The Killer Strikes

Chapter One – 'Crime Scene Number Three'

The dark eyes of the killer darted about, left and right, as if trying to decide the best way to enter the old Victorian style house. You could tell that this was something to be relished, the challenge of the entrance. She looked at the house and figured that the back would be the best way.

She walked slowly and with purpose. She had planned far too long for it to be rushed. This was not a hack and slash barbarian, rather someone that had taken the time to learn how to do it right. There was purpose in each step as if she were conducting a military operation, though few military operations were ever conducted with this black a purpose.

The killer's black hair flew behind her as she jumped over a four-foot chain link fence and landed flat-footed on the other side. The grass was overdue for a mowing so it muffled the sound of her landing. She then walked over to the phone box and used the tip of a combat knife to open it, slicing all the wires inside after getting it open. She then used the darkness of the area to hide in as a car passed on the street.

Once the car was gone, the killer's lithe form slid around the back of the building with the grace of a cat on the prowl. She was not ham fisted at all in entering, partly from practice and mainly because there was no need to be. The rear door of the house was old and had not been fitted with a deadbolt. A simple thin tool was all that she needed to slip the flimsy rear lock. It would have been a burglar's dream, but theft was not on her mind, at least not theft of property. She was there to steal something more precious than that.

The killer's soft-soled shoes made no sound she walked through the victim's kitchen. Everything went exactly as planned. She stopped only to take a large knife from the large wooden block on the counter. She had been prepared to use a combat knife on the victim, but she felt using a knife that could not be traced back to anyone but that victim had a certain delicious irony to it. It fit her personality to change her careful plan on the fly if circumstances dictated it.

The killer stepped quietly, but quickly, to the front stairs. She detested two story dwellings for this sort of thing normally, but the profile of this victim would surely make for headlines. She knew nothing if not the power of headlines. After the first two killings, there were whispers going around about a serial killer on the loose, though the official police department line was that the first two killings were unrelated.

Tonight, the killer intended to prove the police department wrong. The first two killings followed the same pattern, which she did not deviate from this time. First thing she did was survey the entire house and make sure that everyone was asleep. The upstairs consisted only of three rooms, so this did not take very long.

The master bedroom had two people sleeping in the bed, a couple in their early fifties. The killer looked at them dispassionately, not caring in the slightest about them. She was far beyond caring about taking lives. Life meant nothing to her and they would be disposed of quickly. The true victim was in another room.

The second bedroom was a slight surprise, containing a crib and a sleeping mother, possibly friends of the victim that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer frowned at the inconvenience, but decided that scrapping the mission now would be foolhardy, as well as impractical. She knew that the mother would have to be dealt with first, as the maternal instinct was dangerous when aroused.

In the final bedroom lay the prize the killer was seeking, a young woman with a high enough profile to bring this case to the front of the newspapers. The newspapers had featured her on their front pages numerous times, though usually for achievements, not the least of which was becoming second runner up in the Miss America pageant.

The death of this woman would be pleasurable, as this killer had a particular disdain for pageant contestants. It would also serve her greater goal, the goal of television coverage. She knew that there had not been a Son of Sam style spree in the age of CNN, Fox News and round the clock news coverage. Although she was nowhere near as insane as Berkowitz, Bundy, or Ramirez, she eagerly awaited watching the people of America keep their eyes glued to the television set waiting for the next killing.

The killer smiled slightly and stepped out of the victim's room. Turning back into the room with the mother and child the killer approached quietly and got a firm grip on the wooden handle of the serrated butcher knife. With a smile and a gleam present in her eyes, the killer's knife plunged down quickly into the soft flesh under the temple. The force was so great that the young woman, actually the pageant winner's sister, did not even have a chance to wake up before dying.

Flush with the excitement of the first kill of the night the killer pulled the knife out, watching the satisfying splatter of blood as the knife was extracted. She took the woman's hand and made several bloody hand prints posthumously, just to confuse the police. She did so love to torment the police and had the knowledge to make the investigation a living hell.

The parents were the next ones that had to go. Taking care of two people at once was always tricky, so the killer went into the room and shut the door in case it got noisy. She silently wished for the silenced pistol that had been left back at the apartment, but then remembered why it had been left behind. The pistol was only for laziness. She was brutal but was anything but lazy when it came to the games.

The killer decided that the man had to go first. The woman might be noisier, but would be less of a threat if things got out of hand. She stood right next to the man for a moment looking at the motions of his chest as he slept. He really had no idea that these breaths that he was taking were going to be his last. The killer reflected on this as the knife silently ended the man's life.

But, perhaps this was not so silent after all, because it was enough to wake up the woman. The woman sat bolt upright and saw the killer plunging the knife into her husband's body. She screamed loudly, not knowing that she was one of two adults left alive in the house. She saw that her husband was beyond help and decided to make a break for it.

The killer cursed silently and hopped over the bed, grabbing the woman before she could reach the door. Her temper was fired by the mistake, so the woman's head was rather brutally bashed into the wall. This, however, made enough noise to wake up the intended victim who was now, after her mother's death, the only living adult.

The killer heard the girl wake up and the distinctive clatter of a phone being removed from a cradle. Little did the Beauty Queen realize that the phones were already dead and that she was to be next. The killer let the Mother's body drop limp down on the floor and ran for the Beauty Queen's room.

The Beauty Queen was on her feet quickly and running for the stairs. Her Winnie the Pooh pajamas were already wet with nervous sweat. The killer smiled and started running after the beauty queen.

The beauty queen was stumbling over her own feet as she sped down the stairs. Not so the killer. She jumped up and held on to both railings, much like a crewman on a submarine tends to do. This allowed her to get to the bottom and kick the beauty queen behind the knees, causing her to fall and smack her face on the floor.

Now, now, The killer said in a patronizing voice broken only by a few coughs, Look at what you made me do. You've made a mess of yourself, you know that?

The bloodied beauty queen could do little but moan as the killer picked her up and laid her out on the couch. The killer had wanted this to go a little smoother, but a little excitement always made things more fun.

The first thing to go was the Winnie the Pooh pajamas. The killer wanted the pictures to be irresistible to the press so that they would be posted everywhere. She then took things slowly from this point. Torture was an art as far as the killer was concerned, and one that needed time to be enjoyable.

The killer did the dirty work on the girl, but left enough to be recognized. It was an agonizing way for anyone to die, alive, but unable to scream because the tongue was no longer there. Dying, but not fast enough to spare the pain. The killer had fun with this, as this was the reason the killer went through so much preparation. It took time to do things right, and she loved working on young victims like this.

When the young beauty queen had finally died, the killer started the arrangements. She had no particular religion, dark or otherwise, but occult symbols always made things look spooky, and the spookier it got the more press it got. She also removed one of the young woman's fingers, dropping it into a plastic bag for later use. This also tended to confuse the police, which was usually a good thing for her purposes.

The killer went upstairs and moved the bodies around a little, her six-foot frame giving her the strength and leverage to do so. She did it to confuse the detectives who would be there in a few hours. The beauty queen's parents were placed back into bed as if sleeping. Her macabre sense of humor showed when the baby's mother was wrapped into an intimate embrace with a large teddy bear.

As a final note, the killer put the bloodied knife into the crib, edge away from the baby. The baby was not the target, and she had no need to inflame the public that much yet. Besides, she felt leaving the child alive as the only living witness added flare to the scene. As a final insult to the police officers, however, she turned off the air conditioning to make sure that the smell was nice and ripe when they got there.

The killer smiled at what was left and decided that it was time to fade away into the night. Slinking down the steps, the killer slid back out the door. Looking around for early morning activity, she hopped back over the chain link fence and slid away into the night, very satisfied with how things had gone. It was time to go back home and watch the ensuing television coverage.

Chapter Two – 'The Scene of the Crime'

Lieutenant Michael Miller climbed out of his old Mercedes and looked at the average city street, one that was crawling with cops and reporters. He growled, as he had to fight his way through a crowd to get to the barricades surrounding the crime scene. He knew that this one would be bad. Unlike some of his superiors, Miller already knew that this one was a serial killer. His instincts were too good to ignore in this regard.

Miller flashed his badge to the patrolman who was working the barricade and was let through without any problems. He looked for familiar faces and saw his old friend, Detective Nick Jones, standing just below the front steps smoking a cigarette. Miller walked over and chastised his friend for the cigarette.

I thought you quit those things years ago, Nicky, Mike said, Is it that bad in there?

Take a look for yourself, Mike, Nick said, I'm pretty sure you'll want one too.

How bad? Mike Miller asked him.

This guy makes Pena's thugs look like school children, Nick said, I still can't figure out what happened. Not sure I even want to, truthfully.

Mike Miller and Nick Jones went back a nearly a decade to when Miller was an undercover cop infiltrating the Bullock/Pena organized crime syndicate. Nick was a low ranking member of the outfit who defected to the good side when Miller's cover was blown, even saving the undercover cop's life in the final hours.

Miller and his employers had arranged for a full pardon for Jones, wiping out his criminal record so he could join the police force. As soon as Jones had served his rookie days in the streets Miller scooped him up to work under him in the homicide unit that he had headed up after the Bullock trials finished and the gang became a footnote of history. That was over five years in the past. They had been together ever since.

Ok, Mike said, I'm going to go in. Has the smell started yet?

Oh yeah, Nick said while making a face, The other reason for the smoke. To deaden my sense of smell before I go back in there. This killer is a prick. He turned off the air conditioning before he left.

Assuming it's a he, Miller reminded him.

Too much moving of bodies for it to be a woman, Nick said, It's possible, but unlikely.

True, Mike nodded, Ok, I'm going in.

Good luck, Nick chuckled, I'll go in again once my stomach settles.

Miller nodded and walked up the steps. If it was anything like the last two murders he knew it would be a gut wrenching experience. He opened the door and got a whiff of the smell. He frowned and continued to walk in anyway. He had barely gotten inside when a younger officer ran into him, trying to get outside.

If you're going to puke, Miller suggested to the young man, Do it out back where the reporters won't see you. I don't want the reporters all over us yet.

The young officer nodded at the suggestion and made a break for the back door, careful not to touch anything. Miller chuckled a little and walked into the living room, where he heard some voices. He saw the medical examiner standing there while the photographer took pictures of everything.

Welcome to hell, Lieutenant, Jake Sanders, the local Medical Examiner said, This is the worst one yet.

How many this time? Miller asked as he looked over the scene.

Four, Sanders sighed, This one here and three upstairs.

How long? Miller asked.

Won't be able to tell for sure because the AC was turned off, Sanders said, My guess is sometime between midnight and four. Any less and the stench wouldn't have been as profound.

Same guy as last week? Mike asked him.

I don't know, Sanders said, It's just as brutal, and there's crap on the walls again, but it could be a copycat.

Yeah, Miller said without even looking at Sanders, Somehow I doubt it though.

Miller walked back towards the front and saw Nick walk into the house. He was holding a handkerchief up to his face as he walked in, and he paled a bit. He had been working homicide with Miller for several years but was still not used to the stench of death yet.

Stupid question, Miller said, But I'll ask it anyway. Did you find any witnesses?

Only one, Nick said, But she ain't talking.

Why not? Miller asked, surprised at the response, Injured bad?

Not a scratch, Nick shrugged, But she hasn't learned how to talk yet.

Nick went on to explain about the baby in the crib and how the knife was laid gently down with the child, blade away. Miller growled at the killer's cruelty, but realized that this was not the work of a standard madman. This killer had a sense of humor, albeit a cruel one.

This is a bad one, Mike, Nick said as they climbed the stairs, Are they still pressing you upstairs not to call this one a serial?

Of course, Miller growled bitterly, They hate the sound of it. Nothing good ever comes out of these cases, never will. I don't think it matters now. As soon as the details from this one are released there will be no stopping that flood.

Especially once the press gets wind of who the victim is, Nick agreed.

You have ID's? Mike asked.

You didn't recognize her? Nick asked, surprised.

I doubt I'd recognize my own mother in that condition, Nick, Mike said, Who is she?

The state beauty queen, Nick said, Miss America contest too. Second runner up, I think. This one is going to gather some serious press in a few hours.

Angela DiTonno? Mike said and whistled as his memory kicked in, Who were the others?

Parents and sister, Nick said, The girl's boyfriend said that the baby was the sister's.

Where is he? Mike asked.

Out back with Creighton, Nick said, Going through the standard questions. The guy is rather distraught.

And you left him alone with Jay Creighton? Mike said, You should know better, Nick!

Miller sighed and made his way to the back of the house. Sure enough, Detective Randall Jay Creighton was laying into the young man in the back yard. Miller could see that even before he got within earshot of the two men.

Where were you last night? Creighton said to the young man, probably for the hundredth time, I haven't got all day here.

I told you! The upset young man exclaimed, I was home sleeping.

Cool it, Creighton, Miller said as he walked up, Go out front and make sure the uniformed guys are keeping the press out of the perimeter.

But I was just… Creighton started to say before Miller interrupted him.

Going out front, Miller finished for him, I'll take it from here, Jay.

Randall Jay Creighton had been a thorn in Miller's side since first having him thrust into the unit a year ago. Creighton was a below average cop being retained mainly because of his connections. He was not particularly bright and had very few problem solving skills. Miller tended to use him as little as possible and even then only on crimes that he did not expect to go in front of a jury.

Sorry about that, kid, Miller sighed when Creighton was out of earshot, I hope he didn't rattle you too bad.

No, the kid said, You don't really think I did this do you?

Not really, Miller admitted, But we do have to ask the questions. What is your name, anyway?

Jason Trotter, the young man said, And you are?

Lieutenant Miller, Mike said and held out his hand, The other man with me is Detective Nick Jones.

Nice to meet you, Jason, Nick said, shaking the kids hand as well, Sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances.

I know Jay probably asked you repeatedly, Miller smiled, But could you tell me where you were last night?

I was with Angela until ten, the shaken kid said, I was feeling lousy from all the candy we ate at the fair yesterday. I went home and went to sleep. She asked me to come pick her up this morning so we could go see some friends.

Why was she home? Nick asked, pulling out his notebook.

Time off from the events circuit, Jason sniffled, We got to spend some time together and we were going to go see some mutual friends this afternoon.

You wouldn't happen to know if anyone was threatening her? Miller asked him.

Not off hand, the kid said, But she probably wouldn't have told me about it anyway. Morris Stans would know about stuff like that. He handled her publicity and that sort of garbage. Fat lot of good it's going to do her now.

Miller nodded solemnly. The kid was certainly right about that. He was sure that the kid had nothing to do with it. He knew he had a serial killer. He just did not want to admit it anymore than the police brass did.

That's all for now, Mike smiled, trying to keep him calm, Just sit back and try to calm down a bit. If Creighton bugs you again, tell him that I said not to. If he doesn't listen, come get Nick or Myself.

Thanks, Jason half smiled, I appreciate it Lieutenant.

Miller walked back towards the house grumbling, telling Nick to go check on Creighton. He walked inside to see how the crime scene analysis was going. That was one of the bad parts of the promotion he had received after the undercover gig; he could not do everything hands on anymore. He had to rely on his orders being carried out.

Lieutenant! someone exclaimed to get Miller's attention.

Miller looked up and saw another one of his detectives, Marcus Holbein. He was a transfer from Seattle, but a good one. He had been with Miller's squad for about three years at this point. He was following the bloodstains and saw something that he thought the boss should see.

What is it Marcus? Miller asked.

Come on upstairs, Holbein said, I'm trying to puzzle this out and I think you should see it.

Lead the way, Miller nodded.

They carefully went up the stairs, avoiding the parts that had been mapped off by the CSI people. The stench was even worse upstairs than it was below. Miller was lucky, as his sense of smell was dull. Holbein brought Miller into the master bedroom, where the CSI people were working.

Have you ever seen anything like this before, Marcus? Miller asked him.

I saw the results of a massacre once, Holbein nodded, Happened at old Bolantine's mansion in Seattle years ago. But this is far worse. This was cruel and calculated. What I saw up there was a slapdash mess of an organized crime fight. This is methodical.

That's what scares me, Miller muttered, This one is too organized.

Take a look over here, Holbein said as he went over to the wall, You finished with this yet, Charlie?

The crime scene technician nodded and moved out of the way so both Miller and Holbein could move in around the bloody hole in the wall.

I thought the bodies were found in the bed, Miller said, Where the hell did this come from?

That's what is puzzling me, Marcus Holbein said, It looks as though they didn't even make it out of the bed.

That may not be true, Detective, Sanders who was examining the bodies, put in.

What have you got Jake? Miller asked.

The top of the woman's head, Sanders said, Covered with what looks like chalk dust. Probably came from that hole over there.

So there was a struggle after all, Holbein said, That means the killer took time and moved the bodies.

Probably after they were all dead, Miller nodded, My guess is that he killed the three up here quickly and then took his time on the girl downstairs.

But why waste time with arranging the bodies up here? Marcus asked.

I don't know, Miller sighed, None of this makes any sense at all.

What do you want us to do, Lieutenant? Holbein asked, not having any clue where to go with this.

You and Nick finish the analysis of the scene, Miller instructed them, When you stop making progress there, start talking to the neighbors. Do not, under any circumstances, say to anyone that you think this is a serial killer. Treat it like a standard garden variety murder until I say differently.

I hope you're planning on doing something about the other possibility, Holbein said.

Yeah, Miller nodded, I'm going to have to go up the chain a little and start chomping at the bit.

Telling them they have a serial killer? Nick asked as walked up behind them, That's not going to make the brass happy.

This type of case never makes anyone happy, Miller said sourly, Where's Creighton?

I left him out front barking at the patrolmen, Nick shrugged, It seems to have made him happy.

Let's just hope he doesn't manage to spill anything to the press, Holbein said.

Start the door knocking when you can, Miller said, Keep Creighton on the perimeter. Marcus, you have that disarming look about you. You take the crowd here. Nick, you go ahead and talk to the people who stayed in their homes.

And if the reporters ask us questions? Nick asked.

Tell them No Comment, Miller said sternly, Nobody is to talk to the press. Make sure Creighton gets that message too.

What are you going to do, boss? Marcus asked.

I'm going to go downtown and try to convince the brass that it's time to get some experts in on this case, Miller sighed.

Somehow I don't envy him his job anymore, Nick chuckled, How bout you Marcus?

Nope, Holbein agreed, I'll take crowd work any day.

Get moving, Miller growled and referred to the CSI people, Do you have anything for me? I'd like to tell the brass we have at least one piece of physical evidence.

Knife came from the set in the kitchen, A.J. Dupriex said, Only prints on there are smudged. Probably belong to one of the victims. I'd say our killer wore gloves the whole time.

Anything else? Mike asked.

Girl was torn apart, Dupriex said, But Sanders doesn't think there was any sexual contact.

Great, Miller sighed, Thanks A.J. So the long and short of it is we have nothing?

Pretty much, Dupriex nodded, We're still going through things though.

Keep at it, Miller said, Talk to Nick or Marcus if you find something.

Not Creighton? Dupriex asked, surprised

I'd rather you tell it to the press, Miller growled, They'd get it to me more accurately than that idiot would.

With that Miller made his way down the stairs and out of the death house. He pushed his way through the crowd, only to get noticed by a handful of reporters. They all started swarming him and the car. Miller could not help but scowl.

What happened in there?

How many victims?

Is this the killer from the previous two?

Was this a sexual crime?

The rest of the questions started to blur together as Miller had to fight hard not to tell them all to screw off. He stood up and looked the crowd of reporters straight on and stood up straight.

We are still investigating, Miller said, Other than that, I have no comments now. This is not a time for speculation. When we have information to give, we will give it. Please keep back and let the detectives perform their investigation.

Miller got into the car and turned the ignition. The line of reporters, realizing that they were not going to get anything out of him at that time parted to let him drive slowly out of the area. Miller knew that sleep was about to become a rare commodity for him.

Chapter Three – 'Return to Boland Creek'

Chris Gabriel woke up to the sound of bustling people in the house. He sighed and sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes until he was awake. His first instinct was to reach for a pack of cigarettes until he realized that he had quit years before. He cursed the impulse silently and picked up the remote control unit for the TV.

Gabriel, a fairly tall man just shy of forty, turned off the sappy women's network that his wife, Carrie, had been watching the night before and turned on the news. He had little use for Hollywood style entertainment, as he'd had enough gore to last him a lifetime.

Unfortunately for him the television gave him worse than what he had expected, as the lead story even for the national outfits was the shocking murder of a young beauty queen. Gabriel groaned, but watched the coverage. He had enough experience investigating serial killers that he could not help but be interested in the coverage.

I figured I'd find you watching that garbage, Carrie Gabriel said as she walked into the room, Poor girl hasn't been dead a few hours and they're already working the hell out of the story.

Yeah, Chris nodded, That's the way it always works. It was the same when we were kids; we just didn't exactly have time to watch the coverage.

Your brother saw to that, she nodded and then sighed, He saw to a lot of things.

Chris nodded and tried not to let the images back into his head. He sat up and looked up at his wife of many years. She smiled at him, though he could see something was troubling her. He patted the bed next to him, and she sat down.

What's eating you, kiddo? Chris asked her, I haven't seen that look on your face in a long time.

The demons are coming back, she sighed, They always do when I see that stuff happening on the news.

There's more to it than that, he said, I haven't seen that look in your eyes since we were kids.

Jason asked me the question this morning, she sighed.

What question? Chris asked, Is it time for the birds and the bees talk?

No, Carrie laughed, I wish it were that simple. Frankly, I'd rather have to explain that than I would what he asked about.

What is it then? he asked.

He asked about your brother, Carrie sighed, Evidently he read something about it on the Internet and wanted to know if it was about us.

Chris Gabriel let his breath out slowly and slid back against the headboard. Now, he knew why she was upset. This was the talk that they both had been dreading for years. Chris had already had to give the talk to their oldest, now it was Jason's turn. Chris wondered how you explain a family history as screwed up as theirs was.

Chris Gabriel, then under his birth name of Healy, had been born into a normal family environment. He had a twin brother named Jerry that he lived with and knew fairly well until their 15th year. During that year, Jerry became distant and disenchanted and eventually he became a psychopathic murderer.

Jerry Healy was not just any murderer. He was generally considered the granddaddy of the school killers. He went into serial murder with a gusto that would have made Bundy or Gacy proud. Whether Jerry the Slasher had been a serial killer or a spree killer was still debated on college campuses all over the country. Both of Chris and Jerry's parents as well as Carrie's father and brother fell victim to the young killer, as did many others during his weeklong reign of terror.

Shit, was all Chris could manage to say, How curious is he?

He's your kid, she grinned, You're the one that taught them to ask questions if they don't know.

Point taken, Chris said, All right. I'll have the discussion with him like I did with Tommy.

You want me there? she asked, hoping she knew the answer.

No, Chris sighed, I know how hard it is on you to even think about Jerry.

I still don't know how you do it, Carrie said, You lost even more than I did, yet can still talk about it.

I had a healthier environment after it was over, Chris reminded her, Rael and Kelly made sure that I learned to live with it. I had counseling and a stable environment.

True, Carrie nodded, My mother just became an alcoholic and pretty much left me to fend for myself. Mentioning you or your brother got me nothing but grief, especially with the presence of our son.

Given that, Chris told her, I'm amazed you can take it as well as you do.

Yeah, she sighed and just leaned into her husband.

Chris held on to her and stroked her long brown hair softly. He smiled as he saw a little head poke into the room, adorable little Cassi's reddish mane showed into the door frame.

Come on in you, Chris said, No need to hide.

The young child bounded into the room and leapt onto the bed. Chris had to fight to keep the covers on himself as they did so.

Carrie and Chris played with the child for a while. Cassandra, usually called Cassi, was their youngest at only seven. The Gabriels were attentive parents, as Chris knew too well what could happen when you ignored your children.

His children were turning out well. Tommy, their oldest at 23, was following his father's footsteps in the FBI. Jason, the middle child, was the computer maniac. He and his father often talked about the new computer parts and built machines together. The time was coming when the son would be leading the father, although Chris Gabriel had been playing with computers since the Commodore 64 era. Little Cassi was definitely her mother's girl, hanging around on Carrie's coattails whenever possible.

Family was important to Chris Gabriel. He believed that much of what went wrong with his brother could have been prevented if his parents had not been so wrapped up with a dying marriage that they were neglecting their kids. Even if Jerry's madness could not have been prevented at least the damage could have been minimized.

Where's Jason? Chris asked his daughter.

He was looking at something on the computer, Cassi said with a sour face, It was all adult junk, not sure why he was so interested.

Gabriel instinctively knew that his son was looking at the Crime Library entry on his brother. He sighed and sat up. He wondered just how badly Carrie had handled it when Tommy had asked her the question. He wished Jason had asked him directly, as he was better equipped to deal with it than his wife was.

All right, Chris said to her, Cassi, go ahead and tell your brother that I'll be down in a few. I'll meet him downstairs after I get dressed. He and I will go for a walk.

Do I get to go, daddy? Cassi chirped.

No sweetie, Chris smiled, You're going to go out with your mother for a while. Isn't that right hon?

We need to go shopping, hon, Carrie said, I think the boys will be all right on their own.

Probably better off in this case, Chris grinned, winking at his wife, Better get moving. The sales are beginning, and it will take you thirty minutes to get there.

Carrie nodded and was relieved to be let off the hook for this particular talk. She herded Cassi up and left the house very quickly. Chris had not even gotten his pants all the way on by the time he heard Carrie's little Nissan pull out of the driveway. He just chuckled at his wife's continued avoidance of the subject.

Chris put on his usual T-shirt and boots and walked out into the main part of the house. He saw his boys sitting out on the deck and smiled as he went to the fridge. He thought about grabbing a beer, but then decided he had better start with a bottle of root beer. He stopped drinking years before, pretty much the same time he had left the feds. He still kept a few bottles in the fridge for when Frank Otter came over for a poker game.

He popped the cap off the root beer and took a long pull of it before going downstairs. It was not exactly the way he wanted to start the morning, but it had to happen some time. Tommy managed to wait until he was 17, Jason was only twelve and already asking. He walked into the room where his son was sitting at the computer.

Hey Dad, Jason said upon noticing his father, Is Mom mad at me?

No, Chris smiled, You just managed to touch a sore spot for her. For both of us, actually.

Mom really went pale when I asked her about it, Jason nodded, You going to tell me more or do you not want to talk about it either?

I can handle it better than she can, Chris chuckled, Why don't we take a walk through the back lots and have a little talk about things.

Ok, Tommy nodded.

Chris Gabriel and his younger son walked out into the back yard and headed into the wooded areas behind the house. Chris seriously wished he had not quit smoking at this point. It was an urge that always came up when he had to discuss his brother, especially like this.

Ok Jason, Chris said finally, What exactly did you ask your mother and where did you get your information?

My friend Eddie came across this web site, Jason said, Had some interesting stuff on crimes and criminals. Not the fiction like we usually read, but the real thing.

Chris knew exactly what site he was talking about. The Crime Library had been on his reading list for a long time. He had even contributed to the article that they had done on his brother and on a few articles on serial killers whose cases he had worked on while in the FBI.

Anyway, he continued, They had this article on a kid named Jerry Healy who killed a whole lot of people. They told the story about how the cops could not find him and how his own brother had to stop him. Sorta cool, but scary too.

Nothing cool about it, Chris sighed, Go on Jase.

The names looked very familiar, Jason said, Chris Healy, Jason Brigand, Carrie Caron, Thomas Caron, and others. Aunt Cookie was mentioned as well. I asked Mom about it this morning, figuring that she could tell me more. She went all nuts on me though.

Yeah, Chris nodded, She would. It's a painful subject for her, even after all these years.

So she was involved with it? Jason asked.

Both of us were, Chris told him, Though let me tell you, there was nothing cool about it.

You were there too? Tommy asked, I didn't see mention of you?

Yes you did, Chris said, You just didn't know it. You see, Christopher Healy was the name I was born with.

Really? Jason asked, How come I never heard about this?

Long before you were born, Chris said, Let's go sit down and we'll talk about it a little.

The two of them sat down under an old oak tree, with Jason facing his father. Chris was just glad that he was old enough to be told. He really did not want to do this three times, so he hoped that Carrie would be able to have this conversation with Cassi when the time came.

So that was you that chased Jerry Healy down? Jason asked.

Yes, Chris said, There wasn't anyone else who could.

What happened? Jason asked, Why did you have to do it and not the police?

Jim Calysto, Chris said plainly, He was the incompetent detective they put on the murders. He could not have found a kid in a candy store. After the initial mess, I told him outright what had happened and he wouldn't believe it.

Why not? Jason, ever the questioner, asked him.

He thought he had me dead to rights, Chris sighed, To his credit it did look bad, since he caught me with the bat that had killed my parents. Unfortunately, Jerry would probably have been stopped after my parents were killed if Calysto had listened to me.

So you went after him? Jason asked.

Someone had to, Chris shrugged, I was the only one who knew him well enough to be able to do it.

And mom was there too? Jason asked.

Jerry and I had been friends with your mother and her brother for a long time, Chris confirmed, Also with Jason Brigand. Carrie and I began dating a few months before Jerry's total disintegration. I wouldn't have been able to do it alone. They saved my life more than once.

Chris spent a good hour telling his son the sad story of what he went through and what his brother did. He did not pull any punches, figuring that it would hurt less for the boy to hear it all from his mouth than to read it in books or on the web later.

Why did he do it? Jason asked and listened.

I wish I had a good answer for that, Chris said, It's been over 20 years and I still don't have one. He was always the odd man out; the kid everyone dumped on. That year was worse than most. Our parents were fighting a lot. Jerry and I were being pretty much ignored. He went through some trauma at school, suspended a couple times, and he was rejected in other ways as well. His art was brutally rejected from a contest and the popular kids were being particularly cruel.

What finally set him off? Jason asked, The story on the internet never covered this.

I don't know what happened, but it started when he killed Annie Jenkins Chris said, After her death, he pretty well lost it completely. He decided to take out the kids who had been tormenting him. He also managed to take out three of your grandparents and your uncle Tommy as well.

Is that who my brother is named after? Jason wondered.

Yes, Chris said, He was named after her brother and her father. Thomas Matthew Gabriel. Jason, you were named after Jason Brigand and his close friend Mike who also were killed by my brother.

Ok, Jason said and waited for his father to continue, What happened to Jason?

I think you could safely say Jason was Jerry's last victim, Chris told him, He got into drugs to kill the pain of losing Mike and lost himself in the process. He died in New York back in 1993.

Now I see why you don't like drugs, Jason said, I take it this is where you met Cookie too?

Yes, Chris said, I really got to know Cookie during this time too.

How? Jason asked.

I saved her from getting killed by Jerry, Chris informed him, She was moments away from it when I came into it. You know that scar on my right side? That's where it came from.

Ouch, he said.

It wasn't fun, Chris admitted, But Cookie has turned out to be a good friend for all these years.

Cool, Jason said.

Not exactly the word for it, Chris sighed, It shouldn't have happened like it did. The police should have caught him instead of me.

What happened? Jason asked, keenly interested in his father's story, You told me about most of it, but what about the end?

We caught up with him, Chris said, Your mother and I found him at the old lighthouse after a bad storm.

Did you kill him? he asked.

I tried, Chris admitted, My gun was empty. I threw it at him and then started fighting with him. I even tossed him into the freezing water of the sound. My brother, however, was nothing if not persistent.

He didn't die? Tommy asked, surprised.

He managed to get out of the water, Chris nodded, Your mother and I went back to land and he attacked us again.

This sounds like a bad horror movie, Dad, Jason said.

It does, Chris chuckled and nodded, But it's what happened.

How did it end? Jason wondered, Quite obviously you and mom survived it.

With me in the hospital, your mother pregnant with Tommy, and my brother lying on a slab, his brains splattered all over the park,

You got lucky, in other words, Jason said, seeing the look on his father's face.

If I had been lucky I wouldn't have been there in the first place, Chris sighed, I spent a week in the hospital after that mess. That's what happened to my knee. It took three surgeries just to get it so I could use it normally again.

So what happened after that? Jason asked.

After Jerry's death, Chris said, Rael Gabriel took me in. He and his wife moved me down to North Carolina, and I took their last name to get some peace after the mess. That's how come you've got the name you do now.

Even after all that you and Mom ended up together? Jason asked, Guess you really love each other, huh?

It took a while, Chris admitted, We didn't see each other for seven years. I didn't even know about your brother. We met again by chance when my boss in the FBI sent me back to Maine. It was probably the best thing he'd ever done for me, allowing me to clear up some demons.

Why does Mom have so much trouble with it? Jason asked him, I mean, you've told me the whole thing and she couldn't even talk about it.

The first few years pretty well determine how you handle it, Chris said, Rael and Kelly made sure that I learned to deal with it. I spent several years getting counseling and learning how to deal with the demons of the past.

Your mother wasn't so lucky. Her mother did not get her counseling and forbid her to even talk about it in the house. Your grandmother forbade the mention of my name or of my brother's name around her right up until the day she died. I'm still not sure whether or not your mother ever told her that we had gotten married. Not sure if she ever cared.

When did she die? Jason asked, I don't remember Mom ever talking about her.

Just after you were born, Chris told him, I was between books at the time. She left me with you and went to Maine for a few days to tie up the loose ends and arrange for the burial. I don't know exactly how it went because she wouldn't talk about it later.

I was wondering, Jason nodded, Because you were mentioned in several other stories on that site as well.

Not surprising, Chris chuckled, I've been involved with several of those cases. That's pretty much all I did the last three years I was with the feds, work serial killer cases.

Do you still work on these cases? Jason asked him.

Once in a while, Chris admitted, I hate to admit it, but I haven't done a book tour in nearly ten years. My publisher finally realized that I hate them enough that I lose more readers than I gain from them. We just used that as an excuse when I went off to assist in an investigation.

It must be exciting, Jason said.

More like sickening, Chris sighed, I wish I didn't have to do it.

Then why do you? he wondered.

Because, sad to say, I'm good at it, Chris told his son, That's one of the legacies of my brother. I know how these people think, and I can help track them down. I don't like to do it, but as long as I can stop at least one person from dying at the hands of a psychopath, I'll gladly do it.

Jason nodded. He did not understand it all, but he understood enough. He looked at his father that day with a new respect. Chris Gabriel also looked at his kid with respect. Chris was glad he understood. He just hoped that he would never have to learn firsthand what he knew of the world.

Chapter Four – ‘Top Brass'

Miller was chomping at the bit a little as he waited outside the commissioner's office. He knew he had to clear much of what he needed to do with them, and he wanted to get it over with. He had been waiting there for nearly thirty minutes when they finally deigned to see him.

He walked in and saw the reason for the delay. The Mayor was there, along with several city councilmen as well as a couple of community leaders. Miller could not help but groan when he saw this display. He walked into the room and took the offered seat.

Commissioner Roger Latham looked at Miller as he walked in. Miller was one of his best homicide people. His squad had the highest case closure rate in the city. Unfortunately, he knew that Miller was a maverick, had been since his undercover days, years before. He just hoped that Miller would be cooperative with the civic leaders.

Sorry to keep you waiting Mike, Latham said, You were just at the DiTonno site, right?

Yes, Miller nodded, It doesn't look good.

Do you have any suspects? One of them asked.

No, Miller said, submitting to the inquisition, There was nothing to suggest a suspect, though my detectives are still working on it.

Miller spent the next forty minutes going through this sort of question and answers, giving what little he knew and holding back the only real clues he had. This type of session always irked him, but he knew that it was important to have the upper crust of the city on their side. It looked good for PR.

What exactly do you have? Gary Gray, the young Mayor of the city finally asked him, There are a lot of people crying serial killer and asking us to do something.

I hope nobody is saying this to the press yet, Miller said, We don't know for sure if the killings are related. I sure as hell don't want a media frenzy for no reason.

I'm all for that, Gray agreed.

You have to do something! one of the community leaders said, You can't sit on your ass about this!

We're not sitting on anything, Miller said, trying hard to hold the edge back in his voice, I have three detectives sifting through every piece of evidence now. CSI is still going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. I just don't want to create a panic until my people have some answers.

I need to discuss strategy on this with Lieutenant Miller, Commissioner Latham told the assembled group, We are working diligently on this.

Let us know when you have something? one businessman asked.

Sure, Bob, Mayor Gray agreed, Just do us all a favor. Please keep speculation on this out of the papers.

They all agreed and filed out of the room, leaving Mayor Gray, Commissioner Latham, Deputy Commissioner Robert Donovan, Lieutenant Miller, and a secretary in the room to take notes. Miller looked at Latham and waited for him to ask the question.

Ok Miller, Commissioner Latham said, Out with it. You've given us the bullshit for the public, now what is really going on?

It's the same guy, Miller said, No doubt about that. Same M/O, same styling, just on a grander scale. He's getting bolder.

How long can we keep this out of the papers? Gray asked, concerned about the press as usual.

I'm amazed it hasn't hit yet, Donovan shrugged, I give it a few hours, no more, no less.

Robert's right, Latham agreed, This is about to hit. The murder of a Miss America Runner Up is tailor made to go national.

What do you propose, Miller? Gray asked him.

I have a good set of detectives, Miller said, But I don't have anyone who has worked on one of these cases before.

So grab someone who has, Latham said, I want you to keep the case. You're probably the best Homicide man we have, and the least likely to become a press hog.

There's a problem, Donovan sighed, We've never had a case like this before.

Robert is right, Miller said, "We just plain don't have anyone who's worked on one of these. One of mine was on the edge of the Yates case in Washington years ago, but he was not a primary on it. We don't have anyone who has