to me in matching detail a few moments ago.

Finished, I slumped back in my chair, the reality of my revelations having just confirmed the identity of our killer, of Jasmine.

Betty was surprised at the revelation of my dreams, but seemed to readily accept it after but a few questions.

"We have our killer, our mastermind, now we just need to get some real proof so we can arrest her."

"I can't believe Jane would do this... _could_ do this," Betty stated sullenly. "Why would she do this?"

"This will hit Lean hard," Frank added, "as if he doesn't already have enough tragedy as it is."

My cell phone rang; I noticed it is from the Sheriff's department.

"Gabriel, this is Tucker. One of the patrols went by Jane's apartment. She wasn't there, and the door wasn't latched. Deputy Tom Smith looked in and said it looked like it was ransacked, wants to know what to do."

"Have him lock it down, we'll be right there," I said with an authority I didn't have. Looking around, I told the others, "Her apartment's open and she isn't there, maybe we can find the evidence we need there."

***

We all headed out to the car and off to the apartment on Catalpa. None of us felt like talking and remained silent throughout the whole ride. Six minutes later we arrived at the apartment and gloved up before we entered.

Deputy Smith was looking at us with confusion, maybe a little defensive. I ignored his feelings for the moment and told him to make sure no one entered without our say-so, telling him this could be a crime scene.

We entered slowly, taking our time and observing the general condition before delving into anything. The apartment did indeed look like it had had a whirlwind go through it, but after a few moments it appeared to me that it was more like the scene you might see when someone has to leave in a hurry for a trip.

Clothes and belongings had been pulled out of closets and drawers, like they had been quickly picked through to find what they wanted to pack.

"Anybody see anything to indicate this as a crime scene?"

"No," Betty replied, "Looks more like she was in a hurry to leave."

"Ditto." Frank added as he leaned over a desk; reaching down and picking up a book.

Opening the door then into what I would assume to be a bedroom, Betty let out a gasp as she stood staring into the room.

Coming up beside her, the scene revealed to my eyes was unexpected to say the least. Memorabilia, or should I say _Murderabilia_ filled the walls and the table tops of the room. Pictures, weapons and other items had been neatly and lovingly displayed like one would your family mementoes.

I instantly recognized the postcard that we had tracked, front and center in the middle of it all. Prominently displayed on the table, it was held in by a little folding tripod one would normally use for a picture.

"Over there," Betty pointed to the left, revealing to me a large bulletin board full of newspaper clippings of our current murder spree.

"Humph!" I heard over my shoulder as Frank also got a look at the room, his face a mask now devoid of emotion. After a few moments, he nudged me, indicating that we should follow him across the room.

"Look familiar?" he asked as he held up a notebook, an exact match in looks to the code book taken out of Wesley's apartment. Opening it up, he then confirmed that it was indeed filled with rows of letters resembling the other book.

We now had more than enough to bring her in for questioning, but our reverie was suddenly interrupted by a commotion outside the front door.

As I started that way to check it out, I was stopped in my tracks when the door suddenly busted inward loudly, hitting the inside wall with a thud as it reached the end of its travel.

Outlined in the doorway was a visibly angry man that we had not been expecting to see, a slightly inebriated Lean McHenry.

"What the hell have you done with my daughter?"

Chapter 91

April 3, 1997

"I said where the hell is my daughter?"

We had been unsure as to what to do when he had shown up at the door; therefore we had done nothing until he angrily repeated his question.

The Sheriff's service weapon was prominently displayed on his hip, his fingers nervously caressing the handle. His anger was apparent...and cause enough for concern considering his present state.

Looking out beyond the sheriff, I saw a confused deputy that seemed not too sure where his loyalties lay.

He'd be no help to us right now. I worried that he may even turn against us if his old boss looked threatened.

I was closest to Lean, with Betty to my left and Frank directly behind me at the desk, most likely hidden from the sheriff's sightline at the moment. I also knew that my partner would about now be slowly sliding his Glock out of its holster in readiness for any trouble, a very comforting thought to me at that instant.

"Lean, we need you to calm down, right now," I started evenly, "And I would appreciate if you slowly handed the deputy that revolver for the time being."

My thought was that he probably found his old deputy a little less threatening than me at that moment. It also might help our cause in allying the deputy towards us just a little bit.

I was banking a lot on those psychology classes I had taken in college years ago.

I was about ready to dive for cover when I noticed that the deputy was approaching the sheriff's position.

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Sheriff. I'll be right out here if you need me."

Lean McHenry waivered for a bit, but finally relented and handed his revolver to Deputy Smith.

"You come running if I give you the signal," the sheriff commanded, the deputy nodding before stepping back with the weapon.

"I heard you were looking for JJ for some kind of questioning, locking her house down as a crime scene! What the hell are you doing, Celtic?"

The sheriff walked in a few steps, looking around for the first time.

"What the hell have you done to her place?" he accused with a disgusted look on his face. "You people have torn the hell out of this place."

He took a cigarette out from behind his ear and popped it in his mouth angrily, digging his Zippo out of his pocket and lighting it before flipping it closed with one hand and reinserting it back into his pocket.

"Sheriff, we just had some questions for her earlier." I swallowed hard before continuing, "But now, with everything we've discovered, she is the primary suspect in the murders."

The sheriff was in the middle of a large drag when the reality of what I had told him hit.

"WHAT?" he screamed, smoke billowing out with his words, temporarily covering his face in an eerie display.

"You people are fucking nuts; my daughter wouldn't hurt a fly...unless it bit her first."

"We have incontrovertible evidence of her involvement, Lean. She has a copy of the codebook, and that bedroom over there is a _monument_ to murder. Jasmine is the name of the mastermind, and we have just proven that Jane _is_ Jasmine."

"I know she's your daughter, Lean," I continued quickly, but with sympathy. "And I can't imagine what you're going through at the moment. But facts are facts, and we need to find her and fast, before she hurts somebody else. We can get her some help Lean, all we gotta do is find her."

"Now," I sighed when I saw the hardness in his eyes dim slightly, "It looks like she cleared out of here in a hurry. Any idea where she would go?"

Lean grimaced angrily, still unbelieving, pushing smoke slowly out through his teeth.

"Nope, unfortunately my daughter and I don't socialize much anymore. I don't know how or where she spends her time when she ain't working."

"What about the house in Franklin County?" Frank asked, "You think she would go there?"

"She must have had some connection to the house to send Wesley there; I doubt he would have found it by himself."

The sheriff got a funny look on his face before asking, "Do you know the owner's name? Of the Franklin County House?"

Frank dug out his notebook, flipping through a few pages before announcing, "Barbara Schwartz. We looked into any local connections, but haven't found any yet."

I looked back at Lean, who was now white, his lower lip trembling. Bringing his hands to his face in shame, he started mumbling, "Oh my God, what has she done?"

I walked over to him, "Sheriff, what the hell's the matter?"

Pulling his hands down, he looked at me through tears. "Barbara Schwartz is my sister-in-law, my wife's sister. She's in a nursing home now, dying of cancer. That house and farm she inherited from my wife's parents. No one's lived there for years."

"Would Jane be able to get in easily?" I asked.

"Jane takes care of it for Barbara, she has the keys." He almost cried before again covering his face with his hands.

I looked at Betty and Frank, none of us believing how this was unfolding. This case was starting to solve itself, but it definitely didn't feel like our finest hour.

"Lean, assuming she won't go back to that house, is there any place else she might go?"

Pulling his hands down reluctantly, he suddenly dropped into a chair, his legs no longer able to support him. He sat there inhaling deeply, trying to will himself to calm down.

"There is another house," he panted out, "On the same farm, the next mile over."

"My wife inherited it same time her sister got the other. I own it now, was going to give it to Jane. She used to love it out there."

"Will you take us there?" I asked quietly. "We have to find her, Lean."

He nodded, taking another deep breath before standing and heading to the door. Looking over his shoulder as he exited, "I'll ride with Tom, you guys follow us," he commanded.

As we headed out, Betty half whispered, "I'm still not believing this."

I shrugged, not knowing what to think myself. I was guessing though that we would find out soon enough the how and the why of it all.

Had I known what we were about to confront, I would have turned on lights and siren and drove as fast as I could...the other way.

Chapter 92

April 3, 1997

We are again quiet as we sped toward Franklin County. I was driving with Betty along side me in the front seat, Frank manning the rear. Half way there, Betty laid her hand on the seat between us palm up. I looked over to see a worried look on her face, one that matched mine I was sure. I reached out and grabbed her hand in mine, risking the one-handed, high-speed driving to comfort my beautiful wife...and myself for that matter.

The sky was overcast as we drove, a fitting day for the task at hand. Thirty minutes after we started our trek, the lights on the cruiser in front of us went off as the siren grew silent. We were going in quiet as we slowed to 20 mph for the last mile before finally turning slowly into a driveway.

Scanning the area and seeing no other vehicle in sight, I assumed that she may not be there yet.

We parked about fifty feet from the house and exited the vehicle. The Sheriff and his deputy were huddled at the front of their car, discussing something that had the deputy not looking happy. When we joined the two men, Lean looked over at us and stated, "I'll go in alone."

"I don't think that's a good idea Sheriff," Betty said with concern.

"She's my daughter," he said determinedly as he looked toward the house. "I should be the one to bring her out."

He started walking toward the building before any of us could say anything to dissuade him. He was unarmed.

"Are we just going to let him do this alone?" Betty asked with concern.

"Let him get inside," I said, "Then we can position ourselves around the house, just in case."

He got to the door and tried the knob, which was unlocked. He slowly stepped in...closing the door behind him.

"Frank, you take Tom and go around to the left, Betty and I will take the right."

We split up and went in low with weapons drawn. We came across a side door, and I indicated to Betty to stay there while I proceeded to the back of the house where I met up with Frank at another door.

Jane's truck was there, having been blocked from view by the house. We quietly crawled up onto an old porch and then to the back door. A loud conversation was going on inside the house; the voices now clear to us.

"You brought them here?" I heard Jane literally scream.

Pleading, "What's going on with you Jane, why are you doing this?"

I edged up along a window and looked in. Jane was there to my right, wearing her uniform and what I assumed was a blonde wig. Lean held a position to my left, just this side of the door where I had left Betty. I hoped she could get the lay of the scene from over there. I had no way to communicate with her from where I was at.

"You have no idea do you? You have no clue you drunken sot!"

"You're right," Lean shouted back, "I don't have a clue. I _do_ know this is not how I raised you girl."

"You didn't raise me you bastard," screaming again. "Momma raised me. Momma did _everything_ for me, _and_ for you."

"I know that I've been too busy sometimes, but I love you JJ. And I loved your momma too."

"And when she got sick? Then you decided it would be a good idea to be gone even more?"

"I'm sorry...I just didn't know how to handle the Lupus."

"The Lupus didn't kill momma you idiot, she died of loneliness. I tried everything I could to make her happy, but all she wanted was you. You to talk to her...to pay attention to her. You couldn't even do that could you? You couldn't even give her a few minutes a day out of your lousy life to make her happy."

"You disgust me."

Glancing back at the Sheriff, I saw tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I was scared, I'll admit that. I didn't know how to handle a disease like that. If you don't know how to handle something, sometimes you just hide from it. But to kill all of those people for what I did? Your momma never would have wanted that."

"She's dead now, and the rules changed the day she died." Jane said matter-of-factly.

"The rules of humanity didn't change! The rules of right and wrong didn't change either!"

Jane sneered at him. "All the rules changed, Dad. I made new ones. I've done things you've probably never even heard of since then. I'm living _my own_ life now."

She took a few steps farther from me, strutting really. "Jasmine is my name now, and Jasmine is who I am. _Jasmine_ can do anything she wants. And _Jasmine_ doesn't like _you_ Sheriff! You shouldn't have pissed her off."

She turned back toward me and I quickly ducked back out of sight.

"We even sell our body, what do you think about that, _Dad?_ When we realized we needed more money to put you in your place, we went to the city and got it done."

The voice had changed, and I risked another look in the window. She was facing Lean once more, rubbing her hand up and down her belly, and lower; moaning with her eyes closed while her head tilted back in enjoyment.

"Mmmm, it's delicious, getting paid to do what I do. Now _that_ is a sin!"

"Five thousand a night dad, that's what I get paid to fuck strange men, powerful men! _Never_ a complaint, they were _all_ smiling when I got done. I even got a couple of marriage proposals."

Throwing her head back, she let loose a loud, evil laugh, straight from the bowels of hell.

She stopped suddenly and put on a sweet face, bringing her finger to her chin while finishing in a little girl's voice.

"Aren't you proud of me daddy?"

Lean McHenry fell to his knees, openly crying tears of agony while wailing, "What have I done, what have I done?"

Jane was silently watching her father's pain. A small, satisfied smile crossed her lips before turning quickly into a full blown grin; her beautiful teeth seeming to glow eerily in the dark room.

She slowly pulled her weapon from the holster on her hip. Spreading her feet into a shooting stance, she brought the gun to bear on her father.

"It's a shame really, if it hadn't been for fucking Celtic and his crew, you never would have figured it out. Rest assured, I'll take care of them later."

"At least this way, I get to personally witness your last breath," she grinned as she cocked her gun. "Quite the consolation prize, I assure you."

I glanced over at Frank to see if he was ready. He nodded his head in affirmation, tensing himself to break through the door. I took one last look in; she was leveling the automatic and holding steady while she finished her story.

"I damn you to Hell Sheriff...you should feel right at home there."

The room suddenly filled with the sound of splintering wood and glass as Frank and I rushed in from the porch, temporarily blinded by the darkness of the room. I noticed movement on my left and realized that Betty had also entered the room from her position at the side door.

My eyes were locked on her as she rushed to the Sheriff's position, pushing him out of the way as she took aim on his daughter.

Jane screamed in anger, releasing a shot simultaneously with Betty's.

My heart stopped.

The room slowed as I saw the muzzle flash of both weapons, the explosive sound hitting me like a long, low rumble. I could see the bullets cross each other and head for their targets. Another explosion to my right told me that Frank was also getting off a shot, risky as he was shooting toward the side of her body.

My eyes were drawn back to the scene in front of me as Betty's shot hit Jane in her chest...right in the middle of her deputy's badge.

Turned to the left with the force of the bullet, Frank's shot then found a target and punctured her chest on her right side as a reddish spray exited from her back. She fell toward the ground.

My attention moved back toward Betty. She was standing with knees slightly bent, her weapon still in her hand but propped against the door frame behind her for support. A small patch of red was slowly growing on her left shoulder.

SHE'D BEEN SHOT!

Time was back to full speed as I rushed forward, my thoughts full of fear and dread at my wife's injury.

As I approached, she tried to smile at me before it turned into a grimace.

"Through and through," she gasped, pain and relief showing on her face at once. There was blood, but not a lot, and definitely no arterial spurting. Tears of joy were freely running down my face as I moved to help her.

Lean headed toward his daughter hesitantly. She was lying on the floor, clutching her chest while trying to catch her breath. A fit of coughing brought small red bubbles to her lips.

Tears stained her face as she looked up with pain-filled eyes. She saw her father standing over her, the pain in her eyes changing to sorrow as she whispered, "Daddy."

The Sheriff looked lost as he slowly turned away, walking hesitantly to a corner of the room before he let out a loud bellow. As his ribs wracked in spasms, he brought his hands to his face in intense sorrow.

Frank was on his cell, loudly calling in everybody, forcefully reiterating to them the need to get a life squad there NOW.

I turned back toward Betty, "We need to get you out to the car for some bandages until the EMT'S get here."

"Give me a hug first, will ya?"

I gingerly hugged my love, taking care not to put any pressure on her injured shoulder. The near miss of almost losing her had made me weepy.

"I love you Betty," I whispered into her ear; "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

As we separated, she was smiling at me lovingly. "I lo...,"

The air was suddenly filled with a horrendous explosion.

Betty's smile disappeared as another patch of red appeared on her shirt.

I reached down, quickly sliding the Glock out of its holster while simultaneously rotating to the right. The gun was cocked as the sights landed on the once-again depraved face of Jasmine, her gun now aimed directly at me. I pulled off the shot, adding a hole between those evil eyes, an act that brought our investigation finally to an end.

I immediately dropped my weapon, turning quickly to see to my spouse.

Gone!

I rushed the doorway where she had been standing; realizing now that it was an old basement entrance, the stairs now gone. As I looked down through the hole, I was greeted by the terrifying sight of my beautiful Betty lying on the basement floor, a pool of blood beginning to form around her angelic face like a halo.

"BETTY!"

Chapter 93

April 19, 1997

The sun was shining brightly in the window on that morning, but my outlook was anything but sunny.

Betty's vital signs had been degrading slowly for days, her prognosis and my mood getting bleaker every day.

I had been up all night talking, talking to my wife as I clutched her hands in mine, trying to convince her to come back to me.

Even now with the effort being one sided, staying up all night to talk to Betty had never been a problem. I was usually more of the listener in our relationship, but the reversing of roles in this situation had come to me naturally, and I attacked it with an energy I didn't know I had.

Looking upon her face, that beautiful face that I had fallen in love with years ago, I marveled at the freshness of it, seemingly being unaffected from the long hospital stay.

The glow that she had always exhibited was there, it was as if she had just stepped in from working in her garden. The wisp of hair falling gently on her forehead was also there as usual; she was still so beautiful.

Hundreds of times over the years I had witnessed her coming in from working on her landscape, pushing the hair off of her face with the back of her gloved hand and smiling at me with a satisfied look. Cool and wonderful showers followed on many of those days, definitely an incentive to help her with the yard work.

We had talked much of that last night: her garden, reciting her plans for the spring as she had laid them out for me months ago. I had told her I couldn't wait to get out there with her this year.

We talked of walks in the cool night air, of Lucy chasing the ever-present squirrels but never catching one, and of making love in front of the fireplace on a long, cold night.

I offered all of these up and more, hoping beyond hope to convince her to stay with me the rest of my life, not letting the alternative enter my mind for fear of having to face the crushing reality of life without her.

I sat back in the chair, my back hurting from leaning forward all night. I realized I was exhausted and contemplated a trip to the cafeteria for some lousy coffee, deciding instead to rest my eyes for a few seconds before making the trek.

Soon, I was entering the mysterious room again, the coffee steaming by my chair, the chess board again having been manipulated by my unseen opponent. The mood of the room seemed different this time however...brighter maybe...or warmer...I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I sat down and hefted the mug of coffee, inhaling the aroma before taking a long sip of the dark elixir.

The feeling in the room struck me once again, in what I could only describe as a glow, my heart beating excitedly in anticipation of ....what?

I got up and paced in front of the fireplace, too antsy to sit. Looking around and listening intently, I found nothing out of place or unusual in the room, having been here enough now to easily discern any changes between visits.

Sitting back down, I tried to concentrate on the chess game in progress with no luck; I could not focus on strategy when I was like this. I realized my fingers were shaking and the palms of my hands were sweaty. I wiped them on my pants, and then grabbed the cup with one hand while standing up to again pace the room, shoving the other hand in my pocket.

After another few minutes, I rationally decided to try to calm myself down; this had always been a room of peace, and everything that I had ever garnered out of it had come when I was relaxed.

I sat back down once again, sipped at my coffee and let the liquid calm me as it flowed into my being. Feeling better, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into the chair while I let the glow of the room wash over me.

Quietly sitting there for awhile, I became aware of a movement as the floor creaked behind me. Turning my head I again found nothing there and returned to my coffee, wondering once again how I had come to be in this room in the first place. Why was I given clues but no answers, and why me and no one else?

Contemplating these questions that were clearly above my pay grade, I realized that the floor had again creaked, the feeling of movement behind me stronger than ever.

I determined not to look this time, trying something different for a change. Quietly sipping my coffee and listening intently, I was soon rewarded with another creak; then another, and another. Someone was approaching me, but now I couldn't move, my body not responding to any commands.

I didn't feel fear, the comforting glow of the room still prevalent. Still, the paralysis was worrisome as I sat there waiting for the next event to unfold.

The noise had stopped,...the room now completely silent...until a familiar voice filled the room.

"Hello, Gabriel."

Shocked at the voice and again able to move, I turned in my chair and saw the ghostly outline of Betty!

Chapter 94

April 19, 1997

Betty was glowing, literally. As I watched dumbfounded, her appearance slowly became more normal, but with a more-than-average glow still surrounding her.

She looked wonderful, out of the hospital bed and fully recovered, a smile crossing her lips as she looked upon me. She was wearing a beautiful white gown, her hair down and delightfully framing her face. I jumped up and bounded toward her, enveloping her in my arms, determined to never let her go.

She let out a contented giggle as she wrapped her arms around me in return, then we found each other's lips as we kissed long and hard. There were tears in my eyes when we finally pulled apart far enough to look at each other. She gently wiped my face with her thumb as I took her in...a true miracle.

"Thank you for saying all of those nice things last night, it really meant a lot to me," she said with a smile, "I knew I picked a winner when I picked you."

"It must have worked, you're fully recovered!" I crowed, my heart jumping out of my chest with joy.

I pulled her to me again, the feel of her sending electric through my skin as my heart skipped several beats.

"I really thought I'd lost you," I said into her neck, "I don't think I'll ever let you go again."

Suddenly I pulled away; I had been so happy that I hadn't given a thought to where we were, a room that I could only see in my thoughts.

"This is just a dream isn't it?" I stated as the sad reality set in, "I knew it was too good to be true."

A knowing smile crossed Betty's lips, "Oh I'm real all right, but we need to sit down; we have much to discuss and I don't have a lot of time."

A confused look crossed my face as Betty took my hand and led me to my chair before taking a seat on the chair opposite me.

"What do you mean you don't have much time, and why is it you are in my dream?" I blurted out, mystified at to what I was both seeing and hearing.

I slumped in my chair and covered my eyes with my hands in frustration. This was somebody's idea of a bad joke, and I didn't have enough strength left in me for any more disappointments. I was barely hanging on as it was...to hope...to life itself.

"Gabriel, please look at me," she said gently.

I slowly lowered my hands to reveal Betty still sitting there, the radiant glow still surrounding her. She smiled then, melting my heart and instantly relaxing me.

"Gabe, I am here because my body died this morning."

My heart instantly sank into despair, tears again streaking my face in sorrow. Somehow she was instantly kneeling in front of me, one hand on my leg, the other palm gently touching my face with concern, my sorrow reflected in her eyes.

"Please don't be sad, my dear, it was painless and there was never any real hope of me recovering. You have been hearing me coming to this point for weeks."

The creaking floors! My God, I _had_ been hearing it. If only I had known, I could have done something to stop this!

"There is nothing you could have done, my sweet man," she cooed as if reading my mind, "Some things we have no control over."

I gently pulled her up, setting her on my lap, tenderly holding her face in my hands and looking into her eyes, those deep blue eyes I've always loved.

"I can't live without you, Betty, stay with me here. We can be happy here," I begged shamelessly.

"I can't do that, Gabe. I'm expected, and you still have things to do before you come," she stated tenderly, putting her arms around my neck and hugging me lovingly.

"Where are you going, and how do you know all of this stuff?" I asked. "Maybe you're just dreaming too."

Lifting her face and stroking mine with her hand as she looked at me with her kind eyes, she patiently continued.

"Listen to me, I've never lied to you and I won't start now. I'm going to heaven; at least it looks like heaven from here. I see people I know that have passed before. My mom's there. She's smiling, Gabe, and you know she hardly ever smiled when she was alive. And I know these things because there are others here to help me, angels I think. I am sad at leaving you my dear husband, but they told me they had more for you to do, and that you would join me when you were done."

"Are we in heaven now?" I asked, scared of the answer.

She turned her head and pointed. "I guess mine is right there, I can see it beside the fireplace. They said this room is a glimpse of yours. Everyone has their own it seems, but they are intertwined."

"I'm so scared," I said with trembling lips, "I don't want to do this without you."

Holding me around the neck, she whispered in my ear, "You'll never be alone. I'll be watching over you, always."

Turning again as if listening to something, her eyes then returned to mine.

"They say I have to go now." Giving me a gentle kiss, she stood up, still holding my hand.

"I need you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me in this life, and I love you beyond words, Gabriel Celtic."

Tears streamed down my face again as she started to disappear before my eyes. "Back at cha, buddy," I replied before she disappeared completely, a smile forming on her lips right before she faded away.

***

I was awakened to the sound of the heart monitor playing the long beep of death. Doctors and nurses were entering the room on the run. As they fussed over her body, I wordlessly looked at the beautiful form that was my wife, saying a silent prayer for her safe arrival above.

When the medical staff finally gave up and called time of death, I remained transfixed in my chair, staring at my life's love. I remained that way for the next half hour, silently trying to communicate with Betty in my head with no luck.

Eventually they came in and gently told me they needed to move Betty. I slowly stood up, leaning over her and giving her one last kiss. Turning around, I left the room for the last time, finding my way through the entrance and out into the fresh air, the first I had had in weeks.

Digging for my keys, I then searched for the car, not remembering where I had parked it. Coming upon it finally, I got in and slowly drove toward home, eyes straight ahead, concentrating only on the goal of getting home.

I opened the door to the silent house, remembering I had sent Lucy to Betty's sister's house in Florida weeks ago. I quietly looked around for a moment, and then I headed for the back door.

Going out to the yard, I was greeted by the sight of Betty's landscape bathed in the early morning light. I sat down in the swing where we had spent so many hours enjoying the night air and lightning bugs.

I kicked my foot slightly, setting the swing into a pendulum motion. Absently I continued this rhythm for several minutes, lost as to what else to do.

Finally I stop pushing, numbly sitting there...feeling nothing.

The wave of grief finally hit me like a tsunami, rushing in and devouring me with its power. I sat there in my back yard weeping like a baby, weeping for the loss of my love, my partner...the sorrow filling every inch of my soul.

Epilogue

May 22, 1997

The days flew by after Betty's death with little interaction from me; I had barely said two words to anyone in that time.

We had prearranged funeral plans, so my involvement in that part was miniscule. A plot in my family's section of the cemetery was easily arranged, and a double head stone was set with both mine and Betty's names nicely engraved upon it. I even had them install a concrete bench in front of the gravestone.

The funeral was a blur at best, even then I would seldom say anything to the friends and well-wishers who came through the line. A simple nodding and offering my hand was the best they could hope for from me.

The burial was a series of honor guards, bugles, flags, and even a fighter-jet flyover. Proud as I was of my Betty, I didn't need these people to tell me that, so they got mostly ignored by me. I did keep the flag that had draped the coffin, sitting it by my chair as it was the last thing that had touched her coffin before being buried.

The police department had engraved Betty's name on the Honor Roll award hanging in the station house for giving her life in the line of duty. Before she died they had offered up their infrequently given Medal of Honor for her heroism in saving the Sheriff's life, pinned to her sheet as she lay in the hospital. The Sheriff's office, not to be outdone by the city police, had come up with a Medal of Honor of their own to award to her posthumously.

They had even given me the deputy badge worn by Jane when Betty had shot her, the deputy happily declaring "Hell of a shot," until he saw the glare on my face.

I had not gone back to work, telling them in a mood one day that they could do without me for a while or fire me, I didn't care which.

Betty's sister had agreed to keep Lucy for the foreseeable future; poor animal didn't need to be around me now. I let the answering machine handle most of my talking, seldom returning any calls at all.

Mostly I just stayed around the house after the funeral was over, wallowing in self pity and guilt. My days were filled with looking at photo albums or picking up an antique piece that Betty had bought and trying to remember the day we had purchased it.

Forgetting a single day of our life together was not to be allowed, but some of the days were already getting blurry...and that scared me.

The one exception from my self imposed exile was taking care of Betty's landscape. I watered and worked to keep it just as it was when she left, then sat on the swing and looked upon my wife's handiwork, sometimes for hours.

Betty's life insurance arrived in the mail, and I was surprised to see it was quarter of a million dollars. The money meant nothing to me though, and I deposited the check in the desk drawer without a second thought.

After dark I would walk to the cemetery to talk to Betty. I had tried to communicate with her from home, but felt closest to her sitting in front of her stone. I would sit on the concrete bench and talk of the things we liked to talk about. At least once a night I would ask her how I was supposed to live without her, then proceed to tell her all of the things I missed about her.

The dreams had been a big hope for communicating with her in the beginning, but they had quit coming after the day she had died. I prayed that they would come back to at least give me some small chance of seeing her again. But I knew that she was watching over me, she had made that promise before she had to leave. At times I was embarrassed, knowing she was there and seeing how badly I was handling her death, and my life.

Rationally, I knew I needed to move on and do something, but the blackness of my soul was always bubbling just below the surface and it took everything I could muster to keep it there.

Most days I could have easily shot Jane again if she had lived. Emptying a full clip into the person responsible for my wife's death would certainly be gratifying at this point.

One day as I was thumbing through an old magazine, I came upon an article that had intrigued me when I first read it years before. I read it again, and then reread it once more.

My interest piqued, I called information and got the number for the author. Cold calling a man I had never met, I told him of my interest and wondered if he had any openings coming up. He stated that he had one, but they would be leaving in a week and doubted I would have time to get ready.

Additionally, it was a year long and in a very rough climate. And one last thing, I would have to pay my own way. Making a quick decision I told him I was very interested, and I needed to make this trip if at all possible.

He asked if I had access to a fax machine where he could send me the list of supplies and schedule. I quickly looked up the number of the one in the prosecutor's office and gave that information to him. He said he would get it out within the hour.

Dialing another number, a very surprised Frank answered the phone. I had not talked to him since the funeral, but quickly asked if he could intercept a fax for me coming within the hour, and then meet me someplace later.

He readily agreed and we set up the time and place.

"Oh, and Frank," I added before he hung up, "I'm really sorry for shutting you out for the last few weeks; I have some serious demons working on me."

He assured me he understood, and that he would probably be worse than I was if it had happened to him. Hanging up, I realized that I probably owed a lot of people apologies, a lot of _good_ people. I would definitely have to work on that.

I had a lot to do in the next week. Leaving for a year would require other people running certain things for me here at home while I was away.

I got busy with a couple of the legal forms I would need to fill out. I then made a call to my accountant, making arrangements for her to pay my bills and my taxes while I was gone. Another quick call to Betty's sister confirmed that she would be glad to keep Lucy while I was gone, as long as I committed to a visit to her home upon my return.

At five o'clock, I was sitting in a booth at the Red Feather when Frank walked in. I stood up with a wave to get his attention, firmly grasping his hand in both of mine when he arrived at the table.

We sat and a waitress came over and took our order, then Frank pulled a small sheath of papers out of his coat pocket and handed them to me.

"I didn't look at them, but it seems to be a list of equipment not much needed in these parts. You getting ready to take a trip?"

I smiled at Frank's typical directness, getting right to the point with no beating around the bush.

"I need to get away for a while, Frank; I need to try something different...too many raw memories around here."

Sitting quietly for a moment, Frank cleared his throat before continuing, "I never got to tell you how very sorry I am, how sorry we all are, that Betty was...you know.... She was a sweetheart, Gabe; I can't imagine how you're feeling."

A wave of sadness washed over me once again, a catch in my voice evident as I said, "Thanks, Frank."

I sat still for a minute, taking a couple of slow, deep breaths before continuing.

"I'm lost here you know; I don't know which way to turn. The house is empty, my heart is empty, some days the only emotion I feel is hatred. I can't keep going like this or I'll end up killing myself, or someone else."

Frank sat there, attentively listening, intuitively knowing this is what I needed, letting me finish before he spoke.

"So what's the plan, Gabe?"

I lifted my briefcase up off the floor and sat in on the seat beside me, pulling out the magazine and laying it out on the table in front of him.

"I'm going on an archeological dig in the Nazca desert, in Peru. I find the idea of solving a mystery where everyone is long dead intriguing. All the players are in the ground, you just have to find them and figure out how they got there. I'll be gone a year, maybe more."

"South America is it? That's about as far away as you can get. What can I do to help?" he asked.

"It would be a great relief it you would consent to act as my power of attorney while I was gone," I started. "I need someone I can trust to watch over my house, get the bills to the accountant, you know, take care of things if they come up. I also need someone to be executor of my estate, just in case."

"I got your back, Gabe, let me know what you need me to do and I'll take care of it while you're gone. You need to go, solve your mysteries, work out your demons; everything here will be well taken care of, buddy."

I got out the paperwork for him to sign and gave him a copy to keep with him. Shaking hands as we were leaving, Frank uncharacteristically gave me a hug. As I left the bar I reflected on what a good friend Frank was; I was lucky to know him.

I turned left and headed for my nightly visit, having much to discuss with Betty tonight.

***

The week passed quickly, and before I knew it was the morning of the day of my departure. I still had some packing to do, plus one item that I still hadn't been able to find. I had literally torn the house up looking for it.

I finally came across it in a box at the back of the spare bedroom closet. Setting down on the bed, I took in the old leather journal that was my grandfather's when he too went on an expedition. Having served in WWI in the trenches of France, he had seen more than his share of carnage and death.

Deciding to spend a few months in Egypt on a dig afterwards, he tried to use the experience to clear his mind of the disgust he felt for war and all that it entailed.

The cover had tooled into it the initials "GC", his name also being Gabriel, my namesake. It also displayed an unconventional cross carved prominently into the front, a cross he created while on his dig.

Called _'The Celtic Cross'_ by the family since then, it had been incorporated into the family crest by his dad, my great grandfather, and had been used as such ever since. His dig having been relatively short, there was still plenty of room left in the book; my thought was to add to his writing with my own.

Looking at my watch, I carried the book downstairs and placed it in my carry-on. I would have plenty of time to have a second look at it on the plane. My flight wasn't scheduled to leave until eleven that night, and I spent most of the rest of the day packing, doing wash, and finishing the list for Frank.

I called for a taxi at about 8:00. Grabbing my luggage I moved it onto the front porch, taking one last look around the house before I pulled the door closed and hid the key under the mat for Frank to find tomorrow. I carried my belongings to the curb to wait for the taxi. The neighborhood was quiet as I took in my surroundings, breathing a lungful of sweet summer air, one of the last I would likely experience for a while.

As the taxi appeared from around the corner; I silently said one final goodbye to my home. Putting all of the suitcases except my carry-on and my other package into the trunk of the taxi, I entered the back and gave the driver the first destination.

Arriving there, he parked outside the gate. Asking the driver to wait for me there and warning him it might be a little while, I exited the car and set off on foot. The motor of the taxi shut off as the driver sat back to relax and wait.

Ghostly quiet except for the crickets and locusts sounding their calls for a mate, I walked the two hundred feet to my destination. Sitting down on the bench, I silently said a prayer for my wife, asking for special treatment in her new home, I suppose.

"Hi, honey," I started as naturally as if she were standing there, "Today's the day I leave on my trip. I don't know what it will bring, but I am going crazy here, and I know that you will be with me wherever I go. I'm not sure I could leave otherwise."

Quietly sitting there for a moment, I noticed grass clippings on her stone and busied myself for a few moments brushing them off.

"I have a surprise for you," I continued, "Your lilies started blooming today; they are the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen."

I spread open the package, revealing a large bouquet of the blooms, then placed them in the vase I had asked to be added to the stone. I then reached into my bag and pulled out a bottle of water, pouring the contents into the container holding the flowers.

"I imagined you putting one in your hair when I saw them this morning," I said, smiling. "Frank has agreed to bring a few around for you every couple of days until they stop blooming. He has been a real friend, said he couldn't imagine not doing it."

"I hope I'm not letting you down," I continued, "I know that you said I had other things to do, but I'm not seeing it yet. I can't seem to move on. I don't want to move on. I am useless right now as far as helping anyone with anything. Getting away for awhile seems like the only option. I desperately hope it is not a mistake."

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out another, smaller package, holding it reverently in my hand. A tear rolled down my face as I slowly unwrapped the package; the weight seeming heavy in my hand. I lifted up the chain that I had attached to the two medals that Betty had been awarded, opening the clasp and fitting it around the vase. Sitting back, I looked upon the flowers and medals, a small yet telling memorial of her time here on this earth.

"You are my hero, Betty," I said with a catch in my throat, "You've always been my hero, and I just hope I can live up to your memory."

Standing up, I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder, letting the weight settle comfortably on my hip.

"Well, we start our great adventure," I said with slight sarcasm. "I wish we could have done this together while you were alive," I finished, regret now evident in my voice.

"I will write you every day, in my journal, but feel free to contact me any way you can," I said hopefully. Turning to go, I took two steps before turning my head one last time and looking back, trying to burn it all into my memory.

"I love you, Betty," I said finally, hoping for a response but receiving none.

Returning to the taxi, the driver started the engine and headed for the airport. A combination of heartbreak and hope were doing battle within my chest, and no winner would be apparent for a while I was guessing. As the streets and houses of my home flew by the car, I kept my eyes forward, always forward.

"I'm trying, honey," I whispered to my love, "I'm trying."

Copyright 2009-2016 by J.T. Lewis

Enjoy these other titles from J.T. Lewis in both e-books and paperback, available at all online retailers.

The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic Series:

Murder! Too Close To Home

Gabriel's Revenge

In Case Of Death

The Book of Gabriel

Murmansk

Mr. Celtic, USN (Coming summer, 2016)

**The Nick Behr Mysteries:** _Being crazy is all fun and games...until someone dies..._

kidNAP Inc.

Falcon's Pray

First Mistake (A Codename Chandler Kindle Worlds Novella)

Not Me (The Doppelganger Affair ) (Coming winter of 2016)

The Artifact Hunter:

The Artifact Hunter

**The Snowdon Chronicles:** _A down-to-earth Homicide Detective in Portland, Hank is unprepared to accept the sudden realization that he is...in fact...a wizard!_

Ever Dead (Also part of the Dark Faerie Tale, Young Adult series by Alexia Purdy)

Dead Serious (Coming 2016 )

You can find and follow J.T. Lewis at the following links:

Jt.lewis.books@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/JTLewis.Author

 https://www.facebook.com/The.Adventures.Of.Gabriel.Celtic

http://jt-lewis.blogspot.com/

https://twitter.com/JTLewis_Books

Acknowledgements

I could have never finished this story without the support and encouragement of my family and friends, not the least of which is my lovely wife Susan. A sufferer of Lupus, she constantly amazes me as she works to overcome the debilitating disease.

Having first hand knowledge of what Lupus can do to the sufferer and their family prompted me to include it in the book, although hopefully this fictional account would never happen in real life to anybody.

My daughter Micayla was a huge help with some of the editing issues I seem to have an aversion to seeing as I read through my manuscripts.

I would also like to add my thanks to my Beta Reader Chris Taylor, who took the time to go through a few revisions with me and give me her input. A woman of great patience, she should be nominated to sainthood for withstanding some of the early versions of the book with grace and a positive attitude.

I would also like to give a shout-out to Hayley Guertin of Haley's Editing Services for the final editing of the book. She did an awesome job!

Finally, I would like to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to delve into my story. If it wasn't for people like you who are willing to try a new author's creation, there would be no reason for anyone to write anything new.

Thanks again for reading my story!

JT Lewis

*****

Thanks for taking the time to read Murder, Too Close to Home by

J.T. Lewis; we hope you enjoyed it. If you liked the story, please leave a review and let the author know!

*****

### Check out the following preview of Gabriel's Revenge...the next book in The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic series! Following that, check out a preview of J.T. Lewis' newest series...The Artifact Hunter!

### *****

Prologue

June 7, 1998

The man walked determinedly toward his car, but his mind was elsewhere, on the case, or cases as it were. He was actually making good headway on the investigation by his reckoning, disturbing headway. He had found the link in the cases he had been looking for two days before, and it had changed everything! Even he couldn't believe the ramifications of his find.

The night was warm and he removed his jacket and hung it over his arm, folding it carefully first. He rubbed his free hand through his military cut salt and pepper hair, letting his mind wander, enjoying the weather.

Reaching the car, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys to unlock his government furnished sedan, but his keys suddenly fell from his hand. He looked down in confusion and wondered why he just did that, and why all of a sudden he couldn't seem to move to correct it.

He felt a hand then on his shoulder, hot breath on his neck. "I hear you're looking for me," the stranger whispered into his ear, "thought I would save you the trouble."

The man reached quickly for his weapon, but his arm wouldn't respond, still hanging limply at his side. Fear was creeping up his spine now. It's an emotion that he had very seldom experienced, and he didn't like the feeling one bit.

The hot breath again, "You will crumble to the pavement in a moment; let me help you down instead."

Hands snaked under his arms, clasped gently around his chest and pulled backwards, lowering his growing dead weight easily to the pavement.

"There now, nice and comfy. Look at those stars; aren't they marvelous?"

The stars were indeed beautiful, and the man took a good look at them for a change; it had been years since he had looked at the sky as anything but an overhead certainty.

"I'm very impressed with you; I wanted you to know that. There are very few people that could have put all the pieces together. I salute your tenacity detective; unfortunately you were starting to get in the way of my work. But I want you to know something; you are a rare breed indeed, one of the good guys."

The man was thinking, thinking of his mom and dad. Funny what you think about in times like these. He missed them a lot; twenty years had passed since they had left this world.

"Let me put that coat over you; that concrete is probably getting cold. I want to make sure you are comfortable." The man on the ground made out the silhouette of a stranger over him with a wide brimmed hat, the shadows completely concealing his identity.

Thinking now of his friend, he really only had one. That was ok though; true friendship was rare. He wondered how he was doing; it had been over a year since he'd seen him. He hoped he had found some happiness by now.

Wide hat over him again, "Time to say goodbye, and I must admit, it's been a pleasure."

The life slowly went out of the eyes; the man on the ground was gone. The stranger continued to look down upon the man in the deserted parking lot. Reaching down gently, he laid his palm on the man's brow and slid it down, closing the eyes. He then crossed himself, finishing the ritual by taking to his mouth a pendant hung from his neck with a chain, kissing it reverently before letting it slide back to his chest.

"Yes indeed, a pleasure it has been. In a different life, who knows?"

The stranger rose up, removed his hat and wiped his brow. Replacing the hat fastidiously on his head, he looked down one final time before proceeding on his way.

Fingers to the rim of the hat, he tipped the hat slightly with a nod, "I bid you adieu, Frank Luther."

Turning, he walked away nonchalantly, whistling a tune, the eerie yet vaguely familiar melody filling the quiet night air.
Chapter 1

August 20, 1998

I see the room ahead. No longer do I start in the room itself; I have to traverse a long, hot and dingy hallway to get to it. Arriving at the doorway, I notice the paint on the door is cracked and it is in need of repair. I also find it opened a bit, as if it had not been closed on my last visit.

I slowly entered the space, the atmosphere is dank, cold, and un-kept, the fireplace unlit. I head toward my chair and look down upon it from my standing position. The material appears overly worn; in a few places the chair's stuffing is even exposed.

I sigh and take a seat in the dim glow shed from the single light on the table. I glance at the chessboard to my left, surprised to see a move had been made.

On my last trip, my first in over a year, the chessboard was on the floor, the pieces scattered everywhere. I had picked up the board and dusted it off, setting it in its rightful place on the table, picking up the chess pieces and setting them in their positions on the board. At the time, this seemed to be all of the energy I could expend on the room, leaving soon after.

The coffee cup had been empty then, but was now filled with the dark liquid of the past. I lifted the mug and sipped at the coffee; it is delicious but not quite as hot as it used to be. Still, it's a definite improvement from last time.

I spent what seemed like an hour studying the chessboard, wanting a plan in my head before committing to a strategy. Finally comfortable with my decision, I moved my piece before leaning my head back on the chair. The effort had exhausted me and I sat there for a few minutes, sipping at my cup with eyes closed. I opened my eyes once more and the room seemed a little brighter, a little warmer, but my eyes were still heavy so I closed them once again.

Reopening them, I was staring at the night stars through a small rip in the canvas over my head. Checking my watch, I am unsurprised at the time displayed there, 5:30 AM.

It had been over a year since I had experienced the once frequent dreams, the night before having been the first time. They had been instrumental in giving me clues leading to the solution of a case last year, _The Ghost Murders_ , my last case. Now the visions had returned, the meaning as usual unclear, but the implications...ominous.

I drug myself slowly off the blanket that was my bed. Grabbing my small bag and a canteen I head toward the latrine to get that out of the way before it got busy. When I finished my business I took a small swig of water and brushed my teeth, finishing with another swig to rinse. It would be the only time I could brush today due to the constant shortage of clean water, and I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of clean teeth.

It was growing light out so I headed back to my tent and grabbed my journal. Breakfast was an hour away, and I wanted to sketch one of my finds of the previous day before the actual work of the day got started. Traveling down a dusty rock-strewn path, I came to one of the Nazca mud brick tombs that we had been working on the day before.

Most of our finds to that point had been mummified remains, but yesterday I had stumbled upon a partial burial. These were typically bundles of bones wrapped in colorful woven and embroidered textiles, the dry climate of the desert helping to almost perfectly preserve the cloth for hundreds of years.

This particular tomb had also included a head jar, which is what I was there to sketch. These were vessels sometimes used in place of the head, the real head having probably been removed for some ceremonial reason.

Head jars typically had a human head or skull painted on the exterior, along with trees and plants sprouting out of the orifices of the depiction. This was my first, and I wanted to record the intriguing image in my grandfather's journal.

The book was getting full, what with his original drawings and notes, as well as my drawings and letters to my wife. I had promised to write her every day and I had been true to my word up to this point.

The sun, having just crept over a rise in front of me brightly reflected off of the ring on my finger. Blinding me for a second as the glint caught my eye, I stopped drawing and held my hand out in front of my face.

My heart grew heavy momentarily as I looked upon the remnants of my marriage, my past life. My darling Betty had been shot in cold blood over a year ago now, the memory still painful to my mind every time I let myself think of it. The only satisfaction I had received was the final bullet I had put between the eyes of her murderer, an honor I would gladly exchange for one more conversation with my love.

I had months ago signed on for another year at the dig, finding the investigation of a long dead people preferable to that of the recently murdered. I'm not sure I could ever go back; everything at home would remind me of my loss, the pain that pierces my heart daily even here.

A shadow fell over me; the outline of a man with a brimmed hat filled the hole I was standing in.

"Good morning Julien," I said as I got back to my drawing.

"Good morning my friend," Professor Julien Taylor exclaimed with a smile.

He had only recently returned from the states, having taken a couple of months off to write and relax from the dig. I had remained during that time, watching over the dig with two local men while the others were away.

Diego and Amaro were both hard working natives, and we communicated well enough using a combination of some Spanish and Quechua I had picked up along the way. I had taught them some English also, helping to fill in some of the blanks in our communication. I now counted them as friends, along with the man who now stood before me.

Julien Taylor was the leader of our archeological dig. At 5'5" and 190 lbs. he was almost as wide as he was tall. How he kept his girlish figure with the amount of work he did and in this country's oppressive heat was beyond me, but at 78 years of age, he had more energy than most people I have known half his age.

"You always look so sad and withdrawn," he remarked with a less enthusiastic smile now on his face. "You're affecting the rest of the crew in a negative way I'm afraid."

My turn to smile now, "So I guess you want me to quit?"

Sitting down on a large rock, he answered, "No my dear boy, I gather that wouldn't help, but I do wish there was a way I could aid you with your pain."

My mouth drew tight, regretting that my hurt would have an effect on others. "I'm sorry Julien, for any problems that land on your shoulders due to my situation. If it ever gets too much, just let me know. I don't want to be a problem."

"Heavens no lad, you have a place here for as long as you need to be here, or until we run out of work. I believe I've mentioned before that you were born to this work my friend; it's a damn shame you started so late in your life. I'm still not convinced however that this is where you need to be right now; I believe this is merely a convenient place for you to hide from the world."

"Thanks for your concern professor," I said as I got back to my drawing, "but I think this is exactly where I need to be right now."

A thoughtful look crossed Julien's face then, a worried one.

"Would you mind a little advice from an old man, Gabriel?"

I stopped my drawing, thinking I probably didn't want any of his parental guidance at the moment, but nodding my head anyway.

"Look around you; you are surrounded by a population that has been buried in this ground for hundreds of years. We carefully unearth their graves, study them, make sketches and take pictures, all in the name of science. We catalogue their belongings, assign numbers to them as identification, and sometimes even give them nicknames.

When we are through with that process they get reburied or moved or displayed, and then we put the information in a book and put it on the shelf."

"We pry into every facet of their lives that we can think of, and yet, we really know nothing of them. Most of these people had loves and heartaches, friends and enemies, hopes and fears. There are a myriad of emotions and relationships that existed with these inhabitants that we will never be able to imagine, and certainly not know with any amount of certainty. And yet my dear boy, we can be certain beyond a doubt that they experienced these very emotions."

Standing, he took off his hat, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and drying the brim before reinstalling the chupalla straw hat back on his head.

Not even 7:00 and already the heat was intolerable. The professor clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a few steps back and forth amongst the rocks as he looked for the words to finish his paternal advice.

When finally he stopped his pacing, he looked down on me with concern.

"What I am trying to communicate to you lad, is that we only inhabit this earth for a short while. We all make our mark on this world, some with great fanfare and some only by filling a hole in the ground."

"You found a great love in a woman who no longer exists on this world, and no one else on this planet can really know what that means to you. But you found real love my lad, and real love never ends; it continues on when this world is but a distant memory in one's mind."

"What you need to come to terms with Gabriel, is that until you are again reunited with your lovely angel, what kind of mark are you going to leave on this world from here on out?"

"Are you going to do something with the time you have left, or are you just going to fill a hole in the end. A thousand years from now, people who dig us up may not know or care what we did with our lives, but how we live our lives needs to matter while we are here...to us."

"Do something that is important to _you_ my son. Make a difference while you can; don't waste your life standing still."

"You can stick around as long as you like, but it won't bring her back to you by just marking your time here Gabriel. Hiding from your world just gives you an excuse to avoid living."

I felt a tear run down my cheek as Julien's speech hit a nerve, and my heart. But what do I have to go back to in my world? An empty house? A job I'm not sure I have the stomach for anymore?

I heard Julien walking off, mumbling something under his breath. Following his progress, I noticed a boy riding a burro up the path. Stopping in front of Julien, he handed the older man an envelope before turning his burro around and heading back towards town. The professor looked down at the letter, then turned back towards me and returned to the tomb.

"Telegram for you Gabriel," he said with concern as he handed me the envelope.

I have a confused look as I took the yellow envelope, puzzled as to who would send me a telegram. I had been in sporadic touch with a few people during my time here, but that had all been accomplished using the regular mail system.

Opening the envelope, I unfolded the paper and begin reading the short message. My blood ran cold as I finished reading the note, rereading it quickly once more to be absolutely sure that I had read it correctly.

The paper fell from my hand as the words sunk in with finality, a cold finality that I had hoped to never again experience.

Julien looked upon my face with much concern before he reached down and picked up the note to read it himself. A look of anguish crossed his face as he stepped closer, putting his hand on my shoulder and muttering "Gabriel my son, I am so sorry."

I looked over at my mentor as he again handed me the yellowed paper and I read the words numbly once more.

_GABRIEL CELTIC_ _STOP_ _FRANK MURDERED_ _STOP_ _NEED HELP_ _STOP_ _ALLEN_

Copyright 2012-2016 by J.T. Lewis

And now...a preview of The Artifact Hunter!

*****

The

Artifact

Hunter!

By

J.T. Lewis

The Artifact Hunter

By

J.T. Lewis

Copyright 2013 by J.T. Lewis

Smashwords Edition

March 1777

New York Colony

The man in the red uniform glanced around nervously, noticing the horse's breath freezing in wisps of mist in the early morning light.

The night had turned cold again, dropping down below freezing after the sunny spring weather of the previous day. Sergeant James Turner pulled his wrap tighter around himself, breathing his hot breath into his gloved fists to try to warm his frozen hands.

" _Blimey! Will this trek never end?"_ he mumbled to himself for the hundredth time.

Turner's old mare tripped suddenly on a frozen clod of soil. Tensing quickly, the Sergeant gripped his legs tightly around the horse as he pulled back on the reins.

"Whoa Gertrude...steady there old girl."

Regaining control, Turner glanced to his right, shivering at the thought of dropping into the partially frozen bog beside him.

_Blasted country!_ he thought angrily as he tapped his heels into Gertrude's flank, getting her moving again. Although he was dreadfully cold, James Turner was thankful for the frozen ground below him, preferring it to the slimy mud of the previous day.

Ordered by his major to make his way north along the Swamp Road for this special mission, he quietly questioned the logic of the plan and the sanity of the officer. The major had calculated that he would be less likely to be observed in the swamp, but he _had_ to know that this route would take three times as long to traverse.

Didn't he?

Turner shrugged his shoulders while trying to get comfortable on the saddle. He hadn't obtained the rank of sergeant by questioning his superior's orders, but sometimes he wondered why he cared.

The pompous and elitist Royals and their clans ruled the Army by the mere fact of their lineage. It was a system that had been in place for centuries, and even God himself couldn't seem to change _that_ fact, Turner thought testily.

His thoughts turned to the colonies and the people that lived within. He now believed that the citizens of this country must be the most determined lot he had ever run across, and he was in awe of their fortitude.

_They call themselves Americans,_ he reflected with a smile, _and they had the bollocks to challenge the king himself!_

And don't forget about the land!

Discounting his current location of course, the abundance of the beautiful and fertile commodity was mindboggling!

When the news had hit that the colonials were seeking independence from the mother country, his whole regiment had laughed at the thought. They had been certain that a quick foray across the Atlantic would quickly squelch such a notion.

So far however, this expedition had been anything but short. Now Turner himself was starting to have second thoughts on the matter.

Maybe these backcountry hill climbers had something going on here after all!

Turner continued to reflect on the vast expanses of farmland that could be had for a fair price, something unheard of in England. He had also noticed the industriousness of the people in the cities, proudly starting their own businesses and working at them with a fervor that seemed lacking back home.

But the biggest implement of change in Turner's thinking were the actions of his army's officers themselves. The longer the regiment stayed in the colonies, the farther the commanders of his unit seemed to slide away from reality.

"The colonials wouldn't fight according to the rules _,"_ he had heard them exclaim more than once.

Used to a standard of living based on royal privilege and comfort, the officers were now spending months at a time in the field. Being this far from the palatial estates where they were raised seemed to be more than any of them had bargained for.

Turner suddenly stopped his horse to listen.

Hearing something off to his left, he quietly eyed the sparse vegetation around him. Years in the field had taught him that even the smallest noise could be a threat. After a few minutes of hearing or seeing nothing however, he nudged Gertrude forward along the thin path.

He dismissed the thoughts of his idiot officers as he let a smile draw on his lips. He realized that he could do much worse than making a home here in the colonies. Though they had been in the back of his mind for weeks, this was the first time that he had allowed these treasonous thoughts to come to the fore.

If he lived long enough to make it back home, he would put in for separation from his unit and begin drawing his meager pension. He definitely had enough time, and no one would fault him for getting out after serving with distinction in the Colonial War.

Sergeant James Turner grinned. For the first time in his life he had a reason to look past his time in the service of the king!

While lost in these joyous thoughts, Turner didn't hear the faint noise to his left.

The click that should have alerted him to the danger of the rifle's hammer being cocked was ignored. Nor did he notice the flash of the primer in the pan as the hammer came down into it and filled the air with light. The old horse took yet another step before the boom of the ignited gunpowder escaped the muzzle, the hot gasses propelling the lead ball into the side of Sergeant Turner's head.

In those last fleeting moments, as he was sliding off of the side of the horse his thoughts didn't linger on regret. Instead, his final thoughts were of the newfound joy he felt over his decision.

Quietly slipping into the bog, the lips retained the smile. The now eerie grin was all that remained of the newborn freedom that he had so recently claimed during the last seconds of his life.

***

Present Day

Jesse Flanagan was in high spirits as he pulled in front of the old shop.

The mysterious voicemail he had received from his cantankerous friend late last night sounded promising, if not a bit cryptic.

Come down to de shop in the mornink me boy, I do believe aw have some good noos for you on both counts! I keep your package safe, heya in my shawp overnight, buried under Atlantic Avenuse.

Abraham always reverted to a weird combination of Hebrew- and New York-accented English when he was excited, but _good noos_ in this business almost always meant good money. The cryptic reference to Atlantic Avenue still had Jesse stumped, however.

Jesse shrugged his shoulders. He usually dismissed most of Abraham's rantings as a rule of thumb anyway. His friend's advancing age combined with the large portion of time that he had spent alone had left Abraham Kohen more quirky than normal.

But Jesse had indeed left a package with Abe the previous day to see if the old man could come up with a value for two items of interest. One was an old document, the other a picture of a desk.

The aging Jewish antique dealer loved doing that kind of thing, plus he had a lot more patience than Jesse could ever muster for it.

Of course, Jesse paid him well for his valuations, as nobody did anything for free in this business. Truth be known however, that wasn't the only reason he continued to bring work to the old man. Over the years, Jesse had actually come to truly like the cantankerous old man, seeing him as the closest thing to a father figure that he had ever had.

Humming happily as he turned off the van, Jesse unfolded his 5'10" frame out the driver's door and made his way around the front of the truck. Flexing his lean muscles as he walked in an attempt to overcome the previous hour's drive, Jesse saw something that caused him to stop in his tracks.

A small, jagged hole in the shop's front door glass put him instantly on alert. Looking up and down the sidewalk to make sure he wasn't being observed, he then crossed the sidewalk and slowly pushed inside the shop.

The place was a mess!

"Somebody's cleaned him out _,"_ Jesse exclaimed under his breath, knowing that it was but one of the many plagues of big city life.

Shrugging again, he called out to his friend.

"How bad of a hurt did they put on you, Abe?" he yelled as he walked farther into the front room of the store. Glancing around, he saw that several of Abe's antiques had been severely damaged.

He was never going to hear the end of Abe's ranting now!

"Hey Abraham! Where ya at, you cantankerous old sot? We already agreed on a price for the valuation you know, so don't be expecting a bonus just because someone broke up all of your stuff!"

Although spoken with a smile, Jesse was beginning to get a little worried as he continued to walk through the front part of the severely damaged store. Having scoped out the whole of the shop, he decided to head to the rear of the store.

"You hiding out back here?" Jesse called out before making his way through the old fabric that Abe used as a door to the back room.

"Don't be hitting me with that old baseball bat of yours either!"

He was laughing as he spoke this, but as the curtains dropped away from his face he almost lost his breakfast at the sight before him. Sitting on a stool in front of him sat Abe with his shirt covered in blood!

"Abe!" Jesse shouted as he moved quickly toward the old man. Laying his finger on the cold, dead neck of the man, he then realized Abraham was many hours past hearing him.

Jesse jumped back quickly with the frightening realization that he had touched a dead body.

It was his first.

"Aw Jesus, Abe," he whispered softly as he backed away slowly, "Who'd ya piss off this time?"

Copyright 2013-216 by J.T. Lewis

