Wednesday – July 11th

The Squad Room – 8:31 a.m.

“Most of Montie is starting to look like Montie again thanks to cleanup crews and volunteers from Stanhouse. Power has been restored in every section of the city, and ninety percent in the suburbs, and traffic is back to normal.

“On another note, today begins qualification at Brewster’s Gun Club. Those scheduled, make sure you are on time. You will know your results tomorrow. Those who shoot on Friday, will know your results on Monday.

“One last thing, on Monday, be here in your dress blues. Captain Page got word that the Vice-President is coming here to personally hand out each citation to every officer involved in the rescuing of lives during the tornado. This includes EMS, and those officers from Stanhouse. He will stop here first, then go to Stanhouse. Make sure everything is polished and repolished twice to a glass sheen.”

“How did we rate getting him in the first place?” asked Charlie Banyard.

“Can’t answer that one, Charlie. Captain thinks it’ll go over well for the upcoming election. It’s all about politics. This deal will be taped and later aired on all the major channels. So, look sharp guys.”

“Loverly,” said Henry Clausen. “Can I tell him I’m republican?”

A few smirking laughs were scattered about the room.

“November isn’t that far off, and all we can do then is vote. Otherwise; we do what we do best, our jobs. Come Monday, be respectful is all I ask.

“If there isn’t anything else, then let’s get out there and stay safe, and keep our streets safe.”

Brewster Gun Club – 11:00 a.m.

Blake would be at the range with his father until he left for home, after which, Blake would be on his own.

For the next eight days, he was to be on hand to keep shooting records of each police officer who came from Montie. Six officers were scheduled to shoot this morning, and four others later in the afternoon. In September, it would happen all over again, but with the Stanhouse PD.

Blake found all of this boring, as much as he did when he worked his normal hours, but it was an easy job and jobs for kids with no legs aren’t easy to find.

At least he could take solace with his online (girl) friend, Liv. She could make him laugh so quickly and easily. That was something he found hard to do in his real world.

Looking out the office window; four cars pulled up. Six men got out. Two were in uniform.

Blake’s day begins.

Best Western

Exit 14-A – 12:28 p.m.

Both Devon and J.W., along with officers Andrew Davis and Ryan Clinton, were in the vicinity when a robbery in progress was called in from the Best Western. The motel clerk had clear vision to the gas station next door being robbed.

Within minutes, both cars were at the Sunoco. Just as they pulled in, Davis saw three bodies pile inside a dirty tan van. Both he and Clinton grabbed their riot guns and took positions behind their car.

Cisco and Poncho, also on the scene, looked at each other and grinned.

“Oh, Cisco!” laughed J.W. “Here we go again, amigo.”

“Oh, Poncho,” grinned Devon, “time to nail us some bad guys. I knew it was too good to be true. Call in for EMS.”

Devon turned his loudspeaker on and said, “Step out of the van with your hands empty and behind your head. Nothing comes out of that van but the three of you. No guns, no nothing else. Just you. Do it now!”

There was no movement.

“There is nowhere for you to go.” Devon looked over at Davis and Clinton. “Give them a preview, guys.”

The riot guns exploded in the hot afternoon air. Both front tires and the driver’s rear tire blew apart on impact.

J.W. was in position with his own pump-action riot gun.

“As I said, nowhere to go. Step out of the vans, hands behind your head.”

From their vantage point, J.W. and Devon could see the side panel door slide open.

“Very good. Move nice and slow.”

Three men came out, hands behind their heads, and without being told, they dropped to their knees.

“Very good. Now, lay flat on the ground, face down, and keep your hands behind your head.”

All four officers watched as two Latino’s, and a white male, did as they were told.

Davis, Clinton, and J.W., made their way forward to cuff each man when an EMS vehicle pulled up.

Devon walked to the two EMS medics, explaining he didn’t know if anyone in the gas station were injured or maybe worse.

As the two paramedics entered the gas station, a fourth body jumped from the side of the van, ran toward the front of the van, as another Latino began yelling with two Mac-10’s, one in each hand.

He started shooting wildly, not hitting anything, and with twin loud bursts from Devon and J.W., the Latino didn’t get another chance to straighten his aim. Oddly enough, one of the bullets fired did kill one of his friends and wounded another. Inside the gas station, a clerk who was on duty was alive, with a deep gash to his forehead.

After forensics were called in, as well as the city morgue, reports from witnesses filed; J.W., Devon, Davis, and Clinton, all knew how lucky they were to be alive that afternoon.

“Tell you what, guys, after we take these guys downtown, and file our reports, in triplicate no less, come on down to Benny’s Pub. I’m buying. After this, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could sure use a cold one. Call it celebrating life this time.”

Three men looked at J.W, and said they would be there.

Brewster Gun Club – 4:23 p.m.

His father was already gone for the rest of the day, and the last two police officers had just finished their qualifying rounds.

Blake could always read the looks behind cop faces. So similar to the weekender’s who would come out to play with their toys.

Blake’s father used to be a police officer. Did his thing for thirteen years, then took an early retirement. Then Blake showed up, and he always believed that changed the playing field. Blake was physically half the man his father is; and could never follow in the footsteps of a man who was somewhat of a legend.

Jimmy Brewster. The only cop to stop and arrest five armed men from robbing the First State Bank of Montie on his own. The only man to save a suicide jumper from the tallest building in town, the Snyder Building. He was also the first one in on almost any given situation, but one day, he caught a bullet that slowed him way down. Then came the early retirement. In the middle of those years, Blake was born.

But it’s the cop’s eyes he sees when they come here. It sickens him and makes him sad at the same time. He can almost hear their thoughts. “Damn shame, kid.” “You could have been like, Jimmy.” “Pity you came up short.”

When he first started school, the kids would call him stumpy, poster-kid for fence posts, and dickless. Those words hurt, but he endured it until he would get home; then spend half the night in his bed, in tears.

High school seemed to change all that. He met a few people like Jimmy Kerrigan, Ron Snyder, and even that Stevie Baker kid. He had found a small group that accepted him for what he felt and thought; not a sounding board for cruel insults.

It was Stevie that gave him thoughts he might one day be able to walk. That was, until his father found out it would cost almost $300,000, and with no guarantees. The bionics on the leg are designed for recent amputees with some form of viable muscle tissue that can be electrically stimulated.

After that, Blake could see even more disappointment in his father’s eyes because he didn’t have that kind of money. And his mother, well, his mother was just, mom. Except when she got drunk, which was often, as in practically every day.

No, Blake Brewster settled into his routine of accepting what he was and put on his fake happy face with everyone he met.

Every night he worked, he did those things to get the next set up; he would count the receipts, drop everything into the floor safe, lock up, and ride over to the small barn to make sure it was secure, then he would get back in his van, drive home, and call it a night. Tears would still be there before sleep found him.

Benny’s Pub – 6:00 p.m.

“Guys, first off, I’m not much of a drinker but what we went through this afternoon; I can’t shake off as being good police work on our part.

“What happened today, I believe it to be an act of providence, or God, maybe both that none of us were killed, especially you two guys,” J.W. said, looking at Ryan Clinton and Andrew Davis.

“We put our asses on the line every damn day knowing there might be a few crazies out there with a bullet that has our name on it. Still, we do what we do because that’s who we are.

“All I’m trying to say to the three of you; as far as I’m concerned, four good cops survived because of the man upstairs. He isn’t ready for us yet. I’m also saying, I’m damn proud to work with all of you.”

J.W. raised his shot glass in the air, and with three other arms raised, they clinked glasses together, slugged down the whiskey, and then chased that down by emptying an eight-ounce glass of beer, and smacked their lips together. J.W. was the only one to make a face.

“Damn, Benny,” he yelled back toward the bar, “this shit could kill somebody!”

“Better that than a damn bullet,” Benny shot back.

6637 Dusty Lane – 7:35 p.m.

For Patrick, today had been a banner day. When he went on TV to do Terry’s segment; eight people came in to have their pets given shots, annual physicals, or a shampoo to be given that “look at me” look. Because of the special he offered; of the eight people who came in, six more dogs were adopted.

Those few people who lost their pets to the mayhem of Fred creasy and Bertram Ballmate; six of the nine people who lost pets came to the clinic and returned home with a new family member into their lives. The other three lost two cows and a horse. Those, sadly, the clinic couldn’t replace.

Patrick was half laying on his couch munching Doritos, watching a rerun of Transformers Three for about the eighth time, more for the noise than the content, when he glanced over a 5x7 picture of Daniel sitting at one end table.

He smiled at the gentle easy smile that stared back at him.

“You were such a beautiful man, Daniel. I suspect you are up there looking down on everything with an even more beautiful soul.”

Patrick held his gaze on Daniel’s features. Soft green eyes, his smooth bald pate, and he couldn’t remember how many times he had kissed the top of his head. He might have been a bit cheeky for some, but to Patrick, he was perfect in every way.

He only hoped Patrick would understand it was time for him to see if he could find someone new he could fall in love with and begin a new chapter in his life.

Getting off the couch to get another beer, he wiped away a small tear.

Smither’s Supermarket – 9:45 p.m.

Cliff Potter was just unlocking his car when Michael Collins approached him.

“Oh, what brings you here? Run out of sausages at home?”

“Don’t even start, Potter. I’m only here for you to pass a message to Davenport.”

“Stay away from him, Michael.”

“I’m not interested in him sexually, especially if your hands have already been all over him, which I suspect has been often. You just tell him to stay away from J.W.”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Davenport knows. Just tell him, hands off.” Michael turned to leave, but stopped short, and shot a smiling look at Cliff.

“You never were very good at holding onto your lovers, Cliffy.”

“Go away, Michael. Just. Go. Away.”

Getting into his car, Cliff grabbed his cell phone and was going to call Patrick, but he decided he would stop by his office in the morning instead.

He started his car and with nervous energy, spun the wheels leaving a short run of burnt rubber on the parking lot as the tires squealed.

Sitting in his Porsche, Michael smiled. Doubt is such a strong seed to plant in a man’s mind. Especially when it is a weak-willed mind.

He wasn’t about to lose J.W. to a man like Davenport. Probably smells like dog hair, and the man isn’t the least bit attractive.

Thursday – July 12th

The Squad Room – 8:38 a.m.

“Evers, McBain, Ellison, and Schmidt from third shift, qualified. Branson and Nicholls qualified from swing shift.

“Cisco and Poncho, our resident cowboys, both qualified, and I will also add that Poncho had the best shoot. Sixty rounds, fifty-eight bullseyes, with two just outside of center. That should give the rest of you something to ah … shoot for.

“Yesterday, a near-fatal tragedy was averted. Due to quick thinking on everyone’s part; Davis and Clinton, along with Cisco and Poncho, all came away unharmed from a bad situation. Sadly, lives were lost when it shouldn’t have happened, but at least none of our guy’s will have their names put on the Wall of Hero’s.

The room broke into a round of clapping, whistling, and a few “way to go’s”, before Baker jumped back in.

“Just saying this because I can, but I do appreciate what all of you do out there every single day. And it’s also because I say what I say to you every day. Now get out there and stay safe; and keep our streets safe.”

2916 Murphy Lane – 10:03 a.m.

The Internet can be such a fun place to visit. All the different and free stuff one can find and use, and all the different things you can do.

In the beginning, it was amazing at how many porn sites there are. Now, it’s boring as hell. I have better things to do with my time. Much, much better things.

Sex sells, but sex is so over-rated.

There! That’s what I want. Another underground freebie website.

Okay, scroll down the free items and see if they have what I am after and—there! There we are. Homemade Bombs Made Easy. Crazy. Okay, click on that and see what we have.

No. No. Nope, not that one either. Wait a second, I think this is the one I want. Oh yes, I definitely want this one. This one will do what I want, and it only takes twenty minutes to assemble, and ten minutes to mix the ingredients. And when I am ready, this one will be much harder to find. The lovely part; the timer is only an inch square, and the explosive itself is an inch too. So small. So tiny. So very hard to find.

But it will have enough of an impact to blow out a six-hundred square foot area. Pretty damn impressive, and it’s free! I love free!

I need to write all this down. After I do, like always, I’ll delete all traces I’ve been on the computer. It would never do to be found out. No, not good at all.

This will work out just the way I want it to, and maybe then people will understand things weren’t meant to happen this way and it’s not my fault. I never meant for things to turn out as they did.

But that will change before too long.

2916 Murphy Lane – 11:00 a.m.

“Mom, I’m on my way to work. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

“Sure, Blake.”

Staring into her half-filled glass of Bacardi and coke, it was her first one of the day. And she knew she was far away from having her last.

“Blake, I ….”

The front door had already closed, and Lydia Brewster drowned her thoughts with five more drinks before noon.

She couldn’t hide from her dreams.

“Having a child is risky.” “Look at what happened to your cousin, Rachel. Born with one arm.” “Might happen to your baby.” “Don’t be a fool.”

Many different scowling faces zoomed in and out of her dreams turned heavily nightmarish. Her mother and father, a neighbor, other friends. Some would yell obscenities and laugh at her in her dreams. And the truth did come out of her. Blake, crippled for life. Her fault. She never listened.

She never let Jimmy have sex with her again. She didn’t want to be blamed for bringing another mistake into the world.

Davenport Animal Clinic

Patrick’s Office – 11:09 a.m.

“Send him in, Rebecca.”

Cliff was inside Patrick’s office in ten seconds and had taken a seat opposite him from his desk.

“Cliff, you told Rebecca this was urgent. I was about to go to lunch. You want to tell me what the urgency is?”

“Last night, Michael Collins approached me.”

“The attorney?”

“Yes. Anyway, he gave me a message to give to you that I find alarming and if it mis true; heart-breaking.”

“Just tell me, Cliff.”

“Michael said for you to stay away from J.W.”

“He said, what!”

“Tell me, Patrick, have you been seeing him?”

“Yes, but,”

“How could you do this while seeing me? This hurt, Patrick. I thought you were better,”

“Oh, just stop it, Cliff. Just shut up and listen to me for a minute.

“Yes, I’ve seen J.W., and have spoken with him but I’m not seeing him. You can tell Michael Collins he has nothing to worry about.”

“Why were you seeing him to begin with? I mean, of all people. He’s a cop.”

“Listen to yourself, you’re the one crying out loud. I’m not doing him all right? Dammit man, get a hold of yourself. My seeing him was purely professional. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“I see. It’s just with Michael said and then there were those other times you either refused my offers to spend time away together, or a casual dinner. Tie that in with what Michael said, well, I’m sorry, but I reacted.”

“I understand. But you know, I haven’t made any commitments to you either. And though I understand your feelings, I’m believing at least for now, it would be best for me at the very least, if we don’t see each other any longer.”

“Huh? Why? If it’s because of the way I reacted, I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, you are too clingy for my tastes and too demanding of my time. But it was your initial jealous reaction that has turned me off.

“In one of our earlier conversations, I explained to you that Daniel and I were very sure of our identities and our emotions. Not once in all the years we were together did either of us question each other’s loyalty, friendship, and love.

“Believe this or not, loyalty was high up on our list. And you sit here questioning my loyalty while we are just getting started; that tells me that deep down you would never trust me. I will not go into a relationship like that.”

“Fine, Patrick. I know we could be good for each other if you gave me a second chance.”

“Cliff,” Patrick looked at his watch. “I have to go. I have a lunch meeting.”

Cliff stood.

“With him, no doubt.”

“See? That’s precisely what I mean. Actually; it’s with the mayor. Why I feel I must explain every little thing to you is beyond me. It’s time you should leave, Cliff. We haven’t invested much, so let’s leave it to an amicable decision and just part acquaintances. If I see you away from here, I won’t ignore you, Cliff, but neither will I try to reconcile my feelings for you.”

Cliff left the office, slamming Patrick’s door behind him.

Rebecca thought she saw rage in Cliff’s eyes when he stormed past her.

Five minutes after Cliff left, Terry walked in.

He smiled and waved at Rebecca, and with a short knuckle-wrap on Patrick’s door, he entered.

Patrick wheeled his chair around, and the sullen and angry thoughts he was feeling washed away at the sight of Terry.

“Terry! Welcome home.”

Patrick stood and both men shook hands. With Terry settling into one of three leather chairs facing Patrick’s desk, he asked, “How does it feel to be married to such a lucky woman?”

“It’s been fantastic so far. We’ve already been discussing about starting a family sometime later this year. She’s the best, Patrick!”

“I imagine she is, after all, isn’t that what we want for ourselves. Only the best?”

“I stopped in to tell you I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“Good. Give my best to Olivia for me. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

Once Terry left, two faces came to mind: Daniel’s, and J.W.’s.

Captain Page’s Office – 1:44 p.m.

“Really?”

“Really,” replied Satchell. “This year for MDA, they want to use the arena to host a variety of events to promote MS and draw in more money.

“Mayor Marsh has been hitting up all the business owners for sponsorships and according to her, she has promises of almost $78,000.

“I want us to put on our own fund drive with the residents. It’ll be an extra four hours every weekend from August twenty-first to Saturday, September third. We’ll televise where we’ll be for donations. Plus, I’m putting a memo in everyone’s inbox to personally donate at least ten dollars. More, if they can spare it.”

“Ever since the arena’s been built, the city has prospered because of it. I thin k it’s a great idea. And Satchell?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’ll throw in a hundred-grand.”

Satchell smiled broadly.

“You know you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I know. Hell, it’s only money. Can’t take it with me when I’m dead. Might as well use some of it for something good.”

“You’re a good woman as well as a good cop. You try to help people when they need it most. We all can’t bat a hundred percent, but you do get close, Baker.”

“Call me Florence Nightingale. I did have hopes that Leon’s mother would have pulled through though.”

“Speaking about the boy, have you heard anything back from, or about him?”

“Not a lick. From what I’ve gotten from the Internet, Tomahawk is like a spot on the map. The old Hee-Haw population thing. Country pure and pure. I would imagine he’s still getting adjusted to country life.”

“At least he’s with family. That’s always important.

“In the morning, I’ll have the locations where the donation drop offs will be.”

Baker’s cell phone rang once.

“Baker.”

“What’s the rest of your day like?”

“Hi, Ed.”

Satchell mouthed a few words.

“Satchell says hello. As to the rest of my day, why? What’s up?”

“I went out on a limb with this, but I just bought tickets for the Mets-Phillies game tonight. Starts at 6:45.”

“It’s,” she glanced at the wall clock, “2:10 right now. Can we get there in four hours?”

“Piece of cake.”

In the background she heard Stevie yell, “And a chocolate éclair, too!”

Baker laughed. “Hold on.”

Muffling her phone against her chest, she told Satchell what was going on.

“Go ahead, go. I think I can keep the place from falling apart for one day.”

“Ed, I’ll be home in ten.”

McDonald’s – 5:45 p.m.

Dianne watched Johnathan walk to their table with their lunch. Two burgers, one with, one without cheese, fries, and two cold drinks, and a Happy Meal?

“That’s for you.” Johnathan pushed the Happy Meal toward her.

“All right, smarty pants. I know you can’t eat both burgers. What’s with the Happy Meal?”

“Open it and find out.”

As she did, she found a small bag of fries and a small hamburger, but there was also a small white box with a piece of paper wrapped around it. She took the rubber band holding the paper off, opened it, and read: I know I asked you to marry me, and now this makes it official. How does September eighth for our wedding sound?

“Cute, Johnathan. And the eighth sounds good to me.”

Then she opened the box as he was saying, “They always say every happy meal comes with a surprise inside, and this one is yours.”

A warm, radiating glow spread over her as she saw her engagement ring. A quarter-carat with four diamond chips on each side, set against a twenty-four-carat gold ring.

She looked up at Johnathan with tears in her eyes and the biggest smile.

“This is absolutely beautiful.”

“Just like you. Since I asked you to marry me at the lake, I wanted to do something special—different as to our engagement.”

There was an older couple sitting just across from them who smiled, and a moment passed when the older woman spoke.

“I heard you two. Reminds me when my Harry proposed. It was in one of them White Towers in New York City. During a breakfast rush no less. I said yes. He gave me a plastic ring.”

Dianne and Johnathan stole a quick glance at her wedding ring finger. They saw a gold band.

“I still have that first ring.” She pulled a chain-link necklace from around her neck and there it was, an adjustable plastic ring.

“Yup. Things were kinda tight back then. Couldn’t afford much, but I had that there Commander Cody ring I found in a cereal box back then,” said Harry.

“That’s my Harry. Fifty-four years, six kids, eight grandchildren, and two great-great-grand babies later, and this ring is still one of the best gifts I got; besides my Harry that is.”

The older couple stood, and you could see age did afflict their bent over bodies, but it had no effect on their spirit or their love for one another.

“Never lie to each other, treasure every second you have. Never forget the first time you met, that first kiss, the first time you held hands, the first time you both said hello, and remember your first laugh together. And, when hard times hit, hit them hard times right back, together. Remember all your moments. Carry them with you every day of your life. Who knows, the two of you could end up with a couple grand-babies.”

As they left, Dianne and Johnathan sat at the booth holding hands. The ring sparkled.

For Dianne, it was one hell of a Happy Meal.

Friday – July 13th

The Squad Room – 8:34 a.m.

“That pretty much sums things up on the MDA drive. There will be three, four-hour slots during the drive. Whichever slot you sign up for, we ask that you be there every shift during those hours. You do a good deed and get double-time to boot. Captain also told me to say he’ll have a memo in your inbox about any personal contributions. It’s early, but please sign up for this. Jerry’s Kids need our help.

“Okay. Today is of course, Friday the thirteenth. No driving under any ladders, and don’t step on any cracks that will cause you to fall; and no wisecracks either.

“Just keep doing what you do. As to qualifying; Clauson and Klugston, you both made it, along with six others from the swing shift. Marchetti in Property, and our desk Sergeant, Spinelli, qualified. We are looking good.”

“Hey, Baker,” said Clinton.

She looked his way.

“I was watching the Mets, Phillies game last night. I could have sworn when that foul ball in the fourth inning went into the stands; some young guy caught the ball, when I saw you, Ed, and Stevie.”

“I confess. We were at the game last night. It might be the only one I get to see, but it was a good game.”

“Sure was. 5-3, Mets. You get any pictures?”

“A few. This weekend, I’ll print them off and try to remember to bring them on Monday.”

People started getting up.

“I take it there aren’t any more questions? Then do what you do best. Get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

Baker’s cell phone rang as she was headed to her office.

“Baker.”

“sweet Janis, so wonderful to hear your voice once again. It seems ages since we last spoke. How is your head?”

“Cut the crap, Freddy. What do you want?” She quickly wrote a note, ran into Satchell’s office that read: Freddy on phone. Trace call.

“I want you split open from neck to belly is what I want, but have I ever told you how wonderful the word, but really is? It works for just about anything you want to say, but I’m getting away from the reason I called.”

“Why don’t you come into my office and we can talk.”

“You would love that, I’m sure. I know you are trying to trace this call, but it won’t do you any good.

“I wanted you to know there is someone in your lovely city planning to blow something up soon. I have a few friends who travel certain websites for, shall we say, professional endeavors. As you know, I.P.’s, get picked up and are sometimes tracked while others are intercepted for me. I know the name, but all I will say is that it is one of a family of three.”

“You are such a bastard. I don’t get you, Freddy. You’re a paid assassin for hire, yet you go out of your way to murder other people for other crimes; and now, you give me a heads-up clue.”

“Yes, sweet Janis. Those are the ones who really, deep down, need to feel the pain they inflict on others, as well as on their minds, and especially what they do to the soul of the unsuspecting. As to the clue, let us say the truly innocent need not suffer, but, then again, the rest is now in your hands.”

“Feel the pain? Like your brother?”

“Especially my brother.

“I must run, sweet Janis. I have a prior engagement to complete and another heartless monster to destroy.

“Give Stevie my best, though I doubt you will. Tell that prick, Ed, next time, I will slash off his other arm. See then if another piece of plastic and metal parts will help him.”

“One thing I’ve never understood is why you want to kill me so badly.”

“It is because I could have had in my life once, so very long ago, what you have now. And it pisses me off to see you so fucking happy.

“But … oh, there is that word again; before you die, I will take great pleasure enjoying the taste of your dying breath.

“Oh, I almost forgot about last night. So interesting to catch a baseball game, and there you are for the world to see. Bye-bye, sweet Janis. See you … soon.”

Dead air.

She raced into Satchell’s office.

Satchell was on a landline awaiting word of a location when he received a confirmation. He started writing the address on paper until he looked at what he was writing. He stopped and hung up the phone.

“What, Satchell?”

“The address is all wrong.”

Baker looked at it, then looked at Satchell.

“I don’t know how he does, Satchell.”

The address was Scotland Yard.

The Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead Lane – 10:12 a.m.

Ed was again at the computer, searching for anything he could find that would be of benefit in legal affairs.

One year left of law school he never finished years ago, but with any luck, within a year, he could be working with Alan Blackstone, a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoner type prosecutor that never settled for less than guilty, and as much of a maximum sentence as possible. Still, Blackstone’s ideals also fit with his own; argue for what time they deserve.

Ed would represent the law. No vendetta’s, no matter how serious the crime, but if the time fit the penalty, then by all means, go after as much as he could get.

Outside in the yard, Stevie was riding the lawn-mower, which after that, he would turn on the sprinkler system to keep the grass from burning up. Here it was, nearly 10:30, and it was ninety degrees.

Stevie was a happy young man. Earlier that morning, he spent a good hour with Ellie on the phone, and the more they talked, the more time they spent together, the more Stevie knew that one day they would get married. That would make his mom happy, but he would have to talk to Ellie sometime, about the number of grandchildren his mom wanted. Would Ellie really want to have ten kids?

Captain Page’s Office – 11:08 a.m.

“Yes, I’d like a reservation for two. Under the names Page, and Baters. Can I get a two o’clock? Thank you.”

Satchell then dialed the Stanhouse PD and asked for Don.

“Homicide, this is Baters.”

“Hey there, you white dough boy. You hungry?”

“Starving. Haven’t eaten for two days waiting on this call. So where and when?”

“Clancy’s. Two O’clock. Western Room.”

“I’ll be there. You okay, John?”

“I’m fine, Don. Really, I am.”

“All right. See you at two.”

Satchell hung up the phone, smiling.

Clancy’s Restaurant – 2:06 p.m.

Satchell was seated just moments before Don was.

Their waitress, dressed in a dance-hall dress, brought them a menu and each man asked for coffee. She walked away and returned a minute later to set a carafe at their table. In two more minutes, she had taken their order.

“What’s up in your part of the world, brother John?”

“Nothing, really. It’s been a while since we last sat around and spit together. And after the other day, and when the tornado hit, I got to thinking we should do this more often. As then, as right now, is when I think we need more oftens. You, Maureen, and your family. It’s just that life can be gone in a single blink, and we end up not saying what we’ve always wanted to say.”

“I can appreciate that, John. Way back when we met, seventeen years ago, there you were, the only black man in the Academy, and the oldest. If you had waited two more months, we wouldn’t be here talking. As it stood, you were running circles around our asses back then.”

“They sure were good days, Don. And I can still run your ass in a circle. But, the best part was meeting, June. Best damn graduation present I ever got was her.”

“Fact.” Don paused as the waitress returned with a fresh carafe of coffee. “What amazed me was not only how easily I accepted you as my brother-in-law right away, but how the whole family did as well. Then it hit me. It was never a color issue. It was how you treated June, my parents, and me. Simple respect.”

“It always was about respect. And I’ve been envious of you.”

“How so?”

“June and I tried having kids before she died, and it never worked out for us.”

“John, June was murdered. She wasn’t given the chance yet.”

“I know, and her killer was sentenced and is still sitting in Attica, and will be there until he dies, but Don, there were so many nights she would cry herself to sleep in my arms when she would get a test result back. It was the one pain I could never protect her from. But murdered or simply died; she’s at peace, and so am I.”

“I miss her, John.”

“I know you do. Me too.”

There was that unspoken moment of quiet as both men locked eyes and it was that one second in time that spoke volumes.

Don broke the silence.

“Hey, do you remember that day we went to Standing Room Lake, and we tried lifting June onto your shoulders in the water?”

“Do I! I never laughed so hard in my life when she started climbing up your body to reach over for me, and her foot hit your privates and you yelled out, 'Get off my balls! We fell in the water laughing so damn hard.

“It’s those times, those moments that keep me going, Don. Those memories, large and small, that keep me from being angry at a man who killed June, not on purpose, but because of a drive-by. For June, it was wrong time, wrong place.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over my personal anger, but I can try. And maybe with more sessions like this; who knows?”

The waitress walked to their table and sat their food in front of them. Prime Rib for Don, and a Porterhouse for Satchell.

“More like BS sessions if you ask me. But don’t get the wrong idea here, Don. Next time, you’re buying lunch.”

The Rest of the Weekend in Montie

Brewster’s Gun Club was busy with eleven more officers qualifying, as well as seven civilians out to play so they could tell their stories to their friends later about how such a crack shot they were.

Jimmy was all smiles and Blake went about the motions of being polite and happy with people. Tonight, couldn’t come fast enough for him. Close this place down, get back home and Skype with Liv. Friday nights and Sunday afternoons were their face-to-face chats. During the week they would send each other emails and voice chat. For some reason, the face-to-face chat had less static and the video wouldn’t be a pain to deal with. Liv was the real joy that gave Blake any sense of peace and self-worth.

Cliff did the wrong thing late in the day. He stormed into Michael Collins office, said every swear word you could imagine, and then punched Michael in the nose, practically knocking him out of his chair. In the process, Cliff felt a knuckle crack.

“It’s all your fault, Michael. It’s always been your fault.

“Ever since we were kids, you always picked on me, taunted me, called me names. You made fun of me every chance you could. So, I was different. So, I’m gay. But that day in the seventh grade you told the other kids I was jacking off in the school showers thinking about you, was, was,” and that was when he hit Michael a second time. A glancing blow off the side of his head.

“And now, because of you, I have lost Patrick for good. It’s all your fault!”

Amanda called the police. Michael gave his statement to police as Cliff kept screaming at Michael; even after both McHenry and Anson from swing shift had cuffed him, and had taken him to the Twenty-Second, he still muttered obscenities. He was later photographed and fingerprinted and in jail where he would sit until Monday morning.

As to Michael, the bleeding has stopped, the nose wasn’t broken, but it would be tender for a few days. He couldn’t help but smile. He managed to get to Cliff, again. He was such a loser.

His office phone rang. His secretary, Amanda, said that Alan Blackstone wanted to see him right away.

Checking himself in his own door-length mirror, a minute later he was seated across from Blackstone.

“Amanda said you wanted to see me, Alan?”

“Michael, I won’t mince words with you. What happened in your office, and why it happened does not bode well for this office as a whole.”

Michael started to speak but Blackstone raised his right hand.

“You have a very good track record for the County, Michael, and no one, not even I, can find any fault there.

“But from what I understand, dirty laundry, shall we say, was aired today, and was overheard by several people.

“Personally, I could care less what you do, or who you do, when away from this office, as long as it neither interfere with your work, or disparages this office by either your actions or intentions. In other words, do not do anything that would bring negative coverage of this office in any shape or form. But … after an episode like today, I am inclined to believe you cannot keep a lid on your personal sexual habits or tastes.

“Heed my words well; I am telling you that if there is another outburst in this building, or for that matter, anywhere that involves you, and either that Potter individual, or anyone else, I will want your resignation that same day.

“You know how I run things and that I will allow no one to tarnish the reputation of this office and what it stands for in any manner. In the future, keep your proclivities behind closed doors that aren’t attached to this building. Have I made myself clear?”

“Very.”

Michael was dismissed by Blackstone and returned to his own office, feeling belittled and severely chastised when it was all Cliff’s fault.

As he sat behind his desk, he left hand tapping against the edge, he started thinking, and the more he thought, the faster his hand tapped. Nearly ten minutes of this action before he angrily muttered, “I’ll fix that bitch. I swear I will.”

But, as Friday night came, it also brought with it millions upon billions of speckled stars to a darkened night. Patrick would be on Facebook, leaving messages and comments with his friends, and thinking he might call J.W.

J.W. was working his far, then decided to watch a movie, and giving some thought to Patrick, and once, he almost reached for his phone to call him but changed his mind.

Andre Devon and family always used Friday night as family night. They would play games with their daughter, Jenny. For all the electronics available, the one thing the Internet could never do was instill love in another person’s heart and soul. “The day it can make love to a human,” Vanessa once said, “is the day humanity dies.”

Friday night saw tired people who put in a hard day’s work just like the four before, week in and week out. Those who work construction, building and highway worker’s. The waitresses on their feet eight hours a shift. Doctors and nurses who fight practically every day to keep someone alive. The police, fire-fighter’s, fast-food workers; the list could go on. But nearly eleven that night, except for the graveyard shift, the rest of Montie found slumber land.

Come Saturday’s dawn, another scorcher was in progress. Montie came alive. Boaters out on the lake shortly after daybreak, some to fish, others to laze about.

Shopper’s shopping, kids playing, people doing what needed to be done first, then what they want to do next. It all fit Montie’s unwritten plan: keep it simple and enjoy life. And for the next two days, that’s exactly what most people did.

There were a select few who plotted and planned for a different beginning to the upcoming week but it’s always true that a bad apple or two comes along.

On the other hand, Stevie couldn’t be happier. In three more days, Ellie would be back, and his life wouldn’t feel so lost and empty. It really wasn’t, not with his mom, Ed, and his friends, but outside of Ellie, and his mom, there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to kiss.

But he would never kiss his mom the way he does Ellie.

Sunday’s in Montie are almost the same except when the season’s change. When Fall approaches, every leave of every tree becomes a palette of intricate colors, and if you aren’t a camera buff, you would probably be the only one in Montie not taking pictures while the leaves still rest snugly to a tree limb, or as they make their way swaying in a sometimes, soft breeze until they have taxied their way to the earth below in gentle respite. Fall in Montie is about appreciation of beautiful things given by the Creator.

Sunday’s are a day of worship and you would be hard-pressed to find an empty pew in any of the fourteen denominations. There is a plaque when you first come into Montie that reads: ‘With prayer we are strong. With prayer we will never falter or fall in the eyes of heaven’.

Montie has yet to fall and has endured, it has yet to falter. As it has been said, “It is what it is.”

Winter’s in Montie are peaceful, almost graceful, providing you aren’t driving and get caught up in an ice-slick. No one enjoys a fender-bender. Come the holidays, people are giving of their time, their energy, and their spirit. As much evil that has crossed over this old city, the residents do all they can to encourage hope, and bolster security for one another. It is what neighbors do.

Spring is a time seems to energize people to start tending to their plants, home repairs, and doing things that need to be done to insure Montie stays Montie, and not be engulfed in the politics of high-impact big business and legal-beagles trying to impart what is best for its citizens. No, Spring is about bringing back the beauty that fell from the trees and breathing color into places that almost seem like a personal paradise for many.

Then comes what is here now: Summer. A time to entertain friends, having fun, vacations, BBQ’s in the backyard, picnics further out in the country, and of course, the Lake. Have to have time for the Lake. Without it, a boat is nothing more than an oversized canoe with a motor attached.

No matter the season, or the reason, it still comes down to every Sunday is a day given up to heaven, given to God, or whoever you choose to call your Creator, and give thanks and praise for each and every family, loved one, and friends who share this day that they be blessed and watched over.

Montie is a good place to be.

Monday – July 16th

The Squad Room – 8:39 a.m.

“I don’t have time to go through all the news right now, but we are batting a hundred. So far, everyone’s qualified on the range at Brewster’s.”

Satchell stepped into the room.

“Just got the call. The Governor has just met the Vice-President at the airport. Their motorcade is expected to leave the airport in ten and should be at the Arena within thirty minutes.”

Baker inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“That’s it for now. You’re all looking good. Get in your cars and get to the Arena. Inside will be two attendants who will direct you to where you’ll be sitting. Officers from Stanhouse will be present as well.

All the cable networks are in place, so smile for the camera, this will be your ten minutes of fame. But please, keep that special finger on each hand hidden.”

The Arena – 10:51 a.m.

Before the festivities were over, speeches would be made by Governor Jacob Hawley, Lt. Governor Paul Rydell, three of the City Council members, and Mayor Jean Marsh. It would be her part (and a proud moment she later stated), to introduce the Vice-President.

The D.A., Alan Blackstone, Captain Satchell Page, and Lieutenant Janis Baker were also on stage with the heads of state and the Vice-President. To the right where every officer sat, Baker could see Stevie and Ed, and she smiled broadly at them. For her, today is a good day. And no riddles either.

When it finally came time, Mayor Jean Marsh stood in front of the podium’s microphone and thanked everyone for attending this special awards ceremony.

“Now, to present each Presidential Citation, each one personally signed by the President, it is my proud pleasure to present to you, the Vice-President of the United States, Joseph Biden!”

The applause was deafening in the Arena. It took several minutes before the clapping and loud cheers and whistles faded away.

“My fellow Americans, the president wanted me to convey his apologies for not attending personally, but he has a summit meeting in Yemen, impossible to ignore.

“Today, we are all here to not only give awards to 114 brave men and women, but to give honor and respect to people who are your friends, your neighbors; to people who, without thought of their own lives and safety, who saved every resident, and animal I might add, in Montie. Along with the officers and emergency responders from Stanhouse; a joint effort was made to preserve and protect Montie’s long and historic history and heritage, which remains more solid than at any other time in her history. Let today be another new beginning for Montie’s continuing effort to rise above the odds. With these brave men and women who sit before us this day, Montie shall ….”

The Vice-President droned on for another ten minutes before he started calling names to step forward and receive their presidential citation. Each officer, fire-fighter, or EMT would hear him say, “Congratulations,” he would shake their hand and each person responded, “Thank you Mr. Vice-President.” (It wasn’t lost on anyone that he never mentioned a name when handing out the citations, until the very end.)

“Our last recipient I personally saved for last. She is a ten-year veteran, and has received three citations for valor, and this officer deserves a very special welcome. She was part of a larger group and gave of her time, but she also took it upon herself to make sure that every animal, every child’s pet, every blind person’s dog were placed out of harm’s way.

“That, to me, ladies, and gentlemen, tells me this officer has a heart every bit as big as Montie. Please welcome, Officer Dianne Andrews.”

The applause rocked the Arena, and louder and longer than it had when Biden first stepped up to the podium to speak. As Dianne stood, Johnathan winked at her and squeezed her hand. In truth, she had hoped this wouldn’t have been brought up. Her face was bright red.

Once she accepted her citation and brief speeches were made once Biden was finished, it was 12:15 when Biden and company waved goodbye to the crowd and headed back to the airport.

By 12:45, Benny’s Pub was packed to the rafters for a quick lunch and by 1:30, pressed uniforms were exchanged for their street uniform and it was business as usual.

There had been forty-seven individual citations Baker handed out personally to a skeleton crew who maintained the Twenty-Second, and the city streets.

But today was a good day so far for the good guys. No problems. Nowhere.

Twenty-Second Precinct

Property Room – 2:11 p.m.

“If you will, sign here to receive your property.”

A quick signature, and then a manila envelope was placed on the counter.

“One watch, one wallet, sixty-eight dollars and twenty-seven cents in cash. Please check your billfold to make sure everything is there as you last saw it.”

A quick scan confirmed nothing amiss.

“Mr. Potter, you are free to go. Just return to the courthouse within the next thirty days to pay your fine. If you fail to do so, you do understand, a failure to appear warrant will be issued, and officers of the court will be instructed to come to your residence or place of work to arrest you.”

“I don’t need to be reminded. It’ll get paid.”

Once he made his way to his bank to make a cash-withdrawal, he shook his head. Five-hundred dollars for punching Michael in the nose! It was almost worth it. He mused aloud, “Damn, I can afford to punch that son-of-a-bitch forty-two more times.” He made his way back to the courthouse and immediately paid his fine, and then went to work. He would have some explaining to do.

Fifteen minutes later he walked into his small office and saw a note taped to his desk phone. “Call Eric—ASAP.”

Eric is the supermarket’s Regional Director. Cliff had a chill slice right through him. He made the call.

“Eric Kabor, please. Cliff Potter, store number 117, calling.”

He was placed on hold and listened to the standard elevator music for nearly eight minutes.

“Cliff, thank you for returning my call—finally.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kabor. I’ve had a rather, ah, difficult day.”

“More like an unfortunate weekend, and one that was read online as well. Cliff, I am relieving you of your position. Turn in your store keys to your assistant; I believe her name is Anne Crenshaw. After your recent event, I’m not sorry to say this, but this company cannot have any negative media attention that could cause us to lose customers. It has been nearly ten years since we have had any negative feedback, and we intend to keep it that way.

“I am authorizing you to receive your four weeks of vacation pay, and in addition, two weeks’ severance pay. We will mail this directly to you sometime today from corporate.

“And Cliff, do not use us for a reference. As you well know, company policy dictates your actions accordingly, off the job as well as on.

“Goodbye, Cliff.”

“But, Mr. Kabor, wait, please! Let me ….” It wasn’t until he took another breath when he realized he was talking to dead air.

Fired. He never expected that. Sixteen years. Gone. All because Michael interfered between him and Patrick.

“I’ll fix that little prick.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Cliff looked up into the dark gray eyes of Anne Crenshaw.

“Oh, nothing. Just a personal issue I’m going to fix.”

“Before you leave, the keys, please.” Anne’s chubby hand attached to her chubby body was stretched out and waiting.

He reached inside his pants pocket, took five keys off his key ring, and handed them to her. Deep down, he knew she wanted his job for years, and now she got her chance. Without saying a word, he gathered up his personal belongings, walked past her, and as he walked through the store to his car, he thought he could feel every employee’s eyes staring a hole through him. When he got into his car and was making his way home; Cliff was working on a plan.

Sonic Restaurant

1657 Atlin Way – 2:57 p.m.

Dianne and Johnathan had just finished a late lunch and were slurping down the last of their Blizzards, when Johnathan said, “It’s been an incredible day, Dianne.”

“Tell me about it. I never expected to be singled out like that. I wish I had a heads up, I wouldn’t have showed up.”

“Say what you want, but Biden was right. What you did went way beyond what the rest of us were doing. Here you are, saving human lives right along with the rest of us, and for some of these people, you were saving the only companionship they might ever have. Personally, I say job well done, Officer Andrews.”

She laughed at his poor impersonation of Biden, but those were the words she heard from him herself.

“Instead of saying thank you, I should have said I’m voting Republican. I bet that would have caught him with nothing to say.”

“Adam-16, there is a robbery in progress at Albertini’s Pizza Parlor, 809 State.”

“Roger that, we are enroute,” stated Dianne into her mobile radio. “We are one minute out. Request backup.”

“Roger that, Adam-16.”

“Johnathan backed the car from Sonic’s parking area, turned on the red and blue lights and spun away, drove one block up, turned left two blocks, made a quick right and was there.

The suspects were gone.

The owner, Tony Albertini, came rushing from his store. He pointed straight.

“I watched them run from here until they turned right up at that corner. Two black kids, maybe sixteen, seventeen. They had guns. It’s stupid I tell you. If they wanted pizza, I would give them pizza. They don’t have to steal from me.”

Dianne and Johnathan looked at him puzzled.

“All they wanted was all the pizza’s that were baked. They took eleven. Just stupid.”

“Dianne, stay here and get the rest of Mr. Albertini’s statement, and statements from everyone inside. I’m going on a hunt for pizzas.”

They could hear another car approaching.

“I’ll tell them to follow your lead. Be careful.”

“Always in all ways.” He winked, then stepped on the gas and was off. Just as he was pulling away, he briefly saw Lowery and Banyard.

Johnathan headed in the same direction as the two kids. Lowery and Banyard took an alternate route once Dianne explained things to them. The idea was to stay one block off, of a four block radius in order to spot two black kids running with almost a dozen pizzas, and more than likely headed for the projects.

But it was Johnathan who spotted them first and called in his location. As both boys were trying to climb a ten-foot fence after throwing the pizzas over the top, Johnathan drove his car to a dust-rising halt less than a foot from the fence.

Jumping from the car, gun in hand aimed at both boys, he yelled, “Party’s over. Just climb back down from there, slow, and easy. Easy now. Don’t do anything stupid. No one needs to get hurt. That’s it, nice and easy.”

Lowery and Banyard were driving up a side street when both boys looked at each other and nodded.

As quick as an eye-blink, both boys whipped out their guns and fired half a dozen times. Johnathan saw them move. Lowery and Banyard saw them move as both men raced from their car.

Johnathan returned fire, hitting one boy, but three bullets found their way into Johnathan’s chest.

The other boy, Lowery and Banyard, took out.

The ambulance seemed to take forever to show up.

Johnathan’s wounds were wrapped. He was put on an I.V., oxygen, and respirator. His stats were called in to the hospital as the ambulance raced its eerie sound across town.

Lowery had called the county morgue, and also called Carl Macklin Sr., to have his crime unit, or as Carl liked to call them his ‘F-Team’, on scene. Banyard drove Johnathan’s car back to Albertini’s to tell Dianne what happened.

With a mad rush of tears coating her face, she got behind the wheel of the car and drove like a crazed person to the hospital.

“Please, God! Not him! Not now! Please!”

Johnson County Memorial Hospital – 6:38 p.m.

Baker, Satchell, Devon, J.W., and at least twenty other off-duty cops sat with Dianne in one of the waiting rooms.

She recapped everything from lunch to arriving at Albertini’s. With backup coming, it didn’t look to be a problem. The boys would either be arrested, or they get lucky and not get caught. But this? Two young boys dead. Johnathan near death? All over eighty-something dollars in pizza?

What made this even harder for her, was when she told Baker when they had a few minutes alone; they were making plans to be married in September.

“We were going to let everyone know next week. But, Jesus, Baker, I just want him to wake up from all this and,” Dianne’s tears came at a brutal pace.

“I understand, Dianne. You’ve been through so much as it is, but right now, Johnathan is in God’s hands and a couple of competent surgeons. I promise you; Johnathan is in all our prayers.”

8:48 p.m.

“Officer Andrews?”

Dianne looked up and saw a doctor standing at the edge of the waiting room. She got up from her seat and was slowly followed by a few others who had waited with Dianne for any news on Johnathan.

“He is a very fortunate man. All three bullets went out the back. No major arteries or organs were hit. He is a resilient individual. He did lose quite a bit of blood, but we are transfusing him four pints, and will monitor that as his healing begins to progress.

“He is still in very serious, but stable condition. I advise he not have,” the doctor looked around the waiting room, “too many visitors for at least three days. We are going to keep him at least thirty days to keep monitoring his progress and to make certain that all steps we took, do not change course. By then, we can determine if he will be ready to be released to go home.

“I would suspect by then, with exercise, a sensible diet; Officer Prescott should be up and walking around by the end of September, and able to return to work by mid-October. But that is all contingent on how well he does now.”

Dianne breathed a sigh of relief. Her small entourage behind her were smiling, clapping one another on the shoulder, and just as relieved as Dianne was. A few shed grateful tears.

Dianne walked up to Baker, saying, “God has the best hands, doesn’t he?”

With the doctor’s consent, Dianne spent the rest of the night in Johnathan’s room. There was a brief flash of recognition when he saw her.

“I love you.” He was out like a light.

She reached over, cupped both his hands, and pressed her lips to his. She then moved her face until her lips brushed against his ear.

“Love you, too. Hurry up and get well. We have a life to live.”

Tuesday – July 17th

Baker’s Office – 8:47 a.m.

The meeting had gone smoothly enough, and Baker gave everyone the good news that Johnathan was awake enough this morning to eat a very light breakfast but that he was still groggy.

Baker joked when she said this was his way of getting out of qualifying at Brewster’s this Thursday.

“Hell, pass him by proxy, already.”

“Actually, Clauson, we’ve already agreed to that a year ago. In the event any officer is wounded in the line of duty, he will be exempt for one year to qualify. So he gets a legitimate pass.”

“How come I had to qualify?” asked J.W.

“J.W., if your injury took place during this period, you’d get a pass, but since it was…”

After the meeting, she excused Dianne from duty for the rest of the day. Baker would run her route.

Lowery and Banyard were relieved of duty pending an investigation into the shooting death of both boys. Summarily, so would Johnathan. In all likelihood, as Baker and Satchell told both men it was just a formality and they expected it to be without incident reports being filed or charges brought up.

Before she was ready to leave, Baker walked into Satchell’s office. He looked up at her.

“Uh-oh, I see that look in your eyes. What’s inside that pretty little head of yours?”

“Oh, just thinking of taking Prescott’s and Andrew’s route for the day.”

“Everything else caught up, already?”

“Today’s just a normal day, Satch. But—I got to thinking; if I run this route alone, I could find myself in a jam, and it would sure be nice if I had me a big, strong man in the car with me.”

Satchell started laughing. “That was the worse Mae West impression I ever heard!”

“So what? C’mon, Satch. Getting back on the streets for one day will do you some good. Besides, deep down you know you miss the streets.”

“You have me there. What the hell, if nothing else, it’ll show the Twenty-Second I’m not all desk and memo’s. Let’s hit it.”

Austin, Texas – 3:15 p.m.

Edward Carter just finished a television taping with Diane Sayers. They had spent twenty minutes talking about his latest release and then Edward brought out that his publisher has already guaranteed him a large undisclosed advance to write a biographical novel on a small city in New York, called Montie.

His plans were to begin from Montie’s earliest inception and history, along with all the changes that occurred and not just through the Civil War, but also changes made by modern business thinking and politics; the drive to continue in some of New York’s toughest times as well as the effect of every war that changed the nation and Montie as a whole.

Carter would delve and dig deep to uncover names that made a difference with a small city rich in its own birthright. Included in the scheme of things would be all the recent events that have happened, and still, as he put it, “Such a quaint, but very lovely small city which has been engaged in some very bizarre crimes; yet has managed to always land on its feet. The history, the people, the background, and a killer still on the loose; I promise you; this will be a story you will not stop reading once you get started.”

In one more month, the tour would come to an end and he would begin the book; the one story that would embed his name in the minds of readers for years to come.

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 4:45 p.m.

“See there, Satch; a do-nothing, quiet kind of day.”

“If you say so. I guess helping old Mrs. Warner’s flat tire being changed and listening to her rant and rave how back in the 40s everything was cheaper, even tires./ Then she went on about groceries and wine. I thought she would never stop. And you—you just sat in the car grinning the whole time.”

“It wasn’t that bad now, was it? Besides, she didn’t need the two of us to change one tire.”

“Oh, but it got worse if you remember. Mrs. Oldermyer and her damn cat in the tree.”

“Okay, I can understand that one. Cat nearly hit her when you were able to free it between the limbs and then jumped out onto her front lawn.”

“Then she damn near dragged me from the car to a tree to begin with to get her precious Adella. I’m just grateful the tree wasn’t very tall. I’m beginning to see I’m getting too old for all these heroics.”

“Look at it this way Satchell,. what you do now leaves a lasting impression for those who want to follow in your footsteps .”

“Is that right.” Satchell cocked an eyebrow. How about if you just get in your red frilly thing there and go home and don't you dare mention what happened today in the meeting tomorrow morning.”

After parking the police car on the yard, she hopped in her Hummer and drove home. She couldn't help but smile. She knew Satchell was loving today.

In his office, if Baker had heard his words she would know just how right she was.

“Best damn day since the day I took this job.”

Johnson County Memorial – 5:12 p.m.

On and off throughout the day, Jonathan and Diane would talk. She would hold his hands. On and off, Jonathan would fall back to sleep. Other times, Jonathan would be visited by a nurse to check his IV, temp, blood pressure, heart rate and his newly sewn wounds. After which, she gave him his medication.

When Johnathan was wide awake, his eyes would light up and his smile, for as weak as he still was, would radiate a glow seeing Dianne sitting across from him.

He tried to explain what happened and what went down but Dianne hushed him. Another time, she whispered. He whispered a promise he would never get hurt on the job again. She believed him.

Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead Lane – 6:56 p.m.

Stevie talked about helping the next door neighbor, cleaning out his garage. The Lister’s are getting ready for a garage sale.

Ed spoke about his therapy session with Mrs. Peterson.

“She was a little upset I haven’t started the reflexive therapy yet, but I explained to her how things have been a bit crazy lately and that this weekend we would get started.

“She threw a dozen tennis balls my way. I tried to catch them, but the ah—I mean, my arm wasn’t quick enough to think grab the ball, and my hand would close too early, too late, or only close a little bit. But she said even that was progress.”

Then it was Baker’s turn.

“Today was wonderful. No violence. No one dead. I took Satchell with me on the West End run; Prescott and Andrews route. You should have seen him. As much as he complained about things, you could see it in his eyes he enjoyed being back on the streets.”

Then she went on to tell them about Mrs. Oldermyer and her cat and changing Mrs. Warner’s tired and what Satchell had to listen to in the process.

It just made the day, special.

1125 Clearfield Street – 7:30 p.m.

“What the hell. The worse he can do is say no.’

He held onto his cell phone and listened to a ring tone six times. He was about to shut his phone down, when an out of breath voice said hello.

“I almost gave up hope you would answer, Patrick. This is J.W.”

“Oh, hello, J.W. Is there something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I called because I’d like us to get together and have lunch this Saturday at the Jazz Club and listen to some good music while we have some great food at the same time.”

“Are you sure that is a good idea? What about Michael Collins?”

“What about him? He and I aren’t committed to each other. He isn’t really what I’m looking for.”

“And I am?”

“Honestly? Maybe. Hell, I don’t know but I do know I would like to get to know you better and see if the person I believe you to be is underneath all that skin you wear.”

Patrick chuckled.

“What time, then? And where is this Jazz Club? I’ve not seen that place at all.”

“I’m thinking about one. It’s hard to spot because it sits in the middle of a dead-end street. It’s the only business on Ralstar. It’s off Mackay Avenue. 670 Ralstar.”

Patrick was quickly scribbling the address down.

“Okay, off Mackay, okay, I got it. I guess we’ll see each other Saturday. Thanks so much for calling, J.W.”

“Take care and be safe, Patrick.”

Both men hung up. Patrick thinking that maybe, just maybe, this could be the one to heal his heart, and move forward to build on a new relationship. A new life.

J.W. wasn’t yet sure if he were doing the right thing, but he and Patrick both knew the terrible gut-wrenching pain of losing someone you love. And Patrick is an educated man, very intelligent, has his own business, and appears to know what he wants from life. This was a major deal for J.W. If they clicked it wouldn’t take away their independence, but rather strengthen it.

To J.W., lunch Saturday would either be the start toward a new beginning, or the end of a bad idea.

The Twenty-Second Precinct

Wednesday – July 18th - 8:41 a.m.

“That’s it. Internal Affairs have given Lowery and Banyard a clean review and they’ll be back on the street tomorrow. Andres will still be on personal leave, and I’ll still be running her route. No bad news to report which is always a good thing. Any questions? If not, then get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

Baker’s cell rang. Looking at the caller ID, she said, “”Good morning sunshine. What’s up, Bub?”

“Nothing much. In a little bit, I’m going to mow the yard, then I’m thinking about going to the Pit-Stop for a while.”

“Just you be careful. What’s Ed doing?”

“He’s on the computer reading emails and squeezing one of the tennis balls with his hand.”

“Okay. Have fun, and tell Ed I said, hi. See you tonight.”

“Love you, mom.”

“Love…” dial tone. She definitely needed to talk to him about that.

10:19 a.m.

Stevie’s cell phone rang. He was on the riding mower when he killed the engine and said hello.

“Hi, Stevie! We just got home like ten minutes ago!”

“Ellie! Man, it sure is good to hear your voice again and know you’re back home! You want to have lunch with me at the Pit-Stop?”

“I was hoping we could drive out to Summit’s Point where we could be alone, you know, just the two of us.”

“I can go for that. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Hold on, let me ask mom.” Ellie muffled the phone, but Stevie could still hear Ellie ask her mom if it would be okay if Stevie picked her up for lunch at the Pit-Stop around noon. He heard her mom say that it was fine.

“Mom said noon is good.”

“Ellie, I heard you tell her the Pit-Stop, not Summit’s Point.”

“I know. Like I said, I want it to be just us, without any interruptions.”

“Ah, well, okay then. See you at noon. I love you, Ellie.”

“Love you, Stevie.”

City of Brighton

Smitty’s Pawn – 11:05 a.m.

After showing his driver’s license, the man behind the counter took all the information and entered it into a computer. Five minutes later he returned to the front and said, “Okay, you’re good to go. You got no warrants, no felonies. Here’s your license and the permit for the gun. That .357 Magnum has one helluva kick so be careful when shooting it out there at Brewster’s. If you aren’t careful, you could injure yourself. The permit is good for fourteen days. You should get your license to carry in the mail by then.”

The man stuck the gun in a paper bag and walked out of the pawn shop.

As he started getting into his car, there was thing he did know—he would be careful Real careful.

216 Blake Way – 11:10 a.m.

Today was one of those days where eating lunch at home only meant not so much privacy. His space today was invaded by way too many thoughts.

He was still foaming over recent events and for being berated for someone else’s mistakes, but he would teach that little fem-fatale prick he was screwing with the wrong person.

“Kick his ass, is what I’ll do. I didn’t get my green belt two months ago in karate for nothing. Yes, just kick his ass right out of town where he’ll never be a bother again.”

He thought back to when they were at the same college and how he was caught going down on a really husky-looking senior. How embarrassed he was when it was spread all over campus what he did, no less to Sean, the star quarterback. Because of that little prick, getting even with him, he had to change schools. So did Sean. But not him. No. He graduated from brown in the top five percent of his class.

Michael still did better. Yale accepted his transfer and he graduated in the top two percent.

“Always have been better and smarter than him. Always will be.”

Michael Collins was out to teach Cliff Potter one more lesson.

As Mornings Go

The rest of the morning had its share of mishaps. Police cars responded to various calls. Some that involved traffic accidents creating minor fender-benders; a barroom fight between two friends over a pool game. A domestic dispute ended up being the most serious criminal activity of the day.

Henry Clauson and Terrance Klugston were called onto the scene. After a few questions, the girlfriend said the wrong thing.

“I keeps tellin’em to take dat shit down to Ramon’s house. Luis don’ need to be cookin’ in my house. He don’ unnerstand. He think he own me. He don’t own, shit! Jus’ cause I got a kid by’em, don’ make me his property.”

Luis kept yelling at her to shut her mouth, but she kept on keeping on.

Terrance called for two more units and a forensics team. In thirty minutes, a meth-lab was found in the basement of Luis girlfriend’s (Maria) house. He was arrested for manufacturing and distribution. They found out from Maria where Ramon lived, and after getting a phone warrant, they went to Ramon’s house and found over $10,000 in coke on a kitchen counter for starters. They found more in Ramon’s bedroom and bathroom. And Ramon? He was passed out on the couch.

Two arrests for the price of one girl’s anger.

Summit’s Point – 12:40 p.m.

They had no sooner pulled to a stop, making sure no one else was around when Ellie attacked Stevie.

It was attack he enjoyed. Ellie pressed herself tightly against him the deepest, wettest, and longest kiss ever. When she finally broke away so both of them could get some air, she bent her head and started nibbling on his neck.

Stevie’s hands were caressing her back, or his hands would run through her hair. Ellie like having her hair played with.

Ellie was going further. Her hands ran up and down his chest and across his stomach. Lifting his shirt, her head lowered as she started tracing his chest to navel with her tongue and lips.

Stevie would be a liar if he said she wasn’t exciting him, and it was for that very reason, he used every ounce of his strength to fight off her advances and pull her away.

“Dang, Ellie. Slow down, girl! I’ve missed you, too, but wow—hell even, you almost got me to forget who we are.”

Ellie smiled, leaned in, and gave him another quick kiss on this lips as her hands stroked his chest and stomach.

“And just who are we, Stevie?”

“Why, we’re, uh—we, I mean, we love each other, right? And when two people fall in love, they respect each other.”

“Do you respect me, Stevie?”

“Since the first day we met. I respect you as much as I love you.”

“What about after we have sex? Would you respect me then?”

“If we had sex, as long as it’s safe sex, yes. But this isn’t the right place or the right time. Okay, I know it’s the twenty-first century and that most kids younger than us are doing it, but sex just for the sake of sex just doesn’t grab me. Maybe I’m the only old-fashioned kid left on earth, but I’d rather make love to you and have it mean something important for the rest of our lives; like when we would be married.”

Ellie’s hand stopped playing along his chest and she placed them behind Stevie’s head.

“Why do you have to be so sensible, Stevie? As much as I want you right now, I get what you are saying, and that’s another reason why I love you so much.”

They kissed again but this time it was slower, a much gentler kiss. When they pulled away, Ellie looked at Summit’ Peak walls and pointed. “That is so cool, huh?”

Stevie looked at the wall of rock facing them. The sun hit it at an angle that made the formation surface look like solid gold. It lasted almost two minutes as the sun shifted and shadows replaced the light.

After sitting quietly together and watching gold turn back to gray, Stevie pulled his shirt down and started the car.

“Now, how about that lunch at the Pit-Stop?”

“You’re on. Let’s do it!”

Hestor Hills

261 Devonshire Way – 2:46 p.m.

Four blocks away from Dianne Andrews home, Michael Collins drove past Cliff’s house. The garage door was open and empty. He wasn’t home. Probably out job hunting.

He would come back later.

216 Blake Way – 2:59 p.m.

He was able to get into the expensive apartment building by following behind another tenant and caught hold of the outside door before it closed.

He saw Michael’s name on the registry next to the mailboxes. Apt. 12-A, third floor. Four floors, sixteen units total.

He took the elevator and when it stopped, he walked out and within a few seconds found Michael’s door and pressed the buzzer. He couldn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door, and figured that Michael wasn’t home yet.

He released his grip on the gun inside his jacket pocket and swore in a whisper. He looked at his watch. 3:06.

He decided to take the elevator to the fourth floor, then take the steps up that lead to the rooftop balcony. The Blakemore hosts the only covered outdoor swimming pool to its tenants, plus the view is incredible.

He would simply wait until he knew Michael would be home.

Mike’s Haven

2nd & Dumar – 3:46 p.m.

Andrew Davis and Ryan Clinton were on the scene along with Carl Macklin Sr. and four of his F-Team members as they sifted through the destruction of Mike’s restaurant.

For many years, Mike has used this place to feed the homeless or those in need. He was always able to get financial contributions from the citizens of Montie, as well as certain food products from Wal-Mart, Baker’s Supermarket, and all the fast-food places, Lucy’s, as well as places not within downtown.

But not more than an hour after Mike closed for the day, someone, or a group of people broke into his place, used axes on the counter, tables and chairs. The vent system was shorn in half from apparently a chainsaw and his grill and fryers were overturned. Grease was spread out all across the floor making walking dangerous. Almost all of the canned goods were gone, and the meat freezer was emptied out.

Until Carl and his team could find any evidence that would point to the parties involved, all the police could do was take Mike’s statement.

“Tonight, I’m going to make a detailed list of everything I’ve lost for my insurance company and then I’ll bring a copy to you guys. At least I’ll be able to salvage a few things out of this mess.”

“Mr. Ambrose,” said Larry, “here’s my card. When you have everything itemized, call me. That way I can add your copy of items missing and damaged to my report.”

“Might be a day or two but I can do that.”

“The grill and fryer’s aren’t damaged though. It’ll take a couple days to rid the floor of the grease. Vent walls aren’t cheap, but they won’t cost me an arm and a leg either.

“It’s just that, well, it’ll be a week, maybe two before I can start feeding the homeless again. So many people who come here depend on me for a meal and a warm place to stay during the day.”

Mike’s lips trembled and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Why? Why would someone do this? If they needed food all they had to do was ask. They didn’t have to bust the place up.”

Ryan Clinton said, “Mr. Ambrose, we’ll do what we can for you. We will find who was responsible for this.”

Carl and his crew kept dusting every area of the restaurant and taking different pictures from various angles. Carl knew this wouldn’t be a simple identity case. Dozens of prints were pulled from the countertop as well as the broken tables and chairs. When their afternoon was concluded, Carl and his team would take back to the Lab, 346 lifted print impressions.

The Pit-Stop – 3:59 p.m.

Stevie and Ellie sat in a booth facing the front door giving them a good view of the whole place. There were eleven people in the Pit-Stop and of them,, two were playing video games, two more were at a pool table playing nine ball. One person grabbed a drink and a bag from the counter and left. The remaining four were in another booth with one of three waitresses taking their order.

Ellie said she wanted another Pepsi, so Stevie went up to the counter and was back with two large Pepsi’s and two straws.

“Mom and Dad are going to volunteer their spare time raising money for Jerry’s Kids this year.”

“Cool. So’s my mom and Ed. Actually, they have about sixty cops from the Twenty-Second collecting contributions at the Arena.”

“I’ll tell you this, Stevie, because they want my help, so when it gets close, we won’t have much time together that week. They want to do door-to-door collections the last week of August into the first of September.”

“Wow! You guys will be knocking on a lot of doors.”

“My parents think that in eight days between the three of us, we could do 2,400 houses and apartments a day.”

“Hmmm … that’s under half of Montie’s population.”

“I know. But if they give to us, they might not give somewhere else or vice-versa.”

“Ellie, for as long as I’ve lived here, I’ve always known Montie o be the kind of place where people pulled together. That storm we just had? Remember how everyone pulled together to help each other; their friends and even people they didn’t know? I don’t think it’ll be an issue, but I have an idea.”

Stevie pulled out his cell phone and made five quick calls. Within twenty minutes, Jimmy Kerrigan, Ron Snyder, Dale Whittier, Dwayne Phillips, and Carl Macklin Jr., were sitting and crowding around the booth.

Once Stevie explained to them what Ellie and her parents were planning to do, he asked them to help and they all agreed except for Jimmy.

He had to be on campus by August twenty-ninth, but he would pitch in at least the first three days.

Ellie looked at all if them with a grateful smile and a big friendly hug to each one of the guys.

216 Blake Way

The Roof Top – 5:11 p.m.

Walking around, he took a glimpse over the edge of the roof and spotted Michael Collins Porsche, as Michael parked it about sixty feet from the building’s entrance. He watched as Michael got out of his car, hit the remote key lock and two whoop=whoops could be heard. He watched, until Michael was out of sight and mentally took it all in.

Unlock the front door. Check mail. Sort mail as he walks to the elevator. Presses elevator door. Waits. Elevator door opens. He enters. Presses his floor. Door closes. Eight seconds later the elevator stops, door opens. Gets off and with key in hand walks to his apartment door. Unlocks it. He’s inside.

Time to pay him a visit.

Apartment 12-A – 5:14 p.m.

He pressed the buzzer and this time he heard activity and footsteps. Even though there is a spy-hole in the door, Michael never chose to use it. The door flew open.

There stood Cliff with the biggest gun Michael ever saw in his life.

“Back up, Michael. I’ll just invite myself in.”

Once inside, Cliff kicked the door closed behind him. Michael could feel a sheen of perspiration clinging to hi shirt, giving him a cold, clammy feeling.

“You can’t be serious, Cliff. If you shoot me, you are facing at least ten years in prison. You would be ruined.”

“I’m already ruined; you self-serving, egotistical cocksucker. And you weren’t too good at that come to think about it.

“What do I get for murder? Life, isn’t it?”

”Cliff, IK know you and I have had our differences, but think about what you are doing. If you pull that trigger\, you will never be a free man, and being gay, you would be used so many times in prison, it would drive you insane.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but you won’t be around to interfere in my life any longer.”

Cliff pulled the hammer back.

“Don’t! Please, don’t, Cliff! “DON’T!”

Michael had mere seconds and they dwindled fast. He had one chance to stop Cliff.

Cliff’s arm straightened, the large .357 Mag lifted and centered on Michael’s chest.

“Never again will I have to put with your interference, your slutty comments about me! Goodbye, Michael!”

Michael made his move as Cliff squeezed the trigger.

Neither man made contact.

Apartment 12-A – 6:31 p.m.

Huey Marx and his F-Team were on site with Officer’s Lucky and Jeremy Sadowski. San ambulance was called to the scene and was later replaced with the meat wagon to take both bodies to the county morgue.

“It’s the oddest thing I have seen in a long time. It appears there was a brief scuffle. Mr. Collins may have been pushed backward or tried to dodge a bullet, and when he fell, the back of his head hit the floor so hard he died as a result of either when his neck broke, or because his right hand was clenched tightly to his shirt, indicating a possible heart attack,” Huey explained to both officers.

“As to the other vic, I would say the gun might have been too much for him to handle. He fired and the recoil pushed him back. Apparently, he lost his footing and fell back against the bar railing, definitely breaking his neck.

“It’s also apparent that our first vic,” looking at his notes, then looked at Lucky and Sadowski, “Collins, had suffered an attack or fell, he would have been fatally wounded or dead if the bullet had penetrated him instead of the wall.

“The bodies are enroute to the County ME. I’ll notify them to have copies of the autopsy reports sent over to you guys as soon as we can.

“This whole thing looks like a bad idea that only got worse in my opinion.”

Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead – 7:12 p.m.

“Damn. All right, Satchell. Thanks for the heads up.

“Yeah, I imagine the press will be all over this tonight and in the morning. I’ll brief everyone in the meeting tomorrow. Okay. Git it. See you then.”

“I can tell from your end of the conversation things are not so good. Who died?”

Baker looked at him somewhat tired, somewhat depressed.

“The good news is none of my guys. The bad news; a man named Clifford James Potter and our former ADA, Michael Jeffery Collins, were both found dead in Collins apartment less than an hour ago. I’ll have the report on my desk along with the coroner’s workup as well.”

“Collins! My God, that’s going to leave a hole in the state. Why would someone want to kill him?”

“Other than a few dozen men he’s helped put away who are still in prison? I can’t think of anyone, least of all Potter. Satchell did say Potter was recently fired for indiscriminate behavior as he put it. Officers Lucky and Sadowski have clearance to go to Potter’s apartment and look around. Huey’s at the scene and will follow them over to Potter’s for any other possible evidence they can find that might tie this thing together.”

Stevie walked inside the house.

“Hi Mom, hi Ed. You guys need to turn on the TV. Up the street from the Pit-Stop, there is a whole bunch of police cars and ambulances and that. Channel 08 is there, too.”

Ed hit the remote, then pressed 14 for Channel 08.

“As I said, we are live at what is currently being called a twin accidental death. Police aren’t releasing any names at this time, but Channel 08 has learned that the Assistant District Attorney, Michael Collins, lives in this building. We will try to get an interview with him to see what he may be able to tell us.

“As it has been reported, two males were found dead in an upstairs apartment.”

Jennifer Ralston turned her head as she pointed toward the upper floor of the building when she spotted someone she felt she could interview.

“Here comes Huey Marx from the Forensic Crime-Scene Investigation Unit.

“Mr. Marx, is there anything you can tell us, or add to these so-called accidental deaths?”

“Jennifer, from all outward appearances, that is exactly what it appears to be. My office will have more tomorrow morning once we hear from the ME.”

“Were you able to speak with any of the other tenants? Who was it who called the police to the scene?”

“No comment and no comment. We will release a statement after we look at some other information and the ME’s final report. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“Seems like everyone is rather quiet on this one, Larry.”

As Huey walked away, Larry Miller, inside Channel 08 studios said, “Jennifer, is it true this strange turn of events happened on the second floor?”

“No Larry, it was on the third floor, and once police leave, I will try to get a few statements from the residents, and possibly Mr. Collins, to shed some light as to what happened here.

“I’ll have those interviews and much more at eleven tonight. Back to you, Larry.”

Ed clicked the TV off.

“You know she’ll never get that interview with Collins, but she’ll have it on the news tonight that he was one of the vic’s.”

“No way,” blurted Stevie. “Mr. Collins was killed today?”

“Yes, Bub, and please, don’t say anything to Ellie or your other friends until we get an official confirmation and the investigation under wraps.”

“So who is going to call Blackstone and give him the news?” asked Ed.

“Satchell called the Mayor before me and said she would handle it. I suspect by tomorrow morning we’ll have some sort of press conference and statements will be made then.”

Baker got on her cell and called Channel 08.

“Larry Miller, please. This is Lieutenant Baker calling.”

Fourteen seconds clicked by like an eternity for her.

“Yes, Lieutenant Baker, what can I do for you?”

“As quickly as you can, call Jennifer Ralston and have her back away from the crime scene and—”

“I will not!”

“Yes you will. And you will tell her if she steps one foot near that crime scene, I will consider that tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice and will have her remanded into custody. Have I made myself clear?”

“Quite, Lieutenant. I don’t understand but I will relay your message.”

“Once you have, instruct her to have her come to my office immediately.”

Closing her phone down, she slipped into a pair of loafers and said, “Hopefully, I’ll be back in an hour. I want to diffuse a situation before it happens.”

The Twenty-Second Precinct

Baker’s Office – 7:39 p.m.

“You have never ordered the press away before, Lieutenant. Why now?”

“Answer my questions first, Miss Ralston, and don’t lie to me.

“How many people inside the building did you interview before your boss called you off?”

Very few people when I got the call from the station. You do know this is harassment. You have also violated the first amendment. Our station could sue this department.”

“Just stop and listen to me. If you had stepped out of that elevator onto the third floor, if would be my right to have you arrested. The entire third floor is sealed off and is considered a crime scene. If you had moved five feet in any direction, I would have had you arrested.

“With that said, I am going to give you a piece of information I want you to sit on until the noon news tomorrow. Before then, anything else I can piece together, I will give you as well. We just don’t want certain names revealed tonight. Fair enough?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t have to threaten me or the station; you could have just asked.”

“Sure. Right. Do you want the information or not.”

Jennifer nodded, then broke out a small note pad and pen from her purse.

“The two victims are Clifford James Potter, 41, single. The other is also single, 43 and that is Michael Jeffery Collins.”

Jennifer stopped writing.

“Unreal. Damn! Okay, I get it, now. But you promise to give me all the details tomorrow for the noon news?”

“I said I would, and I will.”

Jennifer left Baker’s office and during the 11 O’clock news she reported, “At this time, there is nothing further to add to my reporting earlier of the accidental death of two males. Two residents I spoke with didn’t have any idea what occurred until after police and rescue services arrived. However, I have it on good authority from an undisclosed source, that I will have copies to all police and autopsy reports; which at that time, I will be able to give you in greater detail the events that did occur, pending notification of their nearest relatives.”

Thursday – July 19th

The Squad Room – 8:30 a.m.

“Yesterday is a day many of us would like to forget. Mike’s Haven was nearly destroyed by vandals and several thousand dollars in food and donations were either stolen or ruined.

“From what I have heard, Mike is trying to restore his place back to what it was, but it will take him several weeks before he will be able to reopen.”

“Maybe not that long, Baker. On my way here, I drove by Mike’s place and there must have been fifty people there helping him clean up. They look like the same people who come in there for the free breakfast and lunch. I think they are repaying him for all he’s done for them,” said Lowery.

“That’s a spark of good news. Now, as to last night. There is going to be a televised interview on the double accidental deaths that occurred in Michael Collins apartment. Mayor Marsh is handling that.

“:It’s been established that in all likelihood, Clifford Potter came to Collins apartment with the intent to kill Collins. The motive is unknown since both parties are deceased.”

J.W.’s eyes widened a bit.

“Excuse me,” J.W. said, “but this is the ADA we are talking about, right?”

“One and the same. However, what started out as a potential murder, ended in a series of events that under other circumstances, might have been funny.

“The ME had determined that Collins suffered a heart attack. As he fell, and this part is guesswork, Potter fired a round that would have hit Collins probably in the chest, and because of the sudden recoil of Potter’s weapon causing him to stumble backward where he tripped, fell, and broke his neck on a cocktail bar rung railing.

“Relatives have been notified and will arrive in the next couple of days to take care of the bodies.”

“Anymore riddles come in lately?” asked Banyard.

“No, and that too, is a relief. Lat thing we need is a piddle-diddle.”

Devon jumped in. “That’s diddle-diddle, Baker.”

“Oh, just hush!” she chuckled.

A few other chuckles joined in breaking up a rather tense moment.

“Okay, if there aren’t any other questions or concerns, get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

Satchell popped his head in and motioned with his finger to Baker to come to his office.

“What’s up, Satch?”

“Ralston’s downstairs. She says she has an interview with you.”

She quickly gave Satchell a rundown of the conversation she had with Ralston last night.

“She agreed to not release any information I gave her until noon. With the press conference set at 11:30, that gives her ample time to have things on air in a timely manner.”

“Collins older brother, Matthew; he’ll be here tomorrow to get his brother’s body, gave me some startling information. Seems both men are, or were, gay.”

“God, what next.”

“What next is what caused their bitter feud against each other most of their lives. Seems like they were doing each other until Potter’s mother caught them in his bedroom. It was Collins who cried wolf and said Potter raped him. Since then, I guess until last night, it had been a bitter hatred that had been brewing that finally ended on a bad note.”

“Who would have ever guessed. Collins never acted like he was gay, at least no signs I ever saw. Then again, I wasn’t looking for that either.”

“When you’re and ADA, Baker, I guess you work harder at keeping some things behind closed doors. I also found out from Blackstone there had been a verbal altercation in Collins office. Potter stormed in, slapped Collins, some ugly words were said. Blackstone said he told Collins if his private affairs were, in his words, ‘made public with another outburst in my building’, he said he would have demanded his resignation.”

“He won’t have to worry about that any longer.”

“No, he won’t. But when you talk to Ralston, as a favor to both families, leave out the part they were gay. You can ad-lib enough on how they fought from childhood on, just leave out their sex life. Dragging that in the open right now doesn’t do anyone any good.”

“So sad. Too bad. But I can do that much, Satch. Fact is, when I leave here, I’ll have forgotten this whole conversation.”

And the day rolled on.

Mayor Marsh went over her notes on the now apparent accidental deaths of two men who had served their community well.

A few questions were asked and answered and for all concerned, Jennifer Ralston had her story. Not a hot story, but it did give the station a little boost in the ratings.

There was one box that sat beside Satchell’s desk of which the contents inside, that only Huey Marx, Officer’s Lucky and Sadowski, witnessed, as well as Satchell himself. He made these men swear to secrecy.

In the box were dozens of polaroid’s of different men in sexual positions taken by Potter, but there were other pictures, some color, some black and white (several of these had faded over time). These pictures were of Potter and Collins together as young kids in rather intimate moments. Who took those pictures will forever remain a secret. Satchell had promised Potter’s eighty-six year old mother, he would destroy everything the box held.

Some memories are worth holding onto—just not this time.

Davenport Animal Clinic - 12:40 p.m.

Patrick’s office phone rang.

“Patrick Davenport. May I help you?”

“This is J.W., Patrick. I only have a minute. Have you heard the news?”

“News? Sorry, no television in the building at all. Why? Did something terrible happen?”

“You could say that. You’ll probably catch it on the news when you get home. Channel 08. Watch it. I have to go.”

Patrick stared at the receiver for a moment, then placed it back on its cradle.

He stood from behind his desk and walked over to Terry’s office and stepped inside.

“Terry? Was there anything on the news today that was important, do you know?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?”

“I came in around seven. I haven’t a clue.”

“The ADA, Michael Collins and a Cliff Potter were found dead in Collins apartment.

The mayor and the police are calling the death accidental. I’m thinking suicides but then again, I’m not a cop.”

“Aah, thanks, Terry.”

“Are you all right, Patrick?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Patrick walked back to his office, set back in his chair as if in a trance.

What were the odds, he thought. Two gay men neither J.W. nor I wanted in a relationship, dead. Was this some sort of design that he and J.W. were to be together?

Why else did he ask him out for lunch, Saturday?

And when J.W. called, was there a sense of concern in his voice? Or joy?

Mike’s Haven – 3:25 p.m.

“Hello, Mike. How goes the clean up?”

“Hi, Lieutenant Baker. It’s going. I had a couple dozen people helping to clean up the front. Throw away broken tables and chairs, clean the floor, walls, and stuff. I’ve inventoried everything and if I opened tomorrow morning, I could feed maybe all of ten people. It’s going to take at least two weeks to replenish the food pantries and meat freezers as well as replace everything that was destroyed in the walk-in coolers. I have paper-plates, Styrofoam cups, and plastic utensils for a good month I can use until I can get enough donations to get all the plates, cups and glasses that were broken—well, you get the idea.

“One good thing was Jasper’s over in Brighton. They are sending me a brand new hood vent at no cost. That’ll save a huge chuck of change there.”

“That’s wonderful news, Mike. And I do get the idea, that’s why I’m here. You do the community a great service and never once have you asked anything for yourself. With what you do, you are an angel and a hero to many of these people that would otherwise go hungry.

“Because of what happened here, because you can count on me as another person who cares, I’m pitching in to help. Here, take this.”

Baker stretched her right arm out and Mike took an envelope from her hand. He opened it.

“You have to be kidding me! A hundred-thousand dollars!”

“And it’s certified. All you have to do is deposit it into your account and you can finish getting this place back in order the way it was, and maybe even better, as well as a lot faster than you planned.”

Tears of gratitude filled Mike’s eyes as he hugged Baker. Then he wiped away the tears, pulled back and started laughing.

“Never hugged a cop before. That’s a first.”

“It’s one time I don’t mind, Mike.”

Baker got back in her car with a smile on her face.

This town could stand to have a lot more people like Mike in it.

Wal-Mart – 6:17 p.m.

Stevie remembered two things Ellie mentioned to him last month. One was about a crescent pendant she saw at Wal-Mart she was saving up to buy, and the other was those new pocket jeans by Tommy Hilfiger. The front pockets look normal but when you unbutton the corners of the pockets, they drop down and rebutton at mid-thigh. It was just the coolest thing she said to him.

He was standing in the Express line with both items. He also bought her something else.

1125 Clearfield Street – 6:55 p.m.

As a cop, he shouldn’t be concerned beyond his duty to have, or show any signs of personal recognition about Collins or Porter, but for him, both men hit close to home in two ways.

J.W. almost started something he was later grateful he ended before it got out of hand. Bur hew wondered if he had been inadvertently the reason behind the cause of their deaths. Legally, he wasn’t responsible, but would he be, morally?

6637 Dusty Lane – 7:40 p.m.

Patrick walked into his house, went to the fridge, and pulled out a beer. He turned and walked into the living room and plopped himself onto the couch. Waiting two seconds, he pulled the beer tab open, listening to the air escape with that “aah” sound, took a few sips and sat back, letting the events of the day wash over him once more.

The evening paper he bought had the story on page one of the Montie press. It was billed as a potential murder scene but ended in an apparent accidental death. Cliff was found with a .357 Remington Magnum inches away from his right hand, with his fingerprints all over the weapon. Michael was unarmed.

Patrick thought back to what Cliff had said to him. Michael said for you to stay away from J.W. Tell me you weren’t seeing him.

All words that could drive Cliff crazy enough to try and do what he almost accomplished. Top that off with him telling Cliff he was too clingy and far too possessive e, might have been the kicker.

Patrick went and grabbed another beer, rubbed the can’s coolness across his brow, then went to the bedroom to change clothes.

As Patrick stripped down to the buff, he turned on the shower, allowing the steam from the hot water to coat the cabinet mirror, then stepped under the rushing water allowing the heat pellets to stab him with a needed desire. As he began soaping himself, he could only think this was all his fault. It wasn’t what he said, but maybe how he said the words that set Cliff off.

Thirty minutes later, changed into a T-shirt and just underwear, he made a tuna salad on rye with potato salad and washed it down with lemon ice-tea. Mentally and physically exhausted, Patrick fell asleep on the couch.

Friday – July 20th

The Parking Lot - 8:16 a.m.

Baker stood on top of a box as she looked around the parking lot.

“I’m not sorry for having to call any of you in, but we have another situation. This time at Wal-Mart. The bomb unit from Stanhouse is enroute and should be here in a matter of minutes.

“Another riddle was taped to the front door before daylight this morning and reads as follows:

"TIME TO SEE IF YOU ARE HEROS OR ZEROS. PAY ATTENTION TO THIS CLUE. ANOTHER TIMER, MUCH SMALLER, IS SET TO ROLL BACK PRICES TODAY AT NOON. BETTER GET STARTED. YIKES! THATY DIDN’T RHYME EITHER! HEY DIDDLE-DIDDLE, ALMOST FINISHED WITH THE RIDDLES!

“I want all of you out there right now. Stewart, Jaynes, McCleary, and Reid; I want you four to keep the entrances blocked. Only law enforcement, fire departments and emergency services. I have called the manager to have the place emptied when we arrive, and the parking lot cleared.

"Half of you will scour the grounds the other half inside the building. Once the bomb has been found. Stanhouse’s bomb unit will take over. Let’s move it!”

Wal-Mart – 10:16 a.m.

Eighty-two cops were sectioned off aisle by aisle, in offices, the warehouse storage area, cold units, and outside around the building. All anyone knew is that the device was small.

From across the street, Jennifer Ralston was doing her best to get as much play out of this as possible, but there wasn’t anyone she could speak with. They were too far away, but she had Danny to keep the camera rolling.

“As you have witnessed, there are dozens of police cars in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Police are inspecting the grounds as well as inside the building. From what reports I have been able to verify, there are no employees or customers inside or on the property at this time. Police are inspecting the outside grounds as well as inside. From what reports I have been able to verify, there are no employees or customers inside the building.”

Scott Miller from inside Channel 08 studio asked, “Jennifer, we have had vague reports that the Stanhouse PD’s bomb unit has been called in. Can you see any sign of them?”

Danny zoomed in as best he could for a tight shot with his camera.

“I’m looking, Scott, and from this distance it’s difficult to—no wait, I think I see them just to the left of the second entryway to the store.”

Danny caught it and held his sight in line for a good video feed.

“That is their van from Stanhouse. They appear as if they are entering Wal-Mart at this moment. I have heard there is a possible explosive device planted somewhere in the store, or at least the threat of one.

“As you may remember, a supposed bomb was to have been planted at Millard Elementary which ended up being a very disgusting prank. Almost a month ago, there had been an explosion out where the old textile mill was prior to the fire, and that explosion almost killed Lieutenant Baker.

“And, like the police, Scott, I am just as baffled by the riddles and what they are leading up to."

“Thank you for this live report, Jennifer.”

“Scott, once we get confirmation of the bomb being located, we will bring you more information. This is Jennifer Ralston, reporting live, Channel 08 News.”

Jennifer looked at Danny.

“All that’s left to do now is sit it out and wait.”

Wal-Mart – 11:14 a.m.

There wasn’t enough of them to go around, but one team member from the bomb squad, along with Baker and Captain Page, were walking around with a two-foot long wand attached to a metal box that acted similar to a Geiger-counter. Other men were walking throughout the store with wands as well.

Once the device was located, it would emit a constant beeping sound until manually shut off. So far, there had been nothing and they were running out of time. No one in the store believed this was going to be a harmless prank this time.

Baker looked at her watch. 11:33.

She went back to the front of the store where the manager’s office is located and found a microphone. She flipped a switch and made an announcement.

“We have less than twenty minutes before we evacuate the building and the parking lot. Ten minutes. It is now 11:35. At 11:45, I want to see bodies leaving the premises.”

She left the office, walked the entire lane past the registers, thinking that only last night, Stevie had been here shopping. What a difference a day can … BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!

Baker stopped. Her right hand trembled slightly as she waved the wand in slow moving arcs toward the registers. The beeping continued but when she turned to face the wall, the beeping went faster.

There were two indoor rides for fifty cents each. The traditional hobby-horse and the other, a fire-truck. Baker walked directly to them and the beeping was almost piercing her eardrums.

She then saw it. It was small, less than an inch in size. It was attached just under the horses tail.

Baker ran back to the office and grabbed the microphone.

“Attention! Jim? Get your team to the front of the store, ASAP! I’ve located the damn thing! The rest of you, out of the store, NOW! And get off the property! Get moving!”

Across the street, Danny motioned to Jennifer and she quickly grabbed her mike and started talking the second Danny’s camera was focused. Once things were set, the camera sent a signal to the studio to preempt whatever was being aired.

“This is Jennifer Ralston, live, Channel 08 News, across from Wal-Mart where an intense search has been underway for an explosive device. As you can see from behind me, dozens of police cars are leaving, and just not the building, but the property as well.

“The bomb squad’s van is still on the scene as well as fire and emergency services. I’m not sure what to make of this but either an explosive device has been located, or unfortunately, another horrible prank has been done today.”

Danny zoomed in for the tightest shot he could manage of the front doors.

“Two men are pulling what appears to be a metal drum from the van as four men are rushing toward it with what appears to be a metal box. Lieutenant Baker is trailing behind them. The drum is being rolled a good hundred yards away. They are lifting the lid and it appears one of the men lowered the metal box inside. The lid has been replaced, apparently locked into position, and everyone is now running for cover behind the van.”

Danny panned his camera from the van to the metal drum and just as he did, he caught the drum lifting about six feet from the ground, and though, from Jennifer’s and Danny’s vantage point, the explosion was clear to all those who listened.

“Were you able to hear that, Scott?”

“Yes, Jennifer. That was incredible to say the least. Was anyone injured?”

“Not that I can see. I’m going to move onto the scene and try to get some comments and reactions from Lieutenant baker, Captain Page, as well as those officers from Stanhouse who put their lives at risk today.”

“In all the years we have been reporting the news, Jennifer, have you ever seen a time when so many different things seem to be happening at the same time?”

“I’ve covered some interesting and unusual things over the last seven years, but these past few weeks have certainly been different. I hope with today’s events, that this will be the end of the riddles, but…”

“Yes, Jennifer?” Scott knew Jennifer was going for dramatics now.

“I get the feeling things are just getting started. I will have more information for you at six with interviews with both police and employees of Wal-Mart, and get their reactions from today’s events. This is Jennifer Ralston, Channel 08 News.”

Wal-Mart Parking Lot – 12:18 p.m.

“Thanks for your help again, Jim. You saved perhaps a good thousand lives today if we hadn’t received that note.”

“As it stands, we are all okay. We’ll take the remains of what’s in the drum to our specs and have it analyzed for pH content and structure. I’m just sorry we didn’t have time to diffuse the little sucker.

“When that damn thing did that tiny little pop sound, it was time to get it into the drum. Your little riddle-riddle wanna-be poet got the timing wrong. It went off at 11:56 by my watch.”

“But you saved the day, Jim, and lives.”

“Maybe, but if you hadn’t found it, we wouldn’t be standing here talking about it.”

“True, but you got it to where no one or nothing was blown to pieces either.”

“I’d say it time we all got out of here,” said Captain Page. “Look over there at who’s coming our way.”

Heads turned in the direction he pointed, and they could see the Channel 08 van making a beeline right toward them.

Too late. Jennifer had them surrounded.

Brewster Gun Club – 1:46 p.m.

The day was proving very busy for Blake and his father.

Nine officers showed up less than ten minutes ago. They were scheduled for that morning but there had been an emergency. Blake overheard one of the officers tell his father, “That riddle guy was at it again. This time he planted a real bomb at Wal-Mart.”

“Was anyone hurt?” asked Jimmy.

“No, but it was close. Couple minutes after it was found, the bomb squad barely got it contained before it blew! Helluva thing. Anyway, what room am I in?”

Blake looked at the chart. “You are in Station Three.”

As each man came up, he told them which station they would be in, and like with the first officer, he gave the rest electronic earmuffs with protective padding to prevent the gunfire from causing any ringing in their ears. When the last officer wen to his station, Blake looked over at his father.

“Dad, do you think they’ll ever catch that riddle person?”

“Sooner or later. Mistakes always get made. He’ll get caught. Bad guys always get caught to the front, he read the sign. .” Reaching down behind Blake he pulled up a sign.

“Blake, take this sign and post it on the door for me, will you.”

As Blake shuttled his wheelchair to the front. He read the sign.

Closed August 5th through August 12th.

Gone Fishin!

See you when we get back.

Business as usual August 13th.

Blake shook his head. If his father had asked, he could have made a better looking sign, and not so wordy.

Wal-Mart – 4:47 p.m.

By the time it was aired that it was safe to enter Wal-Mart, you would have never known by how full the parking lot had become, that only a few hours ago, an explosive device had been inside the store.

Jennifer Ralston had taped footage that would be edited for air time with reactions from the store manager, a few employee’s, and customers.

Once she had compiled everything along with earlier conversations with Baker, Page, and members of the Bom Squad; and after her news segment would be over, she would be on her way to St. Croix for two weeks of a well-deserved vacation.

Baker=Manning Home

111 Homestead Way – 6:26 p.m.

“You know what, Ed? After these last few weeks, I’m already ready for another vacation, even if it’s just for a few days away.”

“If you want, we could cross state lines this weekend, find a sleazy adult motel someplace and call ourselves the Smith’s.”

“I heard that,” yelled Stevie from the kitchen.

Ed shrugged his shoulders loosely and smiled.

“It's a nice thought if not a lewd thought, Ed, but I'll have to take a rain check on that at least until we can catch the person behind all these riddles.”

“Any clues any idea who it might be at this point?”

“Not a one. We keep hoping the person might slip up somehow, but we can't get any prints off the notes not even a partial. The only thing we do know is that the cut out letters and words are coming from a magazine and newspaper and that's all we have.”

“If we could keep a lookout all night every night for a week to see who leaves the riddles either taped to the front door or left at the front desk when no one is around, then I could say, case closed. But Satchell said with all the OT paid out as it is; and come the MDA drive, the best we can hope for is one of our guys patrolling the area and possibly spot the person leaving the notes. It's that, or I sit there every night waiting and I can't do that function properly with my responsibilities.”

I bet it’s someone you know mom. You too, Ed.”

What do you say that Bub?”

“Just a guess, but I've read a lot of books that people like this are secretly waiting to be caught so they leave messages with those they care about.”

“Are you saying this person is a cop” asked Ed.

“No, but hey, he or she might be. Maybe a retired cop, who knows. \Might be another kid that's frustrated and angry with how he's being treated. There might be a mad bomber holed up in a motel somewhere.”

“Well, we can check all the motels between here and Stanhouse and see who has been staying there any length of time. I do know I certainly don't need another kid blowing himself to pieces either.”

“Just saying, is all, mom. But I want to change the subject for a minute. Ellie's birthday. This is what I bought her yesterday.”

“These are beautiful Stevie. She'll love them.”

Baker turned and smiled at Ed, holding up one of the gifts.

“Wonder what they would say at the Twenty-Second if I walked in on Monday with this on.”

Ed looked at Stevie.

“See there, that was a fine example of a woman throwing out a blatant hint of: where is mine honey.”