The Day's Conclusion

CH1

The violent wind snaked its way between the tall buildings as small rain droplets began to tumble down the windows. A quiet groan of thunder could be heard in the distance while Specialist Reid walked calmly toward his vehicle. The overcast sky presided over the whole scene, looking on threateningly. Reid glanced up just before reaching the door to his car and offered up his hand. A small pool of water began to form in his palm as he stared at the clouds, daring them to make a move. He wiped his hands on his trousers and took one final look at the sprawling complex that the Drake Police Department had become.

It was the largest building in the entire city, dwarfing even city hall. It wasn't a pretty looking structure, a painted brick building that was grey all the way around with an indented courtyard in the middle. It was six stories tall, and had a wall that was two stories high to protect the courtyard. It had at one time been a nice looking structure, what with the flourishing garden sprawling out of the courtyard, but the city had killed that along with anything else of beauty. The city and its citizens were under duress and even the weather seemed to reflect that.

Reid clambered into his car just as soon as the sky decided it had enough. It was a monsoon, though it was impossible to tell judging by Reid's bored expression. He had grown used to the torrential downpour that seemed ever-present around Drake. It was a coastal city, and rained for eighty percent of the year. It boasted mild temperatures year round, but that was overwritten by the fact that the daily forecast was enough to cause suicide. Behaviorists had suggested that the city's abnormally high rate of suicide could be due in part to the constantly depressing weather. A possibility, but Reid knew better. He knew that there were cutthroats on every corner ready to kill anyone that hadn't already taken the task into their own hands. The seemingly senseless murders ravaged through the city without motive and without pause. He hadn't found any solid reasoning over the course of an investigation in months. It seemed as if the city had been infected with random acts of violence, and the plague was only seeming to spread faster each day as the city ate itself alive.

As he pulled onto the highway, Reid found himself lost in thought. It hadn't been an unusual day, as he couldn't really be surprised anymore. He was bordering on emotional numbness, and didn't solve cases with the passion and enthusiasm he once had. He wondered every day on the drive home, why he continued to do it. He wasn't paid exceptionally well, and he certainly wasn't making a dent in the amount of murders. They simply continued to pile up day after day like all the unfinished paperwork cluttering his desk. The only headway he was ever able to gain on answering the nagging question was simply: What else was he going to do? He could either try to help solve the problem in the hopes that everyone would be able to get their heads above water eventually, or he could sit around, and probably get stabbed in an alley somewhere while he was walking to get a sandwich.

Cars swirled around him as he dropped below the speed limit, lost in thought. He was brought back to reality when car full of kids passed by and threw a beer can at his window. He sighed and speed up back to normal limits and made his way home. As he pulled off of his exit, he couldn't slip the light and was forced to stop and watch the night’s debauchery beginning at the Royal Lady across the street. It was the local hangout for the deadbeats in his neighborhood; where all of the drug ridden zombies poured out from to wreak havoc on the city. DPD always posted at least two squad cars in the parking lot, ready to catch any addicts who got too jealous of another's stash. The traffic light flickered green and Reid sped off, eager to get away from whatever was about to happen that night, and back to the relative safety of his home.

He didn't go out much anymore, not so much for the danger, but for the fact that he would be expected to do something if a situation arose. He didn't want to have to deal with all of the murders anymore than he already had to, and the overwhelming flood of them at work alone was enough to make him want to curl up into a ball once he was inside the sanctity of his own home. He pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car, looking over his shoulder as he did so. Wandering down the drive to open his garage, he was soaked through within seconds. His twill jacket did a decent job absorbing the weather, but there hadn't really been gear invented for the sheer amount of water gushing from the sky. He brushed his jet black hair out of his face so he could see the padlock on the door and wrenched the wooden door ajar. Once he had squeezed his car into the tiny shed, he wandered toward the door, aching for a drink to calm his racing mind.

While he felt safe within the walls of his own home, he never felt safe in his own mind. He was constantly plagued with worry about the coming day, and what would await him when he walked through that iron gate for yet another day. He wasn't surprised by any of the cases that came across his desk, but it didn't mean he wasn't horrified by each and every one of them. The mundanity of the killings had initially bored him. A shooting here, a stabbing there, someone choked their spouse to death, or a father drowned his child. He had seen it all before and would see it a thousand more times before his time at the department was done. When he was fresh in the department, he yearned for an "interesting" case, and then one day he learned what that truly meant.

His hands trembled as he recalled the events of eighteen years earlier. He licked the drops of cheap vodka off of his hand as he struggled to compose himself enough to pour a full glass. He had been just a detective when his career began, essentially in charge of everything from breaking and entering to domestic assault cases. DPD had a special unit for homicides, so he never had to see a dead body for his first eight months on the job. His attitude toward the job had ebbed and flowed like the ocean waves bordering the city over his career. At first it was a blessing; he never had wanted to see a lifeless body, and was rather content with working on standard, albeit tricky cases that the robotic uniformed guys downstairs couldn't.

He started out working mostly reported serial muggings, and robberies. Not the typical one-off street job, but career criminals who were, frankly, on a tear. He appreciated the challenge, and often worked through the night, wracking his brain to try to put himself behind the criminal's eyes. He gained a reputation as a fresh breath of creativity in the department, and often others would come to him when a case stalled out. He didn't always make a miraculous breakthrough, and oftentimes his creative angle ended up being completely nonsensical, but there were those special times where a new angle resurrected the case and he breathed new life into it with his imaginative analysis. What really caught the eye of the homicide department was a case that began as a routine bank robbery. A homeless man, who frequently camped out on the steps of the bank playing a small fiddle, had finally snapped and came inside the branch. It started off with an unintelligible blither to the teller, and escalated into a bullet in the leg. He jumped over the counter and began violating the female teller, brandishing a revolver.

He shot the woman in the leg and demanded money and valuables of the other tellers. He made off with all of the money at the counters, for a grand total well over ten thousand dollars. When the police were summoned to the bank, he had gone. The regular passersby had a perfect image of him, as most had seen him, and even bumped elbows with the man as they made their way to work every morning for months. The bank employees knew him like family, and some even bought him coffee in the morning. Everyone in the police department laughed it off, and took bets on how many hours it would be before they caught the man. It took an entire year.

Around the nine month mark, the case had come screeching to a halt. There were no leads, no one had found the man, despite the vivid description, and there hadn't been so much as a whisper of him in the homeless community. The officer heading up the case, James Earle offhandedly mentioned his struggle late one night at the end of a shift, and Reid being ever curious, leaned in.

"So what you're telling me," he said, "Is that a homeless guy robbed a bank and made off with enough money to buy them all a meal, and you're shocked that the homeless haven't seen hide nor hair of him?"

Three other officers were huddled around Earle's desk, and they all looked up simultaneously. One of them sneered a bit, clearly displeased with Reid's snobbish observation. "Look, all I'm saying is that if the guy was homeless and came into a bunch of money he's going to be tempted to spend it."

"No shit, guy." One of the officers gave him an incredulous look.

They all laughed, except Earle. "You wouldn't waste my time with such an obvious consideration. What’s in that brain of yours Reid?" Earle smirked. He knew that Mason Reid was an odd one, and also that he had an odd way of thinking about things. He was right, Reid wouldn't bother with something as simple as the idea that a lottery winner will always blow his money. What had come to mind was the idea of assimilation.

"Where is the best place for a criminal to hide?" The officers turned an eye to him, waiting for the answer. "In plain sight. Come on guys, get up on your cliché phrases. But really, the best way to hide is to not hide at all. I said this guy would be tempted to spend his money, not blow it. He probably bought himself a nice tailored Armani, laced up some Brooks Brothers and molded into the upper crust, at least by appearance."

Earle smiled and nodded his head while scratching at his perfectly manicured beard. The idea was out there. It was something no one had considered, and not even that likely. It was much too sophisticated for a homeless man who robbed a bank at eight-thirty on a Thursday. "You know something?" Earle began. "Sometimes I think you just make shit up in the hopes that it lands, and you'll end up looking like Sherlock Holmes." Reid furrowed his brow and slowly gnashed his teeth. He didn't mind being found foolish for his observations; it happened all the time and a lot of the time they were in fact foolish. This time though, he was sure this wasn't an offhanded attention getter. This was iron-clad. It was absolutely the answer to the problem and he wouldn't be told otherwise. "How do I even begin to look into this theory?" said Earle. He had a slight bored look on his face, but he was definitely intrigued.

Reid was startled by his response. He snapped back into character and said, "We get to know the man before he supposedly snapped. Who was this guy? What did he do all day? Was he really just some bum who played the fiddle in front of a random building or did he put himself there?"

CH2

He had always seemed to ask the right questions. He could take a wild theory that had only just begun, and get others to add answers he didn't already have, simply by putting them on the right thought path. He sat in his sunken papasan and sipped the vodka while staring off into the corner. He noticed there was a long piece of wallpaper hanging down just to the right of the wooden mantel overtop the small fireplace. He leaned forward to get out of the chair and suddenly the lamp plummeted from the mantle. The room was thrown into darkness. All around him he could hear skittering and slashing as he made his way to the kitchen to reclaim the house from the darkness that had invaded. He heard movement around him as he frantically searched for the light switch.  He pawed his way along the smooth wall until he felt the rough edges of the switch. Immediately, he flicked the switch, and his eyes wandered to the chair. "Get up shithead," he mumbled to the fur-ball who had stolen his spot. "You already knocked over the lamp."

He wandered over to the mantle and picked up the shattered pieces of glass. The little dog scampered over and licked his hand as he did so. Reid swatted it away and pricked his finger on the sharp edges of what remained of the light bulb. He slowly looked back and watched a single drop of blood forming. Twisting and turning his hand, he brought it closer to his face and watched as it plummeted to the tile below. It smacked the surface and spread its arms out wide, reaching for the corners of the tile square. Reid watched, mesmerized as it began to slowly rescind and relax its wild edges and form the perfect, tiny circle. He was transfixed by the seemingly living stain. He had seen blood on more occasions than he cared to, but somehow this was different. This was art. He had never bothered to look so closely, and appreciate it. He smirked, and went to grab a towel. He glanced up at the kitchen clock and decided it was time to get some rest.

The cold breeze on his toes startled him awake. He kicked the blankets down over his feet like an angry toddler, and rolled over trying to get back to sleep. Before he could, his cheek touched the cold edges of his phone and the screen came to life. 6:24.

"Why the hell do I even set an alarm?" he wondered aloud with only the dog to answer. Every morning, every single damn morning, he woke up just before the alarm, and it was soul crushing. That sinking feeling he got every morning when he turned on his phone, hopeful for just another half an hour of blissful sleep, was always there to kick him out of bed. He stamped his feet into the carpet. A wild thought crossed his mind, "If this breaks my foot, I'll have a valid reason to not go into work!" He rolled his eyes and shook the thought away. He curled his toes like inchworms and watched his feet sliding toward the door. He decided he had to follow the feet. He stood up, and another day in hell was off to a start. He hopped over the threshold to the bathroom and straight on to the rug. He hated a cold floor in the morning.

He started the shower, and turned to brush his teeth. As he spat his toothpaste into the sink he observed it closely. It reminded him of the blood spatter from the night before, only the thought of the blood was not intriguing and it was not artful. It made his stomach crawl to think of it; to think of the day that lay ahead. All the murders and all the lifeless corpses and all the blood splattered on curtains, mirrors and faces. It was 6:30 and the Sun had yet to wake up along with the majority of the rest of the city. He really enjoyed his mornings, once he finally escaped the grogginess of getting ready. It was before things got chaotic and he could pretend that the city wasn't shrouded in darkness. He like to think that at dawn even the craziest of crazies would be sleeping. It was the one time of the day where he felt at peace and felt like the city was at peace.

He generally knew what cases he would be working on for the day before he even got in in the morning, because there were so many to handle they were days and days behind. It was very rare that they could actually work on a murder that had been committed even just a day before. The only time they worked on anything current is if there was an irregularity or something new. An irregularity like an important person being killed or simply just something new to break the monotony was pretty rare. Every once in a great long while someone would get offed with a crock pot as was done about a month ago, or ran over by a bus driver. He wandered into the kitchen to give the dog to his morning dose of love and food. The dog was one of the few things that he was close to but he wasn't really close per se. He enjoyed petting the dog and would play with it on occasion, but mostly he really just like having it around. It was nice to have someone, something that depended on you and it gave him a sort of reassuring feeling that something depended on him for life. It was a little Pomeranian fluff ball that he had gotten for a girlfriend many girlfriends ago. They had always come and gone but the dog remained. He had seriously tried to pawn the dog off on a few of them, but whenever he even brought up the conversation of whether they would like to have the dog stay with them for a few days the dog would freak out and bite him. The dog had a strange attachment to him, but it seemed to understand how important it was to him even if he didn't show it. Either that, or the dog knew the crazy bitches he had been with would forget to feed it. He chuckled a bit and smiled at the dog's imagined cynicism. The dog made him feel like he had a purpose, where his work hadn't done that in a long time.

The murderers had gotten so frequent and so consistent that he felt like anyone could solve them and no one could stop them. He hadn't made a significant dent in the amount of casework in months, and he wasn't sure he had been able to prevent any murders in years. It felt like no matter how many killers he put behind bars, there were always twenty more to take the place. It seemed people were killing each other on a whim from things as small as getting cut off in traffic to things as big as divorce. It had gotten to the point where it had become standard issue in the city to have a dashboard camera in every car to prove the sort of crazy things people went through on a daily basis. Murder had become a petty crime like theft or vandalism; he wasn't sure when the stigma of murder had been removed, but there was no question that it had been.

He yearned for those days where he actually felt useful on the force, and was the go to guy for complex cases. No one had needed anyone's help in a very long time, as the cases and the criminals themselves had become so rudimentary and commonplace that oftentimes the officers just looked back at old cases and found exactly the method, murder weapon and motive for nearly any case. He ripped open the front door and wandered aimlessly to his car, the cold November winds ripping at his face. He drew his collar up against the cold and shuffled quickly to his car. He slammed the creaky door shut behind him and immediately cranked the heat. The drive to work was an uneventful one, a surprise for a Saturday morning. The advent of the weekend’s debauchery the night before typically gave way to a rough morning that even had trouble winding down by 6:30.

As he picked up speed on the highway he began to think about how fragile life was. The difference between those who are considered sane and those who are not. He had complete control of whether to run himself off the road at that exact moment if he simply made a correction of an inch. That was essentially the difference between his current condition and being completely insane. A normal person would never even think of the margin between life and death, let alone notice it to be so small. He would often ponder things like, that while cutting an onion, he could turn the knife on himself or someone else, or that he could simply run a red light and crash into another vehicle. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to do, anyone could do it, but it was some function of his neurology that stopped him from even thinking seriously about acting on those thoughts. That, he decided was the difference between him and all the crazies within the city. It wasn't even a conscious decision, but something predetermined in his biology. Until that small piece of his brain was flushed out, he would never act on such a seemingly ludicrous thought. What had it been that had caused so many people to lose that filter inside of themselves he wondered.

When he entered the office, he was overwhelmed by the noise and the chaos. A police office, as one would expect, was a busy place full of its own share of unrest, but lately the DPD Compound had been like a library. People at every desk pouring over old case files for research, never needing to reach out to one another, and going about their business as routine. Today was different. Today was like years ago, and it made his blood rush. He scrambled down the marble steps into the pit as they called it. That was where all the clerks sat, booking criminal after criminal, shoving them off to the jail at the back. There were twelve long wooden tables, in two rows of six crammed onto a depressed floor surrounded by four short flights of stairs that ran the length of the floor. All the tile on the first floor was a muted grey, just like the exterior of the building. He approached the only clerk who didn't have someone sat in front of them.

"Specialist Reid," he said, flashing his rank. "Anything I should know about going on?" He couldn't contain his excitement. It was a sick kind of excitement, really. He was inadvertently hoping that the governor had been shot, or that a dozen people had been strung up by their tongues or something. That was the only thing that could warrant such a zoo, and it made his day worthwhile.

The clerk wrinkled her brow at him as she looked him up and down. She paused before yelling over his shoulder, "Jonathan Turnmyre, step forward!" She pulled a folder out of the clear tray hanging off her desk; it was crammed full. Reid turned to see the man who wandered over, and saw all of the people huddled around the edge of the pit. There were some seated in the handful of chairs, accompanied by the arresting officer, waiting to be booked. Still some others stood around the railing encircling the pit, being watched over by two officers with rifles at the ready should things get rowdy. The man who had been called carefully edged his way past Reid, and stood before the clerk. Reid continued to scan the crowd. There were always a large number of people being booked, but never this many at one time.

He whipped around and addressed the clerk again, determined to get a response. "Tell me, are all of these people here," he waved his hand wildly at the congregation, "connected to the same incident or something? What gives?"

She was losing her patience. "As you have plainly observed, I have more to do than I can handle. I just get these assholes' information, book 'em, and either send em back there or send 'em forward." She said motioning to the stairs behind her. "I don't care about none of these guys' stories, nor would I believe half of them anyways." Reid opened his mouth and raised a finger to interject. "But," she continued, "If you must know, every person I have seen this morning has the same case number, so yes they're connected to the same crime. What that crime is, I don't know and I do not care. Now get me a damn cup of coffee!" She flicked her hands at him.

"Excuse me? You must not have heard me introduce myself. I said, Specialist Reid." Her eyes widened and her jaw clenched as she began to rise out of her chair. She took a deep breath and before he could say anything, Reid ran off to get her the warmest cup of coffee he could find.

In all, there had been about thirteen people booked, and another ten or so waiting in connection to the same incident, though with that many involved, it could hardly be considered merely an incident anymore. The people in the crowd were all very calm, simply sitting awaiting judgement. Some had been given nothing more than a ticket in connection with the crime, and others had been immediately implicated, and were being hauled off to the jail. There they would rot for a few weeks before a mass transfer to the prison. No one acted out, no one tried to plead or proclaim their innocence, and no one let an expression betray their emotions. It was an odd scene. Generally criminals were divided into two categories: the remorseful, and the proud. The remorseful group weren't really contrite over their actions, but they did honestly wish they had never done them because of the consequences they were about to endure. They put up a fight and proclaimed their innocence until the doors locked behind them. The proud were blazing with glory, and typically cooperative. They wanted everyone to know that they had finally beaten "the man" oftentimes to death with a bat.

This group was a new animal that no one had dealt with before. They were certainly proud, their solidarity showed that, but they were silent, and let their work and reputation speak for themselves. They weren't worried about the consequences. They carried themselves as if every step had been carefully planned out, including what would happen to them in the end when they were caught. This wasn't a typical case of if they were caught, though. This group carried themselves as if they knew, as if they had planned to be caught and to suffer for their actions.

"Please state your name for the record," the clerk yawned as she ran through her checklist. "Height, weight, have you had any past convictions?" She scribbled the answers down as fast as she could. She had been working in the pit for over seven years, and she could write faster than they could answer. It was getting to the point where she could almost fill in the bios without the person in question standing in front of her.

"Malik!" She snapped her head up and saw Mr. Turnmyre fishing through her paperwork on him. She slapped his hand and looked over at the female clerk at the next desk. "Wake up girl, we've got a lot of work to do today. I don't need incident files to add to it. Tell him to keep his hands to himself."

"Sorry Jenny, I'm waiting on some coffee; I haven't had a chance to get any. Where is that Specialist, did you see him run off?" Jenny's mouth hung open, she looked confused. "What?" Malik was clueless.

Jenny took a short breath and explained, "You asked... made a Specialist get you a coffee?" She was both shocked and incredulous at Malik's lack of respect. She was also pretty impressed. She cocked her brow and let slip a small smile.

"Look," Malik started, "He was getting ready to ask a ton of questions. I'm cranky, and busy, and we're both humans. He can get me a cup of coffee without pulling rank and whining about it." She returned the devilish smile and giggled nervously. "You're right, God I hope he isn't pissed." They returned to their individual tasks, though inevitably found their curiosity bringing the, back together. They were, after all, booking all of these people as part of the same larger crime. "How do you think all these people are connected?" Malik asked as she scanned her pen across the dwindling crowd. "Larceny, grand larceny, burglary, assault, and one vehicular manslaughter. Everything except for a real, motivated murder. It's a bit odd don't you think?"

Jenny continued writing in the bio of a skinny bearded man. He wore the same garb as the rest of the group. A black canvas vest, long black cargo pants and black military boots, shined to the nines. His thin blonde hair hung to about the middle of his chest, and his grey streaked, black beard made him look rather menacing. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, and never looked away from the wall behind Jenny, not even for a glance at her cleavage as she bent over her task. He was as disciplined as the rest of the group. "From the looks of it, there was some sort of grand theft, and maybe the driver got careless and killed someone on the way out. That's probably what got the lot of them caught." The man across from her let out the tiniest snigger. They both dropped what they were doing and snapped their eyes toward him. Not one of the people they had booked that morning had made even the slightest sound. Their curiosity couldn't be contained. "What do you know?" Jenny asked carefully. "What did you guys get caught for?"

The man looked left and right, without turning his head. He leaned in close to the edge of the table and nodded at the bio, and slowly smiled. He sat back up straight and fixed his gaze back upon the wall. They sat for a moment, and realized that he wasn't going to make the mistake of sound again. Malik turned back to Jenny, "Maybe, but don't you find it odd that we haven't heard anything about what they robbed? I have been booking these guys for well over an hour and haven't even heard anything on the radio about it. Usually I have to turn the radio off because it's just telling me about shit I'm sitting elbow deep in."

"Well, yeah," she said, "I've no idea why this isn't a bigger deal outside these walls." She began to look nervous. "That is really weird."

"What're we talking about, ladies?" Reid had made it back with two cups of steaming hot coffee. "Do you two feel more apt to share now?" He set one down in front of Malik, and as he started to cool his, Jenny reached up and pried it from his lips. He was helpless as she pulled it away.

"As a matter of fact," she said, "We were just talking about how strange it is that no one knows anything about...well anything." She grasped the cup in both hands, blowing on it before taking a sip. Before she could, Reid snatched it back.

"Not a good enough answer for my coffee, my friend."

"What, are we playing pass the cup? Give her the damn coffee," Malik chimed in. He gave her a sideways glance, contemplating. "I'll tell you what the charges are if you give her the coffee, and then skedaddle." She wiggled her fingers, imitating walking. He begrudgingly set the cup down, and leaned on the edge of Jenny's desk. "I have booked two guys and a girl. The girl and one guy were for burglary and the second guy was for aiding and abetting. Jenny has seen two guys."

"One grand larceny and one vehicular manslaughter."

"There you've got your info, I've got my coffee. Please let us get back to work?" She said earnestly in an attempt to rescue her prior transgressions. Reid crossed his arms, and began to open his mouth. He snapped it shut, and slid his butt off the corner of the desk. As he did so, the coffee went crashing to the floor, lid flying and dumping coffee under Jenny's desk.

"Oops," he said as he glared and walked off. He had realized that they had truly given him all the information they had. None of it added up, or made any sense at all but they weren't going to be able to help him put the pieces together and figure out what was going on. He already knew it was going to be a long day. He hadn't even made it to his floor and already he was doing detective work just to figure out what the crime was, let alone how and why they did whatever they did.

As he was waiting for the elevator, a man came up beside him. He was decked out in a blue custom suit, and an immaculate pair of brown shoes. He wore thin, rectangular framed glasses, and carried a briefcase. Reid didn't recognize the man, but shrugged it off. It was a huge building after all. They entered the elevator together, and Reid pushed six. "What floor?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Six."

There was definitely something odd going on. Reid's hairs stood on end as he backed away from the control panel. He wasn't part of the Homicide unit, and he certainly wasn't one of his superiors. They ascended in silence as Reid wracked his brain as to who the man could be. When the doors creaked open, the sixth floor was business as usual. There was no chaos, and phones weren't ringing off the hook. Everyone sat at their desks, sipping coffee. Some were reading the paper, admiring their own handiwork, while others sifted calmly through case files. The rows of cherry wood desks sat quietly on the blue carpeted floor, without even footsteps to rustle the carpet. Reid was absolutely flabbergasted. It was as if no one had been downstairs yet. There was no intrigue, no hushed whispers, or any indication that there were an absolute zoo sitting just a few floors beneath them.

Reid walked over and began to unload his things. Coat on the rack in the corner, the coffee mug came out of the drawer, pen at the ready and he settled into his stiff wooden chair. He picked up his pen and began tapping it against his lip, deep in thought. As he did so, his eyes followed the elevator man. He made a beeline for the Chief Inspector's office, and knocked. The inspector peered through the blinds, and immediately swung open the door. He saluted, and ushered the man in.

Reid wheeled his chair back around and tried to make sense of what he had just seen. Who was this guy? Even more puzzling was the salute they exchanged. Maybe an old military buddy he concluded, and set off about his work. He flipped open the top folder in a stack of about ten in the tray on the desk. A routine double homicide from two days ago. The victims, a mother and daughter, had been killed in the family cottage. The mother was stabbed in the back of the neck, and the daughter had her throat slit, presumably while she was sleeping. Reid yawned and got up to get some water for his hot chocolate. The likely suspect, as usual, was the husband. He wasn't missing, they knew exactly where he was, but he claimed that they had an argument and that she had taken their daughter and headed up to the cottage for the weekend to decompress. He maintained his innocence, and was distraught over the whole ordeal. Reid crushed up a caffeine pill and sprinkled it into the hot cocoa. He hated coffee, couldn't stand the smell nor the taste of it. Without the caffeine, however, he would be asleep by noon.

He plopped back down and, while stirring the concoction, began to really work. The stab wound to the back of the neck suggested that the mother was unaware of her attacker, and the daughter likely went quietly too. It seemed simple. The father followed them up, waited until nightfall and did away with the two of them. He didn't have a credible alibi, as he said he was simply hanging out at home. Everything added up to a simple family murder, but it still didn't sit quite right. Ever since he had started, the simple open and shut cases always gave him the most trouble. He was never able to believe what was put in front of him, and nothing was ever that simple. He thought back to the case that landed him in the Homicide Department, the bank robbery. It started out as a simple mugging, and turned into a killing and torture whose brutality still hadn't been matched. That case taught him a lot, and the number one thing was to always ask questions.

CH3

It had already been a long day, and his shift was well over, but he was determined to bring something to the table the following day. He was annoyed that most of the other officers hadn't taken him seriously, and still wasn't sure if Earle actually thought he was on to something or if he was simply entertaining him because he was bored. Either way, he would have a breakthrough come morning, no matter how small.

The man from the bank had been seated playing his fiddle nearly every morning for a year, and never caused a stir. People had reported having short snipped conversations with him, but nothing more. Mostly a few pedestrians deciding to be pleasant at a time of morning where most wouldn't even give a passing glance. He was cordial and grateful to have any company, but mostly kept to himself unless approached. He played through the day, and usually collected enough money to buy himself a tiny lunch. At night, he joined the rest of the homeless population on a street corner or under a bridge. According to the members of the homeless community, he never asked for so much as a blanket from anyone else, and offered up whatever money he had left after getting a small bite to eat and paying his subway fare. It appeared even given his hapless situation, that he was a nominal citizen to be admired by even the most fortunate of people.

No one had so much as a nickname to share, and after his disappearance it was hard to even ask anyone in the homeless community about him without getting an upturned nose and a wired shut jaw in return. People that remembered him from the street didn't have much to offer up other than a description, which hadn't turned up much. The man was the most well-known ghost in all of the world. Reid sat at his desk, feet up tossing his pencil in the air. Every time it came back down, he caught it and tapped it on his lips a few times. He started to thumb through the interview records and stopped on a woman who had said that she had recognized the man in a park the week of the robbery. Her name was Natallee Josewicsz and she had told police that immediately when she saw the sketch of him hit the news that she thought she should speak up. She had seen him at a park sitting with a woman on a fountain, and that they talked for a very long while. Natallee's report said that she had been sitting at a bench playing a videogame and observed the two of them talking. She had given a short description of the woman as a blonde wearing a white blazer and skirt, and wearing gaudy gold jewelry.

It was an odd place for a chance meeting of a homeless man and a passerby in a park, seated on the edge of a fountain in the middle of the park. Someone so seemingly upper class typically wouldn't be caught dead talking to the filthy likes of a decaying homeless man. The whole scene was peculiar enough that he decided Ms. Josewicsz was definitely someone he needed to go see. It was already 9:30, and he couldn't go making house calls that late in the evening, but he had to come up with something before morning. He grabbed up the phone and dialed. 6...0...6. She had to know more. 5...4...7. This woman had to be the key. 1...8...4...2. He was desperate for some shred of useful knowledge.

"Hello?" A soft female voice echoed from the other end.

"Hi, this is Specialist Mason Reid with the Drake Police Department. Am I speaking with Natallee Josewicsz?"

"This is she."

Reid adopted a much more serious posture. He stood and bent over his notes, trying to decide how to get the answers he needed. "Ms. Josewicsz, the reason for the call tonight-- and I apologize for its timing-- is that in the statement you gave on June the twelfth, you shared some interesting information about a suspect of ours who met with a woman in a park. Do you recall?"

"I do," she said apprehensively.

"No worries, Ms. Josewicsz you're not the one I'm concerned with. I need you to help me understand who this woman was, and what you observed." Upon concluding the conversation, he gathered his things and was out the door. They had agreed to meet at a small diner on the corner, about four blocks away from the station. She lived downtown, and said she didn't mind the walk. She was a stunning woman, from what he remembered. Short blonde hair with a touch of pink, and a smile that would stop traffic. Pushing open the door to the diner, he was greeted by almost what he remembered.

"Oh, you changed your hair," he blurted out. He immediately regretted the comment. He smiled nervously and sat down.

She didn't seem bothered by the comment and said, "Yeah, I change it every so often." She brushed her light purple bangs out of her face. "So, I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you, but I'll give you whatever I have up here," she said as she tapped her brain.

Reid immediately jumped back into character. "You saw this man," he said flashing a sketch, "meet with a woman in the park. They then engaged in conversation for more than thirty minutes. You say this didn't seem like a chance meeting?"

Natallee shifted uncomfortably. "Can we drop the interrogation? You said I'm not a suspect or something, right?" She fussed with her headband, and placed her sunglasses on the table.

"Yes, I'm sorry Ms. Josewicsz. You're not in trouble, I just really need your help." He smiled warmly at her. It was the truth, without her the investigation screeched to a halt, and a potentially dangerous robber would serve as the patron saint of petty criminals all over the city.

"Well, the man was sitting on a bench just aimlessly looking around. When the woman showed up, he immediately went over to meet her at the fountain." Reid was frantically scribbling down notes and nodding like a bobblehead. He was nodding so furiously that he almost knocked off his hat. Natallee giggled at him as he placed it gently on the table. He paused and looked up. Locking eyes momentarily, he returned the chuckle and turned back to his notes, ready to listen. "Anyways, when the woman got there she pulled a fat stack of papers out of her bag, and set them down in between them.. The man seemed really bummed, but the woman didn't have a care in the world. Hell, I'm pretty sure the button on her jacket was worth more than the man's entire outfit."

"How did the man react when she handed him the papers? Did he read them, or just sign immediately?" Reid turned an ear, awaiting the response he knew would come.

"Well," she began. Reid leaned in even closer, unable to contain his excitement. He knew what the woman had come for. "He didn't do either. He protested and--"

"Didn't sign the divorce." Reid cut her off. "It was his ex-wife and they were finalizing a divorce. As often is the case, the husband refused to sign the papers." He ignored any further questions the woman had. He now had the beginning of the string, and had but to pick it up and follow it. He thanked Ms. Josewicsz for her time and threw down a fifty dollar bill and rushed out the door, the little bell tinkling his exit. Natallee sat stunned. She slowly set her things to the side and indulged in her soup. It was late and Reid had a piece to prove his madness so he decided to call it a night.

He headed back to the office and down to the workout room. He never slept much, and a breakthrough like this wouldn't help his condition at all. Some resorted to drinking to help them sleep, but he decided he wasn't at that point just yet. He routinely exhausted himself until he couldn't stay awake any longer. The stress of the work day melted away when he went into the gym, and the physical exhaustion he felt, coupled with the mental exhaustion of the day usually knocked him out right at his desk. He slept up there three, sometimes four nights in a week, but was sure to keep it a secret. The other officers just assumed he was a kiss ass and an early riser, eager to take on the day. The reality was that he self medicated to keep himself going. Two pills in the morning to jog his energy, and a caffeine pill twenty minutes later to structure it throughout the day. At night he would usually catch about three hours of sleep before the daily binge.

He was careful to wake up at five, an hour before even the most eager of recruits slapped their noses to the Commanding Officer's door. He organized his notes, and prepared to present his findings. He hoped that the small find would sway Earle to lend his experience and together they could make some serious headway on the perplexing case. The other officers slowly trickled in throughout the morning, and by seven, everyone in his division was at their desks. Earle, being one of the more veteran officers, strolled in just before seven, and took his time settling in.

"James!" Reid blurted out. He couldn't wait another second. He was like an excited chihuahua, seconds away from pissing itself, shaking with information. "I met with one of the witnesses last night and got a better handle on what she saw. It was the girl from the park."

Earle glanced up from his desk with a blank, bored stare. "In what case?"

What case? Reid could hardly believe his ears. It was all he had been thinking about. He had obsessed over every small detail just to simply get a whiff of an inkling, let alone an actual lead. Yet Earle had the indignation to ask. "The fucking bank robbery..." Reid was aggravated by his lack of interest. Earle nodded. "So I met with a woman who said she saw our guy in the park earlier in the day. He was there to meet his wife who tried to get him to sign divorce papers, which we don't believe he did."

"Okay, okay that's definitely something, Mason." Earle leaned in, the fires of old reignited in his eyes. His interest had peaked, and it excited Reid even more. "So where do we go with it? We know the guy was distraught, and that can explain the homelessness, but connecting the dots to find the guy is still way out of reach."

"I was thinking maybe we can uncover what went wrong. Why did they divorce? It could be they just didn't love each other, maybe the sex was shitty and our trail goes cold again. Or," he said, stressing the syllable."Maybe something went south and one of them came to see us at some point?"

Earle arched an eyebrow. "It's worth a look. For once, I'm actually hoping she got beat." Reid stopped and gave him a disgusted look. "What, if he did we get closer to wrangling this asshole. That's what I am, an asshole wrangler, and dammit I want to nail this one." Reid's look of disgust grew. Earle laughed and said, "Yeah I'm a bit of a trip. You'll get used to it." Through the crude humor and off color jokes, Reid could tell their rapport was growing. He liked Earle, in an odd way. He was rough around the edges, but once the lid came off he had the best of intentions.

By noon they were each drowning in a sea of case files. Folders strewn across the floor between desks, they had almost all of the domestic violence cases open in front of them. Surprisingly, there weren't an overwhelming amount to sift through, because they had excluded all of the files where there was a murder. That eliminated almost one hundred and fifty cases over the last six months. They knew the woman was a blonde so that cut things in half again, and by the time they had eliminated cases that didn't fit the profile, they were down to about thirty. Pouring over file after file, they frequently conferenced and bounced descriptions off of one another. After cross-referencing the cases with the description of the woman in the park, they were down to three.

"Cary Ann Gurdel, thirty-six years old. Tall, with a medium build, green eyes, and thinning hair.

This doesn't sound like the rich, pampered woman that Ms. Josewicsz described. The thinning hair doesn't speak to the wealthy air that she said she had about her. Maybe a wig?" Reid wondered aloud. He tapped his pen gently on his clean shaven cheek.

"I doubt it," Earle answered. "She certainly wasn't trying to be covert, approaching him in the middle of the day in the most crowded area of a park, decked out in pearls to hand him legal papers."

"True. We'll set this one aside for now. Joanna Vera Rawlings, twenty-seven years old. Tall with a medium build, brown eyes, and a hoop nose piercing. Too obvious not to point out, though I suppose she could have ditched it that day."

"Too young," Earle shot back in an instant.

"Our perp is thirty-eight. He could have easily---"

"Just trust me, let's not spend too much time on this one. If the third doesn't make sense, then we come back to it, but I'm more convinced of the first one than this young broad."

Reid rolled his eyes. Earle was cocky at times, but he had a good track record. His cockiness often got in the way of good police work, and caused him to overlook details, but Reid decided he would entertain the notion that the 38 year-old bum who robbed a bank one morning, wasn't a killer with the ladies. It wasn't too farfetched after all. "Jessica Ann Thomas, also thirty-six. Tall, with a medium build, and brown eyes. Nothing dramatic sticks out about her appearance, and she's from the Dorman Hills area. This one isn't ours; she couldn't dream of affording the kind of outfit Ms. Josewicsz described. Probably some run-of-the-mill, meth-head beat up his wife story."

Earle leaned way back in his chair, deep in thought. He didn't speak for several minutes, as Reid was left to his own devices to pour over the young girl's case file again. "You know you might be onto something," Earle said.

"With what?"

Earle shot him a sarcastic glare. "Look, are we to expect that this couple was loaded and then she divorces him, and before the divorce is even finalized he lost all of his shit? This motherfucker was a step away from homelessness when the whole thing went down. Maybe she found a way out of it. Maybe that's why she left."

Reid's eyes lit up. He chucked the second case file aside and ripped open the third. Jessica Ann Thomas. She stared up at him from the file photo. "She called police last year, complaining that her husband had tossed her down the stairs. When police arrived, he had smashed her head through a glass cabinet." He slipped another photo from beneath the main one. Her hair was matted with blood, the beginnings of a mouse under her left eye, and lacerations all over her chin. He had grabbed her by the hair and shoved her head through the glass display, spattering blood all over her collectible clown figurines. As he examined further, he found he couldn't look anymore. The figurines eyed him menacingly, covered in the blood of their owner, seemingly vowing revenge.

Earle leaned in to get a look. He began reading over the case file. "Looks like he did quite a number on her. Who does it say the perp was?" Neither of them could contain their excitement. They were actually making some headway on the case, and were one step away from finding out their man's name.

"Looks like one John Tellfold." Reid laughed, "Surprised they divorced; she didn't even take his last name."

Earle stood up and took the lead. He began stacking up the files, and picking up the ones they had set aside. "Alright, looks like we need to dig into Mr. Tellfold and see if this is our man. Run a search and see if he pops up in the database. Anything in connection with this assault, and especially if his name triggers anything in the court system. If we can tie both of their names to a divorce settlement, there's a good chance we're on to the manhunt phase of this thing."

Reid quickly began stacking files, and even quicker abandoned the task. He was more energized than he had ever been. The most difficult case the department had seen, and he was hot on the trail to solving it. He had a genuinely childish excitement about him. He wasn't excited for the recognition, or even for the chance to catch the man responsible. He more excited for the sheer chance to solve the puzzle. Police work was like a game to him at times. He was slowly connecting all the pieces, and then he could sit back and view his masterpiece.

He made his way down to the basement, or The Vault as it was called. What seemed like the oldest computer in the world lived down there, and was tied to all of the major crime databases; FBI, State PD, and city and state courts. If they were in the system, the dinosaur would know about it. He spent about four hours down there digging up news reports, and case files concerning the two. He studied every detail in the news reports, and even dug up their marriage license. It was still valid. Reid shrugged and continued digging. It took him until about six o'clock before he had all of the information he had deemed useful, and he sprinted back up the stairs.

Earle, being the much more senior officer, had been working on other things while Reid worked the major case. "Plumlee, you call and find out who that car is registered to. James, you get an ETA on that blood work, we need to find out who made whatever shows up in this guy's system." He was delegating to his fellows. He didn't have any authority over any of the other officers, but most of the officers in the department looked up to him in an odd way. He was rather calloused, but they all respected him, and knew that whatever he ordered, was probably the best course of action anyway. He turned to Reid once he had finished, and the childlike fervor was renewed. "So what did you find?" He sat down, ready to try and connect all the pieces.

Reid took a deep breath. "Well," he began. "I found the pair of them in a couple of places."

"Go on."

"There was a reported assault on our perp Mr. Tellfold. Some guy named Kevin Marks beat the hell out of him, and Tellfold chose not to press charges."

"Sounds like intimidation to me."

Reid held up a hand, "There's more. The wife turned up in the court system, filing for a restraining order against Mr. Tellfold."

"That's likely what she was delivering then..."

"And finally, she went missing nine months ago, about two weeks after our robbery."

Earle leaned back in his chair, locking his arms behind his head. He kicked his feet up on the desk and said, "So we have an assault against Mrs. Thomas by Mr. Tellfold, an assault against Mr. Tellfold by Mr. Marks, a restraining order against Mr. Tellfold filed for by Mrs. Thomas, and now we can't find her. Nothing too out of the ordinary here, honestly. It's actually a pretty neat chain of events. The only thing that isn't immediately clear is who this Marks guy is. My guess is she hired him to rough up her husband, a retaliation of sorts. Run his name and see if anything strange shows up." Reid turned a heel to walk out again, before Earle stopped him. "Not right now, Jesus. Don't you ever sleep? Stop working and go home, we made a ton of headway on this case today. Nothing more to do than process and get back at it with fresh eyes in the morning." It was already after seven, and Reid hadn't had anything to eat. He nodded and set to arranging his desk for the morning. Coffee mug. Check. Hot chocolate, check. Caffeine pills, check. Papers organized. Earle tapped him on the shoulder. "Alright since you're clearly not going to stop, how about food? Sustenance. Do you eat?" He said as he picked at Reid's arms.

Reid chuckled and yanked his arm back. He was hungry, but he wanted to get back at the case once Earle had gone. His stomach roared at him, betraying its emptiness. He glared down at his belly, "Fine I could go for some food. Where do you want to go?"

"The usual spot. We can go over the case some more once I've had a little bit of food. I can't stay all night though, some of us do have families to tend to," he smirked. "By the way, when are you gonna knock somebody up?"

CH4

They sat down on either side of the wood paneled table, both shifting around uncomfortably on the ripped cushion of the booth. Reid cautiously peeled open his menu, the laminated pages sticking together, resisting his every move. Earle flipped his menu sideways and pushed it toward the middle of the table. Reid peered at him from over his menu. "What?" Earle shrugged. "I only eat one thing from here."

Reid slowly set his menu down, inspecting the whole of the restaurant's filthy interior. The tacky salmon wallpaper was peeling off of the walls at corners, and the brown carpet looked like something straight out of his grandmother's living room. "Is that because you don't trust this place...or?'

"Nah," he smiled. "I don't really like Asian food, but I come here for soup. Thai soup is where it's at." He paused to look locate the waitress. "And I got a free rubdown in the back once, fingers crossed on that one." Reid wasn't at all surprised. Not by Earle, or by the place itself. Frankly, it was a shock they even bothered to serve food to keep up the front.

They both got soup, and Reid set to work on growing Earle's intrigue. Once Earle was on a roll it was hard to stop him. "So we know that the guy abused his wife, and then he ends up getting knocked around himself," Reid began. "We will run Marks name in the morning and figure out who he is exactly, but that's not even the most important part." Reid sipped a hot tea. "We need to shift our focus to the missing persons report. We need to find Jessica Thomas and our seemingly small bank robbery will solve itself. We find her, we find him." It was as plain as day that Tellfold was the one responsible for Mrs. Thomas's disappearance, but they still had nowhere to turn to find him.

Earle's eyes were lit up. Reid knew they were in for a late night, exactly what he wanted. "I agree, but do you think the robbery and her disappearance have anything to do with one another? I mean, he would need money in some fashion to move around and go underground." Reid wrinkled his brow in response. "Well getting kicked out of the house and beaten could put a strain on your financials?" Earle pondered.

"How long was it between the assault on Mr. Tellfold and the robbery?" Reid knew something.

"Almost an entire year. Just a few weeks short of, actually."

Reid grinned. "Why would a man, down on his luck with nowhere to go, choose to panhandle in front of a bank?"

Earle arched his brow. "I'm trying to figure all this out, and you're going to ask stupid questions?" Reid continued to smile. "People going in or out of a bank have money, usually cash. You can't really tell a homeless man that you don't have any money, or you only have a card when your ATM is a foot away. That one was a real head scratcher for ya, huh Reid? Glad we got that out of the way." Earle rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Wrong. This guy didn't give a shit about small money. He ate and gave the rest away for God's sake. Imagine sitting in the same spot for an entire year outside of a bank. You'd know all the employee's break schedules, and all of the daily goings on. He was casing the place, and he did it like a pro."

Earle was dumbfounded. Reid was right, and he knew it; it made perfect sense. "Motherfucker...Fiddle and all. No one with a fiddle ever had ill intentions. I'm going to shove that fiddle up his ass when we catch him. Sneaky fuck." Reid burst out laughing at his indignation.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Reid said, "Alright so we will figure out who Kevin Marks is in the morning, and then we get to work on whatever evidence they have in that missing persons file." Earle pushed his soup away from him to indicate that he was done. He glanced toward the gathering of servers. "It’s a wonder this place hasn't been busted. Who needs this many servers, this late at night?" Reid rolled his eyes. "Hey, Rub N' Tug, eat your damn soup and go home." Earle waved him away as he smiled at one of the girls. Reid tossed down a twenty, patted him on the shoulder and left to sleep in his bed for a change.

The next morning Reid was back at the office bright and early as usual, but Earle was taking his time to get in. Reid calmly set about the task of organizing all the information they had so far. He took everything over to a conference room on the second floor, and began pinning up pictures of the people involved, John Tellfold, Jessica Thomas and Kevin Marks. Once he had all of the files neatly laid out, he set to digging into the missing persons file on Mrs. Thomas. As he flipped through the few pages contained within, he realized how thin it was. There hadn't been hardly any work done on the case, and they certainly hadn't discovered much of anything that went beyond the fact that no one could find her. She was reported missing after three days and her last known whereabouts were with Kevin Marks, the man that reported her disappearance. Tellfold had been named as a possible suspect but when no one could find him, the case was set aside to fall into obscurity due to the increasing amount of crime in Drake. Reid closed the file and set it on the desk. With Marks having shown up again, he decided it was time to try and find out exactly who he was. He clambered down the stairs to visit the dinosaur in the basement.

The dark room was only dimly illuminated by the screen before him as he searched one database after another hoping to find answers. Marks didn't show up anywhere conspicuous. There were no police reports, save the one, and he hadn't so much as a speeding ticket. Either he had deep connections with some bad people and had maintained a squeaky clean record through other means, or he really wasn't a bad guy at all. "What would make him snap and possibly tarnish a decades long run of compliance?" Reid wondered aloud. He sifted through the only case file that Marks was part of, trying to connect the dots and then it became abundantly clear. He sighed, gathered his things and left the cold dungeon.

"You've got quite the setup here," Earle had finally made it in for the morning. "You find anything out on our guy Marks?"

Reid gave him a half glance, "Yep. He's banging her."

"Who's banging who?" Earle raised his brow impatiently. "Oh holy shit, Marks is with Mrs. Thomas? Damn he's far too ugly, I should have a go at her. Ya know, try my luck," he winked.

"Yeah well if we find her, you can run all the moves you want on her. Until we do, you mind keeping that thing," he waved his hands at Earle's crotch, "on a leash?" Reid plopped down in his chair.

Earle leaned on the edge of the desk, tossing his breakfast fruit in the air. "So why do you say they're together, honestly?" He asked. Hurriedly getting down to business, he continued, "I mean why did you rule out the hitman theory? I'd imagine this girl was pretty pissed off, it's plausible she'd have him whacked."

"You're right, she was pretty pissed off. Maybe even upset enough to get revenge, ya know seek out other attention after the attack. She was vulnerable, and Marks swooped in to comfort her. She tells him about what happened late one night, and bam. Marks decides to go to bat with Tellfold's noggin. Besides, the guy hasn't had any priors, and his record would probably make Mother Theresa look like a hardened criminal."

"Nothing?"

"Not a scratch."

They decided to try and contact Kevin Marks to ask some questions, but when they opened his file it was like he was a ghost. There hadn't been any activity on his credit cards or phone, and nothing other than automatic payments from his bank in a few months. Reid and Earle exchanged nervous glances. Immediately they headed down to the missing persons department to see if he had been stashed away in a file to be forgotten forever along with everyone else tied to the case.

Rifling through file after file like librarians, they didn't find anything referencing Marks. He was again, like a ghost. No one had reported him missing, but judging by his digital footprint, at the very least he had gone underground. "This doesn't fit his profile," Earle said. "The guy is a blogger, he lives on the internet. His Facebook account is jammed with videos and politics, and he makes his living freelancing."

Reid caught himself before he could speak. He had to weigh every option in order to find everyone. "It doesn't seem likely, does it? What if Mrs. Thomas's disappearance spooked him and he went dark?"

"Or," Earle began with a wag of his finger. "What if it motivated him?" It was a possibility neither of them could ignore. "We've been chasing Tellfold all along because he robbed a bank, but what if the reason no one has seen hide nor hair of him is because Marks found him first? Maybe Tellfold needed that money to run away himself?" Reid's head began to pound. There were too many interconnected possibilities and motivations.

He took a deep breath and sat down on the floor. He was panicking. The walls began to squeeze in on him and the weight of the ceiling came crashing down on his head. His arms and legs felt like lead weights, and he began to sweat profusely. In a matter of seconds, he was unconscious in a pool of cold sweat.

When he came back to the world, it was spinning around him. He felt queasy and wished he could just go back to being unconscious. "Sorry guys," he said immediately to the crowd surrounding him. Earle motioned for the small crowd to give him space. Once everyone backed away, everything fell back into place. He stood up and dusted himself off. "How long was I out for?"

"Only a handful of minutes. I'm glad you decided to plop yourself down first. That would have been an incident report right there, lots of tricky paperwork," he smiled. Reid returned the gesture as he was helped up. Earle walked him back to his desk. "We can halt on all this for a bit if you need to."

"I'm fine," he snapped. "We just need to start eliminating some possibilities. This new wrinkle has my head spinning...literally." He began raking his hair back with enough force to rip it from his scalp. Head in hands he muttered, "Think, think, think."

"Neither Tellfold or Marks had been reported missing so it's feasible that either one did away with the other, and skipped town," Early reasoned. "Marks is a literal ghost in the system, it's like he was erased. Either he, or his killer, kidnapper, whatever didn't bother to keep him active in the system to cover the trail. That makes me wonder if he's not the one who ran."

Reid nodded in agreement. "If I was holding someone, I'd at least keep them alive through transaction histories and phone records; stall the trail a bit." His head shot up. "What was the last record for either of them?" He began to thumb through the now disastrous mess of files on his desk. He finally located Marks's and Tellfold's personal files. "Marks, 12:59PM at a gas station off 15th Street for a total of $61.39 on the eighteenth of January. Tellfold," He paused, staring at the record.

"Go on," Earle nudged him.

"Tellfold used his card at the same gas station for three days, at around the same time each day. On the 15th, 16th, and 17th he has a charge for $2.47 at 11:46AM, 11:52AM and 12:01PM, and then his card goes inactive except for one charge last month at Jim Dewald's Eatery for over three-hundred dollars." It was as if they were watching a crime in progress through data. Reid calmly put the files aside, and a shiver went through his spine.

"So I guess we can put the other theory to rest."

They immediately got their jackets and were off to the restaurant. The climbed into Earle's Wrangler and set off against the rare October sun. It was a balmy day out, an odd occurrence so close to Halloween, or really any time in Drake for that matter. They cruised down fifth street, heading toward the highway. Reid suggested that they take a stop at the gas station on 15th, so they detoured a bit, and made their way down seventh. They paused at a red light, looking on either side before they continued on. The streets were quiet, at least in terms of traffic. As they drove on, they picked out petty criminals by the dozen. Muggers, thieves and drug dealers lurked in plain view, wandering down the street, choosing their next victim. It was a shame they couldn't stop and round a few up, and it hurt them both to know they were letting these terrible people run amok, but with such a plague hanging over the city, they had to pick their battles and prioritize accordingly. They had to focus on finding Tellfold.

They slowly pulled into the station, and parked across the lot from the gas pumps. "So he came up here every day for three days. Probably sat somewhere over here, and just waited for Marks to show. How do you think he knew Marks would come here?" To answer the question, Reid flashed a file photo of Marks and headed toward the store.

The bell tinkled his entrance, and he was greeted by a squat old man on a stool behind the counter. He decided to poke his head around the store a bit before rushing the man with questions. He wanted to get a vibe for the store. He wanted to see if it was only some gas Marks came to purchase. Squeaky clean record or not, everyone needs an escape every now and then. He wrenched open the rusty bathroom door, and saw a sign posted on the mirror. Do your drugs elsewhere. Anyone caught with contraband in this facility will be asked to leave.He smirked at his reflection behind the sign. He kicked his shoes around and heard the faint crunch of glass beneath his feet. Syringes. He peered into the graffiti laden stall, and after a moment, pulled his head out in a roar of laughter and exited the restroom.

"Find anything in there?" Early asked over his shoulder while contemplating his snack choices for the afternoon.

"Actually yeah. There's a particularly colorful brand of graffiti in the stall, go check it out. You'll know it when you see it."

Earle raised an eyebrow and tore his gaze from the Snacky Poofs. He placed a hand on the grimy green door, and carefully stepped inside. He glanced at the notice on the mirror and continued into the stall. For a fun time, text 459-667-4589. Nope. John is a dildo. Funny, but still not it. Michael Meyers was a subpar actor at best. He chuckled and shook his head. Reid was waiting for his reaction when he opened the door. "You're an idiot you know that don't you?" He was still smiling.

"What a random insult to find amidst all that trash, don't you think?" He snickered once more. "Anyways, I'm assuming you saw the posting on the mirror. Judging by his card history, Marks wasn't around here all that often."

"You can't say that," Earle countered. "He could have just bought stuff with cash."

"I'm sure he did, but not something that guy behind the counter is peddling," he said as he motioned to the fat, half asleep attendant. "Let's go have a chat with him now that we know where this is going."

Earle grabbed the Snacky Poofs and lead the way. He set them on the narrow counter, in front of the plexiglass window. "Just these," he said through the loudspeaker. "And we would like to ask you some questions if you have a minute." They both opened their jackets so their I.D. tag could be plainly seen.

The main brushed his grey bangs out of his face. The two black caterpillars perched above his eyes conveyed his alarm. "Is there a problem, officer?"

"Detective. And no, I just need to see what you know about a guy who came in here a handful of times about nine months ago," he snorted. "Reid, this is a waste of time."

Reid waved him aside, and pulled out the picture. "Do you remember seeing this man in here in January of this year?" He pressed the picture against the glass.

The attendant leaned off of his stool and squinted. The caterpillars danced across his brow as he wracked his brain. "Nope, nobody special to me," he said. The door tinkled again, and Earle briefly glanced over. A tall woman with long legs and short brown hair wandered in looking lost. She stood on her toes and peered around the store. She looked uneasily out of the corner of her eye at the two of them. Earle briefly locked her gaze, and she quickly shuffled toward the coolers.

"What about those?" Reid said, flicking his hand at a camera in the corner. "Do they record?"

"Hah! Of course they do. But do you think I just archive footage for my own viewing pleasure for months on end? That old piece of shit only goes back about a week's time. I'm sorry but unless this guy tried to rob me or set off an alarm, I won't have any record of him in there."

Earle took to eating his snack and wandering around the store again. The girl had made her way into the bathroom and was hurriedly heading for the door. "Excuse me," he said as she passed. She immediately ran out the door and headed for the back of the building. Earle exchanged a quick look with Reid and in seconds was out the door after her.

The door crashed open, and he caught her heel heading around the corner. He barreled around the corner and lunged for her. "What did you take from the bathroom?" He yelled as he rifled through her sweatshirt pockets. She kicked and screamed and caught him just above the eye with her toe. He stumbled back a step, but kept a solid grip on her pants.

"I didn't do anything! I just went to the bathroom," she protested. "You just scared me is all, so I ran."

He wiped his brow and squinted while shaking his head. "I scared you? I smiled at you and addressed you. What the fuck about that scared you enough to run out the door?" He ripped open his jacket and thumbed for his I.D. He shoved it in her face and screamed, "Now what the hell were you doing in there?"

Her face went white. "Shit," she said, defeated. "I thought you were a dealer, not a cop."

"Sorry to disappoint?" He wasn't sure whether she was relieved to find out he was with the police, or worried. "So you're a junkie then?"

She scoffed and sat up. She crossed her arms and shrank away toward the wall. "I was a dealer, until I got beat out of my territory." She stared down at the blacktop beneath her and brushed her hair out of her face. He could still see slight bruising near her right temple. "I came up here to pick up a drop," she said. Her head snapped up, "But it wasn't there. So you've got nothing on me."

Earle looked at her with a questioning stare. "A drop? What kind of drop?"

"Look," she explained solemnly, her head shrinking back down again. "Dealers will come up here with their product and leave it in there sometimes. Then, their mules go in and pick it up to sell it. Once they're out, they go pay the cashier for an agreed upon liquor, and then he knows who the money goes to. He takes a 5 percent cut and holds it for them. He does it for like three or four dealers that I know of; used to do it for me."

"Why do they buy liquor? Why not something smaller, less conspicuous like a candy bar or something?" He asked.

She smiled at him and began, "It’s a really smart system. I helped come up with it. If the mule buys liquor, then the clerk has to ID him. Now he's got a name, and if anything is missing, well that guy is as good as dead. It would be out of place asking for an ID for a candy bar, huh?" She was still admiring her handiwork.

Earle was slightly impressed. "You don't take any of the stuff, I can tell. You've still got a brain in there," he said as he tapped her skull. She winced a bit, still recovering from the beating. He apologized and sent her on her way. She climbed up the hill, and was quickly gone from view.

When he flew open the door to the store, Reid and the clerk were still arguing. "You've got to have some record of the people that come into your store!" He was nearly screaming in frustration. Earle simply smiled and placed a hand on Reid's belly. He stepped back and put his hands on his head.

"So what kind of liquor did that guy buy from you?" Earle asked. "Was it Crown? Jose? Hmm?"

The man swallowed hard. He looked left and right and stood for the first time. "What kind of...liquor?" He stammered.

Earle put his hands on his hips. "You fucking heard me, now tell me what I want to know and I'll leave you alone. It's a pretty clever scheme, it would be a shame to see it crash and burn, really. Plus, you have to know I've got better shit to do or I wouldn't be in this hell hole."

The clerk waved him over to the right side of the counter. He waddled over to the door, and peeked through a crack. Earle leaned in to hear him whisper, "That guy was a mule for one of my clients. I'm not telling you who that is." Earle raised his brow. "But," the man continued. "That guy came in here running drugs. Usually just picked up and left, never hung around. I haven't seen him in months though, he's probably dead. Those guys drop like flies in this business." He nodded his head. "That's all there is to it. Like I said, not an important guy."

Earle scratched his chin and stood back up. He slowly walked back to the center of the store where Reid was still slightly panicked. He smacked him on his rear, and said, "Let's go champ."

As they climbed into the Jeep, Reid calmed himself. He began to recollect what had gone on in the store, and wondered what Earle had discovered. "So," he said. "Are we off to the eatery?"

CH5

Earle grinned. "We are! I was able to gather from the clerk that our guy, Mr. Marks was a drug mule. Not as clean as we once thought. So that explains why Tellfold chose to track him there. The clerk hasn't seen him come by for a pickup in months. Smart money says Tellfold knows exactly where he is." Reid nodded in agreement. They winded through the empty streets of Drake, dark, windowless apartment buildings towered above them. The streets of the Cheapside neighborhood were littered with itineraries and investment plans gone awry, blown out of the skeletons of office towers. The city's former glory cowered in the corner ghetto, afraid to show its face anymore.

They finally broke free of Cheapside, and into the fancier district, Hale. Virtually all of the money on that side of town was due to all of the dread and despair in the rest of it. Those who preyed on the weak, and took what they had at gunpoint lived in Hale, and financed the entire district. By distancing themselves from the front lines of crime, they could wear the mask of the saviors of the city, investing their money back into the people, and becoming a sort of twisted martyr.

They gazed up at the black marbled building, adorned with gold trusses at every corner. Dewald's Eatery was emblazoned above the door in gold. It looked sort of like an English pub only fit for the Queen herself. Reid looked over at Earle, wide eyed. "Shall we?"

When they entered, they were greeted by the same level of luxury as the exterior. White sheer curtains hung from the walls and ceiling, to divide the wide open, red carpeted room. There were seemingly old Romanesque statues and pillars covered in vine at every turn. It was like a museum was dropped on top of a restaurant fit only for the wealthiest. Reid and Earle snapped their jaws shut, popped their eyes back into their heads and approached the hostess stand. After announcing who they were, a petit little Asian woman wandered to the back of the dining area to fetch the maître d'.

She shuffled quickly to meet them, patting her subtly sequined black dress as she went. She brushed her short brown hair out of her face and shook each of their hands. "Hello," she said. "How can I help you two gentlemen?"

Earle smiled but didn't say a word. He looked away and began to examine the decoration intently. Reid's eyes followed him for an awkward minute, and upon realizing that he was going to have to speak, his brain completely shut down. Earle glanced back over his shoulder, and intervened. "Well we're here on behalf of the Drake Police Department, and we're working on..." he trailed off, with a puzzled look on his face. "A number of cases at once actually," he frowned. The maître d' folded her hands impatiently. "Anyways, we're really just trying to track someone down and I'm hoping you can help me." He presented a picture of Tellfold from his back pocket. The maître d' smiled warmly, and nodded her head. Upon realizing that she was being shown the photo by a police officer, her expression hardened. "You know him quite fondly it seems?"

She sighed. "He is our resident lonely heart. Always bringing a new woman in here, treating them to only the finest leg of lamb and bottles of champagne. Haven't been able to put a finger on when it goes awry, he seems like such a gentleman." Early and Reid exchanged sideways glances.

"He has brought several women here? How often does he come?"

"Oh I don't know," she said, wringing her fingers together. "Probably at least once a month, sometimes two. He brought a lovely girl in almost a month ago, and he hasn't been back. I'm hoping he finally found someone!" She smiled, and almost immediately withdrew it. "Has he done something bad?" Her eyes widened as she leaned in. "You can tell me. I won't say a word, I swear," she whispered.

Earle leaned back and addressed her properly. "I can't share the details of an open investigation, madam." He adopted a stern posture, and turned on his heels to exit. Reid took his place, and began to get a profile of the young lady. Earle occupied himself with a drink at the bar.

"So what do you know about the woman that came with Mr. Tellfold?"

She began wringing her hands. "Oh I don't know, she seemed like a sweet girl."

Reid was becoming impatient. "Physical descriptions, madam. Frankly, I don't care if she was the type of girl he would bring home to meet his mother. I just want to know if she's the type he'd kill," his voice trailed off. Her face became ashen, and she clammed up quickly.

"Kill? Oh god, I don't know. She had brown hair, it was lightly curled. She wore a white summer dress and boots."

"Physical, madam. If he's got her she's not wearing those clothes right now, that's for certain." He pressed her harder. He spoke with an air of urgency, with a hint of violence. His glare flashed as he awaited her next clue.

The woman shrank away and sobbed. "I don't know, I just don't know! I'm sorry," she cried. "She had a freckle above her lip, he kept pressing it while they were at dinner."

Reid squinted, his mouth forming a small smirk. "Alright good; that's better! Any other defining features like that freckle? Think a scar or a tattoo or something. What was the very first thing you noticed about her?"

"Well," she began. "She had her hair done in the most impressive way." Reid was staring daggers at her. "A tattoo! A tattoo," she yelped. "She had an itty bitty tattoo on her wrist. I noticed it when I handed her a menu. It was a name and a date, but I didn't read it."

"Alright, last thing. Can you make a guess at her height and weight for me?" Reid asked, urging for her to stay on task. She was minutes from breaking down into a crying fit.

She took a deep breath, and dabbed at her eyes. "I would say she was average height, and weight."

"Details!" Reid yelled loud enough to draw attention. Earle hurried over to quiet him down. He kept the peace and urged onlookers to return to their meals. "I'm sorry, but give me a damn number please," Reid barked.

She began sobbing uncontrollably. She was absolutely terrified, and the servers ushered her to the back of the restaurant, shooting the officers disgusted looks as they went. "Well did she say anything useful before you threatened her?" Earle laughed. "Let's get out of here."

When they reached the car, Reid pulled the door open. Earle slammed it shut from behind him. "Why did you say that Tellfold killed the girl?" Earle asked, a menacing tone in his voice. "You know we can't discuss details with witnesses. And I want to know where in the hell you got that inclination." His mood had changed faster than a midwestern summer day.

Reid ripped open the door, get in and drive. I'll tell you on the way back. We have a lot of digging to do, and I'm afraid of what we're gonna find." He climbed into the Jeep and waited.

They sat in silence for a while, Reid staring aimlessly at the sky above. The streets were alive at night, filled with the same brand of people as earlier, though multiplied by about twenty. It was getting to the point where the devious outnumbered the honest. It was only a matter of time before criminals were forced to go after one another instead of preying on the innocent.

Earle finally broke the silence. "So?" he stared.

Reid took a moment before tearing his eyes away from the empty sky. He slowly looked over, rubbing his forehead. "Alright, I snapped in there. I went about that all the wrong way, and I could have gotten us thrown off of the case."

"Still could."

Reid glared. "Having said that, I'm right and you know it."

"Right about what?"

"Tellfold is killing these women. We're looking for a serial murderer."

"Oh come off it. This started as a bank robbery and that's how it’s gonna end." Earle shouted.

Reid was incredulous. "Really? You think that's all this is? Like it hasn't taken one hell of a turn already, and it couldn't possibly take another?"

Earle wasn't convinced. "So the guy that did it is a woman beater, and his old lady is banging someone else for revenge. Big deal, that doesn't change what we're after. His personal life is no concern of mine."

Reid pounded the dashboard. "Open your eyes Jimmy! This guy has been wining and dining multiple women, multiple times in a month, all while the police are out looking for him? He's just out having a good fucking time, all while making sure to never use his personal accounts. Yeah, if I knew police were searching high and low for me, I'd be out trying to find my future ex-wife, yeah that's what I'd be doing." He was fuming. "I swear to god if we get back to the station and this tattooed girl with the freckle shows up in the system with a bullet in her head, I'm finishing this case myself." Early had nothing to say. He gripped the steering wheel tight, and with his jaw wired shut, drove them back to the station. Reid smiled at his silence.

When they arrived back, Reid immediately headed to wake The Dinosaur. Earle sighed and headed for his desk. Their floor was all but deserted, a few lonely souls populated desks here and there, but by nine o'clock most of the officers were home, most likely passed out in a living room chair somewhere. He shrugged off his peacoat, and draped it over the chair. He glanced over his shoulder to see the stairwell door slam shut behind Reid. He plopped down in front of his desk, and fixed his hands atop his head. He had never dealt with a serial murderer before. He hadn't even had to chase down very many murders in general to this point, let alone multiple murders committed by one man. He had yet to deal with that type of evil face-to-face.

Earle raked his hands through his razor sharp hair. He wasn't sure he was up to the task of discovering the answers that Reid was so desperately seeking. He was afraid of what they might find. He was too deep into the case to back out, but he feared what horrors awaited them if they continued digging. He vaguely hoped that Reid did find the girl was dead, then maybe he would ask that Earle be removed from the case for personal reasons. They worked fine together, but he was about ready to let Reid dig up the bones on his own.

After about an hour, Earle had dealt with his demons. He was giving up on the case, and headed down to tell Reid to have him removed from the case. As he approached the stairwell, the door sprung open and nearly smacked him upside the head. Reid sprinted through it, making a beeline for his desk. He scooped up his coat without stopping and turned back toward Earle, and the door.

"What's the rush?" Earle asked. "It's nine thirty."

"Yes, and the eatery closes at ten-fifteen. Out of my way." Reid stepped around him, and placed a hand on the door. Earle stood frozen in place for a moment, and finally walked away.

Reid clunked down the stairs two at a time until he reached the parking garage. He jogged across the nearly empty garage, footsteps echoing as he went. He couldn't think of anything else, he had to get back to the eatery and speak with the maître d' once more. He was actually a little surprised Earle didn't stop him on his way out to come along. This hadn't even started out as his case, and now he was the only one who cared enough to find an answer. He was afraid of what he might uncover, but his own selfish emotions weren't enough to stop him from potentially saving lives. He had never dealt with a murder before, but in that moment, he understood what it meant to be a homicide detective. It wasn't about punishing someone for crimes committed, it was about saving their potential victims.

The drive back was an eventful one. The streets were alive with the usual drunkenness and debauchery, and it had overflowed into the streets. Patrol cars swarmed around him, shutting down entire streets in an attempt to quell the chaos. Women stumbled around drunk and happy, until moments later they were being raped or beaten right in the middle of the crowd. Police donned riot gear, and shoved their way through to the rescue. It was all just an act. For every mindless crime they stopped, one was happening right behind them. There wasn't much they could do, the city was descending into darkness and slowly destroying itself. Reid was stuck amidst the chaos, the way out behind him slowly closing. The crowd advanced on the officers, and as Reid threw his vehicle in reverse, he heard a few of them open fire. The last thing he saw as he rounded the corner was a cloud of blood as the officers attempted to spray their way out in a hail of bullets.

He regretted not being able to do anything. The carnage drove him even harder to catch Tellfold. He was angry, and he felt like if he could just stop one murder tonight, then he would somehow make a difference. If an innocent woman could make her way back to her apartment tonight, unharmed, to open a bottle of cheap wine and drink herself to sleep, he would be happy.

He ended up having to drive four streets over to avoid the mob, and it was past close by the time he pulled up to the restaurant. He skidded to a halt in front of the valet, and elbowed his way past the affluent crowd spilling out the door. Once inside, he immediately headed for the office. He stepped inside the doorway, and slapped a picture onto the desk. The woman looked up at him, still a little shaken from their earlier encounter.

"Was this the woman that our suspect brought in with him?" She stared up at him, and slowly shifted her gaze to the picture before her. She slid the picture closer, and immediately she confirmed with a nod. Reid collapsed into the chair beside her. She had confirmed his suspicion. The woman he had shown her had been reported missing weeks ago, and more recently she had been found dead near a mill in the industrial part of town. He sat, head in hands, unsure of what to do.

As he contemplated his next move, the woman spoke up. "Wait," she said, sorting through the pictures before her. "I recognize another." Reid grimaced. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. "He brought this woman in to eat one night but it didn't go as well as the others. Her friend had to come up and get her, and he got very angry when she took her away."

Reid lifted his head, and stared at her for a while, silent. She didn't say a word either. As tension mounted in the room, he shook his head wildly. "Names, descriptions, give me something lady!" he shouted. Her eyes welled up again, and she began to wail. Reid scrambled to make her stop, but he only made it worse. She shrank away from him as he attempted to comfort her. He rubbed her arm rapidly, as if he could speed up the process the faster he rubbed. She withdrew herself to the corner and shouted for help. He turned to the door to explain, and the waitstaff were all standing in the door.

"Sir, another officer is on the way. I suggest you leave." A large cook had stepped forward, his burly hands tucked neatly into his apron. He was a large islander of some sort with long black hair tucked into a messy bun. As he shuffled toward the door slowly, he wracked his brain. He had to get more information out of this woman before he left, but if he didn't leave he was going to be removed from the case on the spot. As he reached the door he whipped around and yelled, "Wait!" The staff crowded around him, encouraging his exit. "Wait, wait. Just one more thing. I don't care who gets it, whether it's her, or you," he said, poking the big man in the chest. His finger almost snapped when he did so. "She said the friend paid. I need the payment record, I need her name." The big man paused momentarily, and made his way back to the office.

After a tense few minutes, he emerged, carrying a print out. "Here. The transaction record of that entire day. She didn't know which one it was, you can figure it out." He patted the paper against Reid's chest, and without removing his hand he directed his other toward the door. Reid stepped backward, and out into the misty night. With the document in hand, he raced back to the office.

CH6

The following morning, he had all the information he needed. He had stayed at the office all night, sleeping intermittently at his desk; which was not his choosing. He simply could not stay awake for more than an hour at a time without collapsing. The case had worn him thin, and he was sprinting for the finish. In his binge, he had discovered the identity of the woman's friend. Her name was Jennifer Deisdorf and she was an investment banker. He had been able to cut the transaction register in half, when he realized it was from the entire day. After looking through only the night's transactions, he noticed that the same table cashed out the bill in separate portions, the only one to do so. One was paid for by Jennifer Deisdorf, and the other by John Tellfold just minutes later. Reid was all set to go and talk to Deisdorf to connect the final pieces, but realized that he couldn't without one more piece.

"Earle!" Reid motioned his colleague over from across the way. "I need your help with something right quick."

Earle spun around in his chair to face him. He gently set down the papers he was shuffling through, and wandered over. He placed a hand on Reid's desk and took a deep breath. "Have you asked that I be removed from the case?"

Reid smiled and simply said, "No."

Earle wrinkled his brow. "Well then we have no business together until you do. I'm done with this one, I can't see it through."

"Well you're going to have to." Reid leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. Earle crouched down to hear."They've asked me to back off of it, and leave you to it seeing as it's your case and all. That stupid bitch at the eatery called and complained that I was aggravating her." Earle rolled his eyes. He had no choice, the case wasn't going to go anywhere if Reid wasn't working on it, and he couldn't just tell everyone he was afraid to look into it. "Don't worry, I got the information from her before she started bawling again. I'm getting closer to Tellfold."

Earle stood back up and said, "Let's discuss this somewhere else." Earle led the way down the stairwell to the parking garage, with Reid attached to his heels. They ducked into a corner under the stairwell and continued. "I can't risk them trashing us both off of the case. If they know you're supplying me information and still working on it, they might pull it out from under me. You know I want nothing to do with this, but I can't stand by and let people die when I'm the only one who can do something. Go on, tell me what you figured out." He was stern. There was no friendly back and forth like usual, and Reid knew he wanted this over as quick as possible.

Reid made sure he was straight and to the point. "Alright so the maître d' did recognize one of the girls from the missing file. After that she said she had recognized another, and said that Tellfold brought her in to eat. Something went wrong and the girl's friend had to come and get her. She paid the tab and they left. I need you to go talk to this girl and see what you can find out. Her name is Jennifer Deisdorf, I've got her address."

He handed him his business card with the address written on the back. Peering over his shoulder, Earle turned back to him and said, "What's her schedule like, when can I go and talk to her?"

"She works at the bank Tellfold robbed strangely enough. I haven't been able to get ahold of her to arrange a meeting. I'm going to call the bank and see if I can talk to her."

"I guess I'll go check out the address, see if she's at home." When the plan was set, they went their separate ways, Earle to his car, Reid to his desk.

As he pulled out of the garage and onto the road, the sun shone brightly into his eyes. It was rare to see the sun anytime in Drake, but especially this time of year. He was amazed to see the difference in the city from night to day. Three officers had been killed the night before, and across the street he could see a beautiful woman in a sundress, sauntering about without a care in the world. The bipolarity of the city sickened him. That same woman, given a different time of day, was liable to stab him and take him for all he had.

Ms. Diesdorf didn't live far from the office, only four blocks over. He didn't even have to turn off of the street. As he passed townhouse after townhouse, all of them the same except for the gate, he came to one with a bright red wooden fence. It wasn't as odd as it sounded, the street was famous for its illustrious colors. Blue, green red and yellow, each house on the street had an eccentrically colored gate. He pulled up right in front of the gate, as there weren't many cars parked on the cobblestone street that early in the day. He bent over his seat to look around behind him, and saw nothing. There were no people milling about, and hardly any traffic. The closest car was parked three houses up, in front of a purple gate.

He slowly stepped out of his Jeep, and tiptoed toward the gate. The gate swung open freely, and upon seeing the smashed flowers and soil strewn across the walkway, he drew his weapon. Slowly, he took each stair up to the door and pressed himself against it. He quietly listened, but heard nothing other than his frantic heartbeat. As he reached behind him to grasp the doorknob, he leaned into the door and it flung open, clattering off the wall behind it. He spun around, covering both directions. It became clear that whoever had been in the residence had been gone for some time. He lowered his weapon a bit, and began to take stock of the damage. The living room he stood in opened up to a small bar, and a large kitchen. There was mail all over the floor that had fallen from the bar, and a stool had been knocked over. His hands lightly swept over the edges of the television to his left. Everything of value had remained intact, and it didn't appear as if anyone had been searching for something. He knew that whoever had been here quickly found what they were looking for, and he feared that was Jennifer Deisdorf.

He closed the door behind him, and has it lifted away from the wall he saw marks had been carved into the wall. He peered closer, a knife as it slashed at its victim possibly. There were four horizontal slashes that started and stopped several times leading up to the door. He looked down in horror as he lifted his hands and placed his fingers on top of the marks. They were only slightly too big, but perfectly spaced. He immediately ran back to his Jeep to get his phone. He frantically entered the passcode and began to dial Reid. As he did so, he saw a missed call, several text messages and a voice mail. Reid had tried to call him several times already.

"Earle, is she there?" Reid said in a panicked tone.

"No, someone..." He gritted his teeth. There was no use speculating anymore. "Fucking Tellfold came here first. It looks like he ripped her out of the house, and who knows where he's gone." He raked his hands through his hair and began pacing in front of the gate.

"Listen to me," Reid said. "The bank said that she went home for lunch about an hour ago and hasn't been back yet. He couldn't have grabbed her too long ago."

His brain immediately snapped to attention. "She may still have her phone on her then if he hasn't gotten her to where they're going. It's worth a shot, see if we can track it."

Reid smiled on the other end. "Great thinking, I'll run it. You get back here and we'll find this guy before he does any more harm."

Earle pawed the markings on the wall as he hung up the phone. He was in shock that a human could make a mark like that, but under duress the human body was capable of incredible and sometimes horrific things. He shut the door behind him, and called the forensics team in to investigate the scene. While they dug for clues the common eye could not see, he and Reid would begin trying to narrow down just where in the city he was taking her.

***

The metallic door slid shut behind them as he pushed her into the room. It was a small room, about the size of a horse barn, complete with unfinished, dirt floor. It was incredibly plain, as if it hadn't been designed for much of a purpose at all. The sheet metal walls were flecked with rust, and the only light cast into the place was let in through various holes where the bolts had rusted out of the wall. There was a single smaller room within, located directly in the center off of the back wall. It had a shattered glass window, and a bulky metal door. It appeared to have been an office some time ago.

She stood in the center of the room, the tiny pebbles in the fine dirt scratching her bare feet. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with herself. A cold hand grazed over her shoulders and shoved her into the dirt. Her face crashed down and unable to close her mouth completely, the earth poured into her lungs. She gagged violently, choking up dirt and spit it onto his boots. She looked up with tears in her eyes as he kicked the dirt right back into them. She screamed as best she could through the rag that bound her.

The man walked away, heading for the office door. He peered into the window before turning the handle and let out a laugh. As he entered the room he said, "Darling, I've brought another for you to meet. This one is very nice, I think the two of you will get along swimmingly." His lip curled into a smile as he tilted his head down. Laid out before him was a woman clothed in rags, on all fours. She didn't pay him so much as a glance. The dirt beneath her was stained with all different shades of blood, some weeks old, and some fairly recent. She stared straight ahead, her gaze affixed to a body in the corner. The man appeared to have been dead for a very long time. His body had begun to decay, and the person wasn't recognizable anymore. He sat slumped against the wall, an iron stake driven straight through his chest. There was a comparable amount of bloodstained dirt surrounding the body, but all of a very dark hue.

The man stared impatiently at the woman, her posture supported by a single metal chain that was connected to the wall. It ran up her back and tight around her neck. The chain had been affixed through her mouth like bit, and pulled taught. She was kept stationary, unable to release the tension on the chain, by a makeshift wall of stakes directly behind her. The man began to approach her, "Didn't you hear what I said? I'm talking to you Jessica!" He screamed into her face as he laid a single hand into her blood-matted blonde hair. He gave her head a slight tug, and she resisted his efforts. She still stared straight ahead, and didn't make a sound; not even a shutter as he kicked her in the ribs. He bent down next to her, and wrapped his hand around her face. His attempts to gain her attention were futile, and he finally realized that she was dead, probably for days by the state of her. He stood up, and in his rage he kicked her as hard as he could in the face. Her jaw snapped loose, relieving the tension on the chain as the bit slid to her bottom lip. Her body shifted forward and under the weight, there was a bone crunching crack as her lower jaw snapped to her chin. The man left the room angrily as her body slumped to the floor.

***

By the time Earle had made it back to the office, Reid was standing in the parking garage waiting for him. He jogged up to the passenger's side door and poked his head through the window. "We got a trace on her phone. It's over in the industrial park, close to where one of the girls was found. It's not moving though so we have to hurry, you good?"

Earle gave him a grim nod. He was getting increasingly uneasy about what they might find. Reid climbed up into the vehicle and they were off. Zipping through the streets, Reid couldn't notice a thing, it was all a blur. As they reached the outskirts of the city, they climbed a hill and just as the reached the top, the tips of smokestacks and metal skeletons came into view. The stench of raw iron and steel was stifling. It smelled like blood everywhere.

There were about ten factories on either side of the road, and the area was littered with hangars and office trailers. As they got closer to the fence surrounding the industrial park, Reid halted them. He motioned to the ditch to their right, "This is where they found the other girl. The phone showed up right around this area." Earle nodded, and continued forward.

They pulled up to the gate and two guards tromped out of their posts and approached either side of the vehicle. One demanded Earle for identification. "What's your business here?" He asked. Earle pulled his ID and expected the guard to back down. He didn't. "I asked you to state your business. I understand who you are, but unless you have reason to be here, I cannot let you inside. You understand of course, we can't be liable for the safety of people who shouldn't be wandering around inside."

Earle looked stunned. He calmly put his wallet away and addressed the proud guard, "Understand I'll be going inside. You can file whatever paperwork you need to, but I am pursuing a fugitive and I have reason to believe that he is somewhere," he waved his hand in front of him, "inside of there." The guard nodded his head, and backed away into the guard house. He motioned for the other guard to follow suit. He waved them on through and once inside, they were overwhelmed with chaos. They were surrounded by machines and the noise was deafening. Cranes lifted beams high into the sky, and workers milled about not paying them any mind, simply going about their business. They slowly continued forward, unsure of where to go. As they made their way toward the center, they were met with another gate, this one much less heavily guarded. It was old and decrepit, likely build before the expansion.

There was a small guard shack on the corner, which appeared to have been empty for some time. There were a lot of hollowed out buildings in the area, but the factories kept churning. Once a building was too rusted from the rain to be of use anymore, the steel companies simply built another and the industrial park kept sprawling closer and closer to the city proper. There had to be over a dozen hangers within the older fenced area alone.

As Reid approached the now abandoned guard shack, he turned to Earle, "Hang on." He pulled out his phone and dialed. They stood silent for a few seconds and heard nothing. He put his phone back in his pocket and heard a ring. They exchanged glances and their heads whipped around trying to find her phone. Earle patted his coat pocket only to realize he was getting a call. "James Earle speaking," he answered. A voice from the other line said, "James, there's been activity on Jennifer's phone. She just received a call a few minutes ago." Earle rolled his eyes and shook his head over at Reid. "Yes," he said impatiently. "Reid called her phone to see if we could hear it. How close are we?"

"Earle get over here," Reid screamed from inside the guard shack. Earle pulled the phone away from his ear and ran to the door. Reid was standing in the middle of the shack, holding a pile of women's clothes. Anything from dresses to jeans, there were several outfits in the pile. Earle knelt down and began rifling through the pile until he found a pair of jeans, heavier than the others. He reached into the pocket and held Jennifer's cellphone up in front of their faces.

"I've got her phone, we need to find her quickly," he said solemnly. The voice on the other line was completely silent. Neither of them knew what to do.

"She could be anywhere in this wasteland," Reid said. They all wracked their brains, struggling to come up with a plan. Time was running out for Jennifer. "There are too many warehouses and sheds to just go ripping them open one after another. Besides, that could tip him off and then he kills the girl and we still don't have him."

Earle's head shot up. "Wait," he said. "He's been taking all of the women to this area, clearly. He couldn't just continue breaking in here over and over, there would be no sense adding an extra risk to getting caught. You saw the kind of scrutiny a police officer just underwent. If he didn't have access, he'd probably do it in a different place each time."

"Sometimes the steel companies sell off their old hangars to help finance the replacements," A voice echoed from the other side of the phone. "They sell them as storage. I'll see if there have been any sales to private parties lately; that's public record. I'll get back with you shortly." The phone clicked from the other end.

They looked at one another, and Earle said, "Well lets see if we can dig anything else up in the meantime. We don't have long by the looks of it."

***

The man's rough hands worked as he knotted a loose wire, and hung it down from a long steel beam that ran from the office to the opposite wall. In times past lights had hung from it, but those had long since shattered and littered the ground with glass. Only the metal awnings remained, swaying from the man's efforts. The wiring had been cut, and dangled from several points on the beam. Some hung aimlessly, while others were knotted and tied in similar fashion much closer to the office window. He stood on an old wooden chair as he tied a new one, closer to the door. It didn't matter where he did the task this time, as there was no one to witness it anymore.

Jennifer still laid in the center of the room, though she had rolled onto her side and curled up into a tight ball. He had clothed her in a pair of blood soaked rags that he got from the office but they didn't do much to shield her from the cold breeze. The stench of death on them was unmistakable. The glass from the lights had sunk into her skin in several places when Tellfold shoved her down. There was a light trail of blood crawling down her arm and her back was covered in dirt where the rags were ripped open. She was bound at the ankles with rope and her wrists were tied, the cable ties threatening to cut into her skin at any moment.

The rope was loose enough that she could still walk, but only a few short steps at a time. She couldn't run without tripping over herself, as she had learned almost immediately. When they pulled up to the building, she had jumped out of the back of the van and tried to run, cracking her head on a small rock when she plummeted into the dirt. She was still a bit dizzy from the blow, and her will to survive was beginning to fade. She couldn't see any way to escape safely. There was but one heavy sliding door, and no windows in the place. She could barely see anything, and the room was absolutely devoid of anything she could improvise as a weapon or a tool.

Once Tellfold had finished his task, he turned to her and told her to get up. When she didn't move, he sprinted over and kicked her hard in the chest repeatedly. The first kick took the wind out of her, and as he continued berating her she couldn't find her breath. She rolled away from him, attempting to catch a breath, if only to voice her compliance. He set his mud crusted boot on her back and quietly whispered, "I'm going to kill you, of that I am certain. But, if you don't get up, I'm going to let you watch as I destroy you piece by piece. I do love an audience, you know." he said motioning to the office. "My regulars are currently..." he smiled. "Indisposed shall we say? I would be more than happy to set you in front of a mirror if it would enhance your screams." He grabbed her by the hair, and she let out a wail. She scrambled to help herself up, and once on her feet she attempted to run. Again she crashed to the floor, bringing her arms up to protect her head. There was a loud pop and she writhed in agony.

He placed another foot on her and pressed it into her lower back as he yanked her hair hard. "Get up," he said menacingly. She tried her best to push up to her knees, but her now dislocated shoulder was of no use. She managed to slide back to her knees, and that was clearly as far as she could go. Tellfold placed his hands under her shoulder and gave another hard yank. Tears poured from her eyes from the pain and she bit down hard into the towel, still in her mouth. He took her by the hands and undid her bonds. He backed away momentarily to see if she would try anything. She stood completely still, her left hand supporting her right shoulder. As he approached her again, she shrank away slowly.

The wire hanging from above brushed against her back and she spun halfway around, afraid to turn her back to Tellfold. He stomped on her foot and she stumbled. He caught her, again by the right arm, and ripped her back to her feet. He could see that she was already beginning to bruise as he lifted her arms high above her head, and slipped the wire around her hands. He tied it tight; so tight that the stripped copper began to cut her. Another small trail of blood made its way down her arm, almost tickling as it went. Tellfold drew a hooked knife from his pocket, and dragged the tip of it down her cheek. "Without an audience, how am I to have any fun?" he asked, feigning sadness.

The steel door flung open, and the bright light flooded into the hangar. Jennifer let out a triumphant screech, and Tellfold whipped his head around. He immediately turned back to her and before anyone could say so much as a word, the knife ripped into her belly, end to end. The pristine white tip of a rib poked its way out, and the smell of iron already in the air intensified. Blood gushed its way down her legs and stained the tattered cloth in the same places as had been done so many times before. Tellfold immediately dropped the knife and dropped to his knees, placing his hands behind his head. Blood slowly dripped on to his elbows as he sat, awaiting judgement. Reid and Earle stood in the doorway, stricken with terror, unable to move. Jennifer's legs gave out, and her body swung in a half circle to face them, still supported still by the wire. Her head rolled sideways and came to a rest on her shoulder, more blood leaking from the corners of her mouth.

Earle began to vomit profusely with his gun still pointed at Tellfold. He brought one hand up to cover his mouth, and he began to shake. His eyes welled up with tears, and his gun shook in his hand. Reid patted him on the shoulder as he motioned forward. Earle nodded, and focused his gun as Reid approached the now prone Tellfold. "John Tellfold, you are under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Deisdorf and the suspicion of several others. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one, then one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?"

Tellfold slowly removed a hand from his head and gave a thumbs up. He didn't say a word. Reid grabbed his hand and brought it behind his back to meet the other. He cuffed them together, and less than gently pulled him off of the ground by the chains. Earle lowered his gun as the Reid marched him past and out of the hangar. The two of them sat in silence with Tellfold as they waited for other officers to arrive and take him away. Earle was beside himself with emotion. "Why do this," he asked, incredulously.

Tellfold shrugged. "Revenge. I made her watch every time." After that he clammed up, and didn't say a word. He never struggled as they placed him into the car, and didn't make any sort of a fuss. It was as if he knew he would be caught, and just wanted to see how much pain he could cause before that time.

Reid accompanied the forensics team inside to take stock of the scene. Earle declined, and offered to wait in the car. Reid understood completely, and truth be told, he didn't want to be there either. There was a nauseous curiosity about him, and he couldn't help but take a peek. He wandered into the office, and recognized Jessica Thomas chained to the wall looking like a ravenous hound. Her bones jutted out over her bloated belly. It was clear that he had fed her just enough to keep her physically alive but deprived her enough that her humanity had left long ago. There were claw marks in the dirt, and her teeth were stained with it. He shook his head and turned to face the yet to be identified male. He knew forensics would reveal that to be Kevin Marks. There was a reason that body hadn't been removed like the others. That was a rage killing and he left him there to torment her. The stench of the slaughter was becoming overwhelming and he was forced to withdraw from the office.

AFTERWORD

Shortly thereafter, Tellfold decided to give a gruesome and detailed confession in front of a jury. He gave himself up because he wanted the world to know what he had done, and he wasn't about to let the corrupt legal system deny him of the infamy. He revealed that after his wife left him, he robbed the bank to get her back and build a new life for them When he realized that there was another man, he used the affluence and respect that came with so much money to exact his revenge. After he had money hungry women swooning after him, he turned their naivety against them and went on a killing spree.

Reid stared blankly down at his notes. Nothing was coming to mind. The woman had been stabbed in the back of the head. The husband had no alibi. Close the case he told himself. No, he couldn't let it down that easily. He had learned that lesson in the hardest way possible, and he wouldn't allow his laziness to get more people killed. He gathered up the file, and finished off the rest of his hot chocolate. He got up from his desk and walked to the back of the office to get some water. Along the way he stopped at a friend's desk for help. "Hey, I've got the Madison case. You think you'd mind putting eyes on it? I don't want to overlook anything."

"Yeah sure, I'll take a peek at it with you over lunch. I've just got some paperwork to file for the boss, and a couple of meetings to set up for next week and then I should be free."

Reid tapped the folder on the corner of the desk and headed for the water fountain. On the way back he smiled at his fellow officer and said, "Earle, what do you want for lunch?"