Wednesday – May 20th

News Conference – 7:31 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have very little to go on right now. The suspect is 5’8” to 5’10”, 175 to 190 pounds, right-hsnded.and possibly dark hair. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. He uses a Bowie knife to kill his victims with.

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

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

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

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

The note to Baker was the most disturbing of all.

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

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

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

Ed spoke up.

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

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

Ed looked at Baker.

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

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

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

”

Nothing more was said.

The Squad Room – 8:21 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay safe.”

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

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

“Twenty-Second Precinct, Sargent McDaley speaking.”

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

“What would that be, Father?”

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

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

St. Peter’s Rectory – 9:36 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slight pause, followed by laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny’s Pub – 11:39 a.m.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

The memory shot.

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

They all knew the drill.

“We won’t forget,” Baker said.

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

Benny didn’t mind.

One of the shot glasses was his own.

Roz was his daughter.

Tuesday – May 19th – Stakeout – First 8 Hours

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way! For real?’

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

“What happened with the cookers and dealers?”

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

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

Stakeout – Next 8 Hours

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

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

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

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

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

Stakeout – The Next 8 Minutes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis couldn’t hold off any longer.

He bent between both cars and threw up.

Two Hours Before

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LLEH NI EVIL OT LIVE DRATSAB

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

I write because my hand can’t follow instructions to draw. Even in writing I still fail to meet the standard. But I am bursting at the seams and my relief valve has been set only through words.

I want to take all the anger in my head and project it onto a screen. Played before me like a movie. A feature presentation to show those around me how it feels to live trapped inside my mind. A place full of doubt, inadequacy and anxiety. Still with a glimmer of hope deep in the pits of my soul.

I didn’t use to be like this. I was optimistic and hopeful. I felt capable and strong. When I was alone in my mind, the world I created was happy. Controversy didn’t exist and my self-image was smiling at me in every reflection. Voices from outside penetrated my skull of security and the scene began to shift. The dialogue of hostility.

Over and over, I have allowed external forces to plant seeds of discontent in the fields of my mind. Weeds and vines have strangled what was, and now consumes the space I used to flee. My growth hindered from the negativity that surrounds me.

Conditioning that continued for so long that now those seeds are planted by me. The words of hate are spoken in my voice. As if I created them and had felt this way all along. Eventually I convinced myself that it wasn’t anyone else but me. Tearing myself up from the inside and just watching me bleed.

I saw the smile of an angel after the tears that cold September night,

I heard your soul reaching out for some warmth as I walked away with the light

I saw your helplessness in the fight against that which only you knew of,

I was lost in time, imbued in oblivion, I lost a fight I never knew of

I felt my essence vaporized when I held your cold hands and saw your pale blue face as I looked into your eyes,

I heard my heart shatter into a million pieces and all I did was cry

I saw that which one should ever see, I felt that which no one should ever feel,

I felt a great struggle with comprehension, I had a touch with everything but reality

I saw the difficulty that comes with accepting what was, the impossibility of understanding what will be,

I heard a little whisper in my ear "things will never be the same on this new journey"

I saw a melancholic cloud hovering over my head when I looked upwards to you for comfort,

I felt sullen wind filling my sail, on gloomy waters my boat now goes forth

I heard an orchestra of tears as our feet kissed the dirt while we walked like a legion defeated of soldiers down the dusty path,

I saw glassy eyes amidst my love lay looking peaceful with a flower in her hands

I felt the unwanted loneliness no one should ever feel frolicking around the place the body that once housed her soul would stay forever,

I stood at the edge of lunacy realizing a new phase has begun but my life now is over

I lost that which no one should ever lose, I watched the one who should always stay with me leave, now anytime I remember the cold days of September,

I hear my heart shatter into a billion pieces and all I can do is cry,

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

“Thanks, mom. Today was great!”

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

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

Her cell phone rang.

She looked at Stevie.

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

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

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

“Trust me, Baker, you’ll love this.”

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

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

“How long have you been on the scene?”

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

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

“You and Stevie have a good time?”

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

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

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

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

She sighed. Stevie looked at her and grinned.

“Baker.”

“J.B., Carl here.”

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

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

“What’s the good word, Carl?”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Carl.”

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

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

“When it rains, it pours, mom.”

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

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

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

“Grand Central. Baker here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marianne’s Apartment – 1:17 p.m.

The doorbell rang twice.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, why did you him me?”

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

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

He kicked her in the back of the head.

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

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

Blood erupted in the air.

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

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

LIVE ON KAEPS.

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

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

There is a tale dating back to the time of Adam and Eve. It’s not one you'll find in the Bible, but the Philistines spoke the tale for generations how, on a warm spring day a green leaf would turn red as apples which told the various tribes the summer would be extremely hot.

As centuries passed, this tale was told in a separate way by the Greeks that if you witnessed a leaf turning orange to almost a rusty gold color; someone close in your family would die before the first flakes of winter hit the ground.

Many tales, or myths, were told even by the Chinese that if you saw a leaf change to any color, it would bring prosperity to your family, but if the leaf turned red, devastation would befall a neighbor.

Perhaps, the best myth I have ever heard came from an old man on a street corner, panhandling for whatever he could get. He said, “Ya wanna know something, mister?”

“What,” said I.

“For a dollar, I have something good to tell you.”

I smiled, figuring this was his way to make a quick dollar and had nothing of import to make me go, ‘wow, simply amazing’ and then I would walk away knowing he just made a buck on something that wasn’t true.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me.”

He bent over and picked up a small box and opened it.

“You see this here leaf? It’s green, ain’t it?”

I nodded.

“Well, mister, I’ve had this leaf with me for more’n three-hundred years and it’s never changed color, and truth is, I’ll never die. This here leaf is my good luck charm and even though I look poor and a mess to most folks, I’m the luckiest person on the planet. I’ve seen and done things that would make your hair stand on end. And you want to know where I found it?”

I smiled. “Where?”

“Found it where the Garden of Eden is where. And the funny part was it was the only leaf on this here one tree. What’s even more interesting is, I heard a voice whispering inside my head that said, go on, take it, you’ll live forever. It was the voice of Jesus.”

Well, I gave the old man his dollar and walked away. Helluva story. No one lives forever, right? Just another twist on the fountain of youth myth. Another story that belongs in a creepy movie. Just then, he ran up, grabbed my arm, and spun me around.

You don’t believe me, do you? DO YOU! I’ll tell you what then. Come back to this same spot twenty years from now and I’ll prove it to you."

And this is where this ends because twenty years later I did exactly that. He wasn’t there. I knew all along he wouldn’t be, but I came regardless. Call it curiosity, or a small part of me wanted to believe the old man would be there.

Just one odd thing though. The box was there on the cement sidewalk with a green leaf inside.

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

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

Others in the room laughed or chuckled.

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

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

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

“Question Baker?”

“Answer, Ed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“If he isn’t there, then what?”

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

At Baker’s Townhouse – 9:56 p.m.

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

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

They smiled at each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Work or no work, she loves him.

Unconditionally.

Maybe it just all comes down to perspective. I thought the world was a pretty decent place when I was the scourge within it. Now it seems like the world has gone to hell ever since I found Jesus.

I learned a long time ago, when you're trying to help other people, it's better to use other people's money because there's a very good chance it's not going to work anyway.

I picture a tall, steep hill, where a handful of people are on top--enjoying the view, a huge mass of people are at the bottom--not even trying, and a throng of people scrambling like crazy trying to make it to the top--but failing; and I can't help but think, around the backside of the hill, there's an escalator that only those handful of people ever knew about.

Now that I know much more about how the world works, I realize, not only is there an escalator on the backside of the hill, but there are a lot of people up there pushing down against those who are scratching and clawing their way upward. They create rules that make it harder to climb. They tell our children they should spend their energy fighting each other rather than climb.

They urge us to fight by focusing on our physical differences, our beliefs, and our origins, separating us into different groups; then telling us that separating people into groups based on our physical differences, beliefs, and origins is bad; then they say the people who are guilty of this crime are easily recognized by their physical differences, beliefs, and origins.

I think it's a cop-out to say I just need to stop putting so much value on the real estate at the top of the hill.

One top dweller thinks there are too many people and is actively seeking ways to reduce our numbers. There will be nothing we can do about it.

Have a nice day :)

- and then she took his hand in hers, pressing it to her side even as her pretty, bare feet drew him into a dark cantina where she leaned toward him at a table for two as a wizened, thinly-bearded man with compassionate eyes poured iced sangria into tall glasses. Above the table a dust-coated ceiling fan wheezed delicious coolness down upon his soaked shirt, and perspiring skin. Her plump, pink lips cooed to him in lovely, if nonsensical words, as if to engage a child. He slouched in his seat, the sun having drained his energy. He drank the sugary wine she coddled to his lips, and he bit into the orange and lemon slices offered him from delicate fingers. Those slices had been sweeter even than the wine, and had burst with sugary syrups when punctured by his teeth, although her fingers were quick to wipe the stray juices from the corners of his mouth and slow to linger there after, as though tempted to enter.

He could still recall it all, forty years later, the way her eyes never left his. The tiny beads of sweat like bubbles on her upper lip. The wooden banana crates stacked haphazardly against the back wall and ready to tumble. The smell of frying tortillas, and the sounds of happy laughter from the sidewalk. He recalled with shame the pleasing waves of desire, guilt, and inebriation that flooded him. He remembered his heart racing as it never had before, leaving his head light, and his groin heavy. He remembered a desperate urge to get away, and an even stronger urge to stay, but mostly he remembered the bare foot that found it's way up to his lap under the table, it's toes kneading him, massaging away any remaining resolve.

He remembered more wine, and a dark, narrow stairway with loose, creaking steps. He remembered rounded, swaying hips barely concealed beneath a summer skirt. He remembered eager eyes turning to ensure he was still following, their excitement feeding his. He remembered a dimly lit room with dust hanging in the valance. He recalled soft lips, and a beckoning tongue. He remembered pressing his own lips tight to keep the tongue out, but it had pried and probed before slithering serpent-like inside. He recalled dueling with it before succumbing, whipping and lashing it with heavy breaths.

He remembered the way her bare skin felt against his, cool and soft, how the darkness of it contrasted with the pale of his own. He had absorbed her smells of perspiration, and her woman’s cassolette, exhaling them reluctantly. He recalled with a thundering pulse the way her nipples had caressed his thighs, and his chest, and he recalled bursting directly before he died.

Reverend Gregory Thompson had awakened from that death on a beach bathed in a tangerine twilight; shoeless, wallet-less, with even his clerical collar gone, but those things were of little matter then. Couples walking the beach, lovers holding hands eyed him without approaching; curious people, perhaps even concerned people. He had hurried past them to the water where he attempted to wash away the smells, the feels, and the sins, only to discover that some things neither sand nor saltwater can ever scour away -

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible

New Living Testament, copyright ©1996, 2004

Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishing, Inc.

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

__________

Foreword

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The action is fast paced.

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

__________

Prelude

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

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

Neither one knew at the time their lives would intertwine.

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

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

__________

Death hath so many doors to let out life.

The Custom of the Country. Act II. Sc. 2.

Beaumont and Fletcher

Godly people find life, evil people find death.

Proverbs 11:19

I open every door and put every evil person

I can find where they belong‒‒in hell.

Freddy

__________

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

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

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

The general was a mess.

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

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

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

LIVE ON RAEH.

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

Ten Minutes Earlier

Mrs. Mattingly heard a knock on the door.

“Yes? Who is it?”

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

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

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

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

The slight opening of the door was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

LIVE ON EES.