Tag: Detective

I know…I know… I released these chapters out of order, but I have my reasons madness. Either way, I hope you enjoy this and I’d love to hear what you think of it so far!!

Enjoy!

 

CHAPTER ONE

I sat in disbelief, dumbfounded by the vapid car sounds…Click, click, click.

I just cannot win. “Of all days, do NOT do this!”

My shrill voice carried and echoed in the empty police garage parking lot. The tone of desperation in it pissed me off even more. I was in my apple-red Chevy Impala, in its assigned lot 2B-18, sitting several moments now in an apparently stalled vehicle.

Suddenly inside my head, a woman’s happy laughter followed up by her voice floated up from the depths of my buried memories. It’s fine, Lindsey. I’m just going down to Harvey’s for a burger then off to bed. Take the night and I will see you tomorrow. We’ll catch up then.

I could still hear the audible click as she hung up the phone.

It was Tawnie’s cheery voice.

I was the one to find her the next morning behind the dorm. The image of her bloody corpse flashing before my eyes. She was on a grassy hill, splayed out on display atop of her soiled nurse’s uniform, hacked apart by an ax. Other witnesses had found me later passed out at the base of the hill.

Stop! I have no time for this. I shook my head, frantically banishing the thoughts back to their subterranean vault. Stop, just stop…

Taking a deep breath, I held it and mentally recited a prayer before turning the ignition once again. Click, click, click cliiii….

I exhaled then punched the steering wheel hard with my fist. “You son-of-a-bitch! I’ve gotta go!”

“Detective Korrey…I think it’s dead,” a gravelly voice spoke out, right behind my left shoulder.

I jumped and let out a surprised yelp, twisting violently to see who it was. A patrolman with a thick head of red hair and a bushy goatee had been leaning down into the driver’s side window. He straightened immediately backpedaling with his hands raised to calm me. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s…it’s okay,” I stammered. “You just caught me off guard.”

Carefully, I removed my hand from the grip of the pistol at my belt. Behind him and to left was another patrol officer waiting, slightly shorter and thinner, with short-cropped brown hair and a patchy brown beard. He caught my eye and gave a quick nod.

My cheeks grew hot. I was embarrassed by my startled reaction.

“We are just coming on duty. Did you need us to jump your car for you?” The first officer offered. His badge plate said O’DELL.

Sighing loudly again in frustration, I paused to collect myself, pulled my hair back behind one ear, then said, “Normally, I’d take you up on your offer, but I’m already running late. I’m supervising a prisoner extradition pick up this afternoon. It’s not something that can wait. I hate to ask this—”

He cut me off. “But you’re gonna need us to drive you there. The Phil?”

“Yeah, I’m due at the airport by 11:30.”

The other, younger officer looked at his watch, his face tight with obvious irritation. “It’s going to be close with downtown traffic at this hour.”

“We’ll make it happen, detective.” O’Dell extended his hand to me through the open window. “Officer Shawn O’Dell. That’s Officer Josh Brandon.”

I shook his hand and smiled up at him. “Detective Lindsey Korrey of Homicide Division.” I didn’t know these officers, but I was relieved they respected my position enough and were willing to help me. Pulling any type of rank was always emotionally hard for me to go through with. Often as a woman in charge, I’m usually challenged or hard-pressed in situations when I had to give orders or take lead.

I opened the door, grabbed my purse and locked the car. “Where are you guys parked?”

Officer Brandon pointed to a patrol cruiser in the opposite corner of my vehicle. X1718 painted on the door and hood. “You’ll have to ride in the back, unfortunately.”

 

****

 

“Dispatch to X1718. Do you read?”

Officer Brandon leaned down and swept up the receiver. “X1718, copy.”

Officer O’Dell, the older officer, the obvious veteran, was driving as protocol. During the first couple of years, rookie patrol officers rode with seasoned, trained patrol officers until they proved themselves. He spoke out loud to me. “I’m going to take the 611. If we’re lucky we can take it then head down to the I-75 to 291 which will loop back to the east side of the airport.”

He was making an effort. I liked that. I didn’t get the same sense of commitment from Officer Brandon.

The radio crackled with life and a Dispatch Officer, Sheila Carter, cut in, “X1718, head over to Brandywine St & North 21st Street. A male child has been found abandoned.”

“X1718, copy.”

“Speak with a Fen and Chun Zhao. They’re the owners of The Golden Hour Dragon Restaurant and found the boy in their parking lot.”

Josh glanced at his partner, who nodded his approval back at him. “Copy.  Show X1718 en route, Dispatch,” Josh responded.

“Uh, guys…” I spoke up. “Remember, I cannot be late.”

“Detective Korrey, I understand your concern. I do. However…” O’Dell shrugged. “It’s an abandoned kid. We don’t have a good reason to give if we don’t get him first and something happens to him while we are at the airport with you.”

The weight of his argument settled on me. My shoulders sagged. I had no answer to it.

“Look, it’s a simple stop and pickup. Then we’ll take you to the airport before heading back to Headquarters with the kid.”

In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself. My lips were squeezed into a line and worry lines creased my forehead. I couldn’t find any sound excuse to override the officer’s points.

His voice dropped down low and conspiratorially, “This isn’t a normal prisoner transport, is it? This is about the ‘Nurse Catcher’, am I right?”

Josh’s jaw dropped and he snapped his head back to openly stared at me.

Shit! Here it comes.

I reluctantly nodded. “Yes. A week ago, Lawson Torv was captured in San Diego, and we’re flying him in to face charges for the three murders here. It’s been hush-hush to keep the press away. He’s used chaos and crowds to escape before so we’re not taking any chances this time.” I tried to ignore Officer Brandon’s scrutiny, but I was embarrassed again.

“You’re that detective?” he muttered.

“Josh!” O’Dell admonished him.

The young officer abruptly turned to face ahead.

“I know how important this is for you. And I told you I’m going to get you there, okay?” Shawn continued, trying to reassure me. “We get in, get out, nothing much to it.”

I took a quick glance at my cell phone. It read 8:37 AM.

Twenty-three minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of The Golden Hour Dragon. Immediately, we spotted an older Chinese man sitting next to a white, brown-haired boy with a bowl-haircut, skinny build, and scabby knees. He had on a pair of sunglasses, a fur-lined yellow winter jacket, and dark blue jean shorts. The boy didn’t appear to be in any distress or worries.

The two patrolmen got out first then Officer O’Dell opened the back door to release me. I stayed behind and leaned up against the cruiser, crossing my arms and watching.

Officer Brandon strode over and squatted down in front of the boy. “Hi there, champ,” I detected an obvious change in his demeanor. He was good with kids.

“He hasn’t said a word,” the older Chinese man stated. “My name is Chun Zhao.” He nodded to Officer Brandon then to Officer O’Dell and me.

“Do you know where he came from or which direction?” Shawn asked.

Anxiety was building up inside me. My instincts told me there was something wrong with the whole scene. I couldn’t put a finger on the why of it, but the feel of the situation set my teeth on edge.

“No. Actually, it was my wife, Fen, who found him standing on the corner.” He pointed at the intersection of Brandywine and North 21st. “He was standing there, dressed like this, staring up at the streetlight. I was afraid he was going to cross it alone.”

Shawn inquired, “You’ve never seen him before then, Mr. Zhao?” 

He shook his head no.

Josh followed up with, “And there was no one else with him or walking around? Do you think someone left him here?” 

“I didn’t see anyone and, no, I don’t think Fen did either.”

Leaning in closer, he examined the kid with his eyes but didn’t see any apparent bruises or cuts. Smiling at the boy, he straightened then unpinned his silver badge. As he held it out before the boy’s face, he said, “Do you know what this is?”

He waited for a response. The child studied his hand then looked up into Josh’s face. He made no attempt to smile or respond, only continued to stare.

“It means I’m a police officer. Do you know what a police officer does?”

Shawn said when the boy didn’t answer. “It means, as an officer I protect you. You can trust us. We won’t hurt you.”

The boy slowly turned his head away and faced the cruiser.

Shawn mistook the boy’s message. “She’s also an officer. We’re here to help you. You’re not in any trouble. We just want to make sure you get home okay. Your mommy and daddy have to be very worried about you.”

The boy didn’t shift his eyes and kept watching me stand next to the patrol car. An awkward smile of my own formed on my lips.

Shawn and Josh glanced at each other and an unspoken agreement was made. 

Officer O’Dell said, “Okay, Mr. Zhao, are you and your wife able to come down to the station later this afternoon and give a statement?”

“Certainly. Is he going to be alright?”

The two officers nodded together. “We’ll take him downtown until we get things straightened and reunite him with his family. Thank you for calling us,” Shawn remarked.

I continued my attempt at a smile, certain my anxiety, and frustration with my lack of time were showing on my face. Josh led the boy by the hand to the cruiser. 

I loved children but had limited experience with them. I opened the car door for him to join me in the backseat bench. “Hi there. I’m Lindsey and this is Shawn and Josh. Are you hungry?”

The boy crawled into the back without acknowledging my words. I shrugged at Officer O’Dell and got in.

Normally children seemed to take to me. I always thought I’d be a good mother. Someday. Maybe now that Torv is caught…

You’d be a lousy mom, Lindsey! Jessie had screamed at me one night, one of our last arguments in fact before the divorce. You’re never ever home! And by the way, you can’t have kids if you don’t have sex!

Asshole.

He was right in some regards, but it didn’t take the sting out of his words either. Jessie wanted children and, of course, so did I, but the Nurse Catcher case was too involved, too engrossing for me to consider any other endeavors at the time.

I owed it to Tawnie.

“Alright, champ. We’ve got to take a brief ride to the airport then we’ll see to getting you home to your family. Okay?” Josh said.

Several beads of sweat popped up along the boy’s brow. It was then I realized he was dressed in a winter jacket and had a striped sweater underneath it.

“You must be pretty warm in that. Can I take off your jacket for you?” I asked, but he didn’t offer any reaction. He kept face forward and silent. 

Who the hell dressed their kid like this in July? I reached over and tugged down one side and the right sleeve. He didn’t try to stop me.

I found a pair of vertical scratches on the inside of his wrist and a pair of scabbed-over gouges at the base of his neck near his sweater’s collar. Dirt and black, chalky smudges were around his ear as well.

“Did you get hurt, sweetie? How did you get these…wounds?” I didn’t want to say it and upset the boy, but I immediately recognized the wounds as animal bite marks.

From upfront, Shawn uttered a couple of choice curses. “Get out of the way!”

I looked up from the boy and noticed a man, filthy and wearing a ratty t-shirt and a gray hooded jacket. It said ironically SECURITY across the front. Most of the man’s hair on top had fallen out or turned a splotchy white and gray. He stood transfixed and staring intently on the boy. Shawn honked the car’s horn and gestured for the man to move. The homeless man ignored the directions and remained transfixed.

Brandon rolled down his passenger window. “Look! If you don’t move, I’m going to get out and move you myself!”

The rookie’s face reddened as the transient disregarded his threat. “FINE!” he roared then swept up his soda can and hurled it at the bum. It caught him perfectly in the face and splashed leftover soda as it bounced up his forehead and flew behind him.

“OFFICER BRANDON! That was not necessary.” Shawn scolded.

A splash of soda dripped down the man’s leathery cheeks, but his eyes were no longer fixed on the boy. Josh had gotten his attention after all. His gaze was filled with an angry intelligence and malice, but there was something else. It struck me as the look from a man in the throes of insanity — a frantic uneasy restlessness running in tight circles in the dark. I shuddered as the back of my neck grew cold and clammy.

“Move along,” Shawn insisted to the homeless man with force in his statement.

The man shrugged and wiped the brown liquid off his thick chin. He turned and walked back to the sidewalk. As the cruiser went past him, the man pointed with a gnarled, ash-covered index finger at the boy in the seat and mouthed, “I seek you.” There was no longer an expression or emotion on his scrub-covered face.

“Freak!” I called out from the backseat as we pulled away.

An arm curled around mine and a tiny hand gripped my own. I looked over and found the boy had pressed up to my side in obvious fright. 

I am hard at work, writing Evade daily and I thought I’d give you a taste sample of the story to get some feedback.  Please let me know what you think and what you like or don’t like about it in the comments below.

WORD OF WARNING – THIS IS A HORROR STORY, SOME PARTS MAY MAKE SENSITIVE READERS UNCOMFORTABLE!

Enjoy!

 

CHAPTER TWO

The day had come early and had started rough for Lawson. He was in that drifting, fuzzy state of consciousness between sleep and fully awake when the hard steel-toed boot struck him in the ass cheek.

“Rise and shine, ya big shit!” the detention guard chuckled at his lame joke. “It’s time. We’ve got your one-way ticket back to Philly.”

The 5’9”, 245-pound-guard had retreated, standing next to other guards in the doorway of Lawson’s cell and waited with his metal baton in hand. Lawson hated cowards.

He sighed and rolled his own 6’3”, 279-pound frame out of bed, already dressed with his boots on.  “Well, that’s a shame. We were jus’ getting to know each other. Right, Private Lard Ass?” Lawson’s thick Australian accent seemed to make the statement sound even more of a snide dig.

Private Joe Phillips jumped, a little startled by the remark. He knew the other guards called him that when he wasn’t around. He was obviously overweight, but having an inmate repeat that to his face was unexpected and intolerable. His face burned. “Watch your mouth! I am not no little nurse girl, ya bastard. I’ll cut you down whe–”

Lawson had leaned in and spit a loogie into his open mouth. As the guard cursed and gagged, another much larger guard ran around Phillips and slashed his baton into Lawson’s stomach followed up with a boot to the groin. He writhed on the concrete floor and clutched himself, but through the tears he laughed and called out, “Souuuiiiieeee! Sooouuuuuiiiieeee!”

Another guard joined the first two, and Lawson stopped after two or three more fierce kicks, laying still, panting heavily.

“Alright. Alright, fellas. I’m done. I’m done. Just having a little fun witcha, mates.”

They didn’t take his apology and shoved him face first against the dirty cell tiles, grabbing his hands, cuffing and chaining them. But he was too tired for any more entertainment. He’d had his fun and kept his word by going peacefully to the prison transport vans parked in the facility garage.

He learned later, his flight had been set for 9:30 AM.

As he waited on the prison van’s pleather bench with a small trickle of blood oozing out of one nostril, he recalled Arnie Whitehead’s words.

“Yeah, I’m being straight with you. Not trying to poke the bear, man, but that’s the word going around.”

Arnie was a lifer due to a violent bank robbery years ago. He was a black man with long, graying dreadlocks and pockmarked cheeks. They had been in the prison yard, watching a pickup basketball game going. No one had been willing to approach Lawson Torv, aka The Nurse Catcher, as he had a tangible, negative presence. A black, draining aura about him that warned you to approach at your own free will.

As Lawson was his new cell mate, Arnie must’ve figured in the courtyard was as good as any place to learn about the newest “infamous” inmate to Desert Max Prison.

The “word” that Arnie had relayed to him was that it was one detective who had found and bagged him. And it was a woman.

“She’s some detective out of Philadelphia, but they’re saying she went all rogue and tracked ya down by herself.”

“What’s her name?”

“I didn’t get that much detail. It was a chat I overheard between the guards.” He laughed, his wide grin spread out under his bushy mustache and thick eyebrows. “Yeah, them guards are like schoolgirls, all gossiping and shit. I’m invisible to them. Especially when I’m mopping the hall all slow and quiet.”

The lone fact, the brashness of this woman coming alone after him, hunting his steps and hounding his heels like a wolf, appealed and insulted him at the same time. He wanted to know her, learn about her, then get into her head and ultimately, he wanted to be there to break her.

Sure, it was a classic movie plot, but it didn’t mean the desire wasn’t there all the same. The fire she sparked by coming after him, a craving which grew and grew. It was insatiable and burned away every other distracting thought. She reignited him in a whole new way.

Somewhere inside his damaged mind, he knew he had somehow done that for her too.  Who else but the obsessed would go to the lengths she took? 

A new question raised in his mind. Was she the one in Denver? Had she been that close?

He knew someone was asking questions and the circle of inquiries had gotten back to him. Not wanting to stop or get caught, he didn’t risk the time to confirm how close the police investigation was getting. He grabbed his duffel bag and he was out the door.

He put a dark twist to the old southern rock song by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Gimme Three Steps. “Gimme three steps, Mister; Gimme three steps towards the door; ….Gimme three steps, Mister; And you’ll never see me no more, for sure!”

It was more than a hard-luck song. To him, it was instructions to his carefree and unresticted life. He made good use of the words. A gospel to live and to kill by.

“I will owe you one, if you find any more out for me, Arnie,” he said. “A favor of any kind.”

Lawson was looking at life sentences if not the death penalty so adding more murders wouldn’t do anything to him one way or the other. It was about the only currency he had in prison now.

“You say she was from Pennsylvania? Philladelphia?”

“Yep.”

He paused trying to understand the added facts to the already brewing ingredients. Why would a detective in Philly be so involved? He was anxious to get in the air now and get some answers. This promised to be even more entertaining.

The loud prison transport bus pulled away into the early dark hours of the morning, driving past the barbed wire fences and onto the lonely desert highway. Torv sat back and thought about his last night of what he called his Bloody Holiday.

The evening had gone swimmingly good. In a parking lot in south San Diego, he had jumped an elderly Hispanic man coming back to his car from an ATM. With the fresh withdrawal, he bought steaks for his “date night” and acquired some fine red wine and even a bag of mellowing weed.

He had walked home.  But after padding down all his pockets as he stood inside the front porch,  he realized he couldn’t find the house key ring..

Must’ve lost it during the tussle. Oh well.

 

He looked up and down the stretch of dusty road to be sure he had no nosy neighbors or passersby. Only the hot sunset and pink clouds in the skyline greeted him.

Lawson made his way to the backyard and jumped the rusty, vine-covered fence. This time when he entered the backyard, he wasn’t greeted by the two neglected and temperamental rottweilers.

The cut on his palm took several days to heal, but the long slashes on left arm were still inflamed and possibly infected. He had found some antibiotics in the upstairs bathroom which he started taking.

Twin rotting mounds, covered in buzzing flies, now took up their post by the back corner of the yard.

By the look of the poor boys, he did them a favor. And he was happy to spend some extra time giving the house owner, a George Jerome, some special treatment and justice for the dogs.

By all accounts, he was a psychopath per the doctors, psychologists and even the shows on television, but animals did still find a way to reach the tiny part of him that was human.  Animals in his thinking were worthy of saving. Even ones like the dogs that got in his way. These two had a job to do and wouldn’t be persuaded from it. Made them noble, honorable like soldiers dying for their duty and country.

He also had a job to do, yet his was of higher importance. Thus, the dogs paid up.

Taking a rock and a muddy rag, he popped the window in the back door.

“Sweeties, I’m home. Did you miss me?” he called out. “I’ve got a nice surprise for you.”

 

He shut the door and started unpacking the bag of groceries. “Don’t fret — don’t get up — you relax downstairs and I’ll do all the work tonight. Date Night is special!”

Thirty some minutes later, he carried down the steps to the cellar, a pair of silver-painted trays. One loaded with a steak and the other with a bowl of water and sponges. In the center of the large open room was a wood table recently uncovered and cleaned. He placed the steak tray on it next to the table’s lone chair.  Turning around, he faced his evening dates, Christine and Annita Cabellero.

Christine was unconscious, her head resting on her sweat-soaked chest, her hands cuffed to a pipe over her head. She was Hispanic with long curly black locks and a thin figure. Her feet barely reached the floor, her toes were scraped and covered with brown dust. Both of the women had stockings tied as gags around their mouths.

Annita, her younger sister, was watching him intently. Her arms were also cuffed above her head and she balanced herself on her toes. Both women were bloodied, scratched and bruised all over their bodies. Lawson kept Annita topless as he liked to look at her curvaceous form, especially her perky breasts, although one he had marred with a deep bite during their first dance.

When he caught sight of the mark, he recalled a memory from grade school.

“Ya know, my first-grade teacher once sent me home with a report card. I don’t know if they do this here in the States, but it noted some of my behaviors in class and not just my book grades.”

He paused, rubbed away sweat at the back of his neck and frowned with a troubled expression.

“The remarks about ‘not sharing with the other students’ and the one ‘damages the toys’ had gotten me nearly beaten to death for embarrassing my da’.  Not saying that it didn’t teach me what was expected, but clearly, I still don’t share well,” he said looking at the single plate. Then he crossed the room and his hand slipped down Annita’s face to roughly manhandle her bloodied breast. He squeezed it hard to make her whimper. “And I do tend to break my toys.”

She shuddered under his touch and kept her eyes down. Tears dripped silently to the ground by her feet with a stifled sob.

“But hey, let’s not spoil Date Night, right? Let bygones be bygones.”

A cloying, vinegar-rot smell floated in the air. He looked behind the women to a sheet with splashes of blackish scarlet stains. The cloth covered old George as he sat propped in the corner. An arm lay severed down by the man’s stiff legs.

“Even George wants us to have a good time, I’m sure of it. After all, this will be our last night here.”

He glanced at Christine and studied her labored breathing. Must’ve broken a rib or two, he mused.

She was dressed only in her torn, white nurse’s scrub shirt and panties. Blood droplets spotted the shirt and caked her chin and left ear.

Torv went back up into the kitchen and returned with three wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. He set about opening and pouring out generous portions of the bottle.

He pushed the two glasses away from his dinner plate, gulped a large swallow of the liquid from his glass and sat in his wooden chair. Facing the ladies, he ate his T-bone steak heartily.

 

Just as he mopped up the last of the juice on his plate with the final cut from the T-bone, he heard a muted groan which came from Christine.

“Oh good, you’re awake, sweetheart. I was hoping you’d come around soon. We’ll share a toast here in a sec.”

Scooting back from the table, he went to an alcove right of their position and out of view. He went about shaking out the blankets and smoothing out the sheets on the mattress which he had hauled from upstairs four days ago.  In the cement wall above the makeshift bedroom, he had hammered in a twin set of thick eye bolt hooks from the hardware store. It worked well for securing the handcuffs.

Taking his own glass, then their wine glasses, he stood again with his dates. “Enjoy each moment you have breath. Remember, you get in life what you have the courage to take…or something like that,” he laughed. “That’s Oprah Winfrey. Read it somewhere.”

They stared incredulous at him as he clinked the three glasses together. “Cheers!” Then he sipped once from each of the glasses.

Lawson smacked his forehead, catching their attention.  “Oh, silly me!  Can’t forget that.”

He relished his own humor and had a flair of melodrama which he often used to its fullest potential.  He marched up the rickety stairs. Loudly, the big man rummaged around, making as much racket as possible.

Both women squealed in unrestrained terror when he came back down. A large double-sided axe rested on his shoulder.  He went by, swept up one of two of the wine glasses then leaned the axe on the alcove wall next to the mattress.

Lawson whistled a whimsical tune to himself as he came back, eyeing the women. He shook his head and moved in front of Christine. Her right eye was swollen shut.

The first night she had resisted him, and tried to double her efforts when he went for Annita. In fact, the first several dances of the night with Christine had been eventful and ended with her unconscious.

Now her good left eye bulged in panic and she begged for mercy behind her gag.

“Shhhh. Shhhh. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your sister. I promise. I’m thinking I could use her company for a while on my road trip.”

He dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out the cuffs key. “You want to dance, right? No fists, teeth? Dance nicely with me on our Date Night, okay. Enjoy each moment you have breath…”

Before Christine could answer, he felt a sharp jab to his right calf, swinging his attention to Annita who was screaming into her gag, rage in her eyes. She had kicked him with her remaining strength.

These two were sure feisty – he appreciated it and admired their gestures.

“Sweetie. Don’t be jealous. It’s not my fault. I had eyes on her my first day here, but when I picked her up, how was I to know you’d be there to stay over and visit? So, you can’t be mad that I let your sister have the first dances. Only fair.”

Lawson put the key into Christine’s cuff the exact moment the doorbell upstairs rang out. All three jumped from the sudden intrusion. He held a finger to her mouth, motioning for silence.

The doorbell buzzed again.

Torv snapped a glance at his watch which read 8:39 PM.

Who the f… A chill ran down his spine as his answers came to him. He shuddered when it rang out for a third time in the still of the house. It was like a deathknell. In his charcoal heart, he knew the only reason for a visit would be from the police. They somehow had found him!

His eyes met the women’s terrified gazes and they shared the same thought: would he have time to kill them? 

Again the doorbell sang out. That sealed it for him.  No one would be that insistent at this hour of the evening.

He bolted to the alcove, sweeping up the large axe. Once more the women were horrified by the sight of it, but Torv ran past them and stormed up the steps without a glance their way. At the back door, he snatched up his always-packed duffle bag and yanked it open.

A series of blinding lights exploded in his eyes and flooded his face. Several shouts and commands rang out, mainly demands to put the axe down immediately. The doorbell was a decoy to startle him. They herded him like a farm animal and he stepped right into their snare without a single thought.

He lifted the handle off his shoulder as he sunk to his knees and let it hit the ground. Red laser light dots peppered his shirt and on his forehead.

And just like that, it was over. 

Lawson Torv, aka The Nurse Catcher had been taken off the chess board all too easy.

He gasped as he sat in the shadowy bus. Several faces looked back at him, especially the scowling detention guards in the front of the bus.

Wait! There had been a woman! The image swirled to life in his mind. He saw her. She had been in plain clothes and a bullet-proof vest, leaning against the back wall. Her arms had been crossed and sunglasses tucked up in her red-brown hair. The other SDPD cops were running in chaotic circles and shoving him around like a ragdoll in a dryer, but she hadn’t moved. Only stared at him.

He had been so angry at their untimely interruption, so upset at losing his last two, and above all scared he’d never taste the blood of a kill again. So consumed by the frantic scene that he forgot about her.

Was that the one?